A place like no other that I’ve visited, although that’s not saying a whole lot, Bondi Beach is something of a phenomenon in the UK- billed as one of the world’s premiere beach’s. It was weird then to spend nearly a month living in Bondi, ‘hitting’ the beach most days and enjoying the buzz and the atmosphere that is impossible to ignore in the town itself. Without doubt this is the most beautiful place that I have ever been. I don’t use the word beautiful to describe the scenery, the setting or the sights, rather the people who inhabit the town and grace the beach with their presence. Everyone in this place is tanned, toned and pre-requisitely good looking. There is something about the women that makes you want to stop and stare, not least because they are in bikinis, although Jonny and myself have resigned to a muffled cry of ‘cuuu-weeeee’ as wondrous blondes and stunning brunettes flash past us. You may be surprised to know that this particular pick up technique has not been 100% successful, but I will keep you updated. The place is so image conscious that you yourself become image-conscious. I am not in the shape of my life and every day on the beach is a constant reminder of that as aspiring lifeguards, surfers and bodybuilders walk, run and strut their way along the sand. There is even a small ‘muscle-beach’ gym at the North end, in an attempt to recreate the infamous Muscle Beach in Miami, I haven’t yet pumped any iron down their, but it’s a matter of days before I do. I hope that I am not painting a terrible picture of the place; moreover a place such as Bondi has its ups and its downs, highlights and lowlights. Many of the locals prefer quieter beaches, where you are less likely to have you’re time in the sun marred by UK tourists kicking a football (and mountains of sand) towards your towel, or be badgered for photos by the evergreen Japanese visitors. Surfers are quick to point out that the ‘surf’ isn’t even that great at Bondi. But as I have mentioned it does have a lot going for it, and just yesterday Jonny and I were swarmed upon by a bevy of blonde beauties as we launched into a game of Frisbee on the waterfront. I use the term ‘swarmed upon’ loosely. In reality they were a good thirty meters up the beach, but I sure they were watching and to shy to come over and tell us what good Frisbee throwers we were, something like that anyway.
There is one character that I have seen everyday at the beach without fail. Jonny and I know him only as ‘bat and ball man’. He is possibly European, but very well tanned (and toned obviously) and without fail he is always at the beach playing the famous beach game of bat and ball. He will play with anyone he can find; male, female, young, old, it does not matter to him, he just wants to find a worthy adversary. I don’t think he’ll find one, probably because he’s absolutely amazing at the game. Lets be honest it is not a game which many people a.)Practice and b.) Play solidly for, lets say, 20 years (he’s quite old), thus, this would suggest he is possibly one of the best bat and ball players in the world, possibly the best ever, he’s a 'hall of famer'! Still he is there every day, bat in hand, elbow support firmly strapped on and a bandana protecting his eyes from his long hair. Neither Jonny nor I have challenged him to a game yet; it would be nice to take on the best in the world though.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
LA Airport
After eleven relatively peaceful and stress-free hours on Quantas flight F25, I am in LA, America. The flight was made all the easier by the three pocket sized bottles of red wine I consumed before, during and after my meal of braised beef, slightly soggy potatoes and assorted vegetables. Despite checking in over three hours before boarding, I was in neither an aisle nor a window seat. Instead I was sandwiched between a mild mannered American and a brash, complaining, unrelenting Aussie who moaned about the woman behind him, grumbled about the man in front of him, before letting me know in no uncertain terms that he was not happy with the presence of my elbow ‘anywhere near his ribs’. Amused by his seeming inability to master the in-flight entertainment controls- he twice mistakenly exited a film half-way through much to his displeasure; what is more I take great pride in considering myself a bit of an expert with such technology-I watched him dominate bottle after bottle of the ‘Shaaardonnaaaay’ until thankfully the drink took him to a much needed sleep.
LA Airport has been exactly what I expected it to be. Big, busy and bustling, it has a real America feel to it; a feel that is hard to describe, but one that I am fully aware of. Everything is bigger, super-sized if you will, nothing is done by halves here; it is like Heathrow on speed. The security guards are tougher, the air hostess’s prettier, Fast Food more prominent and the people full of self assurance. Perhaps it’s the huge American flag that dangles freely from the high ceiling or the extensive upstairs food-court, I can’t quite put my finger on it, but the place is evidently American. The place is full of uniforms, ID badges, name tags; officials everywhere. Police swarm the airport; patrolling check-in desks, restaurants and magazine kiosks. At the far end of the terminal, three burly security guards impose themselves on the public, armed with very large and very visible machine guns; they can’t help but be imposing. John Rambo would be proud of the huge weapons they carry and although they look a little plastic and dare I say it, a little fake, I am more than a little scared as I stroll nervously to the ‘restrooms’.
