Right, I'm off to Singapore. Flight leaves in a little under 2 hours. I'm in seat 11A, not 4A, but because I shoved the Perth-Hong Kong flight in the last entry I failed to use that title then and I didn't want it to go to waste. Bah.
Hong Kong's a weird place. I love it and hate it. By day the heat is stifling, the weather awful, the streets drab and the skyline ugly. But by night the heat's wonderful, the streets a fantastic neon-fest and the skyline amazing. I'm probably suffering a bit from most-recent-place-is-the-best-place and need some more time to reflect (plus take in Singapore and Tokyo) but by the end of last night I really did think I could see myself living in Hong Kong ... but only from about 5pm each day. Perhaps there's somewhere nearby with a less nasty climate that I could commute to, heh. Mind you it's pretty arrogant on my part to even think like that. Here's me, from a fantastic country which people the world over flock to to live, and a country which many of the natives are starting to feel like the borders should go up, and I'm blithely hobnobbing it fatcat style around a bunch of the world's major cities and going "yeah, I could come here" as if it's a right, not a privilege. Pfft.
English Darren had told me I'd be mad if I didn't go out on my first night in Hong Kong, straight down to an electronics shop to buy a camera. Sorry Darren, I guess I'm mad. True to form I'd arrived at the hotel with no local currency nor any means of transport. I knew in advance that buying an Octopus Card was the right thing to do, and previous experience should have told me to get some bloody cash out at the airport 'n all, but I did neither. I didn't stay in the hotel room all night though, first off I went for a harbourside wander and had my first night time view of that skyline. Like, wow. Also loads of locals practising tai chi, or fishing over the side, some with rods and some with just lines. Took that in for a bit and then went inland, looking for a bank and something to eat. Found both: an HSBC and a 7-Eleven where I bought a sandwich and a diet coke. For about one pound twenty. Bargain. Explored a little bit more, the area is called Whampoa and is on the Hong Kong mainland (ie, Kowloon side). I don't think I knew until about a month ago that Hong Kong wasn't purely an island.
A few more misconceptions were laid to rest during my time here too come to think of it. For example, not all Chinese people look alike. In fact they range from slightly to massively different, all of 'em. Funny that, eh? Mind you they are short, and they do sound alike. That's because as well as having a fucking ridiculous form of writing (font manufacturers must hate the Chinese, there's almost fuck all you can do with it) the Cantonese language seems to have it in for accents. The tone of each word is so important that the meaning changes -- not subtly, as in variations on a single meaning, but the entire bloody word. So you could get a book with pronunciations in it, rubbishy Romanised versions of the words, but if you were a typical westerner who automatically attached the intonations you'd use in your first language, you'd probably end up talking total bollocks. Meanwhile the locals all sound the same because they have to use the same intonation as one another.
Oh for fucks sake. Flickr is really pissing me off these days. If I didn't already have 2500 photos on it I'd consider moving somewhere else like photobucket, or even reverting back to using gallery. No, wait, I wouldn't do that. But fucking hell. I've finally got a decent upload speed in this 'ere lounge but flickr still kicks me off midway through sending up 150-odd photos and now I've got to work out where it stopped, remove all the ones it managed from uploadr, and kick it off again. Gah!
Anyway. Yes. Chinese. Sound alike, short, don't all look alike. Also, I know some fellas have got a thing about yer Eastern women, in general and not just specific ones, but I've gotta say guys, it's not all Lucy Liu over here y'know. There's as many heifers as there are fit ones, it is -- shock horror! -- once again much like back home in terms of proportions.
*cough* That's enough anthropology to be getting on with, I think.
That was it for Friday night though. A wander around Whampoa and along the harbour front, then back in the hotel. Saturday started badly, as previously blogged about. Ridiculous weather, drenched in sweat after a walk, etc etc. So after that tiny hiccup I thought, look, sort it out Foreman. Fucking get out there, get some transport, go fucking sightseeing you arse. And I did. Firstly I got on the free hotel shuttle bus to Tsim Sha Tsui, the region on Kowloon side where there's a whole lot to do. Shitloads of electronics shops, people on street corners offering tailored suits or fake Rolexes, loads of other shops and bars and restaurants and hotels and museums and stuff. I just walked around taking it all in for a bit, then navigated to the customer service desk in the MTR (tube) station where I finally bought an Octopus Card. It's just like an Oyster card, except you can use it all over the fucking place, in shops and McDonald's and stuff.
With that in hand, loaded with HKD100 of travel, I returned to street level and walked to the Star Ferry terminal. You can get across to the island by tube, but where's the fun in that? The walk goes through a huge complex full of museums and stuff and I got stopped by a fella who wanted me to take his photo with the island side as a backdrop. I obliged but, really, the island side in daytime is fucking ugly.
Got the ferry across and instantly spotted the bus that goes to the Peak Tram. The Peak Tram isn't a tram, but a funicular railway, the steepest one in the world at that. It does go to the Peak, though. For someone without sea legs and who doesn't like heights this holiday appears to be a bit of a wrong 'un, but bear with me. I don't like boats that lean over or use, nay require, wind to operate, and there are only certain types of heights I don't like too. For example, going up this non-tram was great -- it's so steep the floors aren't flat, because people standing would fall over, and the seats all face upwards because you'd fall out the other way -- but once at the top I started to go up the escalators to the viewing platform, and it was those that fucked me up. In fact I didn't get all the way to the top because the ol' legs were giving out again and I thought I was going to rip the handrail off such was my grip on it, so I just went back to the ground floor and explored the little area at the, err, Peak.
By "explore the little area" I do, of course, mean "find somewhere to buy a diet coke". That done, I wandered around and took a few photos but really it wasn't that impressive a place. Just a few normal, western restaurants and shops. I'm sure the view is superb when the weather's clear and sunny -- in fact the tourist advice all says to visit the Peak on a clear day -- but I, along with everyone I spoke to on my days here, am convinced that the weather is never clear and sunny. Just smoggy and nasty. Even the local rag reports the air pollution level and uses "high" as the middle rating. Turns out that I went on probably the clearest day of my trip anyway (today it's raining).
I came back down from the top just by a regular bus rather than the tram again, saving myself nowhere near as much money as I thought I would, but it proved a good idea because the number 15 takes a proper windy route, heads past Happy Valley racecourse and through Wan Chai and lands me right back at Central station, which is exactly where I wanted to be because the next thing on my list was to ride the Central/Mid-levels escalator.
This is an 800m escalator that links, err, Central and the Mid-levels. It's not one long continuous thing, but a series of 'em. Nonetheless it's still fantastic. You can get halfway up into the city without ever going down to street level by using it, and the gaps are at handy points for big roads full of shops, reflexology foot clinics, or bars and restaurants. Take a look at how busy they are on the way up, pick your spot, and walk back down to the one you fancy at the next hop-off point. You have to walk down because the escalator only runs one way, up. Actually that's not strictly true: it runs down from, I think, 6am to 10am, because it's also a commuter route(!). Great fun though.
From the top I walked back down, zigzagging my way through various streets chosen not for any particular reason other than them looking interesting from the intersections. Eventually made my way back to the Star Ferry terminal and got a boat across to Hung Hom, the terminal just round the corner from my hotel. The Star ferries are ace -- the rows of seats can be changed to face backwards or forwards just by moving the back. I've a photo of it on the way up to flickr at the moment which will make it easier to explain and understand.
Back at the hotel I dropped me stuff off, shoved a different shirt on and went to one of the hotel bars. Goddamn happy hour, from 5pm 'til 8.30pm every drink was 2-for-1 and I got totally wasted, chatting to a welshman whose name I don't recall. Before his arrival I had been entertained by the pissed Aussie party across from me, who must surely have been drinking all day (probably watching one of the Grand Finals that was on that day) and were in full-on philosophy mode. Religion, war, the universe, the unseeableness of God, how alcohol should be banned, all kinds of stuff was going on over there.
Oddest thing about the bar was getting waiter service. A waiter would ask me what I wanted, and then tell the guy behind the bar. This wouldn't be odd if I hadn't actually been perched at the bar.
Bloody hell this language is odd. It seems to me that the speech and writing are so disconnected that things like learning a new place name must be ridiculous. You can't just tell someone on the phone what it's called, can you? 'cos you'd not know the signs for it. Would you? I need to read up on how Cantonese works. It confused me a lot when I saw two estate agents next to each other, one called HONG KONG PROPERTY and one called SUNRISE PROPERTY. I recognised the symbols for HONG KONG in the first one and thought, therefore, I'd be able to deduce the one for PROPERTY and spot that in the second one... but the non-Hong-Kong symbols weren't present. Sigh.
I have a question for believers. When you die, and go to heaven, are you stuck at the age you died at? Bit naff, that. Like, people who have the misfortune to lose a child when they're still a proper nipper, they must be looking forward to being reunited in heaven, but what if they're now a baby in perpetuity? So many nappies. But if they age, then, what, is heaven full of REALLY REALLY old people, just constantly aging? Or do people get to pick an age at which to stop? "I quite like it here, this'll do ta Lord"?
Hmm. It seems the philosophical nature of the drunk Aussies rubbed off on this drunk Englishman. Right, that's Saturday done and dusted, and I'm off to the service desk here to find out why my BA card number didn't make it onto this booking. I want my fucking miles, damn it. And a diet coke too for that matter.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Monday, October 02, 2006
For those about to blog
Hell's bells, is it really 3 days since I left Perth already? I guess it is. So after arriving and being delivered to my hotel by the racist cabbie I took a look out of the window and thought, hell, ain't a bad place to be, this. Started uploading a bunch of photos but it was going to take forever and it was getting dark, so with a flick of the switch the lights were out and I went to explore Perth by night.
Lots of riffraff hanging around in Perth town centre. I thought maybe I'd taken a turn off the main business drag one street too early because all of a sudden I thought I was in Croydon or Nuneaton. Crowds of pissed underage schoolkids, the odd surly looking problem child in a hoody skulking around on their lonesome, and benches of goths or hobos, united by their taste in cheap alcohol. Badlands indeed. I didn't really feel in any danger, it just didn't appear to be that nice a place. More importantly, my beer radar had failed me (actually it was more likely my map reading that went wrong) and I couldn't spot any boozers.
Carried on being a night prowler and eventually I was back in business, in an area with a few bars in it. But they were all heaving and I was tired. so in the end I didn't bother going in any. It was quite a trek back to the hotel anyway. Actually en route, far closer than the town centre, I had come across a pub, but it was called Fenian's Bar and I checked the politics of that word with Mark -- couldn't remember if it meant I'd be lauded or bombed, turns out the latter is more likely. Not that I imagine for a moment it was a genuine Irish republican hangout, but still. Don't want to go breaking the rules and getting kicked in the teeth.
So back at the hotel I sat at the bar and had a couple of drinks. Thought about having a whiskey on the rocks but beer was a better idea. I can recommend the Matilda Bay Redback wheat beer.
Thursday was my one full day in Perth. I'd discovered thanks to THE INTERNET that Bon Scott's grave is in Fremantle, a suburb/neighbour (not sure of its proper status) of Perth, a short trip on the train or a longer trip on a boat. I figured a pilgrimage was required, so after getting some info from the concierge I took a trot along the river to the ferry terminal and got myself on the 0945 cruise.
Fantastic cruise it was. Perth's skyline is really nice, the Swan river is gorgeous, and the weather was perfect. Learnt a few bits and bobs from the commentary -- 1 in 3 families in the Perth area has a boat, the Swan river is about the size of Sydney harbour but only 4 metres deep for much of it so unusable for boating, Western Australia has a population of 2 million but is 3 times the size of Texas, or 100 times the size of Singapore (which has a population of 4 million!), and stuff. Best bit of the trip was when we were twice accompanied by dolphins swimming alongside us, playing in our wake, and just generally being visible. Couldn't get any photos 'cos I hadn't managed to get a decent seat on the boat, having boarded late because I was busy trying to source some diet coke.
So, Fremantle. There's a free bus there called the CAT (Central Area Transit? something like that) that you can ride on, and 4 of them in Perth town centre. Unfortunately all the maps I'd seen of Fremantle didn't show the cemetery, so straight off the boat I walked towards the tourist information centre. Actually that's not quite true -- I spent the first 10 minutes or so walking the completely wrong direction, through a car park, waiting for a way to cross the train tracks to appear until I realised I'd screwed up. But when I did get my bearings the information centre was helpful and told me I had to get a bus "because it's a 20-25 minute walk otherwise".
Ignored their advice and turned the opposite direction outside, deciding to walk. Got as far as Fremantle prison where I considered taking a jail break, but figured, no, no diversions. Time to shake a leg and carry on.
Walked for another 5 minutes or so, the heat was too much and I was still in the town centre, so I waited for a bus. The 146 local bus, not a touristy thing at all, got me up to the cemetery. I took AGES walking around the graves, not having the faintest idea how to go about finding the prize. I tried to channel Bon into telling me where he was, but to no avail, and was just about to give up (in fact I'd SMSed Kevin to tell him I was doing so) when a posse of gardeners appeared, asked if I was looking for Bon Scott's grave, and drove me to it in their little wagon.
Bon Scott's grave is a small thing, no headstone, just a square plaque. It's right next to a really big BON SCOTT MEMORIAL GATE and is fronted by a walkway containing stars with the word "Bon" on them. Good on me for missing it. I took my hat off, and a few pictures, uttered "Good on ya, Bon" and made my way.
OK. This is hard work. I'm not littering the rest of this entry with AC/DC song titles. Last two thoughts about the cemetery though: the space next to Bon is empty, which made me wonder if there's a money making opportunity to be made in graveyards worldwide -- "be buried next/near to [celeb X]!"; and it's bad form to take the piss out of the dead, probably, but I've got a message for dear departed Doris: in the next life, don't marry someone with a surname of Norris.
Went round the corner to the bus stop and waited. And waited. And waited. Every time a bus appeared on the horizon my hopes were raised (the only bus going along that road was the one I wanted), and every time they were dashed as a bus numbered 000, going to "out of service" thundered past. I went so far as to swear out loud as the third 000 approached, only for him to stop, let me on, and take me where I wanted to go. "I'm out of service mate, you can't pay me. Where you going?" Sweet.
Back in Fremantle I wandered around the town centre. I really really liked it. Very few buildings more than 3 or 4 floors high, a bunch of shops and bars and restaurants, a really nice atmosphere, etc. Probably helped that the weather was so good, but I imagine it's like that a lot anyway. I went for a half of stout in the Sail & Anchor, a pub with microbrewery that I'd seen advertised in one of the things to do pamphlets I got. After that I figured I'd go get that CAT to see what the whole place had to offer, and discovered that I'd pretty much already walked all the interesting bits.
The long trawl out of town (I swear it only goes along this particular road because the restaurants pay them to) gave me the chance to read some of the local rag I'd been carrying around with me, and hey presto there was a special supplement going on about the best places and things to eat and drink in the Perth area. Taking my lead from its recommendations I went to Clancy's Fish Pub and had a Feral White beer. Very nice, both of 'em.
Time to bugger off. Got the train back, turned out it was a semi-express missing out the first 4 or so stops on the way. Fast, clean, on time, cheap, etc etc. Grand stuff. Now, I'm familiar with all the "please give this seat up to the elderly, or people with kids and shopping, or just generally people less able to stand" stuff, but I'm also familiar with how schoolkids act -- in the UK, at least, I can't imagine a sign saying "SCHOOL STUDENTS USING THE 50-CENT FARE SHOULD STAND FOR ADULTS" working in the slightest.
Back in Perth town centre I thought, right, the train station is on the southern border of Northbridge, the district with all the nightlife. I'll go and have a look around there. Unfortunately what I thought and what I did were two different things, as I got hopelessly confused by the myriad exits from the station and ended up back in Nuneatonville. Bollocks. Took a walk back to one of the main roads I was familiar with via London Court, then back to the hotel. Knackered after a bunch of walking and all the heat and stuff, didn't bother going out again. I had some food and drink in the bar downstairs but turned in early, especially because my alarm was set for 0500.
0925 flight to Hong Kong meant checking in at 0645, 0700. :-( So I got up early to pack up, go downstairs and checkout, and get me a cab. Safely ensconced in the lounge I fixed myself up some breakfast and a couple of diet cokes, then went to explore the terminal. Stared at the electronics for a while but didn't buy anything, did end up with a shirt though. The flight itself was fairly empty in business class, and I had no-one sitting next to me. A much nicer plane than my previous 3 Qantas affairs, this was equipped with their Skybeds which are hoofing great things with all manner of seat controls including a massage button, which makes the back of the seat undulate and stuff. I pressed that a lot throughout the flight, it was great fun.
