Road Trip! Spring wildflowers and Giant Art

      I have written about the Spring Wildflower season before.  It's the glorious time when near exotic flowers make their peek-a-boo on an otherwise desert barren landscape.  Spring lasts rather a long time--it arrives in the north of this long state of Western Australia in August (still considered 'winter' in OZ)  and moseys southward until  November when summer and its blowflies  have long arrived.  We hadn't planned a road trip but when the kitchen ceiling in our new home starting falling towards the floor, we needed a change of scenery while the tradesmen fixed the place up.  

     The grand wizard (and sometimes tricky to find) is the Wreath flower.  Looks just like a Christmas wreath--and about the same size as well.  It is a single tap root flower.  Imagine a carrot growing beneath this huge wreath of flowers.  Bugs Bunny would be amazed.  

           Wreath Flower      👆                                                                  

     This grows in along the side  of hard earth roads.   When the road is being regraded, the seeds split open and start to blossom.  Locals keep an eye out, not just for their enjoyment but they know tourists will ask for them specifically. Often locals will put rock-filled milk jugs to let folks know where they are.  👉 close up of wreath flower

     At speed , one misses too many flowers.  You may see a blur of yellow or purple but you will be missing out.    Stop the car.     Get out of the car.      Walk a few steps  into the bush.      And be amazed.

                                     
☝Bottle brush flowers come in lots of colors.

👈  Kangaroo Paw.   This one is a beaute.  Big, bright and colorful. And blooms are starting.  The native flowers don't look like the roses one is used to. And some are heavily regulated.  Uprooting a wreath flower to transplant it on your own property is verboten.  Permits are needed to plant, grow, sell and ship native wildflowers.

      Taking a break from the West's flora to eat a picnic lunch, we are visited by the local fauna.  Pesky magpies are only too happy to help you eat your lunch.  One tried to take my sandwich as I was putting into my mouth!   Kookaburras-with their wonderful laugh- must be raptors in disguise.  In fact, they are kingfishers but can extract a piece of meat from between  your fingers with surgical precision.
                                             Don't feed the magpies!👉

       OK, back on the road.   One of the quirks of Australians is their love of Giant Art.  Sort of like Texas on steroids.   Any town looking to make a name for itself has a giant something for tourists-local and foreign- to adore.  Giant sheep, crayfish, guitars--you name it and it is sure to be somewhere in the country.  Two of the newest pieces of public art are the Large Tractor and the Black Cockatoos.  👉That's me hiding behind the tire. Even Aussies were taking such photos.

👈 Black Cockatoos  under construction .

      Black cockatoos.  They're very noisy, drop macadamia nut shells on your head,  and fly in Alfred Hitchcock-like flocks.  They are also considered endangered due to loss of habitat. The suburb I live in is actively planting fast-fruiting macadamia nut trees to make sure our black cockatoos don't go hungry or away.

         Well, one cannot eat under the black cockies yet but you can eat in the ute  (utility truck- like an El Camino- and with great cultural identity here) that is next to it.  Out in the country, public art in any shape or form is important.  Not just for tourist photos but happy identity in a land just a bit dry/barren  most of the year round.  It shows each community's character.

     👉This stone must be wickedly hot in the summer. 

      There is so much more to see on a road trip in WA.  I'll take time out here to fill up the gas tank >> at $2.70 liter/ $10.80 a gallon. 😑    See you at the next stop.

Black Friday in OZ

      It's Black Friday in Western Australia.  This would normally mean that a great disaster (often a horrific fire) has happened.  This year it means something entirely different.

     Black Friday is the first official Christmas shopping day of season in the U.S.  We've eaten Thanksgiving turkey, watched the holiday parade and/or football game on TV and packed up the leftovers for the following week on Thursday.  But many people get the Friday after Thanksgiving Thursday off work and school as an unofficial part of the holiday. Soooooo, let's go Christmas shopping!  Wooo hooo! Retailers hang their fortunes and futures on this opening weekend of Christmas shopping.  Sales start earlier and earlier on Friday morning in order to get the jump on the competition.  Consumers follow their cue and get in the queue for bargains or the latest kid craze toy.  All expected and part of the social dance in North America.

     I've watched for 10 years to see when the Christmas shopping 'season' starts in a country that does not celebrate any kind of thanksgiving at any time, let alone one near the end of November.  There is no clear cut day or week for the Christmas 'season' to start here as there is back home.

     This year it has all changed. Australian retailers (and more than a few consumers) have been watching retail madness on the other side of the Pacific Ocean for years. The notion of Black Friday in world with increasingly fluid commercial borders has made it less an odd novelty and  more a reasonable concept.  To retailers, of course.  And not just large international businesses.  This year is the first I've seen major domestic-only businesses tout their Black Friday sales. Lots of them, all at once as if there was some secret collusion amongst them. Or maybe they all just independently decided to jump at once at this potential  commercial bonanza.                                                               

      Will it work?  Will this American notion (or nonsense) get a toe-hold in Australia the same way Halloween seems to have inveigled its way in--which is, through retailers primarily fueled by American movies and TV shows?  Hard to say.  Everyone loves a bargain and a firm holiday starting line, for that matter. But no one is getting off work today either to recover from gorging themselves on that fantastic Thanksgiving supper, visiting relatives you hope to see only once a year or to go spend money at the mall or online.

     As for me, I kind of appreciate the reminder of home...as I hide my wallet from any retail temptation.

