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Join me on the journey as I travel, eat, and drink my way around the world

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Where’s the baby?

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Calm down mum, there is no baby.  At least not that I know of.  Or at the very least that I’m admitting to.  If anybody comes knocking at your door, you don’t know where I am.  You think I could pay both Sydney rent AND child support?!?  And don’t you think you currently have enough grandchildren?
Photo credit: Classical Beaver
No, the “9 month” of the title refers to the month that I’m now entering as a Yorkshire Expat in Sydney.  Yes, I don’t know where it’s gone either.  Did I really leave the UK all those months ago?  Evidently I did, yet would struggle to describe how I have filled those months.  Without, of course, recourse to these blogs.  Maybe I should do that one quiet night, get a(nother) bottle of wine in and recall what I’ve been up to.
It’s been quite an emotional few weeks, for one reason or another.  Not withstanding the running out of Manchego cheese, counter balanced by finding an amazing Chilean pinot noir to drown my sorrows, the major event this month has seen me saying goodbyes.  When I was in the process for coming out here, a work colleague was counting down the days til he left Blighty, for these shores, on a 12 month working holiday visa.  And we were more colleagues than mates.  Sharing the Yorkshire love, we met up in my first week in Sydney and over the intervening months we have forged a really strong friendship.  Alas, the sands of time on his visa expired and he has now returned to the UK.  I’m keeping my eyes on the Nando’s share price as I expect it will be the thing that will suffer most. 
In traditional fashion we had his leaving drinks.  And boy, can he put away his liquor.  Decamped in Paradiso bar near work, at Darling Harbour, we were on the cinnamon whisky shots at about 16.30, followed not long after by Patrone shots.  Some drink I had never heard of.  Don’t worry, I was told, it’s only tequila based.  Oh, that will be ok then!  A great night was had.  I think.  It went by in a flash.  Or, as I tried to recount the day after, a series of flashbacks.  Shots…beers…friends…taxis…chicken tikka roll kebabs (seriously, you have to try this Neutral Bay speciality)…friend’s irate neighbours…wine…walks…international phone calls…unconscious.  In that order.  I think. 
I had a more sedate meeting this week.  Catching up over coffee with somebody I haven’t seen for a long time.  About 20 years she reliably informs me.  Really?  I was young then.  And had dark hair.  Moving out here last year we figured it was time we met up finally.  And we had a great catch up, chatting like we had last seen each other only the other week.  Us Yorkshire expats have to stick together.
On another topic, I seem to remember I had written about homesickness recently.  The “elephant in the room”.  So on that, I must pass on a heartfelt thanks to all my UK based friends.  Thank you all for knocking any residual homesickness out of me with all your arctic “spring” pictures.  I may be suffering in the unseasonal Autumnal heat, yet don’t have to contend with being snowed in and having my life disrupted as seems to happen with increasing frequency at home.  Be careful what you wish for is an adage close to this pom’s heart.  I just hope the snow has cleared by June.
At the time of writing this, I have the long Easter weekend ahead of me.  I think I’ll make another trip up to the Blue Mountains.  I went over Christmas when a friend was over from UK, and we couldn’t have picked a worse day.  The train ride itself was trying enough, with a very annoying little lad shouting “are we there yet” at every station.  On a 2 hour journey.  I kid you not.
And when we got there it was a proverbial pea souper.  Probably even worse, a mushed pea souper.  Not a mountain or a eucalyptus tree in sight.  Anywhere.  We had to buy a postcard just so I could prove to her that the “3 Sisters” mountain range does in fact exist.
Photo credit: environment.nsw.gov.au
Hopefully, this time around, I’ll get a better day.  You’ll find out next month.  Until then, hasta la vista chicos.

