…if only in my mind

Well here we are on Christmas, and I’ve found a number of things surprising. For one, I am extremely disappointed in the lack of decorations and general Christmas spirit around Sydney. No lights, few carols, and hardly any Christmas-specific candy to speak of. Can you believe they don’t even have green and red M&M’s here?! Apparently there are certain suburbs where every inch of every house is covered in Christmas lights, but I’ve hardly seen anything here in the city. No wreaths, and only one apartment in our complex that I can see even has lights, let alone a Christmas tree.

Oh and speaking of Christmas trees, what a hassle that’s been to deal with here. We had to visit six different places (including turning up empty-handed at K-Mart, Target, and the Australian equivalent of Home Depot) to find a Christmas tree stand. Apparently this is because 90% of Australians prefer fake trees. We also had to pay $20 for a single strand of lights, which, if memory serves me right, cost like $3 at any corner drugstore in the U.S.

On top of all my frustrations with Australia (which I’ve pretty much come to expect at this point), I’m missing everything about home, and our families, and just the United States in general a lot more than I expected to. I miss the special Christmas episodes of every sitcom. I miss bundling up in a scarf and gloves to go shopping in our old neighborhood, and stopping into Jacques Torres to recharge with a decaded Mexican hot chocolate halfway through. Crazily enough, I miss shopping in overcrowded malls, and getting slightly hot and sweaty because 1) it’s crowded and 2) everyone’s walking around in winter coats. I miss those cheapy miniature candy canes that everyone seems to hand out. And of course I miss Christmas parties, and having a moment to just stop and be festive with friends.

There’s snow on the ground at home, but all along I’ve tried to sell myself on the novelty of a tropical Christmas. I figured it would be something different– maybe we could barbecue, or head to the beach with the masses. As my luck would dictate, it was cool and cloudy this morning and has been raining since the afternoon. And it’s forecasted to rain for the next four days straight, so doing any sort of outdoor activity with the hubs during his four-day weekend is effectively out. Yay!

Tomorrow is Boxing Day, which is apparently a day for more barebecuing, playing cricket, drinking beers, and shopping. I’m not quite clear on what stores will actually be open, since every bar and cafe I’ve walked by has signs up that they’re closed through January 11. I guess that’s just one more joy that remains to be discovered.

I hate to be such a downer in this post, as I know I’m extremely lucky to have this opportunity, and to have such loving family and friends back home who’ve taken the time to call us, or send cards or gifts. It’s just hard to be without not only every familiar tradition and sensation of Christmas, but family and friends as well. There’s some drunken dinner party going on on a patio downstairs, and everytime I hear their shouts and laughs I feel pangs of sadness and loneliness. All I know is that whenever we’re next back in the U.S. for Christmas, be it 2010 or sometime after, I’ll be sure to appreciate the fact that I’m truly home. To everyone out there, I wish you peace and happiness. Merry Christmas!

And for this I give thanks

If there's one thing Massachusetts is great at, it's Thanksgiving

Today I’m going to try and wrap up my recap of Beege’s wicked awesome visit. For one, it’s now been a couple weeks since she left us (SAD), and for two, I’ll be leaving Sydney myself tomorrow for a 2.5 week trip around Southeast Asia. I am MEGA-pumped. We’ll be visiting Singapore, Cambodia, Laos, and Thailand, and I promise to post zillions of pictures (or thereabouts) upon our return. Crazily, tomorrow (for us) is Thanksgiving, and on Friday when it’s Thanksgiving in the U.S. we’ll be in Singapore. Not that I was planning to cook a turkey or anything (the hubs doesn’t even like turkey that much!), but it’ll definitely be a little sad being so far away from our families, and I’m not holding my breath about being able to find cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, or the Cowboys game on TV. However, I certainly have a great deal to be thankful for, and I’ll have no problem thinking about all of that over the next few days. To everyone else out there wherever you are, I wish you a Happy Thanksgiving, and to my friends and family back [way, way] East, I love you all very much.

Ok, enough schmaltziness. Picking up from where we left off with the wine tour to the Hunter Valley, that alone was a full and exhausting slate of activity, but little did Beege and I know that the day was just getting started. After we got back to our apartment, the hubs called to see if we were up for meeting some of his work colleagues at Spice I Am, one of Sydney’s most renowned Thai restaurants. I’m never one to turn down Thai food, and we’d been talking about visiting the original Surry Hills location (essentially a hole in the wall, but the food is allegedly better and cheaper than the snazzy location on Victoria Street) for a long time, so off we went. After an excellent dinner, we grabbed a drink at a nearby bar, where there happened to be a live funk band playing. Hilariously, they were like the whitest Australian dudes I’ve ever seen (all of them blond, wearing flowered board shorts etc.) and one of them was rapping. Oh, this place! Meanwhile, a couple backpacker chicks in hoodie sweatshirts, who I assume were on drugs, were hippie dancing on a small space between the bar and the band as if they were on the lawn at a Phish concert. Beege and I found the whole to be very entertaining.

After a couple schooners (the Australian version of pints), we decided it would be an excellent idea to do karaoke at a nearby bar called Ding Dong Dang, which is pretty much universally acknowledged as Sydney’s best spot for karaoke. It was pretty great, with spacious private rooms, HD tv screens (you know, for watching the bizarro Korean videos that accompany each song), and two different digital jukeboxes. They had beer in a refrigerated case up front (A$5 for a can of VB), just to keep things festive. We ended up spending about three hours there, and I can’t even remember all the songs that we sang, only that I was extremely hoarse afterwards. I think we all agreed that the top performance went to the hubs and Beege (pretty much the whitest girl I know, since she grew up in New Hampshire), who did a rousing duet on 50 Cent’s “P.I.M.P.“ Oh my God, I’m laughing hysterically again right now just thinking about it.

What are we singing here? "You're the One that I Want"? "Like a Prayer"? "I Touch Myself"?

