Australiana Weekend

Last weekend, I had my first proper Aussie experience: two nights of Paul Kelly--Australia's most famous singer/songwriter--followed by a Saturday afternoon at Bondi Beach, and finally, a scorching Sunday at the Sydney Cricket Ground to watch Australia smash England in the one-day match. By Sunday night, I was exhausted, but thoroughly satisfied with these eventful days. I might even say that after last weekend, I began to drop that awful feeling of being a tourist, and I acquired an element of the true Aussie.

A few months ago, during one of our many online chats, Dan surprised me with the news that we had tickets to the first two nights of Paul Kelly's A to Z Shows at Sydney's City Recital Hall. The A to Z shows would consist of 100 of Paul's best songs in alphabetical order four nights in a row (25 songs each night). We were booked for Thursday and Friday night, meaning we would be listening to the first half of the alphabet, A to L. I was all for Dan's decision to see the first half of the alphabet, since I'd get to hear some of my favourite tunes, like Bradman, Before Too Long, How to Make Gravy, From Little Things Big Things Grow, Careless and a few others. If you like good music, then by all means, look up Paul Kelly and listen to his music. He's a great story teller with a folky style and a melodic voice. He's sort of a mix between Bob Dylan and Jimmy Buffet...if that's even possible.

In any case, I met Dan at the train station on Thursday afternoon just after he finished work, and we rode into Sydney for an evening on the town. The show was to begin at 7:30, but we figured a local band would be opening for Paul, since he's a big supporter of aspiring musicians. We decided on dinner in Chinatown and made our way to Market City for an array of culinary options of the Asian variety. We both had delicious Singaporean laksas--mine with prawns and veggies and Dan's with beef. The time was getting closer to 7:30, so we headed towards the venue, both full of hot curry.

We arrived at the City Recital Hall at about a quarter to eight and were extremely surprised to see not a single concert-goer at the front entrance. We wondered if we had the right venue on the right night, since there was no one in sight. As we crept into the venue, we heard the faint strumming of a guitar accompanied by Paul's unmistakable voice. "Oh shit," I thought, "it's already begun!" So we rushed to our section and waited until the song ended, before the usher could open the doors and point us to our seats. Paul was already onto the letter B by the time we got there, but I was happy to hear that we didn't miss too much. As soon as we sat down on the second level directly in front of the musician, he began to play one of my favourites: Before Too Long. Dan held my hand as we spent the night listening to songs beginning with the letters A through E. Paul ended his 25 songs with Everything's Turning to White--a sad story with a somber melody--but he treated the crowd with two upbeat encores. We left the venue both appeased and excited, anticipating the songs of the following evening. We stopped for a pint at a rooftop pub and enjoyed the balmy summer evening. We even squeezed a kebab in at the end of the night! Finally, we caught one of the last trains back to Penrith, only to do the same thing the very next night.

On Friday evening, we got into Sydney a bit later than we had hoped...but this time, we were determined to be in our seats on schedule. So instead of strolling around for an hour searching for the best place to grab dinner, we chose a Malaysian restaurant within 5 minutes walking distance of the venue. Another awesome dinner. You will never go hungry in this city, especially if you have an affinity for Asian cuisine. Within 20 minutes, we scarfed down a Rendang beef curry and a black bean and chili beef stir fry. Then, we marched ourselves to the City Recital Hall and plonked down in our seats with 5 minutes to spare. I enjoyed Friday's show even better than Thursday's, discovering a few more songs to add to my Paul Kelly library. Again, he played 25 songs with two encores, filling the gaps with jokes, tales of his past and what inspired him to write certain songs. And as I left the venue--although I had spent the last two evenings listening to about 5 hours of Paul Kelly's music--I secretly wished I could go back the next two nights for more. He's a great artist on record, and an even better one live.

Now, Dan and I had big plans for the rest of the weekend, including flat inspections on Saturday morning and the cricket all day Sunday. We drove into Sydney early Saturday morning, hoping to find our new home for the next year. We saw a few places that were lovely...and some that were not-so-lovely. But what astonished me the most is how many people we were competing against for our dream accommodations. At each inspection, there were a minimum of 15 applicants, all eyeing the others to survey the competition. At one place in Surry Hills just off Oxford Street (the crème de la crème of locations), there were at least 60 other people filing in and out of this tiny one bedroom flat! "This must be a joke," I thought...but no one was laughing.

