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Bringing in Spring

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For those of you that missed me and wondered if I was still alive, I am.  For those of you that never even noticed there had been a slight hiatus between blog posts, I’m upset and a little bit offended 🙂
Life has been rolling along nicely since we last spoke.  A cheeky weekend in Singapore lifted the spirits at the end of August where I took souvenir shopping to new heights and brought home something to spruce up the apartment.  And who can resist a visit to the beautiful Raffles hotel, to the Long Bar for a famous (at least amongst tourists) Singapore Sling cocktail!
View from dinner in Singapore
September brought in Spring, and how I was needing it.  Maybe my blood is thinning with living in Australia, or perhaps I’m just becoming soft, but this year I even had to resort to buying a heater for home.  I was in grave danger of dying from hypothermia so the extra dollars added to my electricity bill was a small price to pay to live to see another summer. 
As the heater got put away, out came the thongs.  Yes English readers, I mean flip flops.  Or jandals if anybody from across the Tasman is reading. 
And the first thing you do when bringing out your feet from hibernation?  Why, you have a pedicure of course!  Don’t you?  To protect my very macho image, I must add a disclaimer to this, saying that it wasn’t actually my idea.  I think it was suggested more in jest, but in the spirit of trying everything once, there I was, one Saturday afternoon, sat in my chair getting pampered. And I must confess, it was a very pleasant experience.  At least once I had convinced them that no, actually my toe nails do NOT need painting.  I am now wondering whether I need a manicure, for my over worked hands.  Thoughts anybody?
The start of October allowed my to show off my newly pedicured toes, as we bade farewell to a couple of friends who are leaving Australia for a while to travel the world (lucky buggers).  We descended into Longueville, for my second shot at barefoot bowling.  For the uninitiated, this is crown green bowls.  MInus your shoes.  Plus lots of alcohol.  
When the idea is first pitched to you it is not something you immediately think you would enjoy.  However, I think everybody was pleasantly surprised by how much fun it was (which could have been the amount of beer they drank).  What is interesting to see is how competitive people get.  We ended up having inter-european challenges, where we smashed the Germans :-), and poms v the rest of world, where results were a little more mixed.  
I had thought I may have found my sport for when I retire.  However, if you had seen me trying to roll out of bed the following morning, and subsequently rolling on to the floor, you may disagree.  I think I need to find a less strenuous sport for these ageing bones. 
Just look at that technique
All in, a fantastic day, that somehow finished in the Crows Nest Hotel.  Those of you that know, or who have frequented the Crows Nest Hotel, will have an idea of how the night went.  But as they saying goes, “what happens in the Crowle, stays in the Crowie”. 
What else has been happening since my last post?  We have had a long bank holiday weekend.  But whereas in the UK everybody runs to spend the day in the pub, here they run to spend the day by the water.  Me?  I like to combine the two, and with a night staying over in the city, a leisurely Monday was spent walking around Sydney, with stops by the water for cold refreshments (for this, read beer).  
Over the same weekend, the South Sydney Rabbitohs broke a 40+ year drought by winning the rugby league grand final.  Powered on by our very own Burgess brothers from Yorkshire.  I’m sure the South’s co-owner, Russell Crowe is a very happy man.  
Also, the real sport has started again, football, and finally Utd now have some points on the board and the jokes on social media seemed to have died down, or at least are now being redirected to the hapless Brendan Rodgers.  Talking of hapless, a visit was paid to watch Sydney FC this weekend.  Or in reality, to see David Villa make his A-League debut on his 10 game stint down under before heading to play for New York City.  And he made an immediate impact.  Scoring with a touch of class not seen since Alesandro del Piero sadly left these shores. 
Since we last spoke I have also obtained my full riders licence, which means, rather scarily, I could now go and purchase a large, fast, and powerful motorbike and be let loose on the streets.  Thankfully, I am still in love with my scooter, and that will remain my mode of transport for the time being.  But now having a full licence, I am able to give “backers”.  Funnily enough, nobody seems very keen to jump on the back!  Once I buy that second helmet, there will be no excuses J
That about wraps up the last month and bit of my life.  Summer, and the holiday season is just around the corner, so keep reading to find out what the Yorkshire Expat gets up to next. 
Until the next time

