One Hundred and Three Days Later...

Yes that’s right, it had been exactly 103 days since my last blog post. Am I an insult to the blogger world?!

I decided to return to the blogger world after I read a book (which I refuse to name and publicise because one of the authors was a complete moron (I do not use that word likely)) which was made up party of blog extracts. In the book, one of the author’s (father of the moron) wrote that he often found writing his blog a chore and that on his road trip across the world, writing his blog was taking too much time away from actually living the trip. I guess that’s where I was 103 days ago- ‘living my trip’ down under. But now I’m simply ‘living’ and there is substantially less ‘trip’ about the whole thing (for the time being anyway). So I have no excuse to neglect my blog any longer.

As I’ve mentioned before, but shamefully never learnt from this, it is much harder to write with excitement and emotion after time has passed from events. So telling you about my trip to Wilson’s Prom will unfortunately not do it justice, but I will try: Wilson’s Prom is similar in some ways to the Great Ocean Road with it’s winding coastal roads, phenomenal sea views and exclusive- to-Australia wildlife. However, the 30 minutes on Squeaky Beach wins hands-down over the two days we adventured along the Great Ocean Road.

Wilson’s Prom is an amazing national park, unfortunately hugely affected by bush fires, but recovering and still stunning. The road snakes down to a peninsular through rainforests and along dramatic cliffs and white-sand beaches. Squeaky beach is a cute little cove of white sand that as the name suggests, squeaks as you walk on it and during low season, Adam and I were the only ones there. I have never seen white sand before and I was surprised how bright it was. I don’t know how to do this justice trough words, but standing on this beach was amazing. I have no idea why I was so excited to be on this beach, but wherever the excitement came from, I loved every minute of it! Running and jumping over the trickling stream, we squeezed around boulders and bedded our footprints in the flawless white sand. It sort of felt like no one had been here for years- down a little, twisting path and across a plank bridge. I’m sure it is busy during high season, but lucky for us we were alone. Soaking up the sounds of the open seas.

Wilson’s Prom was a while ago now, and wasn’t the last time that we hired a car. We have also been to Dalesford and the goldmines in Sovereign Hill. We shivered at the penguin parade on Phillip Island. Oh, and we have just returned from Thailand!

A Sort Of Pride To Be Proud Of.

It is true to say that the Australians are an extremely proud nation. At first, I found it a bit annoying that they promote their country so much, I suppose it was because I felt as though it was in my face all the time. It is pushed your face all of the time. But I'm starting to understand why.

Adam bought me a drink for lunch today from the cafe just next door and the first thing that I actually checked was if it was made in Australia. And it was. But the fruits were imported. And the truth is, I actually wished that he'd picked up a drink that used fruit form Australia. So their campaigns are clearly working!  I thought to myself, I love this country so much, I want to support it by buying Australian.

Last Saturday, we were woken up in the middle of the night (6am is pretty much the middle to me) by singing and trumpets vibrating through the apartment.  I opened the blind to see 40,000 people standing, all wrapped up on the lawn outside out apartment- by the Shrine of Remembrance.  We had through (for a millisecond) of getting up at 5:30am to go to the Dawn Service for remembrance service but quickly forgot all about it..until then of course.

We rolled into clothes and wobbled across the road.  I couldn't believe how many people were there. Families, groups of kids and ex-soldiers.  I suddenly remembered a group of lads on the tram talking about it.  They'd obviously had a few drinks and were off  on a night out, laughing and joking boisterously.  Their conversation about the Dawn Service however was admiral as they were 'definitely going to the service'.  I laughed to myself- nothing would get me out of bed the morning after a few drinks! Those lads wanted to pay their respects to the soldiers who fought to protect their home. Good on them!

As the service finished, I walked alongside a soldier proudly wearing his medals. I asked them whose medals they were (this was to not insult him incase he was too young to have gone to war. I clearly had no idea of Australia's input in any war at all!!) That soldier had been presented them for his service in Vietnam.  