So after a nightmare of a morning, Dan suggested we spend the rest of the day doing something much more gratifying. He drove us to Bondi Beach to take part in a typical Sydney summer afternoon, where a plethora of folks were doing the same. We walked down to the surf and catching a waft of the discernible scent of sunscreen, I found myself surrounded by tanned and toned bodies in bikinis. At Bondi, the sand is white and fine and the water is warm and blue. On a day like this, everywhere you look there are people of all different shapes and colours and from all different walks of life. It is arguably the most famous beach in the world, proven by the many tourists approaching the Bondi Beach lifeguards every 10 minutes for a photo op. We spent about 45 minutes body surfing the rough waves and getting a bit of exercise. At about 5, our beach day was coming to an end, and we made our way back to Sydney for dinner and drinks with Dan's sister, Louise, and her boyfriend, Karl. Again, we opted for Asian, and this time it was Korean BBQ. You'd think I'd have been sick of Asian by then...

Sunday morning and it was time to prepare for the cricket. An Aussie once said to me, "Cricket is noble sport played by gentlemen with a rich history and an even richer tradition." I had never been to a cricket match, so I really didn't know what to expect...except that Aussies are serious about their cricket! I knew it would be taking place over the course of the day, but I could not actually grasp the idea that I'd be sitting in the same seat for eight hours watching a sport that I could hardly understand. Cricket is a quirky sport with an infinite list of rules and regulations. For example, if the batsman hits a six (equivalent to a home run in baseball), the lucky fan in the crowd who catches the ball cannot keep it. He/she has to give the ball back, because in cricket, you use the same ball for almost the entire match. Also, no two cricket grounds are identical. They vary in size, firmness of the pitch and typical weather conditions--all factors that are likely to affect the end result of the match. I've started to pick up a few things after Dan has lured me into watching one too many cricket matches on the telly, but you'll understand when I say that I wasn't expecting to follow along the entire eight hours.

Thankfully, in addition to our front-row seats, there were a few factors to consider that would make this day much more exciting for me. The first was the delectable Mediterranean-themed picnic we brought along with us. We had all the bits and pieces you could imagine--crisps, pita bread, hummus, eggplant dip, persian feta, kalamata olives, parsley, cherry tomatoes, pepperoni and pomegranate juice. You should have seen the looks on the faces of the couple sitting next to us as we revealed each new tasty snack throughout the course of the day. Their pears, ham sandwiches and weak beers looked pathetic compared to our feast. The array of goodies we munched on definitely made the day go by more pleasurably.

Secondly, the crowd at the cricket--Aussies and Barmy Army alike--added cheery entertainment to the day. One would think that only old men in high-waisted trousers and sun-blocking hats watch cricket. But on the contrary, this crowd was filled with a huge variety of spectators--families with young children, die hard fans of the sport, drunks and occasionally, the old man with the high-waisted trousers. Among the crowd, you could see fans in costume, adorning the colours of their respective countries. There were spectators wearing helmets carved out of watermelons. There were Australian and English flags flying high in each section of the circular ground. And at times, the activities going on amongst the crowd gained more attention than the teams playing cricket.

For instance, every now and then, a group of rowdy fans would start up a Mexican Wave (in America, we know it as "the wave"). Since the cricket ground is circular, this wave can go around quite a few times, before the participants get tired of standing up and throwing their hands in the air. The funniest part about this wave is that it will often drop off at the Members' Stand, as these exclusive spectators are much too posh to participate in such a crude performance. Usually, the crowd boos those who don't participate, and the wave continues with the adjacent stand in a perfectly timed fashion. For a visual, click on the following link and try to listen for the boo: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UiD5cSmGsXU.

The Mexican Wave is not the only peculiar spectacle that goes on amongst the crowd at the cricket. There is also the infamous snake, which consists of as many empty plastic beer cups as one can find, all stacked together to make a long snakelike figure. Usually, a group of young tipsy fans will collect the cups and reveal the snake only when they think it can't get any bigger. This is followed by a huge roar of applause from the crowd, which can prove to be a huge distraction from the cricket. Then, more and more groups reveal their snakes, as the crowd watches eagerly to see if the next one can get any bigger. Held up by several people, the biggest one I remember seeing could have easily been ten feet long. The security guards were hardly supporters of these amazing formations, so a few snake-makers were ejected from the stadium. I found the guards to be overreacting, since the snake-makers were just having a bit of fun. But then again, is losing your seat at the cricket worth a possible spot on TV and an applause from over 30,000 spectators? I daresay it is.

