Paynesville - Halloween

I awoke Halloween morning, tired. My anxiety about being ambushed by Huntsmen had kept me up all night. Embarrassed with myself, I briefly did some research on spiders before heading for breakfast. Being the Psychology student, I figured I would be clever and try to condition myself out of my anxiety for the things. I went through the methods I could try and ended up settling with simply reading up on them, reading others’ stories on their fears of the things and a commitment that I would approach the next non-poisonous spider I encountered.

John appeared to find it thoroughly amusing when I recounted my distressing night to him. He laughed when he said his brother had exhibited the same concern when he had visited from England.

I enjoyed a nice breakfast, looking out onto their backyard which was teeming with all sorts of parrots, feeding from a bowl of seeds in a tree. Gail and John had an espresso maker which I attempted to use. I quickly figured it out and succeeded in preparing myself a nice cappuccino. (Despite my previous griping, I have to admit I grew to love this machine and the delicious drinks it could prepare. A shame even this small unit cost over a thousand dollars or I would jump on one back in Canada).

My stomach full and caffeine levels high, I decided to explore the scorched brown paddocks just beyond their backyard. On my way to the back fence I stopped to observe the six chickens (The Australians amusingly refer to chickens as “chooks”) Gail and John were keeping in a little coup off to one side of their yard. They seemed to spend all their time scrounging around for bugs, seeds - whatever they could find - quietly clucking as they did so. Every now and then one of the chickens would come trotting out of the nesting area, clucking loudly and parading around the enclosure to announce that an egg had been laid. It’s actually quite amusing to watch and listen to them as they carry on whenever one of them lays an egg.

My attempt at exploration ground to a halt no sooner than after having reached the end of the backyard – how to get out? The back of the yard was lined with barbed-wire to prevent the sheep that roam by every now and then from getting in. John, half laughing at my helplessness, pointed out a low point in the wire near a bush that one could easily hop over. I was clearly not of the country – this was going to be interesting.

After a brief warning about dangerous snakes, I jumped over the fence, chose a position on the horizon and began walking. It was quite convenient that, after only a jump of a fence, I could explore some of the Australian countryside. I wandered around, spotting more parrots, harassing some sheep, avoiding the tall brush (snakes) and attempting to avoid as much of the sheep poo that was apparently everywhere. Being paddocks, these plots of land were surrounded by barbed-wire fences to keep the sheep in and presumably some things out.

I soon came upon such a fence as well as a gate. The gate was covered in barbed-wire as well and I wasn’t exactly sure how I was going to get over. The gate wasn’t locked but I couldn’t work the strange chaining mechanism that kept it close. I figured I’d just try and jump over the damn thing. The wiring on the gate alternated between barbed and not. I placed my right foot on one of the non-barbed-wires, took a hold of the steel frame and hoisted my left leg over. Well, that’s how I had anticipated things happening anyway.

Being an amateur fence jumper, I probably shouldn’t have started lesson 1 on a fence with razor sharp pieces of steel waiting to gash you. I was too hesitant in my initial hoist and only half made it – I instinctually hugged the fence to prevent myself from falling on my ass – awful idea. As my left leg came back down – failing to make it to the top of the frame – my right leg came into the wiring as I attempted to hold on. I instantly felt the sharp steal cut through my pants and into my leg. I let go and fell backwards on the ground. I’m not sure why, but I was actually rather surprised I hadn’t made it. I’m a young guy, why can’t I jump a friggin’ fence? I surveyed the damage: two large holes in my jeans (the only pair I had brought that didn’t have holes in them) complimented by two large holes in my leg. Could have been worse I suppose but it still hurt like hell. Honestly, I was more pissed about the pants and the strange tears that the fence had caused – the leg would heal. With thoughts of tetanus going through my mind, I took another look at the gate. If I had bothered to really look carefully the first time I would have seen I could simply place my foot on the gate’s latch, grab the frame and easily pull myself over. Cursing at myself, I proceeded with my trek.

I hiked around the area for a time before returning back to home-base. I encountered a number of other barbed-wire fences but spotted ways of getting over them. I found the key was not to half-ass it but actually commit to the jump and really throw myself over to the other side. After returning, I decided to tan a little. This allowed me to see the damage to my leg: quite a bit worse than I had imagined. There were two large scrapes to compliment the gashes in my leg. John was laughing again as he brought me some antibacterial cream – it seemed my antics were proving quite a source of amusement for him!

Later on I went with Gail and John to another town, Bairnsdale. Bairnsdale is a brief car-ride away from Paynesville. Gail had taken her other car – an old Honda Integra – to a shop there to be repaired. They encouraged me to try driving the car back. Eager, I hopped in. The car was manual and the stick was on the right side – opposite from what I was used to. That was an easy adjustment – what was quite a bit more unnerving was driving on the left-hand side of the road. The roads back to Paynesville were rather dead (probably why they had even suggested it) however, and I attempted to quickly re-jig my driving heuristics.