Later, I went home and googled the Vietnam war. When I found out that the soldiers were not warmly welcomed back from war, I was absolutely gutted. While the men were out fighting, the rest of the country were in total disagreement with Australia's involvement with the war, meaning that the soldiers were not given full support. I felt terrible for that guy I'd spoken to.

The ANZAC parade went on for hours. I felt immensely proud of the men and women who had fought for Australia, supporting England in many wars. It was strange, because I'd never really wanted to support wars before.  I didn't want to give the 'OK' to violence.  But Ive never liked the German language, so I suppose I should. 

- - -

This weekend, Adam and I hired a car. We drove the 800km round trip, along the Great Ocean Road (later I found out that the road has been built by WW1 soldiers after they had come home from battle).  How proud the Australians are of their country became all the more clearer.  No photo or words can describe how beautiful the cost of Victoria is.  And apparently this is 'nothing compared to the north.'  

I don't know how to exactly tell you about how amazing it was.  Kangaroos and Koalas. Bright blue and red birds. 

In this case, I think photos will speak a thousand words...

The 12 Apostles

My name is Kate and I am a commuter.

I guess it's been a while. It's hard to try and write after such a successful last bog (I'm judging this solely on the two comments that I received about it).  So much has happened, yet as time drifts by, those stories seem to be quite insignificant now compared the more recent events.  I have started using that phrase 'Do you remember that time when...' , but I have been told repeatedly that that phrase can only be used after several months or even a year has passed.  But I suppose that's just how I feel- like I have lived here for a while now.  Like I actually live in Melbourne.  Like this city is actually mine.

I have also started to use the ever annoying phrase...'I feel a blog coming on'.  Yet, as ridiculous as this sounds, Adam has now started making mental noted of what I should write in this blog too.

I'm feeling under pressure.  Here goes...

The next time after my second blog post that I had the urge to write something was when some comic had changed an electronic road sign.  It was one of those 'did you see that moments?'.  And if you hadn't seen it, you need not worry as the tram driving then decided to announce it over the tannoy system anyway:

" Ladies and Gentlemen, that road sign does in fact read 'EAT MY PUSS'.  I hope you guys all know what PUSS is."

And so that sparked my first mental blog note:

 

1-  Melbourne tram drivers are on another planet.

I heard one once saying (over the tannoy system) that he was going to mount the curb and and send any ACDC fans to an early grave so that they can meet ACDC.  One tram driver also told us not to tell any of the other tram drivers how crazy he is- but that was the first thing he had said. 

This madness also rubs off on the passengers.  I don't think it has hit us yet though....

The other mental blog notes are as follows:

2. AFL (Oz 'football') fans only wear their teams colours on the day of the match. 

Then they not only wear the vest (Yes, vest. Not shirt), but also the hat, the socks, the shorts and the scarf- in 35 degree heat. And they carry the flag. This includes men, women and children.  As Melbourne is the heart of AFL, then on match days almost everyone is draped in supportive clobber. 73,000 to the first match of the season.

I went on a run with my friend and he wore a AFL vest.  Had I know what I know now, I would have warned him against this.  He must have thrown the city into mass confusions...surely there must be a match if a fan is wearing their teams colours?!  I would not have been in the least bit surprised if this made headline news on the 10 news at 6.

Which brings me perfectly into my next point:

3.  The Australians have no news to report what-so-ever.

They steel the BBC commentators, despite hating us, and slating us and thinking we are a cold and miserable version of here- they still use our BBC reporters to report on both sport and world news.

The Tamworth Herald once ran a headline on a dog that wore lipstick.  Tamworth is a small town in the Midlands.  If a dog wore lipstick here, all programmes would grind to a hold and the Australian news would probably pay the BBC to report on it immediately,  interrupting all television shows (Heartbeat, The Antiques Road Show and Top Gear for example.)

3b.  1st, 2nd, 3rd,4th....you get the drift?

When we say a date (by 'we' I mean the inhabitants of the Great British Soil), we say the 1st of January, or the 3rd of March. We DO NOT, and nor should any other English speaking country, say February 1. Or March 3.  Yes, like 'Out March one'.  or 'Buy in stores April twenty.'

