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!