Saturday, December 31, 2011

Seersucker Summer

Somethings are just under-appreciated in life: your mother's hug, properly fitted shoes, a decent dictionary, coconut covered doughnuts and seersucker clothing. It's the latter that concerns me today.

This cotton fabric could be more accurately described as "puckered pinstripes" as it is a closer reflection of how it looks. Those puckers, made from a 'slack tension' weave, allows heat to rise away from the body and negate any need to iron it. Heavily associated with the warm and humid American South, you may have seen movies where simple southern women (played by Chloris Leachman) look up sappily at their husbands (played by Fred MacMurray) and drawl, "You look so han'some in your seersucker suit." You'll cringe and think, "yeah, I'll give that a miss."

Don't. It just might save your life as it is currently saving mine.

Summer came late to Perth this year but it came on strong. This week the temperatures more than flirted with triple digits. What to wear when one is melting? Those southern gents really were on to something. Time to dig out the seersucker camp shirts and shorts. As I sit here I am wearing a red plaid seersucker camp shirt and blue floursack capris. I look like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm or LIFE magazine's Miss American MidWest. I can see two other seersucker shirts and two seersucker shorts. I never knew I owned so much...or wished I owned more. And I'll never know why Aussies wear so much polyester, and close fitting poly at that, during the hottest months. Are they nuts or just unseeing to the cool chic of crinkled cotton?

So, I'm here to tell you that the next time you are browsing through a catalog or thrift store and spot some puckered plaid clothing, drop the phony southern drawl and reach for some cash. You'll be thanking me later.

I'll save you that trouble: You're Welcome.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

The Seven Day Vegetarian

Just the other day, yet another celebrity announced the opening of their high end vegan restaurant. For many people this conjures an image of a large, fancy plate decorated with artsy swirls of soy paste sauce, centered with a tiny mound of alfalfa sprouts and organic carrot shavings. The presentation is completed with a bill for $45 handed over by a skeletal, pasty-faced waiter who hasn't cracked a smile since he last peeked beneath a sesame seed bun.

It can be a hard sell for many.

I've mentioned the carnivorous Kev before: a guy whose idea of a vegetable is meat that has turned green and who can't look at a cow without imagining it between two slices of bread or a fork in it. He is one of the great cadre of meat eaters joining Henry VIII, Attila the Hun and Fred Flintstone in the Meat Eater Hall of Fame. Vegetables have their place...usually in the home of someone else.

Recently PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) announced an Eat Vegetarian for a Week campaign. Kev got excited. I got suspicious. Kev has little patience for "bleeding heart greenies whinging about animal issues they don't deal with", so why get stirred up? PETA aside, he saw this as a challenge. Could he survive a week without meat--of any color? Eventually assured of his commitment to the concept, we started planning. First step: eat all the meat currently in the fridge.

O.K. now we're ready to start. This requires careful menu planning for meals without meat or fish --he considers eating fish to be 'cheating' by those claiming to be vegetarians. Pasta, eggplant, bulgur wheat fill out his meatless imagination and cooking ability. It will be up to me to manage the rest. It is imperative that there be leftovers so he has something to take for lunch. Twenty-one meals and counting.

Truth is, Kev fared pretty well. One day I roasted a whole bunch of root vegetables plus a squash and called it supper. He completely filled up the empty space in his gut and fled the table to distract himself from the missing main entree. Weekends-where breakfast is bacon & eggs- were particularly difficult. Surprisingly, for a guy who goes through a loaf of bread about every three days, he ate very little bread. No particular reason, maybe just totally tapping into his inner ascetic. He insists that he never cheated. Not even once.


meatlover's breakfast

So, what is the upshot of the grand experiment? No grand revelations. "What's the point?" he asked. No real protein means no real energy. "Now I know why (a co-worker) walks in slow-mo all the time." he said with a dismissive wave of a hand. The other hand was busy frying up three different kinds of meat for his first post experiment meal. Not a vegetable in sight.