Dreams

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We all have them, to some extent.  Dreams that get us through the, sometimes, humdrum slog of everyday life.  Things we hang on to, strive for.  Work towards, setting goals along the way.  Milestones to tick off along the journey. 
For some people the dream is to fly into space.  Mr Branson is going some way to allow the more affluent amongst us to realize that dream.  For others, the dream is to have a little shed at the end of the garden that you can retreat to with a little scotch and a good book under the pretense of “doing a little work”.
But dreams are tricky to nail down.  They can often be a moving target, needing to be realigned at various times in your life.  Dreams can disappear in a flash.  A popular marketing strategy of a bank here in Australia is to portray large banks stealing your dreams.  By stealthily “robbing you” of the interest you could be earning.  But it is not just banks that steal your dreams. 
Who was it that said “life is what happens whilst you are making plans”?  This is so true.  Some events happen that we have no control over.  Or sometimes it’s a person that “steals your dreams”, leaving you ripping up the plan and starting again.  The strength you gain from this adversity makes the achievement of the dream so powerful.  The journey being the reward.
But, that’s the thing with dreams.  What do you do when you have achieved it?  What then?  Sit back and enjoy the achievement?  Bask in a warm self contented glow for a while?  Or does the achievement motivate you?  Showing you what we are capable in the short time we are here?
I had a dream of living in Australia.  You might have heard about it.  Sampling the fabled lifestyle of beaches and BBQs.  It took me a long time.  You could argue it had been a dream ever since first visiting in 1994 for a year on a working holiday visa.  But I persevered, and eventually, being granted my permanent residency visa in 2012 I upped sticks and moved here. 
This hasn’t been without its own challenges along the way, but I’m here, settled, working and enjoying the lifestyle.  

But here lies the rub.  

It was a dream that I have now realized.  Therefore, what does it become?  It is no longer there, on the horizon dragging me through another Monday morning at work.  Safe in the knowledge that the job was a means to an end.  Another day, towards another pay day, towards the travel fund, towards the dream.  In some respects, the dream has become the end.
So I have a quandary.  Do I become like the bloke who settled for his little shed at the end of the garden?  Or do I aim for space with Mr Branson, metaphorically speaking?  What becomes the new dream?  Now I look back, the years I have waited to get to this point have passed by in a flash.  I know the next few years will seem to pass at an equally frenetic pace.  So I need to make sure I am still moving forward.  Achieving something worthwhile.  The difficult question I now have to ask myself is, by maintaining the new status quo, am I developing, or stagnating?
And this stymies me.  I just don’t know.  What I do know is that I am starting to get that itch again.  And when that happens, I don’t know myself where we will end up.  Maybe it’s the curse of the unattached.  Floating and bobbing along the sea of life without the ballast of a partner to keep you grounded.  Who knows, maybe the ballast is what I am ultimately looking for.  Chi cerca trova, so goes one of my tattoos (he who seeks will find).   The search continues.
When I do take stock of my life, and start thinking about what I want to achieve in 2014, things may become a lot clearer.  

When they do, you will be the first to hear.

Don’t Hassle the Hoff

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And with the passing of February we say goodbye to summer. Officially the first day of Autumn on March 1st and the countdown to winter begins.
I always chuckle to myself when I hear Australians talk of winter and the need to “rug up”. I mean, winter to us from the northern hemisphere conjures up images of roaring fires.  Central heating on high. Hats, scarves and gloves. Using your work pass to scrape ice off the car windscreen before we can start the trudge of the daily commute. Winter in Sydney means long pants instead of shorts. Maybe putting a pair of socks on.  At a push.
There is talk of acclimatising. Getting so used to the summer heat that our northern skins immediately notice cold 28′ winter days. Inclement weather and nights so bitter that a friend of mine even has to pull the doona all the way up to his chin as he gets settled and tucked up for the night with Harry bear.  I’ll keep you posted if I need any thermal long john’s posting over.
Other then reverting to whingeing pom mode, what tales have I got to regale you with this month?
Some of you may have seen that I recently changed jobs. I left the academic world of the University of Technology Sydney (UTS) and moved to RaboDirect, an online savings bank.  This was not before we had a very special guest appearance at UTS.  We had a visit from Mr David Hasselhoff himself.  Let me make clear at this point that this was totally unrelated to me deciding to leave.
I’m still a little unsure why he had come to Sydney, and even more unsure why he decided to do a public appearance at UTS.  That said, staff meetings were put to one side as me and a good friend, Sponty, decided to go and get a prime viewing spot.  I think Sponty wanted to be as close as possible to hear the pearls of wisdom from the Hoff.  Whilst I was secretly hoping Pamela Anderson might spring out of a box in a Baywatch bikini.  Alas, my hopes were dashed.
Not long after, seriously, it was nothing to do with missing out on Pammy, I moved jobs.  I had interviewed last year for a role at RaboDirect and out of the blue got a request to go back for a chat.  In one day, the chat turned into a 12-month contract offer that I couldn’t turn down.  So now, I’m back in banking, that’s BANKING.  Working for the little guy, trying to “steal back the dreams of savers” that have been taken by the big evil banks, who shall remain nameless.
In between the excitement of the Hoff’s visit, and my subsequent disappointment, ok, maybe the lack of Pammy has hit me harder than I thought, and the start of my new job, I had a cheeky little trip to Hobart.  If you haven’t yet, go and read the blog that I recently wrote about this great little city.
The new job is located smack bang in the middle of Darling Harbour.  A cracking location.  Just as I was starting, my old mucker Rich Medley was leaving.  Unfortunately the time limit on his working holiday visa is coming to an end so he needs to pack up his thongs and return to the UK.  If anybody is looking for an excellent Business Analyst, Medders is your man.  Thanks for the intro at Rabo chief, and I’ll buy you a beer in the Percy Shaw in Halifax come June.
Last week saw me and a bunch of pals head out to the Sydney Football Stadium to watch the NRL rugby league season opener.  The Roosters, fielding Sonny Bill Williams upon his return from rugby union, facing off against the South Sydney Rabbitohs my adopted team. Not really my sport to be honest but a good occasion and as good an excuse as any to have a few beers.
Talking of which, there is a funny story related to this.  Due to the responsible sale of alcohol in Australia (RSA) a person in the ground is only able to buy 4 beers at a time. So along I popped with @scottbarton8 as we needed 5.  Upon ordering I got told I could only have 4, to which I replied there were two of us, and pointed to said friend.
The response? I can still only serve you 4. Your friend will have to buy the other.  Really?  He’s just stood here.  Sorry.  So we had the ridiculous situation whereby I ordered and paid for 4.  Got my change.  Handed it to my mate stood right there next to me.  He then ordered one beer with my money and then also got handed MY change back, despite the barstaff seeing that I had given him the money in the first place. Seriously Australia, your attempts to deal with drinking problems are laudable, but the way you implement them is laughable.
On that note, I’ll go put the winter doona on the bed and settle in for another month.
Hasta luego chicos.