Not surprisingly, on Friday we were all pretty worn out (we were both up for almost 24 hours straight, and drinking for most of them!). Beege and I essentially sat around the apartment doing almost nothing until 3pm, when it occurred to us that we should eat something. I suddenly had a huge hankering for dim sum (they call it yum cha here), and so I endeavored to find a restaurant serving food in that weird window between traditional lunch and dinner. In New York, particularly in Chinatown, restaurants are open at lunch and they just STAY open until they close. Unfortunately, countless Internet searches here told me that places closed for lunch at 2:30, only to re-open for dinner at 5 or 5:30. WTF Mate? Finally I found a place that looked like it was open straight through, and so we headed to Chinatown to have a go at East Ocean (seriously, look at this illustrated yum cha menu and tell me your mouth isn’t watering!).

Naturally, when we arrived the chippy hostess told us that they were done serving yum cha, but we pouted enough (or more accurately, played dumb and pretended not to understand her) that she said we could have yum cha if we ordered immediately. I don’t think I’ve ever sat down at a table and ordered so quickly, and it was weird because the waitress was, like, hanging over my shoulder. What’s more, they were out of about half the things we tried to order, but I can say that their pork buns and steamed dumplings were excellent. After our semi-satisfying meal we headed down to the main outdoor arcade in Chinatown around 4:30, only to discover that East Ocean has a stand where they sell most of their yum cha items to go! I wish they’d told us when we walked in that we could get everything outside, plus there were a ton of other stalls selling all sorts of other Asian street food. I highly recommend it for anyone looking for a late-afternoon snack.

After snagging some bubble tea, we walked back to the apartment, where we proceeded to cook a low-key dinner in anticipation of Beege’s big Sydney finale on Saturday: the Sydney Harbour Bridge Climb.

The view from Observatory Hill, where I waited for the intrepid climbers to do their thing

Beege and the hubs arrived to the modern headquarters on Cumberland Street in the Rocks and were sent upstairs to don their onesy suits, so I headed out to nearby Observatory Hill to do some reading and try to catch a glimpse of their two-hour “Express Climb.” Apparently the Express Climb is different from the traditional climb in that you walk along the inner arch (rather than all the way along the top) and then take a staircase to the top of the bridge at the end. It also takes about an hour less. So the weather was kind of cloudy, but I still put on sunscreen just in case because the sun is so strong here. Unfortunately, I neglected to put it on my neck and shoulders, even though I was wearing a wide-neck shirt. Long story short, the sides of my neck got ridiculously burnt, to the point that it hurt to carry a bag around on my shoulder for a week. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

About half an hour before the group was due to return from their climb, I walked down to the little park at the end of the Rocks that’s right underneath the bridge. It actually has a fantastic view of the Opera House, and offers some nice shade and grass for chilling out.

A typically gorgeous Sydney day

Just as I was walking down underneath the bridge, I noticed a group of climbers walking along the catwalk on the way down from their climb. I realized I’d be able to spot Bridget and the hubs on their way down, as well, and sure enough took them by surprise and got them to wave as they were heading into the tunnel back at the bridge climb headquarters. I think this picture turned out the best, though:

When they walked back into the headquarters, all in their matching jumpsuits, they kind of reminded me of NASA astronauts. They both gave the experience a big thumbs up, and verified that I probably would have freaked out at the very top where there were open spaces and you could see straight down to the water below. Most of it was just walking up stairs, though. Afterwards, we went to a nearby bar, the Glenmore Hotel, where we were able to eat lunch and have drinks on their beautiful roof deck. I highly recommend it for the atmosphere and awesome views.

Following lunch we were all pretty worn out/sunburnt, so we walked through the CBD so Beege could pick up some souvenirs for her fam (including a mini Ugg boot keychain for her Dad, who’d requested authentic Australian Uggs), and then headed home. We stopped in the Domain to take some pictures, and as Beege and I were sitting on the grass we both noticed a sculpture on the front lawn of the Art Gallery of New South Wales:

At first glance, what do you see here?

Me: “I’ve never noticed that sculpture before. That’s cool, it’s a match. But what is that right next to it?”

Bridget: “I don’t know, but it looks very phallic…almost shriveled.”

Me: “Yeah totally, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

The hubs: “Seriously? Both of you? It’s A BURNED MATCH.”

Bridget and Me: “Ohhhhhh, now I see.”

Yeah, totally ridiculous. We proceeded to roll around on the grass laughing hysterically for about five minutes (meanwhile the hubs marched down the hill, shaking his head incredulously). I blame our initial reaction on the fact that our high school campus was filled with phallic sculptures; now I automatically assume everything is in some way sexual.

Anyway, we made it back to the apartment and chilled out for a few hours, before heading off to Beege’s big farewell dinner at Bondi Social, a place overlooking the beach that I’d heard great things about. Sure enough, the views from the balcony are spectacular:

Not pictured: Eurotrash cigarette smoke

Less than spectacular: the restaurant’s service, which tottered between flaky and non-existent. Our waitress couldn’t speak English – we had to point to things on the menu, and she had to bring the bartender over to tell us they were out of a key ingredient for one of the cocktails we’d ordered – and she seemed to be the only server handling all the tables on the crowded balcony. What’s more, people kept coming outside to smoke, and rather than go to an empty corner they seemed to prefer standing right over our shoulders and ashing onto our table. Fun times! After they didn’t pick up on my extremely dirty looks, I finally snapped and asked the waitress (in a loud, slow voice) to make them move. They probably thought I was a high-maintenance American but whatever– don’t ash on my table fools!

Anyway, the food ended up being pretty good. It’s all tapas style, and my favorite dish was doughy duck pancakes. The whole thing was such a shitshow, though, that the food almost seemed beside the point.

After dinner we headed back to our neighborhood and grabbed a drink at a local pub, then we turned in, physically exhausted by the long, hot day and mentally drained by dinner.

