The Great Sydney Dust Storm

Me with my hair all crazy. It has been windy ever since...the Sydney Dust Storm! pictured below.

So Gabe, a Fulbrighter in Canberra, spent the night last Tuesday the 21st, that's right, the DAY BEFORE THE DUST STORM. He was on his way home to America for a mini-vacation and needed somewhere to stay, so I left the key out for him Tuesday afternoon while I went to class and did a presentation. (Which went rather poorly, due to extreme lack of class participation or, even, class attendance). It started THUNDERING and POURING RAIN in the last five minutes of class, so on the ten-minute sprint to the bus stop I got soaked. Gabe couldn’t have had better timing because I managed to dash from my bus stop to the closest pub, and Gabe brought my raincoat and some umbrellas so it was all good. Had a headache, and Gabe was tired too. We were both asleep by 10 with the wind howling outside. Little did I know this would be the beginning of a week-long headache, and a week-long cold, windy snap…winds ten to twenty knots, highs of twenty Celsius, and the infernal headache…

Woke up at dawn on Wednesday morning and the sky was RED--the entire world was bathed in orange-reddish light. I thought it was the Apocalypse but then I saw a businessman march by on his way to the bus stop, and I figured if the buses are still running, the Rapture hasn't come. I went back to sleep. The sun burned off the red haze, eventually, but it was a weird morning and since then—a week ago—the birds have been blowing sideways.

And yes, Gabe and I missed the memo (apparently the tv was telling people DON'T GO OUT BECAUSE YOU WILL BREATHE IN THE DUST AND DIE OF RED LUNG DISEASE or something like that) hence the nice walk down to the beach. And pretty photos. Enjoy!

Sunday September 20

In Canberra airport, watching planes take off. I just read an account of the (1971?) Luna Park fire in the airport bookstore and am feeling deeply disturbed (have you ever seen a photo of the creepy entrance to the park? If not, google it immediately. You can see the head grinning from the air). Also read, in same book, unfortunate account of seven Aborigines dragged unwillingly to America to tour with “The Greatest Show on Earth” until they all gave up and died, and their bodies were mummified. Good ol’ Barnum.

Canberra airport is, as my sixty-year-old Singaporean taxi driver informed me this morning, rather scraggly for a capital city airport. Well—no one comes here anyway, so I suppose it doesn’t matter. Again, going through security, not a single person checked my ID. Also carried an entire bottle of wine through with no difficulty. Yay!

Won’t bore you with details of the Fulbright conference, but highlights are as follows:

1. I now know someone in almost every major city in eastern Australia, including Hobart in Tasmania, and as such, I plan to begin travel immediately. Woo hoo!
2. After a special behind-the-scenes tour of Parliament House, sat in on “Question Time” with Parliament. It was HILARIOUS! Basically, it’s a chance for all members of Parliament to ask questions of the Government. You have the Opposition party on one side, Prime Minister and Deputy at a little table in the middle, Government on the other side and then the Speaker sits up in his chair and gazes stertoriously out over the melee. The Speaker’s job is to control Parliament, which at times sounds like a bunch of cats fighting. Seriously. Think of Senator Wilson yelling out “You lie!” and then imagine that half of the Senate is caterwauling the exact same thing, members of the Government are openly laughing at them, Obama is sitting patiently writing at the desk and pretending he can’t hear anything while Biden raises his voice to yell over them and Nancy Pelosi finally says, in a bored voice, “The Vice President has the floor…the Senator from South Carolina will resume his seat…” and then, increasingly sarcastically, “The Senator from SC will resume his seat…THE SENATOR from South Carolina will RESUME HIS SEAT!” Once in a while the Speaker would make EVERYONE resume their seats like unruly schoolchildren, and then say something like “if you ask a question, wait to hear the answer!” Jovial-looking interns bounce around the floor bearing glasses of water, Senators pass notes and giggle over them, we the Americans sit in the gallery above with our mouths hanging open. The highlight of the event was when a member of the Opposition asked a question (i.e. in thinly disguised vituperative, demanded to know why the Education program had failed to produce such and such results) and the Minister for Education took the podium. “I would like to thank the member from Dickson for his question,” he began, “and before I answer it I can’t help but notice that the member did not ask his question except after the Opposition leader passed him a note, presumably telling him to ask this question, and I would like to know why the Opposition leader lacks the INTEGRITY to ask the question himself…” at which point the floor positively erupted with laughter from the Government, all the members of the Opposition leaped to their feet and paced back and forth yelling things, and the Speaker boomed “Order…order…ORDER…” on a rising inflection until the member from Dickson approached the podium and demanded an apology. I can’t help but wonder just how much of the fighting is just show, so that when Australians come and watch, they can cheer for their own faction. I wonder if all the Senators get together afterward in the Café and have tea. “You know, Bruce, I didn’t really mean it, but my constituents were in the audience today so I had to say SOMETHING bad about your party…”
3. Unfortunately K Rudd did not meet with us, but we went for tea round the Ambassador’s residence, including little sandwiches with the crusts cut off. I think we averaged four tiny brownies and three sandwiches per American. Ambassador has just left and new one is about to move in, so the place was completely empty, but still utterly elegant. At the Embassy lawn, enjoyed a forest of trees planted by illustrious Americans: Colin Powell, Sandra Day O’Connor, various other secretaries of state, ambassadors, and of course we found a tiny tree planted in 2003 by Harriet Fulbright, and we all got our photo by it.
4. Had Devonshire Tea for the first time: scones (“skuns”) with cream and raspberry jam. Mmm! Averaged three scones per American. Then we all felt slightly ill afterwards.
5. Toured the National History Museum and also the War Memorial. Fascinating!