It's funny how small things can really get to you....

I know this blog was originally started to tell people at home what an amazing time I am having, and I truly am, but it is so hard to not rant on this. I love using it to vent.

Adam tells me that I have to write positive things on here. Like what a phenomenal city Melbourne is and how I am such a great boss (ok, he didn't tell me to write that, but I know he thinks it! Oh- do you all know that I'm Adams boss? I got him a job in my office, telling my boss 'of course Adam is great on computers, I wouldn't recommend him other wise would i?'  Oh, and I also told my boss 'If you think he is rubbish, sack him.  I don't mind. It's just business isn't it?!' I'm not sure I ever told Adam that bit!!).

I also don't want to come across like I think England is so much better (we produce our own television programmes and have Salad Cream though).  Think of it this way: if Australia doesn't have any news to report, then imagine watching a news programme that isn't riddled with knife crime, child obesity and the threat of terrorism.  It is quite pleasant let me tell you!!

The sun shines. I wake up to a full sun rising in the distance, just past the botanical gardens, behind the Australian 'Alps'.  The sky is also full of hot air balloons at around 7am.  At night, I can see the moon from the sofa.  I can see it right now. Full, in the clear sky. The food is fresh, the beer is cold and there is food from every continent.  Adam and I ate an Afgan meal yesterday.  Don't worry, I checked Asama Bin Laden wasn't hiding under my kebab (I grew up watching Crimewatch- it was my public duty.)

There are free events most weekend.  We watched a comedian on Friday night, and we watched one the week previously after being given free tickets. They were free for a reason.  We ended up wearing diving goggles and a shoebox on our faces.  Shoeboxes you ask?  Yes, shoesboxes with fairly lights and little cut out people dancing in the shoebox disco.

We saw parrots randomly in the street on the way back from the beach. Do I need to say more about that?

We commute to work everyday, walking past the botanical gardens, along the river and quickly weaving through the other commuters in the underpass to the city.

I am in love with this city.  With the news programmes that reports good news such as 'it is going to rain'.                                    
                                                        

Carlton v Richmond

Australia this, Australia that...

I'm here. In Melbourne. Making it my home.

They're a nice bunch, the Aussies I mean. Although I'm not sure that they'd say the same for us. I somehow feel that they'd rather be fat than a pomme! This in fact, is a mis-heard quote that I mis-heard on TV advert....it didn't actually say this, but knowing how much they (the Aussies) hate us (the dirty Pommes) then it wouldn't have come as shock if this is what they actually said.

I know that I haven't blogged about my new home (amazing), job interviews (yes, I have 2!) etc... but this has been chipping away at me for some time now! All the food in the supermarket advertises itself as 100% Australian. 99% wouldn't even get a look in. The carrier bags...made from 100% Australian trash. The toilet roll- Australian. The spices-Australian. The nuts-Australian.

'Buy Australian. Keep your children in Jobs"

The beds, hand-made with the finest Australian woods. The mattress-Australian.

One advert says the word 'Australia' 6 times in about 45 seconds.

An Aussie wouldn't eat English fish and chips- we don't change our oil enough according to the annoying guy on the 7pm project.

But, the Australian TV is made up of English and American programs...apart from the AFL of course (you know, proper football, where they fight and play on a round pitch?!) Top Gear (UK), Dr Phil (USA), History of rock music (UK), Days of Our lives (USA).
Neighbours? 100% Australian mate!


Despite this, and possibly because of this, I love Melbourne and those 'sanga' eating Aussies!

I love how they say 'bastard' at 5pm. I love how they advertise a help line for impotence at 2.30pm. I love how they air an advert at 7.45pm that show 2 men playing the piano with their man-hood.

I love the word "crook", "R.A.N.G.A" and I love more than anything that they actually say...

"G'day mate!"

Yes, this cheese is called 'coon'. 