The Aussie Dagwood

You might ask, does Kev eat any vegetables? Yes, but only couched in the right circumstance. Like in an Aussie-style hamburger which must include slices of beets and a fried egg. [Actually, a fried egg on anything makes it "Aussie-style".] He'll also slip in a slice of tomato and onion. Looks more like a Dagwood to me. Looks like one happy eater. Bon Apetit!

Thursday, November 3, 2011

CHOGM 2011

Perth was invaded last week.

Politicians constituted one major front, met by an army of law enforcement, witnessed by thousands of celebrating citizenry and all covered in digital detail by a battalion of media. The official code name of this action? The Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting or CHOGM (pronounced as a word, not a series of letters.) It is a biennial meeting of the British Commonwealth nations led by Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II. The voluntary congress talks about issues of mutual interest (trade, immigration, polio eradication, climate change) and individual gain (nuclear power/weapons, resource attainment, operating funds to keep the country going.) Two related forums immediately precede these foreign Heads of State meetings: the Business Conference [where the host country is likely to gain some benefit from all the hoopla] and the Young People's Conference [where 21 year-olds tell themselves that they should be running countries and companies.]

Police guard VIP hotels

So what does this mean to the citizens of Perth hosting this event this year? The added security (police brought in from all states and New Zealand) especially around the ministerial hotels guarding delegations and hovering like raptors seemed a bit much. Barricades, street closures, burly men with earwigs "magging and bagging" (magnetometer and bag check) everyone and rooftop snipers being vigilant every time the Queen surfaced gave this otherwise laidback city the look and feel of being occupied by a military force.

staff security

Even the people working the event got used to forever walking (or wheeling themselves) through ID doorways despite wearing identity tags and anti-designer shirts few felons would don to get access to third tier delegates and heavily guarded national leaders. Five hundred Perthians were needed to volunteer their time to move general citizenry and dignitaries on to where they needed to be with the least amount of disruption. Hard to believe but a thousand people applied to be goodwill ambassadors of the city for this event.

CHOGM Festival corner

Not to be totally left out of the excitement the federal government was creating, the state of Western Australia sponsored a CHOGM Festival for its citizens and visitors. Concerts, community art , Speaker's Corner, public movies, Exhibitions, performances, lectures and even international athletic competitions in netball and field hockey. Something for everyone. And most of it free.

press conference prep

So where do I fit in in all this? I was one of the volunteer force with a collective resume to match any in the corporate world. Doing two days work in the busport, I was moved up into the convention center on Saturday morning. A big press conference on the eradication of polio was being held. I had the distinct pleasure of escorting some of the participating Heads of State to the media room. First, the Prime Minister of Pakistan, Gilani (not as warm and friendly as his delegate whom I found delightful) and then (drumroll, please) the Prime Minister of Australia, Julia Gillard! The PM and I shared pleasantries about the weather and the exercise we were getting trotting from one event to another ["And still not enough." "I know what you mean."] PMs Gillard and Cameron (UK) were notable amongst the lucky few volunteers to get close to any VIPs for being warm to the insignificant people leading them around. Of course they wouldn't remember us 15 seconds after we delivered them where they needed to be but their acknowledgment of our existence was as good as recognition for a job well done.

There were plenty of detractors to this whole event (we won't mention the objectors to individual rulers) usually about the amount of money spent for so little outcome. Politicians would have us believe that all this would put Perth on the real world map. I have to agree, in part, with the negative assessment. Just about everyone paid to plan and organize CHOGM was imported from the east coast, including the lowest tier people like graphic artists, volunteer liaisons and venue managers. And those folks had to be fed and housed. Yes, the CHOGM Taskforce needed 500 WA people to volunteer to help save money for their six months hotel bill. Many people started to rename CHOGM as Chaps Holidaying On Government Money. Heaven knows the state paid enough money for the Festival and additional police hours not covered by CHOGM security budget. But all that said, I hope people availed themselves of some of the culture offerings laid out for them. The party was paid for, they may as well attend.

SOME FACTOIDS

The Commonwealth:

The world’s largest and smallest, richest and poorest countries make up the Commonwealth, which is home to two billion citizens of all faiths and ethnicities – over half of whom are 25 or under. Member countries span six continents and oceans from Africa (19) to Asia (8), the Americas (2), the Caribbean (12), Europe (3) and the South Pacific (10). Some island countries have 10,000 (or less!) inhabitants.