To be honest, I almost forgot that it was even Halloween. There was no indication that anyone celebrated the occasion and my attempts at asking about it brought mostly disinterested shrugs. I would later hear on the radio a talk-show where the hosts incessantly gripped about the hassles of Halloween. Callers would call in and lament that they too found Halloween to be silly. It doesn’t sound like anyone hands out anything more than the candy they find in their homes – no boxes of chocolates and chips lining the super-market walls in Australia. It wasn’t that I really cared (being past the age where I’d actually go out, I had to admit the occasion was a hassle) rather it was simply strange to not be surrounded by carved pumpkins, orange and black decorations, witches, ghosts and goblins and children dressed in costumes.

The following day Gail and I walked down to the Paynesville docks and hoped aboard a ferry to Raymond Island, just across the water. The ferry ride took all of two minutes, and most of that was time spent docking. I wasn’t exactly sure why they didn’t just build a bridge it was so close. As it turned out, Gail is on some sort of regional Board and she explained that the issue of whether or not to build a bridge was a bit of a hot issue. People live on the island and have to take the ferry if ever they wish to get off (which would be daily I imagine given that there’s nothing on the Island except for the homes).

Anyway, country politics aside, we had come to Raymond Island to see Koalas. As it turns out, Koalas aren’t that easy to find in Australia, at least in the state of Victoria. For whatever reason though, this island was teeming with them. After a bit of walking we began to spot Koalas everywhere. For the most part they all appeared to be hugging the eucalyptus trees they stayed in and were sleeping. Ones on low branches would casually look over to see what the noise was, then return to dozing. A man raking leaves commented to us, “Lazy buggahs, aren’t they?!”, and I would have to agree. There are apparently over 300 types of eucalyptus trees, 13 of which the Koalas will eat. Interestingly, if we tried to eat eucalyptus we would probably die – it’s poisonous. As the Koalas get older they grow special bacteria in their stomachs and bowels which break down the dangerous enzymes and such which allow them to digest the leaves. The Koalas eat nothing but eucalyptus leaves – they derive all the energy and water they need from them!

We ended the morning by stopping off at one of Gail’s friend’s place on the Island for tea. I only mention it because of a hilarious story about a Magpie. Apparently, earlier in the year, a Magpie had fallen from its nest. For whatever reason they couldn’t return it to its nest so they took care of it. The Magpie has since grown up and is extremely tame. The bird, Muggins, and their dog, Maggie, have become quite good friends. If you go to the website www.raymondisland.net you can actually see movies of Muggins and Maggie playing with each other – it’s hilarious and quite cute. Muggins obviously lives outside and is free to do what he wants, but he always seems to be around and it’s doubtful he’ll now leave. Magpies are fairly territorial birds and it’s likely he’s taken the area to be his territory now. Apparently, the night before, Muggins and Maggie were caught lying down next to each other, paw and claw extended towards the other, touching. Clearly the best of inter-species friends!

Paynesville, Oct 30

Thursday the 30th Gail and I began our journey East towards Paynesville. I suppose technically it was my journey. For Gail this was somewhat of a regular commute. We had a few errands to complete before we truly set off, including returning a movie we had rented the night before.

The renting of the movie had, of course, not gone smoothly and merits a brief story. The renter was a small independent with a shop perhaps only 10 feet by 20 feet. Quite small indeed, but they had managed to cram a lot of movies in. As with most movie shops, you had to be a member to rent. I assumed Gail was a member but it turned out she was not. The shop-keep was more than happy to sign us up, but he had a laundry list of items he required before simply entrusting us with the keys to his movies.

First up, photo ID: check. Second, proof of address: check. But hold old on there partner, not just any old address will do – has to be local. Busted. All of Gail’s ID listed her address in Paynesville, nothing for the Melbourne address. I couldn’t believe this was actually going to be a problem and felt the need to chime in.

“Why does it have to be a local address?” I asked.

“Because we have to be able to track you down if you don’t return a movie” the shop-keep explained.

I had anticipated this.
“Sure, but why does it have to be a local address? Are you going to come to her house and take the movie back or something?”

The robot repeated his script.
“No, but if you don’t return the movie we have to be able to find you somehow”

I was starting to get testy. This sounded like bullshit.
“Yeah, but then why does it have to be local? This rule seems completely arbitrary!”

So far the guy had been tolerant of my question asking, but his demeanor immediately changed when I began to challenge the rules.
“Look, that’s just the way it is, if you don’t have local ID you can’t rent a movie”

And that was that. I didn’t press the matter anymore, more out of respect for Gail since she would be the one returning here in the future, than out of any acceptance for this load of crap this movie Nazi was feeding us. Ironically, upon returning to the flat, I was the only one with a document with the Melbourne address on it so I was forced to return and get the membership. He would have been better off just giving Gail the membership in good faith. If I decided to skim one of his movies, the movie Nazi would find that my local address had suddenly gone international.

Given the previous day’s altercation, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing the movie Nazi again. Luckily, the shop was closed. Instead, his tiny dog came out of nowhere and pounced on the glass door, barking furiously, as I attempted to put the movie in the slot. The little mongrel made me jump and I was glad his owner wasn’t there to see it.