Finally, a cricket-crowd activity I came face-to-face with was the flying beach ball. Throughout the day, people in the crowd were blowing up beach balls and passing them through the stadium. As gravity would have it, a beach ball would end up on the ground from time to time, in which case, a security guard would revoke it and pop it for everyone to see. This didn't stop the crowd from producing endless amounts of beach balls. But the beach ball that topped them all was the one belonging to the couple sitting next to us. Blown up to its full capacity, this beach ball was as tall as an eight-year-old and as round as Kirstie Alley. The lad of the couple was campaigning to everyone around us to participate in blowing up this massive monstrosity. When he approached Dan and I, we said no thanks, thinking about how many different types of spit had touched the mouthpiece. We think we heard him grumble something about 7 courses of lunch and calling yourself a true Australian. I didn't care, because I was not Australian, I was happily full and I would still have front-row seats to the launch of this enormous beach ball.

At this point, the crowd was getting quite restless, and every five minutes, another rowdy spectator was being ejected or a beach ball was being revoked. Just before our ball was fully blown up, two security guards approached the lad, threatening to kick him out, or at the very least to pop his ball. After much effort from the local crowd to stray these security guards away from the path leading to the beach ball, they caught sight of the thing. To all of our amazement, they grinned and reconciled to turn around and let us continue our mission. This was the only time I heard the crowd cheer for the security guards.

After about an hour and a half of blowing up the biggest beach ball I have ever seen, the lad was ready to toss it in the air, careful not to have it land on the pitch. He launched it into the crowd and the next two minutes were filled with ooohs and aaahs, as we all struggled to keep the ball going. No one within a 100 meter radius was watching the cricket. And sadly, by the third minute, the beach ball was thrown in the wrong direction and had fallen down a staircase. It was short lived, but it was exciting...just one of the many activities that kept the long day entertaining and captivating.

And as the day drew to an end, to my dismay, Australia was gaining on England. Not before long, we all knew who would take the win that day. As we shuffled out of the stadium minutes after Australia earned their victory, I had to admit to myself that I had a great time at the cricket. Eight hours didn't seem so long, and I would even consider going to another match...that is, as long as it's not a 5-day test match.

So, I've passed the test. I've spent a weekend like a true Aussie. And I think it's safe to say that I could get used to this...

Kebabs: Eat with Caution

If you know me well, you know I'm a foodie. I will try anything within reason (no cockroaches or grasshoppers, please), and with every bite, I like to savour each component of the delicacy. I believe that food is an essential part of every culture. That's why when I travel, I'll make sure to track down the best hole in the wall to sample the local dish.

Australia is a diverse country, full of immigrants bringing their culture's culinary specialties. From the Italians, Aussies have gained the perfect espresso. From the Portuguese comes the mouth-watering charcoal chicken. Almost any type of Asian cuisine is readily available--sushi, Thai curries, laksas and hot pots. But in my opinion, none of these options compares to a Turkish-style kebab.

Also known as shawarma, durum and doner, kebabs are found in even some of the smallest Australian towns. Good for a late-night snack or a hearty lunch, the kebab comes in a variety of forms. Here, you can always choose between chicken or beef. If you're lucky, the option of lamb will also be available to you. I like mine with "the lot": cheese, hummus, tabouli, tomatoes, lettuce, onions and garlic and chili sauces. With my first bite, the hot, spicy meat in combination with the cool parsley convince me that I could be in Istanbul's Grand Bazaar.

For me, a kebab is the closest thing I can find to my beloved California burrito. Although the flavour is completely different, a kebab still provides me with many deliciously complex tastes all wrapped up into an eater-friendly concoction. The kebab is my middle-eastern burrito, and for now, it satisfies my cravings.

I've probably had about 10 kebabs, since I arrived just over 2 weeks ago. I'm restraining myself from the 11th. I've had breakfast kebabs, starting off my day with a spicy kick. I've had kebabs for lunch--hands down, the best time of day to eat one because you've got the rest of the day to digest it. Most of all, I've had late-night kebabs...which, I'll admit, can sometimes be disastrous. Do the combination of flavours make for the perfect drunken munchie? Yes. Do the greasy meat and hot chili sauce allow you to wake up feeling fresh and healthy? Not a chance. Just like you would with a burrito, you must eat your kebab with caution, respecting every ingredient that goes into the tasty treat.

