Well, mine, actually.
Fleeing the country and lying on a beach sounds tempting at any time of the year, but right now it seems to be the answer to your problems.
Hmmmm....
30 April 2005
29 April 2005
Snug in the Fug
London
Novelty of the moment: leaving perishables outside on the window sill to keep them cool.
We ostensibly travel to discover things about the world and unfamiliar cultures, but in that process discover something about ourselves. As I've mentioned before, I've spend most of my 35 years in a subtropical climate. Since spending the past three months in nippier regions I've realised that I don't much like heating. I've been vaguely aware of this prior to now, but it's only just made the short but significant journey into my conscious mind.
Houses in my corner of the globe are not designed for cold weather, as a general rule. And personally I've never owned a heater. During the course of the annual six-week period we refer to -- for convenience -- as "winter", to alleviate the chill Banana Benders will shut the windows at night, pull on a pair of slippers and a jumper and be done with it. The rest of the world, I'm realising, will not only slam the windows shut, but leave them that way until summer, then crank up the thermostat to a torrid level and be content to breathe the same thick, stale air for six months. This bikini-clad, mango-suckin' babe can taste it, and she doesn't like it one bit. This comes to mind as I sit in my now-hot hotel room; I shivered and tossed under my paultry allocation of one blanket last night, but couldn't quite bring myself to flick the oil heater on. Tonight I conceded -- I'll sleep snug, but I'll greet the day grimy in a close fug of stale snores and steamy socks.
Tip for Happy Living: worrying about the trivial takes your mind off the real problems.
Novelty of the moment: leaving perishables outside on the window sill to keep them cool.
We ostensibly travel to discover things about the world and unfamiliar cultures, but in that process discover something about ourselves. As I've mentioned before, I've spend most of my 35 years in a subtropical climate. Since spending the past three months in nippier regions I've realised that I don't much like heating. I've been vaguely aware of this prior to now, but it's only just made the short but significant journey into my conscious mind.
Houses in my corner of the globe are not designed for cold weather, as a general rule. And personally I've never owned a heater. During the course of the annual six-week period we refer to -- for convenience -- as "winter", to alleviate the chill Banana Benders will shut the windows at night, pull on a pair of slippers and a jumper and be done with it. The rest of the world, I'm realising, will not only slam the windows shut, but leave them that way until summer, then crank up the thermostat to a torrid level and be content to breathe the same thick, stale air for six months. This bikini-clad, mango-suckin' babe can taste it, and she doesn't like it one bit. This comes to mind as I sit in my now-hot hotel room; I shivered and tossed under my paultry allocation of one blanket last night, but couldn't quite bring myself to flick the oil heater on. Tonight I conceded -- I'll sleep snug, but I'll greet the day grimy in a close fug of stale snores and steamy socks.
Tip for Happy Living: worrying about the trivial takes your mind off the real problems.
28 April 2005
Londinium
London lived up to its reputation for "intriguing" weather yesterday. I arrived in the city at lunchtime, at which point it was warm and clear. I stepped out of the Victoria and Albert Musuem a couple of hours later into a wild and freezing storm, ran down the street with my umbrella turned inside out, heading for shelter. Walking back to my hotel after a coffee the glare of the sunshine off the wet pavement was almost unbearable. By the time I kicked off my boots and made a cup of tea a fine drizzle had settled in. As they say, if you don't like the weather, just wait 5 minutes.
Current Terminology
Collingham to London
National Rail: Tickets checked by "Revenue Protection Officers". Conductors these days, it seems, only facilitate the flow of an electrical current.
National Rail: Tickets checked by "Revenue Protection Officers". Conductors these days, it seems, only facilitate the flow of an electrical current.
25 April 2005
Diplomatic Duties
You may think that being an Australian abroad is a role free of responsibilities. Not so. Today I engaged in a spot of boomerang throwing ("Do you learn to throw boomerangs at school?" -- Harry, aged 11), declined to eat stuffing (un-Australian, sorry) and managed not to laugh in my mohair sweater as the locals complained of the stifling heat (I think it was about 20'C/68'F). It's ANZAC Day tomorrow. These acts are my duty.