Audio/Video on demand meant I got to choose what I wanted to watch, but I'd had to use the headphones from the seat next to me because mine only worked in one ear. I watched Lucky Number Slevin (liked that a lot), some of V For Vendetta (got bored very quickly), all of The Castle (supposedly the funniest Australian film ever, I pity Aussie audiences if that's the case), and most of Memento (because we started our descent during it and I had to stop, I was getting bored of it anyway). Guy Pearce does a passable impression of looking like Brad Pitt, I thought. It also reminded me a bit of me on this holiday, taking notes to remember things and stuff. Of course I'm not trying to hunt down a rapist and killer, but just note down things to write here, but still.
No-one waiting for me at Hong Kong airport to take me to the hotel even though I'd booked it and the confirmation mail I got 2 days before arriving had mentioned it, and had the correct flight listed. Found the hotel's desk and presented myself whereupon they accused me of having changed flights because I wasn't due yet. Apparently I was arriving on the flight from Sydney in about an hour. Erm, no, I'm here. Mind you they didn't ask for any ID to prove I was the Mr Foreman they had on their list, so WTF? Anyway they sorted me a car out sharpish and 40 minutes or so later I was in my hotel, astonished by Hong Kong's breathtaking ugliness.
Lots of riffraff hanging around in Perth town centre. I thought maybe I'd taken a turn off the main business drag one street too early because all of a sudden I thought I was in Croydon or Nuneaton. Crowds of pissed underage schoolkids, the odd surly looking problem child in a hoody skulking around on their lonesome, and benches of goths or hobos, united by their taste in cheap alcohol. Badlands indeed. I didn't really feel in any danger, it just didn't appear to be that nice a place. More importantly, my beer radar had failed me (actually it was more likely my map reading that went wrong) and I couldn't spot any boozers.
Carried on being a night prowler and eventually I was back in business, in an area with a few bars in it. But they were all heaving and I was tired. so in the end I didn't bother going in any. It was quite a trek back to the hotel anyway. Actually en route, far closer than the town centre, I had come across a pub, but it was called Fenian's Bar and I checked the politics of that word with Mark -- couldn't remember if it meant I'd be lauded or bombed, turns out the latter is more likely. Not that I imagine for a moment it was a genuine Irish republican hangout, but still. Don't want to go breaking the rules and getting kicked in the teeth.
So back at the hotel I sat at the bar and had a couple of drinks. Thought about having a whiskey on the rocks but beer was a better idea. I can recommend the Matilda Bay Redback wheat beer.
Thursday was my one full day in Perth. I'd discovered thanks to THE INTERNET that Bon Scott's grave is in Fremantle, a suburb/neighbour (not sure of its proper status) of Perth, a short trip on the train or a longer trip on a boat. I figured a pilgrimage was required, so after getting some info from the concierge I took a trot along the river to the ferry terminal and got myself on the 0945 cruise.
Fantastic cruise it was. Perth's skyline is really nice, the Swan river is gorgeous, and the weather was perfect. Learnt a few bits and bobs from the commentary -- 1 in 3 families in the Perth area has a boat, the Swan river is about the size of Sydney harbour but only 4 metres deep for much of it so unusable for boating, Western Australia has a population of 2 million but is 3 times the size of Texas, or 100 times the size of Singapore (which has a population of 4 million!), and stuff. Best bit of the trip was when we were twice accompanied by dolphins swimming alongside us, playing in our wake, and just generally being visible. Couldn't get any photos 'cos I hadn't managed to get a decent seat on the boat, having boarded late because I was busy trying to source some diet coke.
So, Fremantle. There's a free bus there called the CAT (Central Area Transit? something like that) that you can ride on, and 4 of them in Perth town centre. Unfortunately all the maps I'd seen of Fremantle didn't show the cemetery, so straight off the boat I walked towards the tourist information centre. Actually that's not quite true -- I spent the first 10 minutes or so walking the completely wrong direction, through a car park, waiting for a way to cross the train tracks to appear until I realised I'd screwed up. But when I did get my bearings the information centre was helpful and told me I had to get a bus "because it's a 20-25 minute walk otherwise".
Ignored their advice and turned the opposite direction outside, deciding to walk. Got as far as Fremantle prison where I considered taking a jail break, but figured, no, no diversions. Time to shake a leg and carry on.
Walked for another 5 minutes or so, the heat was too much and I was still in the town centre, so I waited for a bus. The 146 local bus, not a touristy thing at all, got me up to the cemetery. I took AGES walking around the graves, not having the faintest idea how to go about finding the prize. I tried to channel Bon into telling me where he was, but to no avail, and was just about to give up (in fact I'd SMSed Kevin to tell him I was doing so) when a posse of gardeners appeared, asked if I was looking for Bon Scott's grave, and drove me to it in their little wagon.
Bon Scott's grave is a small thing, no headstone, just a square plaque. It's right next to a really big BON SCOTT MEMORIAL GATE and is fronted by a walkway containing stars with the word "Bon" on them. Good on me for missing it. I took my hat off, and a few pictures, uttered "Good on ya, Bon" and made my way.
OK. This is hard work. I'm not littering the rest of this entry with AC/DC song titles. Last two thoughts about the cemetery though: the space next to Bon is empty, which made me wonder if there's a money making opportunity to be made in graveyards worldwide -- "be buried next/near to [celeb X]!"; and it's bad form to take the piss out of the dead, probably, but I've got a message for dear departed Doris: in the next life, don't marry someone with a surname of Norris.
Went round the corner to the bus stop and waited. And waited. And waited. Every time a bus appeared on the horizon my hopes were raised (the only bus going along that road was the one I wanted), and every time they were dashed as a bus numbered 000, going to "out of service" thundered past. I went so far as to swear out loud as the third 000 approached, only for him to stop, let me on, and take me where I wanted to go. "I'm out of service mate, you can't pay me. Where you going?" Sweet.
Back in Fremantle I wandered around the town centre. I really really liked it. Very few buildings more than 3 or 4 floors high, a bunch of shops and bars and restaurants, a really nice atmosphere, etc. Probably helped that the weather was so good, but I imagine it's like that a lot anyway. I went for a half of stout in the Sail & Anchor, a pub with microbrewery that I'd seen advertised in one of the things to do pamphlets I got. After that I figured I'd go get that CAT to see what the whole place had to offer, and discovered that I'd pretty much already walked all the interesting bits.
The long trawl out of town (I swear it only goes along this particular road because the restaurants pay them to) gave me the chance to read some of the local rag I'd been carrying around with me, and hey presto there was a special supplement going on about the best places and things to eat and drink in the Perth area. Taking my lead from its recommendations I went to Clancy's Fish Pub and had a Feral White beer. Very nice, both of 'em.
Time to bugger off. Got the train back, turned out it was a semi-express missing out the first 4 or so stops on the way. Fast, clean, on time, cheap, etc etc. Grand stuff. Now, I'm familiar with all the "please give this seat up to the elderly, or people with kids and shopping, or just generally people less able to stand" stuff, but I'm also familiar with how schoolkids act -- in the UK, at least, I can't imagine a sign saying "SCHOOL STUDENTS USING THE 50-CENT FARE SHOULD STAND FOR ADULTS" working in the slightest.
Back in Perth town centre I thought, right, the train station is on the southern border of Northbridge, the district with all the nightlife. I'll go and have a look around there. Unfortunately what I thought and what I did were two different things, as I got hopelessly confused by the myriad exits from the station and ended up back in Nuneatonville. Bollocks. Took a walk back to one of the main roads I was familiar with via London Court, then back to the hotel. Knackered after a bunch of walking and all the heat and stuff, didn't bother going out again. I had some food and drink in the bar downstairs but turned in early, especially because my alarm was set for 0500.
0925 flight to Hong Kong meant checking in at 0645, 0700. :-( So I got up early to pack up, go downstairs and checkout, and get me a cab. Safely ensconced in the lounge I fixed myself up some breakfast and a couple of diet cokes, then went to explore the terminal. Stared at the electronics for a while but didn't buy anything, did end up with a shirt though. The flight itself was fairly empty in business class, and I had no-one sitting next to me. A much nicer plane than my previous 3 Qantas affairs, this was equipped with their Skybeds which are hoofing great things with all manner of seat controls including a massage button, which makes the back of the seat undulate and stuff. I pressed that a lot throughout the flight, it was great fun.
Audio/Video on demand meant I got to choose what I wanted to watch, but I'd had to use the headphones from the seat next to me because mine only worked in one ear. I watched Lucky Number Slevin (liked that a lot), some of V For Vendetta (got bored very quickly), all of The Castle (supposedly the funniest Australian film ever, I pity Aussie audiences if that's the case), and most of Memento (because we started our descent during it and I had to stop, I was getting bored of it anyway). Guy Pearce does a passable impression of looking like Brad Pitt, I thought. It also reminded me a bit of me on this holiday, taking notes to remember things and stuff. Of course I'm not trying to hunt down a rapist and killer, but just note down things to write here, but still.
No-one waiting for me at Hong Kong airport to take me to the hotel even though I'd booked it and the confirmation mail I got 2 days before arriving had mentioned it, and had the correct flight listed. Found the hotel's desk and presented myself whereupon they accused me of having changed flights because I wasn't due yet. Apparently I was arriving on the flight from Sydney in about an hour. Erm, no, I'm here. Mind you they didn't ask for any ID to prove I was the Mr Foreman they had on their list, so WTF? Anyway they sorted me a car out sharpish and 40 minutes or so later I was in my hotel, astonished by Hong Kong's breathtaking ugliness.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Sunrise, clouds and gambling
Gah. I'm hungover. Although a bit less now that I've had breakfast, now I just feel really full. Got what appears to be ITV coverage of yesterday's Premiership on TV as I write this. It's 9am and I've been up for almost 2 hours.
So, last Tuesday was my last full day in Sydney. Didn't really have a plan 'cos all the main things had been done the previous week, so we sort of played it by ear. Started the day watching Sunrise on Channel 7, as each morning had started in Sydney in fact. More GMTV than BBC Breakfast, it's hosted in the main by some bird and a fella called Kochie. I saw a book by him for sale in Perth airport, some self-help "how to start from nothing and get famous and minted" affair. The presenting on Sunrise is a bit hit and miss and in the main I thought the programme was bearable, but not unmissable. But on Tuesday I was massively impressed by Kochie. In one segment they interviewed the fella that wrote Fast Food Nation 'cos the film's about to come out -- I didn't take much notice of it but later on they read out one of the emails they'd received, someone complaining about them (the presenters) being too much on the side of big business, McD's and the like. Kochie's response was to go off on a rant, virtually shouting at the viewer, pointing out how it's their job to put across the alternative viewpoint to the guest, to not let their points go unchallenged, etc. Good on ya, Kochie.
Actually later in the week I was watching it in Perth and he went into one again, about some news that Australian cricket fans were being told it's OK to call the English "poms", but not "whinging poms" or "pommie bastards". Turns out someone's whinging about the term whinging, and how the use of it as a modifier turns a harmless nickname into insidious racism. Cue Kochie saying it was ridiculous, what the hell is the world coming to, "when I was young I got called wog, spic, dago bastard, all kinds of things. And have you ever been to England? They call us convicts!".
Come to think of it Kochie also used the term "back, sack and crack" when interviewing a beautician about male grooming too. Good effort. Not sure you'd get a phrase like that coming from whassisface. Dermot.
Anyway. Kevin dropped a bag of clothes off for me at the launderette (spelt "laundrette", though) while I got ready and we started off with a bit of a walk to get some breakfast. I had a big belgian waffle thing covered in strawberries while he had, er, something else. Can't remember what. Something egg related? It was fucking huge whatever it was, and both our meals were top notch.
Hmm, this isn't highlights on TV. This is the whole of Sheffield United vs Middlesbrough. In fact they're even showing half time(!)
Finished breakfast and a bus was due, but I had enough time to nip over the road and buy a diet coke. No sign of the bus after a few minutes so we walked down the end of the road to another stop where more than one bus stops. Wanted to look at the timetable but what's true in London is true in Randwick, Sydney: when there's only one person at a bus stop, and a long bench, you can be sure they'll sit at the precise point which obscures the only thing anyone else who comes along might want to read. FFHS. Anyway we got the bus into town, once more to Circular Quay 'cos we were off to the magnificently named suburb of Manly.
The Manly ferry is probably the longest ferry trip you can do in the inner harbour area, the longest one our travelcard things are valid on anyway. It's a fair old way (mind, the boat is slow). Unfortunately the weather on Tuesday was pretty grim really, all wind and clouds and stuff. Kevin got a phonecall from a recruitment consultant while on the boat and that's about the most interesting thing that happened. On the other side we started off around the little beach, to the entrance to the aquarium which we were about to go in when Sal phoned, to talk about ADSL but when hearing of our location warned us off. Apparently it's shit, that aquarium.
So we walked up the main pedestrianised shopping bit instead. Can't remember what it's called, but it's a building site at the moment anyway. I guess they're making it look nice but it doesn't at the moment. At the other end is the main beach, a hefty one at that. Again, not much to look at because of the weather. We walked along to the edge, then back a bit, then Kevin took or made a half-hour call to that recruitment consultant again, pimping himself out but proving too expensive and intransigent (just learn a bit of .NET you arse!) for any jobs on the books. Watching the seagulls was fun, as they occasionally attempted to fly against the wind -- really not worth the effort -- and occasionally decided to fly with it. Never seen a gull move so fast, I really hope they have a sense of fun because it didn't half look like it.
Outside was cold. Inside was beer. Into the Steyne we went, then a wander back towards the ferry place where we stopped for another beer, some food, and another beer in the German biergarten thing. Lots and lots of glasses suspended over the bar. Decent pint 'n all. After finishing up there we jumped on the ferry back to town (via coffee/diet coke) and from there a walk to Martin Place (from where Sunrise is filmed, as it happens) for a train to Bondi Junction. The Junger. Having been raving about members' clubs since I first arrived Kevin had decided to show me a proper one: the Easts League's, or something similarly difficult to pronounce.
Oh, on the walk to Martin Place we stopped off to buy and write and send a postcard. Kevin's fucking useless at sending postcards home to the old man! Last year in New York I went so far as to buy him one, and a stamp, and gave them him while we were all sat eating burgers in the basement of a hotel. He left the bloody thing there, unaddressed and maybe even unwritten. So this time we wrote the card together, and I took photos of him posting the damn thing. As it happens I phoned Dad last night and he's already got it. Sorted.
Anyway. Easts Leagues, or whatever it's called, is a giant members' club. As per usual you can become a temporary member just by writing your name and address on a bit of paper, and that's what we did. These clubs are devoted to 2 things: drinking and gambling. Subsidised beer and row after row of pokies, I thought it was about time I gave these damn machines a go. We'd been on them in the casino the week before but it hadn't made a lot of sense. This time it also didn't make much sense, but I won $60 ($40 profit). Deciding to cut my winnings and run I hit collect, and that's where the confusion started.
When you press collect, money doesn't come out. It tells you to contact someone who'll come and give you the money. So we asked the fella walking past and he said no, don't just stop someone, press the "come pay me" button and someone will come pay me. He pressed that, and a bird came along a few minutes later. Shoved a special key in some slot which brought up a bucketload of stats (eg, that machine had taken $1.4 million since whenever) and proved to her that I had indeed won. So, she didn't give me any money, just a slip of paper saying I was entitled to it. Um, OK. Went and sat down flushed with success, if not actually flush with cash, and while sipping a beer stopped another guy on his way past and asked him how to actually get my damn winnings. Turns out you go up to a cashier guy and exchange the slip for currency. Also turns out "all pakistanis are cheats". Nice one. Can't even remember what prompted him to say that, pretty sure it wasn't anything we'd said though. Perhaps Australians have some weird idea that all English are racist so we're a safe outlet for their prejudices.
Back to the flat after that, Mara cooked a mean egg+bacon on toast and we slumped in front of the TV. Some tit-for-tat accusations meant we ended up watching way more of Dancing With The Stars than intended (I thought we were waiting for Kevin, he thought we were waiting for me) before going out for more beer at the DOG just up the road. A mostly quiet bar was livened up with the arrival of a crazed puppy who was straining so hard to get off his leash his legs were all splayed out to make him look like a frog. Mental thing. Stayed in that bar until it stopped serving, but were allowed to move into the other one. The bar you have to get to via a room full of pokies. The bar that's also a bookmakers. They do love a gamble them Aussies. Won a bit on a pokie, but then put it all back in and ended up down, but who cares -- last day in Australia anyway so the currency had to be spent somewhere.
Oh. it wasn't my last day in Australia. I was off to Perth the next day. D'oh!
