One Aussie Year

Exactly one year ago today, Orlando and I stepped off a plane from Shanghai into our new Aussie life.

The weather was disappointing - chilly and blustery - much like it is today. But within days it heated up and we had a wonderful summer.

When we arrived, we knew very few people not related to me. We had a lovely house, thanks to Lee, but not one stick of furniture. Our belongings got stuck in Customs and we wore our backpacking clothes for a month. We slept on cardboard boxes on the floor, boiled water in a saucepan for tea, and for the first few nights we had no electricity. We had no jobs, and no interviews lined up. But we had funds in the bank, good resumes and a determination to succeed.

One year on I won't say we are completely settled, but we have come a long way. Our house is now a home, filled with our own things and furnished comfortably. We have a small circle of great friends we can rely on to support us. We were both working within a week of arriving, and both got pretty good jobs within a couple of months.

We miss our family and friends back in Europe so much, and it always seems so far away. But our life here is good: our quality of life has certainly improved. We live a Mediterranean lifestyle in a beautiful city famous for its good food, great wines and burgeoning cultural life. We eat out a lot, and I certainly enjoy living so close to some world-class wineries. We work with great people and Orlando gets to see a lot of the country through his job. We rarely experience dreadful cold, or bad traffic, or even bad pizza. Life is good.

Here's to year two.

Bollywood Movie Stars Party

It was the party of the year (well, in my diary it was the only party in the year). A Bollywood Movie Stars bash to celebrate my 40th birthday: it doesn’t get any better than this.

Twenty or so of my family and closest friends gathered on 4th November dressed in what can only be described as Bollywood-tastic outfits to dance the night away.

Eileen and Kelvin won the Most Fabulous Outfits award with their stunning outfits from Little India in Dandenong.

My family made a great effort too: Lee looked sophisticated and graceful in a black and silver sari, and Mena had more Bollywood Bling than the rest of us put together.

Orlando looked rugged and handsome in his all-black kurta pajama, and has made such a fuss of me throughout all my birthday celebrations. He is a superstar.

Photo Gallery

Other highlights of the evening included:

Paul Curran as a Bollywood Bad Guy, complete with maximum eyeliner, dark glasses and shark’s tooth medallion

Damien’s Derby Day extreme facial sunburn including a rather fetching white band where his sunglasses had been (it turns out some people thought he'd made himself up to look like that)

The Irish contingent doing the entire (it seemed) Riverdance, then Mena and Mairead’s solo reel, finished by Mena, Mairead, Eileen and Carmel in full Indian regalia doing a full set of the Walls of Limerick

Mena leading the soca dancing into the wee hours (“Follow me – I’m the leader of the parade!”) ("This is the music of my soul!")

Sam’s amazing bum-wiggling dance which reduced all women present to tears

Sam and Paul's talented dance interpretation of the song "A-E-I-O-U" by Freeez: popular consensus is that Paul's "E" was particularly impressive and rendered all audience members helpless with laughter

The main conversation in the back yard about which song you want played as the last song at your funeral (and if you didn't make a choice it was going to be November Rain by Guns N Roses)

Kelvin dancing, full stop

Kelvin almost being tempted to sip some rum instead of red wine

Mena at 5am having a smoke: "I am the oldest one here, the birds are singing and I am the last one partying"

Mena about the Irish dancing - "You are all doing it wrong, here let me show you"

Eileen about the Irish dancing - "You are all doing it wrong, here let me show you"

Lee talking to Orlando - "Now let me guess which food you put out: the cake and the popcorn"

Lee - "The thing I like about this sari is that I can breathe out and it hides my belly"

Carmel - "The thing I like about this sari is that I can breathe out and it hides my belly"

Orlando - "I am going over there to act as a buffer between Sam and the TV"

Paul's AEIOU - " I am not happy with my 'E' I have to rethink this"

Sam about raising children "I have a secret weapon, it is called music"

Mairead talking about cooking for the party - "...So I said to myself, I will show him, I will make the Tandoori chicken red..."

Paul takes off his sunglasses "I thought it was a bit dark in here, and I could not work it out..."

Sam dancing with Carmel - "Grab me from behind"

Paul talks to Orlando about dancing with Sam's wife -"I don't think it is your hands that he is worried about"

Orlando teaching Sam and Amanda soca - "Get in closer, don't be shy, you are married"

Mena (a number of times in the evening) - "I'm back!!!"

Mena (a number of times in the evening) - "Why is it that every time I go to the toilet, all I can hear is people calling 'Where's Mena?'"

The delicious food that everybody brought

Mairead and Eileen trying to do their much-awaited Party Piece, drunk, unprepared, and with at least one Achilles tendon injury; but their smiles never faltered: divas to the last

Paul and Carmel vainly trying to teach Sam and Amanda to twirl properly like Irish dancers

Thanks to all my friends for making such a huge effort on the night. Nobody knew more than one or two other people but you'd never have known it - the noise of the conversation was deafening and the dancing spirited to say the least. Thanks for all my beautiful cards and gifts too - it was the most special birthday for me and I am delighted you could share it!

New Food Blog

Continuing my obsession with all things food and wine, I have started a new food blog where I will be keeping a record of all my favourite recipes, and my epicurean adventures. I would love to hear from you with your signature dishes. We spent this weekend at the Slow Food Festival here in Melbourne, and you can read all about it here too.

Brisbane, Bollywood, Opera & Jazz

Orlando has been away interstate (Brisbane and Sydney) for the past month, and you would think I would have found time to update these pages. But no, my diary filled with dinner dates and more. I haven’t had a minute for weeks.

Brisbane
It’s all good, though. I took the opportunity to fly up to Brisbane one weekend instead of Orlando flying home. It was a bit like going to Spain or Italy for a spring weekend in terms of weather, but of course no matter how far you fly you are still in Australia when you get there.

We had great food, and wandered the tiny city on foot (and on river catamaran) seeing the sights. Unfortunately Sunday lunch with friends resulted in a bout of food poisoning for me, but despite this set-back it was good to get out of Melbourne for a few days.

Opera and Jazz
Culture-wise we have had opera at the State Theatre: Porgy and Bess performed by an all-American cast. Dianne Reeves last Sunday evening was probably a little more accessible to me. I have finally soncluded that opera is not really my cup of tea, not even Gershwin. The Diane Reeves concert was brilliant; she was backed by a simple trio and sang a broad range of songs, from the ones made famous by her in the movie Good Night, and God Bless, to a handful of Ella tunes and even a bit of Marvin Gaye. Easily the best gig I have been to all year.