The Commonwealth has grown from just eight members in 1949, to 54 members in 2010

The Commonwealth countries are:

St Vincent and the Grenadines

Cyprus

Nauru

United Republic of Tanzania

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

The CWA Cookbook

This year at the 2011 Perth Royal Show, the CWA did not have its customary tea room-that safe haven away from the frenzied crowds where an inexpensive cup of tea and a few cookies could restore sanity. This year, it settled for a 9square foot booth extolling its virtues and selling a few classic items.

The Country Women’s Association, guardian angels of women and children all over this sunburnt land, publishes a cookbook. Actually, each state’s organization publishes their own. Western Australians have been clutching a dark blue book with white lettering now for 75 years. This was a lifeline for rural and remote families who needed resources and reassurance which could not be found close at hand.

And while there still are families in remote areas – indeed, much of Western Australia is “remote”- modern technology has closed the distance. Still, the familiar blue book remains in memory and in practice an integral part of Australian living. People can quote you the page number of their family favorite [“page 109, Chocolate Sauce Pudding”] , they’ll want to make sure the Yorkshire Pudding recipe [page 56] is right or the real name of Lemon Fizz [Lemon Swiss, page 140]. Microwave instructions have brought it up to date.

It’s not all recipes. Starting on page 379 are special hints on banishing cockroaches (boric acid), washing sparkly glassware (lemon juice in rinse water), cleaning wine stains (tomato juice) or curing warts (lime powder). For the still self-sufficient remote resident, there are instructions on how to make soap and weave doormats from “motor tubes”. Want the instructions for Dry Tanning sheepskins? Look it up on page 385.

You’ll be pleased to hear that it has an international section. I find it rather …interesting…that recipes such as Chop Suey, American Hamburger and a two ingredient (?!) Waldorf Salad are included in the American section. A rather interesting window on how Australians view our cuisine.

You might ask how well I did at the Perth Royal Show. Alas, no ribbons this year. The judges did agree that my citrus marmalade was tops in the taste department but the chunks of rind were too large for their sensibilities. Oh well. Simply beyond my ability is the single highest point winner. It is a decorated cake, a Christmas "log" with extraordinary detail in the little birds near the top of the stump, marbled tea tables outside, the Christmas tree and baker's detail and the texture of the bark. Totally drool worthy.

Monday, September 12, 2011

9/11, Ten Years On

I almost missed the terrorist attacks on the U.S. on September 11, 2001. I was on a soul/sole vacation driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway between Shenandoah and Smokey Mountain National Parks. I refused to turn on the radio during this trip, preferring calm music or specially selected books on tape, as I needed to decompress after a trying contract aboard ship. Purely coincidence, I was taking my second, and last, peak at email in a public library when one of the librarians squawked in a hushed shrill to a colleague about a plane hitting the World Trade Center. What fantastical nonsense, I thought. But her tone made me at least try to log on to one of the news services. The systems were overloaded with people looking for information, so I got none but figured there might be something to her story. Yet, still I did not turn on my car radio.

Oh, I'd catch snippets here and there, eventually. Especially with the two tourists from Germany (a magnet for malcontents looking to do harm) whom I kept bumping into on the road. We would watch the video and reports on TV in hotel lobbies (cabins don't have those luxuries) but it soon became apparent that no additional information was available and a hypnotic drone of doom was repeating itself. It was imperative that I turn away from unnecessary disturbance. When I returned to "real life" I discovered that everyone had been constantly soaking in this toxic marinade. Not just affected by the terrible news- as it indeed was- but paralyzed by the constant consumption if its images.

Just a couple of weeks after these events, my mother, her sister and I went on a cruise that would take us to Russia, Japan, South Korea and China. The world knew about the tragedy and despite language barriers let us know they shared our pain.