So, last Tuesday was my last full day in Sydney. Didn't really have a plan 'cos all the main things had been done the previous week, so we sort of played it by ear. Started the day watching Sunrise on Channel 7, as each morning had started in Sydney in fact. More GMTV than BBC Breakfast, it's hosted in the main by some bird and a fella called Kochie. I saw a book by him for sale in Perth airport, some self-help "how to start from nothing and get famous and minted" affair. The presenting on Sunrise is a bit hit and miss and in the main I thought the programme was bearable, but not unmissable. But on Tuesday I was massively impressed by Kochie. In one segment they interviewed the fella that wrote Fast Food Nation 'cos the film's about to come out -- I didn't take much notice of it but later on they read out one of the emails they'd received, someone complaining about them (the presenters) being too much on the side of big business, McD's and the like. Kochie's response was to go off on a rant, virtually shouting at the viewer, pointing out how it's their job to put across the alternative viewpoint to the guest, to not let their points go unchallenged, etc. Good on ya, Kochie.
Actually later in the week I was watching it in Perth and he went into one again, about some news that Australian cricket fans were being told it's OK to call the English "poms", but not "whinging poms" or "pommie bastards". Turns out someone's whinging about the term whinging, and how the use of it as a modifier turns a harmless nickname into insidious racism. Cue Kochie saying it was ridiculous, what the hell is the world coming to, "when I was young I got called wog, spic, dago bastard, all kinds of things. And have you ever been to England? They call us convicts!".
Come to think of it Kochie also used the term "back, sack and crack" when interviewing a beautician about male grooming too. Good effort. Not sure you'd get a phrase like that coming from whassisface. Dermot.
Anyway. Kevin dropped a bag of clothes off for me at the launderette (spelt "laundrette", though) while I got ready and we started off with a bit of a walk to get some breakfast. I had a big belgian waffle thing covered in strawberries while he had, er, something else. Can't remember what. Something egg related? It was fucking huge whatever it was, and both our meals were top notch.
Hmm, this isn't highlights on TV. This is the whole of Sheffield United vs Middlesbrough. In fact they're even showing half time(!)
Finished breakfast and a bus was due, but I had enough time to nip over the road and buy a diet coke. No sign of the bus after a few minutes so we walked down the end of the road to another stop where more than one bus stops. Wanted to look at the timetable but what's true in London is true in Randwick, Sydney: when there's only one person at a bus stop, and a long bench, you can be sure they'll sit at the precise point which obscures the only thing anyone else who comes along might want to read. FFHS. Anyway we got the bus into town, once more to Circular Quay 'cos we were off to the magnificently named suburb of Manly.
The Manly ferry is probably the longest ferry trip you can do in the inner harbour area, the longest one our travelcard things are valid on anyway. It's a fair old way (mind, the boat is slow). Unfortunately the weather on Tuesday was pretty grim really, all wind and clouds and stuff. Kevin got a phonecall from a recruitment consultant while on the boat and that's about the most interesting thing that happened. On the other side we started off around the little beach, to the entrance to the aquarium which we were about to go in when Sal phoned, to talk about ADSL but when hearing of our location warned us off. Apparently it's shit, that aquarium.
So we walked up the main pedestrianised shopping bit instead. Can't remember what it's called, but it's a building site at the moment anyway. I guess they're making it look nice but it doesn't at the moment. At the other end is the main beach, a hefty one at that. Again, not much to look at because of the weather. We walked along to the edge, then back a bit, then Kevin took or made a half-hour call to that recruitment consultant again, pimping himself out but proving too expensive and intransigent (just learn a bit of .NET you arse!) for any jobs on the books. Watching the seagulls was fun, as they occasionally attempted to fly against the wind -- really not worth the effort -- and occasionally decided to fly with it. Never seen a gull move so fast, I really hope they have a sense of fun because it didn't half look like it.
Outside was cold. Inside was beer. Into the Steyne we went, then a wander back towards the ferry place where we stopped for another beer, some food, and another beer in the German biergarten thing. Lots and lots of glasses suspended over the bar. Decent pint 'n all. After finishing up there we jumped on the ferry back to town (via coffee/diet coke) and from there a walk to Martin Place (from where Sunrise is filmed, as it happens) for a train to Bondi Junction. The Junger. Having been raving about members' clubs since I first arrived Kevin had decided to show me a proper one: the Easts League's, or something similarly difficult to pronounce.
Oh, on the walk to Martin Place we stopped off to buy and write and send a postcard. Kevin's fucking useless at sending postcards home to the old man! Last year in New York I went so far as to buy him one, and a stamp, and gave them him while we were all sat eating burgers in the basement of a hotel. He left the bloody thing there, unaddressed and maybe even unwritten. So this time we wrote the card together, and I took photos of him posting the damn thing. As it happens I phoned Dad last night and he's already got it. Sorted.
Anyway. Easts Leagues, or whatever it's called, is a giant members' club. As per usual you can become a temporary member just by writing your name and address on a bit of paper, and that's what we did. These clubs are devoted to 2 things: drinking and gambling. Subsidised beer and row after row of pokies, I thought it was about time I gave these damn machines a go. We'd been on them in the casino the week before but it hadn't made a lot of sense. This time it also didn't make much sense, but I won $60 ($40 profit). Deciding to cut my winnings and run I hit collect, and that's where the confusion started.
When you press collect, money doesn't come out. It tells you to contact someone who'll come and give you the money. So we asked the fella walking past and he said no, don't just stop someone, press the "come pay me" button and someone will come pay me. He pressed that, and a bird came along a few minutes later. Shoved a special key in some slot which brought up a bucketload of stats (eg, that machine had taken $1.4 million since whenever) and proved to her that I had indeed won. So, she didn't give me any money, just a slip of paper saying I was entitled to it. Um, OK. Went and sat down flushed with success, if not actually flush with cash, and while sipping a beer stopped another guy on his way past and asked him how to actually get my damn winnings. Turns out you go up to a cashier guy and exchange the slip for currency. Also turns out "all pakistanis are cheats". Nice one. Can't even remember what prompted him to say that, pretty sure it wasn't anything we'd said though. Perhaps Australians have some weird idea that all English are racist so we're a safe outlet for their prejudices.
Back to the flat after that, Mara cooked a mean egg+bacon on toast and we slumped in front of the TV. Some tit-for-tat accusations meant we ended up watching way more of Dancing With The Stars than intended (I thought we were waiting for Kevin, he thought we were waiting for me) before going out for more beer at the DOG just up the road. A mostly quiet bar was livened up with the arrival of a crazed puppy who was straining so hard to get off his leash his legs were all splayed out to make him look like a frog. Mental thing. Stayed in that bar until it stopped serving, but were allowed to move into the other one. The bar you have to get to via a room full of pokies. The bar that's also a bookmakers. They do love a gamble them Aussies. Won a bit on a pokie, but then put it all back in and ended up down, but who cares -- last day in Australia anyway so the currency had to be spent somewhere.
Oh. it wasn't my last day in Australia. I was off to Perth the next day. D'oh!
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Hong Kong, phooey
OK, beginning to think I've cocked up here. Just went out to explore Hong Kong on my first full day. Put on a loose fitting, light, short sleeved shirt, and after 30 minutes walking I'm drenched in sweat and high-tailing it back to my hotel room for some aircon. Erm. Not really sure what to do now. The heat is oppressive and I'm not even in a built-up (by Hong Kong standards) area, not even on the island. I've got at least 3 things to do on my plan for today but before I can do any of them I need to buy an Octopus Card, the nearest outlet of which is about an hour's walk away, and if I attempt it again I'll die of dehydration. I think the hotel has a free shuttle bus to somewhere useful but the concierge wasn't helpful earlier. Not yet 11am and I feel almost imprisoned, Dubai style, by the weather :-( Time to have a sit, a think, and put on a darker shirt I guess. Nice.
Friday, September 29, 2006
The Englishman who went up a Sky Tower and came down trembling like a
Damn it. Flickr let me use a really long title, but longer than blogger actually supports. The last word can now be left up to your imagination...
Here's a view from the top of Auckland's Sky Tower. This is the tallest building in the southern hemisphere, and despite my bro not being around and running a marathon (cf. ascents of the Eiffel Tower and Empire State Building) I still decided to give it a go. After all I had an hour or so to kill before having to get a cab to the airport even though I knew my flight was delayed by a couple of hours.
So, one ticket to the top, please. No, not the $20 ticket, that $23 one that gets me up onto the outdoor observation deck. Up I went, the lift being called for me by the guy in charge of calling lifts for people, on me own because it was very early in the day (about 9am I think).
Oo-er. Eek. It wasn't like those other buildings. Cracking view but so much glass, flaying outwards, and the outer foot or so of the floor also being made of glass really did my fucking head in. I'd already been a bit unsteady in the lift because I didn't know part of the floor of that was going to be glass-bottomed, nor that some of the trip up was on the outside of the building. But the main deck was something else.
Managed to take a few photos to demonstrate that I went up there, and that the view is ace, but I felt seriously giddy. Had to grab onto the wall in the middle a couple of times and gave up trying to at least walk a full circuit of the floor or even stepping once onto the glass bit -- and the outdoor upper deck idea was right out. Back into the lift I went, eyes closed and holding on to the hand rail because I thought my legs were going to give out.
Did I mention I'm not a big fan of heights? Bit odd really considering all the flying 'n all, but anyway. I did mention it to the guy greeting me off the lift -- the same guy who'd seen me up and was now expressing astonishment that I was back down so soon. Probably less than 5 minutes after going up, in fact. Ah well.
Talking of big tall things, there was a bar in Auckland called Ben Nevis. It was in the basement of the building where my hotel was. THE BASEMENT. BEN NEVIS.
Anyway, still feeling off I needed something to steady my nerves: a diet coke. Necked that, went back to me room and packed and buggered off.
Perched once again in seat 1A -- SEAT OF KINGS -- I made a clumsy fool of myself by tripping over, kicking the wardrobe-thing door way too hard at the front of the cabin, and then generally tying myself in knots with bag handles and headphone leads and seatbelts before finally sitting down and saying hello to the bloke in 1B. Turns out this fella was an Englishman called Darren who liked a drink. Good bloke. We spent the entire flight chatting away, him about all the stuff I'd missed out doing in Auckland and all the stuff I should do in Hong Kong, me about all the stuff I'd done already, both of us about sport and Manchester and England and how fast we were knocking back the VB. Flight time flies by when you're on the sauce with an compatriot ex-patriot namesake and before I knew it he was handing me a business card inviting me to look him up if I was ever in AKL again, and offering me a space in his company-paid-for cab into Sydney centre if my brother wasn't around to meet me.
As it happens Kevin was there and the train journey into town is a piece of piss (especially when you've only got two bits of handluggage, one with wheels and one over the shoulder, even if the former was considerably the lighter of the two). The best thing about my arrival in Sydney however was being FIRST PERSON LANDSIDE. Having hand luggage only and being sat at the front of the plane, I zipped through immigration, quarantine, and customs. In fact the quarantine staff hadn't been ready for me because I was so far ahead of everyone else. Heh.
Actually there was one more thing about the flight that made it interesting -- we went through a big bit of turbulence that was so strong they told the cabin crew to take their seats too, not just the passengers. Never had that before. Me and English Darren took the bouncing around as our cue to down the lagers we had at the time, lest they get spilt.
So, a delayed flight and a bunch of beer meant I was already a bit merry by the time me and Kevin got to Central station, where we were meeting Sal for beer. Sat outside and I started to launch into a tirade about the Kiwi accent until they warned me there was one of them sat behind me. Pfft. Moved on from there to another bar where I had a pint and a big plate of pasta for AUD10 -- about 4 quid. Top notch. We were moved from our seats because it was about to be turned into the table where they take the money off people going into see the live bands playing that night, and when we moved to another table inside the bit-where-YOU-HAVE-TO-PAY-to-get-in-you-cheeky-cunts we were kicked out proper.
So we went to another pub. Mara was at an evening class of sorts (psychology?) just across the road and was going to give us a lift back to the flat. Can't remember what I had because IIRC Sal insisted on ordering for me. I don't think it was a Carlton Draught but that beer is worth mentioning for two reasons: one, it has an advertising slogan of "Made from beer"; two, it's called Carlton Draught even when it's in a bottle or can. Erm.
Probably a good job we went back to the flat after that. I was fucked.
Here's a view from the top of Auckland's Sky Tower. This is the tallest building in the southern hemisphere, and despite my bro not being around and running a marathon (cf. ascents of the Eiffel Tower and Empire State Building) I still decided to give it a go. After all I had an hour or so to kill before having to get a cab to the airport even though I knew my flight was delayed by a couple of hours.
So, one ticket to the top, please. No, not the $20 ticket, that $23 one that gets me up onto the outdoor observation deck. Up I went, the lift being called for me by the guy in charge of calling lifts for people, on me own because it was very early in the day (about 9am I think).
Oo-er. Eek. It wasn't like those other buildings. Cracking view but so much glass, flaying outwards, and the outer foot or so of the floor also being made of glass really did my fucking head in. I'd already been a bit unsteady in the lift because I didn't know part of the floor of that was going to be glass-bottomed, nor that some of the trip up was on the outside of the building. But the main deck was something else.
Managed to take a few photos to demonstrate that I went up there, and that the view is ace, but I felt seriously giddy. Had to grab onto the wall in the middle a couple of times and gave up trying to at least walk a full circuit of the floor or even stepping once onto the glass bit -- and the outdoor upper deck idea was right out. Back into the lift I went, eyes closed and holding on to the hand rail because I thought my legs were going to give out.
Did I mention I'm not a big fan of heights? Bit odd really considering all the flying 'n all, but anyway. I did mention it to the guy greeting me off the lift -- the same guy who'd seen me up and was now expressing astonishment that I was back down so soon. Probably less than 5 minutes after going up, in fact. Ah well.
Talking of big tall things, there was a bar in Auckland called Ben Nevis. It was in the basement of the building where my hotel was. THE BASEMENT. BEN NEVIS.
Anyway, still feeling off I needed something to steady my nerves: a diet coke. Necked that, went back to me room and packed and buggered off.
Perched once again in seat 1A -- SEAT OF KINGS -- I made a clumsy fool of myself by tripping over, kicking the wardrobe-thing door way too hard at the front of the cabin, and then generally tying myself in knots with bag handles and headphone leads and seatbelts before finally sitting down and saying hello to the bloke in 1B. Turns out this fella was an Englishman called Darren who liked a drink. Good bloke. We spent the entire flight chatting away, him about all the stuff I'd missed out doing in Auckland and all the stuff I should do in Hong Kong, me about all the stuff I'd done already, both of us about sport and Manchester and England and how fast we were knocking back the VB. Flight time flies by when you're on the sauce with an compatriot ex-patriot namesake and before I knew it he was handing me a business card inviting me to look him up if I was ever in AKL again, and offering me a space in his company-paid-for cab into Sydney centre if my brother wasn't around to meet me.
As it happens Kevin was there and the train journey into town is a piece of piss (especially when you've only got two bits of handluggage, one with wheels and one over the shoulder, even if the former was considerably the lighter of the two). The best thing about my arrival in Sydney however was being FIRST PERSON LANDSIDE. Having hand luggage only and being sat at the front of the plane, I zipped through immigration, quarantine, and customs. In fact the quarantine staff hadn't been ready for me because I was so far ahead of everyone else. Heh.
Actually there was one more thing about the flight that made it interesting -- we went through a big bit of turbulence that was so strong they told the cabin crew to take their seats too, not just the passengers. Never had that before. Me and English Darren took the bouncing around as our cue to down the lagers we had at the time, lest they get spilt.
So, a delayed flight and a bunch of beer meant I was already a bit merry by the time me and Kevin got to Central station, where we were meeting Sal for beer. Sat outside and I started to launch into a tirade about the Kiwi accent until they warned me there was one of them sat behind me. Pfft. Moved on from there to another bar where I had a pint and a big plate of pasta for AUD10 -- about 4 quid. Top notch. We were moved from our seats because it was about to be turned into the table where they take the money off people going into see the live bands playing that night, and when we moved to another table inside the bit-where-YOU-HAVE-TO-PAY-to-get-in-you-cheeky-cunts we were kicked out proper.
So we went to another pub. Mara was at an evening class of sorts (psychology?) just across the road and was going to give us a lift back to the flat. Can't remember what I had because IIRC Sal insisted on ordering for me. I don't think it was a Carlton Draught but that beer is worth mentioning for two reasons: one, it has an advertising slogan of "Made from beer"; two, it's called Carlton Draught even when it's in a bottle or can. Erm.
Probably a good job we went back to the flat after that. I was fucked.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
The Englishman who went up a volcano and came down a volcano
So after a day of not great weather and a lot of walking on Saturday I figured it was time to take to the seas. Auckland's on the coast, there's loads of islands around, the weather was glorious, etc etc. Got up early, had another buffet breakfast with cold scrambled eggs and pineapple juice -- because they'd swapped the position of it and the grapefruit juice and I wasn't being alert enough -- then went down to the ferry building. It was the last day of Heritage Week and because of that the trip to Rangitoto Island was meant to be cheaper than normal. Somewhere I'd read it was going to be $50, somewhere else $47.40.
