Chinese Garden of Friendship

Juxtaposed to the busy CBD (Central Business District) is a big beautiful Chinese Garden that was created back in 1988 at Australia's Bicentenary.

I decided to take a walk down to The Chinese Garden of Friendship and check it out. $6 to get in and totally worth it. A beautiful garden with great sculptures, flowers, pavilions and trees. I want to say it was quiet and tranquil but being surrounded by a very busy district you can hear all the noise surrounding it.

Nonetheless, a great experience that I will recommend to everyone that comes to visit. Bring a camera and make time to sit and have tea in one of the Chinese pavilions.

Do you have any pies?

The Friday after Thanksgiving Thursday in the States, we celebrated Thanksgiving at my boss's boss's house in North Sydney. He's American , his wife is Australian, and they invited some people over for the holiday.

Sharon and I were tasked with bringing pie, something that seemed easy enough so I didn't think about it again until Friday morning.

I did a search for local bakeries and started calling them. I figured it would take a few seconds to figure out whether they had what I wanted or not.

I called the first bakery. A French-sounding woman answered.

"Hi," I said, "Do you have any pies?"
"Yes," the French accent answered, "We have chicken pies, chicken and bacon pies, beef pies, lamb and…

"No, no," I cut her off before getting the entire menu, "I'm looking for dessert pies."

"Eh, dessert pies?" She asked as if this were an alien concept. I was starting to get the sense this task might not be so easy.

"Yeah...like apple pie or pecan pie," I suggested.

"Pecan pie?" She said, as if confused. I had pronounced it peh-cahn, like it's said in the States. I had heard it's said pee-can here so thought maybe that threw her off.
"Yes...peh-cahn pie, pee-can pie." I tried it both ways, hoping that might get things back on track.
"Eh...no apple pie or pecan pie. But we have chocolate cake, cheesecake, and…lots of other cakes." She paused, before triumphantly stating that they also had apple strudel. "That's like apple pie," she said.

"Oh, apple strudel?" I was willing to settle for anything approaching pie at this point. "Okay, that might work," I told her.

"I'm sorry -- you want strudel?"

"Um, look, I'll just swing by to look at what you have."

The French accent didn't understand. "Sorry?" she said. This was going downhill quickly.

"Um…yeah, it seems like you guys have a lot of…offerings…so I'll come take a look." I was now thinking to myself…'Offerings?',  what a bad choice of words. How do I extract myself from this conversation?

The French accent started talking again, but it was garbled.

"I'll just stop by," I said, not sure how I was still on the phone.

There was another round of garbled French accent.

"Okay, um…I'll see you later," I said and hung up.

Sharon could barely contain herself and started laughing hysterically. Then she declared that no one could understand me. While it's true that I mumble a bit (okay, all the time), I told her it wasn't my fault and gave her the honor of calling the next bakery.

In a very clear, professional voice Sharon asked the first bakery she called if they had pie. It was a voice you could have confidence in and I figured she'd have this situation all wrapped up in a few seconds.

The façade quickly broke down though when after a moment of silence she raised her voice and stressed "Not meat pies, dessert pies. Like apple pie or pecan pie." I broke into a grin.

There were a few more seconds of silence before Sharon again had to describe what she was looking for. At this point I started laughing. Either we were both idiots or all the bakers were, but if the former at least I wasn't alone. She hung up the phone, defeated.

After calling about five bakeries to no avail we gave up and figured we'd try again when we got to North Sydney. We called a bakery that, surprise, surprise, did not carry dessert pies. But the very kind lady did let us know that a deli across from her was selling pies. We walked in and found out they had just made a bunch of pumpkin pies that morning. I scooped up two and we made our way to the Thanksgiving dinner. Next time I'll just show up with a meat pie: "Oh, that turkey and stuffing was fantastic. Hope everyone saved some room for lamb pie!"

Funny Money!

I love American money! I do! But not only for the obvious reason. When going out at night the strategy is to bring as little as possible. I grab the necessities and a couple $20s to get me through the night. At the end of the night, after having spent some of my money, I pull out the few bills to see what is left.

This is not the case in Australia! Given the same situation, I end up coming home with still less money but weighing an extra 50 Kilos. Why? Because instead of paper, their $1 and $2 are actually coins. So coins don't always get thrown into the change jar.  They have a $1 coin and a $2 coin! I once counted up all the change in my wallet and it totaled $12.70!

You thought the quarter was the only coin worth holding on to? Wrong! We have a coin here worth 50 cents and its twice the size of a quarter in weight. We saw some hapless girl buy a ferry ticket at a kiosk with a $50 bill. She had to use both hands to scoop up all the change the machine spit back at her.

Either I need to hire a little midget to carry around all my change or Australia needs to do something about their money.

Another beer, sir? Flying in Australia

Flying within Australia is very different than flying within the US. Clearly this is a place that has never experienced a 9/11 and isn't on code red or DEFCON 5 or whatever the States has been on since then.

