A Three-Hour Tour, a Three-Hour Tour

OK, it was more like an eight-hour tour (was it really that long?), but a Saturday fishing trip inspired me to whistle the Gilligan's Island song. This trip was delayed about two months based on incelement weather and apparently the rest of Sydney's male population wanting some Australian sweep fish.

Sea sickness was on everyone's minds, since last time a few of our friends didn't have their sea legs and subsequently lost their sea lunches. But other than a bit of rocking and feeling like I was on a boat later in the night, the boat's bouncing was more ride than anyhing else. On the way through Sydney Harbour out to the mighty Pacific, a few of the rods showed a bend, which meant the fish were foolishly going for a bright and flashy bait that wasn't really bait at all. I was taking notes as some of the guys managed to fight these slimy fish into the boat.

This is where I'd like to make the comparison between fishing and wine tasting. Throwing back the fish after a hard-working catch is kind of like spitting out the wine after a taste. What a waste, enjoy your newly caught fish and wine, Jesus would.

When we got out into the ocean, that's when we set up shop by our 'rods,' stationary lines with the bait hooks. Something they don't tell prior to fishing is two of the more challenging things (at least on this boat) are hooking your bait and not getting your line tangled with the guy next to you. But basically, the rest of the time is waiting and reeling. Waiting....and reeling. Then moving the boat to a different spot with apparently more fish, and more waiting and reeling. Oh, and getting your hands to smell like fish the rest of the day while putting prawns, mini fish and squid on the hooks. I was shocked I didn't prick myself with the hook during one of these bait sessions.

But there was good music on the boat, sort of. I got 'Working for the Weekend' by Loverboy caught in my head, presumably thinking of the classic Chris Farley Chippendales SNL skit.

Fishing also reminded me of another nautical pasttime, sailing. They're both alot of prep work, with all the lines, bait, reels, sails, hooks and said hooks getting caught on the ocean floor. But for the times that a fish actually nibbles on our line and you come up with a salmon, pigfish or kingfish, it's pretty cool. Otherwise, beer may be required.

Despite the waiting, reeling and sun burning, all in all, good experience. Got a rare view of the coast, saw some pretty cool catches (with fish flapping around, of course) and saw old man Hal gut and scale about 30 fish on the way home. Ohh, that's what they mean by that...

During our day on the ocean (which wasn't really that far, we could see Bondi the whole time), I also caught one fish, my first ever: it's called a sweep and it was delicious.



















This is neither me catching a fish, nor any of our group. Hell, this is actually fly fishing. But Rory's pics are forthcoming and this shows Sydney Harbour, so close enough!

Best Commute in the World?

Many of us go through the daily commute to work: fighting through crowds and traffic, trying to wake up and prepping for what the day ahead holds. I do miss my car, but the Sydney work commute has been an adventure. First, it was the 333 and 380 bus fun. Since moving our office to North Sydney a few months ago, I've now had the pleasure of taking Sydney's trains and getting squished next to school kids and office workers from Bondi Junction to Town Hall and North Sydney stations.

A few weeks after arriving and taking the train across the Sydney Harbour Bridge, I predicted that this has to be the best commute anyone can enjoy, anywhere in the world. Tourists pay thousands just to see the Opera House and harbour, where I pay just $28 a week for ten trips over one of the most iconic settings on the globe.













However, this might be a little overrated, since I usually have my head in a book or too blocked by the packed train car to see anything more than traffic and bridge beams. But a good view of the water and top of the Opera House 'shells' reminds me of the scenic city I reside and work in. One strange aspect of heading back into Sydney is that while the train is going south, the traffic is driving north making passengers feel like we're going back in time or the wrong way down a one-way street.

Whether you work or visit Sydney, I'd suggest you grab a train over to Milson's Point or North Sydney for the journey and see what it's like every day on my way to the office. And after the train, another bonus is a good glimpse of the bridge going down the hill to McMahon's Point.

Koo Wee Rup

After the traditional trip to the Opera Bar, hiking the Bondi to Bronte cliffwalk, ferry to Manly, picnic at Ryan and Andy's and Japanese fish dinner, the next stop on mom and Aunt Eileen's Aussie Adventures took us south to Melbourne. OK, well, they ventured up to Cairns and the Great Barrier Reef, but this was MY next stop on their tour.

It was Friday the 13th, so I was expecting bad things to happen somewhere in the vicinity of the airport. Nothing drastic, but maybe sitting next to a fat guy or a delayed flight. The closest things I could decipher is the inability to catch a stand-by flight, sitting next to a fat guy and not having any money for the one shuttle bus into Melbourne. But good luck prevailed, as the kindly skydiving instructor Chris fronted me the $20 for my ride. Yes, my life is at a point where I need the help of skydiving instructors to pay for my shuttle bus because I don't know my Wells Fargo pin.