$40 later I had my ticket in hand, got a Diet Coke and hung around for the boat. A heaving vessel, I think I'd made a good choice by getting the ticket a little bit early, in fact I'd been surprised that there was space on the volcanic explorer (boat+guided tour) and I hadn't had to settle for just a boat ticket. Turns out though that most people wanted to walk up, so the 4-wheel drive thing that took us around and almost to the top was nowhere near full.
Not sure what our tour guide's name was because the Kiwi accent he sported was a little umpunutrubble (NZ for 'impenetrable'). It was either Glyn or Glenn, although I suppose it could conceivably have been Glunn. Anyway, he was a good guide, giving us a decent commentary as he drove us through the lava flows spiralling centrewards until we reached the bottom of the steps climbing to the summit. A few facts stayed long enough in my mind that I managed to scrawl them down, for example: there are 200 types of plant on the island, but no soil; there used to be wallabies and possums but they ate so much the government didn't like it, so killed them all (there are now no animals other than birds that come over to nest); there are no bins and no shops; and that's it really. The view was pretty spectacular and it was a grand trip. Lava is cool, the plants were cool, etc etc. I took way too many photos of very very samey things.
Back down and on the way round we got to stop off in a lava flow and play in it for a bit before being dropped off near the ferry terminal with about halfy an hour to wait. I wandered around the coastline a bit, almost going into one of the holiday homes ("bachs"), but I didn't bother in the end. Got a decent window seat on the ferry back because I made sure to be near the front of the queue, then took a 10 minute video of the view out of the boat's window as we went from Rangitoto to Devonport (a stop on the way back to Auckland proper). It's a very very boring video.
Off the boat at 1330 or so IIRC, I went straight to a different ferry company's office and bought a ticket for their 1530 afternoon cruise. That gave me a little under 2 hours to get some nosh and stuff, so I nipped into the supermarket and grabbed a sarnie and a diet coke. Went back to the hotel and discovered that neither of the 2 keys I had for my room would operate the lift. Handed them in at reception and got given a new one, fuck knows what happened there. Grr. Blogged (IIRC), ate, then went back out for the cruise.
On this boat I blagged a great seat -- top deck, back right, in the open, facing forwards, perfect for taking photos -- and spent an awful lot of time holding onto my hat because the wind was fucking mental. Ended up with wind burns on my right hand's knuckles FFHS! Still managed to take a bunch of photos though, innit. Also managed to learn yet more about Auckland courtesy of another decent commentary.
Back off the boat with barely any feeling in my wind-fucked arms I went straight into the nearest bar, ostensibly to note down all the things I'd tried to remember from the trip (ie: that stuff above) but also to have some alcohol. Turns out it was selling Heineken for NZD3 (aka GBP1.20) a pop, happy hour. Drank, wrote, and looked at my photos. At that point I had taken 326 in the previous 48 hours, which translates to 6.8 per hour or 9.6 per waking hour. Eek. I also found myself leaving marks on the bar where I leant, since over the course of the day I'd applied my Dubai-busting factor 50 sun cream about 8 times. It hadn't been the hottest day ever, but the ozone layer over the Antarctic had slipped a bit and plonked itself over New Zealand, making protection in the atmosphere 25% worse than normal for the time of year. I was greasier than Michael Portillo.
The irony of having had a chat over SMS with Mark earlier while he was in a pub called "The Ship" came to mind. Not that that's very interesting. Also not interesting was the egg chasing on TV, but egg-chasing was almost impossible to avoid in New Zealand. LIFE IS RUGBY - LIFE TAKES VISA 'n all that. I left the pub after whatever the music source was offended me by playing Coldplay, then a Crowded House song being covered by some whining bint.
Changed me shirt back at the hotel and went out on the hunt for another pint or two, and something to eat. Found the former but nowhere that tempted me with solids, so I ended up buying a Subway. Not that I should feel bad about avoiding whatever classes as traditional New Zealand cuisine: if my experience in Auckland was anything like the rest of the country, Subway is traditional NZ cuisine. There were branches of it like I couldn't believe, an even higher concentration than in the streets around Yahoo!'s offices (and it's mental around there!). But it's not like Subway in the UK. The bloke looked confused, asked me to repeat, and finally laughed at me when I asked for sweetcorn. It doesn't seem to exist :-(
$40 later I had my ticket in hand, got a Diet Coke and hung around for the boat. A heaving vessel, I think I'd made a good choice by getting the ticket a little bit early, in fact I'd been surprised that there was space on the volcanic explorer (boat+guided tour) and I hadn't had to settle for just a boat ticket. Turns out though that most people wanted to walk up, so the 4-wheel drive thing that took us around and almost to the top was nowhere near full.
Not sure what our tour guide's name was because the Kiwi accent he sported was a little umpunutrubble (NZ for 'impenetrable'). It was either Glyn or Glenn, although I suppose it could conceivably have been Glunn. Anyway, he was a good guide, giving us a decent commentary as he drove us through the lava flows spiralling centrewards until we reached the bottom of the steps climbing to the summit. A few facts stayed long enough in my mind that I managed to scrawl them down, for example: there are 200 types of plant on the island, but no soil; there used to be wallabies and possums but they ate so much the government didn't like it, so killed them all (there are now no animals other than birds that come over to nest); there are no bins and no shops; and that's it really. The view was pretty spectacular and it was a grand trip. Lava is cool, the plants were cool, etc etc. I took way too many photos of very very samey things.
Back down and on the way round we got to stop off in a lava flow and play in it for a bit before being dropped off near the ferry terminal with about halfy an hour to wait. I wandered around the coastline a bit, almost going into one of the holiday homes ("bachs"), but I didn't bother in the end. Got a decent window seat on the ferry back because I made sure to be near the front of the queue, then took a 10 minute video of the view out of the boat's window as we went from Rangitoto to Devonport (a stop on the way back to Auckland proper). It's a very very boring video.
Off the boat at 1330 or so IIRC, I went straight to a different ferry company's office and bought a ticket for their 1530 afternoon cruise. That gave me a little under 2 hours to get some nosh and stuff, so I nipped into the supermarket and grabbed a sarnie and a diet coke. Went back to the hotel and discovered that neither of the 2 keys I had for my room would operate the lift. Handed them in at reception and got given a new one, fuck knows what happened there. Grr. Blogged (IIRC), ate, then went back out for the cruise.
On this boat I blagged a great seat -- top deck, back right, in the open, facing forwards, perfect for taking photos -- and spent an awful lot of time holding onto my hat because the wind was fucking mental. Ended up with wind burns on my right hand's knuckles FFHS! Still managed to take a bunch of photos though, innit. Also managed to learn yet more about Auckland courtesy of another decent commentary.
- The Rainbow Warrior was sunk in the sea by Auckland by the French secret service or summat. This is the only bit of terrorism ever to have taken place in New Zealand.
- One of New Zealand's largest imports is onions.
- The NZ navy is based in Auckland. In fact it only has one dockyard. And it's bloody tiny.
- Auckland has the biggest marina in the southern hemisphere.
- The superyacht 'Kokomo' is moored there atm; it has a gold stripe down the side which was orginally done in 18ct gold, but they decided it wasn't good enough so redid it in 24ct gold. It costs a fortune and can do all kinds of things (eg: go a long way).
- At least one Americas Cup winning yacht is in the marina and you can go out on it, help sail it, etc. If you like sailing. Well, even if you don't, I suppose. But I wouldn't.
- Switzerland won the Americas Cup recently. Not bad for a land-locked country, albeit one that did it by buying the services of most of the New Zealand team that won it previously.
- A boat called the Atlantic Trader is moored in Auckland. It was bought for NZD1,000,000, sailed to Auckland and boarded by the maritime police who slapped a "not fit for purpose" order on it. It remains moored from that day, over 4 years ago, and costs $200/day to keep there. The owner is a fool.
- 50 years ago, Auckland museum was the biggest building on the skyline.
- Viaduct Quay, an area with 56 or so bars, clubs, and restaurants, has only been there since 1995. Next to it is a building done up to look like a huge cruise liner, poking out into the sea. Half of it is the Hilton Hotel, the other half bars and stuff. It doesn't look much like a huge cruise liner.
- 1 in 5 Aucklanders has access to a boat.
Back off the boat with barely any feeling in my wind-fucked arms I went straight into the nearest bar, ostensibly to note down all the things I'd tried to remember from the trip (ie: that stuff above) but also to have some alcohol. Turns out it was selling Heineken for NZD3 (aka GBP1.20) a pop, happy hour. Drank, wrote, and looked at my photos. At that point I had taken 326 in the previous 48 hours, which translates to 6.8 per hour or 9.6 per waking hour. Eek. I also found myself leaving marks on the bar where I leant, since over the course of the day I'd applied my Dubai-busting factor 50 sun cream about 8 times. It hadn't been the hottest day ever, but the ozone layer over the Antarctic had slipped a bit and plonked itself over New Zealand, making protection in the atmosphere 25% worse than normal for the time of year. I was greasier than Michael Portillo.
The irony of having had a chat over SMS with Mark earlier while he was in a pub called "The Ship" came to mind. Not that that's very interesting. Also not interesting was the egg chasing on TV, but egg-chasing was almost impossible to avoid in New Zealand. LIFE IS RUGBY - LIFE TAKES VISA 'n all that. I left the pub after whatever the music source was offended me by playing Coldplay, then a Crowded House song being covered by some whining bint.
Changed me shirt back at the hotel and went out on the hunt for another pint or two, and something to eat. Found the former but nowhere that tempted me with solids, so I ended up buying a Subway. Not that I should feel bad about avoiding whatever classes as traditional New Zealand cuisine: if my experience in Auckland was anything like the rest of the country, Subway is traditional NZ cuisine. There were branches of it like I couldn't believe, an even higher concentration than in the streets around Yahoo!'s offices (and it's mental around there!). But it's not like Subway in the UK. The bloke looked confused, asked me to repeat, and finally laughed at me when I asked for sweetcorn. It doesn't seem to exist :-(
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Perth the wait
I've got a fantastic view from my hotel room. Sat in the Crowne Plaza in Perth right now, overlooking the Swan river, a big bit of greenery, and the hotel's swimming pool. The weather is glorious and it's twenty to five in the afternoon. Internet access in this room doesn't seem to have a per-megabyte charge associated with it and therefore I'm going to kick off uploading all the photos I took in Auckland, even though an awful lot of them are average and/or very samey. Hopefully some people are big fans of lava and water and big towers.
Domestic flights suck. QF577 saw me spending 5 hours above some extraordinarily boring landscape with no personal video screens, a busted pair of headphones, shit seats, and sat next to a wine guzzling nun. Good on 'em for giving me glass bottles of beer though, especially after my "take advantage of the lounges" philosophy was confounded in Sydney because the alcohol isn't self-service, and the bars weren't opening until 1300. Bah. Managed to finish a book I only bought in Auckland airport on Monday already on the flight too.
First impressions of Perth are embarassing, in that I feel pretty ... sophisticated. Me! I'm obviously being unfair but the experiences so far have been: arrive at the domestic airport, where people were being met directly at the gate, there's no security (or immigration, obviously) and baggage reclaim is landside in a public bit that anyone could wander off the streets and get to; and getting a cab to the hotel driven by a guy who thinks blacks are ruining every city in the world, it's ridiculous that in London "every 10 people are 5 black faces and 5 white faces" walking down Oxford Street (insight courtesy of his London-dwelling daughter), and that they're not content with killing each other and destroying their own countries.
I was very glad his tirade occurred immediately prior to turning into the hotel, where we encounted a guy reversing out of a bit you're not allowed to reverse out of. I'm pretty confident this place can't possibly be a virulently racist city but if it is, well, I'm glad I'm white and from Australia's fatherland.
Only 7 hours in the future now. Think I'll go out and see if I can't find the town centre, something to eat, and some beer.
Domestic flights suck. QF577 saw me spending 5 hours above some extraordinarily boring landscape with no personal video screens, a busted pair of headphones, shit seats, and sat next to a wine guzzling nun. Good on 'em for giving me glass bottles of beer though, especially after my "take advantage of the lounges" philosophy was confounded in Sydney because the alcohol isn't self-service, and the bars weren't opening until 1300. Bah. Managed to finish a book I only bought in Auckland airport on Monday already on the flight too.
First impressions of Perth are embarassing, in that I feel pretty ... sophisticated. Me! I'm obviously being unfair but the experiences so far have been: arrive at the domestic airport, where people were being met directly at the gate, there's no security (or immigration, obviously) and baggage reclaim is landside in a public bit that anyone could wander off the streets and get to; and getting a cab to the hotel driven by a guy who thinks blacks are ruining every city in the world, it's ridiculous that in London "every 10 people are 5 black faces and 5 white faces" walking down Oxford Street (insight courtesy of his London-dwelling daughter), and that they're not content with killing each other and destroying their own countries.
I was very glad his tirade occurred immediately prior to turning into the hotel, where we encounted a guy reversing out of a bit you're not allowed to reverse out of. I'm pretty confident this place can't possibly be a virulently racist city but if it is, well, I'm glad I'm white and from Australia's fatherland.
Only 7 hours in the future now. Think I'll go out and see if I can't find the town centre, something to eat, and some beer.
I love it when a plan comes together
Hi, does this boarding pass give me access to this lounge?
Have you just transferred from an international flight?
No, I haven't.
Then I'm afraid not Sir.
OK, I thought so. So, I have a BA Executive Club card, now this one is blue but I've been travelling for the last two weeks and should by now have been updated to silver, is it possible for you to check that for me?
Sure thing. [tappity tappity tappity] Oh wow, whoa, my God. Sir, with that itinerary you can come straight in. Jeez, look at all these places!
Damn right! Sydney terminal 3 Qantas lounge ahoy. Biggest problem I have is that there don't appear to be any plug sockets for me to leech power from so I don't have time to write a lot at the moment, nor upload photos. 45 minutes battery left and that's probably too liberal an estimate :-( A couple of things from my first few days in Sydney last week spring to mind though, that went unmentioned before: Sydney's 4 main terrestrial TV channels are called 2, 7, 9 and 10. TVs automatically tune the channels to those channel numbers, leaving 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 8 empty. That's ridiculous. And, at the zoo, one of the snakes we saw was solar powered. According to the info about it it lies in the sun doing nothing until its brain heats up enough to give it a kickstart, after which it's equipped to control the rest of its bodily functions, ie moving, killing, and eating. Fantastic.
Monday, September 25, 2006
until Perth...
No more proper entries until Perth then, damn it. With this Sydneybound flight delayed -- scheduled time: 1325; current time: 1319; estimated time of departure: 1530 -- I thought I'd have the perfect opportunity to flickrize more than 300 photos (turns out most of them are pretty good after all) and write yesterday/this morning up. But there's no wireless access in the Qantas lounge here and the business centre is the only place I can get online, using a heavily crippled (ie, kiosk mode) Windows XP box. Oh well. I guess I'll just have to drink some more free beer instead.
Although, really, I need to go shopping. Not because there are things I want to buy, but because there's cash I want to jettison. Because of going up the SkyTower this morning I had to draw out a bit more, to pay for a cab and the departure fee -- it costs NZD25 to leave this country. But when I got to the airport I was surprised and pleased to learn that Qantas have a fantastic business+first class only check-in area, complete with customs desk. A far far faster "fast track" departure than Heathrow, it also meant I could pay the departure tax by credit card. Combine that and the hotel getting me a cab for NZD20 cheaper than I expected and I've a bunch of Kiwi cash burning a hole in my pocket. I could give it to charity, that whole Change For Good thing, but where's the selfishness in that? I need a book to replace the Disney one which got slightly moistened in my bag yesterday.
Jesus. I really hate keyboards whose return keys aren't mirror-L shaped. I keep hitting \. I'm also depressed that the blog entry editor is much better in IE than in Firefox.
Anyway, so that's the lot until Perth.. unless I can con my way into the Qantas lounge on Wednesday morning. It might work: by then I should, in theory, have achieved a level of status (silver/sapphire) with BA/oneworld that allows me in even though the flight on its own doesn't. But with only a pikey blue card in my beaten up SouthWestTrains wallet (complete with Fleshrot sticker on the back) I fear my luck will be out. I shall see.
Although, really, I need to go shopping. Not because there are things I want to buy, but because there's cash I want to jettison. Because of going up the SkyTower this morning I had to draw out a bit more, to pay for a cab and the departure fee -- it costs NZD25 to leave this country. But when I got to the airport I was surprised and pleased to learn that Qantas have a fantastic business+first class only check-in area, complete with customs desk. A far far faster "fast track" departure than Heathrow, it also meant I could pay the departure tax by credit card. Combine that and the hotel getting me a cab for NZD20 cheaper than I expected and I've a bunch of Kiwi cash burning a hole in my pocket. I could give it to charity, that whole Change For Good thing, but where's the selfishness in that? I need a book to replace the Disney one which got slightly moistened in my bag yesterday.