Much of the security requirements around flying in the US are just theatrics. I can't take tweezers but I can take a pen or pencil, which could be used to stab someone. Or I could break a credit card in half and cut someone's throat (happened on 24). Or someone with a black belt could simply use his martial talents to break some necks. There was a sign at LaGuardia Airport last Christmas explicitly saying "No snow globes." Seriously, is that necessary? Are all the precautions relevant? Probably not.

In Australia, security is less rigorous than at a trendy nightclub in Manhattan so they don't bother with all these charades. For starters, you don't have to take your shoes off. As for liquids? If you got 'em, bring 'em. As I was about to go through the security checkpoint I realized I had a full bottle of water with me. I asked a security guy where I could throw it away. You don't have to, he said, you can bring it through. Amazing!


They don't even check ID at any point. I could literally buy a ticket and let someone else fly for me. (Maybe they should work on this one actually....)


You also don't board by row here, but queue up at the gate. It doesn't matter whether you're in first class or in the last row by the toilets, it's first come, first board. 


Air travel is also more civilized here. I've only been flying Qantas so I can build up my points, so other airlines may be different, but on every flight so far I've gotten a free meal or at least snacks and tea. And the snacks are usually fancy-schmancy, like gourmet crackers and dip or cookies -- nothing like the miserable bags of six peanuts you get on American airlines. Qantas also serves complimentary wine and beer, though for what airfare costs I probably deserve a six-pack.

Not much variety...

The Huntsman

"OH MY GOD, ADAM, I'M SO FREAKED OUT RIGHT NOW!!" These were the panic-stricken words Sharon cried out when I answered my phone at 7:00 in the morning. A nervous breakdown sounded imminent. My mind jumped to all the awful and unlikely things that might have happened: someone trying to break in, a finger lost in a kitchen accident…. 

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"There's a Huntsman in the apartment!" Sharon said, near tears. My brain was still fuzzy from waking up and I couldn't make sense of what she said. I kept picturing a guy in a red plaid jacket with a bright orange vest and hat, walking through the woods with a rifle. "It's soooo freaking big!" Sharon cried.

Then my neurons connected: the Huntsman is without a doubt the king of spiders in Australia. Adult males can grow to a foot in diameter. They don't build webs to trap prey, but actively hunt insects, hence the name. They're actually a good spider to have around because they eat cockroaches, which plague Sydney. For this reason, many people will simply put the spider outside rather than kill it.

Sharon is not many people. She has what might be called an insect phobia.

On a good day, she freaks out about a moth flitting around the room. I am immediately ordered to destroy it and Sharon becomes incensed when I tell her it'll leave on it's own and I'm not going to bother chasing a moth around the apartment. She once killed a cockroach with my flip-flop when I was away for work, and then left my flip-flop resting on top of the bug for two days because she was too afraid to move it. (The dialogue from that gem of a conversation is at the bottom of this post.)

So now Sharon was alone in the apartment with a live spider as big as her hand. And she was hysterical about it. "It's so freaking big! It's so freaking big!" she kept repeating. "You have to come here and kill it!"

I didn't think flying home to Sydney to kill a spider would be looked on kindly by my manager.

I tried to calm her down a bit. "Look, it's big…but we know it's not poisonous and they don't attack humans."

"How do you know?!"

"Because everyone in this country has told us that."

Sharon wasn't buying it. "What if this one's different?!"

"That's not very likely."

"I can't stay here! Adam, I can't stay here with that spider -- I'm freaking out!!" I didn't have much hope of calming her down so I figured it might be better to extract her from the situation entirely.

"Well, look, what if we get you a hotel room and I can deal with it when I get home tomorrow?" I suggested.

"Okay."

"Alright, I've got Marriott points so let's see if we can use them."

"Actually, I don't think going to a hotel is a good idea. What if it moves while I'm gone and I'll have no idea where it went?! My heart's about to come through my chest. I think I've aged 10 years!"

So the extraction plan wasn't working either.

"Okay, here's what you're going to do. Get your laptop, go in the bedroom…"

"I can't go in the bedroom…what if the spider moves? I have to watch it."

"Okay, don't go in the bedroom,  get your laptop, Google 'exterminators', and see if one will come get rid of it, okay?"

"Okay." Sharon said. She seemed like she was coming to her senses, but it was short-lived. She returned to exclaiming, "But it's so freaking big!! It's so freaking big!!"

"Sharon! Calm down and get a grip," I ordered. "Google 'exterminators' and get one to come to the apartment, okay?" I could only imagine how an exterminator would react to a call to come kill a single, innocuous spider. "Call me back later and let me know what's going on."

About fifteen minutes later Sharon called me back in much better spirits.

"So you got an exterminator?" I asked.

"No, none of them answered their phones. I went down the hall and started knocking on doors, and I got two guys from another apartment to come kill it."

"How did they kill it?" Huntsman are pretty fast so I was curious what the strategy was.

"They kept whacking at it with their shoes."
I pictured the remains splattered across the wall of the beautiful apartment we're staying in until January. "Sharon, are there guts all over the wall?"