Hobart: A love affair

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A love affair with Tasmania

Regular readers of this blog, and if you aren’t one of them, why not?, will recall I wrote a piece about my goals for 2013.
Amongst these was the objective of continuing to travel to new places.  I’ve started achieving this already with my recent trip to Hobart.
This was my first visit to Tasmania and now means that I have been to all the Australian states.  Hobart itself is the southernmost and second oldest capital in Australia.  Once a place teeming with convicts, Hobart has transformed itself since the 1970s into a thriving, dynamic, bustling cosmopolitan city.

Domestic travel in Australia

Like train travel, which I adore, flying domestic in Australia is a breeze.  Just turn up, board, and go.  But one thing I can’t quite understand is why there are no restrictions on liquids on the plane.  There I was, like a good little, well travelled passenger, and had all my liquids, in little 100ml bottles, in a see through bag.  And I get to security.  Nothing.  Bag goes straight through the scanner.  It transpires that the only restrictions are on aerosols and laptops.  Who knew.
My carriage awaits
Security cleared, obligatory airport drink drunk, it was time to make my way to the plane.  I was flying Jetstar, one of Australia’s budget carriers.  This is like a posh Easyjet.  Or like flying business class if compared to a Ryanair flight.  This was my second time flying with Jetstar this year, and despite slight delays both times, the experience was a very pleasant one.  I even had my own seat, with a number assigned and everything.

The Pickled Frog – Hobart

After a short flight, under an hour and half, I was touching down and on my way to town via the airport shuttle.  I was at the Pickled Frog backpackers some 30 mins later.  The Pickled Frog is a large, rambling backpackers converted from an old pub.  Upon checking in I soon found out that the friendliness I had experienced so far in my very short time here was genuine.  Everybody talks to you like an old friend you haven’t seen for a while.  A theme that continued throughout my whole stay.
I had a very fluid plan whilst in Hobart, which entailed eating, drinking and aimlessly wandering the old colonial streets.  A plan that I carried off with aplomb.
I ate well.  Contrary to popular belief, more than just fish and chips as well.  And I drank well.  Hobart is renowned for it’s beers.  And tasty they are too.
Tasmania’s finest food and drink