Bollywood Nights
Meanwhile, Eileen and I have taken up Bollywood dancing on a Wednesday night. Somehow I thought it was going to be all form and style and carefully-placed feet. However the focus seems to be on grand extravagant gestures, especially with ones hips, eyes and head, and the whole session is more barefoot high-impact aerobics than dance studio. By the end of the hour we are drenched with sweat, breathless with exhaustion and laughter, and applauding ourselves wildly having vaguely managed to follow the teacher. We have even signed up for performances! Afterwards we go to the little Indian place around the corner for supper and put the world to rights. I love it.

Food & Drink I Miss

Food & drink I miss about Ireland

Decent sausages
Decent brown bread
Smoked cod from the chipper
Tayto and King crisps
Corned beef
Red lemonade
Liga!
Irish cheddar cheese
Decent apple tart (preferably made by my mother)
Decent fruit scones
Bernard’s meatballs and spaghetti


Food & drink I miss about England

Egg mayonnaise ready-made from the supermarket
Kettle Chips sea salt and back pepper
Walkers roast chicken or prawn cocktail crisps
Diet ginger beer
Diet ANYTHING (it’s not that easy to find unless it’s Diet Coke)
Moet & Chandon champagne at UK prices
Diet tonic water for my gin!
Proper toasted bacon sandwich from a proper London caff
Decent hummus from the supermarket (with the number of Greeks here wouldn’t you think it would be everywhere?)
Spotted dick and custard
Clotted cream
Real Cornish pasties
Suzanne’s mushrooms on toast


Food & drink I miss about Europe

BANANAS (when we get them here we don’t have to worry about Fair Trade bananas – they are all Aussie-grown – but at $15 a kilo I don’t think so)
Kit Kats (haven’t had one here but Orlando says they are not the same chocolate as European ones)
Spanish manchego cheese (you can get it here but it is more expensive than bananas)
Spanish Vina Albali or Pata Negra red wine


Australian food & drink I Love!

Cherry Ripe chocolate bars
Fat-free semi-sundried tomatoes
Shark from the chip shop
Red Rock Deli lime & black pepper crisps
Fresh healthy food for lunch anywhere (I work in the equivalent of Blanchardstown or Watford and can get gluten-free fat-free dairy-free anything at my local caff)
Proper fruit toast (the one with more fruit than bread)
Lemon lime and bitters
Decaf coffee and soy milk EVERYWHERE!
All the Australian wine they keep for themselves and don’t export

Culture Shock Update

Language

The equivalent Aussie terminology for "like O'Connell Street/Piccadilly" is "as busy as Bourke Street Mall". Of course, as soon as Aly and Mena pointed this out to me, I remembered it.

Another great phrase I heard in a meeting today (I had to stop the meeting to ask the context!) was "get a guernsey". The bloke was talking about something being put onto an "urgent" list by a government department, and said we wouldn't know until later in the month whether it got a guernsey.

What the...?

Apparently, it comes from getting a place on the footy team, i.e. you are definitely on the team so they give you the guernsey (jersey/shirt) but you still don't know if you will get to play in the game.

Love it.


Car Maintenance

Another thing I have noticed is the water in the car for washing the windscreen. Back in Ireland or England you have to remember to top up the washer water fairly frequently, especially in winter. There is nothing worse than driving through winter rain in bad traffic with mud flying everywhere, and running out of water for the washer.

We have been here almost exactly nine months, and bought a car two weeks after we arrived. I have not topped up the washer water once. The car was serviced one time and maybe the man topped it up then, but one would expect the reservoir to empty a lot more than that. It just doesn't really rain a lot here, and when it does, it doesn't seem to turn into a mudbath.

I mean, I haven't washed the (white) car all winter and I reckon it will be a month or two before it really needs cleaning.


Internet

Broadband internet here is less than 10% the speed of Europe. It's almost quaint waiting for pages to load. That means for every minute it takes you in the UK or Ireland to download something, it takes almost two hours here. Perhaps not so quaint.
Think of me here trying to update these very pages...

Pellegrini's

They say Pellegrini's has had one paint job in over fifty years, and it left the place looking exactly the same. I wandered in there one cold Monday night, walking the length of its 1950s bar to the cosy kitchen at the back. The red leather barstools are comfortable enough for a weekday lunchtime or an afternoon macchiato and slice of apple strudel, but the dark evenings make the big communal kitchen table beckon.



There is no menu as such; an old wood veneer menu hangs from the ceiling above the bar. It lists a handful of dishes but there are no prices. Over time you get to know the daily specials - spinach and ricotta cannelloni makes a guest appearance on Tuesdays and gnocchi cameos on Fridays. The waiters charge you whatever they like, but it is always great value.

I sat with a man and his young son to one side of me, and the owner himself on the other, trademark silk kerchief at his neck, apparently being interviewed for an article. The young boy chatted comfortably to the woman at the cooker about his recently deceased pet rabbit, while she cooked him his “usual” and taught him a few more words of Italian.

The cooker was simmering with pots of bolognese and napoli sauces whilst the oven opened briefly to display an enormous lasagne. The cook lady turned out plates of pasta ordered in shouted Italian from the bar beyond, whilst seeming to talk away to herself in between times (in Italian too, so I couldn’t eavesdrop).

My plate of steaming ravioli bolognese came with two freshly buttered doorsteps of bread and a cold glass of water. No alcohol here in Pellegrini’s, but the food is good enough to entice me to eat even without a glass of red in my hand. When asked, the lady happily heaped lots more parmesan onto my already loaded plate from her bowl by the cooker.

I ate slowly, taking in the surroundings. An ancient poster of the Chianti region and an old advertisement for Besana pannetonni adorned the walls, darkened by years of grease and heat. Beyond a hatch in the wall the bar was half-full of diners but it felt sleepier than daylight hours. The oak table was about eight inches thick, and the stools about an inch too low for it. The forks were bent and the white crockery dull and chipped in places, but my supper was sublime.

Later, as I sipped my long macchiato, the cook lady silently left her position at the cooker and came back with a saucer of home-made biscuits for me. I dunked them in my sweet coffee, feeling even more at home. They didn’t charge me for them.