24 April 2005
I've just looked in the mirror mistook it for the cover of Vogue
Yup, lookin' reeeeeeeeeal good. 30 hours with no sleep, a traumatic departure, some jaw-dropping scenery, two flights, 8 time zones and about 16 litres of water. I'm fighting the sensation of the movement of a boat to type this. Lincolnshire is the current location, estimated time of departure for the Land of Nod: two minutes' time.
22 April 2005
Victoria to Vancouver
The challenge in describing any of life's great moments is in finding a way to do so without resort to cliche. Parting from a loved one, viewing spectacular scenery, the birth of a child; it's at these times our language seems a poor servant* indeed. The urge to relate these experiences to others is, for me at least, compelling, yet rarely do I find language fitting that hasn't been devalued by overuse. For example, the parting: heartbreaking, tearful, poignant, sweet sorrow. A mountain range: magnificent, awe-inspiring, dramatic, majestic. Ho hum.
What is it that drives us to capture and share these succulent droplets of time? After all, the experiences are hardly unique, and an account can not possibly recreate the experience with the order of intensity it first had. I wonder if it's not simply a statement of "this moment was sacred, this needs to be honoured", like a small shrine at a window into something higher than our mortal, everyday existence. And so they should be honoured as they are the reminders that our lives are fleeting, that people are precious, that the world is so much bigger than you, that your cellulite and mobile phone are not really worth the importance you give them. Odd that we should need to have our memories jogged on these points, really, but so many of us do, and often.
I've had a larger-than-average portion of magical time today; an eye-prickling, heart-wrenching, stomach-lurching, sighing, gasping banquet, in fact. So let me tell you, most emphatically: people are precious, our lives are fleeting, the world is so much bigger than you, your cellulite and mobile phone are not really worth the importance you give them.
*Or perhaps that's "master".
What is it that drives us to capture and share these succulent droplets of time? After all, the experiences are hardly unique, and an account can not possibly recreate the experience with the order of intensity it first had. I wonder if it's not simply a statement of "this moment was sacred, this needs to be honoured", like a small shrine at a window into something higher than our mortal, everyday existence. And so they should be honoured as they are the reminders that our lives are fleeting, that people are precious, that the world is so much bigger than you, that your cellulite and mobile phone are not really worth the importance you give them. Odd that we should need to have our memories jogged on these points, really, but so many of us do, and often.
I've had a larger-than-average portion of magical time today; an eye-prickling, heart-wrenching, stomach-lurching, sighing, gasping banquet, in fact. So let me tell you, most emphatically: people are precious, our lives are fleeting, the world is so much bigger than you, your cellulite and mobile phone are not really worth the importance you give them.
*Or perhaps that's "master".
United flight 1132 from Vancouver to Chicago
Safety video narrated by Troy McClure doing Travis Bickle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
- 1 Oreo cookie
- 1 Milky Way approx. 2 cubic centimetres in volume
- 1 box crystallised raisins measuring approx 1 x 3 x 4cm. (Ate 2, declined the rest)
- 1 small wedge processed orange cheese (Inedible. Only for those who ate Playdoh as children.)
- I weeny, weeny packet of corn chips with liberal coating of what I believe to be uranium.
- 1 cup of juice (quite palatable, to be fair.)
So it was with low expectations I awaited my gastronomic fate on this journey. I can honestly say that I have no complaints about the air fare this time, simply because there was none. Unless, of course, you cared to purchase it. Which you could do, if that way inclined, provided you had Canadian or American cash, and hadn't spent it all at the airport, knowing that the ten dollars you had left in coins was useless to you the moment you'd left the airport.
There were some jolly japes to be had, though, simply by asking for juice and coffee when the refreshments trolley came around. That's right!! I asked for both! At once!! Heh, you've got to make amusement where you can, and I located it readily in watching the contortions on the attendant's face as she processed this impertinance. (Perhaps extra helpings are docked form their pay packets.) Throw in "...and no ice, please" and the memory of her wrestling to suppress apoplexy will guarantee freedom from boredom for a good fifteen minutes.
I understand that it is the custom in some parts of the world to celebrate a safe landing with a round of relieved applause and cheering. I think this is splendid form. It would have been wholly in order once our wheels were on the ground in Chicago tonight. As the ground drew nearer the plane rolled from side to side like a trawler in a stiff Northerly...as did my stomach.