 

Dining Out in Victoria Park

     Cities are no more static than the individuals who live in them. The demographics change, the main drag changes as do our tastes in food.  Victoria Park, just south of the river that rings Perth, has a rapidly changing face along its main road, Albany Highway.  So many more restaurants are there that one is spoiled for choice.  Don't prefer the current choice? Wait a bit, some of the restaurants have changed owners/styles of food three times in one year!  
     The following current review was written by my own Kev. Not big on blogs or writing in general, he was moved by his own curiosity and research into the various eateries to report on the current state of Dining Out in Victoria Park. (I have made minor changes like proper punctuation, capital letters--that sort of thing.)

Well, looks like Vic Park is trying to go cosmopolitan (for Perth that is). There has always been  a unhealthy choice of restaurants here but now the choice is getting more exotic.


When I got here there were the usual cheap Chinese and Italian  & a few pizza places, the local kebab shop, a couple of Indian, as well as a few other Asian  ones like Thai, Malay, Viet and one long standing overpriced Mexican (plus the pubs).


But now there is an explosion of choice, Nepalese, Japanese, vegan, a few other Asian but most of all Korean. We seem to be little Seoul here. there has always been a bulgogi place (that is only open half the time), but now there are about five , complete with hot plates at the table so you can cook it yourself (seems to defeat the purpose?) and exhaust fans for the smoke (doesn't work but it makes it really high end??). There are about ten Korean shops of one sort or another so Kimchi  and gochujang are readily available. Also all the bottle shops have Soju on sale, and the odd Korean Beer. I did try Soju with my friend Wally years ago, Wal wrote it off but I was prepared to give it another go. So in Korea I tried a few and different flavors ( pomegranate- cough mixture, blueberry - Boones Farm (cheap US rotgut), peach - not so bad) at best it was  cheap and not so nasty. The only good thing is it comes in small bottles, The Wal was right , I notice in Korea they would drop a shot of Soju into their beer, would help improve both.


The Chinese Restaurants have gone high end as well with the hot plates and exhaust fans and specific styles or regions to choose from  (A lot of Asian type restaurants have a short life span, particularly the Chinese, only the Chinese can see the snob value). But also there is now other types sticking their plates in. A Eritrean (same as Ethiopian) restaurant set up shop a few years ago and is still there, probably as there is nothing else like it, I get a take away occasionally.


Also unexpected (and a bit silly) is a "traditional American Tapas Bar". Yep, you can get a selection of sliders and mini hot dogs with your favorite bourbon, just like in the USA???. I went in and asked over a beer (Estrella, a Spanish beer!) and they confirmed it. 


Across the road from the Eritrean is a cuisine I never though I would see anywhere, particularly here, Silk Road Uyghur (WEE-GAR) restaurant (the far west of China, Muslim, splitists), more central Asian than Chinese. I had to go opening night (before it closes) and had the saltiest dish possible.


There is also a place just off the main drag for pop-up restaurants, a Peruvian place had a few goes there. There is also a Venezuelan in Perth doing well, although it is more street food than mains (and rum). Other Asian attempts and a regular at the pop up has Japanese burgers and rice???. One restaurant that started there has now moved onto the main drag (into a place vacated by a flash Chinese place) is a Caribbean restaurant, had to try it, particularly for their proper (AKA not Australian) Rum selection and buckets of Cuba Libra for $17, the chicken jerk was a bit bland but they have a gluttony challenge off which I had a front row seat, to watch some man try to eat a burger the size of a leg of lamb, plus chips etc,.  He failed. He was filming himself and was referred to as a pro at this. No one has done it yet (around 50 attempts so far, it's free if you finish.)   


Will have to go back for the goat curry.

     He'll be going to that goat curry without me.  I wrote up on the Silk Road Uyghur restaurant after that visit. (Click on the link to read.)  
     And now that you see that the selection is impressive, feel free to skip Subiaco's standard selection or Fremantle's Cappuccino Strip and come to the very friendly Victoria Park gastronome experience.

Our Christmas Feast...Water Buffalo

      My hubby does not always walk life's usual paths.  He likes being quirky.  It's the Australian in him.  But his tradition of unusual Christmas suppers has more than a few Antipodeans scratching their heads.
      The very idea of a holiday ham or turkey on December 25th leaves him cold.  He greatly warms up to non-conventional meals and starts menu planning a few months ahead.  As this relieves me of planning and cooking (and keeps him busy enough to not bother me in planning everything else) I encourage it.  Each year I anticipate a meal I could not possible have anticipated: squab, crocodile, guinea fowl, ostrich sausage, and the like.  Notice these "meals" are all meat. In Kev's book, a vegetable is merely meat that has turned green. I make sure that a few plant based vegetables are in the house just to round out the selection on the plate.
      So what did we have as a Christmas luncheon this year?  Bubalus bubalis  or water buffalo.  Really.    Some of the water buffalo had been marinated in a garlic/tarragon/vinegar mix and some just as it came off the hoof.  Served with asparagus and potatoes.  Rather disappointing it was.  Tasted just like tough beef.  But more expensive.  Officially now checked off my life list.
       Where does one find such a delicacy?  It is only available at very specialized butcher shops where crazed carnivores hang out. O.K., but where does the butcher get his meat?  Hard to believe, but right here in Australia.  Really.
        According to the Australian Government Department of Environment and Energy website (where I go for all my party menu planning):

             Water buffalo were imported to Australia in the 19th century to supply meat to remote  northern settlements. The settlements and their buffalo were abandoned in 1949 and, despite harvesting for meat, hides and as hunters' trophies, feral buffalo spread across the northern floodplains. The Brucellosis and Tuberculosis Eradication Campaign reduced feral buffalo numbers significantly in the 1980s and 1990s but numbers are again very high right across northern Australia causing significant damage to wetlands.

Water Buffalo in the bush.

          Oh, so right here in Western Australia and Northern Territories.  I could have big game hunted my supper!  More surprises--there are city slickers here who actually know that one does not have to travel beyond our shores to find these...Bubalus beauties.  I learn something new everyday.  And anticipate next year's unanticipated holiday meal.