We were eventually on our way and I watched as the passing scenery changed from urban, to suburban and gracefully into countryside. Secretly, I began to keep an eye out for kangaroo. Being the obvious foreigner I was still under the belief that these creatures were bountiful and could readily be seen anywhere out of the city. I realized I had spent all of my time tinkering around the Melbourne city-centre and hadn’t actually seen Australian countryside yet. Well, here it was. Large, open, rolling, green fields dotted with bushes, skinny, tall trees, sheep and cattle. In the distance, a range of small mountainous hills, covered with green paddocks and forests. This was of course not the outback. Perhaps obvious, but if you’ve never been to Australia it may be difficult to imagine what there is aside from outback and cities, as those are likely the two main areas one hears about as a foreigner. As we distanced ourselves from Melbourne the landscape became browner and dryer and it was exactly what I imagined Australian countryside would look like.

Before I knew it we reached the town of Paynesville. I was a bit confused that, after 3 hours of looking out the window, I had not seen one kangaroo. I hadn’t seen much of anything actually aside from cattle, sheep and a growing number of parrots. The wild parrots were a fascination though as I hadn’t really encountered these large, colourful birds outside of cages. I made due with that. We proceeded to the house where I would be staying.

The main house was occupied by one of Gail’s friends with whom ownership of the property was shared. My residence was to be in the granny suite behind the house which suited me fine as I’d be afforded more privacy. The friend was vacationing in Asia and had left her sister to house-sit. The sister had clearly let things go and the house was a bit of a disaster – Gail was not amused. The granny suite was equally dirty but apparently cleaner than it had been when Gail had come to inspect the week prior. The sister’s three children had seemingly been left to run amuck but she had apparently declared that they would be held to task and would clean things up. The children were evidently on the honour system. Gail was becoming more and more agitated by the second.

Later that evening I joined Gale and John at their other residence up the street for supper. I enjoyed a delicious lamb roast that John had prepared. I have to say I have only had lamb twice in my life; once, around 10 years ago, and the second that night. I distinctly remember disliking it the first time but couldn’t get enough the second. Oh lamb, where have you been all these years? So many meals I have looked you over because of a faint, distant memory from childhood. Pity.

I was initially hesitant when John presented me with cooked pumpkin to have with the meal. I had no idea people actually ate pumpkins, but why not? It’s of the squash family after all. Just me being Northamericacentric again, I suppose. Or maybe this actually was a common thing and I just had never heard of it? In any case, unappealing images of removing the guts from pumpkins before carving and the unpleasant smell that emerged from its bowels flooded my mind. In actuality, it was delicious – just like squash. I hadn’t come expecting to broaden my pallet, but here, two foods I would have never considered eating, both mouth-watering. Being a rather picky eater, I was rather pleased that I had found two more foods I would now consider in the future.

My stomach full and blood-alcohol level sufficiently high, I meandered back to my flat – but not before John and I managed to have a terrifying discussion on Australian spiders. Being curious what the actual deal was with the spider situation, I posed the question to John. It turned out to be mostly as I thought it would: lots of deadly ones, unlikely to see a lot of them, especially in the home, don’t pester them and they won’t bite. (Gail would later tell me of the funnel-web spider which, apparently infused with the furry of hell, will lunge at you and attack if you get too close to it. And by ‘too close’, Gail suggested even a number of feet away. Jesus). Just my luck however, that the one spider you may indeed see in the home is also one of the largest – the Huntsman. The Huntsman feeds on insects, is quite passive and not poisonous. Nevertheless, it can grow to the size of your palm (according to John). With John’s grande stories in the fore of my mind, I made my way back to the flat and proceeded to have one of the worst sleeps I can remember. I honestly can’t recall ever being so paranoid and irrational as I was that night. I must have woken six times throughout the night, instantly terrified that the walls were crawling with Huntsman, fighting for position to drop down on me and scare me back to Canada. I tried to remain calm and even turned the lights on once to show myself that it wasn’t so. Still, petrified I remained until morning. I have to say I was quite lucky that one of these things didn’t actually appear by chance on a distant wall in the room. Given my state that night I likely wouldn’t have gotten over the horror and would have remained paranoid about the spiders my entire time in Paynesville…

Week 2

Ahh, the second week. I suppose I hadn’t been here a full week yet, but the start of the second calendar week would suffice. As part of my campaign of ‘not-being-a-burden-on-the-relatives’ I found my way to a nearby grocery store to pick up some provisions for myself and replenish the food I had already eaten. I hadn’t realized it, but there’s definitely a standardized format to Canadian grocery stores. When I would walk into a grocery store in Canada I always had somewhat of an idea where I needed to go, regardless of the store. I don’t think I realized how heavily I relied on this subconscious directing. As I walked into Coles (chain grocery store) I had the unfamiliar feeling of truly not having any idea where anything might be. No matter, this gave me the opportunity to roam the aisles and see what was available. Everything I was used to of course, but all in very unfamiliar packaging and made by companies I had never heard of. I did manage to find some good ol’ Staggs chili for $4 a can. Cereals, even something simple like Corn Flakes, was $6-7 for a small box.