Ten Years Later

An anniversary of sorts, this is, world wide. Everyone is doing a 'where we were, what we thought' kind of reflection of the events. The newspaper here in Perth ran a whole series of stories by reporters there on the day, Muslims who can't believe this was done in the name of Islam, transplanted New Yorkers asked to relive the nightmare and even a story about five kids born on 9-11-2001 who have known no other world. This last story makes me smile. Or rather, the photo of the five kids makes me smile. Other than their shared birthdate, there is no reason for these randomly picked kids to be anything at all alike. And they aren't. Five different personalities pop right off the page. Who is listening to their mothers talking about an odd mix of joy and apprehension the day their babies were born?

Truthfully, I am glad to hear survivors and those directly affected by the terrorist attacks start to talk about moving on to the final stage of grieving: acceptance & recovery. It would sound heartless coming from anyone else. But I don't see a purpose in keeping them or ourselves as permanent victims. Think of Martin Luther King Jr's widow, Coretta Scott King, a woman who never had 'permission' to be anything but a professional widow. A rather sad and stilted way to spend the next 40 years of one's life.

Who could forget that day? I can't. But perhaps it is time to completely rise up from the ashes and do less weeping for and a little more celebrating of the lives that were and those that still are.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Taking the Census

One fine evening in 1970, our family broke away from our usual after-supper routine. We usually built up our collective brain power solving Two Minute Mysteries along with Dr. Haledjian, authored by Donald Sobol [a highly recommended family activity, by the way.] This night was different. We were going to do The Census. We kids had been hearing about it at school and in the media. Oh boy, we were going to take part in the once-a- decade body count of the nation! Actually, it was all rather anticlimactic. Just a few questions, nothing shockingly intrusive or brain exercising. Dad wrote in the answers to the whimpy inquiries and we moved on.

2011 OZ Census sample

Fast forward to 2011. The same media blitz exhorting residents to fill in the once-every-five-years census has been waged. But the Australian census is different. It is less a population count than a snapshot of a nation on a particular day.

An army of census workers hand delivered the 60-question booklet to every household (and then some) in the land. Everyone is to fill it out, on paper or online, on the evening of August 9, 2011 and the census workers will collect them starting August 10. The questions only concern those at that address at that time. Have company over? They get a mention on the census. Someone out of town or country (just the way Kev is in Indonesia) on the 9th? Well, they get a mention in Questions 52 & 53 for the official body count portion of it.

The sometimes incredibly nosy questions serve a further purpose to track trends for both public and private development. If half the nation were out of the country during the census, that might indicate that more money needs to be put into airports (please!) or other travel related issues. Child care or school construction issues could be raised based on census data. Who's taking care of the oldies? How many cars are on the road? And so on.

With so much more at stake, I find myself once again getting excited about the census.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Hill's Hoist

There is an umbrella farm next door to me. Planted much like a tree farm and missing canvas tops, it is a curious site indeed. Well, to a non-native.

Hill's Hoists, the very picture of Australian kitsche since the mid-40s and are found in half of every backyard across the land. It looks like an umbrella skeleton with strong line woven between the tines. Easy to use: crank the arms down so you can reach the lines. Start pinning (pegging) up your clothes  from the inside out-no need to let the neighbors see your holey underwear. Then crank it back up. The arms twirl like whirlygigs when there is a breeze  which helps hasten drying of the clothes. It is also a great way to have fun when you are little by getting a running start, grab an arm and twirl around on your own momentum.
      Of course, all this motion is no fun when a person is trying to put up or take down clothing, so there is a Breeze Brake to keep the contraption steady during this function.

      This is a treasured icon of Australian life and lore. It fits the OZ sense of kitsche (kangaroos and koalas are cliche) and no movie about the 60s leaves one out. In fact, one motion picture production company has as it's logo a kid hanging from a Hill's Hoist.   Oh, the childhood memories.
       We don't have such a clothesline in our minuscule backyard. Ours is functional, flat and collapsible to the wall of the building. No swinging on that line.   Shucks.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

My Day in Court

It all started very early on a Saturday morning last October. Holding a new Australian drivers license, I couldn't convince Kev to get out of bed at 6:30 a.m. and drive me to the Canning Vale Markets (see Canning Vale Market ) where I could buy the tomatoes that would eventually win me the blue ribbon at the Perth Royal Show ( see 2010 Perth Royal Show ). But I digress. With much map searching and white knuckles, I negotiated complex intersections on the wrong side of the road/wrong side of the car without distraction (radio, air, etc.,) or speed and completed the journey. Thought no more of it until a traffic infringement came in the mail.