Canberra is extremely well planned and not very populated. Saturday night I met up with one of Simon’s friends, Daniel, and we watched some footy games at a pub. Unfortunately Australia’s rugby team lost horribly to New Zealand. Afterwards we went to the Casino and enjoyed some dancing in the eighties’ nightclub. Home and in bed by 1. Another wild night in the Capital.

Have purchased Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters for a mere twenty-four-ninety-five from the news agent. This is a wonderful book. Read it!

16 Sept 09: trip to Canberra!

Woken before dawn to the song of a thousand thousand birds, including a kookaburra. Stuffed the pillow over my head and managed to sleep til alarm at 0800. It was a gray, rainy morning and I had managed to pack about twelve days’ worth of clothing into my bulging backpack, purse, and little blue push-luggage. Breakfast of yoghurt, pomegranate, and cheesecake. Yay! Dropped off last night’s still-sodden laundry, which sat out on the line all night and managed to actually attract more damp, at the Laundromat. Showered with new Bath and Body Works gel and loofah. Way overpacked, so nervously removed a piece of clothing from luggage every time I walked by it. Went out to check bus schedule; noticed damp; added raincoat and more warm clothes to luggage, effectively cancelling out the earlier cleanse. Cleaned kitchen, left window open, neatly arranged Darryl’s gift--Zen poetry and art books--on imaginary coffee table; neatly arranged Karolina’s gift, The Student’s Cookbook, on kitchen counter beside Aunt Laila’s gourmet cooking magazines. Both Karolina and Darryl remembered my bday and both rather sheepishly handed me lumpy bundles of something inside wrapping paper, which fell out as I took it; Karolina had wrapped hers on the train, and Darryl wrapped his while driving…yikes. Karo and Simon have both promised to come over next Monday before class to help me unpack HHG shipment; as Simon said, “I’ll bring the muscle.”

Walked to Green Mango, tugging luggage obstinately through the hot drizzle, and asked the ladies if there was a birthday discount on my skim flat white one sugar takeaway. They know me because I order the same thing almost every morning, and they turned away and conferred for a moment before charging $2 instead of $2.50. Then they passed me a cup of coffee with a tiny birthday friand, with three teensy spun-sugar flowers, on top. “Happy Birthday!” they cried. “See you next week!”

Only waited five minutes for the 339, but by the time I got to Central Station I was super early. So I diverted to Bondi Junction, hauled my luggage up two flights of stairs and across three intersections, and popped casually into my favorite bakery. Guy behind the counter—who happens to be a neighbor of mine--cried out in horror “why would you go to Canberra for your birthday?” which is what every single person has said, so far. He explained that Canberra is lame because the City Centre is even smaller than Bondi Junction itself. I asked, shamelessly, for a birthday discount and he slipped a free tart into my order. “Cheers!”