My lips clenched as if threaded with a drawstring in an effort to suppress a jubilant "WHOO HOO!!!" once we settled into a sedate taxi and my vital organs had left my throat. It was the thoughts of being whisked away for a friendly strip search and a holiday in on the Eastern tip of Cuba that ultimately kept me quiet.
*Travel tip: Think twice before spending the day before a flight with a perverse air crash enthusiast.
20 April 2005
18 April 2005
Over!
I took a stroll this afternoon down to the waterfront to have what is likely a last look at my favorite scene here in Victoria, to wit:
Photo from Tourism Victoria
(360 view here)
Sadly, the mountains had modestly drawn their rainy skirts around themselves and were nowhere to be seen. There was a generous serving of compensation to be had, though, thanks to thirteen men standing around a field dressed in cream cable-knit jumpers. I speak, of course, of cricket.
Cricket has drawn my interest since I was very young, but in recent years my favour has wavered, largely due to the ridiculous posturing and cranky-making ego-stroking involved in the professional game. The match today was a reminder of the beauty to be found in grown men idly tonking a block of cork around a paddock.
Soon after I sat down to watch the players left the field, prompting me to turn to the only other occupant of the bench and ask if that was the match over, or simply the innings. He turned to me, pulled the cigar from his lips and said in a sleepy Ontario drawl, "This is the first time I've ever seen this, so I don' know what they're doin'! How long do they usually play for, anyways?" I broke it to him as gently as I could that matches can go on for up to five days, but that I doubted we'd see such stamina here today. Realising that he had someone on hand to interpret the strange on-field to-ings and fro-ings he asked me a bit about the game, all of which I imparted happily, albeit mindful that my enthusiasm would not likely be matched. I explained why they were rubbing sweat on the ball and each grinding it into their groins in turn, and how that affects swing. He also went away with an understanding of why the seats looking down the pitch give a better view of the game, and how to tell if you're watching a decent bowler or batsman. I stopped before he looked too bored.
Victoria Cricket Club
When the players returned to the field -- it had been the end of the innings, after all -- it was clear that there was a lot of love for the game out there. Being a marginal sport here in Canada, the team was of mixed ages and abilities, with the older, more experienced players instructing and encouraging upcoming players along the way. Although we saw some very keen bowling as the overs rolled on, it was without the obnoxious strutting bravado I've come to find so infuriating when watching on the box. These men were not there to feed their fragile egos, but to play for the joy of playing well, and enhance that pleasure by sharing it with others. In short, they played like a team. And isn't that what cricket's all about?
Photo from Tourism Victoria
Sadly, the mountains had modestly drawn their rainy skirts around themselves and were nowhere to be seen. There was a generous serving of compensation to be had, though, thanks to thirteen men standing around a field dressed in cream cable-knit jumpers. I speak, of course, of cricket.
Cricket has drawn my interest since I was very young, but in recent years my favour has wavered, largely due to the ridiculous posturing and cranky-making ego-stroking involved in the professional game. The match today was a reminder of the beauty to be found in grown men idly tonking a block of cork around a paddock.
Soon after I sat down to watch the players left the field, prompting me to turn to the only other occupant of the bench and ask if that was the match over, or simply the innings. He turned to me, pulled the cigar from his lips and said in a sleepy Ontario drawl, "This is the first time I've ever seen this, so I don' know what they're doin'! How long do they usually play for, anyways?" I broke it to him as gently as I could that matches can go on for up to five days, but that I doubted we'd see such stamina here today. Realising that he had someone on hand to interpret the strange on-field to-ings and fro-ings he asked me a bit about the game, all of which I imparted happily, albeit mindful that my enthusiasm would not likely be matched. I explained why they were rubbing sweat on the ball and each grinding it into their groins in turn, and how that affects swing. He also went away with an understanding of why the seats looking down the pitch give a better view of the game, and how to tell if you're watching a decent bowler or batsman. I stopped before he looked too bored.
Victoria Cricket Club
When the players returned to the field -- it had been the end of the innings, after all -- it was clear that there was a lot of love for the game out there. Being a marginal sport here in Canada, the team was of mixed ages and abilities, with the older, more experienced players instructing and encouraging upcoming players along the way. Although we saw some very keen bowling as the overs rolled on, it was without the obnoxious strutting bravado I've come to find so infuriating when watching on the box. These men were not there to feed their fragile egos, but to play for the joy of playing well, and enhance that pleasure by sharing it with others. In short, they played like a team. And isn't that what cricket's all about?