Finally getting into Melbourne around 11pm and grabbing a quick dinner, I snoozed away on my rollaway cot in room 121 of the Rendevous. Three things struck me from the Melbourne city tour the next morning: the guide spoke way too softly for 8am, Melbourne has a gaggle of sports venues and Captain Cook grew up in a house the size of an outhouse. Oh, and Yarra means 'everflowing' in Aboriginal. Why do we end up tired after just sitting in a bus most of the morn? Well, we needed our rest for a trip to Phillip Island and the Penguin Parade.

In short, the penguin tour took us two hours (in part through a town with one of my fave Aussie names, Koo Wee Rup) to Phillip Island, a scenic spot that's host to what else: an F1 and Moto GP racetrack. At sundown every night, hundreds of little penguins leave their daytime home in the ocean to head home to their burrows. On the marathon trip, I was wondering what all the fuss was about hanging out in the cold to watch penguins walking around...until I saw the little guys waddling out of the Pacific in droves, at exactly the time they promised. We even got something called the 'penguin premier' tickets, which was like box seats for the show. It was pretty cool to see these identical black and white birds rush out of the water and take to the penguin highway, coming home from work. There was even a Wallaby sighting to complete the night of nature.

They forbid us to take pictures, so here's a generic shot of the parade:













Sunday was looking like a hot one, so I made it over to the Australian Centre for the Museum Image to check out a exhibit of Dennis Hopper's films, photos and art collection. All I can say is the dude had it together, and still rolling along strong at 76. After Easy Rider, Colors and Andy Warhol paintings, I met up with friends Nirali and Martin right in the middle of a Polish festival. Seemed like a perfect time to grab a polish sausage for lunch.















Later on, mom, Aunt E and I cruised down Lygon Street, which seemed to have as many Italian restaurants as Phillip Island has penguins. We decided on the one that offered free wine and garlic bread, better deal than any others. Although it was 12 days after mom's birthday, I arranged the whole 'make a big deal' birthday dessert thing, and sure enough, they brought out tiramisu with the entire restaurant singing happy bday.
















Back to the Rendevous for a whopping four hours of sleep before saying g'day to mom and Aunt Eileen (they were headed for a week in NZ) and a 6am flight, then straight to work on Monday. This time I had the $20 for the shuttle bus.

Oh, and Tiger won the golf tourney, which took over the country's attention for a week. Speaking of blue blood sports, thinking of heading back down to Victoria for the Australian Open in January. Maybe I'll run into Andy Roddick at one of the alleyway bars.

Is There an Old Zealand?

Every time you apply for a new Visa, they make you leave the country. In April, it was Bali. To get my 457 last weekend, I made the quicker trip across the Tasman Sea to New Zealand. This would only be for a weekend, but I was determined to at least see a little more of Australia's little brother.













Don't follow the pushpins, just notice Auckland at the top of the north island

Before I get to the actual city, I have to make note of the concept that is Duty Free. You have to walk through this place to get into, or out of the gates. What is it exactly? I see, booze, cigarettes, purfume and electronics. I feel like Duty Free is what maybe purgaory is like. Sure, there's no tax, but now you're left with a bottle of Jack and another Ipod that smells like Chanel No 5. Yo digresso.

Auckland is New Zealand's biggest city, and from what I've heard, it's least attractive. But I've always been open to make my own opinions about these things. After arriving at the Base Backpackers, I took care of business and promptly applied for the visa. By this time, it was about 2am and people were still hanging out and milling around the hostel's lobby. Why are you still up?? Go to bed, people! It's at this point I officially realized I'm too old to stay at these places anymore. Luckily, I was checking into the Hyatt on Saturday.

One side note about Auckland: they have Dunkin Donuts, Wendy's AND a Denny's. This place went up about five notches just for that. I only ate a Dunkin Donuts, but damn, those glazed and Halloween Boston Creme donuts went dwn well with a coffee coolatta thing.

For nothing else, Auckland is worth a visit for the trip to, and experience on Waiheke Island. It's a Maori word, probably meaning 'the good wine' or something. A ferry ride over is about 30 mins and gives you a good vantage point of the city and it's surrounding areas. Auckland city is ok, but its harbor and local islands are much more impressive. When arriving on Waiheke, you have the option of a bus or hoofing it by foot. No question here, since it was a sunny 25 degree day.

A view of Waiheke from my private plane. No, my camera just wouldn't work.












After a recent day of wine tasting in Hunter Valley, became accustomed to the process of running through the wine list while some expert tried to explain how the next pinot should provide a 'stonefruit, forest floor' flavor. Duuude, it tastes like wine. OK, fine, they're all different, but my pallete is just taking in the alcohol. Since the third vinyard of the day (Jurassic Ridge...not to be confused with the dinosaur movie) offered free tastings, which was being done by the owner and winemaker....AND had bread with olive oil, I felt he deserved $29 of my hard-earned money. Since you can't bring back more than 100ml in carryon luggage, that meant I'd have to polish off my bottle of Jurassic Ridge Syrah (it's what the Kiwis called Shiraz, don't ask) that night. Woe is me.