Beege had a noontime flight the next day, so we had a bit of time to hang out in the morning. Naturally we chose to watch one of our favorite Brit/Aussie shows, Property Ladder. LOVE that show. During the week we’d also watched most of this season of Project Runway: Australia, and I was relieved to see that Beege found it as hilariously entertaining as I did (the contestants were far funnier than their American counterparts, and the editors are much crueller).

From start to finish, Bridget’s visit was filled with laughter and fun, just as I knew it would be. I’m still exhausted thinking about all the stuff we did (my parents are now slightly more scared to visit, I think), but having been through it all once now I think I have a better idea of how to pace ourselves. I just hope I have the opportunity to play hostess many more times over the course of our stay here.

Unless I find a spare moment and an empty computer during our trip, I’ll see y’all in a couple weeks. Again, Happy Thanksgiving!

Day 6: A trip to the Hunter Valley with Boutique Wine Tours

Even on a cloudy day, wine country is totally gorgeous

I’d say one of the true highlights of Beege’s visit was the day trip we took from Sydney to wine country in the Hunter Valley, which is about two hours north of the city. Having always been the designated driver when I lived in Berkeley and took visitors to nearby Sonoma and Napa, I was keen on taking a group tour where I wouldn’t have to worry about driving. Plus I’m yet to drive on a highway here, so there was that. Thing is, I’d heard abstractly about these group tours, but didn’t have any specifics. To be honest, group tours usually drive me nuts. Tourguides fancy themselves stand-up comics (angling for tips) and you only visit well-trod sites that are anything but authentic. I sound like such a travel snob, but it’s true! I was determined to avoid one of those massive tour buses that only a mega-winery could accommodate.

My first search stop was winecountry.com.au, the official site of Hunter Valley Tourism. They have an extensive list of reputable tour companies, and I narrowed it further by only searching for small group tours, and then those places that had decent websites. Since few companies here seem to be Internet-competent, just two places stuck out to me. I wrote to both, inquiring as to whether they’d visit specific wineries that I was interested in seeing, and both wrote back within a day to say they’d be happy to. This was definitely a good sign, but now I needed something to break the tie.

Another expat blogger, Laura at sf 2 Oz, wrote a post about touring with one of those companies, and it sounded a bit too didactic for my taste. For one, I took Cornell’s famous “Introduction to Wines” course in college (according to legend it’s the school’s most-failed class, but luckily I passed), so I have a decent foundation of wine knowledge (probably the most useful course I took in college, seeing as I was a history major). Secondly, who wants to tour around wine country all tipsy but then worry about taking a quiz? I’m all for tasting wines and discussing their complex bouquets, but I don’t want to think too much about the soil or terroir or whatever. Not that that’s necessarily what it was about, it just didn’t seem like my cup of tea (or glass of wine, as the case may be). For those with very little wine knowledge who are eager to learn more, though, I bet it’s quite interesting.

This left the other company, Boutique Wine Tours, which also happened to be cheaper. Furthermore, I noticed that it received universally glowing reviews on TripAdvisor, on which it’s ranked the #3 attraction in all of Sydney. Not that I would ever take TripAdvisor as gospel, but it definitely bolstered their cred slightly. Plus I liked the idea of visiting vineyards that are so small they don’t even sell their wines outside the Hunter Valley (hence the name Boutique Wine Tours). So Beege and I trekked up to the Holiday Inn at KX for an ungodly 7:20am pickup, where we met our extremely friendly guide, Jason, as he was preparing our van for departure. I’m pretty much useless before 10am, but he managed to engage both of us in conversation in a way that felt neither canned nor stand-up comicesque. On the two hour drive up to the Hunter (which is quite picturesque in its own right), Jason filled us in on all sorts of random Australia trivia, and promised a prize to the first person who spotted a car window with a South Sydney Rabbitohs sticker. Beege won the prize; Go America!

After drinking wine around 10am at Iron Gate Estate

Lucky for us, there were only three other people on our tour, making it quite laid-back, as if we were just touring with a small group of friends. The weather certainly could have been better, but at least it never really rained. We hit up four wineries: Iron Gate Estate, Ernest Hill, McWilliam’s Mount Pleasant, and Tallavera Grove. Each had selections of both Shiraz and Semillon – the Hunter’s two most prominent grapes – yet each “cellar door” was refreshingly distinct from the others. Iron Gate is very new with state of the art equipment– it reminded me a lot visually of  Silverado Vineyards in Napa. Ernest Hill is teeny tiny – just a couple vineyards and the father and son winemakers live in modest houses adjacent to the tasting room – but their shareholders’ Shiraz was just as light and juicy as Jason said it would be, and Beege and I were both quite taken with their late-harvest semillon dessert wine.

The modest tasting room at charming little Ernest Hill

McWilliam’s Mount Pleasant is actually one of the bigger producers in the Hunter Valley; Jason took us here at my behest (I was intrigued after reading this article at Qantas’s website). I liked a lot of their Semillons, and found their Old Paddock & Old Hill Shiraz had a lot more depth and complexity than any other Shiraz that I’d tasted. I’m also a big fortified wine fan, and quite liked their Port (I am my father’s daughter).

Some of the oldest vines in the Hunter Valley, with mountain in the background

Tallavera Grove is located at the edge of the valley, on a ridiculously scenic hilltop with views that were gorgeous even in gloomy weather. I can’t imagine how lovely it must be on a sunny day. Furthermore, we were able to do our tasting at a long table on a patio overlooking the idyllic scenery:

The ideal place to sip wine & cap off the day

It’s so peaceful – the only noise came from the chirping of nearby birds – and the winery manager had an extremely soothing voice, which he used to great effect as he poured and described each wine. I commented on this as we all piled into the van to head back to Sydney, and everyone in the group agreed, with Beege adding, “I bet he’d be great at telling bedtime stories.” I believe she said this in earnest, but Jason hilariously gave her a lot of cheek, chiding “Oh I’ll be sure to let Damian know that you’d like to have him tell you bedtime stories, Bridget!” It was pretty hilarious.