    And now that we've eaten, let us take a quick drive around to look at Christmas lights. And again, an Aussie touch ever present here as well.  This festive lighting  was found at the airport of all places.  Happy Holidays, one and all.

Perth Airport boab tree

Perth Airport reclining 'Roo

 

     

Austral-American Food

    When I was in college a new restaurant opened up. It was called Olga's Kitchen and I loved its food and the picture of the Mediterranean-looking lady who spearheaded the place.  Who knew that Greek food could be so yummy?!  I mentioned this to a classmate who snarled back that it wasn't real Greek food and it would never fly anywhere in Greece.  Olga did well because she adapted Greek cuisine to the American palate.  
     Just like every other national cuisine adapts to the palate of its new home.
     And that goes for "American" food in Australia.  And we are not talking about McDonald's here but the staples that appeared on plates in just about every dining room in America--and in every American movie or TV show with a dining table in it.  You knew Mom loved you when she served up meatloaf and mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, turkey with gravy/stuffing/yams/cranberry sauce,  Jell-o with fruit in it, etc. You get the picture. So when I go to events here in Perth that have an American theme, my hopes rise high for a nostalgic meal.  I should know better.
     Yesterday's  tourism industry event had a western hoe-down theme.  Too hot for cowboy wear, we were OK'd for cooler clothing--I did wear my cowboy earrings, bolo tie and best John Wayne accent to get in the spirit of things.  There was a mechanical bull to ride (no, thanks) and a real horse too spooked by its surroundings to oblige the promised rides (drats). Then there was the food: Old El Paso salsa with domestic corn chips, mac and cheese (inedible in any country), cracker crust pizza with either pulled pork or tuna on it (Really? Can someone look up Chicago-style pizza recipes and attempt that, please?), some kind of meat pie (totally Australian), pulled beef on a bun (not tooooo bad) and some nasty mess I cannot name nor could swallow.  And all of it was served in miniature (an act of mercy.)   The desserts were from a Swedish bakery named Miss Maud's and were a welcome--if not overly American--sight.  The mini cherry pies had no solid fruit and too much crust but very edible, the brownies were more fluffy cake than dense treat (a common mistake) and the mini jam filled doughnuts were yummy and disappeared quickly.  I softened my critiques (when asked) by mentioning how foreign foods are adapted to the local palate as I put my unfinished whatever on a passing tray.  The above menu has pretty much appeared at other American themed events--with slightly better success. The menu is right, its execution....Australian.
      For a moment I thought I should change vocations and go into catering real American food.       But, would anyone eat it...?

Music : The Decade OZ Cannot Leave Behind

    The bold caption of the photo above the fold on the front of the weekend paper read  "Boys in black roar back with a bang."  The first paragraph sums up the entire experience perfectly. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it--that's been AC/DC's motto  since they first plugged in their guitars at Sydney's Chequers Nightclub 42 years ago." With the exception of  a few new songs, the concert was identical to the one played at the same venue five years ago.  Guitarist Angus Young, now 60, still dons his trademark school uniform and whips up an audience aged from 14 to 74.  Television stations have cameras outside waiting to hear from the premier (governor) of the state  and anyone else of note give a drooly critique of the magical evening.  A reunion of legends? A final farewell of old rockers looking to spend more time in their chateau vineyards?  

    Hardly. This is business as usual in a nation whose musical clock seemed to have stopped in the 70s.    

    Acca Dacca, as they are affectionately nicknamed, has never stopped. The death of their charismatic front man, Bon Scott, three and half decades ago, nor the dementia nor legal troubles of other band members seems to faze anyone or soften affection. Bon Scott has a statue erected in Fremantle--practically a shrine for locals and visitors alike.  Joining them in the Australian musical pantheon of bands never allowed to retire or change their act are groups like KISS and Cold Chisel. Yes, KISS. Still in platform shoes and greasepaint while padding their retirement accounts with regular tours in the sunburnt land. These bands appear on up-and-coming concerts posters along with current  hot performers like Sam Smith.  I think it provides a measure of comfort to folks who really want to keep the vibe of a happy time in their collective souls.

    But what about those bands whose members fell off the perch entirely or insisted on retiring to their private Scandinavian islands?  Well, thank heaven for tribute bands.  Australia has the only ABBA-approved tribute band which goes by the name Bjorn Again.  Agnetha has never had to shed her white bodysuit and we all sing merrily along to Dancing Queen. Tribute bands have long filled in the entertainment gap when bands like Queen, Eurythmics and Fleetwood Mac couldn't or wouldn't come in personally to perform.  And it just doesn't stop there.  Any performer who remotely looks like Dusty Springfield, Kenny Rogers, Dusty Springfield, Roy Orbison, Dusty Springfield, Johnny Cash, Dusty Springfield, Patsy Cline, Dusty Springfield (oh wait, I've mentioned Dusty before) can hit the solo artist concert trail. Their shows are sandwiched between performances by four suited guys with cereal bowl haircuts on a 'Classical Mystery Tour' and three sequin-dressed ladies in bouffant hairdos singing about baby love. And all keeping us permanently in our happy place.

    Are Australians embarrassed by any of this? Far from it.  Aussies embrace their quirkiness. They own their national musical psyche with fierce pride and unrepentant vigor. In fact, the average Aussie has a problem with a fellow countryman who feels a need to get above himself. Think INXS.  Their music was just too slick, too over-produced, too "American". Why, that just isn't done. They would be ignored completely save for the fact the lead singer used to date a pint-sized, half-talent named Kylie Minogue  who mostly covered others' songs.  A bit of redemption there, mate.