Although I have kept my eyes peeled, I have yet to see David Beckham or bump into Lauren Conrad from the MTV show The Hills. Surely a celebrity encounter is not too much to ask for during a six hour wait in transit, I board in a few hours, time is running out. On a serious note, LA is a town populated by celebrities and it is a shame that my stay confines me to the Departures lounge of Tom Bradley (not Tom Brady the New England Patriots quarterback, as I mistakenly said to an angry baggage attendant) International Airport.
Just to be a cliché I have decided to dine out on a proper American meal, a McDonalds. I had to do it; I’ve always wanted a proper, big, American McDonalds. I know. Big dreams!
So, off to Gate 105, via a brief encounter with Beckham I’d imagine. The next time I put pen to paper I will hopefully be back in England. I am massively hoping my Mum and Dad are waiting for me at the airport, I have missed them, I love them, and I can’t wait to give them a hug.
LA Airport has been exactly what I expected it to be. Big, busy and bustling, it has a real America feel to it; a feel that is hard to describe, but one that I am fully aware of. Everything is bigger, super-sized if you will, nothing is done by halves here; it is like Heathrow on speed. The security guards are tougher, the air hostess’s prettier, Fast Food more prominent and the people full of self assurance. Perhaps it’s the huge American flag that dangles freely from the high ceiling or the extensive upstairs food-court, I can’t quite put my finger on it, but the place is evidently American. The place is full of uniforms, ID badges, name tags; officials everywhere. Police swarm the airport; patrolling check-in desks, restaurants and magazine kiosks. At the far end of the terminal, three burly security guards impose themselves on the public, armed with very large and very visible machine guns; they can’t help but be imposing. John Rambo would be proud of the huge weapons they carry and although they look a little plastic and dare I say it, a little fake, I am more than a little scared as I stroll nervously to the ‘restrooms’.
Although I have kept my eyes peeled, I have yet to see David Beckham or bump into Lauren Conrad from the MTV show The Hills. Surely a celebrity encounter is not too much to ask for during a six hour wait in transit, I board in a few hours, time is running out. On a serious note, LA is a town populated by celebrities and it is a shame that my stay confines me to the Departures lounge of Tom Bradley (not Tom Brady the New England Patriots quarterback, as I mistakenly said to an angry baggage attendant) International Airport.
Just to be a cliché I have decided to dine out on a proper American meal, a McDonalds. I had to do it; I’ve always wanted a proper, big, American McDonalds. I know. Big dreams!
So, off to Gate 105, via a brief encounter with Beckham I’d imagine. The next time I put pen to paper I will hopefully be back in England. I am massively hoping my Mum and Dad are waiting for me at the airport, I have missed them, I love them, and I can’t wait to give them a hug.
Auckland
So, my last day away, the final hours of my trip. Once again I’m sat in Starbucks-still in Auckland but a different Starbucks- watching the world go by. This is actually quite easy to do in Auckland as everything and everyone, including the girl making my Tall Hot Chocolate, moves at snails pace. There is no hustle and very little bustle; the traffic flows calmly and without significant delay, the people walk without the purpose of a Londoner or the swagger of a Sydney-sider and what is more, nobody is dressed for ‘work’. There is a distinct lack of young professionals usually synonymous with major cities; instead the streets are populated by weary travellers (weary from negotiating the country’s steep gradients), a large oriental population and a worryingly significant number of ‘dodgy types’. Too be less vague, by this I mean the homeless, the drunks, vagabonds and general troublemakers. Of course I shouldn’t be passing judgement on the homeless and their plight but you can’t help but notice the slightly dingy and down-trodden atmosphere.