All in all, it was a lovely day, although we all passed out on the long car ride back to Sydney (getting up at 6am and drinking from 10am-4pm is exhausting!). And I have nothing but great things to say about our tourguide Jason, who was quite genial and obviously loves both Sydney and wine very much. He had lots of interesting info to share with the group, but never got overly technical or bogged down in the science of it all, nor did he dumb anything down (I have very little patience for bullshit). I never felt like he was angling for a big tip, or trying to sell us wines because he was in cahoots with a vineyard. He also took a detour over some bumpy country roads where we were able to spot a mob of kangaroos and take all the requisite photos. Beege and I both give him a big thumbs up, and I’d recommend Boutique Wine Tours to any of you wine lovers out there.

Beege with our ace tourguide, Jason, at Tallavera Grove (note Rabbitohs hat)

“Guys…where are we?”

/Lost reference. But seriously, this place is crazy (as the hubs likes to joke, it’s like we’re living on Mercury). Yesterday it was 109 DEGREES. Neither of us thinks we’ve ever experienced such high temperatures before. It was so hot that it basically hurt to move. Even crazier, I decided to play lacrosse in the CBD, which is a lot of fun, except that we play on an asphalt basketball court, so basically my feet were on fire. Also, even with sweatproof SPF 50 sunscreen, I still managed to get semi-sunburnt. I did feel very hardcore afterwards, though.

Naturally, today the temperature has dropped to 69 degrees. Again, this place is crazy.

Australians are culturally relevant!

This excerpt from a Richard Rushfield post @ Gawker about the top-grossing movies of the decade gave me a laugh. I wonder if the local press will begin to hype this story?

Australians are dangerously over-represented in our culture. Yes, we know that technically Australia is a continent, but nonetheless it’s a relatively not-that-big island in the middle of nowhere, with a bunch of little other stuff around it. (Yes, for the purposes of scientific measurement we are counting New Zealanders as Australians. “Oceanics” is too scientific sounding; “Down Underers” too wordy).

Now understand us, we bow to no one in our sadness at the news of the death of Breaker Morant; the first two Mad Max films are gospel. If anyone has rented Babe or Heavenly Creatures or The Man From Snowy River, give us a holler, we’ll be right over.

But does every film have to be made by Australians? Are Michael Bay and Gore Verbinski really the only American directors left?

A third of the top ten is directed by Down Underers (the LOTR and Shrek films) and another one (The Dark Knight) stars one. If you include Geoffrey Rush as the real reason for the Pirate films success (a case we’d be happy to make after a few drinks), then you could say every non-Harry Potter film on the top ten is Australian.

Now this is all well and good, but has anyone thought about what happens if Australia were suddenly to withdraw all its actors and directors from American cinema? Entertainment, our biggest export, would be crippled, and our economy would grind to a halt overnight. Yes, the Australian people have been good friends to us over the years, but is it responsible to leave our economy and national security open to blackmail as the short-sighted leaders of show business have done.

BTW, I just discovered via IMDB that Babe was filmed entirely in New South Wales. One more reason to love that movie (though I loved the book first!).

Good on ya, Bridget! (pt. 3)

Does horse racing ever NOT have a photo finish? (Justin McManus/smh.com.au)

Day 5: So, I’m clearly late to the game with this since most of the other bloggers have covered their experiences with the Melbourne Cup, but to echo their sentiments: Yes, it’s a really big deal here, even up in Sydney, and just about everyone uses it as an excuse to get dressed up and wear a silly hat (called “fascinators”).

We woke up at like 7am and tv presenter Kerri-Anne was wearing the most ginormous hat I’ve ever seen, plus she seemed to be drunk. Was there ever a circumstance where Katie Couric was allowed to be drunk on The Today Show? None come to mind. So that sort of set the tone for us. Since the day was looking to be a wicked scorcha (that’s Boston for “extremely hot”), we decided to get in some quality morning beach time. The day before I’d been able to secure a Melbourne Cup luncheon rezzie at a bar near us called Durty Nelly’s. It was, like, the seventh place that I called (everywhere else was booked out), and perhaps that should’ve been a sign, but I was desperate to give my visitor a taste of Aussie culture. When I called the manager was like, “We have space for you but you’re going to have to sit out on the balcony. I’m really, really sorry, I hope that’s ok.” He then sent a confirmation email and again was like, “*NOTE! SEATING IS ON THE BALCONY*” This amused us, since we both actually like sitting outside, though of course it ended up being 100 degrees, but under normal circumstances it probs would’ve been fine.

The luncheon began at 1:15, giving us about two hours at the beach. I wanted to head to Bronte, since I’d driven there before and figured it would be a lot quieter than Bondi. Unfortunately, I’m yet to find parking near Bronte that lasts for more than an hour. WTF, who goes to the beach for an hour or less?! Granted, Beege and I are both so pale more than an hour probs would have been a bad idea, but I continue to be outraged by the principle of the thing!

On the bright side, Bronte was quiet and uncrowded. Check it:

These guys were supremely douchey, but focus on the cliffs in the background

I’d planned to go swimming, but the water was fa-fa-freezing. It did feel nice to cool off by dipping my toes in, though, and I convinced Beege to do the same just so she could say she’d been in both sides of the Pacific. She is a master “selfie” photo taker, and I think this one might be the best from the whole trip:

LOVE how pretty the water is here on a sunny day. So we were totally enjoying the warm weather on the beach, but we knew we had to get back and shower in time to make our luncheon. Plus, those dudes from the photo above started throwing random objects around and kept almost hitting us. They all had mullets and indecipherable accents; not a good scene.

By the time we got home and engaged in a madcap primping session, the thermometer had climbed up to about 100 degrees. Or, as they would say here, a steamy 38! It didn’t help that we basically had to hike up the hill in stiletto slingbacks, rendering us somewhat sweaty and overheated by the time we got up to the luncheon. But no matter. We enjoyed the brief respite of air conditioning when the manager led us through the dining room, where the tables were filled with ladies in cute dresses and feathered hats mingling with dudes in jeans and polo shirts. Beege and I were both disappointed that they apparently don’t rock seersucker and bowties on race day here. There was a huge projector set up in one corner with all the undercard races, and each placesetting included a complimentary trifecta bet from TAB; I’ve never seen anything quite like it in the U.S. Sadly, we soon understood why the balcony was such a letdown.