Train back to Central, bit into the tart and yellow custard exploded over my hand and dripped into backpack. Tried not to make a spectacle of myself while grinning inanely. Massive sugar high!

Airport is idiot-proof, thank goodness. No trouble with check-in, where the pretty Singaporean lady with the Australian accent told me “Oh, there’s no liquid rule for domestic flights.” She also did not check my ID. In fact, no one did. There was no wait at security, where Security Guard #1 was pointlessly trying to direct people who were completely ignoring him toward the entirely empty belts. I took shoes off and placed on baggage before noticing that everyone else was still wearing shoes. Security Guard #2 had taken my bag and was placing it on the belt. “No laptop, right?”

“There’s a laptop!” I told him, hauling it back, and fumbling out the laptop. “is a camera ok?”
He had been joined by Security Guard #1. “A camera is fine,” said Security Guard #2. “But do you have a telephone?” asked Security Guard #1. “Yes—“ I began, and Security Guards #1,2, and 3 all giggled. Security Guard #3 ushered me through to where smiling Security Guard #4 cried “G’day mate, all well!” Yup. They were bored.

I retrieved laptop and luggage and headed for the lift, where Security Guard #5 was waiting. “G’day!” he cried, and we hopped on together. “What kind of accent is that, then? Are you American?”
“Yes—“
“Where from?”
“Connecticut.” He was shorter than me and his bright blue eyes were very twinkly.
“Ow! I know where that is. That’s where Fonzi is from, right? In Happy Days?” this is the third Aussie to make this reference.
The lift stopped and we hopped off. “Have a good ‘un!” he caroled.

Am now waiting at Terminal 38, where one lucky baby is being fussed over by three jolly aunties—all of different hair colors and none of whom look related to each other or the baby; another brand new infant is sleeping on its mom’s shoulder while an exhausted-looking Mom sucks its pacifier; and all told, we are about to board and there are only about five people in this terminal. The man behind the wine counter is doing a little dance and the lady with him is hiding her eyes. “Ah-ah-ah-ah-staying alive!” he trills.

All in all…a good start to the day, and to the trip to Canberra!

Trip to Bondi!

These are from the walk to Bondi! Again, they're in opposite order, so the one directly above this writing is actually the first, taken from Clovelly beach, and then they continue North along the coast. The cemetery is Waverly Cemetery, and most of the other beach shots are at Bronte.

...and I just realized that on that particular day, the sun set before I got to Bondi, so I stopped at Bronte, which is only halfway...Will make sure to get photos of Bondi on another trip soon!

12 September 2009

Me in my wetsuit at Bondi yesterday! Yes, it has pink stripes. Because it's awesome. The surf was like a washing machine--bad for boarding--but since then the wind has smoothed a little--plus it's supposed to be 30 degrees on Sunday! That's warm, folks!

Sandy: I know, it's repulsively cutesy, right? Try this for conversation: How ya going, my name is Louise and yes I'm from the States (Connecticut, it's like halfway between New York City and Boston), but I have a flat in Cloey, am a Master's student at Uni NSW, go for walkies on the beach, wear googlies to protect my eyes while swimming in my cossi, order my coffee flat white for takeaway, eat choc croissants and Tim-Tams and biscuits for tea, hate gridiron footy but cheer for the Swanees at AFL games. And yet I retain some vestiges of my heritage: I refuse to pronounce mocha "mucka," wouldn't touch anchovies or Vegamite with a ten-foot pole, and I have never in my life worn a pair of leggings without a skirt or shorts and I don't plan to start now. But I do love my Uggs. And not having to leave tips in restaurants is nice, too.

09Sept09

I went for walkies on the coast and took a series of snaps so y'all will know what beaches I'm talking about. These photos are all on the walk South, to Coogee, where I go for a nice, short, rambling walk with lots of birds, cafes, and people flying kites. Photos are actually in reverse order, which you can tell because first the sun sets over the beach, then it slowly grows brighter as I walk (backwards, I suppose) back to Clovelly...whoops. Sorry!