Circadian Dysrhythmia
On Wednesday I fly to the UK. In the course of this trip I'll be crossing a grand total of eight time zones, so am keenly anticipating the joy of having my circadian rhythms totally screwed up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What Is Jet Lag?
(from jetlag.co.nz)
* Fatigue
Being worn out and tired for days after arriving, generally accompanied by a lack of concentration and motivation, especially for any activity that requires effort or skill, such as driving, reading or discussing a business deal.
[So, a watertight excuse to lay in bed for a week]
But even simple daily activities can become harder, and one's capacity to truly enjoy a tourist holiday is significantly reduced.
* Disorientation, fuzziness
Having to return to check three times to see if a hotel room was left locked or unlocked is a typical symptom reported by flight crews experiencing jet-lag.
[Thankfully, I'm not staying in a hotel. But this fuzziness... will that abate, or will I need to seek depilation?]
* Becoming irrational or unreasonable
"Losing it" is another symptom reported by aircrew, which explains why long-haul flights get very tedious near the end, and why going through customs and immigration and getting to the hotel often seems like a real drama.
[And I'd always thought that being wedged into a cramped seat with a small child kicking the back of my chair for sixteen hours was what made the flight tedious. No. It's the malevolent jet lag.]
* Broken sleep after arrival
Crossing time zones can cause you to wake during the night and then want to fall asleep during the day at your new location. Your inbuilt circadian rhythms have been disturbed, and it can take days for the body to readjust. NASA estimates you need one day for every time zone crossed to regain normal rhythm and energy levels. So a 5-hour time difference means you may require five days to get back to normal! Can you afford that?
[*gasp!* Not with my high-powered lifestyle I can't! And how does NASA know my itinerary, anyway?]
In addition to the above symptoms of jet-lag, the syndrome is made worse by some common physical problems caused by being confined in an airliner for hours:
* Dehydration
This can cause headaches, dry skin and nasal irritation, and make you more susceptible to any colds, coughs, sore throats and flu that are floating round in the aircraft.
[Nasal irritation?]
* Discomfort of legs and feet
Limbs swelling while flying can be extremely uncomfortable, and in some cases may prevent travelers wearing their normal shoes for up to 24 hours after arrival.
[Popeye was a frequent flyer.]
A report from the World Health Organisation directly links jet-lag with problems of diarrhoea caused by microbiological contamination of water or food, which it says affects about 50% of long-haul travellers. "Factors such as travel fatigue, jet-lag, a change in diet, a different climate and a low level of immunity may aggravate the problem by reducing a traveller's resistance and making them more susceptible to this type of infection or poisoning," the report says.
[Great. A dose of the squits on top of having grotesquely distended limbs and "losing it" at customs due to severe nasal irritation.]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To Minimise The Effects Of Jet Lag
Journey is eastward through 8 timezones.
* What to do on the flight
Try to maintain a sufficient fluid intake - not all alcoholic - so as to prevent dehydration. Don't forget to have the occasional stroll to guard against muscle cramp. If you want to sleep, only do so if it is coincident with night time at your destination.
[Not all alcoholic? So 15 vodkas is just fine, so long as you temper it with a soda occasionally?
Perhaps another tip might be to remember that you've had a sleeping tablet before accepting the flight attendant's kind offer of a measure of sake... voice of experience here.]
* Exposure to light on arrival
Try to adjust your activities and lifestyle to be coincident with those at your destination.
[Unfortunately, I'm going to Britain, where there is no sunlight.]
* On day one at your destination:
Try to be active in bright light between 1 p.m. and 7 p.m. on the new local time. Try to relax and avoid bright light between 5 a.m. and 11 a.m. on the new local time.
* On day two at your destination:
Try to be active in bright light between 11 a.m. and 5 p.m. on the new local time. Try to relax and avoid bright light between 3 a.m. and 9 a.m. on the new local time.
* On day three at your destination:
Try to be active in bright light between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m. on the new local time. Try to relax and avoid bright light between 1 a.m. and 8 a.m. on the new local time.
After that, enjoy the environment at your destination
[No, you misunderstand; I'm going to England]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Perhaps I should phone ahead to have an ambulance waiting.