Waiheke really is a nice island, especially when the wind isn't howling and it's clear, when you can see blue/green water and cool little islands in the distance. After about four hours of wine and walking, it was time to hop the ferry back to the mainland. That meant back to my hotel(!), the comfortable, quiet and classy Hyatt Auckland. For some twisted reason, I love hotels, even moreso after a night in a windowless room of Base Backpackers. That place felt like I was back in Stradley Hall at Ohio State.

I found a takeaway pizza place and picked up a calzone to share with my bottle of red and proceeded to spend the rest of Halloween in the room watching The Shining, All Blacks vs Wallabies, Frost/Nixon and Red Hot Chili Peppers videos. I'll think of something they all have in common, give me a minute.

On Sunday, I was up early enough where I could take another wander around Auckland in the daylight and make another venture to Dunkin Donuts. Seriously Sydney, I like that you're not full of chain restaurants, but get with the program here. I'd love some Munchkins! Made my way to a place called Sky Tower, where they offer something between a skydive and bungy jump off the tower. Seemed pretty cool, but pricey. Sky Tower has Sky City Casino, which is probably a healthier version than, say, hundreds of casinos that Vegas offers. I really just wanted to see some college fooball at the sports book, but yet another thing they don't have outside America.

I'd have to give Auckland a solid 7.5 out of 10. The city itself had some nice parts, good parks and a fine, fine Hyatt. Waiheke was worth the visit and the wine yet again flowed like fine itself. Really, though, I'll just be happy when the visa comes through. Processing, processing...

Where the Wild Things Are

This is an adventure where the phrase 'we're not out of the woods yet' applies perfectly. Growing up in the suburbs of Connecticut, I wouldn't exactly call myself a City Slicker, but yesterday's experience made me realize I'm not exactly an outdoorsman either.

For a few months, I've wanted to make a short trip down south to hike through Royal National Park. Saturday turned out to be a 25 degree (warm) day, so I decided to hop the train for Wollongong way. The express train dropped me out at Waterfall, what would be a fitting stop for this journey. My first hike took me to a place called Uloda Falls, which I suppose was a scenic spot about 5k from Waterfall station. From here, I decided to swap out my Rainbow sandals for trusty adidas snakers, which have served me well since 2001. This turned out to be one of my few good moves of the day, since a new path was uphill and rocky enough to warrant worn-out running sneakers. After reaching the peak of a scenic location, I decided to turn back and head for the waterall. But, um, where did the path go?? Oh, there it is...no, wait, that's just a bunch of rocks. Uh oh.

Royal National Park:


















Just a few months back, an English backpacker got lost in the wilderness of the Blue Mountains, then he was miraculously rescued. Now, those thoughts crept into my head. Am I the next transplant to make headlines and do A Current Affair inteview about my ordeal in the woods? OK, maybe not that dire since I could still hear motorycles off in the distance. But where the hell was I? And am I stepping on a poisonous snake with every step? I was still getting mobile reception, which I suppose was a good sign, in case I needed to dial for 'directions.' Hi, Mr. Park Ranger...I'm lost...I see rocks, trees and more trees...where am I?

Then of course there's that moment of elation: I've found a path! Where it's going, I don't care. But after about 10 minutes, the path dissolves into more forest. Where'd it go? Is this another Blair Witch Project? When do I start yelling for someone??

OK, time to dig into my bag of outdoor tricks. What have I learned from Bear Grylls and Man v Wild? Has Crocodile Dundee taught me anything? Yes, as a matter of fact, they have. When you find a lake or stream, follow it back to civilization. And watch where the sun is setting, it will take you west (where my train was probably patiently waiting). I was starting to get pretty thirsty, and that's when I found Banana Hammock and his wife.

Mr. Banana Hammock was a proper Aussie bloke, in his Greg Norman-meets-Mick-Dundee hat. His leathery skin resembled a topless Iggy Pop. And yes, the revealing Speedo was a little distracting. But alas, other humans! I'm saved...sort of. They directed me along the stream, per Bear Grylls, back to me home base at Waterfall station. I even managed to snag a bottle of water from the couple, my guardian angels in the wilderness. The walk along, next to and through the stream lasted for another hour and half. Still walking around trees, still probably avoiding snakes, still acquiring whatever rash these plants have to offer. In these situations, one always has a random song in their head to keep them truly insane. Randomly as always, mine was 'Up, Up and Away' by the 5th Dimension. If only I had a balloon that could take me out of there.

Finally, FINALLY I came upon the closest thing that resembled a path and heard the sweet sounds of 21st century civilization. Trains, motorcycles and other transport weren't too far off, and they sounded so sweet. Of course I had stumbled back out at the exact spot I started my day: Waterfall train station. How do these things work out so well?? As for my next blogger plug, I downed two bottles of Powerade and bag of M&Ms as my 'lunch' while boarding the train back to Sydney.

There were a few casualties of this four hour tour, including one of my Rainbow sandals, big rip in my jeans and water bottle from Banana Hammock's wife.