Jesus. I really hate keyboards whose return keys aren't mirror-L shaped. I keep hitting \. I'm also depressed that the blog entry editor is much better in IE than in Firefox.
Anyway, so that's the lot until Perth.. unless I can con my way into the Qantas lounge on Wednesday morning. It might work: by then I should, in theory, have achieved a level of status (silver/sapphire) with BA/oneworld that allows me in even though the flight on its own doesn't. But with only a pikey blue card in my beaten up SouthWestTrains wallet (complete with Fleshrot sticker on the back) I fear my luck will be out. I shall see.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Auckland to Sydney looks like fun
My flight isn't supposed to depart for almost 5 hours, yet it's already delayed by a further two, and other flights from Auckland to Sydney have been cancelled this morning. One has been rescheduled from 1025 to 1500! Huzzah! Or, err, not. For fucks sake! The lounge is going to be heaving, it wants to be good (I still intend to go there as if I didn't know, I have to checkout of the hotel anyway).
Auckland, day 1
Damn timezones. I'm still not getting things right, and today managed to set my alarm for 0630 instead of 0830. Ah well. I did manage to fall asleep virtually the second my head hit the pillow, at least.
Saturday was my first full day in Auckland. At the airport I'd picked up 2 thick brochure/pamphlet/magazine things full of ads for stuff to do and see in the city and being near the harbour my first idea was to go get a boat. So I walked the 2 or so minutes down to the ferry terminal via the train station (not a lot going on in there) and had a mosey but held off buying a ticket because the weather was pretty grim. Instead I explored the area a bit more and ended up at the far end in an "i-Site" information office. I told the guy in there that I was confused, spoilt for choice by the massive array of ferry trips available, and he sorted me out with a couple of suggestions. I also asked him if the weather was going to get better and he said it wasn't until Sunday, so I grabbed a leaflet detailing walks in the city and buggered off.
That leaflet listed 3 walks each of which could be split into a series of smaller ones. The only walk going anywhere near where I was actually started at the harbour, and was the "Coast to Coast" 16km walk from here to, uh, the other coast. 16km seemed a bit long but I figured it might be worth a go and duly set off along the route.
Less than 500 yards later I gave up. Turns out that there's a free City Circuit bus which leaves the train station (sorry, the Britomart Transport Centre). Every 10 minutes or so this does a little tour of the inner city area, so I figured I'd get my bearings a bit, let it show me Auckland. We didn't set off immediately though, because there was a mad Japanese woman who had a map of Auckland with where she wanted to go marked on it, but couldn't seem to understand that the big thick red line showing the bus route, including the fact it didn't go where she wanted, was the bus route, which didn't go where she wanted. The driver tried for ages to help her understand, before getting out of his cab and standing on the street looking out for people who might be able to speak Japanese and help her.
No-one came along so we headed off, and the woman sat next to me. She asked if I spoke Japanese. Then she asked where we were on her map. I pointed out the stop to her. And the next one. She still didn't get it, and seemed terribly confused when we completed the circuit and I wanted to get off.
So with bearings now in place I first headed to the Sky Tower/SkyCity. This is the tallest building in the southern hemisphere and has a bunch of stuff in it: casino, hotel, bars, revolving restaurant, etc. I saw none if it, instead just mooching around the lobby and a couple of bits on the first and second floors. Hmm, depending on what time it opens I might go and see if I can grab a quick observation before buggering off today actually.
From there I went for a walk around one of Auckland's parks, Albert Park. Not bad, and good views of the tower (actually, everywhere has good views of the tower, 'cos you can't miss it wherever you are) but the weather was really bastard changeable. It took about 5 minutes for the top of the tower to go from invisible and covered in cloud to backed by clear blue sky. Then it started to piss it down, about 2 minutes after I'd slapped on some sun cream. Pfft.
I thought about doing the coast to coast walk again, since it goes through Albert Park, but then came up with the better idea of going on a brewery tour. LIONZONE Originally I was going to go for the 1215 (IIRC) tour, but I was unlikely to make that so plumped for the 3pm tour instead. This gave me a load of time to stroll gently to, and explore, Auckland Domain. On the way there I had to cross Grafton Bridge, which as I am now well aware is shutting next weekend to let them make improvements to it. The reason I'm so aware is because not only are there signs all over the place, but the council was also employing people at both ends of the bridge to tell bridge users, hand out leaflets, and hold up big signs to wave at drivers.
The Domain is a pretty bloody big park, all in all. I wandered really slowly around it, taking shedloads of photos. Tacked around the edge of the open space near the entrance towards the duck ponds and restaurant. From there I headed to the museum which I thought about going in, but it looked bloody crowded if the car park and coach park was anything to go by. I can give or take museums anyway. I spent a lot of time in the Winter Gardens, especially the fernery, and then walked all the way around the museum, coming across some odd sculpture before a sharp descent. Down that bit, across the grass and up another hill, then down across the cricket pitch towards the pavilion, a right turn led me back to the entrance/exit.
Lots of time now having passed, I set off on the hunt for the brewery. Started off with a wrong turn but didn't waste too much time. The brewery was pretty easy to find, not least because it's fucking huge. The biggest problem was that the door was shut and had a sign on it saying the 3pm tour was fully booked already. Oh. There are no tours on Sunday either, so that's that. No brewery tour for me in Auckland.
Not to worry. It seemed to be in a pretty lively area and I'd spotted a pub on the way, so double backed and went past that to see what was going on. Turns out I was in the Newmarket area, full of shops and cinemas and a bowling alley and bars and a huge gym etc. Cool! I wandered about but didn't go in anywhere until getting back to the Cock & Bull, an English pub which won me over by (a) being English but 12,000 miles from England, and (b) having a "Cockney Burger" on the menu.
What a superb pub! So familiar it could have been a Fuller's place anywhere in London, it had a really decent array of beers and I gave the Dark Star a go -- which was bloody nice actually. So nice I had a second pint and ordered some food, a chicken lasagne. While waiting I figured I'd read the Weekend Herald that I'd bought (along with a Diet Coke) en route.
New Zealand news and politics is fantastic. As far as news is concerned, of sufficient importance to be on the front page was the story of Clint Brown, a TV presenter on a sports channel that got totally wankered, in a fight, beaten up after hassling a bloke's wife, and then a hangover so bad he can't remember a thing about it. Top quality news, I thought. Politics is even better though, the big news over here at the moment being something about the Prime Minister's husband being possibly gay, but also a member of a shady sect called the Exclusive Brethren. Private investigators are involved and it's all very clandestine. Good effort.
On the cover of the magazine was a Shortland Street actor. How stereotypical is that?
The letters page annoyed me. Some guy wrote in with something along the lines of
Ahem. Anyway. The chicken lasagne was alright but the beer was better. I needed to go to the loo and had a sudden attack of nerves about causing offence. See I didn't want to pack all my stuff up in my bag and take it with me, but nor did I want to ask someone to look over it in case they thought I was an arse for even suggesting that people steal unattended things in pubs over here. Then the perfect defence struck me: being an English pub, I could claim that I thought it was so English that my possessions and self were in constant danger, which is why I had to ask. But all this worrying took too long and in the end I just went for a piss leaving my stuff on the table.
Several signs in the pub said
and I'd been thinking, hmm, that sounds like a metal band line up. Took me an hour or so to realise it was actually a formula advertising some crazy ass karaoke night. Oh well.
The TV was showing rugby. The Rugby Channel, in fact. Everyone loves rugby here. There's a massive advertising hoarding going round 3 sides of a building near my hotel, all of which have a count down to the next rugby world cup in different measures. One is days, one is minutes, one is seconds. It's almost a year to go but they're all mad for it. There are 2 All Blacks stores on this block alone. Mental.
The last bit of noteworthy news from the paper was a snippet about Patrick Crowe. This man is the mastermind before the "Oprah Winfrey for President" campaign. Just one small problem: Oprah Winfrey doesn't want to run for president and has issued a cease and desist order to get him to fucking stop it. Nice one, PC.
That was the lot for the Cock and Bull. Wasn't sure what to do next but couldn't be bothered with the walk back to town -- before getting to the pub I'd been walking almost solidly from 0900 to 1330. So I headed to a "the Link" bus stop and hey presto, it was there immediately. NZD1.50 for any length trip up to the full circuit, this bus goes way further than the city circuit and I grabbed a seat at the front to see what else Auckland had to offer.
The Link goes along Karangahape Road, which is somehwere I'd wanted to look for/at because apparently Auckland's only dedicated metal bar is on it. I couldn't spot it, but the area did look cool, a bit seedy with a bit of a Camden Town feel about it. At the far end we stopped, not at a bus stop, but by a public loo so the driver could nip out for a piss, heh. Thankfully we didn't get hijacked.
Quite a cool bus this The Link. It announces each stop in advance even if no-one has rung the bell, not just the stop but why you might want to get off there. "Alight here for shops, some park, etc" type stuff. There's also a TV screen which alternated between adverts and a map of Auckland showing where the bus currently is. Neat.
Ponsonby was next, another area full of shops and bars. Next time I come to Auckland (assuming there is one) it seems I have quite a bit more exploration to do. As it is though I just treated it as a sightseeing tour and stayed on all the way back into the centre of town, got off and came back to the hotel.
In the evening I took a wander down to Viaduct Quay, a quayside (duh) area full of bars and restaurants. Started off in Hagan's, an Irish pub in which I had the worst pint of Guinness I've ever tasted. I know I'm a long way from Ireland, but fucking hell that pint was horrible. Dubai does it so much better. Couldn't face attempting an Old Speckled Hen in there so I went outside, phoned me old man, and went to a different bar, Imperial. Perfect timing, timezones for the win!, the Ryder Cup was on. And Europe were doing fucking awesome too. Bought a pint of Heineken and settled in front of a TV. The Heineken tasted distinctly of banana. Odd. It was served in one of the heaviest pint glasses I've ever had too. The Ryder Cup kept making me double take, as the partnership of "Clarke and Westwood" made me think of some Radio 1 golf tournament featuring Dave Clarke and Tim Westwood. Gnargh.
Money came out of my pocket as I attempted to navigate my way through the local currency and break with tradition: I intended to buy my next drink with coins. Foreign coins always confuse me but New Zealand coins are terrible, because the 20 cent piece comes in two different sizes. For fucks sake. In the USA I've always thought having dollars as paper was a load of shit but perhaps I need to reevaluate that position. Anyway, just as I'd figured it out they turned the TV over. No more Ryder Cup, no more patronage by me! I buggered off, couldn't be bothered with any other bars so went to the shop to get a diet coke. Ended up buying a diet coke with raspberry, something about which I was initially massively exuberant until I realised it might end up tasting horrible (it doesn't; it doesn't really taste of much, neither the raspberry or DC taste come through very strongly. Shame you can't get the cherry version down here). The best bit of buying it was the guy in the shop getting really confused by the 20c coins of two sizes I gave him. Hah! Take that, NZ currency. Sort it the fuck out, it confuses everyone!
Right. That's Saturday done. Time to go have breakfast, see if I can go up the Sky Tower, and then head to the airport.
Saturday was my first full day in Auckland. At the airport I'd picked up 2 thick brochure/pamphlet/magazine things full of ads for stuff to do and see in the city and being near the harbour my first idea was to go get a boat. So I walked the 2 or so minutes down to the ferry terminal via the train station (not a lot going on in there) and had a mosey but held off buying a ticket because the weather was pretty grim. Instead I explored the area a bit more and ended up at the far end in an "i-Site" information office. I told the guy in there that I was confused, spoilt for choice by the massive array of ferry trips available, and he sorted me out with a couple of suggestions. I also asked him if the weather was going to get better and he said it wasn't until Sunday, so I grabbed a leaflet detailing walks in the city and buggered off.
That leaflet listed 3 walks each of which could be split into a series of smaller ones. The only walk going anywhere near where I was actually started at the harbour, and was the "Coast to Coast" 16km walk from here to, uh, the other coast. 16km seemed a bit long but I figured it might be worth a go and duly set off along the route.
Less than 500 yards later I gave up. Turns out that there's a free City Circuit bus which leaves the train station (sorry, the Britomart Transport Centre). Every 10 minutes or so this does a little tour of the inner city area, so I figured I'd get my bearings a bit, let it show me Auckland. We didn't set off immediately though, because there was a mad Japanese woman who had a map of Auckland with where she wanted to go marked on it, but couldn't seem to understand that the big thick red line showing the bus route, including the fact it didn't go where she wanted, was the bus route, which didn't go where she wanted. The driver tried for ages to help her understand, before getting out of his cab and standing on the street looking out for people who might be able to speak Japanese and help her.
No-one came along so we headed off, and the woman sat next to me. She asked if I spoke Japanese. Then she asked where we were on her map. I pointed out the stop to her. And the next one. She still didn't get it, and seemed terribly confused when we completed the circuit and I wanted to get off.
So with bearings now in place I first headed to the Sky Tower/SkyCity. This is the tallest building in the southern hemisphere and has a bunch of stuff in it: casino, hotel, bars, revolving restaurant, etc. I saw none if it, instead just mooching around the lobby and a couple of bits on the first and second floors. Hmm, depending on what time it opens I might go and see if I can grab a quick observation before buggering off today actually.
From there I went for a walk around one of Auckland's parks, Albert Park. Not bad, and good views of the tower (actually, everywhere has good views of the tower, 'cos you can't miss it wherever you are) but the weather was really bastard changeable. It took about 5 minutes for the top of the tower to go from invisible and covered in cloud to backed by clear blue sky. Then it started to piss it down, about 2 minutes after I'd slapped on some sun cream. Pfft.
I thought about doing the coast to coast walk again, since it goes through Albert Park, but then came up with the better idea of going on a brewery tour. LIONZONE Originally I was going to go for the 1215 (IIRC) tour, but I was unlikely to make that so plumped for the 3pm tour instead. This gave me a load of time to stroll gently to, and explore, Auckland Domain. On the way there I had to cross Grafton Bridge, which as I am now well aware is shutting next weekend to let them make improvements to it. The reason I'm so aware is because not only are there signs all over the place, but the council was also employing people at both ends of the bridge to tell bridge users, hand out leaflets, and hold up big signs to wave at drivers.
The Domain is a pretty bloody big park, all in all. I wandered really slowly around it, taking shedloads of photos. Tacked around the edge of the open space near the entrance towards the duck ponds and restaurant. From there I headed to the museum which I thought about going in, but it looked bloody crowded if the car park and coach park was anything to go by. I can give or take museums anyway. I spent a lot of time in the Winter Gardens, especially the fernery, and then walked all the way around the museum, coming across some odd sculpture before a sharp descent. Down that bit, across the grass and up another hill, then down across the cricket pitch towards the pavilion, a right turn led me back to the entrance/exit.
Lots of time now having passed, I set off on the hunt for the brewery. Started off with a wrong turn but didn't waste too much time. The brewery was pretty easy to find, not least because it's fucking huge. The biggest problem was that the door was shut and had a sign on it saying the 3pm tour was fully booked already. Oh. There are no tours on Sunday either, so that's that. No brewery tour for me in Auckland.
Not to worry. It seemed to be in a pretty lively area and I'd spotted a pub on the way, so double backed and went past that to see what was going on. Turns out I was in the Newmarket area, full of shops and cinemas and a bowling alley and bars and a huge gym etc. Cool! I wandered about but didn't go in anywhere until getting back to the Cock & Bull, an English pub which won me over by (a) being English but 12,000 miles from England, and (b) having a "Cockney Burger" on the menu.
What a superb pub! So familiar it could have been a Fuller's place anywhere in London, it had a really decent array of beers and I gave the Dark Star a go -- which was bloody nice actually. So nice I had a second pint and ordered some food, a chicken lasagne. While waiting I figured I'd read the Weekend Herald that I'd bought (along with a Diet Coke) en route.
New Zealand news and politics is fantastic. As far as news is concerned, of sufficient importance to be on the front page was the story of Clint Brown, a TV presenter on a sports channel that got totally wankered, in a fight, beaten up after hassling a bloke's wife, and then a hangover so bad he can't remember a thing about it. Top quality news, I thought. Politics is even better though, the big news over here at the moment being something about the Prime Minister's husband being possibly gay, but also a member of a shady sect called the Exclusive Brethren. Private investigators are involved and it's all very clandestine. Good effort.
On the cover of the magazine was a Shortland Street actor. How stereotypical is that?
The letters page annoyed me. Some guy wrote in with something along the lines of
Am I the only person who finds it ironic that every time someone lambasts Islam for being a violent religion, thousands of Muslims across the world rise up and prove them right?No response from the editor, but hopefully in the office their reaction was much like mine. No! Of course it's not only you, you fucking arrogant twat. You think you're the only person to come up with that? Really? You honestly think that you've come up with an enormously deep insight that you need to share with the rest of New Zealand because no-one else has the clarity of thought and big-picture vision to note that particular irony? Have a fucking word you fucking idiot. Jesus!
