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.