Overworked

After almost six months of stretching my workdays out at times, things just got interesting. I've been co-opted onto a suite of projects for the Victorian Air Ambulance wing which we also manage. My contract has been extended for a year, and I shall henceforth by known as Project Manager - Major Projects (there's posh). So I've experienced a few weeks of 10-hour days and frantic deadlines, plus got to work with a few great new people. It's all good.

Orlando meanwhile spends most of his time interstate, leaving me alone in a huge bed at night listening to our wooden house rattling and creaking. I am pretty used to it now but it's weird to be separated so much. We will take the opportunity of his full three weeks in Brisbane in August, and I will fly up to join him for the weekend.

We had a night at the opera last weekend: Don Giovanni in the wonderfully old-fashioned venerable Athenaeum Theatre in the city. There was everything from tuxedos and cocktail dresses to people in tracksuit bottoms, but the interval sparkling wine was chilled and you could take your drink back to your seat. Marvellous.

Meanwhile most of you will know by now that the flights are booked and I shall be back in the northern hemisphere in October. I am looking forward to a couple of weeks with the family, my mum's 80th birthday, and a couple of days catching up with the London crowd. Then it's off to the Whitsundays, Australia's answer to the Greek Islands: an archipelago of white-sand beaches in the tropics off Queensland, right beside the Great Barrier Reef. The plan is to celebrate my 40th birthday with some scuba diving and magnificent sunsets. What's not to like?

Culture Shock

Most people here think that moving to Aus is not such a big change to living in the UK. But, as I explained to my friend Aly the other night, in some ways moving to Australia is more of a culture shock than visiting India or China. Just because The Bill and Neighbours are on TV, the food looks the same and everybody speaks English, many aspects of ordinary life are completely new or sometimes completely impenetrable to foreigners. Here are some examples of what I mean.

Food

Yes, the food is similar. We have fish’n’ chips, meat pies and pasties, takeaway pizza, sausages on the barbie. So far, nothing spectacularly different. But on top of that there are so many new things. Melbourne is a gastronome’s paradise: there is even a permanent newspaper segment called Epicure dedicated to all things gourmet.

There is an infinite number of places to have breakfast in Melbourne, even out in the suburbs. Whilst now and again we miss the honest fare of a good London-Greek caff or a full Irish breakfast (aah, how I miss Irish sausages and decent brown bread), even close to work I can sample divine French toast, fruit-laden raisin breads, omelettes, eggs benedict, home-made muesli, porridge with banana, and of course good coffee.

Melburnians take their coffee extremely seriously. Not for them a Starbucks at every corner: the local cafes and even train stations serve the very best espressos, macchiatos and café lattes. Starbucks is here, but tolerated rather than revered.

Good delis and markets are never far away. Footscray Market is our local, dominated by Vietnamese and Chinese food but boasting the very best fishmongers and butchers not to mention fresh fruit and vegetables. It is mentioned in Rick Stein’s “Food Heroes” book as an excellent source of fresh produce. Victoria, Prahran and South Melbourne Markets are just as good, with famous dim sims at one (larger versions of Chinese dumplings) and a great organic produce section at another.

Melbourne also has a burgeoning Slow Food culture too. The state of Victoria alone has five Slow Food convivia, and coming up soon is A Taste of Slow, two full weeks of quality food and wine, with a focus on seasonal, regional and traditional foods and boutique wineries.

Wine

We live surrounded by vineyards. It is heaven to live in a country where wine is a locally-produced item. Nowadays, even buying a South Australian wine seems pointless when there are so many Victorian wineries I haven’t tried yet. My personal favourite is Candlebark Hill up in the Grampians, in Hanging Rock country (about an hour’s drive from here). But the Yarra Valley and the Mornington Peninsula are no more than an hour’s drive from home, and we haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of these regions or Geographic Indications, the Australian version of “appellations controllées”.

Grape varieties I have never heard of are enthusiasically embraced by boutique wineries. Petit Verdot, Arneis and are wines I could select by the glassthe other night in a small wine bar. Even grape clones are heralded as varieties in their own right: for example the MV6 pinot noir clone so beloved of the Hurley vineyard on the Mornington Peninsula. However I don’t think I will ever be able to bring myself to order a glass of “cab sav”, preferring to give cabernet sauvingnon its full title always, despite not being understood by many waiters.

All in all, food and wine here in Australia is so different in many aspects as to be a completely new experience. I cannot think of one way in which our lives have not been enriched by this aspect of Australian life.

Traffic

No matter what traffic jams we experience here, nothing is as bad as Dublin on a bad day or London on any day. Dreadful traffic here constitutes a ten minute delay. Anything worse is headline news on TV that night. Most of the time at weekends we don’t even bother switching on the car stereo as we are hardly in the car long enough on any journey to bother.

Australians do love their cars, though. I admitted the other day to not having washed our car for over four months: I was confronted with a wall of incomprehension by colleagues who religiously valet their cars every weekend, usually driving to the local car wash where they pay to have somebody else do it while they have a real coffee while they wait (see Food and Wine above).

Personalised number plates are ubiquitous. People of every age soup up their normal suburban hatchbacks and saloons: under-car purple neon lighting, blacked-out windows, huge decals, “sports” exhausts (meaning specially designed to be noisy) adorn the vehicles of forty-comething blokes who should know better. There is no age limit to burning people off at traffic lights or doing spectacular U-turns on dual carriageways. It is a nation of boy racers (and that’s only the shielas).

Language

The old adage about England and America being two countries divided by a common laguage could also be said about England and Australia. Yes, they speak English here, and mostly it is understandable, especially when you get used to the so-called “high-rise terminals” – the ubquitous interrogative tone that make every Australian sentence sound like a question?

People really do use G’day as a greeting, and the phrase “fair dinkum” is commonly used, even by politicians in speeches. But it takes a while to understand words such as sook ( a softy or sulk), rapt (delighted), bogan (somebody who is perceived as being an unfashionable "lower-class" person, typically of British Isles ancestry and living in deprived urban areas), and shonky (dubious, underhanded).

Once you have figured out that shortening any word and ending it with an “o” will make you sound like a local, you’ve made it:

Ambo paramedic
Arvo afternoon
Servo petrol station
Reffo refugee
Rego vehicle registration
Milko milkman

One also has to learn where Woop Woop or the Back of Bourke is (very far away), how to handle a stickybeak (tell them to mind their own business) and find the alternative local phrase to”It’s like Piccadilly/O’Connell Street” when trying to emphasise how busy somewhere is (still looking for that one). One of my favourite alternative local metaphors – the same as a few sandwiches short of a picnic – is “kangaroos loose in the top paddocks”.