In other news, I am now qualified as an Apprentice International Australian Boogeyboarder. Membership in this very exclusive club is limited to those who: understand the difference between silicone, dolphin, and snorkel fins; can take a wetsuit on/off while in the backseat of a car in under four minutes; daily analyze the waves at Bondi, Bronte, Tamarama, and Clovelly (note: Clovelly doesn't actually have any); have spent over $300 on boogeyboarding equipment; and have helped others to purchase their very own boogeyboarding gear while proficiently using

terms like "glued seams" and loudly extolling the distinctions between the brands Roxy, Peak, Ripcurl and O'Neill's. Oh and did I mention my wetsuit is pink? Will put up a photo asap.

This whole journey, going south almost to Maroubra, takes about an hour running, one-way. If I walk, I usually end up lying on the beach (Coogee is a tourist-and kid-friendly beach, not much surfing) or sitting in a cafe.

Wednesday 02September2009

September 1 is, according to Oz, the first day of spring. Yayyy! Unfortunately this is a cooler week, with highs in the high sixties. Wow, listen to me complain. You wouldn’t know I was born in CT, would you? But Karolina, my tiny Polish friend, agrees with me. “Yes, Poland was wow very freezing, but we come to Australia and is supposed to be desert and instead I am sleeping with heater on every night!” Oooh I have a photo of her, I forgot, and that’s Simon next to her—this was during Pols class on Tuesday—

And here’s one of her and her cute Polish boyfriend, Paul, on the beach at Cronulla:



Craig’s (another Fulbright alum) birthday was on Sunday and he had a party Saturday night. I did my usual cooking thing, by which I mean I gathered a bunch of recipes online and picked my favorite parts and managed to produce a chocolate cake with coconut rum frosting which had people surreptitiously running their fingers along the bottom of the cake pan to lick up the extra. The cake was fun to make, too, not the least because I had to buy a large bottle of rum and as you can imagine, my new recipe goes something like “three tablespoons of rum for the icing, a swig for the cook, half a cup for the cake, another swig for the cook…”

After my unhappy swimming experiment last week, Darryl took me to Bondi on Sunday and helped me pick out a wetsuit and boogie board. With my pocketbook considerably lightened, then, we tackled the waves. And oh my goodness…you have not seen big waves until you have come to Australia. This surf was BIG. I definitely had more than one “oh $*@” moment, and at one point I was perched on the crest of a MONSTER looking down a fifteen foot green cliff and pitching forward perilously (afterward Darryl said, in the understated way these people do, “you may want to try going sideways down the wave a little, or else you might fall straight down the front…”)

Anyway, we were happily beaten up by the sea for a few hours and pleased with how warm I felt afterward, I decided two days ago to go for a swim down at Clovelly Baths again. The usual twenty minute walk plus ten minutes to struggle into the wetsuit (my fingers are actually bruised from trying on so many wetsuits last weekend…) and I popped out onto the boardwalk to find a huge hose sucking all the water out of the bath, and jolly city workers in their bright yellow vests scraping the baths clean. How thoughtless!

So I gritted my teeth and marched into the surf. It wasn’t too bad, except for the psychological effects that accrue from reading too much Bill Bryson (try swimming among cliffs, rocks, surf, and more rocks while reciting the mantra “sharks. jellyfish. rip tides. sharks. jellyfish…”) Anyway I was joined by two or three other souls (who were braver, I noticed, and ventured all the way out to the far headlands where the surf was breaking). Anyway I survived and even enjoyed myself. Am going back tomorrow, as a matter of fact; lower impact than running, and you get the fun afterwards of putting on the new bikini and laying out in the sun with a hot coffee on the excuse of “must warm up before I venture back inside to do homework!”

No news yet on my furniture shipment. But my two new Denise Austin tapes arrived!

We conclude with this important message from the Randwick City Council.

30 Aug 2009

On Friday night Stesha and I went swing dancing! It was a forty minute bus and train trip to Newtown, in the Inner West near the University of Sydney (I live in the Eastern Suburbs). We stayed for a great Charleston lesson and then social dancing, met some really nice people, and had fun. I was a little humbled to see just how out of practice I am, and at the same time, completely invigorated. I mniss dancing so much! I asked around, but alas, Denver and Seattle remain the only cities where I have enjoyed swing cafes. The Universities don’t even have swing clubs. I don’t know how these people stay in such good practice. Anyway, Stesha and I went for nachos afterward and I caught the last bus home, at 1256 a.m. with about a minute and a half to spare.