I’ll make a slight pause here. I’m certainly coming across as very “Northamericacentric” with my incessant bitching about the price of everything and I’m sure other countries are far worse. But I *am* from North America, and *am* used to expecting bargain basement pricing on all the products I’m used to, and the price of goods elsewhere is of absolutely no concern to me because I’m *here*, not *there*. Besides, I’m a travelling student, so save me the comments on how it’s really not *that* bad. I know it’s not, that’s not the point…

To resume – I collected a few more items and proceeded to the check-out. I’ve become acutely aware that I sound extremely different than everyone around me and that everyone who hears me open my mouth knows that. I could tell my simple “hey” to the cashier betrayed my foreign origin as I got curious looks from those around me. It’s not that I’m embarrassed by the way I sound, quite the opposite. It’s more a heightened sense of feeling different – not used to that. Not a bad feeling, just novel.

Later in the day I walked to the Melbourne Zoo. I had discovered the zoo the past weekend during one of my exploratory walks around the neighbourhood. I had managed to waste away a good portion of the afternoon entranced with more BlackBerry poker and didn’t make it until 3:30 in the afternoon. Plenty of time I thought. Wrong! Apparently the administration saw no need to keep the zoo open past 5:00. I couldn’t figure out why this was. I appreciate that in the evening it starts to get dark, but why not stay open until at least 6:00? I was likely the only one complaining, however, as most people had come at more reasonable hours. I briefly contemplated returning the following day but I didn’t like the idea of having to walk all the way out here again. No, I thought, I’d rather not get my money’s worth than have to walk another 15 minutes to get out here again.

After paying I briefly stopped to examine the map. I had an hour and a half to see the entire zoo – something most families likely spent an entire day doing. In my mind I axed 50% of the exhibits that I really couldn’t have cared less to see anyway. This was going to work out well actually. Going to the zoo is always such an ordeal. One always ends up planning an entire day around the damn place. The packing or buying of lunches is involved; debates are had over whether to bring water, sweaters, umbrellas and snacks and what about sun-screen? My god, we could get burned walking around for 8 hours. After everything you leave bloody exhausted from so much slow walking and resolved not to return for many years. Did it have to be so? Was there no other way? There certainly was – arrive less than two hours before close and chose your exhibits carefully. Truth be told, I really never have any interest in seeing half the animals at the zoo. Sure, sure, every animal has its place and they’re all equally important and special in their own way bla bla bla… I want to see an elephant, some monkeys, some cute water animals, maybe some neat birds, a lion or tiger and maybe a giraffe. That’s it. I don’t give a damn about the water buffalo or porcupines, skunks and raccoons and all those other non-exotic animals. Why do we always have to see them when we go to the zoo then? All I knew was that it was just me and I could do whatever the hell I wanted this time – this was great!

I perused around some of the exhibits, slowly making my way to the Australia section. I suppose the Australia section was just about as interesting for the locals as the Americas section was for me back home. I never really understood why we bothered with exhibits on horses and deer and such, but I suppose it should have been obvious: tourists! It was of course just my luck that basically none of the animals in the Australia exhibit were even visible, let alone active and moving. I found a few lazy kangaroos, napping on their sides and an aggressive looking emu. No Koalas, no Wallabies, no Echidnas, no Didgeridoos or whatever other weird names the animals had… nothing. Bitter, I walked through the Australian bird aviary. At least the birds were still active. It was neat to have different types of parrots flying around you and I learned that Australia has a million different types of doves and pigeons. Now, some of these pigeons were actually fairly pretty, but I couldn’t get over them still being damn pigeons. They all still made that weird head movement when they walked and they all had those beatty little eyes that look at you ever so untrustingly. Somewhat disappointed, I left the zoo. It wasn’t a total failure; I had seen some cool animals, but not the animals I really had wanted to see. I dreaded the walk home. My hour and a half had been tiring enough, good thing I hadn’t decided to come earlier.

The following day I woke up to an itchy, runny nose and itchy, red eyes. This had been happening fairly frequently. I usually don’t suffer from bad allergies, but there was definitely something in the Australian air that was testing my system. It seemed to go away after I got up though, perhaps something in the bedding… I was sure Claritin had been packed somewhere but couldn’t find it. Never one to waste precious time looking for things when I could just go out and buy a replacement, I made a note to find the nearest pharmacy (the Aussies call them Chemists. To me, this sounds like someone you’d find in the dark ages: a “chemist”. Australians and they’re weird terms… I’d imagine it’s of English origin as so much of their language is)

Later in the week I made my way downtown and hit up some of the ‘not-as-touristy’ attractions. I knew enough to know which trams to get on, but knowing when to get off was an altogether different affair. I was hoping to be able to read the street signs as we passed and judge things that way. I was caught a bit off guard when the tram seemed to turn into a train and hurried down this express track leading from the downtown area to the southern suburbs. The tram would stop every now and then at a station but there were no indications of where the hell you were unless you knew what the station names meant. After going much too far, I got off and tried to re-orient myself. I was definitely not where I was supposed to be. I pointed out where I figured I must be on my map and walked around, hoping to see a street name so I could get back on track. I quickly figured out where I was – far off course, but I had a direction at least.

I made my way to a memorial built to commemorate Australia’s war-veterans. I found a theatre on the inside and, seeing it empty and a film about to begin, I sat down. A counter counted down the last minute until the film began. Much to my chagrin, a horde of school children were ushered in around me, just in time for the movie, boxing me in. The movie was not at all informative and was clearly just a lead-up to the ‘educational part’ which was human-directed and obviously tailored for school groups. Not exactly sure how I managed to get myself into this situation, I promptly got up and left before things got into full swing. All eyes were on me as I hurried out of the theatre. Outside, I checked my map and directed myself towards Melbourne’s Botanical Gardens.