Ahem. Anyway. The chicken lasagne was alright but the beer was better. I needed to go to the loo and had a sudden attack of nerves about causing offence. See I didn't want to pack all my stuff up in my bag and take it with me, but nor did I want to ask someone to look over it in case they thought I was an arse for even suggesting that people steal unattended things in pubs over here. Then the perfect defence struck me: being an English pub, I could claim that I thought it was so English that my possessions and self were in constant danger, which is why I had to ask. But all this worrying took too long and in the end I just went for a piss leaving my stuff on the table.
Several signs in the pub said
FEAR FACTOR
+ DISTRACTION
X ALCOHOL
and I'd been thinking, hmm, that sounds like a metal band line up. Took me an hour or so to realise it was actually a formula advertising some crazy ass karaoke night. Oh well.
The TV was showing rugby. The Rugby Channel, in fact. Everyone loves rugby here. There's a massive advertising hoarding going round 3 sides of a building near my hotel, all of which have a count down to the next rugby world cup in different measures. One is days, one is minutes, one is seconds. It's almost a year to go but they're all mad for it. There are 2 All Blacks stores on this block alone. Mental.
The last bit of noteworthy news from the paper was a snippet about Patrick Crowe. This man is the mastermind before the "Oprah Winfrey for President" campaign. Just one small problem: Oprah Winfrey doesn't want to run for president and has issued a cease and desist order to get him to fucking stop it. Nice one, PC.
That was the lot for the Cock and Bull. Wasn't sure what to do next but couldn't be bothered with the walk back to town -- before getting to the pub I'd been walking almost solidly from 0900 to 1330. So I headed to a "the Link" bus stop and hey presto, it was there immediately. NZD1.50 for any length trip up to the full circuit, this bus goes way further than the city circuit and I grabbed a seat at the front to see what else Auckland had to offer.
The Link goes along Karangahape Road, which is somehwere I'd wanted to look for/at because apparently Auckland's only dedicated metal bar is on it. I couldn't spot it, but the area did look cool, a bit seedy with a bit of a Camden Town feel about it. At the far end we stopped, not at a bus stop, but by a public loo so the driver could nip out for a piss, heh. Thankfully we didn't get hijacked.
Quite a cool bus this The Link. It announces each stop in advance even if no-one has rung the bell, not just the stop but why you might want to get off there. "Alight here for shops, some park, etc" type stuff. There's also a TV screen which alternated between adverts and a map of Auckland showing where the bus currently is. Neat.
Ponsonby was next, another area full of shops and bars. Next time I come to Auckland (assuming there is one) it seems I have quite a bit more exploration to do. As it is though I just treated it as a sightseeing tour and stayed on all the way back into the centre of town, got off and came back to the hotel.
In the evening I took a wander down to Viaduct Quay, a quayside (duh) area full of bars and restaurants. Started off in Hagan's, an Irish pub in which I had the worst pint of Guinness I've ever tasted. I know I'm a long way from Ireland, but fucking hell that pint was horrible. Dubai does it so much better. Couldn't face attempting an Old Speckled Hen in there so I went outside, phoned me old man, and went to a different bar, Imperial. Perfect timing, timezones for the win!, the Ryder Cup was on. And Europe were doing fucking awesome too. Bought a pint of Heineken and settled in front of a TV. The Heineken tasted distinctly of banana. Odd. It was served in one of the heaviest pint glasses I've ever had too. The Ryder Cup kept making me double take, as the partnership of "Clarke and Westwood" made me think of some Radio 1 golf tournament featuring Dave Clarke and Tim Westwood. Gnargh.
Money came out of my pocket as I attempted to navigate my way through the local currency and break with tradition: I intended to buy my next drink with coins. Foreign coins always confuse me but New Zealand coins are terrible, because the 20 cent piece comes in two different sizes. For fucks sake. In the USA I've always thought having dollars as paper was a load of shit but perhaps I need to reevaluate that position. Anyway, just as I'd figured it out they turned the TV over. No more Ryder Cup, no more patronage by me! I buggered off, couldn't be bothered with any other bars so went to the shop to get a diet coke. Ended up buying a diet coke with raspberry, something about which I was initially massively exuberant until I realised it might end up tasting horrible (it doesn't; it doesn't really taste of much, neither the raspberry or DC taste come through very strongly. Shame you can't get the cherry version down here). The best bit of buying it was the guy in the shop getting really confused by the 20c coins of two sizes I gave him. Hah! Take that, NZ currency. Sort it the fuck out, it confuses everyone!
Right. That's Saturday done. Time to go have breakfast, see if I can go up the Sky Tower, and then head to the airport.
Forgotten foresight rules
Been back at the hotel for a while after an earlier trip out, just doing a lot of nothing really. Looking at my flights and hotels mainly, and thinking a lot about the days and weeks ahead. Seems I had the great idea to book hotel transfer in Hong Kong, which gets one of my major worries out of the way. Perth will be easy to deal with and a car is getting me in Singapore too, so it's only (only!) Japan which remains truly daunting. Am I wrapping myself in cotton wool too much? I'm not sure. Does "getting from airport to hotel" count as part of the adventure?
Housekeeping didn't fill up my mini-bar today :-( mind you I'd not anywhere near finished it all yesterday, and haven't finished the remainder today. But still, pfft.
I wish there was a way for me to choose my seats on the Qantas and Cathay Pacific flights I've got coming up. I guess I could if I joined their frequent flyer schemes, but that seems a bit much (and that's coming from me!). I don't really know why I care, I guess it's just because being able to pick where I'm sitting is a novelty that hasn't yet worn off.
In the course of looking at flights this evening I've been checking how busy each flight is using my expertflyer.com subscription -- gah, I hate that. How can I be an "expert" flyer? I'm just a guy with a lot of flights booked, there's no fucking expertise involved, sheesh -- and I think I've got the whole of business class to myself for the next few weeks. I noticed I leave Singapore a bit late so wondered about changing the flight time, but the most attractive option involved a stop in Bangkok which probably isn't too wise at the moment.
I'm tired. The annoying thing about not having a TV in the bedroom here is that I can't fall asleep in front of it. I like radio but having the TV on shuts my brain down far more effectively, because I don't find myself lying in the dark thinking too quickly and loudly to myself. I'm too busy being distracted by the tube to be my own distraction, and I'm not a great fan of lying awake for an hour or two with only my thoughts for company. Oh well.
Housekeeping didn't fill up my mini-bar today :-( mind you I'd not anywhere near finished it all yesterday, and haven't finished the remainder today. But still, pfft.
I wish there was a way for me to choose my seats on the Qantas and Cathay Pacific flights I've got coming up. I guess I could if I joined their frequent flyer schemes, but that seems a bit much (and that's coming from me!). I don't really know why I care, I guess it's just because being able to pick where I'm sitting is a novelty that hasn't yet worn off.
In the course of looking at flights this evening I've been checking how busy each flight is using my expertflyer.com subscription -- gah, I hate that. How can I be an "expert" flyer? I'm just a guy with a lot of flights booked, there's no fucking expertise involved, sheesh -- and I think I've got the whole of business class to myself for the next few weeks. I noticed I leave Singapore a bit late so wondered about changing the flight time, but the most attractive option involved a stop in Bangkok which probably isn't too wise at the moment.
I'm tired. The annoying thing about not having a TV in the bedroom here is that I can't fall asleep in front of it. I like radio but having the TV on shuts my brain down far more effectively, because I don't find myself lying in the dark thinking too quickly and loudly to myself. I'm too busy being distracted by the tube to be my own distraction, and I'm not a great fan of lying awake for an hour or two with only my thoughts for company. Oh well.
Must. Stop. Photographing. Everything.
6pm on Sunday evening here IN THE FUTURE and, um, I've got around 330 photos from the past 48 hours or so to upload. Auckland could really do with not having such picturesque stuff to take photos of. Mind you I have a feeling that shitloads of the photos I took today won't be any good at all, so perhaps I'll only have 150 or so in the end.
I'd write something about yesterday now, except I can't be arsed. There's nothing to write about Friday because despite actually being in livelyville, I didn't go anywhere. Just had a couple of cans in the hotel room out of the minibar, caught up on shitloads of THE INTERNET and watched TV. But yesterday and today have been pretty full on, as you will one day see.
Tomorrow my flight is at 1325. Checkout from the hotel is at 1100, but I'll want to be out quite a bit before then if I'm to make my next frequent-flyer-game move at the Qantas desk before lapping up a bit more lounge goodness. In particular the idea of using airport bandwidth rather than (costly) hotel bandwidth is tempting where the photos are concerned, although whether I'll have time to upload all them photos is debatable.
The big problem is that after I checkout, I have no internet until Wednesday evening in Perth. Not looking forward to the flight there anywhere near as much as all the others, because despite it being a nice 5hr journey in fatcat class the fuckers at Qantas don't let you in a lounge if you're flying domestic. FFHS! That flight is 2.5 times the distance/time of the international flight to Auckland! I think I'll give sweet-talking the agent at the desk a go and see if I can't get an invitation. Pfft. Right.
But yeah, long day tomorrow though. As well as getting up and to the airport early (shower, pack, buffet breakfast, checkout, cab), a 3hr flight to a place 2hrs in the past means it only takes 1hr. See? So whereas Monday 18th September didn't exist, Monday 25th September is 26 hours long and there's a full evening in Sydney to enjoy. Personally I want to drop the bags off and then go out pubbing, I think, 'cos that's something I've not done yet and doing so on Tuesday night comes laden with the potential for flying while hungover. Never a good idea, especially without a lounge in which to have a postponing dog hair or two... anyway, I wonder how much hard work it will be to convince Kevin, Sally, and Mara that going out on the piss on a Monday night is a good idea.
Hmm. Panic! At The Disco sound like Fallout Boy, and to my utmost annoyance I've found myself liking the latter (and, therefore, the former) recently. "lalalalala cock it and pull it", etc. Goddamn emo rubbish being all catchy and shit. Thank fuck I've placed a moratorium on buying any CDs 'cos they're too heavy to cart around the fucking world, hopefully by the time I get back to England this phase will have passed.
I'd write something about yesterday now, except I can't be arsed. There's nothing to write about Friday because despite actually being in livelyville, I didn't go anywhere. Just had a couple of cans in the hotel room out of the minibar, caught up on shitloads of THE INTERNET and watched TV. But yesterday and today have been pretty full on, as you will one day see.
Tomorrow my flight is at 1325. Checkout from the hotel is at 1100, but I'll want to be out quite a bit before then if I'm to make my next frequent-flyer-game move at the Qantas desk before lapping up a bit more lounge goodness. In particular the idea of using airport bandwidth rather than (costly) hotel bandwidth is tempting where the photos are concerned, although whether I'll have time to upload all them photos is debatable.
The big problem is that after I checkout, I have no internet until Wednesday evening in Perth. Not looking forward to the flight there anywhere near as much as all the others, because despite it being a nice 5hr journey in fatcat class the fuckers at Qantas don't let you in a lounge if you're flying domestic. FFHS! That flight is 2.5 times the distance/time of the international flight to Auckland! I think I'll give sweet-talking the agent at the desk a go and see if I can't get an invitation. Pfft. Right.
But yeah, long day tomorrow though. As well as getting up and to the airport early (shower, pack, buffet breakfast, checkout, cab), a 3hr flight to a place 2hrs in the past means it only takes 1hr. See? So whereas Monday 18th September didn't exist, Monday 25th September is 26 hours long and there's a full evening in Sydney to enjoy. Personally I want to drop the bags off and then go out pubbing, I think, 'cos that's something I've not done yet and doing so on Tuesday night comes laden with the potential for flying while hungover. Never a good idea, especially without a lounge in which to have a postponing dog hair or two... anyway, I wonder how much hard work it will be to convince Kevin, Sally, and Mara that going out on the piss on a Monday night is a good idea.
Hmm. Panic! At The Disco sound like Fallout Boy, and to my utmost annoyance I've found myself liking the latter (and, therefore, the former) recently. "lalalalala cock it and pull it", etc. Goddamn emo rubbish being all catchy and shit. Thank fuck I've placed a moratorium on buying any CDs 'cos they're too heavy to cart around the fucking world, hopefully by the time I get back to England this phase will have passed.
Sydney, day 3
Right, I've got about half an hour before I have to leave the hotel for my second boat trip of the day, so let's see if I can describe Thursday sharpish. This might not be the best blog entry ever...
As Tuesday morning, on Thursday me and Kev walked through the park to Bondi Junction. Not because we needed a destination the bus wasn't good enough for, but because it was time to get Sally some keys cut. The place had been shut on the way back the previous night but things were perilous and she really needed her own set, what with me causing him to be a filthy stop-out. So while he sorted that out I went to the newsagent to buy, yes, a Diet Coke. Except the newsagent didn't sell drinks. Odd. So I went to the standalone deli counter (ie, not a counter inside a larger shop) and bought it there... and a pork pie too. Wasn't very nice, that.
Train to Town Hall took us to the interchange of the first box to tick that day: the fucking MONORAIL. After roundly laughing at my exuberance over the thought of a trip on it on Tuesday, Kevin had tried to get backup from Mara but instead was treated to the full-on "it's great, you get a truly unique perspective on the city, and anyway, what about that Simpsons episode?" treatment. Go Mara! Foreman the Elder scowled away while I waited with a huge grin on my face. Hah!
First monorail had 2 carriages whose doors didn't open, and all the other carriages were way too full. So we waited for the next, which had only one fucked carriage, but was still standing room only. Not to worry though: the ticket you buy (if not a pass) is vaild for any amount of stops on the loop, and since by definition all the people sat down had got on before us, they were bound to get off soon and we'd be able to sit (and take photos). We were being a bit naughty though, 'cos we actually wanted to do a circuit and a bit: where we got on was only 2 stops from our destination.
Turns out every other fucker was doing the same. NO-ONE got off for the entire circuit, I swear the first people who did got off at the next stop, second time around. Bastards. The huge party occupying most of our carriage finally got off there too, meaning we had precisely one stop to sit down for. Oh well, I don't really care: I had a ride on a fucking monorail!
Grabbed a drink and stole some Internet access from a wifi network by a coffee shop before exploring the area. Darling Harbour was where we got off. It's, um, a harbour area. Ferry stops, a marina, loads of bars and stuff, and the National Maritime Museum -- we walked past them all. Took loads of photos (especially of the monorail *cough*) but mainly just wandered for a couple of hours. We had a lunch date with Sally, who works around the corner, so just before that we went away from the water and through the casino building. Not actually onto the gaming floor, but I did make us spend a good few dollars on this if-your-reactions-are-OK-you-might-win-an-ipod-shuffle machine. Our reactions weren't OK, we didn't win an ipod shuffle.
Kevin couldn't remember the address of Sally's work. This was problematic, because she didn't have a mobile or any way of getting hold of us, and we were supposed to meet her outside the office. He remembered the road, but thought it was number 120. The problem we faced, however, was that the road didn't have a number 120. Hrm. 200 was the next best guess and, in fact, also the best guess, because it was right. Sal appeared and we went round the corner to Pen Cafe (a diversion from where Sal had intended to take us because she'd forgotten I don't do sushi).
A couple of other friends of theirs joined us for lunch too. Anne and James? I think and hope that's their names. They're in Sydney for a while, she being a native and him being a Londoner. Innit.
Oh, here's an aside: talking of people other than me, it turns out Sal has a sister called Jo who's married to a bloke called Nige. What are the odds?
Anyway, lunch was great. I had a plate full of spaghetti, can't remember what everyone else had, but what I do recall is that Sal made us all drink Bundaberg ginger beer. It was nice, but OH MY GOSH: 41g of sugar in a bottle. Eek!
Sal back to work, Anne and James back to wherever they were going, I insisted on going back to the casino and this time onto the gaming floor. And indeed that's where we went. Believe it or not it was my first time ever in a casino and unfortunately it was a massive disappointment. All the fruit machines are these endemic "pokies" which I shoved a bunch of money in and signally failed to understand how to work. The money remains in the casino.
Another aside: on New Zealand's MTV at the moment there's some fucking weird ass half-Nirvana indie band covering Enter Sandman. At the start of this paragraph I was undecided, but now I've come to the conclusion that it's bollocks.
Right, not much time left. The thing that confused me most about the casino wasn't the pokies, it was the table games. I was half tempted to play some blackjack and almost got as far as buying some chips until it hit me: they had blackjack tables, and they had pontoon tables. Erm. What? Hold up. Pontoon? Isn't that what we used to call Blackjack as kids until we learnt it was really called Blackjack? Looked in vain for a leaflet or whatever explaining the basic rules of all the games available but no, all the leaflets they had were all about contacting some people to help you talk about your gambling problems etc, all this self-help don't-gamble-your-mortgage-and-kids-college-funds away nonsense. Well look: I've got a problem gambling -- I can't work out how to do it. Sigh.