Following my experience, I offer these tips if you decide to hike in the wilderness of New South Wales:

- Bring multiple bottles of water (duh)
- Bring sunblock (duh)
- Bring a map (duh duh)
- Don't listen to your Ipod before getting lost
- Don't hike alone(duuuuh)

Today, I've decided to sit in the comfort of my home and watch college fooball. USC is winning.

'I'm So Going to Visit While You're Down There..."

I heard this quite a bit upon leaving the US two years ago. Friends, family, acquaintences were all making plans to jump on a flight to Sydney and enjoy a free place to stay. Even heard it when I was well-established here. Well, two years and a recession later, the visitors are in short supply. I know, I know....heard all the excuses so far: I'm waiting for the economy to get better, can't get work off, I'm drying my hair, it's baseball playoff season.

Well, those of you saving up to get married, this is a great place to get hitched. Anyone with babies? What's a better place to wake up at 4am?! As for that little financial difficulty stateside, well, your dollar goes really far here! On the US dollar, you could live like a king on kebabs and meat pies all week. Plus, flights within the country are pretty cheap, so you can be chilling Harbourside one day and sitting in a hammock with hippies in Byron the next, all for about $60.

I was fortunate enough to have a few friends this summer/winter, including a repeat visitor, someone who enjoys tropical North Queensland and both strawberries and fields. Then just heard that mom and Aunt Eileen are coming for a few weeks in November. That's the spirit!

But for all you Yanks waiting for the special moment when Qantas offers $250 return flights to Sydney, just know that your fellow adventurer Kev won't be down here forever. And then you'll be left to visiting Sydney without knowing the right kind of beer to drink, how to avoid getting hit by the buses and the easiest way to calculate the time difference.

In my first ever blogger plug, check out the great fares at http://www.vaustralia.com.au/. I heard this airline rules, hot meals and flight attendants.

9:07 is Now 10:07

Labor Day long weekend was also bday weekend. These are the little things that make four days pretty damn cool.

Friday: had birthday drinks with friends till I started to hiccup. I'm ok with my new age, an athlete's still in his prime, it's technically considered young and if in a band, I'd be entering my better, more mature phase. After Beauchamp, took the bus home while having my 1am dinner, a Reece's Peanut Butter Cup and Red Bull. No, I am not too old for this lifestyle.

Saturday: chatted with this cool girl Trinh for awhile, then got Turkish Delight and watched finish of Semi Pro and fave concert movie, Monterey Pop. Pretty much the script of how I wanted to spend a rainy/windy bday. At some point after going to sleep, time then went forward for daylight savings. It's like the Santa Claus of time came along and gave us an extra hour of sunlight. Leaving work in daylight hours is extremely underrated, and I will enjoy that for the next six months.

Grand Final Sunday: started as college football Saturday. Buckeyes won. Traded some good texts and made my way to the famous Golden Sheaf in Double Bay. Got Double Bay mixed up with Rose Bay and walked 30 min out of the way. While doing so, found $25 in the street. Somebody's getting both a train AND bus ticket this week. After pulling away from friends, walked back home and consumed more Turkish Delight. That place is like crack.

Monday: for the first time in forever, enjoyed a full football Sunday today, watched with fellow Yank, Tim. Giants won and Al Michaels is still announcing, both positive. More chatting after, followed by walking in the rain. Borders closed early, but just allowed me to come home and watch the season finale of Entourage. Did I not call that E was putting all his eggs in the Sloan basket?? Ari's entrance to the agency was classic.

And what's better than a long weekend is a short following week. And what's even better, baseball playoffs start this week, with an one-gamer tomorrow. Honestly, I don't ask for much.

Two Step

Today marks two years since I first set flip flopped feet in Australia. Way back then, George Bush was still screwing stuff up, Michael Vick was just going to jail and I didn't know NRL from Union. Fortunately, during that time, I've learned a few things about this place they call Oz. A digression of course, but whenever I hear that phrase, I don't think of Dorothy, but transcendent shortstop Ozzie Smith. The guy did backflips to go to his position. Why don't we have baseball players like that anymore??

OK, here are 24 things you may not know about Australia unless you move here. Why 24? Because I first thought of 20 and then kept thinking about funny things in this country.

The architecture is all over the place.

People really do say 'Gday' and 'no worries.'

Living north of the city isn't considered cool.

Contrary to popular belief, they don't really like Americans.

The weather isn't perfect.

Aboriginals are treated like a mix between American Indians and blacks. Yikes.

The country feels like America in 1964. That's a good thing.

These people know how to vacation. Or rather, holiday.

If you're not from Victoria, you don't tend to follow Aussie rules football.

The music scene is not good.

When not in maintenance, the Sydney train system is efficient.

Their politicians aren't dumb enough to be interesting.

They have an aversion to men's personal hygiene products.

They're not as sport crazy as advertised.

Queensland gets a bad rep.

Wine is a much better deal than beer.