The Gardens were just that: gardens. Being Australia though, the variation of plant-life found inside was quite amazing. I can’t say I’m much of a gardener and don’t really have an appreciation for plants, but it was if nothing else enjoyable to walk around and see such variation of flora that Australia was able to sustain. I spotted a bunch of black swans, quite numerous in Australia. Actually, Gail explained to me that Australia only has the black swan. White swans are all imported from elsewhere. By this time I was starting to get hungry and decided to leave. The mild concern of running into a horrible spider amidst all the plants further expedited my departure.

I didn’t have any money and needed to find a bank. My bank, ANZ, had finally sent me my bank card the previous day. They had also sent me another letter, advising me that another envelop with my PIN was only 3-5 business days away. How useless, a bank card with no PIN to use it – thanks ANZ. I had called up and was advised that I could make my way to a branch and manually set a PIN there. Fine. I emerged from the gardens again unsure of where I was. My legs were tired and I didn’t feel like doing much more walking but was left with little choice as I realized I was quite a ways away from the tram line I needed to get to the suburb of St. Kilda – the touristy area wherein lies Melbourne’s beaches and where I would find some food and rest.

Melbourne is not known for its beaches. There are of course beaches nearby, but nothing great right in the city as you might find in Sydney. Still, the beaches Melbourne does have are, in typical Australian fashion, very nice. The sand was beautiful but there was a strong southerly wind coming from the bay which made it quite cold. In the south obviously lies Antarctica and when the wind blows from that direction it brings with it some chilly air. Gail had described St. Kilda as a seedy suburb replete with tourists, students, bars, drugs and prostitution. Maybe it was the time of day but I couldn’t really see any of that.

I found an ANZ branch, took a ticket and waited. I spotted some clear, green candies in a box next to me. For some reason I was quite sure these candies must have been sour apple. I’m not sure why I thought a bank would stock sour apple flavoured candies, but I did. It was of course some gross mint flavor. Another disappointment. I would have even preferred lime or something. No dice. I spit out the candy and re-wrapped it. I was contemplating returning it to the box from whence it came when my number was called up. I explained to the teller what I wanted to do and within a few minutes I was on the hunt for food.

I ate and caught a tram back downtown where I was to meet Gail. We went and saw a movie – a very different experience from the “go big or go home” setups we have in North America. The theatre was quite small with an equally small screen, something Gail said was pretty typical in Australia. Gail said that here, you could pay a bit more and upgrade yourself to a ‘gold’ area where you had a private booth with large chairs, more leg-room and a table to put your things on. Afterwards, we had supper at an obscure restaurant, down some alleyway and up a set of stairs from a poorly marked door. This place had apparently been here for over 30 years and I had a hard time imaging that given the awful location. Melbourne is a city of side-streets and alleyways, however. In most cities I wouldn’t imagine venturing down an alley, but in Melbourne that is exactly where all the cool restaurants, bars, pubs and clubs were.

We took the tram home and I was kind of surprised to see Melbourne transit agents board the tram at one of the stops. They carried very official looking badges and went passenger to passenger, asking to see your ticket to verify you had stamped it. I wasn’t sure why they were still out at this hour (it was around 10:00 p.m. by this time) but here they were. I noticed one of the agents writing up a fellow who clearly had tried to get away with a free ride. Bummer! Exhausted again, I slept as soon as we got home. The following day we were off to Paynesville – a city 3-hours east of Melbourne where Gail lives when business didn’t bring her to the city.

End of Week 1 (Oct 23 – 26)

The rest of my first week in Australia was spent being a mix of both a local and a tourist. My mornings were frequently spent at one of the number of cafes I had discovered up the road from the flat. I’ve been attempting to adjust to the complete disappearance of my beloved drink, coffee, going so far as to dabble in the finer European blends. Indeed, I’ve taken up drinking cappuccinos as the next best alternative. One morning I thought I’d sample something called a “long coffee” at the café. Blinded by hope and colourful visions of delicious drip café, I naively thought this drink might simply be coffee served in an absurdly shaped cup. I was rudely surprised when it turned out to be something akin to a double espresso – not what I was expecting by any means. Although after finishing it I was probably at the highest state of alertness I had ever been, I decided to never order one again. Lattes were another option, but lattes just had this feel about them. Every time I uttered the word I felt a fraction of my man-hood turning to dust and blowing away… Latte… Cappuccinos seemed like a nice compromise. Ironically, I’ve actually grown rather fond of these European creations. I believe the root of the problem simply lies in me just being too damn cheap to live off them when I return home.