   Oh. I should mention that Jim Morrison of The Doors is not dead.  He is playing at the Bickley Harvest Festival.

Birthday Parties and Garage Sales

    Some weekends are busier than others. We find ourselves rushing around from one place to another hoping to get in all in and still catch our breath. This weekend was one such experience with some rather interesting trends noticed.

     First, it was the Garage Sale Trail - a national movement to reduce waste by encouraging reuse of items. People and businesses all across the country are exhorted to have a garage sale on the same day. Having everyone on the hunt --or sale-- on the same day benefits everyone: more traffic out looking for sales and more sales for wandering shoppers to find.  
     We joined the fray. We hoped to find a few pieces of furniture to replace the broken garage sale finds of yesteryear.  Not much there but nestled among the usual collection of old toys, 40 year-old Tupperware being sold at new prices, dated clothing and chipped coffee mugs were a few treasures: a Sony Walkman tape player with a solar powered alarm clock, another portable tape player with the all important three equalizer quality controls (neither of these have I seen before) and the a most gorgeous peacock purse.  This never-used, antique piece of art decorated with peacock feathers was selling for $60 and probably worth four or five times that. I was afraid to touch it. The seller was afraid to touch it. She kept this beaute either behind a glass hutch door or inside acid-free tissue paper.  Which is what her grandmother did with the purse.  One would be a hit at the Perth Fashion Festival with this lovely purse but who wants to push the cabinet holding it everywhere?
      Highly disturbing and all too frequently found was make-up.   Used make-up.  Very used make-up.   Ewwwwwww.  Really, people, I know it's a Chanel compact but the powder is now three-quarters gone and who really wants to use the rest?  Crumbling eye shadows, congealed nail polish and mashed eyebrow pencils all had price tags. I almost fainted when I spotted an unused eye shadow refill still in the box.  We did not find this day what we have seen at garage sales in the past.  Used booze. O.K., opened booze bottles being sold by people who don't drink anymore.  And all priced accordingly--the 3/4 full bottle was priced at 3/4 of the purchased price, the half-full bottle asking for half the duty-free price it sold for and so on.  I don't know how I made it to the car before bursting out laughing.  The entertainment value of visiting garage sales sometimes supersedes the bargains found.

I'm 3 years old!

     And then, a child's birthday party.  My first since moving to OZ.  I had not given any thought to what differences there may be but why wouldn't there be in a different place?  This party was well-themed in Peppa Pig, an animated cartoon character watched by all little kids.  Joining the plastic tablecloth and napkins sporting the image were cups, goodie bags, carrying cases, masks, cake decorations, balloons and little raisin boxes. Standard, thus far.
     The food was different.  What would a party be without Fairy Bread? Triangles of nasty cheap white bread spread with butter and doused in sprinkles (called Hundreds & Thousands here in Australia.)  Paper cups filled with jelly (translate that to Jell-O)  and lamingtons (a small vanilla cake rectangle covered in chocolate and rolled in coconut)  all help get the party started. The cake has no ice cream served with it.
     There is a bit of a shift in the party itself here in OZ. Fewer people live in homes with big backyards, so parties are in public parks or expensive party venues that have paint tag games or other amusements ($500 for a kid's party, anyone?)  And in a public park many of the little reindeer games we all enjoyed--Pin The Tail on the Donkey, Musical Chairs, Pass the Parcel--are no longer done. But this park had Zipline (also called a Flying Fox) attraction and a big mud puddle, so all of the kids were happy.
     
    After all this excitement, I took a nap.   It WAS the weekend, after all.

Adelaide--In Two Days

    Adelaide, South Australia.  City of Churches.  Festival Central of Australia.   Gateway to several World Class Wine Regions.   Named after a queen and the butt of uncountable jokes by other Aussies.  And where I recently spent a long weekend visiting an old friend.
    I won't pretend that this entry defines everyone's visit or is the most comprehensive, Each traveller has their own experience. Their activities will define their trip in a unique way. Visiting during in March--the height of festival season that includes Adelaide Festival of Arts and Fringe Festival along with five others--will offer an entirely different experience from a trip made in winter's June. May being a fairly even tempered month plus the city center being very easily navigated on foot or free circuit bus meant that I was going to take in Adelaide's version of Tourism's Greatest Hits. Really, it's OK to be a tourist. Don't be afraid or embarrassed.

Adelaide Central Market

     DAY 1:  I start first at the Central Markets. TOTALLY love this semi open-air market filled with produce stands, butcher shops, bakeries, confectioners, coffee shops, smelly cheese shops, a mini tourist information booth and all sorts of other cool stuff under a weather protecting roof. Have a second breakfast, or a coffee. Load up on fruit. Get lost. Get found. Definitely get your lunch sorted for the day

Botanic Garden Palm House

     Heading over to the Botanic Gardens of South Australia, I am surprised  how central it is to the downtown area and just at edge of long string of universities and government buildings. What a haven! I'm not sure I could just wolf down lunch and leave this rolling greenspace to go back to an office. Green is really the only color here.  This is not a garden chock o'block with flowers from all over, just trees and green grass. A little history museum has an impressive array of botanicals on display and their gift shop specializes in seeds and seedlings in very hard to find varieties of fruits and vegetables.  Good place to eat one's lunch.

    Across the street is the Adelaide Zoo.  Not run by the government but as an

independent nonprofit organization, its biggest bragging point is a pair of pandas. And who doesn't like pandas?  The admission here [and to its outdoor safari-style zoo, Monarto] is a hefty $33 per adult. Lucky me to have friends who have friends with membership cards and are happy to loan me one.  I am surprised at how close people can get to the animals. Aren't they afraid of ne'er-do-wells causing trouble for the critters?  And it seems that so many of the animals are old, alone and irreplaceable. I'm assured that there is a breeding program in place but how many chicks is a 73 year-old flamingo going to have?  No shortage of smart aleck cops hanging around outside the gates, but that is a different story.  And my legs are tired. I'll do more tomorrow.