This being said, in many respects Auckland is a developed, metropolitan and thriving business district with a high and in places impressive skyline. The view of the city one gets when 142m up the Sky City tower is fantastic and although the city is not particularly big it is certainly impressive on the eye. Likewise the Waterfront is a beautiful and seemingly classy area, filled with sea-front seafood restaurants and trendy bars overflowing with contented Kiwis. It is a shame then, that with such beautiful surrounding suburbs as the volcanic Island of Devonport, that Auckland itself is not as habitable. Just the other night I was witness to what appeared to be ‘gang-based violence’, from my observations gang culture is very much in existence in New Zealand, while several taxi drivers have warned me of the dangers of walking the streets surrounding my hostel after dark. As I glance outside, I notice it has started to rain; the end of summer over here in the southern hemisphere, the start of summer back in England, so, back home to more rain
This being said, in many respects Auckland is a developed, metropolitan and thriving business district with a high and in places impressive skyline. The view of the city one gets when 142m up the Sky City tower is fantastic and although the city is not particularly big it is certainly impressive on the eye. Likewise the Waterfront is a beautiful and seemingly classy area, filled with sea-front seafood restaurants and trendy bars overflowing with contented Kiwis. It is a shame then, that with such beautiful surrounding suburbs as the volcanic Island of Devonport, that Auckland itself is not as habitable. Just the other night I was witness to what appeared to be ‘gang-based violence’, from my observations gang culture is very much in existence in New Zealand, while several taxi drivers have warned me of the dangers of walking the streets surrounding my hostel after dark. As I glance outside, I notice it has started to rain; the end of summer over here in the southern hemisphere, the start of summer back in England, so, back home to more rain
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Sydney Synopsis
Sydney:
With Sydney behind me, it is time to try and sum up my feelings, memories and experiences of the place that I called home for the past four months or so. My prevailing memories are good ones indeed; I had a fantastic time, a brilliant and totally worthwhile experience, something that I am truly glad that I did.
The people were great, in particular the lads that put me up for the majority of my time in Australia and were good friends to me throughout, but also Kaye and Alex, Jonny while he was there, ever single person who I met from Easts, Dan Bell, Michael Stevens, Craig and towards the end of the trip, Ashley. The place itself, wonderfully diverse; in many ways not overly dissimilar to London or other major world cities, although the proximity of Bondi Beach not to mention the number of delightful coves and bays that surround the city, set Sydney apart.
The cricket was also good; enjoyable, worthwhile and at times challenging. On the one hand I had hoped to play a slightly higher standard, to be truly challenged by and exposed to hard hitting, quick bowling, tough Australian cricketers – a stereoptype that truly truly exists from my observations of First Grade cricket; on the other hand I can be proud of myself for seeking out a good ‘grade’ club with a good reputation and terrific facilities, impressing at training and being immediately selected for Saturday cricket and rising rapidly through the grades, culminating in a century n my penultimate game for the club – something to remember me by.
Good piss in Sydney? I hear you ask. I had some big, some bad and some memorable nights out in Sydney. The concept of the schooner is one I failed to fully understand, but one I fully embraced, while it seems that Sambucca is a language spoken all over the world. The Fun Boat trip on Christmas Eve, Scu Bar nearly every Monday and a few good Saturday nights in the Argyle are particularly memorable, as is the rather disconcerting Sydney Mardi Gras parade and the night out that followed.
Any good sorts in Sydney? The answer would be yes. At Bondi the standard of girls was fantastic, full of beautiful, friendly, tanned, toned girls, more often than not the girls were so good looking it was intimidating, although that did not stop Jonny’s regular shouts of “cooo-weeee” at passing girls. Of the girls that I got to know a little better , few stick out in the memory. The American girl Kelly who introduced me as ‘Larry’ to all of her friends amused me, as did ‘Leatherhands’- so named because of her heavily tanned skin and her deceptive handshake which convinced Rupert that she had just handed him a briefcase. The ‘Swede’, Theresa was a constant thron in our side, appearing wherever we went, lingering awkwardly on the outskirts of our group, by the end of the trip she became less of an annoyance and more of a source of amusement; after Mark, the object of her affections, started seeing Michelle, Theresa would introduce a new man to us each time she saw us with the familiar line ‘this is my guy’.
Towards the end of my time away Mark met Michelle- quite possibly his ‘soul mate’, Tom met a slightly plump, slightly obsessive Canadian traveller named Ryla and I met Ashley. I don’t know whether to look on my time with Ashley as a missed opportunity, bad timing if you will, or that it was a nice ‘holiday romance’, fun while it lasted and all that. Nonetheless she was a great girl who genuinely made me laugh and I will keep in touch and am sad to leave her behind.