Even if you're not a resident, you still need to file as resident 'for tax purposes.' Oh, of course.

People trust one another.

They feel better than New Zealand, but secretly know it's pretty cool over there.

Their newspapers are huge.

Rugby players don't really argue with refs, even after horrible calls.

They really like dogs.

They use the live auction format to sell a house.

They make a mean milkshake.


I can't imagine more valuable lessons than those. Oh, and when you get here and first meet people, don't be dissapointed if they think you're a Canadian.

Queen's Holiday

There is already a well-written detailed summary of the very same holiday in the blogosphere (cough, cough, Strawberry Fields), but here's my own two sense. Since last year, Trinh and I discovered tropical north Queensland in the form of Port Douglas, we decided to move a little south, in the vicinity of Brisbane. First stop, the iconicly granola Byron Bay.

Arriving in Byron was a bit of deja vu from Greyhounding it with Huw about a year and half earlier. Less Cheeky Monkeys and more Arts Factory this time. The weather was pretty much the same as in Sydney, but we put summer into our heads and so while the sun was shining, it was summertime. We rented bikes and surfboards, went to movies on cowprint pillows and saw some wicked sand sculptures. Trinh, not used to hippiedom in Australia, kept asking, 'who ARE theese people??' The Arts Factory was freezing, but we managed to get decent sleep in our concrete cube.















The start of many shuttle buses took us from Byron to Gold Coast, which seems like a gross version of Florida. And if you know my take on Florida.... We mainly headed up to this tourist trap (which was completely void of tourists) for the sole reason anyone comes to America: giant water parks and roller coasters. Thank you, Ricky Bobby. Since I haven't been to neither a water or amusement park in a good nine years or so, figured this would be the perfect time to see what's new. Ok, well, in Australia, not much. But some new rides for me, incluing a few that make you feel like you're in a kitchen appliance. The octopus was pretty sweet, where you can race against the other three people that are in the park.













From Gold Coast, we hit up the good ole Greyhound for some happy public transportation fun. Six hours later, and two subpar movies that kept me entertained, we landed in Rainbow Beach, pickup point for our Fraser Island tour the following few days. Rainbow is a nice little town, which I'm sure is run by our girl Debbie, a hotel/B&B owner who knows every Tom, Dick and Harry in town. She's always on the go, and always accompanied by her trusty furball of a dog, Suzie. Along with sandblows, an amazing sunset and multi-colored sandy beaches, Rainbow gave us our own kitchens and bathrooms. Amazing what four days of hostels can make you appreciate.













The experience on Fraser was fun, entertaining, bizarre, annoying, funny, tasteless, awkward, uncomfortable, fascinating, a bit scary, tasty and quite bumpy. And that was just in the tour bus. We've decided that 40 people is a wee bit big for our tastes, but that didn't stop us from enjoying Lake Mackenzie and Lake Wobby, two of the more scenic lakes you'll be freezing in. Tony and Wazza were engergetic and informed tour guides, but don't break Tony's rules: he reminds me of a roadie for AC/DC and his gruff demeanor really comes out when Frenchies do dumb things like not understand his rules. We got a 6am sunrise and hung out with dingoes, which are really mild mannered mangy dogs, or at least the docile ones we came across.



























After a stay in Rainbow again with Debbie and Suzie, our magical mystery tour brought us to Noosa. It was fitting to bookend the trip with Byron and Noosa. Whereas the flavor of Byron is incense, surfing, organic eggs and hippie buses, Noosa is more weddings, bottles of wine, white pants and well-behaved youngsters. Noosa even had the nicest Internet cafe I'm sure to come across. We ate expensive, kayaked without tipping over, saw another great sunset and even laid claim to our own private island. In short, we classed it up. While the Gold Coast was rife with nothingness and closed stores, Noosa was bustling until 10pm (laaate by Aussie standards). Fraser was teeming with tourists, but Noosa seems to be mostly an Aussie getaway.














One would think the discoveries of Queensland may be concluded, but there's more to be seen in wonderful tropical North Queensland. Next stop? After visting our pad in Rainbow, my vote is the Whitsundays. Stay tuned.

Wines, Wines, Everywhere There's Wines

After more than a year and a half of hearing about this magical place called Hunter Valley, where the wine is plentiful and the women...ok, well, it's just wine. I've been told by locals and tourists alike that Hunter Valley is a great place to enjoy the countryside of New South Wales while enjoying a glass of chardonnay (sp?). Although I'm a big fan of wine, this doesn't seem like my carafe of pinot grigios. But since we have some fellow Yanks in town for the summer, others new to Oz and one leaving, this seemed like an appropriate time to jump in the car for wine country.

A sunny Sunday afternoon seemed like the appropriate time and place for the road trip. We made sober Greg drive, although someone driving after a few drinks might be easier than asking an American to jump in a car on the opposite side, driving on the other side of the road. Let me just state that Greg did a fantastic job weaving through the roads of NW New South Wales, carrying four increasingly alcohol-fueled individuals.


