Central Markets again!

     DAY 2: One street alone, North Terrace, will easily keep one amused for the entire day.  It's all here, all in a row, all inviting.  First stop is , of course, is another hit at the Central Markets to breathe in the vibe and get lunch ready. And then hop the free circuit bus to get to North Terrace. Start right at Government House. The governor is the Queen's representative in the state with a role that is largely ceremonial. Government Houses are usually grand affairs but this building was sloppily painted all the same color of dried sour cream. Gov didn't bother to invite me past the locked gates for a cup of tea but don't call me sour grapes. Hmmmphh.  Move right on to the impressive war memorial still sporting ANZAC wreaths. 
    Next to this is the Migration Museum.  It looks as if it has been yarn bombed.  Because it

Migration Museum Exhibition

has.  The main building has the predictable exhibits one might expect depicting the migrant journey but the rotating exhibition in the outbuilding is all about knitting and crocheting.  Knitting is not just about keeping heads warm and female hands busy.  The patterns and designs of items reflect the cultural heritage of the knitter. Men knit. Why don't you knit? A basket of yarn and needles invites visitors to knit a line or two for scarves for the needy. Kind of a contemporary take on knitting socks for "our boys at the front" during the World War II effort.  Some of the knitting and crocheting patterns are really intricate. Some of the clothes are really scarey.
   What do you want to do next? Peek into the Institute to see the ANZAC through modern eyes exhibit?  How about feeling a little Harry Potter-ish at the State Library and then go

South Australian Museum

ultra modern?  The Art Gallery of South Australia?  Good choices. Pop into the South Australian Museum.  Its central staircase is grand, the exhibit space is compact. All of those animals packed in so close--and so close to you--one waits for that magical 'Night At The Museum' moment when everything comes alive. Still have legs? There are a handful of universities on this same street. A National Trust home beckons. The Rundle shopping mall is one block over and in the opposite direction is the riverfront.  Boredom not possible. And you did not need a car.

    Sorry to say that there was one festival going on that I just did not get enough of. And that was the History Festival. [Hey, History Month sounds way too boring.]  A thick brochure full of the widest variety of cultural, social, historical, natural, mythological and mystical events all across the city, its suburbs and even into regional South Australia.  Church tours, ghost tours, why do Lithuanians like basketball tours, walk the Mint's tunnels opportunity and join the South Australian fascination with its serial criminals of yore.   
     So stop the Adelaide jokes already.  Next time I will share my research on that rare Adelaidean delicacy: the Pie Floater.

Basements. They're Not Australian.

   Has anyone ever waxed poetic about the humble basement in one's home?  I mean besides the guys who have turned a finished basement into a "man cave"?  I miss my basement.  I NEED a basement.  I just can't figure out why they are so not Australian. 
   Almost no one has a basement, finished for entertaining or unfinished for storage, in their homes here. Perhaps a few older homes might but any new build in the last 50 years is built on a concrete slab. It almost defies logic to me.  It can get very hot in many Australian areas and so an underground basement would be a cooler asset to have.  Only in the opal mining area of Coober Pedy are some sleeping arrangements made subterranean.  And where do people store their off-season clothing, sporting equipment, suitcases and other bulky stuff that does not need to be upfront and center all the time?  We have a metal cage in a room off a parking shelter on the far side of the adjoining property. Not exactly convenient, nor climate controlled in any way and the past has shown for it not to be entirely safe from burglary.  A colleague pointed out that Mother England isn't basement happy either.  Sure, people will have root or wine cellars but real basements?  Why? Basements are not unAustralian, just not Australian by tradition.
    Why not, I say?  I understand why attics may be in short supply in a land of ten-month summers but my valuable stuff needs a home, too. 

My valuable stuff.

   When I moved into this cutie little townhome, my first thought was where I was to put the few meager belongings I brought with me into the country. Kev said the small spare room would be perfect and so my Rubbermaid tubs and hat boxes went into it.  And then a clothes rack (no space in his closet). And then a chest of drawers (no space in the bedroom.) And then a computer desk. And then my canning jars and food dehydrator. And the small suitcases. And the Igloo coolers, the Coleman lantern, wrapping paper, etc., etc., etc.  Even more vexing was that this storage-space-challenged townhome rents for twice as much money with one-third less square footage than the townhome we had back in U.S.!
    So the challenge is not to look like we're aspirants for a Hoarders Realty Show or 'need' what we really don't.  But sometimes I feel like a squatting college student. 
    And dream of homes with basements.

ANZAC Centenary

     Only because I am not Australian  can I get away with saying, "I'm so glad ANZAC Day is over."

     On April 25, 1915,  ANZAC soldiers [Australia New Zealand Army Corps] rushed the Turkish shores at Gallipoli in a World War I offensive.  At an extreme disadvantage, the casualties were enormous. Ooh rah swagger met with a sobering war reality.  The first world war was the young nation's first engagement in an international action. They were there by choice, not by monarch command. Australians remain curiously -and uncharacteristically- sentimental about the swagger and sacrifice of its young soldiers.  ANZAC Day is a national holiday complete with parades, military flyovers, speeches and even a few re-enactments.
     One hundred years on, this sentimentality has reached a feverish pitch.  Communities have spent years planning their centenary celebrations.  The federal government is spending more money to commemorate Australian involvement in WWI than on mental health treatment for current returning soldiers. Only quietly will pundits mention less than positive terms like 'Anzac fatigue' or 'military Halloween' or warn of the mythologizing of the war and the beatification of its soldiers and nurses.  People get very protective of the ANZAC memory.  The term ANZAC is actually trademarked so the use of it on hats, hoodies or beer can holders is strictly verboten as is making any cheap or cheesy reference to it in commercial advertising.
     It is a remembrance everyone can and does get behind.  I even wake up an hour before dawn and attend the local service (the Aussie in this house stays in bed, ahem) and even blogged in this column on ANZAC DAY.  I didn't get to this year's service (the crowds were way too big for my comfort) but I did place a sprig of rosemary ("rosemary for remembrance") on the local memorial statue later in the day. I did enjoy free public transport that day.  Transperth used to just offer free fares to military veterans but this year everyone enjoys a free ride. 