For one, we were the ONLY people out there. For two, not only was the general temperature warm, but the afternoon sun was shining DIRECTLY on our table. So basically we were baking. To make matters worse, we probably sat there for about half an hour before someone brought us any food  (essentially negating the prompt champagne service), even though there was a set menu. Three different servers came out and said, “Your server will be right with you!” and we couldn’t help but wonder why none of them could bother to serve us.

Though we enjoyed the views of Oxford Street, we did feel like second class citizens listening to the MC inside lead the other guests through Melbourne Cup trivia. Naturally we were clueless about the horse-racing questions, but then he’d ask other random stuff like “Is Parcheesi a game, a kind of cheese, or a place in Pakistan?” and “Is Sydney’s Mardi Gras celebrated at the same time as the one in New Orleans?” Eventually the manager came out and told us there were two free seats at a table with a “regular” who was rolling solo style. We figured any awkward social interaction was worth getting out of the heat and having an actual view of the race, and happily moved inside.

No fascinator, but at least I had an appropriate headband

We sat down with a gentleman who was in his 60s or 70s, and he immediately started telling us his betting strategy, and how much he stood to win if his pick worked out. That was just about the only thing he said to us. Clearly this guy was not messing around. Within about ten minutes the race had started – it was 3pm, and we still hadn’t received our main course, btw – and it was quite exciting, although the telecast gave little indication as to which horse was actually in the lead. Pretty much 100% of the time, Australian TV production quality makes me feel like I’ve teleported back to 1992 or something. By race’s end, however, my top pick, Shocking, had crossed the finish line in first place. Beege and the hubs had both picked a horse named AlcoPop, but he finished in like seventh or something. Sadly, online betting had been suspended and the city’s makeshift betting stations were overflowing with with people at 6:30am, so I didn’t get to place a straight-up bet, but I was happy for Shocking nonetheless.

When all was said and done, citizens in Victoria and New South Wales alone had placed A$95.6 million worth of bets on the race– a new record. I’ve said it before– this place is mad for gambling. Meanwhile, our lunch finally came at 3:15, meaning we didn’t get out of there until almot 4pm. All in all, I wouldn’t say it was worth $80/person, though the overall experience was fun. A friend who lived here previously said she’d recommend actually flying down to Melbourne to see the race in person– I think that’s ideally what we’ll do next year.

The sun was brutally hot when we tottered home down the hill, both more than a little unstable thanks to the bottle of champagne we’d split. I barely remember making it into our apartment, I just know that we both passed out in the living room until the hubs got home around 7:30. It was still hot after dark – a rarity here – and for the first time I truly appreciated having central air conditioning in our apartment. Hungover but hungry, we decided to eat dinner at Una’s, a popular German restaurant on Victoria Street. Unforch after ordering we realized that they don’t have AC and the fans were minimally effective, but oh well, at least Beege got to try their famous chicken schnitzel. That night I think we were all asleep by 11pm.

Day 6: Don’t worry, this is a short one. Worn out from days of walking, drinking, and baking in the hot sun, we were almost grateful for the cold, drizzly weather that descended upon the city on Wednesday. This had been our designated shopping day anyway, so we browsed the many small boutiques along Oxford Street in Paddington. Beege was duly impressed by the seemingly endless array of of shops purveying cute little sundresses – they certainly do that well here – and also picked up a few things at Sportsgirl, a chain that I spose is something like the Australian H&M.

I’d been talking up meat pies,  so we grabbed some from Pie Face for lunch. I know it’s essentially a fast food chain, but they’re tasty and cheap! If anyone can recommend a more legit place for pies, feel free to do so in the comments. After a low-key afternoon watching multiple episodes of the hilarious Project Runway Australia (what’s up, KELLYANNE?!), we met the hubs for dinner at Phamish, a small Vietnamese restaurant that seems to have a bit of a cult following. Though a lot of locals say that it’s gone downhill since moving to a new location (still small, and still no reservations taken), it’s still always crowded and I’ve loved everything I’ve had there. Highlights for us included fresh coconut fried rice, mouthwatering duck pancakes, beef lok lak, and fresh summer rolls with just the perfect amount of mint.

It was another early evening for us, as Beege and I had to rise at the ungodly hour of 6am on Thursday to prepare for our daylong wine tour to the Hunter Valley. A full review and recap coming tomorrow (or maybe Thursday)!

Good on ya, Bridget! (pt. 2)

Yup, we're mature like that

Aaaaand we’re back! Sorry for the delay, but now it’s on to part deux of the recap of Bridget’s oh-so exhausting visit. BTW I’m sort of going through it so thoroughly for a couple reasons: 1) As a personal journal entry to fondly recall all the fun that we had with our first guest 2) To post some funny photos and 3) To give shoutouts to various restaurants, bars, and other attractions that visitors or other potential hosts might want to hit up.

Day 4: This was our designated beach day (since the forecast for the week showed cool temps through the rest of Beege’s stay), and although the sun peeked through the clouds a few times in the morning, it was pretty disappointing considering how nice the weather typically gets here. Anyway, we started off with a leisurely breakfast at famous Sydney resto Bill’s, which I guess is known for pioneering fresh, local ingredients. The eponymous owner/chef has a cookbook/TV empire and all that jazz. From what I can gather he’s like the Jamie Oliver of Australia; he was even quoted in this recent NYT story about the ongoing (and hilarious) Vegemite iSnack 2.0 controversy, so he must be a big deal, right?