(from jetlag.co.nz)
* Fatigue
Being worn out and tired for days after arriving, generally accompanied by a lack of concentration and motivation, especially for any activity that requires effort or skill, such as driving, reading or discussing a business deal.
[So, a watertight excuse to lay in bed for a week]
But even simple daily activities can become harder, and one's capacity to truly enjoy a tourist holiday is significantly reduced.
* Disorientation, fuzziness
Having to return to check three times to see if a hotel room was left locked or unlocked is a typical symptom reported by flight crews experiencing jet-lag.
[Thankfully, I'm not staying in a hotel. But this fuzziness... will that abate, or will I need to seek depilation?]
* Becoming irrational or unreasonable
"Losing it" is another symptom reported by aircrew, which explains why long-haul flights get very tedious near the end, and why going through customs and immigration and getting to the hotel often seems like a real drama.
[And I'd always thought that being wedged into a cramped seat with a small child kicking the back of my chair for sixteen hours was what made the flight tedious. No. It's the malevolent jet lag.]
* Broken sleep after arrival
Crossing time zones can cause you to wake during the night and then want to fall asleep during the day at your new location. Your inbuilt circadian rhythms have been disturbed, and it can take days for the body to readjust. NASA estimates you need one day for every time zone crossed to regain normal rhythm and energy levels. So a 5-hour time difference means you may require five days to get back to normal! Can you afford that?
[*gasp!* Not with my high-powered lifestyle I can't! And how does NASA know my itinerary, anyway?]
In addition to the above symptoms of jet-lag, the syndrome is made worse by some common physical problems caused by being confined in an airliner for hours:
* Dehydration
This can cause headaches, dry skin and nasal irritation, and make you more susceptible to any colds, coughs, sore throats and flu that are floating round in the aircraft.
[Nasal irritation?]
* Discomfort of legs and feet
Limbs swelling while flying can be extremely uncomfortable, and in some cases may prevent travelers wearing their normal shoes for up to 24 hours after arrival.
[Popeye was a frequent flyer.]
A report from the World Health Organisation directly links jet-lag with problems of diarrhoea caused by microbiological contamination of water or food, which it says affects about 50% of long-haul travellers. "Factors such as travel fatigue, jet-lag, a change in diet, a different climate and a low level of immunity may aggravate the problem by reducing a traveller's resistance and making them more susceptible to this type of infection or poisoning," the report says.
[Great. A dose of the squits on top of having grotesquely distended limbs and "losing it" at customs due to severe nasal irritation.]
Journey is eastward through 8 timezones.
* What to do on the flight
Try to maintain a sufficient fluid intake - not all alcoholic - so as to prevent dehydration. Don't forget to have the occasional stroll to guard against muscle cramp. If you want to sleep, only do so if it is coincident with night time at your destination.
[Not all alcoholic? So 15 vodkas is just fine, so long as you temper it with a soda occasionally?
Perhaps another tip might be to remember that you've had a sleeping tablet before accepting the flight attendant's kind offer of a measure of sake... voice of experience here.]
* Exposure to light on arrival
Try to adjust your activities and lifestyle to be coincident with those at your destination.
[Unfortunately, I'm going to Britain, where there is no sunlight.]
* On day one at your destination:
Try to be active in bright light between 1 p.m. and 7 p.m. on the new local time. Try to relax and avoid bright light between 5 a.m. and 11 a.m. on the new local time.
* On day two at your destination:
Try to be active in bright light between 11 a.m. and 5 p.m. on the new local time. Try to relax and avoid bright light between 3 a.m. and 9 a.m. on the new local time.
* On day three at your destination:
Try to be active in bright light between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m. on the new local time. Try to relax and avoid bright light between 1 a.m. and 8 a.m. on the new local time.
After that, enjoy the environment at your destination
[No, you misunderstand; I'm going to England]
Perhaps I should phone ahead to have an ambulance waiting.
12 April 2005
Six, Oh.
Congratulations on making 60, Des; sorry about the circumstances keeping me from celebrating with you. Hope you have a good one.
xx
xx
10 April 2005
Alone Ranger
This thought is not original, but I think it bears repeating, nonetheless.
Ultimately, each of us is alone.
This may seem like a maudlin statement; an indication, perhaps, that this particular cork is bobbing on an especially cold and empty ocean at present. Not so, on both counts.