The process of wine tasting and wine appreication has always seemed strange to me. I didn't really 'get' Sideways and don't know why on earth someone would drink a perfectly good drink, then spit it out. I was the guy at each vinyard that would ask the remedial questions, like some third grader on a field trip:

So are you into wine like other people are into music? Like, it's an art or something?

What was the best year or time for wine? Like, the 60s were vintage for music, 50s were great for baseball.

Hey Gary, you know it's the 40th anniversary of the moon landing this week? Where were you on July 20, 1969?

All responded with something like, 'that's a great question,' but they probably just meant to say, 'ugh, another American moron who just wants to get drunk.' I'm not sure I learned alot about the process of wine making or could even decipher the difference between Tower Estate white and Pigg's Peak shiraz. When it comes own to it, it's wine and some tastes better than others. Good on these kids for making an efort, but it's like pizza in NY: it's all going to taste good to me, so serve it up.















Each of the vineyards we hit up had their own unique personality, and in some ways, that made the wine taste better. The first joint was pretty empty and had a surly lady forcing each glass on us like a drill sargeant doling out pushups. She's lucky that was our first taste of the day and we were just thirsty for anything (and Jaime had to go to the bathroom, so this place was most convenient).















As an aside, I thought the samples they offered would be a bit bigger in each glass. What, we don't get a full glass each time? Oh, the naive wine tatser. Second stop was Tower, which had a good vibe, good servers and a house that looked like we were in Arizona. Check, check and check. After a fanstastic kobe Bryant burger and bottle of red, we went to some monstrosity of a building that looked more like a rest stop equivalent of wine country that a small little vinyard. Wine was fine, but the gelato next door was finer.


Our last stop of the afternoon was Pigg's Peake. This will be most memorable not only for its name (and how can't you love that?), but the owners, Gary and Steve. These guys ruled, and served us past closing time. To Greg's amusement, Steve was wearing a echnicolor dream coat and fixed an old wine barrel outside, while three of us took cues from Gary and drank/ate like the boozehounds we were. We swore each of the guys took a liking to Jaime, probably because she bought about five bottles and promised to come back before she left Australia for good.
















After bidding Gary and Steve adeiu in the Sunday darkness, we cracked open a bottle of white and passed around the car like hippies at Woodsock. What didn I learn from the Hunter Sunday? Australian wines can hold their own with any in the world, Trinh likes desert wine (and so does her mom), Laura is a frequent visitor to Napa, and that seems about right, Jaime is a complete wino, but knows her stuff and Greg digs ginger beer and is a quick learner behind the wheel.

No matter that the purchased bottles were rolling around the trunk on the way home, it seems like a fitting part of the Hunter experience.

Hot Hot Heat

This is an uncharacteristically short entry, but since we're in the middle of winter (which isn't really much of a winter by normal standards), figured I bring this up. Why isn't there heat anywhere in this country?? It's colder in my house and office than outside. Insulation and thermostats are unknown in Oz. Maybe they just got used to being in the cold prisons from back in the day?

We decided on a road trip up to Brisbane for next month. Hoping this will be a fool-proof way to get around the winter chill for a week.

Potent Potables

Yesterday's 4th of July celebrations had us searching for the great American contribution of Budweiser. Although Aussies see the King of Beers as "cat piss," they humor us by offering Bud in six packs for the low price of $15. We were shocked and appalled that this was not the case on the nation's bday, and our home country beer was not on the shelves. Luckily, I had learned to live without our watered-down barley and hopps concoctions. Most of it is pretty tasty here and contains more alcohol...win-win, right? Except they sometimes call it "grog," not the most poetic of phrases. Have a seat at the bar, grab a middie or stuby and let's get pissed.

Carlton: I think of this as their Budweiser. Middle of the road beer, generally consumed by everyone and readily available at most pubs. When in doubt, go Carlton.

Tooheys: Maybe the poor man's Carlton, or Pepsi to Carlton as Coke. No complaints with Tooheys, Tooheys New or an of its brethren.

VB: From Victoria, you'd probably get laughed at a bit for bringing this to a party. Let's just say it has a "bogan," or white trash reputation. Not sure if it's the geography of its origin or its little stubbie bottle shape, but I'll go ahead and compare this to PBR. Having a VB (Victoria Bitter) usually garners a laugh.

Coopers: This is my go-to beer. They have pale ale and something sparkling, but I'll always go for the pale ale. It tastes pretty legit, has decent alcohol content and good green label. You even have to do a cool trick before opening: since there's sediment at the bottom of the bottle, you have to roll it back and forth a few times to break things up. In the U.S., this would be Sierra Nevada or Fat Tire.

Pure Blonde: This fairly new low-carb beer with the not-so-manly name is good if you're looking for a beer without the full potential for a beer gut. No complaints for this one, other than a small loss of masculinity when holding it at a bar and they've been showing the same midly humorous ad for more than a year straight. Comparison? Maybe one of those low carb beers by Miller or Coors.