Anyway, we both partook in the signature breakfast dish of Ricotta hotcakes, and sure enough they were delicious. The other cool thing about Bill’s is they have this enormous communal table where they set out tons of newspapers and magazines for patrons to read (this is actually pretty common here). Bridget and I first read the Sydney Morning Herald’s special coverage of the Melbourne Cup (that’s how I learned I wanted to pick SHOCKING to win), then we moved on to Aussie fashion magazine Madison, which is where Project Runway Australia winners get to showcase their work. A definite highlight was reading what we thought was just a really lame advice column (people asked questions like: “How will my shoulder surgery go?” and “I’m homesick. Should I stay in Melbourne or move back to Tasmania?” Who writes for advice on rando things like that with no background information, right?). Annnnyway, after laughing through the page we both realized it was actually an advice column from a psychic. Hence the lack of relevant background info. Needless to say, our mutual blind spot would come back to hilariously haunt us again in the trip. More on that later.

After Bill’s we returned to the apartment to pick up our car. To this point I’d driven a bit with the hubs, but it was kind of stressful and contentious (i.e. bad flashbacks to learning how to drive/screaming at my father when I was 15). But Beege was an excellent navigator, and we made it to our first stop, the enormous Westfield Mall at Bondi Junction, without incident. Beege was able to enjoy sights like the ghetto (yet sadly overpriced) Target ($30 for a beach towel? Seriously?), Bed Bath & Table, and the neverending levels that are segregated by the quality of merchandise that they purvey. The mall is so big, yet I always leave feeling unsatisfied.

Next stop: Bondi Beach. Beege was on a quest for new flip flops because her Havaianas were giving her blisters, and I assured her we’d be able to find something suitable at one of Bondi’s countless surf shops. After that mission was accomplished, we set off along the Bondi to Bronte Coast Walk to take in Sculpture by the Sea. This was one of my favorite sculptures (unforch I only had my iphone):

I'm always a fan of random, cartoon-like characters-as-art

We’d decided that we’d get lunch at the cafe at Tamarama Beach, and I kind of didn’t realize how far a walk that was from Bondi. It took us about 20 minutes to get there, and involved a decent amount of steps, therefore it became part of the “Kate requires a workout before we’re allowed to eat” joke.

Finally we descended upon Tamarama, and grabbed lunch at the cute little cafe that’s right on the beach (I’d been wanting to eat there since I walked by once and saw they have turkey sandwiches with cranberry sauce, my all-time fave). After lunch we decided we’d come all that way, so we’d do our best to enjoy the beach, even though it was cloudy and a bit chilly. En route to finding a spot for our towels (the whole area was crawling with people there to see Sculpture by the Sea), we stumbled upon this fairly creepy, life-sized (maybe oversized?) sculpture of a nude toddler. Funnily enough, I first saw a photo of it posted at Jezebel, though you’ll note that it was originally wearing a Speedo for modesty, as mandated by the event organizers. Apparently the artist thought this was unacceptable, and snuck down in the middle of the night to remove the offending article (I got this scoop via Sydney blogger Dave).

The best part of this picture: Bridget creepily tiptoeing behind the kid

So yeah, being the mature art connoisseurs that we are, we found the sculpture HILARIOUS, and were clearly not alone as people were constantly gathered around it to snap pictures. I took the one above with my iphone, but used an app called CameraBag to make it look like a blown out Polaroid. It’s a fun app with lots of cool editing effects; I recommend it.

Anyway, we sort of dozed on the beach for 45 minutes or so, but finally acknowledged that we were both on the chilly side, plus it looked like the skies could open to pour at any moment. So back we trekked to the car, which we’d parked in the public lot at Bondi since everywhere else that I’ve found near the beach only has 1 hour parking (boo to that). We then headed back to the apartment, gorged on leftover GORP from our hike the day before, and passed out until about 8pm.

I’d recently read about a restaurant called The Winery by Gazebo in Surry Hills, and since it was a bit chilly (and our legs were falling off from walking so much), I decided to make my maiden nighttime driving voyage. We actually got there with surprising ease (save for a oneway street that Google maps neglected to tell me about!), although we drove down Crown Street and couldn’t for the life of us spot the restaurant. Taking that to be a sign, we opted instead for a Japanese place near where we’d parked, Toko. The menu offered both freshly-prepared sushi and hot stuff from the robata grill. Everything was quite reasonably priced (even the wine), and each of our dishes was delicious. The space is minimalist and extremely chic – Bridget joked that she felt like we were on a date on Sex and the City – and everyone else eating there seemed to be a skinny hipster. All in all, dinner was an unexpected success.

I’d planned to cover Tuesday and Wednesday in this post as well, but it’s run on far too long, and I’ve somehow been slaving over it for three days so I think it’s best to start fresh tomorrow. There is just so much to cover!

Good on ya, Bridget! (pt. 1)

Approaching 100 degrees at Bronte Beach

Sigh. My grandmother always tells me the end of one good thing is the beginning of another, but I can’t help but be kind of bummed that our guest of honor left us yesterday to head back to Boston. Crazily enough, she just landed a couple hours ago after a long stopover in LA en route from Sydney. Hope the traveling was smooth, Home Slice!

Needless to say, we had a fantastic 10-day visit. The weather wasn’t always perfect (as luck would have it, our designated beach day was cloudy and cold, wtf mate?!), but we had plenty of sunshine and 75-degree temps, and just as I suspected the best part of all was just having Beege here to laugh and appreciate some of Sydney’s most ridiculous aspects. She was a total pro in terms of adjusting to the jet lag, although the hubs and I both found that we were incredibly worn out and overtired at the end of each day, I guess because we did so much more running around than usual.