Thank goodness it’s a gray sort of Saturday, so I will be able to catch up on some work, etc. I have been researching a good deal into the Project, and enjoying what I have found, and feeling a little more balanced, so that this week I really will be able to concentrate just on some school work. Yasmeen, I bought new shoes that made me think of you, because although they are not something I would normally get (pink and sort of beige and brown, with little straps across the top), the saleslady smiled at me and said they were “different” and I always admire your taste in shoes (it’s “different”) so there you go.

Cooking is going well. I made brownies last week and for three days in a row, took a plate of them to my neighbor’s apartment and knocked on her door, but she was never in. After three days I had already downsized the plate enough that I figured I’d better just eat the last few. I have finally admitted that I just can’t cook sausages: in the last two months, I got cheek from some “gourmet” sausage salesman when I tried to buy a $2 sausage with a $50 bill; another sausage actually exploded in the pan and all over my walls; and two nights ago, I melted a plastic spatula to the frying pan (no, I did not attempt to eat the sausage and yes, I know this can cause cancer, thank you). So no more sausage for me. I did try grilling a steak in the oven, which came out just mediocre but improved vastly with the addition of blue cheese/cream sauce and red wine-sauteed mushrooms. Mmm.

29 August 2009

It rained last night, and dawned cloudy and gray. I am relieved because every other day for the last week, the birds have shrieked their first “good morning” in the pitch black, and I wake a minute or two earlier every day from the sun on my face, making a mockery of the blinds. The weather is windy, but so unseasonably warm that everyday tasks—walking to university, to the grocery store, to the shopping mall—become delightful romps. I have been used to running in the afternoon to catch the warmth of the day, but this is no longer possible, as I tried a few days ago and cut my run in half, finishing crouched in the shade of a rock and ducking into a convenience store for a three dollar Vitamin Water. Yes, I am using sunscreen.

I bought a new bikini and one of those long nylon Roxy shirts (Aussies call them rashers, no idea why) and Friday morning, I kitted up and went swimming! Not in the ocean, but in one of the many baths, essentially a laned swimming pool made of concrete and build into the rock. Every beach has them, some larger than others, saltwater and natural, waves breaking over the side. Having seen dozens of persons jump in (most wearing wetsuits, hmm), I was hoping they were free for public use. I traipsed out into the sun with my goggles and a bus ticket in a little plastic baggie (in case of emergency, I carry my bus ticket everywhere). I was sweating in the 20 minutes it took to walk down to Clovelly Beach. There was a group of girls wearing identical uniforms of t-shirts and black shorts that said “gymnastics;” a few naked toddlers on the sand; and on the opposite side of the inlet, several persons in hats and baggy jackets flitting around with reflecting screens and tripods while an impossibly tall, leggy lady in a tight blue dress and stilettos arranged herself against the rocks. This is the second photo shoot I have seen in two weeks—the other was up at Bronte Beach, just around the headland, and I am tempted to start buying fashion magazines to see if I can identify the background.

So just in case the baths aren’t free, I wait until everyone else is staring at the model, shuck down to Roxy shirt and swimsuit (“cossie,” short for bathing costume) and leap into the water. Then I cross my arms over my chest and assume the HELP, that is, the Heat Escape Lessening Position, which we learned in lifeguarding as one of the first steps to warding off hypothermia. After a moment I am able to uncrank myself through sheer willpower (the dialogue in my head goes something like “well this is embarrassing, do I want to swim or don’t I? Yes I do, but it would be even more embarrassing if I made the headlines in a foreign country for going into hypothermic shock because I decided that I was too cheap to buy a wetsuit…”etc.) Besides, I am only in the baths, and out in the actual surf is an ancient woman in a bikini doing actual laps. So I drop forward and begin to stroke. Instant, sheer headache as though someone had clamped blocks of ice on either side of my forehead. I struggle through the water a few more times until I begin to feel dizzy; panicking a little, I sit up, and the dizziness ceases. I look around and realize that the waves, washing over the top of the pool, are smacking the water violently back and forth; hence, dizzy swirling sensation.

So that was it. I went gamely on for half an hour, somehow, before climbing out with dignity (all the gymnastics girls were lined up watching the blue lady pose) and walking home. I was nearly dry by the time I got back, but I had brought no money, so I bought no coffee. I think I shall buy a wetsuit.