Gone Analog

We're off to Wilson's Promontory for the next week and using the opportunity to take a digital vacation. We've been told by many people that it is one of the most amazing places in Victoria so I'll tell you all about it when we get back.
In the meantime, I'll share this picture from Portsea, a little town on the tip of the Mornington Peninsula:

According to the sign, the mobile library stops at this bus stop for precisely 30 minutes on Tuesday afternoons. I can't even choose what to have for lunch that quickly, never mind a book! Also, I couldn't figure out what was hanging from the sign - a beer bong? breast pump?
Things that make you go "Hmmmm?"

Footy at the MCG

Sunset over the Melbourne Cricket Ground

Hawthorne Hawks vs. Geelong Cats
Game attendance: 80,222

The respective club songs - priceless. Have a listen:
Hawthorn Hawks
Geelong Cats
When the Hawks song came on at full blast out of every available speaker, we spent a few seconds craning our necks around trying to figure out what was going on. But then we really started getting into it - it's got a beat, you can dance to it. And the songs must do a great job getting the crowd riled up because they obviously haven't been reworked since they were composed.

Can you imagine that any people cheering and/or groaning all at once? That was the most interesting part of the game - everybody seemed to be reading from the same script. One of the players would catch the ball and all of their supporters would cheer with the same vocal intonation. Quite bizarre.

When you shout support for a team, you barrack for them. As in "You should barrack for the Hawks". One would NOT say "You should root for the Hawks" because that means something altogether different (and rude).

We were instructed to complete the Aussie MCG experience by getting a 4'n20 meat pie. They are very tasty but it wasn't until Isabelle enlightened me that I noticed the double entendre in the packaging.

(google four-twenty if you're in the dark, too)

Old Dog/New Tricks

You know how they say that you should do something every day that scares you? We've been here thirty three days and so far, I'm batting a thousand.
I'll tell you about a couple...
SUP
Down on the Frankston beach on a beautiful sunny day, I came across a tent advertising paddleboard lessons, or SUP as they call it here. Bazza, a silver haired, barrel chested gent rocking the aged surfer dude vibe offered a lesson at a reasonable rate and said he would throw in the girls' lessons for free. Turns out, he won a 10k paddleboard race the previous weekend and has an obvious passion for the sport. He set me up with a board, claiming that it was big and steady enough to float an elephant. I cautiously clambered up and wobbled wildly from side to side. After unsuccessfully trying to get me to relax my monkey toe death grip on the board, Bazza invited me to try another one roughly the size of a Celebration class ferry.

I slowly got the hang of it and when I finally figured out how to turn around, saw that the girls had hopped straight up onto their boards and were halfway to Melbourne already.

Open Water Diving
We got Isabelle an open water dive course for her birthday and because Rob already has his ticket, we decided it was only logical for me to join her.
In order to take the course, you have to preread a textbook that tells you how many ways you can die while scuba diving and exactly how painful each scenario will be. Then you have to complete a 20 page assignment that reinforces all of these facts.
When we arrived for our first day of instruction, our teacher introduced himself : "Hi! My name's Damo, I'm 21 and I've been diving for three years."
My internal voice started screaming in panic.
Thankfully, Damo (who has more than 500 dives under his belt) turned out to be an exceptionally skilled and patient teacher. Even when I had a massive fail at taking off my mask at 9 metres. I inadvertently breathed salt water through my nose and tried to go to the surface to cough out a lung but he kept me at the bottom, calmed me down using sign language and got me thinking past the panic. Good thing too - I had enough adrenaline going through me to rip his arms out of their sockets.

Isabelle, of course, took to it like a fish to water.

So, five dives later, Isabelle and I are both certified open water divers. I don't think I'll have the urge to don the 70 some-odd pounds of gear and go diving again any time soon, though. I'll wait on the beach with a margarita while the rest go and frolic with the sea life.

Coffee Culture

I need to talk about coffee.

First, for some perspective, I'll tell you about our Canadian coffee routine.

I set our automatic drip coffee maker to have wonderful steaming hot coffee ready for us when we wake up. Rob and I each have our favourite mugs: mine is a ceramic 16 oz Timmy's mug and his is a handmade mug in a size we lovingly call "bladder buster". The 12 cup urn will provide us with 3 mugs of coffee - one each with the third going to whoever doesn't turn their back at the wrong time. I usually win and use the remainder to fill Bubba, my travel mug. Bubba comes with me to work and accompanies me for the better part of the day. I'm a morning coffee drinker, unless it's an early swim practice day, or a rowing day or if I start nodding off after lunch, in which case, I will make a quick trip to Starbucks for a grande long Americano, extra shot, please and thank you very much.

In Australia, it is difficult to find what we would call a coffee shop. There are lots of bakeries and cafes and other grab and go establishments but not many that focus on coffee. When I walked into my first bakery and attempted to order coffee, the poor cashier was thoroughly confused by both my accent and my request for a drip coffee. Australians don't do drip coffee. If you ask for one, you will get a blank stare. Your order options include a flat white, latte, espresso or a cornucopia of other concoctions a barista can provide. There's no such thing as a plain ol' cup of coffee. And don't think you can get smart, order a long black and add your own cream. Australians don't do half and half or coffee cream either. Milk only.