On the other hand, if you use a phrase familiar in England or Ireland like “starter for ten” or “I amn’t” or “it was great crack” you are also likely to get mystified looks as if one was speaking a foreign language (which of course one is).

Clothes

It’s Melbourne. Seventy percent of all clothing is black. Get used to it.

Sick Leave

Being well used to EU regulations it never dawned on me that you would have to earn your sick leave. Over here you accumulate sick days at a rate of around one day per month worked. Down side is that many people use them like an extension of their annual leave.

TV and Celebrities

Celebrity TV shows and gossip magazines are totally lost on me. We have no idea who these people are. There are famous people doing TV and billboard ads for stuff like All Bran and Nurofen but we didn’t realise they were famous people – we thought they were just actors. There is a “Fifty Years of TV” exhibition on in the Australian Centre for the Moving Image. Everybody is talking about it. It might be nostalgia to Australians, but it is impenetrable to us.

We don’t know who the famous people in Torvill & Dean’s Dancing on Ice are (is that a show in the UK too???). Celebrity Big Brother will no doubt also be lost on us. We have no idea who the ex-Big Brother housemates are (although a friend of the family is going out with one).

Popular Music

We have not found any radio station we can listen to on a regular basis as we recognise about 20% of the music (and that’s stuff we would switch off anyway). Spicks and Specks is the Aussie version of Never Mind the Buzzcocks: because we don’t recognise either the famous contestants or the songs they are being quizzed on.

We were in the city on New Year’s Eve and the big midnight fireworks display was accompanied by what sounded to us like random anonymous heavy rock music. We were baffled until somebody told us much later that it had actually been a medley of some of the most famous and best-loved Australian hit songs of recent years.

Wildlife

Everything in the country is trying to kill you. Crocodiles, jellyfish, man-eating sharks, baby-eating dingoes, not to mention the six species of stinging tree, five of the world’s seven most deadly snakes and the nine most poisonous spiders in the world.

Spiders come as big as you like. I have discovered that the three most frightening words in the English language are as follows:

Bird Eating Spider

A friend of ours once saw one. He mistook it for a crab. The female of the species can grow to about 60mm (2.5 inches), and that’s just the diameter of its body.

Funny enough, the smaller the spider, the more deadly it is. Mena tells me that Huntsman spiders (typically 2 inches in diameter) are not really scary as they are more like small furry creatures than spiders. Apparently, it is the tiny redback under the toilet seat I should be more worried about. Now, why did she think any of that would comfort me?

Diamonds Ball

Thursday night saw me attending one of Melbourne's biggest balls, a women-only event called the Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend ball. It is run every year for the Challenge charity (www.challenge.org.au), an organisation providing services and programs that support children and families living with cancer and other life-threatening blood disorders.

I don't get to wear my saris very often, and this lilac one was a gift from family friend Shara. I hadn't worn it before and I was looking forward to an evening out of the Melbourne uniform of all-black.

Arriving at the Crown Hotel alone, I walked into the 5-storey atrium foyer, a famous Melbourne attraction hosting an award-winning light and sound show. Enormous crystal chandeliers and animated lights move and sway in the cavernous space, accompanied by magical music which keeps children enthralled, especially at Christmas.

Ahead of me lay the Fred-Astaire-and-Ginger-Rogers staircase of black marble with fountains streaming down each side. I lifted my head high and walked as majestically as I could through the tourists, Sugarplum Fairy music in my ears. I picked up my skirts elegantly and glided up the sweeping staircase, concentraing on every step.

One or two Indian members of staff shot me appreciating glances as I arrived. Well, I do take pride in my sari pleats.

Every little girl has imagined herself as Cinderella arriving at the ball, and last night I lived the dream.

Eileen and I have been friends for about 30 years, but living in different countries for so long, the last formal "do" we attended together (apart from her wedding) was our debs dance back in 1983 god help us.

I haven't a photo of that eventful night to hand (but by god I will find one) so here's what we looked like at Eileen's wedding, 15 years ago this month. Happy anniversary, Eileen and Kelvin!

Yes we have no bananas

How ironic it is that, having finally settled in a country with a tropical zone, I find myself in the middle of a banana famine.

Since Cyclone Larry hit northern Queensland and decimated more than 90% of the banana crop, bananas have been like gold dust. The few tiny withered specimens we find in the supermarkets are retailing at around $13 a kg, which is about 10 times the UK price. I just visited a juice bar at lunchtime, and they have a big sign saying they have no bananas in any of their products until the new crop returns sometime at the end of this year.

Why, one asks, can we just not get bananas from Malaysia or India or any of our other tropical neighbours? Because, says the government, the native banana industry is protected by tariffs and other protectionist measures, and it will take so long to get around these that the Australian banana crops will be almost ready to make a return.

So in the meantime we yearn for banana smoothies, banana with porridge, banana sandwiches, banana in our fruit salad.

And wish there was a Tesco nearby.

Melbourne Food & Wine Show

Mena and I spent an extremely enjoyable and wine-sozzled day at the Good Food & Wine Show on Saturday.

We pushed through the thronged aisles, sampling all Australia has to offer in terms of gourmet food: Indian spices, seafood pates, jams and preserves, flavoured olive oils, teas and coffees.

The first cookery demonstration we sat through was wonderful. We learned how to make a winter soup and a delicious home-made rocket pesto. An actual member of the McGuigan family talked us through wine matching and handed out samples to taste. We could have gone home then and felt we'd got our money's worth.

The second demonstration was given by Ben O'Donoghue, an Aussie celebrity chef, but he didn't teach us as much as the previous food editor lady. We cut our losses and headed for the wine tasting.

Two hours and dozens of tastings later, we had made lots of new winery friends and pretended to be able to taste the difference between a pinot noir and a sangiovese. I got lost on the way to the loo and went missing for half an hour. Mena opened her purse next morning and found six comedy store tickets where her cash had been. We stood Orlando up in the casino afterwards: he finally found us in a food court unable to remember how we'd arrived there, and still managed to stay civil to us.

Next year I will do three things differently:

1. I will bring an old lady's shopping trolley on wheels to save my poor shoulders from all those freebies;
2. I will have a decent lunch before starting the wine tasting section of the day;
3. I will not stand Orlando up afterwards, but respect his kind offer of a lift home and try not to be a disastrous drunk!