Two nights ago, after a summer evening of perhaps too much Aussie brew, Dan and I intensely looked each other in the eye and immediately knew what the other wanted: a kebab. We left the pub at about midnight, and by 1 o'clock, each of us had scarfed down a big beef kebab. They were absolutely delicious, but I felt awful the next morning. I swore to myself that I would wait at least a month before my next kebab. But, as I sit here writing about my my vice--the warm and toasty bread, the deliciously spicy meat, the awesome combination of sauces and veggies--my mouth waters and my craving takes over. Kebabs are just that good.

New Year's Eve in Sydney

At least once in your life, you must make your way to Sydney, Australia on December 31st for the fireworks spectacular over the Sydney Harbour. I am certainly not a fireworks enthusiast, but I can appreciate a good show when I see one. And this, my friends, was a good show. Of course, it didn't hurt that we had prime seating at the waterfront of Sydney's Royal Botanic Gardens. From this

perspective, we could clearly see the Opera House, the Harbour Bridge and the gorgeous seaside houses along Sydney Harbour's northern shores. We didn't have to bother mixing with the masses that were mainly congregating at Circular Quay near the Opera House, but also through other areas of the harbour's beautiful shorelines. Seeing people who had even camped out a day early to get the ideal vantage point, I knew I was lucky to be enjoying this world-renowned event from one of the best seats in the house.

Dan and I arrived at the gardens to meet his family for a picnic dinner, just as the initial 9 o'clock show began. The 9 o'clock fireworks show is meant primarily for younger children, whose bedtimes sadly come before the midnight extravaganza. This show was fairly impressive, though it didn't include the fireworks over the Harbour Bridge, which are reserved for the official show at midnight. I munched away on my chicken roll and potato salad, as the sky lit up with a rainbow of colours. Teals, magentas, golds and violets shined into view, and I marvelled at the sight before me. Dan's sister, Louise, leant over to me and whispered, "This is nothing...just you wait until midnight." And my excitement grew a bit more.

After about 15 minutes, the pre-show came to an end, while the festivities were just beginning. We drank wine, ate delicious finger foods, chatted, laughed and revelled with the other groups of spectators--all of us waiting for the night to draw closer and closer to 12 o'clock. Suffering from jetlag and a massive time difference, I was having some trouble fighting off the drowsy feeling. Louise caught me yawning, and she assured me that another drink was all I needed to keep myself up. I was skeptical of her advice, but I listened anyway. I didn't want to be the party pooper, missing out on this once-in-a-lifetime experience. So, I poured myself another drink...and then another, and then another, until surely I was not drowsy anymore, but rather, quite tipsy!

We were enjoying ourselves so much that by the time midnight came around, and the official fireworks show began, we had completely forgotten the midnight countdown! Not until a few minutes into the magnificent show, when Louise came over to kiss me on the cheek and wish me a Happy New Year, did I realise what I had missed. I suppose time had literally flown by, since were were having so much fun.

This time, being the official midnight showing, the fireworks last nearly half an hour, and the sky was again filled with bright colours and smoke. With all the bangs and booms and smoke filling the air, we couldn't help but have the eery feeling that this is what being a war must feel like. Needless to say, I felt quite happy and thankful for where I was and what I had in my life. And just as Louise had promised, this midnight show easily outdid the previous one. The fireworks spewing out over the Harbour Bridge were both unique and entertaining, and they definitely added an extra element to the midnight show.

Though I almost want to cringe at the idea of how much money was spent in one evening, I have to admit that the city of Sydney puts on an amazing show. I now understand why Sydneysiders are so proud of their city on this celebratory night. Throughout my years, I have found that most people think of New Year's Eve as a big disappointment--an anticlimax resulting from spending too much time and money deciding where to go, what to wear and whom to kiss. BUT, if you're looking for anything but a dull and disappointing night, then next New Year's Eve, get yourself to Sydney for a world famous celebration. I promise you won't regret it.

LAX to SYD - Migrating South for the Winter

Signing in from Sydney, Australia! And a new chapter in my life begins...

I must admit, the journey over was a bit disastrous. After a week of very little sleep, frantically tying up loose ends and packing up my life into boxes and two overstuffed suitcases, I finally bid farewell to my Northridge home on the evening of December 29th, 2010. My brother, Bobak, and sister, Bahar, were the ones to take me to LAX and see me off. Once we got there, all three of us began the mad hustle of shifting the kilos from one suitcase to the other. As I knelt on the floor of Tom Bradley International Terminal next to these two monstrous bags, I thought to myself, "Do I really need all this crap?" Too late.