The lackluster photos indicated that I ran a red light. Gee, I was sure it was yellow. Kev snickered and reminded me that in OZ it is the back bumper that counts in this country, not the front. Well, I would have paid the fine and called it a lesson learned...until we read the wording of the infringement. It made no sense, whatsoever. And I asked around to people who would know better. The photos weren't impressive. And, well, doggone it, certainly there has to be some leniency for a new driver in this country. I will challenge this.

Friday, nine months later, I finally get my day in court. The prosecutor takes me aside to discuss the case. Shockingly, inaccurate infringement and prosecution notices are common and are routinely changed in court with the magistrates approval. Yoikes, I'd get fired in a heartbeat for being that slack. I decide to see one of the Duty Lawyers [for $20 you can get legal advice, even represented if pleading guilty, by real lawyers for what are called "petty sessions court". Many people do spend the money to minimize their damage. It's a bargain, actually.] While I was waiting, the prosecutor and assisting officer found me. Did I know there was video? VIDEO??!! News to me, but eager to see it. And indeed, if you advance the video frame by frame, you can see that I was about four feet behind the line when it turned red. Two of my three defenses shot, I've no choice but to plead guilty. The prosecutor said he would speak on my behalf as far as the heretofore unknown video was concerned.

The court reconvenes:

There is a change in this case?

Yes, Magistrate.

You are Canadian?

I was born on the US/Canadian border on the US side.

Oh, I was looking at your middle name. (Celine)

Yes.

Are you in residency now?

Yes, sir.

How are you finding life here?

(Pause) It's growing on me.

Yeah, I'm from the eastern states and it did take a few years to adjust to life on this side.

It is a different world. heh, heh, heh

[The voice of British TV's Horace Rumpole of the Bailey spoke to my brain, "The old darling is in a friendly mood today."]

At this point, the recording equipment acted up and we stopped. The prosecutor took this moment to walk over and clue me in that I don't have to call him Magistrate. "Just say Your Honor." Uh, OK.

When the equipment was running properly, we continued with the case: my very truthful new driver angst, the unhappy admission of guilt and the prosecutor "defended" my lack of knowledge of the traffic video. Bless him, the magistrate couldn't cancel the fine -- I did plead guilty after all -- but waived penalties and court costs. Thank you, sir.

This magistrate would not have recognized me and the police prosecutor and court officer did not. I don't see those two often. I did not mention to them that I was a court monitor. (see Court Monitor) It really wasn't germane to the proceedings. That said, what with all that sympathy I received, I kind of hope my employer never sends me to Magistrate's Court again. I might get a few very odd and unwelcome looks.

Epilogue:

The guy at the service window was very surprised to see only the fine on my notice. Apparently very few people escape without court costs and penalties.

The Duty Lawyer office refunded my $20!

Now having the complete court experience, I have no need or desire to repeat this experience again. Still not overly comfortable on the wrong side of road/car, I drive as little as possible. Hey, public transportation is a good thing.

Chooks R' Us

NOI chooks

One fine day during a walk in my neighborhood, shortly after I arrived in Australia, I saw a chicken crossing the road. And I asked "why?".

Ha ha. Not why did it cross the road, but what was it doing there in the first place? It was doing the same thing I was, taking a little walk in the 'hood before going home.

My chooks seen in America?