Particularly early on, Beege and I did A LOT of walking, basically covering Sydney from every direction on foot. Then on day 3 we took a hike out in the Blue Mountains. Therefore, one of the jokes of the trip became that I was running “Kate’s boot camp” (aka Biggest Loser Sydney). Whatevs, Bridget totally agreed with me that there are no fat people here. Here are some photo highlights from Beege’s fantastic visit. In case you can’t tell, we decided early on that it would be HILARIOUS to give thumbs-up in every picture (or at least those where we didn’t have a drink in hand):

Day 1: Beege arrived at 7am and after the all-important post-flight shower, we grabbed flat whites and breakfast (Turkish toast, very Aussie!) at Blip. Then we took a walk around our neighborhood and meandered our way down Oxford Street in Paddo and Queen Street in Woollahra. Understandably, Beege just kind of wanted to keep moving, because the minute you stop you realize how freaking worn out you are. We ended up grabbing a pint at the Lord Dudley Hotel. It’s a very charming English pub-style place (and was totally filled with old people), yet Beege noticed a “needle exchange” bin in the bathroom. I’ve never noticed anything like that before, but she spotted them in other public restrooms around Sydney. I can see it in King’s Cross, but yuppieville Woollahra? If anyone has info about this, please feel free to enlighten me in the comments.

After that we took a train from Edgecliff to the CBD, grabbing lunch at one of the city’s many awesome food courts and eating outside in the Domain. Then we took one of my favorite trails,  Mrs. Macquarie’s Bushland Walk, along Woolloomooloo Bay and ended up at Mrs. Macquarie’s Chair, which to this point is my favorite vantage point in the city. Check this out, so pretty:

Day 2: We walked through the other side of the Botanic Gardens (making sure to freak out Beege, a total bird phobe, by walking underneath the flying foxes) and then on to the Opera House. After that we headed up through the CBD to Hyde Park, where we ate lunch at the Sydney Food and Wine Fair. It was kind of crowded, but there were lots of free wine tastings, a company giving out free loaves of bread, and even free samples from Ben & Jerry’s, which just came to Australia (not that they bothered to bring their frozen yogurt, but whatever, I’m not bitter). I had some Malaysian food, Beege and the hubs had sausage rolls, and we had some awesome cocktails from a bar on Oxford Street whose name temporarily escapes me. I just remember that vanilla stoli and passionfruit were involved:

The cocktail was called the Booty Call, and we both enjoyed it thoroughly

After recharging at lunch we strolled down through Chinatown to Paddy’s Markets, which I always hear is a must-visit for cheap souvenirs. At first we didn’t even notice the ground floor (the part with hundreds of schlock-filled souvenir stalls) and took the escalator up to the second floor. Basically the rest of the building is a semi-cheap shopping mall, although the food court is filled with a bunch of really good Asian places and multiple bubble tea options. After that we headed down to Darling Harbour and walked along the water. At that point we all realized that our legs were about to fall off and we all felt kind of sunstroked, so we cabbed it home to have some guacamole on the balcony and pass out for a couple hours. This kind of became our late-afternoon routine. We topped off the day with dinner at our fave Thai takeaway spot, Eat Thai.

Day 3: After a bit of a lie-in, we drove two hours out to Katoomba in the Blue Mountains to see the 3 Sisters and attempt to hike Dardenelle’s Pass. As aforementioned, I have a bit of an issue with heights – particularly cliffs/open spaces – and it took about four steps down the 3 Sisters’ famous “Giant Stairway” to realize it was a no-go. Under different circumstances I might have been able to handle it, but it was really crowded, and certain people seemed to have no problem rushing down the steps (even though they’re crazy narrow and very clearly need to be single-file) and pushing into other people. The hubs was kind of pissed, but Beege and I just weren’t feeling it.

Check out my sweet farmer tan

Fortunately there are other trails around that don’t involve the “Staircase to Death” (as Beege called it), which was a relief since I clearly dressed like a sloppy hiker and made an enormous bag of GORP in preparation, and it would’ve been a shame for all that to go to waste. We ended up taking the Echo Point to Leura Cascades trail, which is lovely, scenic, and mostly shady. There are a few ups and downs, but it pretty much goes along the clifftop so it never gets too steep. We saw lots of cool birds, had some nice views of the Bridal Veil & Leura waterfalls, and enjoyed partaking in the trail’s many benches.

Beege in the rainforest near Leura Cascades

It took us about 90 minutes to walk the trail, but it was extremely hot and getting late so we decided to take a bus back (as the Echo Point trailhead made it clear there was a return trolley at the end of the trail). What it didn’t specify was that the trolley was one of those mega-pricey all-day tourist things that costs $20/person. No thank you! There was also a bus stop nearby so we decided to take our chances with that. Turns out that, too, was one of those all-day, hop-on-hop-off explorer bus things, but fortunately the driver was nice and let us tag along for five bucks each. So fyi, unless you want to shell out it’s a lot easier just to hike the round trip.

We were all so exhausted from that hike (or more accurately, being outside in the hot sun) that I can’t really remember the drive back or what we did for dinner that night. That’s really saying something, because I rarely forget a meal! I’m going to end this post for now, TBC tomorrow with a recap of Sculpture by the Sea, 100 degree weather, and a racing luncheon for the Melbourne Cup. Damn, I’m getting so tired just recalling all the stuff that we did; I still can’t believe Beege managed to overcome the jet lag and was such a trooper. Did I mention I miss her company so much already?

 

 

Shark schmark!

No bride-MOH shot is complete without some goofy poses

After months of counting down, my best friend Bridget is finally on her way to Sydney. She’ll be arriving for 10 days on Friday morning, and my only real concern is that I’ll wear her out before she can shake off the jet lag. In anticipation of this I’ve been sending her travel tips for months. Yup, I’m an over-planner.

Fortunately it’s looking like we’ll have great weather (75-80 degrees) for most of her stay, which is a big relief since it’s actually been pretty cloudy and cool the past week or so. We’re hoping to hit up Bondi or Bronte at least a couple times, though Beege has vowed she will stay out of the water due to this Monster Shark story that our friend Chelsie insisted on posting. I tried to point out that Brisbane is hundreds of miles from here, but I don’t think she’s convinced.

Allegedly a "monster shark" tore apart this already-sizeable great white off the coast of Brisbane

Other things on our agenda include:

-Hunter Valley Wine Tour (we’re doing a thing where a van picks you up in Sydney and drops you off at the end of the day. I don’t trust myself to drive up there sober, let alone with a few glasses of wine in my system).