The recognition of this autonomy can be a moment for celebration, a liberation. In accepting that you are a discreet unit you not only sever the bonds that bring comfort, support and safety, but also those responsible for your misery, your dependence. Your situation is your doing! And the wonderful thing about that reality is that your behaviour and choices are the only ones you can have any hope of changing; the one person in your life with any real influence is entirely within your control.
Do you grind your teeth over a particular relationship in your life? You are free to make the conscious choice to break the patterns within it -- change your own behaviour, your pat responses, or decide to disengage from the situation. You can, you know. Social life dissatisfying? Spending too much time with people who drain your spirit and suck you dry? Well, stop bitching, get off your corpulent posterior and do something about it. Try something new, take a risk -- hell, you might even enjoy it! And if you don't it's hardly a disaster. Just try something else instead. Just do something. Anything. Move forward. Take some responsibility for yourself, because snivelling about how unfair life is or what a bad hand you've been dealt or how much better everyone else has it is not going to do anything other than bore the people around you witless.
Exciting, isn't it? I think so.
I write this a little over a week away from catapaulting myself back around the globe to the UK -- alone. When I made this decision recently I was immediately gripped with a nauseous terror because, obviously, I'll never meet anyone and I'll never find a good job there and I'll end up living in a horrid city and I'll be desperately lonely and I'll be poor and Britain's so expensive and... and... and... and........absolute dribble, of course. Where I am is a result of my careful planning and hard work. Completely my own doing. I specifically chose to put myself in this situation, and I'm beginning to remember why: to feel the thrill of panic crushing my chest and -- drawing a deep, bracing breath -- love it.
Care to join me?
Ultimately, each of us is alone.
This may seem like a maudlin statement; an indication, perhaps, that this particular cork is bobbing on an especially cold and empty ocean at present. Not so, on both counts.
The recognition of this autonomy can be a moment for celebration, a liberation. In accepting that you are a discreet unit you not only sever the bonds that bring comfort, support and safety, but also those responsible for your misery, your dependence. Your situation is your doing! And the wonderful thing about that reality is that your behaviour and choices are the only ones you can have any hope of changing; the one person in your life with any real influence is entirely within your control.
Do you grind your teeth over a particular relationship in your life? You are free to make the conscious choice to break the patterns within it -- change your own behaviour, your pat responses, or decide to disengage from the situation. You can, you know. Social life dissatisfying? Spending too much time with people who drain your spirit and suck you dry? Well, stop bitching, get off your corpulent posterior and do something about it. Try something new, take a risk -- hell, you might even enjoy it! And if you don't it's hardly a disaster. Just try something else instead. Just do something. Anything. Move forward. Take some responsibility for yourself, because snivelling about how unfair life is or what a bad hand you've been dealt or how much better everyone else has it is not going to do anything other than bore the people around you witless.
Exciting, isn't it? I think so.
I write this a little over a week away from catapaulting myself back around the globe to the UK -- alone. When I made this decision recently I was immediately gripped with a nauseous terror because, obviously, I'll never meet anyone and I'll never find a good job there and I'll end up living in a horrid city and I'll be desperately lonely and I'll be poor and Britain's so expensive and... and... and... and........absolute dribble, of course. Where I am is a result of my careful planning and hard work. Completely my own doing. I specifically chose to put myself in this situation, and I'm beginning to remember why: to feel the thrill of panic crushing my chest and -- drawing a deep, bracing breath -- love it.
Care to join me?
7 April 2005
Canadianity 101
A couple of points of Canadianity that I'd like to share with non-Canuck readers.
1) Cheese: Have I mentioned this here before? The topic was rarely off my lips when I first arrived. Sadly, variation in individual monitors' colour reproduction being what it is, the picture you're viewing may not have the same flourescent impact that it has in real life, but let's share the spectacle anyway.
Do not adjust your monitor
There you have it. For some reason -- and one that I'm very curious indeed to learn -- the cheddar cheese here is dyed a shade of orange deemed in other countries to be better suited to safety equipment than foodstuffs. The example shown here is a very popular variation known as "marble", which is ideal for those whose lunch is enhanced by thoughts of psoriasis.
2) Log Booms: It was a morning of Canadian cliches: after a breakfast of pancakes, bacon and syrup, my host and I walked in the howling wind down to the water and watched a log boom crawling around Clover Point and then headed in to the warmth of the local coffee shop for a 4 litre mug of thin milky coffee.