And so to New Zealand, when they finally allowed me to fly that is. A great country, it seems to be a blend of England and North America. Green and with a distinctly English climate it is sparse, remote and its cities few and far between. I am glad that I extended my trip via New Zealand, it would have been silly not to see this place, it is truly beautiful, even from the wrong side of an Intercity Coach window. As I write I’m sat in a Starbucks in Auckland, sipping a hot chocolate. These companies truly are multi-national; you can’t travel two miles without seeing a McDonalds or a Sunbway, even Woolworths are everywhere. In a strange way though, it is comforting, it reminds me of home a little. Home, I will be there soon. But not yet.
With Sydney behind me, it is time to try and sum up my feelings, memories and experiences of the place that I called home for the past four months or so. My prevailing memories are good ones indeed; I had a fantastic time, a brilliant and totally worthwhile experience, something that I am truly glad that I did.
The people were great, in particular the lads that put me up for the majority of my time in Australia and were good friends to me throughout, but also Kaye and Alex, Jonny while he was there, ever single person who I met from Easts, Dan Bell, Michael Stevens, Craig and towards the end of the trip, Ashley. The place itself, wonderfully diverse; in many ways not overly dissimilar to London or other major world cities, although the proximity of Bondi Beach not to mention the number of delightful coves and bays that surround the city, set Sydney apart.
The cricket was also good; enjoyable, worthwhile and at times challenging. On the one hand I had hoped to play a slightly higher standard, to be truly challenged by and exposed to hard hitting, quick bowling, tough Australian cricketers – a stereoptype that truly truly exists from my observations of First Grade cricket; on the other hand I can be proud of myself for seeking out a good ‘grade’ club with a good reputation and terrific facilities, impressing at training and being immediately selected for Saturday cricket and rising rapidly through the grades, culminating in a century n my penultimate game for the club – something to remember me by.
Good piss in Sydney? I hear you ask. I had some big, some bad and some memorable nights out in Sydney. The concept of the schooner is one I failed to fully understand, but one I fully embraced, while it seems that Sambucca is a language spoken all over the world. The Fun Boat trip on Christmas Eve, Scu Bar nearly every Monday and a few good Saturday nights in the Argyle are particularly memorable, as is the rather disconcerting Sydney Mardi Gras parade and the night out that followed.
Any good sorts in Sydney? The answer would be yes. At Bondi the standard of girls was fantastic, full of beautiful, friendly, tanned, toned girls, more often than not the girls were so good looking it was intimidating, although that did not stop Jonny’s regular shouts of “cooo-weeee” at passing girls. Of the girls that I got to know a little better , few stick out in the memory. The American girl Kelly who introduced me as ‘Larry’ to all of her friends amused me, as did ‘Leatherhands’- so named because of her heavily tanned skin and her deceptive handshake which convinced Rupert that she had just handed him a briefcase. The ‘Swede’, Theresa was a constant thron in our side, appearing wherever we went, lingering awkwardly on the outskirts of our group, by the end of the trip she became less of an annoyance and more of a source of amusement; after Mark, the object of her affections, started seeing Michelle, Theresa would introduce a new man to us each time she saw us with the familiar line ‘this is my guy’.
Towards the end of my time away Mark met Michelle- quite possibly his ‘soul mate’, Tom met a slightly plump, slightly obsessive Canadian traveller named Ryla and I met Ashley. I don’t know whether to look on my time with Ashley as a missed opportunity, bad timing if you will, or that it was a nice ‘holiday romance’, fun while it lasted and all that. Nonetheless she was a great girl who genuinely made me laugh and I will keep in touch and am sad to leave her behind.
And so to New Zealand, when they finally allowed me to fly that is. A great country, it seems to be a blend of England and North America. Green and with a distinctly English climate it is sparse, remote and its cities few and far between. I am glad that I extended my trip via New Zealand, it would have been silly not to see this place, it is truly beautiful, even from the wrong side of an Intercity Coach window. As I write I’m sat in a Starbucks in Auckland, sipping a hot chocolate. These companies truly are multi-national; you can’t travel two miles without seeing a McDonalds or a Sunbway, even Woolworths are everywhere. In a strange way though, it is comforting, it reminds me of home a little. Home, I will be there soon. But not yet.
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