     And I enjoy the break from the nonstop media assault  of war movies, newspaper and magazine special ANZAC pullout sections and endless weeping for long-dead people not known personally on the radio.  I'm so glad ANZAC Day is over.
 

$nail Mail and Australia Post

    Australia Post, you are killing me!  A 43% rate hike for domestic letters has been announced.  Not only is the price of a domestic letter rising from 70 cents to $1 but the letter will take two days longer to get delivered unless the customer pays a premium above that. International mail got slapped around several months ago when international postcard rates ($1.70) were abolished with all international mail stamped at the letter rate of $2.75. Delivery is assured in 3-10 days but lately it has been taking two weeks for anything I've sent. The post office still has their prepaid picture postcards-usually with a native animal or big city skyline on it-  I like sending aerograms (those handy sheets of paper that fold into a prepaid envelope shape) and Aus Post used to change its design frequently.  The current design of a purple iris (aerograms are traditionally blue onion skin) has been in place for three years. Boring.

    Australia Post wasn't always boring. They changed stamps monthly it seemed. And people didn't have to be dead to get their face on a stamp, either. Movie stars, captains of industry, notable natives have all been licked by the general public while they were still breathing.  And they don't limit their merchandise to strictly postal products.  Fun, yet still educational, toys and presents can be found in post offices. Calendars, cookbooks, cookie tins, mini personal DVD players, the occasional sewing machine (!), traditional Australian folk character toys like Snuggle Pot and Cuddle Pie, novelty USBs, art sets and my personal favorite: a build-it-yourself four-stroke engine that runs on batteries. Found only at Christmas time.  In fact, Kev has been known to do his Christmas shopping for the nieces and nephews-especially when they were younger.

    But the extra merchandizing is not enough to battle the loss of revenue from electronic communication the world now engages in.  Post offices everywhere are trying to figure out how to cut unnecessary costs while still providing essential services.  The USPS stopped selling aerograms ten years ago--and won't honor old ones without make up postage to current letter rates. We know this because Mom found a stash of old aerograms when her mother died and the post office required extra postage before mailing. Aus Post may get this nonbrilliant idea also.  For about a year, the USPS also had a surcharge of $9 for all packages being mailed into the U.S. to cover the cost of security checks- regardless of what the postage was. This was almost evil.  The surcharge was rescinded after about a year  but I don't know if that was because of all of the bellyaching customers did or because the USPS lost even more revenue from packages not being sent through their service.

   I like sending letters.  I like nice stationery. I like the feel of paper in my fingers. I like the potential promise every envelope brings into a mailbox. Therefore, I will not stop sending snail mail.  I'll just be a little smarter about it.

   **And we used to howl whenever the USPS announced a rate hike of two cents!**

 

Booze, Ice skates and Dandelions - Random Musings #5

   Every now and again I discover something interesting or noteworthy as I go about life in Perth. Sometimes it just not worth extravagant amounts of research for its own blog post. Others might be considered an addendum to posts already written. In either case, these bits and pieces bloat my 'topics to blog about' list and I'm getting them out of the way in another Random Musings list.

   Perth is the proud home to Infusion, the national champions in synchronized ice skating soon off to Canada for the international championships. Ice skating? In Perth (or anywhere else in OZ for that matter)? It's hard to imagine such a sport (which is also known as precision skating) gaining any traction here. But there is the odd ice rink in the big cities.  I live across town from the nearest one and have never been there. Along with so much else, I gave away my leather boot/steel blade skates when I moved here.  Somehow I am so uninspired to drive a distance to rent plastic boot/aluminum blade skates to whirl around the rink. Maybe some day. In the meantime, Go Infusion!

   A few months ago, I walked past a very familiar plant and was surprised. I don't believe I have ever seen a dandelion here in Perth.  It had a straggly "Australian bush" quality about it but it was definitely a dandelion. And it was about thigh high. What? Don't people realize that they have to pull these weeds or it will take over the lawn?  Of course they don't.  They've never seen one before. But now, they see many...

   There is no such thing as a Junior High or Middle School here.  A public elementary school will go to sixth grade and high school starts at seventh grade.  Private schools (which refer to themselves as "colleges") flex a bit but there is still no distinct transitional education atmosphere for this very transitional age group.
http://epostcardsfromoz.blogspot.com.au/2009/02/school-days-school-days-dear-old-golden.html

   There is a culture of alcohol here in Australia.  And it extends way beyond the youthful --and not so youthful--binge drinking.  And it always comes as a surprise to  people from other nations.  My previous employment had me occasionally visiting law firms for hearings or depositions. Invariably, the visiting attorney from North America would be gobsmacked to see in the corner of the lounge or boardroom a silver tray well stocked with brand name bottles of booze.  Jaws literally dropped at the sight.  This wide open bar is like what you see in old movies. Certainly not in today's more cautious business atmosphere where liability or whispers of anti-social behavior from booze-soaked employees keeps every office a model of temperance.  Parties or afterwork "sundowners" are frequently held at the workplace here in Australia.  But I've only seen such extravagant tipple set-ups in law offices.  Make your legal appointments near happy hour, folks.
epostcardsfromoz.blogspot.com/2009/07/culture-of-alcohol.html