Hahn: I can't recall much about this brand, other than they have an offshoot called Hahn Super Dry. I'll go with Michelob as comparison on this.

Boags, James Boags, James Squire, Blue Tongue, Little Creatures: these all seem to fit the same category as semi micro brew beers that are defintely worth a try, and maybe I should go for the variety pack somtime soon.

There are others, but appreantly not trying enough to catch my attention. It really is a good mix of full taste but not a full-course meal like English beers and bitter taste of Eastern European brands. Of course you can also get your hands on the likes of Carona, Heineken, Stella, Peroni, etc. but might as well go local on this one.

As PR representative of a foundation aimed at curbing alcohol consumption in Australia, I urge any visitors to take it easy "on the piss" and make sure you don't order a Fosters! (don't worry, you can't find it anywhere here)

Pass the Kangaroo

It was bound to happen, so now here's the post where I review the culinary delights of Australia. For anyone that knows me, my diet usually consists of mac and cheese and cereal, but a little known secret is that I enjoy eating anything under the sun/moon.

To the world at-large, Australia isn't neccessarily known for its food, although I would imagine Aussie fish has a good reputation (the closest thing I've eaten to fish has probably been sushi, so can't comment too much in that department).

Before getting into specific food that's unique to Australia, let me reinforce the "same same, but different" principle again. They have McDonalds, they have Burger King (although it's called Hungry Jacks for some reason), they have Pizza Hut and Dominoes (although a large is bite-sized) and pretty much anything else a spoiled American can ask for. Yes, even Kraft mac and cheese...bonus! What I'll do is rundown a few of the foods that I've either come across for the first time here, or what may be unexpectedly popular.

Kangaroo:

















Now I know what you're thinking: oh, that poor little cute kangaroo, how could you eat that? Well, if they didn't make em so damn delicious...'roo is a great dish when cooked right. Think a really tender mix between steak and rib meat or something. Had it a few times so far (even in a burger form) and I'll eat the pouch for dessert if it's available.

Meat pie/sausage rolls:


















Along with the kangaroo, this is probably the closest thing we can claim as "Australian food," even though it's really not. I mentioned in the previous post about having pies in the northern beaches, and they really are fantastic. What I didn't mention is they're pretty much what we refer to in the states as a chicken pot pie. Crusty pie, meat/chicken and maybe some veggies inside. But hey, if done right...golden. And there definitely are some places that really get these right. The fast food version for pies is a place fittingly called Pie Face, which also provides sausage rolls, which is a sausage wrapped up in that same flaky crust. A visit to Pie Face in King's Cross at 2am is pie heaven.

Crocodile:













I don't think this is a common dish and I'm not even sure I can claim I've eaten this, but I had crocodile ravioli in Port Douglas last year. It was good, I ate croc.

Kebabs:















I've especially been a kebab fan since moving a stone's throw away from a place called Turkish Delight. Us Americans think of kebabs as shish kebabs, the multiple meat and peppers on a stick meal at BBQs. These kebabs
(pronounced ke-BABBS), are more like gyros at Greek takeout places. My fave is the lamb kebab with sweet chili sauce. It's Turkish and it's a delight.

Thai:














Of course this isn't Australian food, per se, but it's like Chinese food in America: we've pretty much adopted it as our own. Walk down any street in Sydney (even Chinatown) and you're bound to find a Thai restaurant of some sort. You know the drill...pad Thai, curry chicken, curry puffs. It's to Thai for. Wow, I went there and back.

Indian:














Another "foreign" food, but with the influence of the Brits (you know, their wardens that they still bow to), the scent of Indian curry isn't too far off. You just don't see too much of it in the U.S., but they really should pop up more often. I go for it all: beef vindaloo, butter chicken, rogan josh. A really good place in the city is called the Clove on Riley Street. Some red wine and curry may equal the Marrakesh Express to the bathroom for some, but fill me up with seconds.

Banana bread:

















We've gotten into breakfast/dessert territory here, but you really can't visit a cafe that doesn't offer some form of good ole bb. Me like toasted with butter, straight up. Throw in some oj, we're set.

Coffee:


















I'm not a regular coffee drinker, but was a bit suprised to see how popular coffee was, at least in Sydney. I'm also told that it's made very well, and makes sense since those baristas look like they're working hard. If I do spring for some joe, I'll go for a cappuchino. Belisima.

This might require a few sequels of the food post, but that's what springs to mind so far. It's 10:30 at night, and I'm getting a little hungry for some banana bread and Turkish Delight....next up, the grog (translation to come).

Northern Exposure

At the insistence of my stateside friends John and Misha, and my own curiosities, I spent the day heading up to Sydney's northern beaches. Although I had been up to Palm Beach for friends' wedding in October and frequented the aforementioned Manly a number of times, I wanted to explore some of the area between Manly and Palm Beach. Oh, and to sample a famous pie shop that John recommended.