Boom Boom
Apparently this is not that common a sight around here, although given how few of us were taking any notice of it whatsoever, it's probably not that exceptional, either.
For the unenlightened, a log boom is a chain of logs surrounding or corralling a quantity of loose logs, then towed by way of small tug boats. Granted, this doesn't sound like the kind of sight you'd run, Playtex Sale Time-style, down the street to see, but I have to tell you that it's quite impressive. This thing was huge. Massive. Real big.
Booms break apart from time to time, and as a consequence the beaches here are littered with driftwood of a somewhat larger scale than I've seen before.
For a look at the entire boom shot click here.
1) Cheese: Have I mentioned this here before? The topic was rarely off my lips when I first arrived. Sadly, variation in individual monitors' colour reproduction being what it is, the picture you're viewing may not have the same flourescent impact that it has in real life, but let's share the spectacle anyway.
There you have it. For some reason -- and one that I'm very curious indeed to learn -- the cheddar cheese here is dyed a shade of orange deemed in other countries to be better suited to safety equipment than foodstuffs. The example shown here is a very popular variation known as "marble", which is ideal for those whose lunch is enhanced by thoughts of psoriasis.
2) Log Booms: It was a morning of Canadian cliches: after a breakfast of pancakes, bacon and syrup, my host and I walked in the howling wind down to the water and watched a log boom crawling around Clover Point and then headed in to the warmth of the local coffee shop for a 4 litre mug of thin milky coffee.
Apparently this is not that common a sight around here, although given how few of us were taking any notice of it whatsoever, it's probably not that exceptional, either.
For the unenlightened, a log boom is a chain of logs surrounding or corralling a quantity of loose logs, then towed by way of small tug boats. Granted, this doesn't sound like the kind of sight you'd run, Playtex Sale Time-style, down the street to see, but I have to tell you that it's quite impressive. This thing was huge. Massive. Real big.
Booms break apart from time to time, and as a consequence the beaches here are littered with driftwood of a somewhat larger scale than I've seen before.
For a look at the entire boom shot click here.
5 April 2005
Yellow (Pages) Peril
My, but don't the little things make a difference? Whilst it's true on one level that Canadians and Australians have a common language, on another it couldn't be further from the truth. Never before was this brought to mind with more clarity than during a recent browse through the yellow pages when I met this jolly fellow:
Mr Rooter is quite a guy, if the ad is anything to go by; he's "no ordinary plumber", is "honest and dependable" and "respects your home". Not only that, but apparently he is also willing to clean the bowl and urinal! To my mind, this puts him ahead of the athletic-yet-mechanical sounding Roto-Rooter -- who only seems to be at his best when performing "emergency service" -- and the engagingly named Rigid Rooter who lays claim to a special interest in "septic fields".
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Whilst we're on the topic of intriguing cross-cultural concepts, this is a sign that gave me, oh, at least three minutes of puerile amusement in Copenhagen:
I've been doing this at home under poor bathroom lighting for years, and only now do I find that there's a service out there to meet this vital need without me spending precious minutes of my own time every day to achieve it.
After spending some time last night attempting -- and failing -- to define "dagginess" to my Canadian host I realised just what a nuanced concept it is. The term is so frequently used by Australians, yet I was at a loss to convey it with any clarity. Any contributions to this important mission of international understanding would be appreciated.
Mr Rooter is quite a guy, if the ad is anything to go by; he's "no ordinary plumber", is "honest and dependable" and "respects your home". Not only that, but apparently he is also willing to clean the bowl and urinal! To my mind, this puts him ahead of the athletic-yet-mechanical sounding Roto-Rooter -- who only seems to be at his best when performing "emergency service" -- and the engagingly named Rigid Rooter who lays claim to a special interest in "septic fields".
Whilst we're on the topic of intriguing cross-cultural concepts, this is a sign that gave me, oh, at least three minutes of puerile amusement in Copenhagen:
I've been doing this at home under poor bathroom lighting for years, and only now do I find that there's a service out there to meet this vital need without me spending precious minutes of my own time every day to achieve it.
After spending some time last night attempting -- and failing -- to define "dagginess" to my Canadian host I realised just what a nuanced concept it is. The term is so frequently used by Australians, yet I was at a loss to convey it with any clarity. Any contributions to this important mission of international understanding would be appreciated.