Sydney Winter Weekend

Australians are fond of looking down their noses on people who choose to settle in Victoria. They smugly announce to us newcomers that Melbourne is the only place in Australia where you actually need an overcoat.

We have just spent a winter weekend in Sydney, and I am here to tell you that this assertion is wrong. Incorrect. Mistaken. False. Living anywhere where a winter weekend in Sydney is even possible is fabulous: we flew in on Friday night in time to catch a great late seafood supper in Chinatown, and spent the next 48 hours enjoying Sydney’s finest (of which more later). But hell, it was cold. Maximum 14C, easily down to 6-7C with wind chill. We brought overcoats, hats, gloves, scarves, and wore them all.

The Vibe Hotel was possibly a booking I made about 15 years too late. A lovely hotel, with funky lilac and black walls, kooky white and spangly lanterns and mirrors above the bed, we were approximately a decade older than the mean resident age. But the location was excellent, somewhere in between Chinatown and the main shopping area.

Sydney is very different to Melbourne. It is more sprawling, more littered, more hectic at night, more bustling by day. It feels like a city. We like it. On a Friday night, Golden Century Seafood Restaurant was a vast Chinese restaurant full of weekend tourists (us), Japanese tourists, local chefs just clocked off, after-work gangs celebrating whatever. The menu was lengthy; the fish tanks almost overflowed with lobster, crayfish, ocean trout, giant crabs, snapper, anything that swam. Waiters caught the fish in nets, weighted them on electronic scales and presented them to the table before whisking them off to the kitchens to be cooked. It is said that the best chefs in Sydney will be found here after hours, taking advantage of the late opening hours and the amazing food.

Saturday morning was spent lying in after a post-supper bottle of champagne. Brunch was a full Irish breakfast in a well-known Irish hotel, the Mercantile, in the Rocks area near the harbour. The rain was beginning to settle in for a “whole wet day” as my mum would say, but we were prepared and didn’t care. The market stalls outside sold chilli chocolate bars and Ned Kelly replica armour (WHO? Who would buy one?) and the restaurants overlooking the Harbour Bridge slowly filled with tourists and local wedding functions.

Even in the persistent drizzle the harbour is spectacular, the bridge and the Opera House eclipsing the grey skies above. We jumped on a local ferry to Manly, a seaside town on the ocean side of the harbour, and walked through the touristy shopping area to Manly Beach, a Pacific Ocean jewel less than half an hour from Sydney city centre. We strolled along, watching a surfing competition and counting the joggers, surfers, walkers and other sundry Sydney-siders intent on keeping their bodies fit throughout the winter months.

We made the trip back as night fell – after all, it is almost mid-winter here in the southern hemisphere. We travelled west past the Sydney Harbour bays – Watson’s Bay, Chowder Bay, Rose Bay, Double Bay. The city skyscrapers were silhouetted against the darkening sky as we passed Bradley’s Head to the north. As we curved towards Fort Denison the view was breathtaking: The Sydney Opera House was lit up against the city skyline, with the unmistakable arch of the Sydney Harbour Bridge picked out by street lights and traffic.


I stood outside in the wind and biting rain, taking in the view as the ferry brought us closer to one of the most beautiful city harbours in the world. The Opera House changed shape, its sails shining white in the almost-full moon as we swung round into Circular Quay. The bridge loomed above us, the bright lights of Luna Park sparkling in its shadow on the Kirribilli side. The cold took my breath away and the rain soaked my sensible boat and hat, but my weekend was complete: Sydney Harbour is unforgettable in any weather.



http://www.sydneyferries.info/attractions/index.php

Walking close to the Opera House after our ferry ride, we watched some Beautiful People congregating at Guillaume at Bennelong, one of the best restaurants in Australia - suitably positioned in the Opera House complex. One day, I promised Orlando, we will come for dinner there.

http://www.guillaumeatbennelong.com.au/index.html

A cocktail or two at the Opera Bar made a suitable end to our Harbour Cruise.

http://www.operabar.com.au/htmlfiles/index.html

Sunday was even colder, as we met some London friends for brunch at the Bathers’ Pavilion in Balmoral, on the northern coast of Sydney Harbour.

http://www.batherspavilion.com.au/1.html

Later, our hosts drove us to the North Head to witness a spectacular view of the city and the harbour entrance, as the winter winds whipped up an ocean swell which battered the cliffs on the Pacific side of the heads. It was a view we would never have managed to see ourselves, and despite the biting cold it was a fitting end to our winter weekend.

Homesick

It's been a weird week. The work-life balance seems a lot lighter on both sides of the scales. I miss my friends and family, and work is frustrating to say the least. The novelty of living in a new country has more than worn off, and it feels like most of what I care most about in life is half a world away. However, we continue to persevere, and Orlando has been great about keeping my spirits up.

We spent an enjoyable winter afternoon yesterday wandering down Chapel Street (a fashionable shopping area east of the city centre), people-watching from our vantage point at the laminated table of a tiny Greek cafe where we feasted on hearty vegetable soup, home-made cakes and good coffee.

Later, after the cinema, we ate in a long-established "cheap eats" place called Tusk which has been around for years (as evidenced by the genuine 1970s decor including a huge palm-trees-at-sunset mural). Maybe life here isn't so bad after all.

Willy LitFest

Yesterday I participated in the Williamstown Literary Festival. On stage. As a competitor.

I didn't mean to: I thought I had volunteered to read out some other person's work, but apparently I had put my name forward to read my own piece. Later it was further clarified that I would be reading out my offering as part of the People's Choice Awards, to be voted on by the audience on the day.

I spent the day at the festival, sitting in on lectures and workshops. The "Writing Food" talk by a local celebrity chef got the gourmet juices flowing, and now three of his books are on my must-have list. I was ravenous afterwards.

The "Sassy In The City: Writing The Modern Woman" lecture was given by a beautiful young romance writer with glossy curls, a great handbag and a handsome man waiting in the wings for her. Even though she was talking romantic fiction I got quite a few tips from her experiences. A couple of very elderly ladies in tweed and tight curls sat in the front row and muttered quietly to each other, shaking their heads and wondering aloud who this Bridget Jones was that the writer kept referring to.