My goal was to check out the beaches, grab lunch at the Upper Crust and maybe make it all the way "home" to Newport Beach. Now the bus ride is supposed to take me as far as Bondi Junction, but managed to get the ticket all the way to Dee Why, about 20 minutes north of Sydney CBD. Without a map, I was going to make my travels based on memory from looking at a map the night before. I knew that if I hugged the coast and stayed near Pittwater Road (the main highway/road that reminded me of the Mets' farm team, Pittsfield), I couldn't get too lost. In short, as long as the Pacific was by my side, I knew where I was. Soon after getting dropped off and discovering Dee Why's beach, I realized I was stuck in a reserve area, which seemed duly reserved for middle school kids, who were on some sort of science field trip this day. This made me think how miserably I'd fail science and biology still to this day...















The reserve provided another set of scenic views of the northern beaches and surrounding cliffs. While I'm not a huge fan of Sydney's beaches in comparison to others I've graced, the cliffs and hills above provide some of the best viewpoints this side of California.















The reserve area was a nice long-cut, got to have a full vantage point of the area and do some additional hiking in my Ballibong flip flops. As I headed back towards civilization, was really hoping I would find Pittwater Road since your intrpid traveler was getting a bit famished by this point. Not only did I find my way to Pittwater, but stumbled out exactly at the Upper Crust's front door. Sometimes these things work too well... Grabbed the chicken and white wine pie, my mouth is watering just thinking of it. I'll discuss Aussie food in another post, but the meat pies are a staple of life here. I kinda see the infatuation, and sort of think I'm just eating a chicken pot pie at the same time. This one was mighty good and prepared me for a marathon walk.















For the remainder of the day, I stuck close to Pittwater, especially since it was close to the beaches: Collaroy, Narrabeen and Mona Vale. Mind you, this is probably about three miles of walking, many of this either in the sand or along a five-lane road. Lost the scenery of first hike, but caught the flavor of these beaches and their surrounding suburbs. Finally made it to the cusp of Newport, but without a map, didn't know where it and was tired of Pittwater Road. Something tells me I wouldn't have seen Blue Beet or Jack's, anyway.

All in all, not too bad of a venture. Got to discover another area, enjoy a scrumptulescent pie and listen to some newly downladed albums. On a side note, the bus ride back featured a Mormon kid from Oregon, presumably on his mission, try to convert a 75-year-old guy in front of me. C'mon kid, give it a rest. After walking the Northern Beaches, and most of Sydney afterwards, now I need one.

Spitting Images

On a sunny Tuesday morning, I set out for an area of North Sydney called "The Spit." I could toss in a cheeky little joke there about Swallows Harbour next door (doesn't really exist), but will just say it's strange name for such a seemingly nice place. The Spit to Manly path is a famous trail that wraps around the peninsula adjacent to the northern beach town of Manly. If you've been to Sydney, you better have gone to Manly, if anything for the ferry ride. Well, I must've missed this tourist attraction during my first few idle months in town, so decided to hop public transport towards Spit-ville.

After crossing what amounted to a four lane highway, I quickly became one with nature at the foot of the "Scenic Spit to Manly Walkway." I'd really prefer to call it the Spit Trail or Spitsville. Something about going on hikes all of a sudden not only makes you feel like a tree-hugging Ranger Rick, but turns (at least me) into an isolationist. I'd like to avoid other walkers at all costs. Speed up or slow down to get rid of other humans, that's what I say. Just me and the lizards, snakes and spiders out there. Well, only saw lizards and one spider in my three hour tour, but did catch some amazing views of Sydney Harbour.

















I'll digress here, but have you ever gotten a song in your head BEFORE listening to it? That was the case on the trail today, when Lou Reed's "Perfect Day" came into that part of the brain that keeps songs spinning over and over. This was probably in anticipation of listening to his 1972 album "Transformer" later in the day, which I enjoyed while laying on Manly Beach. Tough life, I know.















One thing we are not in this town is landlocked...there's water at every turn, and no matter how many times you've seen the Harbour, it's dramatic and unique from each direction. The walk gets really interesting when entering the Sydney Harbour National Park about halfway through. Here, you can see the best views of the Harbour from atop and afar. From this vantage, the Harbour looks scenic as ever and the opening to the Pacific looks like it will swallow you whole. Within the Harbour, you see hills, trees and suburbs on its edge...it's enclosed and eventually stops. Then there's that opening to the Pacific Ocean, and it goes forever until you hit Ruby's on the Huntington Beach pier (or if I pulled out a map, Santiago, Chile might be a bit more accurate, but who's counting?).
















After a few wrong turns, mini Harbour beaches, a gradual decline and 2 1/2 hours, the trail ends right in Manly Wharf. Only thing to say about Manly on this day is that the beach was about 20 degrees cooler than the last beach I visited in Bali and anytime you're there, hit up Burger Me. They say their burgers are bloody good, and I can't argue.















Oh, and don't forget to take the ferry ride back into Sydney. It's bloody good too, especially when you're listening to Transformer along the way.