Vale 6RPH - Information Radio AM990

      On Monday, January 12, 2015, 6RPH ceased local operations. It was much like the death of any other media entity: quick, decisive and with no prior announcement.  Newspapers, radio stations, TV channels don't have prolonged going out of business sales the way retail stores do, they just stop the hemorrhaging  of money by shutting down right away. It works like this: everyone shows up to work as usual, the boss walks in and says "We're closing down because (insert three-word explanation here.)  The story you are writing is your last. Clean your desk out before you leave."  It's been played out rather famously in recent years including that Murdoch rag The World in London and my own elder brother's newspaper in Houston.
    6RPH, and its 17 surviving members of the RPH Australia Network, had a different mission from most radio stations. By charter, it catered to the print handicapped. Not just the vision impaired but those with a physical disability who found it difficult to handle printed matter. Many shows were dedicated to reading the daily and national newspapers, popular magazines and very subject specific printed matter. There was something for almost everyone including the commuters who would listen to the daily paper  while driving into work.  The audience was wide-ranging, it almost defied being put into a demographic pigeonhole--although officially they were categorized as female, 39+, household of four and approaching mid-middle class socioeconomically.
    My radio show, What's On Where, was heard on 6RPH on Thursdays at 6pm with an encore presentation Saturday at 5:15pm.       I miss my show.      It suited this cowboy quite well. Far from a rip-n-read,  WOW was your guide to what is happening in and around Perth that is fun and affordable. My first shows must have been dreadful until I refined the formula that worked: first segment were the Freebie things to do, second segment contained events that would cost a little bit of money but still tons of fun and the third segment was built upon a different theme each week (e.g. school holidays, Christmas, Perth International Arts Festival.) And WOW didn't just tell you where to go, we would send you there, too.  I had developed a rather robust promotion schedule that gave away tickets to the latest events to the rather obscure but worthy of attention in on-air contests. I developed solid relationships with many venues and marketing agencies who kept WOW in the know and me in the occasional media reviewer ticket.
    I MISS MY SHOW.       I have lost my voice.    It kept me connected to this area, its people and its exciting happenings every bit as much as my listeners. I managed the show well.  It hurts to lose it within a mismanaged entity. I have kept WOW social media up but it is just not the same.  I don't know when or where I or What's On Where will reappear on the airwaves but let me take this moment to thank WOW listeners and its wonderful sponsors for the last six+ years.
   Vale 6RPH.
  

Perth Royal Show - The Hidden Competitions

    Some of the most interesting moments of the Perth Royal Show happen before the show, are never seen by the public nor represented during the show. Of these are the commercial competitions for wine and bakery goods.

PRWS Judging     c.RAS

     I had the pleasure to glimpse into these spheres held three weeks before the actual Show. Very enlightening experiences these were. First there was the Perth Royal Wine Show judging taking up an entire building. Over 2100 commercial wineries across the country submitted six bottles apiece in 93 classes. Count that. Over 12,000 bottles of wine occupied  part of a large hall.  Completely mind boggling. I feared for the wine stewards-and the Chief Wine Steward most of all-getting the wines mixed up despite their careful lines of six behind a table marker. There are three separate checks and balances to make sure a sauvignon blanc is never poured in a chardonnay flight nor one winery's product confused for another's tipple.
     On the other half of the hall were just about as many  identical wine glasses all with a one ounce pour lined up on many, many tables. Five teams of tasters carrying  clipboards wander some unspoken path through the tables and occasionally stop to swirl, sniff, sip and spit out the flight presented at that space.  I looked around for the spittoons. [You don't expect them to swallow all that wine, do you?]  They took the shape of large Rubbermaid garbage cans strategically placed throughout the testing area. These folks weren't just master tasters but master spitters as well. But they do so quietly.  It is very quiet in this cavernous building.  Wine Show chairman John Snowball insists that intense concentration is required and silence aids that concentration...for the three and a half days of competition. The judging is in two parts: first the medals for each class and then the winners of the classes compete against each other for  best of show trophies.  And those trophies translate into some serious benefits for the winery that earned them.

     Homebrew and Fruit Wines.   
     What about the little guy? Mr or Ms Home Brewer who has a passion for making alcohol based beverages but not the estate or large scale production equipment?   Are these just B-grade wannabes to the commercial products? You might think so as the 150 entries are tucked away in an out-of-the-way corner.  Not so, according to Chairman Snowball. The small Mom and Pop operations have a technique and flavor flexibility that the commercial operations wouldn't dare dream about.  There are some great drops that come out of home kitchens.  The judges need to think a bit differently when judging this section.  They are not thinking of large batch consistency but of liquid alchemy. It is mostly bragging rights for these folks, but they get an advantage the commercial wineries do not.  The winners of the homebrew and fruit wine sections get their entries displayed in the Cookery Building during the Show itself.  The commercial victories disappear from general public view at about the same time as the contents of the Rubbermaid trash cans.

    
 COMMERCIAL BREAD & PASTRY

PRS Pastry Judging

     In a smaller building nearby are more busy people in white coats. Compared to the tomb atmosphere at the wine competition, the Commercial Bread & Pastry competition is practically a party. Yeah, the adjudicators are all wearing starched white vestments and carrying the ubiquitous clipboards. They are not cracking jokes nor smiling too hard. I think the sugar fairies  sprinkled a little something in the air. Or perhaps it is because no one is spitting anything out in high projectile fashion.  
    The pastry judges work in teams of two. Thinking like very fussy customers, they view each entry from every angle-far away and close up.  They then gently slice a thin piece from the whole and stare at it for awhile. Take a bite. Chomp, chomp. Toss the remaining part of the piece into a cardboard box located under the table. Check off clipboard.