It was time to head to my gate. Watching my sister's eyes fill with tears, I quickly kissed her and my brother goodbye and promised them I'd see them soon down under. I never do well with goodbyes, and this one wasn't any easier. So, I marched over to security with at least 40 pounds on my back, and I proceeded like the rest of the travelling sheep through the TSA screening checkpoint. Living up to their reputation, TSA pulled me aside and took apart my perfectly packed carry-on bit by bit. I'm a frequent traveller, so I wasn't surprised (though I was a little irritated) to hear that everything in my carry-on had passed their standards. Desperate and exhausted, I was left there to figure out how to put the pieces of my puzzle back together.

At this point, I was dripping with sweat. I trod to the gate and plonked myself down in the first open seat I could find. There wasn't much time until boarding, but I really needed to catch my breath. "Oh bloody hell," I thought, "I haven't bought any duty-free booze!" So I was up again, madly searching for a duty-free shop with a decent selection of alcohol. Nothing in the shop was to my liking and I gave up, resigning to the idea that I would somehow have a better selection onboard the flight. Getting myself back to the gate, I was elated to see they had begun boarding. When they called my row, I was one of the first in queue to board Qantas flight 12, direct from LAX to SYD. I wanted to wait no longer!

Qantas is a great airline, and if you happen to be flying this route, I highly recommend considering them as your carrier. In an airline, I look for good food, good service and consistent punctuality. Qantas delivers on all three. For dinner, I had the grilled Mahi Mahi with a glass of Australian Pinot Grigio. I watched the first half of Inception and the first 20 minutes of I'm Still Here, each time dozing into a drug-induced sleep. (Word to the wise: take some sort of sleep-aid when you've got a long flight ahead of you.) Before I knew it, breakfast was being served and we were just an hour from landing.

I felt both serene and excited, as we descended to Sydney's Kingsford Smith International Airport. The last time I visited, I was pleasantly surprised by how effortlessly I managed to pass through the infamously stringent Australian customs. This time, I wasn't too worried that I would be out of there in no time. Unfortunately, I was sorely mistaken. (Second word to the wise: DO NOT TRAVEL ON A PUBLIC HOLIDAY.) Having left Los Angeles on December 29th, I arrived into Sydney on December 31st--perhaps, the most popular day of the year to be in Sydney. People from all over the world come here on this day to marvel at the New Year's Eve fireworks spectacular over the Sydney Harbour. "Well," I thought, "I might as well take my time and check out the duty-free shops on this end." About 20 minutes later, happily loaded with Tanqueray and Bailey's, I proceeded to passport control and customs with a serious look of determination on my face.

Passport control alone took at least half a sweaty hour in queue...the entire time with my behemoth of a backpack weighing me down. I thought I was going to faint. Finally, I showed the officer my passport, and he graciously allowed me into Australia. I was so relieved to not have to carry my bag anymore that I failed to notice the mosh pit of travellers fighting to get through customs. The first thing I did was grab a trolley and unload my backpack. It still hurts my neck to think of carrying that thing around. Then, I frantically searched for my baggage carousel, crossing back and forth several times before eventually locating baggage carousel 13. Oh the irony of it all...

Still, my main objective was to get myself out of that horrible place as soon as possible. I spotted my massive suitcases quickly (how could I miss them??), and I struggled to heave them off the carousel onto my trolley. I was rather disappointed to find that one of them had suffered some war wounds on the journey over. It looked like a rabid dog had torn a big hole through it! "Oh well--focus on the task at hand!" I thought. I pushed the trolley over to the first mile-long queue I saw, and I waited there impatiently. A customs officer saw that I was travelling alone, and he approached me with some golden advice.

"Anything to declare?" he asked.

"No. Nothing," I answered back.

He pointed me in the direction of a yellow exit door for those who had "Nothing to Declare."

This group of people weren't really in a queue, but rather in a disorganised mess of sweaty travellers, duffle bags, trolleys and suitcases--all trying to squeeze through that inviting yellow door. I eased over to the mess and tried to shimmy my way to the front. Somehow, I managed to get through without having a panic attack. And though the experience was extremely unpleasant, I did get out of the customs hall much quicker than I would have through the other doors.

Practically flying into the arrivals terminal--pushing at least 75 kilos worth of baggage--I spotted my boyfriend, Dan, from afar, and I rushed over to give him a big sweaty kiss. I felt sheer relief that I made it through customs alive, and although I was a bit drowsy, I was ready for the evening's festivities to come. Dan escorted me to his mum's Ford, and at that moment, my Aussie adventure began.

When you travel, you learn something new every step of the way. I would like to share with you the moral of this particular step of my journey: Pack light.