Back in the Meeting Room of the Mechanics Institute, the wooden plaques around the room lauded past presidents of the Ancient Order of Druids and past Grands of the institute itself. A small group collected for the People's Choice Awards and eleven local writers, myself included, stood and read out their personal pieces. I was the youngest entrant by far, except perhaps for the fresh-faced writer of teenage books whose perfect skin and long glossy auburn hair would have made me envious were he not a bloke.

One of the front-row ladies from the Sassy lecture, a sprightly 80-year-old local woman, stood and read a beautiful and poignant recollection of a Scottish friend, written for his funeral. A younger woman in grey snakeskin drainpipes gave a spirited rendition of her perfectly phrased and rhymed epic poem about the Aussies' favourite horse, Phar Lap. A fashionably-dressed silver-haired woman from the University of the Third Age read out a lovely and amusing piece written from the point of view of a bonsai with a high opinion of itself.

My turn came. I stood at the top of the class, it seemed, and read out a version of my Chengde story from China. I was nervous and I know my voice shook a little at times. It is so different when you are seeking validation of your own words: I might as well have been standing there pleading for them all to like me.

I didn't win of course: the bonsai lady deservedly picked up the first prize. Early this morning when I awoke I realised I'd had no chance - I didn't even give myself top marks in the vote. I had misread the instructions and on my own ballot paper I had placed myself third, beneath the bonsai woman and a fellow writers' group entrant.

Maybe next year.

Melbourne Restaurants

Most of these places I have visited, with a smattering recommended by others.

Chinatown

Ding Dong Lounge, 18 Market Lane (close to Chinatown)
Rock 'n' roll meets modern Australian in this decidedly cooler-than-thou bar in central Melbourne. Shades optional.

Flower Drum, 17 Market Lane
Considered to be one of the best restaurants of any cuisine in Australia, the Flower Drum is almost impossible to get a table in. But well worth the wait.


CBD

Ezard at Adelphi 187 Flinders Lane
www.ezard.com.au
Teage Ezard is the gastronomical high priest of Australian fee style food, as he calls it. A visit to this restaurant is less of a night out than a pilgrimage. The eight course tasting menu is recommended.

Bennetts Lane Jazz Club, 25 Bennetts Lane
www.bennettslane.com
The Melbourne equivalent of Ronnie Scotts and the home of the Bennetts Lane International Jazz Festival

Cookie, 252 Swanston Street
You will find an obscenely long bar in this place, with a similarly impressive wine and beer list. The balcony is a good place to people-watch.


Victoria Market, 513 Elizabeth Street
www.qvm.com.au
Victoria Market is a historic landmark in Melbourne – it is the largest open-air market in the southern hemisphere. Originally known as a food market, it is now the place to buy anything from organic fruit and veg, authentic Mediterranean food, hardward and of course Aussie souvenirs. The Night Market takes place on Wednesday nights in summer, Its major focus is on food and entertainment. About 20 food hawkers provide a culturally rich range of food including African, Mexican. Spanish, Malaysian, Indian and Middle Eastern street food – not to mention the wineries who set up stall and sell fantastic wines by the glass or case! A great place to spend a summer’s evening.


Southbank

Miyako
www.miyakocuisine.com.au
Shop UR2, Upper Level, Southbank

Beautiful views of the river from the sheltered balcony, waitresses in kimonos and delicious food. What’s not to like?!

E Gusto
www.egusto.com.au

This is so popular with local office people that the company I'm temping for call it "the boardroom". An easy-going popular place with outside tables right on the river, E Gusto has a good Italian menu and a relaxed feel.

Blue Train
www.bluetrain.com.au

This is a great place to meet with friends as the menu is so wide it pleases everybody. Wood-fired pizzas with original toppings are my favourite, although the Asian fusion dishes are also tempting - try the beef curry. Wine list is short enough but well-chosen with almost everything available by the glass.

Bear Brass
www.bearbrass.com.au

A trendy bar in the Southgate building, it's a great place to people-watch after work or on an early summer's evening. Cocktails are good and bar snacks hit the spot.

Port Melbourne

Campari
www.campari.melbourneaustralia.com.au

Right beside the Tasmanian ferryport, Campari has an interesting mix of Mediterranean food on its wide menu. Tapas are fresh and varied, the paella is authentic and rich, the pastas to die for, and the hot plate dishes are a meat-lover's dream. The inside is not as atmospheric as the outside tables - a bit café-ish - although they are open for breakfast too (try the churros and chocolate). But sit on the deck and watch the passers-by watch you eat with the beautiful people.



Docklands

Man Mo, 42 NewQuay Promenade, Docklands
www.manmo.com.au
This beautiful restaurant with intriguing curtains made of kitchen sieves and tea strainers, offers the very best of Chinese food with excellent views over Melbourne city.

Bhoj, 54 NewQuay Promenade, Docklands
www.bhoj.com.au
This new version of the famous Templestowe original is reputed to have stolen the crown of best Indian restaurant in Melbourne. Certainly looks the part! Looking forward to checking this place out from the inside next time I am in town.


Livebait, 55b New Quay Promenade, Docklands
www.livebait.com.au
Occupying one of the best locations in the new Docklands development, Livebait’s speciality is modern seafood with a strong Mediterranean influence.


Cargo Restaurant & Supper Club, 45 New Quay Promenade Docklands
www.cargodocklands.com
Famous for its unisex electromagnetic toilets, made from transparent glass which only turns opaque when the toilet door is locked! The 270 degree views across the Melbourne skyline are pretty good too.


West of Town

Thien An, Footscray

Little Vietnam is full of cheap and cheerful eateries, many within or beside the cavernous Footscray Market (recommended by no less than Rick Stein for the quality of its fresh produce, meats and seafood). Closer to the train station, though, is a famed little place which has a loyal following - you will see a small crowd of people waiting outside each evening before opening time. It's BYO (bring-your-own) as you would expect, and $20 a head will buy you a substantial three-course feast.

Thai Angels, Barkly Street, West Footscray

Hidden down in West Footscray, this tiny place boasts a lovely coffee shop during the day, but serves up some of the best Thai food in Melbourne at night. The young waiting staff are friendly and attentive, and if you ask for "Thai hot" your taste buds won't be disappointed! It's BYO too although the wine list has plenty of good-value choice too.