PRS Bread Judging

   The bread is handled slightly differently.  The loaves are gawked at and pawed, then a slice is taken from the center and it is gawked at and pawed some more.  A bit of deep breathing goes on now as the slice meets the judicial nose. But the bread is NEVER eaten! The judges rely on the very close relationship of the olfactory sense to the sense of taste to make the determination of joy in the mouth. Not all bread is the same.  Many bakers are thinking outside the rectangle with artisanal hand-shaped breads. Gluten free breads defy their wretched reputations in innovative recipes.  Fruit loaves, braided loaves, beautiful golden loaves.   Small wonder the head judge has to call over the official tie-breaker held on retainer on numerous occasions.  And all followed by more obligatory clipboard scribbling.

PRS Cakes

    So are all 12,000 wine bottles used up in competition and, if not, what becomes of them?  The official word is that the remaining bottles are used for "educational purposes."  The cakes and breads? The government Health & Safety trolls insist that all consumable items not held in sterile  conditions be thrown away.  I had some serious thoughts about secretly dumpster diving that afternoon.

     One last thought...and complaint by the commercial exhibitors in both the wine and bakery sections.  The commercial competitions are held three weeks before the actual Perth Royal Show dates.  But there is zero presence of these competitions or its winners at the Show-not the smallest of signs or banners with a few captioned photos or names of winners. This is a shame because the only way the general public will get notice of the winners is by walking into their shops or handling the bottle that has a special sticker on it.  Some committee members blame the media for not being out en force for  judging but there is a huge disconnect between what happpens in early September and the Show at the end of the month. Who can make that leap? I think the organizers can be a bit more creative even when space is at a premium.

                                                                *   *   *   *   *   *  
Some winners:
Aravina Estates - in the Margaret River region,  had a great showing this year for its wines.
Denmark Bakery  - in the very southern part of the state, is a perennial top winner.
Patisserie La Vespa - in Fremantle, scooped up nine pastry awards this year.
Strange Grains Bakery - Perth area, its gluten-free bread made from buckwheat impressed the judges.
Organic Loafers - mostly wholesale to very lucky retailers and their customers.     

Cinema Culture Gap

    One can learn a lot from watching foreign films. They can say so much more about the culture and character of a people than a tourism marketing video. How do they view their life? Their environment? What is their reaction to the good and evil that comes their way? And do they really wear those funky costumes we see in publicity stills?  Truth is, no matter how many Danish films one sees, the true Dane will always be beyond one's grasp if films are the only measuring stick. Sure you can follow the storyline and laugh at the obvious jokes while scowling at the identifiable villains. But there will be smaller cues, reasons for behavior, significance of art or set pieces, specific clothing worn and other markers that will lost if you are not in sync with the culture already.  Read: you were raised there or lived there for significant time.
    This is why I get nervous when some U.S. films make it overseas. I know that the story will not be truly understood as told.  People like to think that because they have watched Dallas, Dynasty, Dukes of Hazzard, Days of Our Lives and visited Disneyland they completely understand the American psyche. They are convinced they can watch an American product and not measure what they see against their own cultural yardstick.  As I watched the Oscar award winning 12 Years A Slave  in a media screening, I knew this film would be misinterpreted from opening to closing credits. This film does not ask the question, "Is slavery wrong?" Of course it is, that is a given up front.  This film does not assert that all slave owners were cruel, evil wretches--some weren't (Benedict Cumberbatch's character, for instance) but everyone was mindful of the cheap labor it provided as an economic necessity. (Cheap labor being a topic of business concern to this day.)  At its core, this is a story of a man's painful journey from freedom to slavery and back again.
     Movie reviewers here in Australia, whether on TV shows, magazines, large daily papers or small community weeklies, all seemed to view 12 Years A Slave in the same way.  Let me share one example that reflects most reviews.  This excerpt was written by  West Australian (newspaper) movie reviewer Mark Naglazas.

           "This adaptation of freed slave Solomon Northup's memoir...has been described as the Schindler's List of the country's original sin--and rightly so. 12 Years A Slave tells an enthralling individual story..., the appalling treatment of blacks by whites in the founding years of a nation that we hold as the symbol of democracy. (Director Steve) McQueen keeps his distance, giving us the full force of the horror but forcing us to reflect on white man's inhumanity to black man."

     I won't nitpick on his poor history (this movie's era is almost a century after the "founding years of a nation") but I am astonished that modern day Americans are being taken to task for an institution abolished by the U.S. Federal government 150 years ago. [The sins of thy father's father's father's father's father.] I am absolutely gobsmacked by the hubris of Australians who dare to claim a higher, enlightened path when talking about "white man's inhumanity to black man" when the Australian Federal government waited until  1967 --over 100 years later-- until fully recognizing Aborigines as human beings with full citizenship! [Throw away those dog-tags, 'black fellas'.] So intent on looking for the splinter in someone else's eye that they fail to notice the log in their own. Unbelievable.
    But the culture gap flows in all directions.  I really like the movie, Saving Mr Banks. But I found myself startled by the depiction of the protagonist's father Travers Gibb, played by Colin Farrell.  Travers Gibb is portrayed as a hard-drinking, reality-avoiding, Peter Pan wannabe.  Ninety years later, this is exactly how Australian men were described to me by a friend after I announced I was marrying an Aussie.  Contemporary Australians may disagree with the description but image beyond its borders remain.
    I enjoy watching foreign flicks every now and again but I'm a little wiser in their interpretation now.