I’ve spent a few hours each morning, on patios, sipping on my expensive cups of water, which had been pushed through ground beans and to which steamed milk had been added, attempting to work through blog entries. As I write this I realize that, compared to many, the amount I was spending on coffee wasn’t really that outrageous. Keep in mind I’m used to large cups of coffee for $1.45 and never bothered with the ‘fancy’ blends. I’m sure this makes me sound… well, I’m not quite sure, but I’m sure it makes me sound like something, the word for which I probably wouldn’t want to hear if I thought of it. In any case, yes, life is quite rough for me now, as you can imagine. The sun is shining and the weather people say it is around 26 degrees. I’ll probably be hated for this but it’s still a bit too cool for my liking…

The rest of the week has been spent being touristy. I paid a visit to the Australian Immigration Museum. To my delight, admission was free for students. Any high spirits this may have roused in me were quickly dampened, however, after entering the depths of this museum. Exhibit after exhibit described the discriminatory immigration policies of the white (and of course bigoted) governments and the awful crimes committed against Australia’s indigenous populations. Other exhibits documented the hellish trips over to Australia – the impossibly small quarters on the boats, the filth, the disease and the death that loomed over every trip, particularly for those without means to afford accommodations not intended for cattle. Of course, they attempted to throw in some ‘feel-good’ exhibits about the happy reunions of people who had come to Australia decades ago and were recently reunited with families who were now too immigrating to Australia. There were other exhibits on how Australia was a safe-haven for many refugees and people escaping this past century’s many wars. This did little to help the sense of guilt I almost felt. These doings of generations past weren’t mine or even those of my countrymen, but I couldn’t help feeling awful, as a human (and as a member of the ‘white-race’), for these people’s actions.

In many ways, Australia has a similar history to Canada: an English colony, colonized by whites, and aggressive to people who didn’t share the same skin colour; harsh immigration policies which limited the immigration of certain races; complete displacement of indigenous people; the subjecting of these people to abusive and hate-filled policies of segregation; awful violation of human rights that we now hold so dear. Yes, this museum was a bit of an eye-opener.

Just recently, Australia’s Labour government, headed by Prime Minister Rudd, issued a powerful apology to the country’s indigenous people for the laws and policies of past Australian governments, including the thousands of children forcibly removed from their families. This apology was widely proclaimed and was a notable change of direction on the issue, as exhibited by past governments (think John Howard). This was very reminiscent of the apology the Canadian government recently issued to its aboriginal population for the government’s involvement in residential schools.

Later on, after re-emerging outside and cleansing myself of the disconcerting images I had just seen in the hot Australian sun, I made my way up the Eureka Tower – Melbourne’s newest residential tower that stands 300 meters tall (by comparison, the CN Tower is 500). It’s quite an imposing structure and the exterior of the top floors get their yellowy shimmer from a covering in gold. On the 88th floor they’ve created a sky-deck. Seemed like a neat way to get a different perspective on the city so I made my way over. I should have expected the entrance fee – but of course, I did not. I scoffed at the $20 charge they wanted to levy for what would essentially be an elevator ride, but paid anyway.


The sky-deck takes up the entire floor, is closed-in all the way around by large windows and offers a neat way to view the city. All around are fun tidbits of information being displayed on scrolling digital screens with stationary telescopes that point out interesting sights. Melbourne is certainly not lacking in stadiums. There appeared to be at least 3 large ones in the downtown area including the massive Melbourne Cricket Ground with a capacity of just under 100,000 people. There were other stadiums for soccer and Australian Rules Football. Australia is a very sporting culture in general, but Melbourne seemed to be the centre of that enthusiasm. I spent a time on the sky-deck, more to feel like I had gotten my money’s worth than out of there being anything to do aside from look out windows.

I managed to visit the Melbourne Aquarium which houses a great collection of some of the wildlife one can find in the oceans surrounding the continent. I had seen some of these animals before, but the knowledge that I was now in a position to actually go out and see some of them, should I wish, made it much more exciting. I learned about some of the jellyfish that inhabit these waters including the awful Box jellyfish which apparently inflicts the worst pain imaginable, should you be unfortunate enough to run into one. Oh, and I can’t forget to mention the certain death if you don’t get this bugger’s sting treated. I suppose this is only natural after getting stung by the most venomous sea creature on the planet. I wasn’t exactly sure why a jellyfish needed a poison, one drop of which could kill 50 men, but natural selection had apparently pressured such a development. Other jellies have incredible bioluminescence in a variety of colours ranging from neon green to purple. These jellies seemed much friendlier and they were actually alive and floating around. The box-jellies the Aquarium had were dead – apparently these things are so hellish that not even an institution dedicated to displaying and providing information on sea-life dare keep lives ones!



I met up with my cousin, Dan, who is my age. That weekend I went to his place in one of Melbourne’s suburbs. We made a stop at one of the nearby liquor shops and I got a chance to bear witness to the awful pricing of Australian alcohol. A 26er of the hard-stuff costs around 25% more – not overly outrageous considering the $23ish price-range we have in Canada for the same. What surprised me most was the price of beer. I suppose I’d been somewhat spoiled with the ‘a-buck-a-beer’ pricing I had gotten used to in Canada, but with a 2-4 (or a flat as it’s referred to here) costing on average $35-45, I had a hard time not cringing. For those with a more sophisticated pallet and a taste for the good stuff one is looking at spending upwards of $60-70 for a flat of premium beer. There’s no way to describe that but simply outrageous. I settled for a 6-pack which still totaled $13.00, and trust me, this was no quality product. Resigned that I would be destined to spend more than I wanted on basically everything while I was here, I paid and life moved on.