2 April 2005
Nunavut Ho!
A couple of posts ago I was angsting over my current dilemma: I'm keen to stay in Canada, but the process of applying for a work visa is prohibitively expensive and arduous. Being the resourceful lass that I am, I felt sure that there was a way around this, a way for a wiley and determined Australian genius-girl to find her place in this country. And so there is.
Nunavut.
Nunavut, for those of you who require a little more information, a territory here in Canada which is the home country of the Inuit. And, as it transpires, they require English teachers.
The teaching position I've secured is a voluntary one, but comes with full board and a small allowance attached. Because it's actually in an established settlement, Kimmirut, there is electricity and a phone, and there is internet access, but it's a little patchy.
Kimmirut
I won't pretend that I'm not a bit anxious about this move, but, hey, at least it's a step in the right direction. The contract is for six months, which will throw my visa application into a much more favorable light. It looks like I'll be heading off in about a fortnight, so wish me luck!
Thanks to everyone for your support and suggestions during my moment of indecision.
Nunavut.
Nunavut, for those of you who require a little more information, a territory here in Canada which is the home country of the Inuit. And, as it transpires, they require English teachers.
The teaching position I've secured is a voluntary one, but comes with full board and a small allowance attached. Because it's actually in an established settlement, Kimmirut, there is electricity and a phone, and there is internet access, but it's a little patchy.
Kimmirut
I won't pretend that I'm not a bit anxious about this move, but, hey, at least it's a step in the right direction. The contract is for six months, which will throw my visa application into a much more favorable light. It looks like I'll be heading off in about a fortnight, so wish me luck!
Thanks to everyone for your support and suggestions during my moment of indecision.
- *sigh* This is a gag, folks, for April Fool's Day. I always love getting emails, but I've probably had enough enquiries about my Nunavut plans for now. I'm not going to Nunavut. Really. It's just a joke.
Stop Scratching! You're Warming the Globe!
While I'm grateful that you've stopped using CFC-containing aerosol cans out of concern for the ozone layer, can I ask that you now attend to that dandruff problem no-one's been bold enough to mention until now? Because, frankly, it's getting rather warm in here.
Science reports that a recent investigation has revealed that dandruff and fur make up a significant portion of the cloud-forming dust found in the atmosphere, potentially affecting climate. The particulates in question are of a size which acts as a nucleus for ice particles, which then begin cloud formation. The study, carried out by researchers at the University of Mainz, found that up to 80% of atmospheric particulates are biological in origin. So it's not your car causing the mischief after all, it's your scant attention to hygiene.
This heralds the demise of Selsun Blue and the rise of Selsun Green.
Science reports that a recent investigation has revealed that dandruff and fur make up a significant portion of the cloud-forming dust found in the atmosphere, potentially affecting climate. The particulates in question are of a size which acts as a nucleus for ice particles, which then begin cloud formation. The study, carried out by researchers at the University of Mainz, found that up to 80% of atmospheric particulates are biological in origin. So it's not your car causing the mischief after all, it's your scant attention to hygiene.
This heralds the demise of Selsun Blue and the rise of Selsun Green.
1 April 2005
Just When You Thought You'd Heard It All
John Howard. What can I say? I can relate to the man about as well as I can the Chiko Roll chick. Perusing the ABC News I see he's declared the Pope "a warrior for freedom". Well, quite.
And in other news, Alexander Downer has declared that despite a US presidential commission's finding that intelligence declaring Iraq had WMD was incorrect, Australia was quite justified in taking part in the action. Apparently, he thought that "the world would be a better place without Saddam Hussein." Well, not liking someone is a valid reason for war if ever I heard it. And now the Secretary-General of NATO has stated that Australia has and continues to make an "important contribution" in Iraq. Cool. I never really liked that embassy in Jakarta, anyway.
And in other news, Alexander Downer has declared that despite a US presidential commission's finding that intelligence declaring Iraq had WMD was incorrect, Australia was quite justified in taking part in the action. Apparently, he thought that "the world would be a better place without Saddam Hussein." Well, not liking someone is a valid reason for war if ever I heard it. And now the Secretary-General of NATO has stated that Australia has and continues to make an "important contribution" in Iraq. Cool. I never really liked that embassy in Jakarta, anyway.
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