Sirens Restaurant, Williamstown Beach
www.sirensrestaurant.com

One of my local favourites – this lovely restaurant in the old art deco bathing pavilion looks out over the bay, and is a great place to watch the sunset or the pelicans flying past


East of Town

Café Sienna, 402 Chapel Street, Prahran
No visit to Chapel Street would be complete without lunch at a café watching all the Melbourne beautiful people going by. Where better than Café Sienna – if there is nobody interesting wakling past you can always watch the clientele… lunchtimes bring a mix of drug dealers, students and rich girls. Caeser salad is pretty good too!


Botanical, 169 Domain Rd South Yarra
www.thebotanical.com.au
Botanical's recent transformation is complete - with its style and exceptional food making it the Good Food Guide Restaurant of the Year. According to their website, the Bubble Bar at the Botanical is the perfect place to take somebody if you wish to seduce them!

Thy Thy 1, 142 Victoria Street, Richmond
“Bloody good cheap grub” is how somebody once described this great local restaurant, upstairs above the shops on Victoria Street. Service is efficient in this slice of Vietnam right in the middle of Melbourne. You won’t get to linger all night – or even have a table to yourself – but the food is worth it every time.


St. Kilda

Stokehouse, 30 Jacka Boulevard, St. Kilda
www.stokehouse.com.au
The Stokehouse is a bit of a Melbourne institution, located right by the water on the St. Kilda beachfront. Downstairs is casual dining and drinks, with an outdoor terrace – great for anytime of the day or night. We used to come here when I had no money and sit for hours over a coffe, watching the St. Kilda people roller-blading by. Upstairs is fine dining, with similar spectacular views across the bay.


Soul Mama, St. Kilda Sea Baths, Jacka Boulevard, St. Kilda
www.soulmama.com.au
Great vegetarian food and fantastic cocktails, with spectacular views across the bay.


Café Tien Tien, 217 Barkly Street, St. Kilda
A wonderful Chinese/Singaporean restaurant with a great wine list and facinating décor including a genuine Buddhist shrine. Food is beautifully presented and service is impeccable.


Chinta Ria Soul, 92 Acland Street, St. Kilda
This is the first Malaysian restaurant I ever visited, and my niece had to order for me! The food blew me away the first time, and every time since. The music is laid-back, and you don’t have far to fall to find a great cake shop for dessert afterwards.

Café Barcelona
25 Fitzroy St St Kilda 3182
They say the food isn’t completely authentic, but it’s still delicious! Sit on the sidewalk and sip a sangria and let them bring you a parade of tapas as you watch the world go by.


Vineyard
71A Acland St St Kilda 3182
It’s a bit of a see-and-be-seen spot, but a truly democratic crowd from locals to backpackers to people just off the beach. Modern Australian food, a decent winelist and buzzy atmosphere.


Cicciolina
130 Acland St St Kilda 3182
A Melbourne institution, Cicciolina’s is reputed to be the best Italian restaurant in Melbourne. Owned and run by women, this cosy restaurant is the favourite eatery of many of Melbourne’s biggest chefs – and I guess they know their stuff. The back bar is where Melbourne’s finest wait for their (unbookable) table, and the wine list is legendary.


Lygon Street

Lygon Street, Carlton
www.melbourne.com.au/lygon
This famous street specialising in great Italian food is an absolute must. Just pick a restaurant and you won’t be disappointed!

Mornington Wineries

We cruised down country lanes with the colours of autumn all around us. We saw glorious red and golden vineyards through the trees, and tantalising glimpses of the bay and the Tasman Sea glinting on the horizon, as we hopped from winery to winery tasting the best of the Mornington Peninsula’s wines.

One was Eileen’s favourite winery restaurant. The Montalto vineyard and olive grove also has a sculpture exhibition dotted around the estate which allowed us to enjoy spectacular views across the vineyards whilst inspecting the exhibits. The restaurant terrace certainly looked lovely, and we will visit again one winter afternoon for a fix of sunshine with our food.

My personal favourite was the last place we visited, the Hurley winery at Balnarring, run as a hobby by two pinot noir enthusiasts, lawyer Trish and her QC husband Kevin. They have three vineyards surrounding their house, Lodestone, Garamond and all of which produce a wonderful pinot noir. We sampled the 2004 vintage before Trish gave us a tour of the vineyards, delivering the best short course possible on winemaking in 20 minutes! It was hugely educational, and I was fascinated to see how close together the three vineyards were (they are essentially right beside each other, just separated by wind-breaking trees) given the vast difference between the two wines I’d just tasted. The third vineyard’s wine had not been launched from the 2004 vintage as they were not happy with it.

Back in the tasting barn, Trish gave us a taste of the 2005 vintage which were sitting in oak barrels. This time the three vineyards were represented, and again I was amazed at how different they were. Despite Orlando’s protestations that I buy no more wine, I had to come away with just two of the Lodestone 2004 vintage. However I was eclipsed by Kelvin who bought 10 bottles to make up a full case between us!

The Hurley wines are available at a number of good restaurants across Melbourne, and you can get on their mailing list to keep track of their wines too.

Victoria Wineries: Vines, Wines and Views

One of the best things about Australia is the wine. And there are plenty of little wineries not too far a drive from the city, where you can fill the boot with great bottles and maybe catch a good bite to eat while you're at it. Many of the wineries have outdoor eating where you can sit back and enjoy a perfect view while you sample their goods.

Domaine Chandon
www.domainechandon.com.au
"Green Point" Maroondah Hwy Coldstream 3775 Victoria
Every day 10.30am to 4.30pm
Guided tours of the winery at 11am, 1pm and 3pm

Yering Station
www.yering.com
Yering Station 38 Melba Highway PO Box 390 Yarra Glen, Victoria 3775
Wine tasting, gift shop, lovely café and fine dining in the new wing
Cellar door 10-5 (6 weekends)
Restaurant from 10.00

Mooroduc Estate
501 Derril Road, Mooroduc 5971 8506
Cellar door 11-5
Dinner Friday – Saturday
Lunch Saturday – Sunday

Crittenden at Dromana
Harrison Road, Dromana 5987 3800
Cellar door 11-4
Café 12-3

Roundstone Winery and Bistro
54 Willow Bend Drive, Yarra Glen9730 1181
Cellar door 10-5 Wed – Sun
Bistro 10-5 Wed – Sun

Mitchelton Wines
Mitchellstown Road, Nagambie 5736 2222
ellar door 11-5
Café from 11.00

Candlebark Hill
www.candlebarkhill.com.au
Fordes Lane, Kyneton, Macedon Ranges 03 98362712
No cellar door but worth calling them for mail order or find them in Victoria Market – it’s one of my favourite wineries!!