-Day hike to the Three Sisters and Blue Mountain National Park

-Some sort of ridiculous hat situation to watch the Melbourne Cup, during which the entire country apparently comes to a stand-still.

-Visit to the Justice & Police Museum (Beege is the world’s biggest Law & Order fan and immediately requested this as soon as she read about it in her guidebook).

-Requisite walks through the Royal Botanic Gardens, the Domain, the Opera House, etc.

-Visit to Paddy’s Markets.

-And finally, climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge. I will not be participating in this outing (other than to take pictures from way far away), because I am deathly afraid of heights. But Beege and the hubs are both looking forward to it. Also, that ish is expensive yo! A$198 for a daytime “express climb”! When we got here that wouldn’t have been so bad, but now the Australian dollar is almost freaking equal to the US dollar (about 90 cents at the moment). Ugh.

If anyone out there has other must-visit suggestions, feel free to post them in the comments.

More than anything, I’m just so excited to have a good friend here to keep me company. Even when Bridget and I are just sitting around watching television (usually making snarky comments about whatever we’re watching), we tend to laugh our heads off. That’s something that I’ve greatly missed since moving here, and it’ll be great to finally be able to walk around and make jokes about silly Aussie things out loud, rather than just via my facebook status. Even if the weather gods don’t cooperate, I’m confident that we’ll still have a great time (but pray for great weather anyway!).

 

 

The Long and the Short of It

One of the most exciting – and scariest! – parts of moving to a new city is figuring out all your “people.” By “people,” I mean services like a tailor, a dry cleaner, a mechanic, a nail salon and, most crucially for girls, a hair stylist. Word of mouth can definitely be good, although with things like tailors and hair salons I find personal preference can vary widely (plus I still hardly know anyone in my immediate neighborhood, so word of mouth went out the window).

Usually I rely on a combination of extensive research on Yelp, walking around to see for myself how nice/sketchy a place looks, and recommendations from websites like Daily Candy. Of course there are bound to be some duds – maybe a particular stylist left, or prices got jacked up, or new management took over – but generally this formula has worked for me.

Unfortunately, there’s no Yelp and no Daily Candy here. I’m a pretty exhaustive researcher, and the best I could come up with was this Vogue Australia forum, which stretches back four years over 17 pages. Naturally I read all 17 pages, and came away with a few leads on local places, though of course half these salons don’t even have websites, and those that do offer little more than a phone number and street address. Thanks guys, that’s really helpful! Don’t worry about telling me prices, or what your salon looks like, or your stylists’ background, I’ll figure that out on my own. Ugh.

I took this photo with a just a hint of trepidation before entering

After combing the forum (ha! no pun intended) I settled upon Element Hair Salon in Woollahra. But then I went to their website and was so annoyed by its lack of useful information that, combined with the fact that it’s about a 25 minute walk away (still not too keen on driving), I uncharacteristically decided that I’d just go somewhere up the street instead. Both my parents and my husband are probably laughing at that, because I rarely settle for a hair stylist who’s affordable and convenient. Of course, we live on the edge of Darlinghurst, which is considered one of the most fashionable neighborhoods in Sydney and is also the heart of its gay community, so it’s not like there’s a dearth of hair places here, I just had very little information on any of them.

Every day when I walk up Victoria Street to go to the gym, I pass by this one little salon, Mu, that’s wedged in between two of the street’s many cafes. Seriously, they only have like half a doorway! I find this kind of cute and intriguing, and although the place is small, it’s chic in a minimalist sort of way, and nearly every time I walk by I seem to notice fashionable-looking people with great hair. So, in spite of their lackluster website, I called them up on a whim, got a price quote for a haircut, and made an appointment for the following day. When I informed the hubs, all he cared about was that it would cost half of what I paid in New York. (What can I say? Brandon at Frederic Fekkai is totally worth it. Funnily enough at my last haircut with him it transpired that he also cuts the hair of my husband’s co-worker who went to their firm’s Melbourne office when we came to Sydney. Of all the thousands of stylists in New York, it’s pretty crazy we went to the same one, no?)

So anyway, I arrived for my haircut with Amanda, who seeemed to be very Australian hipster with bleached blonde hair, sparkly black leggings, a cute vest, and cool accessories. That’s kind of the Victoria Street uniform. She was finishing up on another customer, but the salon’s owner (I think his full name is Maurice but Amanda called him Mu, hence the salon name) put down his sandwich and greeted me in a bubbly manner. During my appointment he discussed his excitement for an upcoming Liza Minelli concert (and what he would wear to said concert), and came over to offer his thoughts on Lady Gaga (“She’s just out there, doesn’t care what anyone thinks. But where are her pants?!”) when her picture appeared in a magazine I was reading. I LOVE that hair stylists are apparently the earth’s great constant, no matter where you are. I take great comfort in that, for some reason.

Amanda was a bit quieter but also super-friendly, chatting with me about local stuff and asking lots of questions about New York. Apparently she used to cut Hugh Jackman’s hair (and that of his wife) until they moved to NYC (apparently they love it there and she never wants to come back). This seemed like a very cool, unexpected tidbit, though I wonder if everyone just tosses out Aussie celebrity names to Americans figuring that’s all it takes to impress us. Is that too cyncial of me? (Not to say that I wasn’t impressed…)

Either way, Amanda did a great job. I’m happy with my haircut and the salon experience was very pleasant. They even brought me free coffee from the ever-popular Bar Coluzzi next door. They brought another woman a sandwich! I will confidently return to Mu next time I need my hair done, though if anyone out there has other recs for great “people,” please be sure to leave them in the comments. My next – and far more daunting- search is for a great waxer. I’ve got this list from Gridskipper Sydney as a starting point, but I’m yet to fnd anyone the world over who holds a candle to Carrie Maxwell at Habit in San Francisco. The quest continues…