Musings from Mosman

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Welcome to the latest update from the Yorkshire Expat, where we will spend some time talking about how the year is progressing so far (very well, since you asked), what is on the horizon (quite a bit actually), and whatever else springs to mind as I’m writing.
If you didn’t know, but I will assume you do, it is May already.  We have passed the fourth, so no Stars Wars jokes here.  Or is it Star Trek?  I can never work out the difference between the two. 
Looking in the rear view mirror, at the calendar, it never ceases to surprise me at what is already in the dust behind us.  Where did the previous 4 months go?  A full third of the year over already.  Only 230 days to Christmas.  Did any body else buy some Christmas crackers (bon bons in local parlance.  No, I don’t understand either.  They are crackers for gods sake) and cards in the January sales?
The biggest story of the year so far is the recent move to a new apartment.  When I say move, I use the word loosely.  More of a shifting.  Just up the road.  About 500 meters.  Why would you do that you ask?  Well, certain criteria had to be met.  A second bathroom, for the overseas visitors bringing chocolate from the UK each year.  Tick.  A larger balcony to be able to make the most of the weather, allowing for al fresco dining.  Tick.  Still within walking distance of our favourite cafés, restaurants, and bars.  Tick tick tick.
Now, as we weren’t moving far, in our wisdom we decided not to hire a van like normal people.  We would use a car we were hiring for a trip to Mudgee (wine country, which was amazing), and just make a few trips.  The hiring of cars is made very simple with the concept of “GoGet”, where you join up, receive a magnetic card, check the website for a car parked near you, book for any duration starting from 30 minutes, then turn up, swipe the card on the windshield, get in, and drive.  Simple. 
Driving through Mosman with a mattress hanging precariously out the back of the car, avoiding police cars, and looking a tad ridiculous.  Multiple trips were made either side of Easter weekend, by which time we thought we would be done.  We weren’t.  Being only about 500 meters away from the new digs, we figured we could easily move the remaining bits on foot.  And it would be easy.  It wasn’t.
We looked at each other on a dark Tuesday night, with the dawning realization we still had lots to carry.  And thus, doing what needed to be done, we traipsed through the streets of Mosman looking like Syrian refugees, carrying gas bottles for BBQs, mops, clothes horse, vacuum cleaner, and lots of other detritus.  What happened to the so called de-cluttering, before moving?  As always happens.  It gets left til it’s too late, and all your shit comes with you to the new place.
In the lives we now find ourselves living in, the necessities are somewhat different than they were for our parents generation when they set up home.  Their “wireless” was probably a big, dusty, brown hunk of a thing that sat on the mantlepiece, spitting out weekly episodes of the Archers.  Or stirring speeches by Churchill.  Ours is a little white box with flickering green lights.  When it works.  Which is another story.
We took the opportunity when moving home, to move broadband providers.  This was driven by the fact that the rights to show the live English Premier League games (every single one of them) have been bought by Optus, with Foxtel (the local SKY) losing out.  In readiness, a move to Optus broadband followed.  Quickly followed by nothing but problem after problem with the reliability of the service.  Our wi-if is patchy, at best.  I am going to get very annoyed if the same problems start occurring during live football matches.  At godforsaken hours of the night.  If I was a project manager, oh, I am, I would be flagging this as my biggest risk to Optus being able to satisfy the thousands of subscribers wanting their weekly fix of the beautiful game.
Recently, we had a public holiday (you would call it a bank holiday in the UK), ANZAC day, where we took the opportunity to have a long weekend in the country again.  This time in the Hunter Valley, where, conveniently, there are shit loads of wineries.  This makes me happy.  Also, like Mudgee, we booked somewhere quiet and remote.  This time, very remote.  The weekend involved lots of wine tasting.  Lots of cheese tasting.  Peace.  Quiet.  And a hot tub.
This (not the hot tub) got me thinking what it would be like to have a tree change?  If this is not a term you are familiar with, I would usually call it a sea change.  Up sticks, quit the busy city life, and move somewhere quiet, living a life far removed from the current one.  Maybe make cheese.  Keep animals.  Open a little coffee shop.  Etc, etc.  You get the picture.  One of the challenges is picking the right place.  Getting the balance between social and solitude right.
For example, as much as I like Darwin, a very small place on the northern coast of Australia, I’m not sure I’d want to be ensconced there for any length of time.  Subsisting on a diet of titties and schnitties may not be everybody’s cup of tea.   And whilst Gulgong, near Mudgee in central NSW, does the best Rogan Josh in the whole of Australia, could I live in a place that only has one street, and you had to eat curry every day?  Well, thinking about it…
So for now, the sea change remains a pipe dream.  One that I continue to percolate on.
Maybe it will brew into something on my upcoming holiday, or vacation, as they like to say where we will be heading.  A road trip up the west coast of the US ticks some long held boxes personally (Big Sur anyone?), as does finally getting to Canada.  A place I have been threatening to visit since making friends with a Kelowna local, whilst travelling Australia many years ago.  This year I will finally get to Canada.  More specifically, to Vancouver.  This is a trip that fills me with great excitement.