Historic Hobart

Hobart is a great place to just wander about.  I strolled the historic streets of Battery Point, having coffee at Jackman & Ross.  If you are ever there, check out the cake selection.  I wandered along the shore to Wrest Point, home of Australia’s first (legal) casino.  It looked like Australia’s emptiest casino the day I was there.  And reminiscent of what I imagine Las Vegas casinos to have looked like in the 50s.  My walk then brought me back, along Salamanca Place and into Salamanca Square where an old quarry has been transformed into plush bars, restaurants and cafes.
Sandy Bay

MONA – a first visit

But the best was saved until last.  MONA.  The Museum of Old and New out at Moorilla Estate, 12 kms north of Hobart’s city centre by the dedicated MONA ferry.  Recommended to me by a couple of colleagues who were somewhat taken by the knowledge of the soap you could buy there.
“You will see”, was all they would offer.  And I did see.  But not before having my mind blown by perhaps the best gallery I have ever visited.  Described by the estate owner David Walsh as a “subversive adult Disneyland”, I did wonder what was in store at the $75 million museum.  Let me tell you, it is spectacular.  A feast for the senses, visually demanding.  Stunning.
And the soaps?  Judge for yourself.
Apparently, belongs to Veronique
You can also buy Bianca’s, just in case you were in any doubt!

An Australia I once knew

Hobart, a beautiful place.  Refreshing antidote to the pretensions of Sydney trying a little too hard to be all grown up, a big city on the world’s stage.Hobart reminds me of an Australia I once knew as a backpacker, many years ago.  You can’t halt progress, but it is nice spending time with a city comfortable in its own skin, knows its beauty, and showcases it perfectly.

Hobart, hasta la vista.

And just like that, we are into month 7…

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After a very busy month 6, I have had a bit of transition to deal with.

My impeccably behaved house guest left these shores, presumably to go off and make snowmen. Now I have to re-adjust to doing my own washing up, and remembering where I put the iron.  On the plus side, I can get my diet back under control.  I have never eaten so many peas.
I recently blogged on my goals for 2013.  I should provide a little update.

Fitness and drinking:  I started off quite well, enjoying the mountain bike rather than a mountain of food.  I dusted the bike off and had a good few hours cycling from the North Shore, over the Harbour Bridge and around the inner city.  I’m sure the city didn’t feel that hilly from the buses I’m usually on.  The last week I have lapsed a little, what with the bank holiday weekend, but am determined to get back to the gym again next week.  If I can remember where it is.

Hobart harbour
New places:  Booked a long weekend trip to Hobart, the capital of Tasmania.  Tasmania is an island south of the Australian continent, just across the Bass Strait, and is one of the last remaining Aussie outposts that I have not yet vsisited.  I’m really looking forward to rectifying this, especially after hearing and reading so many great things about it.  One thing I have been told to check out, although it is obviously not my thing, is the collection of 150 or so casts of vaginas, at the Museum of New and Old Art (MONA).  Don’t they all look the same anyway?

War & Peace:  I bit the bullet, and started this behemoth of a book.  Thankfully, besides the actual book, which is helping with my fitness as it’s so heavy, I also have a Kindle version for when my arms get tired.  My Kindle version kindly informs me that I am 13% complete.  We are currently in Austria, fighting the French.  I’ll plod on.



After the success of the Spanish course last year, I have now started level 2.  Another 8 week course beckons, lesson 1 of which was last week.  A timely reminder of why I want to learn this beautiful language.  Nothing to do with the beautiful women that are Spanish speakers.  Nothing at all.

I had a particularly bad week in the the post.  And no, not because of postcards and letters I’m receiving, I enjoy those.  But I received a speeding ticket and $150 fine on day 1.  On day 2, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I received a further $50 fine, this time from the thieves at Thrifty car hire.  Apparently, it costs them this amount in “admin” for them to kindly pass on my name and address to the authorities for the aforementioned speeding ticket.

If I’m to be able to stick around in Australia beyond month 7 I think I better stick to the beloved scooter.

This weekend we had Australia Day on 26th where the whole nation comes together and celebrates; read, drinks beer and waves flags.  I’ll not be complaining though, as we get Monday off as a public holiday so the long weekend will be greatly enjoyed, drinking beer and flag waving.

In other news, I have secured myself a new job.  My current role was only ever a 6 month contract but I have been offered, and accepted, a job at Rabobank in the meantime.  This is a 12 month contract, based in Darling Harbour and gives me an opportunity to work back in the private sector.  

Working at a university has been good experience but I don’t think it’s my natural habitat.  And before I hear you cynics pipe up, I don’t often get to see the students!  Moving to the new role will give me the comparison between 2 very different working environments, the public and private sector.  