My Neighborhood Old Italian, Carlo (whom you've met before) has a couple "chooks". Chickens - up to 12 of them - are allowed to be kept by city dwellers. No roosters, thankfully. Several of my neighbors who live in real homes instead of flats have chicken runs and coops in their yards. Another NOI, Dominic and his elegant wife Conchetta, have 10 which enjoy a large chicken run, daily run of the yard for bugs and old lettuce/other green scraps negotiated for free from the neighborhood grocery store. It's these greens that Connie insists are the secret to her healthy chickens and nutritious eggs. No hormones, no antibiotics. But their chooks lay too many eggs for their use. Guess where I buy my free range eggs? Not super dirt-cheap but significantly less than the grocery store charges. Plus, I positively KNOW that my eggs come from happy chickens.

Peering through a neighbor's fence

While I'm bragging about my excellent find, let me boast about how this deal benefits the entire planet. I bring my empty cartons back to be reused (saving landfill space). The food miles equals about one block (calculate that carbon cost, if you can.) The eggshells are deposited into my (OK, super-mini) compost pile and The Boss, Connie, has extra change in her pocket. Virtue never tasted so good.

FYI: Truly fresh eggs do not hard boil in six minutes. It takes 20-30 minutes at a rolling boil to firm them up for easy eating. Plus, they are really good for baking.

The Water Issue

    One quick glance at an atlas will remind anyone that there is no shortage of water here in Australia. Unless, of course, you want to drink it. And then it becomes a whole other issue.

   Fresh water comes at a premium in this country. Rivers, largely found near the perimeter of the country, are the domain of the farming industry. People who like to play in water hop over to their nearby patch of ocean. People who like to drink water hang out at the water catchment areas. These rain filled reservoirs are strictly off-limits to human (and their pets) recreation but that doesn't stop the masses from trekking to their shores. Picnic tables and grills are set up by the local shire so people can eat their lunches while looking at the water in the catchment. Coming from an area of the planet where moisture arrives plentifully year round and its usually full reservoirs are far more people-friendly, I thought this behavior was rather amusing when I first arrived. But it is serious business for Australians who know and consider this is their only potable water source.

    Until recently.

South Dandenup catchment

    Despite the massive floods you may have heard about in Queensland, most of the remaining states are nervous about the lack of it. Rivers are being overtapped for irrigation water (the Murray-Darling an infamous example), water lotteries for farmers are random and often considered unfair and , here in Western Australia, the catchments are drying up for the increased demand for water and the lack of rain. The South Dandenup catchment we visited recently (pictured here) is at 27% capacity. WA is collectively praying for a wickedly wet winter to make up for last year's abysmally dry one.

    But it is more than just our next glass of water from the tap is of concern. Immigration policy officials, for example, are monitoring the situation closely.   It is predicted that the population of Australia will balloon from its current 21 million to 36 million by the year 2050. Current water resource simply cannot support that people increase. Something has to happen. Clamp down on population control or rethink the drink.

    And so the ideas are being bandied about. Exhortations to conserve water are ever more strident.   Ocean water desalinization, once thought too expensive a process to be viable, is now being reconsidered.   And recently it was announced that the absolutely unthinkable was being developed for beta testing: household and light business waste water will be diverted from its path to the ocean and on to treatment plants for cleaning and recycling into the fresh water supply.   An abhorrent idea just several years ago, Aussies are now willing to give the idea a listen. It's a mark of the desperation felt.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

A Country Girl

    Sometimes it can be difficult to discern a real story from a larrikin jest when talking to Australians. One of the first Aussies I worked with was a woman from rural Queensland on an ocean going ship. Because of the close quarters on a ship, we would often entertain & introduce  ourselves by telling stories. This Queenslander would tell us about her pet kangaroo which she kept on a leash and sometimes she would take him to school.   We thought she was pulling our collective leg. Did she think of us as such rubes as to believe a hokey story like that? Even if it did sound quintessentially Australian? Well, she was very serious and we believed her. But it still sounds a bit too cliche.

    Fast forward to a recent speech I heard in a speechcraft class. One of the participants, Sarah, was talking about her life growing up in the country. She belonged to a farming family and it was all she was and wanted to be. Barefoot and braids, hijinks and early morning milkings. Her country school had between 15 and 30 kids in it, depending on the season. Life was a hayseed dream. And then her mother wanted her to learn to be a lady and sent her to finish high school at a boarding school closer to the City.   She didn't become much of a lady or prissy there as it was chock-a-block with other country girls. They just shared bad habits. To make this experience worse, it was the first time she had been required to wear shoes inside the school and outside for play, too.   It was all too unbearable. Sarah just wanted back on the farm.