Will there be pics?  You bet.  Will there be a few American cheese burgers involved.  Without doubt the burger spreadsheet will be getting updated.  And will it all be captured in a future blog.  You can count on it.  Just keep reading.

Roadtripping Western Australia – Part 1 – Perth to Wave Rock

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You are probably more familiar with literature on road trips that detail journeys across the USA.  
Who hasn’t heard of the iconic Route 66?  It wouldn’t be iconic if nobody had heard of it.  
And if like me you enjoy Beat literature, you will no doubt have followed Jack Kerouac’s
Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty as they travel west, along Route 66, to California.  
The same route the Joads took in Steinbeck’s timeless classic, Grapes of Wrath.  
Don’t get me wrong, the States, and particularly up the coast from California, on Route 101,
has some amazing roads to travel on.  
 
Bessie
But, if you ask me, not that you did, I think the country just made for road tripping is Australia.  Great distances between places.  Vast tracts of nothingness in between, bar the obligatory roadhouse, for refuelling both your vehicle, and your passengers, with decidedly dodgy meat pies.  And towns that you will struggle to pronounce, such as Jerdacuttup, Munglinup, and Coomalbidgup.  All these towns house at least one obscure museum.  What is it with small Australian towns and their museums?

 

Hyden (or specifically Wave Rock), which turned out to be our first overnight stop in Bessie,
had the “Memories of Yesteryear” museum, where you could step back in time and “see an
Austin car, a bottle collection, and so much more”.  My italics.   At only $4 entrance fee, try
and stop me!!  Once I had done that I could spend all of 5 minutes visiting the “Lace Place”,
and marvel at the “magnificent world renowned lace collection”.  World renowned people.  
No italics needed. The fact it is world renowned may explain why it was more expensive
than the “Yesteryear” museum, at $5 to get in.

 

It wasn’t just Hyden.  Every small town we drove through had at least one museum advertised.  
If we didn’t have somewhere to be maybe we would have stopped.  At least once.  Just maybe.

 

 

So it was, this December saw us doing our second Aussie road trip, after driving the East coast a
couple of years ago.  In the same size campervan, Bessie, we were this year going to drive through
South West Australia.  This was after we first had a few great days enjoying Perth, which as it always
does, looked after me very well.  It is a great, compact city, that seems to grow more on me each time
I visit.  The food and drink options were the best I can remember, and apart from an erroneous
visit to Durty Nellie’s Irish bar, for which I blame a fellow expat from Halifax, we got to
experience some of them.  

