Monthly Archives: November 2009

Melting Sydney

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I have just taken my second shower which, for a Sunday in particular, is a very usually occurrence.  That’s because I just got in out of the sweltering 41degree heat, which in Americanese is 105 brain melting degrees.  I expected Australia, a country the vast majority of which is desert, to offer up a few hot days, but I can’t say I was prepared for this much heat this soon.

This sudden increase in Celsius has had a few interesting effects on Sydney this weekend.  I noticed that once bustling areas of the city seem very quiet.  It’s as if all the people, young and old, the animals, domestic and wild, and even the cars, from Holden to Hyundai, had an invisible layer of felt thrown over them, soaking up what little noise they could muster the energy to make in the first place.  Even the didgeridoo player in Circular Quay sounded like he had cotton stuffed up inside his constantly droning instrument.  A vast improvement if you ask me.

The heat also leads people to make interesting and occasionally questionable fashion choices.  I’ve already noted that Sydneysiders tend to go out without shoes on, a phenomena that I don’t entirely understand.  No doubt they have flip fops (thongs).  Was the two extra seconds it took to put them on too long for you?  And certainly near beaches and even our local pool, you’ll find people walking around in swimsuits (cossies), towels and less than your usual amount of clothing.  But this morning I saw a man purchasing groceries in a T-shirt and a speedo.  At least, I hope he was wearing a speedo.  There are children running around in their underwear, no shortage of shirtless guys and, even though I didn’t think it was possible for the women to wear shorter dresses when they went out, skirt lengths were chopped by a few centimeters.  Although, those women tolerated their high heels for less time than they did during fair weather.

My un-air-conditioned apartment has maintained a tolerable level of thought numbing heat, thanks to the constant harbor breeze.  And the breeze carries with it an amazing smell which I’ve only ever smelled the likes of during nights in the desert.  I’m not sure what produces it, unless there are always particles of outback sand flying through the air, but it’s really quite pleasant.  The coming summer has also seen a dramatic increase in the amount of weekly fireworks displays.  The Australian Idol Finale at the Opera House perhaps offered the most impressive example of this Aussie tradition.  I was glad to be able to watch it from the “relative” coolness of my apartment.

Fireworks

Canadian?

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Nine times out of ten, that’s how the question will be asked.  But every once in a while you meet a brave Australian who dares to ask “American?” thus risking the potential wrath of a proud Canook, a show of disdain which I hope has died down since the end of the Bush Jr. era.  But I wouldn’t know, you’d have to ask a Canadian.

I always ask if that’s why they start with the Canadian question, but most don’t admit it.  They simply say they just can’t tell the difference between the accents.  But without a tell tale “about” pronounced “aboot”, neither can I.  Despite the fact that I have picked up on many subtleties of the Australian accent since arriving here, including the tendency to say “reckon” a lot, end many statements with a cheery upward inflection and pronounce the letter H with an audible huff, I wouldn’t be able to tell a New Zealander from an Aussie unless they were wearing something bearing their respective flags which, I should mention to the Aussies, many Canadians do.

So, it’s not the confusion of the two countries that throws me off, as much as it is the way in which the question get’s asked.  It’s always either “Canadian?” or “American?”.  I can’t remember the last time I was asked “Where are you from?”.  Even when were were being asked by every Aussie we encountered “Are you on holiday?”  the follow up question was usually “Canadian?”. I don’t think I have ever asked someone where they were from by suggesting a country first.  Chinese?  Mexican?  Outer Mongolian?

Perhaps that’s because I’m keenly aware that I have no idea what subtle differences exist in the accents of certain countries and the many varied regions within them.  Even back in the States, I wouldn’t be able to guess what state someone was from unless they spoke with an accent worthy of an SNL skit or a Simpson’s character.  Although “hella” is a dead give away from a Northern Californian.  I guess you do pick up on these things after extended exposure.  I might be able to guess which continent you are from, but even then I’d be taking a stab at it.  I might even be wrong if I offered up a hemisphere, so I prefer to stick to the simple “where are you from?”.

I should mention that I have heard more than one Brit insult the Australian twists on English by saying “whose language is it?”.  Funny, I never heard that joke in the States.  Maybe they’ve finally let go of those colonies, or just desire to cut ties with us entirely.  Our neighbors to the North certainly want to.  I only hope they don’t feel about us they way these Kiwis feel about my new neighbors.

Flight of the Concords – Jermaine sleeps with an Australian

Watch the whole video.  The accent joke is the best.

Beach Junkie

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Even though last week’s trip to Bondi beach for the annual Sculpture by the Sea exhibit was a tad grey, rainy, windy, muddy and just generally bad weather for beach going, I was certainly not disheartened.  I think with two trips to the beach this weekend, I more than made up for a little spring rain.

On Saturday we took a recommendation from one of the well tanned Cobblers Beach goers and decided to head to a northern beach.  The general consensus of most Sydneysiders is that north is the way to go for the “nice” beaches.  They all seem pretty nice to me, but it is true that heading north gets you longer stretches of undisturbed sand, and beachside cliffs that aren’t built up with condos.  Even though it took one train and two buses to get there, Dee Why beach was worth the trip.  Yes, it’s called Dee Why, but that is not at all unusual when you consider the names of so many other things Australian.  It must mean something and it sure is easy to remember.

The lengthy stretch of sand was occupied by many sunbathers, surfers and even a rowing competition, but there was still plenty of room for us.  But what I enjoyed the most was not relaxing on the sand, or even watching the shirtless rowing teams, but walking through the tide pools that were just a few steps away from the rock pool full of boisterous children.  You wouldn’t think that on such an active beach, accessible tide pools would be teaming with life, but these were so full of countless clams, snails, crabs, urchins, anemones, fish and seaweeds of various shapes and sizes that it was practically an aquarium.

Today we went to Balmoral Beach, a beautiful family friendly beach in a posh part of the northern Sydney harbor.  We arrived early for our stand up paddle surfing lesson.  I first saw a paddle surfer in Hawaii, gliding gently through calm waters under a beautiful sunset.  Since I’ve always had what I call a healthy fear of water, this meditative form of surfing seemed like the perfect one for me.  It is somehow both easier and harder than it looks.

Paddling forward, turning and even standing up on the board is fairly easy, but within a few minutes you find your knees wobbling and feet cramping under the stress of constantly micro-adjusting against every twitch the board makes in the wind and waves.  You discover after a few dunks into the water (which was a very friendly temperature today) that you don’t actually need to do this.  Flotation devices are very good and staying afloat and human beings are actually quite good at balancing on two feet.  After all, we do it every day.

I now have odd cramps in my ankles, a bit of rash from belly crawling onto the board, my sinuses have been cleaned out a few times with fresh ocean water and I have one or two crispy spots where the sunscreen wore a little thin, but I do plan to go back and see if I can master a few more waves.