 

7th Febuary 2010

The view from our hotel room told us that today wouldn’t be the hottest on record. Dressed modestly, we headed in a taxi to the souks in Deira City. Hit with the smell of spices on opening the taxi door, we knew which souk we were at. I’d say that no more than 10 minutes into our first day in Dubai, Adam had been totally converted to Sheik Al Bin Newton, Arabian Prince and potential buyer of Sheffield United football club (had he also been give the money of a prince)…

It was too easy to get lost in the souks, every ally looking the same. Piled with 9ct diamonds, the goldest gold, textiles, spices and watches (both fake and genuine).

We escaped along the river, where the pirate-style boats docked and piles upon piles of who-knows-what filled every possible gap.

Crossing onto the other side of the river, the souks had started to shut down and so had we. Feeling exhausted, we retired to a courtyard hideaway where we hid from the Middle Eastern bustle of the markets and busy roads.

Winding down for the day, we knew we needed a power nap to get through the evening plans, arranged by Adam.

Ok, so the evening didn’t go quite to plan (we got totally lost, not sure where the restaurant even was and never found out) but ended up seeing an amazing view of New Dubai by night and stumbled onto Fashion Avenue where the manager of a flag-ship Chanel store gave Adam his business card in case he ever wanted to come back and work in Dubai. The mall was filled with shops selling the most ‘bling’ that you could imagine; yet the polite staff were extremely welcoming…we felt at home here!! Rolex, Armani, Gucci, D & G. What we didn’t realise at the time is that we had only touched on a tiny part of Dubai Mall.

We swiftly ate some, urm, interesting Chinese cuisine and tiredly made our way back to the hotel… in style! A blacked out Lexus… it was Dubai after all! Oh, and to end the night we popped open a bottle of Moet. (Should we admit that we sipped the champagne out of plastic cups whilst watching Benidorm Series One on DVD?! You can take Adam and Kate out of England, but you cant…)

Currently flying at 35,000 Feet.

First things first… we both safely survived The UAE and both have our hands still attached to our arms. Phew!

 

What isn’t there to say about Dubai, or even the drama at Manchester airport prior to the ‘big adventures’ official start? As many of you women out there will know, packing for a holiday or break is a nightmare. Packing for a whole year…. well, lets just say that I went a little bit overboard with what I decided to take…

Adam and I were more than happy with our 30kg weight allowance. However, I had an idea that I might have been ever so slightly over. But I did not expect to be £600 worth over. Nor did Adam. But I don’t think that Adam had realised that I would then proceed to layer my clothing in the middle of a very busy airport in order to avoid having to send home any clothing with my entourage (Grandma, Aunt, Mother, Father and Brother.) There was no chance that I was going to have to leave any of my 3 pairs of flip-flops behind. Sadly, I had to leave something. It was a tough choice. I selected the Collins Pocket French Dictionary, Lonely Planet guide to Fiji and a handy book on Soviet Politics (who wants their brain to go to mush really?!)

After the embarrassment of having to unload my travel library, it was back to the check-in desk for weighing in time. I stood sweating (due to the mount of clothes I was wearing) and Adam was, I presume, still a little embarrassed. But I was underweight! I then proceeded to load back into my case the necessities (sun cream and some shorts).

We boarded the B777-300 and flew with Emirates to Dubai.

On arriving at the space station commonly known as Dubai International Airport, we were promptly greeted by the worlds shiniest metals and Arabs dressed in pristine white robes. After picking up our chins from the floor, I pushed Kate into taking a tourist shot of me in (drum roll please)….. in the queue for the taxi!!

The taxi ride was short and sweet and we finally crawled into out beds at approximately 2am local time.

Not Gone Down Under Just Yet

So, here it is. I'm doing a blog.

I'm due to go 'Down Under' via Dubai on Saturday 6th February. I say due, because the law of the UAE seems so strict that I'm afraid that I will trip on one of the many strict laws and end up in a roach filled cell with some breast flashing, drug smuggling 'innocent' young British backpacker.

Damn 'Banged up Abroad'. Will I ever travel without fear again?

If they ask me to take a briefcase through customs, remember Kate...just say 'no'.

Here's to new adventures.....