Yarra Valley Wineries

It was so different to London on a Friday afternoon: we set off on our journey to the Yarra Valley in prime-time rush hour, expecting the worst. However it seemed that most of Melbourne had already headed home and were relaxing in the garden with a beer. We were out of the suburbs in less than an hour and the low red-tiled houses gave way to gentle hills and smallholdings.The Yarra Valley is a wine buff’s paradise, and a gourmet’s pantry. A network of small towns offer boutique accommodation, spa getaways and gastronomic experiences as well as a plethora of small and no-so-small wineries to tour and sample.

Soon we were well into wine country with vines covering the low hills into the distance. Many of the vines were covered with muslin, and it made some of the fields look like lakes from a distance.

The countryside was gentle but beautiful. The small towns we drove through were modest but attractive, low-rise wooden buildings with generous verandahs lining the wide main streets. Beyond the towns the darkening horizon was broken by the outline of majestic gum trees, their red or silver or fire-blackened spindly arms offering clumping umbrellas of dark green leaves to the enormous sky.

In time we approached our destination. Healesville is home to a famous native animal sanctuary where people can see koala, platypus, wombats and possums up close. We sought out the Sanctuary House Hotel as the sun started to set, and found a retro-looking American-style motel amongst the gum trees, rooms set around a small pool in which a family was splashing.

Our room was waiting for us – a simple but clean room overlooking the pool, straight out of the 70s. We tidied ourselves up and went in search of Katharine and Pete’s campsite, where they were waiting for us in their small but perfectly formed three-berth camper van.After a convivial (and extremely intimate given the surroundings!) evening of pasta, wine and chat, Orlando and I set off again through the darkness to find our hotel again. We stopped at a side road to gaze at the most amazing night sky emblazoned with an infinity of stars. The Southern Cross and Orion were easily picked out, but the most spectacular thing was the white stain of the Milky Way clearly laid out before us.

Morning saw us in search of a winery or two. We headed off through the hills again, clocking up at least one winery sign per kilometre at one stage. Familiar names like de Bortoli and Domaine Chandon jostled amongst tiny family-run vineyards. We stopped at the famous Yering Station, Victoria’s very first winery. The wine tasting area was through a gourmet’s delight of a shop, with everything from fresh sourdough bread, preserves, salamis and chocolate on sale.

Katharine slowed, but I resisted and headed straight for the wine counter. Well, somebody has to show backbone, I reasoned.

Friendly young waiting staff waited until we chose and poured a modest amount of our choices into glasses for us to try. Enthused by a couple of mouthfuls of amazing cabernet sauvignon before 11.30 in the morning, I vowed to try every red they had. Three of four tastings later, I was a slightly confused and not a little tipsy. Steady, I told myself.

I allowed myself to be led outside into the glorious sunshine where we wandered through the gardens and into the restaurant pavilion, where you can peer through well-placed windows into the cellars and wine-making area below. The view from the lawn (and from the restaurant) across the valley was panoramic, with hills echoing into the haze as far as the eye could see.Back at the wine counter I couldn’t resist a bottle or too of one of the loveliest Sangioveses I’ve ever met, and tried a couple more wines while I was waiting for the sale to go through.

I think I’ve found my calling.

Hanging Rock: It's No Picnic

North and west of Melbourne, the Macedon Ranges are perhaps best known as a wine-making area, and also boasts Australia’s highest concentration of mineral springs making it classic spa country too. Our journey (in convoy, our Honda following Katharine and Pete’s campervan) had as its destination the famous Hanging Rock, a mysterious place where a group of young female students disappeared without a trace way back in 1900 (or did they? Some say it was fiction). The movie Picnic At Hanging Rock told this chilling tale – I remember being taken to see it years ago as a birthday treat.

We parked under the gum trees and spied a lone wallaby or small kangaroo lounging in the shade. He lay quietly and allowed us to pet him; even so, I noticed his powerful rear quarters and the razor-sharp nails on his front paws. Cuddly, but not so cuddly.

The sign said it was a forty-minute return walk to the top of the rock formation. We had plenty of time before the park closed and we headed off up a well-defined footpath. Elderly couples strolled along and children chased each other through the rocks as the path climbed up through the volcanic rock formations.

We were glad of the shade offered by the gum trees. Part way up the actual Hanging Rock crossed the pathway, a huge plinth making a roof for the path and presenting an excellent photo opportunity for those who wish to be seen using amazing strength to keep the rock in place. (Yes, we did).

From the top of the rock formation we had spectacular views in every direction, except that the Macedon Ranges obscured our view of Melbourne city in the distance. Dull gold-coloured fields were littered with copses, and country roads cut dead straight lines through it all. No winding laneways here in this big country.

Time was passing on and it was time to make our descent. Three of us were wearing sensible footwear, while one of our party (OK, it was me) wore fashionable cream-coloured suede flip flops. But this place is a well-trodden tourist attraction and our walk to the summit had been easy and uneventful. There would be no problem.

Then the menfolk saw two teenage girls taking a slightly off-piste path down a tricky bit, and decided not to be outdone. Being ill-prepared shoe-wise for this, and my companion being dressed in a knee-length skirt, we chose the more sedate and modest route and followed the original path. Or so we thought. False start after false start saw us ascending more often than we descended. At one point we found ourselves in yet another dead end, cut off by a sheer descent on one side and a wire fence on the other. So much for taking the less intrepid route, I mused. Not less intrepid, quoth Katharine, just differently trepid.

Eventually, and not after we had both seriously begun to regret our lack of emergency flares and water supplies, we spied something vaguely man-made through the rocks and scrambled down until we found ourselves on tourist ground again. I strode along with my handbag relegated to my neck, rather like (as Katharine kindly pointed out) a St. Bernard dog's brandy barrel. Charming. By this time it was less than ten minutes to the park’s closing time, and we could only hope that our beloved partners would not leave without first raising the alarm of yet more luckless females disappearing on the rock. Would they make a movie about us this time?

We strode along as quickly as we dared, finally reaching the café and shop with moments to spare. In typical country style, they were only tidying up and there seemed no danger of us being locked in for the night. Our men were lounging under an umbrella with cold drinks, looking suspiciously unworried about our plight.

Hanging Rock: it’s no picnic.