    Alas, modern farming requires more than a plow and a handful of seeds. It requires business skills and our Sarah headed back to the Big City. "But just for the university agri-business degree and then I was heading back!" she exclaimed. "I'm a country girl."    Something happened on the way to to that degree. Sarah found that she actually liked city lights...and even wearing shoes. And today, in a full 180 degree turn, she works as an accountant in the City. In skirts instead of overalls. With ladylike pumps covering her bare feet.   I forgot to ask if she had a pet kangaroo, also.

* * *

I was chatting with a man at a bus stop near my home. He was friendly and unfamiliar with the bus system. "I'm in from the country. The Big City is overwhelming to me." I have to admit I glanced at his footwear and for evidence of a leash. We chatted during the short trip into the business district and he described the small town he lives in. "We have only three businesses. In fact, one day a friend and I counted all the buildings in our town. Including those three businesses, there are 47 buildings total!"

Small town, indeed. Welcome to the Big City.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

A Business Trip Adventure

     It seems a bit of an oxymoron, using "business trip" and "adventure" in the same sentence. A business trip sounds sooooo cool, even glamorous...until you have been on a few. This is how they usually function: taxi, airport, taxi, worksite, taxi, hotel, taxi, worksite, taxi, airport, taxi. Notice an absence of words like: museums, shopping, sightseeing, margaritas-by-the-pool. And it does not seem to matter where the trip is to - Dubuque, Iowa or St Bart's island - it usually amounts to much the same pattern.  Biz-Trippers just create fantastic stories about the locale using information found in the in-flight magazine.
   This business trip to Broome was different. The federal commission assignment ended at midday, so we had the whole afternoon free before making the dash to the airport. "We" being myself and the commissioner's associate, Jess, who is also flying on an unchangeable steerage class ticket. The commissioner, before boarding his business class flight, hands us the keys to his rental car with the admonition, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
     As if.

Wheeeeeeee, one can cover an awful lot of Broome in five hours as it is a rather small place. [see "Broome- a quick sweep" May 8, 2011] Armed with tips and suggestions from native Broomers, Jess and I make the most of the afternoon: shopping for pearls, photographing natural sights, send a few postcards, picking up the local brew (Mango Beer by Matsoh's) for Kev, eating at a recommended restaurant, Divers Tavern, that is transitioning from country pub (fish & chips, chicken parmigiana) to gastro pub (ratatouille filled mushroom caps) and whiling away a couple hours at Cable Beach beach-combing for shells. We were living large, I tell you.
Oh, but all good things must come to an end. Time to go to the airport. And wait. The flight is delayed. And delayed some more. And a bit longer. Each delay comes with a flimsy excuse. Finally, we are getting bribed with a food voucher. Hmmm, OK, I'll take that ciabatta bun with cream cheese, salmon and cucumber slices. And then the flight is cancelled. New flight 1:00a.m. Ummmmm, I've got a book..... Another announcement, new flight delayed until 2:45a.m. ENOUGH! Jess has the Commissioner's OK to get a hotel room and fly out at a civil hour the next day. And if Jess wasn't tired of my stories yet, she offered to get a two-bed room.

green tree frog

Well, I am nothing if not resourceful (especially at high season when zero hotel rooms are available) and a few chats with the right people saw the pair of us (along with a minute number of other resourceful souls) being treated by Qantas to a night at the incredibly swanky Cable Beach Club Resort [ http://www.cablebeachclub.com ] where green tree frogs played sentinel by our doors ( and posed for photos ) and the veranda backed into the Ocean Pool. Harry Potter type owls swooped past my head and the Japanese Garden lily ponds were enchanting. Why Qantas could not have cancelled the flight several hours earlier is a mystery to me. Breakfast overlooking the Indian Ocean and then...
We start the business trip again: Taxi. Airport. Taxi.
But what an adventure!

ePostcards from OZ