"No," she said, "But I do have to vacuum up some of its legs now."

And that's why we'll be putting screens on the windows of our apartment.

----------------------------------------------

Phone conversation from several months ago about a cockroach (I was away for work and it was two days before I'd be returning to New York):

Sharon: "Sooo…I did something and I don't want you to get mad at me…"

Me: "Okay."

"Sooo…I saw a cockroach and I didn't like it…and I decided to do something about it…  So I hit it with your flip flop…. …."

"Okay." So far I hadn't heard anything that could possibly make me mad.

"But I'm too scared to look at it, so I'm just going to leave it there under your flip flop until you get home."

"Sharon! That is so ridiculous, just pick it up and throw it away." This was completely ridiculous.

"No…I'm just going to leave it there. I put a note next to the flip flop so you know which one it is."

"Jesus Christ."

Here's what I came home to:

"Don't move dead bug under"

Only in Australia...

 

I found this on my walk home from Cook & Phillip Park and thought... I am definitely in Australia!

Mailing just isn't what it is today...

The more time I'm in Australia the more I see that it's very similar to America...but not the America we know and love today. Instead, it's like the America of 30 years ago.

Here in Australia, just like in America, mailmen/women deliver mail to your home or apartment. However, unlike America, here they do not pick up mail from your home. No walking to  the front of your house and simply lifting the red flag to designate a pickup. No, here you have to walk around to locate the nearest drop box, where ever they are, and hand deliver your mail for a pickup.

Now I don't want to sound spoiled, maybe I am, but since the mailpeople have to deliver mail to your home why not eliminate one extra stop and pick up our mail as well.

I'm just saying....

Rules to live by...

 

I found this sign hanging on the wall at The Courthouse, a pub in Newtown. I think they have it right! 

Baby Racing

It's a big surprise when you walk into a pub here and see a dad with a pint of beer in one hand and a year-old baby hanging in a carrier on his chest. In the States, you just don't see dads taking their kids to the bar...I don't even know if that's legal in the States (if not, it probably should be...).

I was remarking on this to a guy we met during a pub crawl last night who shared a good story about what happens when men are in charge of the kids. Mike is originally from Miami. One of his friends there, who had recently become a dad, invited Mike to a park in Miami to hang with his son.

Hell no, Mike said, he wasn't about to get stuck co-babysitting. Trust me, said the dad, you'll have fun. So Mike went to the park and found there was a group of other young dads with babies. And that they race the babies. And that they bet on the babies.

Turns out you need 2 adults per team. The dad goes to the end of the straightaway to coax the child and give the baby something to race to. The other adult holds the baby in place until the race starts. All the babies were in the crawling stage for the most part, but still had to be handicapped for age. A few months here and there makes a big difference when everyone is still in diapers. A baby with a 6 month lead was forced to start farther back.

The dads all bet on the kids as well, and prior performance is weighed heavily: "Well, last week your kid just rolled over so I have $5 against him." How often dads bet against their own kids would be an interesting thing to know.

When Mike and his friend got back to the house, the wife asked him if he had fun. Oh yeah, it was great, Mike said. "We played on the swings, walked around...had a great time."

"Don't bullshit me," she said, "I know you were betting on my kid."

And that's what happens when you let dads babysit.

Just out of curiosity, I googled "baby racing" and apparently this is a sanctioned sport in Lithuania: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_bQ0oyNntjE.

Aussies know how to throw a party!

Last night Adam and I got dressed up for the annual Accenture Holiday Party. The theme for this year's party was to wear white so everyone would glow under the black lights. Upon arriving we quickly realized that this company knows how to throw a party.

They rented out part of the giant Sydney Exhibition Hall, had tons of food, desserts and an open bar from 7pm to midnight. They hired the best soulful lady to sing as well as the winning team from Australia's Got Talent for entertainment.



One thing that wasn't well thought out was the Indian food buffet. Not my go-to type of food for a night of drinking. Either way, we had a great time but now I need to rid off this champagne headache and take some Tylenol to gear up for the going away pub crawl at 3pm for our friend Mo. Oy!

The Poop Tree...

This literally stopped me mid run! 

 Just one of the fabulous things to see here in Sydney!

A Trip To Manly

A great way to travel and explore here is by ferry. It's pretty quick and offers the most amazing views of the harbour. Last week while Adam was stuck inside an office working,  I decided to head north on the ferry to Manly Beach. Its a 30 minute ferry ride from Circular Quay and was $13 for a return.

The view was beautiful and after arriving I immediately got a bubble tea and then I walked around. I happened to be at Manly while a surfing competition was happening, which I watched for a bit and now I am super motivated to get lessons. Whether we are good or not at least we have to try it out. I'm pretty confident but Adam might need some one-on-one.

A tip for ferry riders... sit in the back of the boat. The front has great views but the wind is so strong that its chilly, plus it totally messes up your hair...but the back is smooth like a baby's bottom.