Later that night, a bunch of us hit up one of the bar districts and I got my first look at Melbourne’s night-life. I’m quite certain this country and everything about it is stacked against me. I mean, I couldn’t even order a pint at the bar without getting a crock-eye. Oh, you don’t serve pints you say? The rest of the night was spent trying to navigate the language needed to order a drink. Apparently ‘pints’ are served some places in Australia, but not all. In the state of Victoria (where I am currently) one most commonly orders a ‘pot’ of beer. These things are rather tiny and I returned the crock-eye to the bar tender when he handed me this emasculated beer. As it turns out, these glasses hold only slightly less than a bottle of beer (really though, they look dinky). One also has the option of ordering a ‘schooner’. Now, the schooner at least sounds mighty, but this thing is still ¾ the size of a pint. There were a few other sizes that one could order as well – as the night progressed, however, my capacity to retain these silly names was quite diminished. Upon further research I’ve discovered such other sizes as ‘jug’, ‘glass’, ‘small glass’, ‘pony’, etc. The infuriating part – let me re-phrase – the part that blinds me with a drunken rage is that the system differs depending on what state you’re in. The lingo in one state will get you the ol’ crock-eye in another. Bollocks. Not to belabor the obvious, but the whole system seemed overly complicated. I was likely the only one who held that belief though – it’s their country after all, not mine.

Anyway, sincere confusion about beer sizes aside, what was the verdict on the night? Lively and fun but great hostility towards groups of males. We were fortunate enough to even get into a bar, but not without a stern warning ‘not to cause trouble’. Another bar we attempted entry to outright told us we couldn’t come in. A third simply lied and said they were full despite one of us pointing out that you could see right inside and it was practically empty. Seemed strange to me but apparently things can get a bit rowdy.

We caught a taxi home. Melbourne has a ‘pre-pay’ system to cabs. I wasn’t altogether sure about paying for a service I had yet to receive especially since the fare of a cab ride can vary greatly depending on a lot of things, but these are the rules and I wasn’t in a position to argue. I think it worked out in my favour in the end.

I later commented to Gail about my experiences getting into bars and the bizarre system of pre-paying your cabby. She offered that Canadians were more amenable to ‘following the rules’, obeying authority and not stirring up too much trouble, whereas Australians could often be the opposite. Apparently doing a ‘cab and dash’ is quite common, having led to the pre-pay system. She flat out attributed this and the concern of groups of men causing a lot of trouble to Australia’s convict past. Now, before I came to Australia I made a mental note not to bring up the whole ‘convict thing’, so I wasn’t sure whether or not it was appropriate of me to laugh at Gail’s comment. She wasn’t kidding though – as far as she was concerned this was a definite possibility for the Australians higher tendency towards ‘deviance’ than what I was used to. Fair enough.

I suppose the irony of all that is that I often find myself coming off as rude compared to other Australians. I try to remain polite (lest I be ‘un-Canadian’), but I find myself getting bemused looks by anyone I’m with if I make a comment about poor service I receive in a restaurant, shops or a hopeless taxi driver. I have no problem letting someone know when they’re being incompetent but so great is my fear of being labeled “American” that I’ve tried to keep my comments to myself.

Sunday was a day of (mostly) rest for me. Gail had been away most of the week and I used the time to clean the flat and do laundry. It had been a busy week and aside from my few chores, I relished the idea of lying around being unproductive. I used the time to hone my skills on Texas HoldEm – determined to master this game. I’m not sure how many times I had to restart after betting all my money on atrocious hands, but I think I got the hang of it. On to week two!

Day 2 - Afternoon

With my morning errands mostly out of the way, I took to the streets and walked around aimlessly for hours. I can’t say that on paper it was a terribly riveting experience, but it helped me get a good sense for Melbourne’s downtown core.

Melbourne, like any well-planned large city, has many parks in its downtown area. I was quiet impressed with these parks – they were all quite large, had nice pathways and beautiful plant-life. I enjoyed taking in these parks as a break to the hustle and bustle of the city, just beyond its borders. They were very calming and it surprised me how relaxed I felt as I left these parks. I wasn’t overly-anxious walking around downtown Melbourne by any means, but the city indeed has a way of increasing one’s latent stress levels – especially if it’s your first day here – without you even really being aware of it. The parks were particularly novel as most of the trees and other flora were all quite new to me. They weren’t all spectacular sights to behold, but you could certainly tell you were somewhere that had a very different climate.
I noticed that the architecture one finds downtown is also quite impressive. A real mix of building styles from different time-periods can be found side-by-side resulting in a very unique downtown landscape.

I was approached by a gentleman who inquired if I wanted to take a free tour of the city. He had clearly spotted me with my map and camera in hand and he pointed to the stop nearby. A tour seemed like a good idea and by this point my legs needed a rest. The bus arrived and the large group that had gathered clamored inside. Leg-room was far from generous and I had to take up an entire row to myself so that I could spread my legs and fit in the chair. The tour was fine – it drove by a number of sights I decided I would try to find later and visit. The map they provided was more detailed than any other one I had and was probably the most useful part of the tour. An hour later I disembarked, famished.