But that's not the most difficult part. The real conundrum is the sizing. I requested a large flat white and received a cup so small that all of my fingers touched when I clasped it in my poor, trembling, caffeine withdrawn hand. Their large is the size of our short. It was a darn fine beverage, but it was gone in two slurps.

Another big difference. Australians don't eat or drink while they walk around. Someone carrying a coffee cup or a munchie of some kind out on the street is a real anomaly. I spotted a woman with a grande Starbucks cup in The Queen Victoria Market but on my way to interrogate her about where she purchased this perfectly proportioned elixir of the gods, I walked into a pig's butt. They hang them outside the butchers shops and I went dashing after her so fast that I hadn't noticed.

And so, my conclusions...

North Americans carry their coffees like security blankets. Most coffee drinkers wouldn't dream of leaving the house without their favourite travel mug and if they did, couldn't possibly go in to work without stopping at Timmy's or Starbucks. If the brimming coffee cup doesn't weigh enough to engage all of the muscle groups in your arm, it's not big enough. The cup sits on prime real estate on the office desk - near enough to be in easy reach but not close enough to spill on the keyboard if you accidentally jostle it. Our coffee is our fuel and drinking it is usually a solitary, personal and ritualistic experience.

Australians savour their coffee, both the liquid itself and the opportunity to sit and enjoy it in the company of others. Cafés and bakeries are filled with people in animated conversations, gesticulating around their cute little muglets. The emphasis is on high quality, low quantity coffee to be relished in the moment and not carted around in a leaky paper cup until the last two inches of lukewarm dregs have to be thrown out.

Hmmm. I think they've got something here. I'll conduct more research and get back to you.

Our First Footy Game

I have never seen an Aussie rules football game and I know many of you haven't either so, here are my impressions of the experience.
For twenty bucks all four of us got an education this afternoon.
The Frankston Dolphins were playing a home game against the Sandringham Zebras. Rob chivied us out the door a full half hour before the game was due to start because he was worried about getting seats.
The first thing we saw inside the entrance gate was a woman selling raffle tickets for a wheelbarrow of beer. Yes, you read that right: a wheelbarrow full of beer.
I passed on the $3 record (what they call a playbill or list of players) and bought raffle tickets instead.
We needn't have worried about the seating. There is none. Everyone leans against the fence or hovers in the stands which are not dissimilar to choir risers but more spaced out.
We found an open area in the fence opposite the scoreboard and waited for the action to start.
The first thing I noticed were the police officers in the middle of the field. Hunh?

That didn't bode well.

The horn sounded and fit looking men started running out into the field. The first group was dressed in neon yellow uniforms, quickly followed by another group in neon orange. They ran around a bit, stretching as they went, looking all serious and competitive. We couldn't figure out who was on which team and there didn't seem to be enough players on the field. Then the real players came out in shorter shorts and tighter, sleeveless tops.

Now this is more like it.

The game started with one of the neon guys bouncing what looked like a rugby ball but bounced like a basketball in the middle of the pitch and two guys jumping to get it first. You would not believe the air time these guys get. And the monster thighs and calves they have?! Not that I was looking or anything.

Play involved a lot of throwing, running, catching and more ball bouncing but I was too busy trying to figure out what the neon guys were doing to watch much of the play. From what I could gather, the neon yellow guys dash around calling players on and off the field. The neon orange guys appear to be referees. I think. 

We were standing right in front of an area called the interchange (I asked the fellow standing next to me and he looked like he knew what he was talking about - he has wearing a team jersey and everything) which every player and neon guy have to run through if they want to go on or off the field. 

We were also right next to the Sandringham players box which held all the players not playing, 4 coaches, 3 water girls, several medics and a few physios. There were two yoga mats laid out on the edge of the field and every few minutes, a player would dash up and flop himself face down on the mat. Two physios would each straddle a leg, hike his shorts up as far as they would go (and they're already pretty short, let me tell you) and give him a vigorous thigh massage. I was tempted to get a picture but it made me feel kind of dirty watching it, so, sorry, you'll have to use your imagination.

Anyhoo...

During the breaks in play, the fans are allowed to go out onto the pitch and mingle with the teams. This is Rob dispensing his advice to the Zebras:

"Keep your stick on the ice, boys"

Enough about the players. Let me get to the most entertaining part about the game - the fans.

There was a fellow standing behind us that was obviously a Zebra fan (pronounced Zeb-ra, not Zee-bra) and he was surrounded by Dolphins fans. It was a home game, after all. Dude behind us (let's call him Bogan for lack of a better word. Well, that is the best word, really) yelled at the players all the time. 

All. The. Time.

Behind Bogan was another guy with a coronet, and beside him was a guy with a large, resonant drum. The drum player was actually quite talented. The coronet player? Not so much. Bogan yelled, drummer drummed and the horn player tootled in opposition for the entire game - 4 half hour long periods.

Bogan's wife would get in on the yelling action every once in a while, sometimes to cheer on the Zebras but more often than not to chastise her husband. 

Let's just say Sophie learned how to use expletives as nouns, adverbs, adjectives and verbs today. Sentence structure is an important part of Grade 6 English, isn't it? 

I am sold. If this is what you get at small, local games, I cannot wait to see a big match at the MCG.

Side note - I think the Zebras won. Not sure though. We left quickly as the "conversations" were becoming heated and the aforementioned police were closing in fast.