So, we left. Went to the ferry stop but we missed one by about 20 seconds, so a wander around the other side of the harbour got us on a different one... which stopped at the one we'd just left. Oh well, the earlier you get on the more water time (and likelihood of a seat) there is. Back to Circular Quay and ready for a bus to Bondi Beach.
Well, that's it really. We got a bus to Bondi Beach. Straight off the bus bro' bought a coffee from a total psycho mental woman in the shop and we stood watching the beach and waves and surfers for a while. After that got boring we took the coastal path around, past one bay (Tamarama) to another (Bronte). Mara was working in Bronte and could pick us up and take us home if we got there at about 1800. Well, we got there at 1730 and hung around for a bit until Sal phoned both Mara and Kevin saying she couldn't get into the flat. Kevin had handed over the freshly minted keys at lunch but they didn't work :-(
Frenzy! Kevin phoned Mara, got directions to where she was working, we got the car keys off her and he drove me and him to the flat. Sally wasn't there, so I went towards the local pub while Kevin took the car back to (get) Mara. Just approaching the boozer I got another call, from Kevin: Sally isn't in the boozer, she's in a coffee shop in the opposite direction. About turn I went, going past the flat until I thought, look, I might not be a local but in this direction there's fuck all. So I called Sally and found where she was, in a coffee shop indeed, but a slightly different direction again. She left, I headed towards and we met halfway.
See, the problem was, the guy had slid across the counter 2 sets of 3 keys. The natural assumption was that one set was the originals, and one the new 'uns. This is a rash assumption, for in reality I had 2 copies of one and Sal had 2 copies of another. Only one lock is used, mind, but that happened to be the one I had 2 of. Turns out the other key I had was a new 'un for the second lock and it didn't fit anyway. Fucking useless.
Thought it was a bit short notice but my desire to go out for an evening while in Sydney was actually heeded, and we headed to The Spot, a bit of Randwick full of bars and eateries, for mexican. Hmm, that was some fuck-off burrito I had, but the jalapenos on the side were weak as cat's piss :-(
Back at the flat I dozed off too early to watch Family Guy. Ho hum. Up the next morning and off to the airport and Auckland... and there we go. It's now 1415 and my boat trip starts boarding at 1445. Time to neck this bottle of Diet Coke and slap on a bit more factor 50+ UV EXTREME.
As Tuesday morning, on Thursday me and Kev walked through the park to Bondi Junction. Not because we needed a destination the bus wasn't good enough for, but because it was time to get Sally some keys cut. The place had been shut on the way back the previous night but things were perilous and she really needed her own set, what with me causing him to be a filthy stop-out. So while he sorted that out I went to the newsagent to buy, yes, a Diet Coke. Except the newsagent didn't sell drinks. Odd. So I went to the standalone deli counter (ie, not a counter inside a larger shop) and bought it there... and a pork pie too. Wasn't very nice, that.
Train to Town Hall took us to the interchange of the first box to tick that day: the fucking MONORAIL. After roundly laughing at my exuberance over the thought of a trip on it on Tuesday, Kevin had tried to get backup from Mara but instead was treated to the full-on "it's great, you get a truly unique perspective on the city, and anyway, what about that Simpsons episode?" treatment. Go Mara! Foreman the Elder scowled away while I waited with a huge grin on my face. Hah!
First monorail had 2 carriages whose doors didn't open, and all the other carriages were way too full. So we waited for the next, which had only one fucked carriage, but was still standing room only. Not to worry though: the ticket you buy (if not a pass) is vaild for any amount of stops on the loop, and since by definition all the people sat down had got on before us, they were bound to get off soon and we'd be able to sit (and take photos). We were being a bit naughty though, 'cos we actually wanted to do a circuit and a bit: where we got on was only 2 stops from our destination.
Turns out every other fucker was doing the same. NO-ONE got off for the entire circuit, I swear the first people who did got off at the next stop, second time around. Bastards. The huge party occupying most of our carriage finally got off there too, meaning we had precisely one stop to sit down for. Oh well, I don't really care: I had a ride on a fucking monorail!
Grabbed a drink and stole some Internet access from a wifi network by a coffee shop before exploring the area. Darling Harbour was where we got off. It's, um, a harbour area. Ferry stops, a marina, loads of bars and stuff, and the National Maritime Museum -- we walked past them all. Took loads of photos (especially of the monorail *cough*) but mainly just wandered for a couple of hours. We had a lunch date with Sally, who works around the corner, so just before that we went away from the water and through the casino building. Not actually onto the gaming floor, but I did make us spend a good few dollars on this if-your-reactions-are-OK-you-might-win-an-ipod-shuffle machine. Our reactions weren't OK, we didn't win an ipod shuffle.
Kevin couldn't remember the address of Sally's work. This was problematic, because she didn't have a mobile or any way of getting hold of us, and we were supposed to meet her outside the office. He remembered the road, but thought it was number 120. The problem we faced, however, was that the road didn't have a number 120. Hrm. 200 was the next best guess and, in fact, also the best guess, because it was right. Sal appeared and we went round the corner to Pen Cafe (a diversion from where Sal had intended to take us because she'd forgotten I don't do sushi).
A couple of other friends of theirs joined us for lunch too. Anne and James? I think and hope that's their names. They're in Sydney for a while, she being a native and him being a Londoner. Innit.
Oh, here's an aside: talking of people other than me, it turns out Sal has a sister called Jo who's married to a bloke called Nige. What are the odds?
Anyway, lunch was great. I had a plate full of spaghetti, can't remember what everyone else had, but what I do recall is that Sal made us all drink Bundaberg ginger beer. It was nice, but OH MY GOSH: 41g of sugar in a bottle. Eek!
Sal back to work, Anne and James back to wherever they were going, I insisted on going back to the casino and this time onto the gaming floor. And indeed that's where we went. Believe it or not it was my first time ever in a casino and unfortunately it was a massive disappointment. All the fruit machines are these endemic "pokies" which I shoved a bunch of money in and signally failed to understand how to work. The money remains in the casino.
Another aside: on New Zealand's MTV at the moment there's some fucking weird ass half-Nirvana indie band covering Enter Sandman. At the start of this paragraph I was undecided, but now I've come to the conclusion that it's bollocks.
Right, not much time left. The thing that confused me most about the casino wasn't the pokies, it was the table games. I was half tempted to play some blackjack and almost got as far as buying some chips until it hit me: they had blackjack tables, and they had pontoon tables. Erm. What? Hold up. Pontoon? Isn't that what we used to call Blackjack as kids until we learnt it was really called Blackjack? Looked in vain for a leaflet or whatever explaining the basic rules of all the games available but no, all the leaflets they had were all about contacting some people to help you talk about your gambling problems etc, all this self-help don't-gamble-your-mortgage-and-kids-college-funds away nonsense. Well look: I've got a problem gambling -- I can't work out how to do it. Sigh.
So, we left. Went to the ferry stop but we missed one by about 20 seconds, so a wander around the other side of the harbour got us on a different one... which stopped at the one we'd just left. Oh well, the earlier you get on the more water time (and likelihood of a seat) there is. Back to Circular Quay and ready for a bus to Bondi Beach.
Well, that's it really. We got a bus to Bondi Beach. Straight off the bus bro' bought a coffee from a total psycho mental woman in the shop and we stood watching the beach and waves and surfers for a while. After that got boring we took the coastal path around, past one bay (Tamarama) to another (Bronte). Mara was working in Bronte and could pick us up and take us home if we got there at about 1800. Well, we got there at 1730 and hung around for a bit until Sal phoned both Mara and Kevin saying she couldn't get into the flat. Kevin had handed over the freshly minted keys at lunch but they didn't work :-(
Frenzy! Kevin phoned Mara, got directions to where she was working, we got the car keys off her and he drove me and him to the flat. Sally wasn't there, so I went towards the local pub while Kevin took the car back to (get) Mara. Just approaching the boozer I got another call, from Kevin: Sally isn't in the boozer, she's in a coffee shop in the opposite direction. About turn I went, going past the flat until I thought, look, I might not be a local but in this direction there's fuck all. So I called Sally and found where she was, in a coffee shop indeed, but a slightly different direction again. She left, I headed towards and we met halfway.
See, the problem was, the guy had slid across the counter 2 sets of 3 keys. The natural assumption was that one set was the originals, and one the new 'uns. This is a rash assumption, for in reality I had 2 copies of one and Sal had 2 copies of another. Only one lock is used, mind, but that happened to be the one I had 2 of. Turns out the other key I had was a new 'un for the second lock and it didn't fit anyway. Fucking useless.
Thought it was a bit short notice but my desire to go out for an evening while in Sydney was actually heeded, and we headed to The Spot, a bit of Randwick full of bars and eateries, for mexican. Hmm, that was some fuck-off burrito I had, but the jalapenos on the side were weak as cat's piss :-(
Back at the flat I dozed off too early to watch Family Guy. Ho hum. Up the next morning and off to the airport and Auckland... and there we go. It's now 1415 and my boat trip starts boarding at 1445. Time to neck this bottle of Diet Coke and slap on a bit more factor 50+ UV EXTREME.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Sydney, day 2
The girls having gone to work, Wednesday morning started with a far shorter walk to our transport: we got the bus from just up the road, opposite the dog (and cat) launderette in Randwick. We'd left later than the previous morning, in part because we'd been watching some of the Steve Irwin memorial on TV. LIVE on TV, ad-free, and possibly on more than one network too. Bit mad, he really is/was a stupendously popular guy in Australia. All kinds of celebs were wheeled out in video-tribute form to say good things about him too. Remember: HE CHANGED OUR WORLD. The service was on in the shop where I bought the first Diet Coke of the day too, just by the bus stop.
339 to Circular Quay, off we got and a couple of weekly passes were bought. This was AUD41 for unlimited travel on buses, some trains, and loads of ferries in the whole Sydney area. Not sure if it's valid out as far as the airport but I may find that out on Monday afternoon (or wimp out and just buy a single). Anyway, this is pretty fucking good value really, especially for an out-of-towner like me for whom getting a ferry is a proper novelty.
On the ferry we got, over to the stop by -- and possibly even called -- Taronga Zoo. Being something of a seasoned cable car rider I'd been looking forward to boarding the Sky Safari up to the zoo's entrance, but it was shut. Broken or summat. So we had to wait for a bus, and only fitted on the 3rd one that came along. Meant we got a seat though as by that time we were at the front of the queue. Off at the top, in we we went, and, well, I'm not sure there's a lot to write about the zoo. Everything can be said with all the photos I took, of which there are legion. I already posted my favourite yesterday, and the rest are up on flickr already in the Sydney set.
Actually I guess there's a few things to say. Quite a lot of it was fairly disappointing: no penguins, very few seals/sea lions, no hippos or rhinos or elephants, and quite a few of the animals we did see were either hiding or being unentertainingly lazy. But I can't be annoyed at the zoo because of that lioness photo, the tortoises, the giraffes, and, well, because it was a really nice day and zoos are cool. The fact that some animals were absent due to quarantine, or mating, or redevelopment of their compound just means I have an excuse to go back to it sometime.
After leaving the zoo we got a different bus to the one we'd got there. Instead of heading straight back to the ferry we instead went to [whatever the bit of town we went to was called, I forget] and a second Sydney institution when it comes to eating: Maisy's. This is a 24hr place that tried to go un-24hr, but relented after a storm of protest. No-one sat inside when we turned up, but no spaces to sit outside either 'cos all those tables were full. I had a footlong hot dog -- the bun was not a foot long, though -- and it was fantastic, as was the strawberry milkshake I washed it down with.
Walked that off by taking a long trot to Cremorne Point ferry stop via a brief stop outside the flats where my bro' used to live. He wanted to show me some crazy birds that live(d) in the trees opposite, but most of the trees had been chopped and we got rather creepily Neighbourhood Watched while pointing at various things. Ended up having a conversation with a yellow-trousered man wearing braces who was telling us about the possum he feeds. Hrm.
The walk to the ferry was mostly through a coastal park thing, Kevin can remind me of the name (except he doesn't need to, 'cos I found it myself). Basically a non-stop glorious view of Sydney harbour from the north shore. The ferry turned up at the same time as us, giving us a little bit of time to spare back city-side to grab a beer in Sydney's oldest pub while watching India fare pretty badly in an ODI.
That said, we didn't really have that time to spare 'cos Mara wasn't coming back early that evening, Sally had no keys to get into the flat and we'd misunderestimated the time it would take us to get back. When we did get back Sally was sat by the door. :-(
Had a bottle of beer, then went out to get takeaway Thai food. Back at the flat a rum and coke was forced upon me, part of some tradition apparently. Not rum+coke with Thai food, but the particular brand of rum in use. Another institution, Bundaberg IIRC. Unfortunately Sal mixed the drinks way too strong, she couldn't even finish her own. The Thai food wasn't great, and I went to bed at about 10pm. Was I accustomed to the timezone properly already?
339 to Circular Quay, off we got and a couple of weekly passes were bought. This was AUD41 for unlimited travel on buses, some trains, and loads of ferries in the whole Sydney area. Not sure if it's valid out as far as the airport but I may find that out on Monday afternoon (or wimp out and just buy a single). Anyway, this is pretty fucking good value really, especially for an out-of-towner like me for whom getting a ferry is a proper novelty.
On the ferry we got, over to the stop by -- and possibly even called -- Taronga Zoo. Being something of a seasoned cable car rider I'd been looking forward to boarding the Sky Safari up to the zoo's entrance, but it was shut. Broken or summat. So we had to wait for a bus, and only fitted on the 3rd one that came along. Meant we got a seat though as by that time we were at the front of the queue. Off at the top, in we we went, and, well, I'm not sure there's a lot to write about the zoo. Everything can be said with all the photos I took, of which there are legion. I already posted my favourite yesterday, and the rest are up on flickr already in the Sydney set.
Actually I guess there's a few things to say. Quite a lot of it was fairly disappointing: no penguins, very few seals/sea lions, no hippos or rhinos or elephants, and quite a few of the animals we did see were either hiding or being unentertainingly lazy. But I can't be annoyed at the zoo because of that lioness photo, the tortoises, the giraffes, and, well, because it was a really nice day and zoos are cool. The fact that some animals were absent due to quarantine, or mating, or redevelopment of their compound just means I have an excuse to go back to it sometime.
After leaving the zoo we got a different bus to the one we'd got there. Instead of heading straight back to the ferry we instead went to [whatever the bit of town we went to was called, I forget] and a second Sydney institution when it comes to eating: Maisy's. This is a 24hr place that tried to go un-24hr, but relented after a storm of protest. No-one sat inside when we turned up, but no spaces to sit outside either 'cos all those tables were full. I had a footlong hot dog -- the bun was not a foot long, though -- and it was fantastic, as was the strawberry milkshake I washed it down with.
Walked that off by taking a long trot to Cremorne Point ferry stop via a brief stop outside the flats where my bro' used to live. He wanted to show me some crazy birds that live(d) in the trees opposite, but most of the trees had been chopped and we got rather creepily Neighbourhood Watched while pointing at various things. Ended up having a conversation with a yellow-trousered man wearing braces who was telling us about the possum he feeds. Hrm.
The walk to the ferry was mostly through a coastal park thing, Kevin can remind me of the name (except he doesn't need to, 'cos I found it myself). Basically a non-stop glorious view of Sydney harbour from the north shore. The ferry turned up at the same time as us, giving us a little bit of time to spare back city-side to grab a beer in Sydney's oldest pub while watching India fare pretty badly in an ODI.
That said, we didn't really have that time to spare 'cos Mara wasn't coming back early that evening, Sally had no keys to get into the flat and we'd misunderestimated the time it would take us to get back. When we did get back Sally was sat by the door. :-(
Had a bottle of beer, then went out to get takeaway Thai food. Back at the flat a rum and coke was forced upon me, part of some tradition apparently. Not rum+coke with Thai food, but the particular brand of rum in use. Another institution, Bundaberg IIRC. Unfortunately Sal mixed the drinks way too strong, she couldn't even finish her own. The Thai food wasn't great, and I went to bed at about 10pm. Was I accustomed to the timezone properly already?
Sydney, day 1
Advice for travellers comes in many forms and from many places -- governments, friends, tripadvisor.com, airlines, me, employers -- but most of them, I think, agree that one of the best things to do is try and get yourself into your destination's timezone as soon as you can. It's certainly something I try and do; I set my watch to the right time of where I'm visiting as soon as the plane takes off. Unfortunately I don't heed the advice beyond that, in particular I don't bother kipping at the right times or anything sensible like that (btw, advice about time is simple and easy for anyone to follow; what's less simple, or even sensible, is the advice Yahoo! gives out which includes "try and blend in with the locals. buy a local language newspaper". this didn't work for me in TAIWAN AND FUCKING INDIA).