 

The highlights included an excellent Indian curry at Sauma in Northbridge, an amazing old school
cheese toastie, at Toastface Grillah, and at Petition on Barrack Street in the CBD, probably the
best bacon, egg, and black pudding butty I have ever had.  In the evening Petition becomes a very
good bar, where we managed to escape the unseasonably cold, wet weather, and sampled a few of
the hoppy ales on offer with some friends from Sydney.  Guys, we need a catch up back home, if
only to return the cardigan 🙂

 

Perth CBD and the Swan river as seen from Kings Park
Kings Park remains a beautiful oasis just on the edge of the city.  Swan River seems to get more beautiful each time I visit.  And Elizabeth Quay just keeps expanding, which is fine with me, as long as they continue to fill the space with outlets like Gusto Gelato.  Am I back in Italy?  Beautiful.  And for novelty value, for my English friends, I can’t leave Perth without mentioning that we had a great afternoon, catching up with family, and new friends, at the Lucky Shag.  It is a shame that by the end of the year it will be completely overshadowed, literally, by the completion of the development next door of the Hilton DoubleTree.

 

Lowlights of the city break?  Well, none really, but watching England “play” in the Ashes, the last
one at the WACA, was debatable enjoyment.  The least said about this summer’s ignominious
Ashes series the better.
 
 

But, faster than we would have liked, I was saying goodbye to Michael Atherton, who was also staying at the Alex Hotel, as the city side of our trip drew to a close, and it was time for us to hit the open road in Bessie.

Unlike the previous few days, Tuesday dawned with weather that immediately put a smile on my face. After two days of heavy rain and winds, the sun had come out to play. Taking an Uber ride with our driver Sujan, out past the airport, we started the day at Apollo motorhome hire where the smile soon disappeared. We had a long frustrating wait. Not even the sunshine could keep the smile on my face.

We waited so long I thought I would just need to drive a lap of the building when I finally got the keys, and drop them straight off back at the office, as it felt my 2 weeks were already up. Watching plane after plane come in to land next door at the airport I was full of the frustration of the stranded traveller. Bags packed, yet going nowhere.

When we finally hit the road we decided a cheeky wine might help our moods, so we took the very short drive north to the Swan Valley wine region, where we stopped for lunch, and a tasting at Ugly Duckling winery.  Despite having had several trips to Perth over the years, and wine tasting being one of my favourite things in the world,  I had never made it to the Swan Valley.  This despite it being so very close to the city.  The long wait to pick up Bessie in the morning did mean that we needed to start heading south relatively soon, but we did sneak in one more winery, the fabulous Sandalford. We proceeded to have a quick tasting, make a purchase, and then were off.  Next stop Wave Rock.
 
Yup, that is Wave Rock
“Why on earth are you going to Wave Rock?” people asked.  Well, let’s be clear, Wave Rock is not, and never has been, on our bucket list.  But, we did need somewhere to sleep, and break up the journey to Esperance.  And Hyden was conveniently about half way.  And it had a very big rock as a tourist attraction.  How could we not stop?  Situated some 336kms (208 miles) from Swan Valley, the little town of Hyden, population 400, home to both Wave Rock and a roadhouse selling the aforementioned dodgy pies, would do for the night.  Regarding the pie, I lost count of the lumps of gristle I had to separate from the meagre chunks (pieces?) of meat.  Arriving in Wave Rock past 7.30pm is not advisable if you are hungry.  I was.  The shop, yes, only one, had closed for the evening.  With the roadhouse being the only thing open, my dinner options were said pie, a dry muffin, or a bag of crisps.  Strewth.  

 



Another reason to break up your journey south is to stop yourself dying from boredom en route.  
The landscape is like being in a gallery for hours, staring at the same picture.
A picture made up of every shade of beige and green, only punctuated by the vivid red dirt, and
numerous roadkill, which were also colourful in their own way, lining both sides of the asphalt.
The only thing to keep you awake is the concentration required every time a road train comes
thundering past on the opposite side of the road, almost sucking you into their path.  The road trains
are the enormous lorries, dragging three, or four trailers in their wake.  Trust me, you don’t want to
mess with them.  As you motor on, hoovering up the kilometres, the small towns pass you in the
blink of any eye. Corrigin.  Kondinin.  Small towns of small populations. But one thing in common.

 

Oh look, another bloody museum.