Oh, and the view from the office aint all that bad.


That’s all folks.  

Happy New Year, and all that

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If you are reading this, the zombies didn’t come and get you either.  Or you had a very effective anti-zombie kit stashed under your bed.  Whichever, it’s good to speak to you again.  Zombies and Mayans have been avoided, at least for 2012.  <<breathes a sigh of relief>>.  Then again, the Mayans were notoriously bad at calendar management so the threat from those chaps may come around again this year.

It’s been a while since my last blog, and I know that I split December up because of so much happening over the festive period.  In fact, I think too much has happened, or the copious amounts of mince pies, Tim Tams and Freddos, washed down with litres (quite literally on Christmas Day!) of wine, have addled my brain to the point where writing something coherent for you to read will be a challenge into itself.

How did 2012 end?  I had recounted the two Christmas parties I had and all that was left was a few quiet drinks with mates on the final Thursday before breaking up.  Did I say quiet drinks?  These boys just don’t know when they are beat, and just as I was saying adios, another round was procured, of Coopers Red ale.  Yes, the bloody strong stuff.  Salud gents!

One sausage, or two?

Christmas Day rolled around, along with my big birthday plans to spend it on the beach, in our Santa hats, getting slowly inebriated.  And what happened?  We had the wettest Christmas Day in Sydney since 1942.  I kid you not.  That is an official stat.  I just about managed to cook up the breakfast on the BBQ, sipping Bucks Fizz, and the heavens opened.  And they stayed open all day.  All day.  Plan B wasn’t too bad, setting a challenge to drink 4 litres of goon (cheap Aussie wine) whilst watching “It’s a Wonderful Life”.  And we completed the challenge, worryingly rather too easily.

Typically, and thankfully, that was the only real bad day of weather and normal service was resumed on Boxing Day.  We waved off the boats in the annual Sydney to Hobart race from Georges Head lookout.  One of the city’s finest vantage points in my opinion.  With sweeping views across the whole harbour, and out to the sea between the North and South Heads.  Watching the start of the race is a bit of a tradition for Sydney-siders, one that I can easily see me adopting.

Waiting for the starter’s gun
The evening saw my first ever visit to the SCG (Sydney cricket ground) for the 20/20 match between Sydney Sixers and Hobart Hurricanes.  We were fortunate enough to see two Australian cricket legends face off against each other, Brett Lee and Ricky Ponting.  The 20/20 is all a bit razz-ma-tazz, with cheerleaders and loud music, but it was great fun.

The rest of the Christmas holidays have been filled up doing great tourist things.  A meal up the Sydney Tower in the revolving restaurant with amazing 360 views of this stunning city.  A visit to Taronga Zoo, where the giraffes surely have the best view of any captive animal in the world.  The Aquarium and the Wildlife centre were great.  Once again seeing my favourites such as the sharks, wombats, koalas and Tasmanian Devils up close and personal.

Finally, we had the coup de grace.  New Year’s Eve.  Knowing there would be a few of us, with a number coming from the UK, I had been very prepared and bought tickets for the party in Luna Park (affectionately renamed La Luna Park in reference the excellent restaurant in Halifax run by Tony).  And what a night it turned out to be.  Starting off at Cormack HQ, we had a couple of bottles of Prosecco just to get warmed up.  We then went to Barton/Hannon-Dalby HQ for further beers.  Although not sure everybody in our party needed much more at this stage.  No, she hasn’t had a stroke, it’s her “wine face”.



A short time later we were in Luna Park, drinking, and working out which of the rides to go on first.  Yes, it may have been an adults only party, but all the rides were open.  I’m not sure us all going on the pirate ship that swung us upside down was our best idea.  But what fun.  In a nefarious attempt to make me sick (I believe), we went on something that just span us around, very fast.  Queasily, I gingerly stepped off, to get my land feet back.  A cold Tooheys helped.

The evening passed by so fast, with surprisingly short queues for drinks and more space than I imagined for a party beneath the Harbour Bridge.  And finally, the end of 2012 drew to a close, and we kicked off 2013 in style, with one of the world’s greatest fireworks shows.  Kylie Minogue’s lips lighting up the Bridge and a coordinated fireworks display across the whole Harbour. 

Breathtaking.

And now, into 2013, and time to look at what my personal goals for the year will be.