So, 0630 in Sydney, me having been up for most of the previous 36 hours and my bro for the previous 90 minutes. Had a cup of tea (out of character, but I figured the caffeine and sugar would be helpful), said hello/goodbye to Sally who was off for her first day at work in her new* job, said hello/goodbye to Mara who was off to her regular job, and went out ourselves, at about 0850 I guess.
Started off with a walk, across Queen's Park. Mara's flat is in an area called Randwick, in a part of Sydney where the only public transport options are buses. But it was rush hour so we wanted a train, which meant heading to Bondi Junction. I was already flagging, feeling hot and knackered and light headed and wondering whether attempting to adjuts to the local timezone was such a good idea.
Martin Place, where we got off the train, is in the centre of Sydney, loads of shops and bars and businesses in enormous tower blocks all around, with pedestrianised areas and a massive feeling of being in, err, London. Or Manchester. The whole everything's-in-English thing, the fact they drive on God's side of the road, being with my brother, and the knowledge that it was us, after all, who kicked off all the massive settlement here: all these things made me feel like I wasn't really in a foreign country thousands of miles from home at all. Very odd it were. Everything was so familiar. I expected to see a Wetherspoons until i remembered that no-one does chain pubs other than England.
Anyway, anyway, anyway. It's way too early to be thinking about pubs. Let's walk through Sydney city centre, down George Street, towards the water. Circular Quay is the central calling point for ferries in Sydney, what Aldwych used to be to night buses in London. There are a bunch of piers/wharfs, and shedloads of ferries. The sheer number of boats in the water, both public transport (those which the travelcard equivalents are valid on) as well as special ones (taxis, special cruises, etc) really took me aback. Fucking cool though. But we didn't get on a boat, we just carried on wandering. Round to the left towards Sydney Harbour Bridge, and an area called The Rocks.
The weather in Sydney was phenomenal. The week before when Kevin and Sally had just got back, it was pissing down and miserable. But I arrive and the sun comes out. Kevin's excuse is that the weather was actually saying "Oh, you're staying then?" to them two, but I think we all know what's what. So the point is, the photos just couldn't wait. I started snapping in earnest. The harbour, the bridge, the opera house, they all got some k800i treatment. Of particular interest to me were the bridge walkers. Fools who aren't big scared-of-heights wousses (ahem) pay a load of dollars to be kitted out in a jump suit, chained to the bridge, and go walking all the way to the top. Mentalists. The view's probably fantastic though, but I settled for taking photos of them.
After The Rocks more diet coke was acquired, probably a bit too soon after the last bottle 'cos I started getting a bit unsteady on me feet again, and it was only 11am or summat. Walked back past Circular Quay and round past/behind the Opera House. The whole place was actually pretty dead. Not totally empty, but not rammed by any stretch of the imagination. I guess kids the world over are in term time, and it was midweek. Good for us, though.
I can't make my mind up about the Opera House. Is it pretty? Is it ugly? Is it pretty ugly? I'm not sure. But it doesn't matter anyway, what matters is it's a box I can tick: been there, photographed that.
Round the corner from the OH is a big park. Or botanical gardens. It's both, I guess. There are loads of plants and loads of birds and loads of greenery. Kev wanted us to walk all the way round, but the look of that was putting me off and I suggested we go get some solids once we reached halfway. So off the coastal track we went, inland via parakeets and past a wharf full of expensive boats and posh bars selling expensive drinks, near which a professional photographer was snapping a recently (ie, an hour or so ago) wedded couple. Past them, and past an undoubtedly expensive hotel, is Harry's Cafe de Wheels.
Harry's Cafe de Wheels is a Sydney institution. Not one I'd heard of, mind, but I'm satisfied by the walls full of photos of famous patrons that it genuinely is. And what an institution! My kind of place, Harry's is a stall selling pies and peas. That's about all it sells, really. Lots of different kinds of pie, mind, but still it's just all pie and peas. Bro and I duly ordered a pie and peas each and settled round the corner in the shade to eat it.
Shade was actually only one reason we went round the corner; the other was to get out of the way of the photographer. The aforementioned couple had moved on from the wharf-front setting, and were now being snapped ordering pies and peas. Still in their full wedding garb. And once served, they sat down to eat. On the pavement. I kid thee not, this bird in her fancy wedding dress was sat on the pavement eating a meat pie, with a bottle of coke next to her to wash it down. Bloody fantastic.
The pie sorted me out a bit, actually. The caffeine was no longer rushing. I'm awake, but fucking hell it was sunny. Too hot by half, I needed shade, or better still, aircon. A pretty long walk took us through a load of the aforementioned in a couple of parks and into the latter, in a big shopping centre in the, err, centre of the city. The QVB is much like any other mall I've ever been in, even down to having a branch of Lush which FUCKING STINKS. Wankers.
Didn't actually want to do any shopping, mind, but I did find that nice as Harry's pie was it wasn't exactly filling. So I brought some ice cream, a couple of scoops that were way bigger than I thought they'd be. Bro had the same (well, different flavours) and we went upstairs at my behest for a gawp at the monorail station. I fucking love monorails! But we didn't get on it :-(
Still too early to go to bed, and too hot to go back outside, I figured I'd been in the country long enough now to have a pint. A quick wander led us to an airconditioned underground bar and pool hall whereupon we played a few games and I really can't remember the score. I know I was 2-0 down, then 3-2, but then what happened. 3-3? 4-3? 3-4? Kevin'll have to remind me. Finished our Toohey's New times two in there and went down the road for a Toohey's Old in a different place, and time was a ticking. The alcohol wasn't making me drowsy though, which was a result, so there was still time for a bit more touring to be done. This involved looking for the 339 bus stop to take us to Clovelly, via Randwick, this being the bus that goes nearest to Mara's place.
I had to find the bus stop for us. Despite this being my first time ever in the city, Kevin got confused and a bit lost and my suggestion of heading to the bus stops opposite "Central" station came good. One 339 ride later and there we were at Clovelly, a beach town full of steep hills and bloody steep houses. A small beach with beautiful sand and a decent swimming area, our walk around its border revealed one of the reasons why England's rugby dominance will never last: kids of no more than 6 years old playing on the beach, one of them shouting "that's a knock-on!". Sheesh. Play a real sport you arses! Or, rather, don't, 'cos then you'll start beating us at it. So, err, keep up the good work!
Sydney, in fact Australia as a whole (I think), has a whole load of social clubs attached to sports clubs... or perhaps the other way round. Anyway, these clubs are members' clubs which, along with working men's clubs and (ex-)servicemen's clubs, are a way to get subsidised beer. The beauty lies in the system for being granted membership: you write your name and address on a slip of paper as you go in, and that's it. So a subsidised pint in Clovelly's crown green bowling club was ours, sat by the window looking out to sea as the sun started to go down.
It was time to go back so we wandered back across the bay and to the bus stop, but having just missed one we figured we'd walk a stop or two. This ended up being a walk all the way home... via another pub. A Toohey's Old in the back garden of the Duke Of Gloucester, just up the road from the flat, and then we really did go back. My entrance was particularly amusing to Sally and Mara: before walking into the kitchen I'd taken my glasses off to rub my eyes a little, feeling a bit tired 'n all. OH MY GOD YOU LOOK SO FUCKED was, I think, the greeting I got. Fair's fair I suppose. I was. Even the fantastic double fried egg and toast Mara made didn't have the power to keep me awake so finally, at 8pm on Tuesday evening, I crashed out. On a bed, too! Muchos gracias to me bro' for volunteering (or was that being told?) to kip on the sofa, greatly appreciated that. It would have been even better if I'd not woken up at 2am, and again at 0530 -- that time for good -- but it was still better than sleeping on a floor.
Right, that's day one done. It's now 7pm in Auckland and I think I'm going to go and have something to eat and something to drink. Just as soon as the damn photos finish uploading to flickr, that is. Lord knows how much all this excess data is costing me, but I could really do with the uploader not hanging just as it reaches the end. Anyway, by the time anyone reads this there should be 192 new pics to look at, including a bunch from days as-yet unwritten about. It should be pretty easy to guess what it is I did, therefore...
So, 0630 in Sydney, me having been up for most of the previous 36 hours and my bro for the previous 90 minutes. Had a cup of tea (out of character, but I figured the caffeine and sugar would be helpful), said hello/goodbye to Sally who was off for her first day at work in her new* job, said hello/goodbye to Mara who was off to her regular job, and went out ourselves, at about 0850 I guess.
Started off with a walk, across Queen's Park. Mara's flat is in an area called Randwick, in a part of Sydney where the only public transport options are buses. But it was rush hour so we wanted a train, which meant heading to Bondi Junction. I was already flagging, feeling hot and knackered and light headed and wondering whether attempting to adjuts to the local timezone was such a good idea.
Martin Place, where we got off the train, is in the centre of Sydney, loads of shops and bars and businesses in enormous tower blocks all around, with pedestrianised areas and a massive feeling of being in, err, London. Or Manchester. The whole everything's-in-English thing, the fact they drive on God's side of the road, being with my brother, and the knowledge that it was us, after all, who kicked off all the massive settlement here: all these things made me feel like I wasn't really in a foreign country thousands of miles from home at all. Very odd it were. Everything was so familiar. I expected to see a Wetherspoons until i remembered that no-one does chain pubs other than England.
Anyway, anyway, anyway. It's way too early to be thinking about pubs. Let's walk through Sydney city centre, down George Street, towards the water. Circular Quay is the central calling point for ferries in Sydney, what Aldwych used to be to night buses in London. There are a bunch of piers/wharfs, and shedloads of ferries. The sheer number of boats in the water, both public transport (those which the travelcard equivalents are valid on) as well as special ones (taxis, special cruises, etc) really took me aback. Fucking cool though. But we didn't get on a boat, we just carried on wandering. Round to the left towards Sydney Harbour Bridge, and an area called The Rocks.
The weather in Sydney was phenomenal. The week before when Kevin and Sally had just got back, it was pissing down and miserable. But I arrive and the sun comes out. Kevin's excuse is that the weather was actually saying "Oh, you're staying then?" to them two, but I think we all know what's what. So the point is, the photos just couldn't wait. I started snapping in earnest. The harbour, the bridge, the opera house, they all got some k800i treatment. Of particular interest to me were the bridge walkers. Fools who aren't big scared-of-heights wousses (ahem) pay a load of dollars to be kitted out in a jump suit, chained to the bridge, and go walking all the way to the top. Mentalists. The view's probably fantastic though, but I settled for taking photos of them.
After The Rocks more diet coke was acquired, probably a bit too soon after the last bottle 'cos I started getting a bit unsteady on me feet again, and it was only 11am or summat. Walked back past Circular Quay and round past/behind the Opera House. The whole place was actually pretty dead. Not totally empty, but not rammed by any stretch of the imagination. I guess kids the world over are in term time, and it was midweek. Good for us, though.
I can't make my mind up about the Opera House. Is it pretty? Is it ugly? Is it pretty ugly? I'm not sure. But it doesn't matter anyway, what matters is it's a box I can tick: been there, photographed that.
Round the corner from the OH is a big park. Or botanical gardens. It's both, I guess. There are loads of plants and loads of birds and loads of greenery. Kev wanted us to walk all the way round, but the look of that was putting me off and I suggested we go get some solids once we reached halfway. So off the coastal track we went, inland via parakeets and past a wharf full of expensive boats and posh bars selling expensive drinks, near which a professional photographer was snapping a recently (ie, an hour or so ago) wedded couple. Past them, and past an undoubtedly expensive hotel, is Harry's Cafe de Wheels.
Harry's Cafe de Wheels is a Sydney institution. Not one I'd heard of, mind, but I'm satisfied by the walls full of photos of famous patrons that it genuinely is. And what an institution! My kind of place, Harry's is a stall selling pies and peas. That's about all it sells, really. Lots of different kinds of pie, mind, but still it's just all pie and peas. Bro and I duly ordered a pie and peas each and settled round the corner in the shade to eat it.
Shade was actually only one reason we went round the corner; the other was to get out of the way of the photographer. The aforementioned couple had moved on from the wharf-front setting, and were now being snapped ordering pies and peas. Still in their full wedding garb. And once served, they sat down to eat. On the pavement. I kid thee not, this bird in her fancy wedding dress was sat on the pavement eating a meat pie, with a bottle of coke next to her to wash it down. Bloody fantastic.
The pie sorted me out a bit, actually. The caffeine was no longer rushing. I'm awake, but fucking hell it was sunny. Too hot by half, I needed shade, or better still, aircon. A pretty long walk took us through a load of the aforementioned in a couple of parks and into the latter, in a big shopping centre in the, err, centre of the city. The QVB is much like any other mall I've ever been in, even down to having a branch of Lush which FUCKING STINKS. Wankers.
Didn't actually want to do any shopping, mind, but I did find that nice as Harry's pie was it wasn't exactly filling. So I brought some ice cream, a couple of scoops that were way bigger than I thought they'd be. Bro had the same (well, different flavours) and we went upstairs at my behest for a gawp at the monorail station. I fucking love monorails! But we didn't get on it :-(
Still too early to go to bed, and too hot to go back outside, I figured I'd been in the country long enough now to have a pint. A quick wander led us to an airconditioned underground bar and pool hall whereupon we played a few games and I really can't remember the score. I know I was 2-0 down, then 3-2, but then what happened. 3-3? 4-3? 3-4? Kevin'll have to remind me. Finished our Toohey's New times two in there and went down the road for a Toohey's Old in a different place, and time was a ticking. The alcohol wasn't making me drowsy though, which was a result, so there was still time for a bit more touring to be done. This involved looking for the 339 bus stop to take us to Clovelly, via Randwick, this being the bus that goes nearest to Mara's place.
I had to find the bus stop for us. Despite this being my first time ever in the city, Kevin got confused and a bit lost and my suggestion of heading to the bus stops opposite "Central" station came good. One 339 ride later and there we were at Clovelly, a beach town full of steep hills and bloody steep houses. A small beach with beautiful sand and a decent swimming area, our walk around its border revealed one of the reasons why England's rugby dominance will never last: kids of no more than 6 years old playing on the beach, one of them shouting "that's a knock-on!". Sheesh. Play a real sport you arses! Or, rather, don't, 'cos then you'll start beating us at it. So, err, keep up the good work!
Sydney, in fact Australia as a whole (I think), has a whole load of social clubs attached to sports clubs... or perhaps the other way round. Anyway, these clubs are members' clubs which, along with working men's clubs and (ex-)servicemen's clubs, are a way to get subsidised beer. The beauty lies in the system for being granted membership: you write your name and address on a slip of paper as you go in, and that's it. So a subsidised pint in Clovelly's crown green bowling club was ours, sat by the window looking out to sea as the sun started to go down.
It was time to go back so we wandered back across the bay and to the bus stop, but having just missed one we figured we'd walk a stop or two. This ended up being a walk all the way home... via another pub. A Toohey's Old in the back garden of the Duke Of Gloucester, just up the road from the flat, and then we really did go back. My entrance was particularly amusing to Sally and Mara: before walking into the kitchen I'd taken my glasses off to rub my eyes a little, feeling a bit tired 'n all. OH MY GOD YOU LOOK SO FUCKED was, I think, the greeting I got. Fair's fair I suppose. I was. Even the fantastic double fried egg and toast Mara made didn't have the power to keep me awake so finally, at 8pm on Tuesday evening, I crashed out. On a bed, too! Muchos gracias to me bro' for volunteering (or was that being told?) to kip on the sofa, greatly appreciated that. It would have been even better if I'd not woken up at 2am, and again at 0530 -- that time for good -- but it was still better than sleeping on a floor.
Right, that's day one done. It's now 7pm in Auckland and I think I'm going to go and have something to eat and something to drink. Just as soon as the damn photos finish uploading to flickr, that is. Lord knows how much all this excess data is costing me, but I could really do with the uploader not hanging just as it reaches the end. Anyway, by the time anyone reads this there should be 192 new pics to look at, including a bunch from days as-yet unwritten about. It should be pretty easy to guess what it is I did, therefore...
Picture this. And this. And this. And ...
Back in the hotel room for a rest after a genuinely active day so far (except for the 2 hours in the pub). Before I start writing about Sydney I'm just putting all the photos on my laptop rather than flickr, turns out I have at least 215 from Sydney, and 137 (so far) from Auckland. Eek! They can't possibly all be any good, but I'm not sure how many I'll discard tbh... I have seen a lot of cool things. Ho hum. I guess the price for going over the 50mb/day limit isn't prohibitively expensive so I should just fucking get on with it. The real arse is going to be giving each one a title and tags. I'd best get on with it I guess. Fucking hell this film with Kevin Costner in it that's on at the moment sounds like a shocking load of trite nonsense. I wish there was a decent TV channel on this hotel's system FFHS.
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