In Melbourne you will find an array of people from a multitude of different cultures. The prospects for good eats were high. I was incredibly hungry by this point and quite weak as a result – my drive for adventure was entirely depleted. I spotted a McDonalds right away and made my way in. I thought to myself that I should be sampling some of the other interesting cuisine this city was sure to offer, but I had an entire five months to sample to my heart’s content and right now I didn’t particularly care. I knew I was going to come here at least one during my trip to see how a familiar chain conducted business on the other side of the world, I decided to make this that time – I just needed something to fill me up.

McDonald’s business model is interesting in that they attempt to create a familiar experience in their restaurants, both in food and feel, regardless of where you are in the world. This was somewhat true here. Every country has its own special menu – Australia’s appeared to entail the liberal use of avocado on a number of their hamburgers. Not particularly swayed by this option (I had had a bad avocado experience in grade 3) I opted for the stand-by burger: the Big Mac. The first thing I noticed was that you were given a choice of sizes for your meal. Whereas in Canada you get a standard size unless you ask to ‘super-size’, in Australia you had to state your preferred size ranging from small to large. I requested a ‘medium’ sized-meal and sat down. Immediately, I was struck by how small everything appeared. My fries came in a small box we didn’t have in Canada and my drink was equally ungenerous. I decided they were doing me a favour and tried not to feel ripped off. In addition to being smaller tha what I would have gotten in Canada, it was a good dollar more expensive as well. I was amused to see that Australia’s ‘small” was indeed quite small. Canadian McDonalds had done away with truly ‘small’ cups many years ago. Medium was the new small and the then large became the new medium. The Australians were clearly sufficiently far from the United States so as not to be as influenced as Canada by their over-consumption. Again, a good thing – but I couldn’t help slightly gypped as I quickly finished off my late lunch.

Truth be told, a major reason I had decided to come to McDonalds was their advertisement of internet. I again pulled out my laptop and attempted to log onto the internet. No luck – same deal as Starbucks. I was beginning to get annoyed with all the false advertisement around internet availability.

I sauntered around the streets of downtown Melbourne for a time more before deciding to return back to the apartment. I successfully located the correct tram and boarded. I had a general idea where I needed to get off. Luckily, right near my stop, was a cemetery of behemoth proportions. This thing is really big – frickin’ massive. Like really, it’s incredibly large. I knew I needed to get off at the stop just past the end of this thing.

I met Gail back at the apartment. She was off to Paynesville, a small town three hours east of Melbourne where she has another home and spends her time when business didn’t bring her to the city. I was left to my own devices for the rest of the evening. I made a quick trip to the nearby general store and picked up some provisions. Pasta, sauce and a loaf of bread cost me $12.00. Buying anything in this city really hurt the wallet, but $12.00 for pasta, bread and sauce? Come on. I certainly wasn’t going to return here unless I absolutely needed to. I popped into the liquor store right next door and selected a bottle of cheap white wine for $13.00. The wine was going to cost me more than my other supplies, which would last me a few days – but somehow I didn’t feel ripped off buying the wine – funny how that works. I returned home and whipped up a quick meal. I watched some TV as I ate and experienced for the first time Australian programming. Up first was Two and a Half Men followed by CSI: New York. Hardly the cultural experience I was expecting.

I generally dislike commercials, but the Australian variants were at least somewhat amusing to listen to. I couldn’t believe my bad luck, when, out of nowhere, I heard the familiar and greatly disliked jingle of the “Brand-Power” commercial. Unbelievable! Nothing could have prepared me for this grave disappointment. Over the summer, my co-worker Richard and I would mock the commercial and its unmistakable theme-tune which was essentially unchanged for broadcast on the radio. These commercials ‘randomly’ select products you’d find in the super-market and do a little spiel on them, touting their greatness. It’s supposedly not related to any of the producers of the products. I suppose they thought that the third-party nature of “Brand-Power” earned it credibility and legitimacy that a company couldn’t get by advertising its own products. I wasn’t convinced though. I was quite certain “Brand-Power” was owned by some large food/consumer-good corporation that also owned the companies of the products it advertised. At any rate, the jingle was annoying and I had to laugh when I saw the Australian variant which appeared exactly the same, save for local actors.

The most interesting Australian fact that day was learned through a story told by Gail about a woman named Lindy Chamberlain and her daughter, Azaria. In August of 1980, Lindy, her husband Michael and their three children went on a camping trip to Ayer’s Rock (now Uluru). On the night of August 17, their daughter, Azaria, went missing. Lindy claims that she saw a dingo emerging from their tent with Azaria. A large search ensued but all that was found were the bloody remains of Azaria’s clothes. Lindy was charged with murder, despite her claims of the dingo having taken her child. The police allegedly found some of Azaria’s blood in their car. Lindy was sentenced to life imprisonment.

In 1986, a bloodied jacket was found in a concealed location right next to a dingo lair. Tests confirmed that it was Azaria’s. Shortly after the discovery, the government ordered Lindy’s release – the jacket seemed to corroborate with Lindy’s earlier story. Her charges were overturned and she apparently received a complete exoneration. The case would go down in Australian history as a massive miscarriage of justice.

Anyway, this is the story behind the often quoted saying “A Dingo Ate my Baby!” People didn’t believe it could actually happen – but it did and it landed an innocent woman in jail.