Carpe Via

Still a bit jet lagged, we settled into the apartment and I began to look around the neighborhood.

It is much more tropical than I expected. Our apartment is on a green park next to a little bay and just over a set of tennis courts. In the morning we wake to the melodious calls of currawong birds mixed with the occasional “bugger!” from the players below.

The sun is up bright and early. There are at least five good cafes within a two blocks radius. The one next door has tame cockatoos mingling with the guests. My drink of choice these days is a “flat white” which is somewhere between a latte and a cappuccino. I dare not order the long black.

For Christmas, Richard took us to a professional cricket match–well, at least the first of five days. Australia Vs. South Africa. Funny game, cricket. A couple of days earlier a player had been fined $5000 for questioning the ref on a call –he had turned to him and asked, “Are you sure?”

In most ways it was like going to a baseball game, a leisurely day in the sun with hotdogs, beer, and lots of sunscreen. That is except for the Member Pavilion where they have to wear ties. It’s the fancy building over the crowd in the middle –where the wave always dies. No painted bellies or beach balls in that section.

The game goes for seven hours each day, with a lunch break for the players at 1 pm and a ‘tea break’ at 3pm. It’s pretty simple really: the batters hit and score runs until the other team gets them out by either catching a pop fly or somehow hitting the little wood stick behind each batter (the wicket). When the batting team gets 10 outs, they switch and the other team gets to try to score more runs. The first out of our day was at 4pm.

Perhaps the most impressive thing is that the outfielders don’t wear mitts. Or that it’s perfectly legal for the pitcher to aim for the batters’ head. No, no, I definitely think the most impressive part of the game is New Zealand bowler Daniel Vettori. Damn fine player from what I can tell.

New Years Eve, was a warm summer evening and Charles’ dear friends came by for a barbie –Katie, Tim and you all know Barry. They brought champagne and Coopers beer which we legally carried to the waterfront park. There we joined the other revellers to see the three simultaneous fireworks shows, the lighting of the Harbour (pronounced ‘hahba’) Bridge and the announcement of the theme for the year: year of the outback.

The next morning we were awakened at 6am by the fire alarm. Grabbing my laptop, passport, wallet and phone book, I followed Charles outside to find two trucks full of firemen. I tried to get photos for Tricia (yes, I grabbed the camera too) but alas, most came out as blurry as they looked in person. It turned out to be a false alarm, but it got us up to see the first sunrise of 2002.

We lost December 27th somewhere on the flight over. But I would have gladly traded a day for the sunrise of deep reds that greeted us on the morning of the 28th over the Pacific. When we neared the airport, however, a hazy smoke robbed us of the first views of the sea cliffs of Sydney. Bushfires.

Charles’ family had rented a house on the beach a couple of hours down the coast from Sydney. We took quick showers and jumped in the car to join them. On the way we passed black gutted forests and the air was still thick with a grey haze that lasted for weeks to follow.

So it was with severe jet lag and in sweltering heat that I met the Young family (see side section for introductions). They are wonderful. Both of his older sisters just had new baby girls; Alice and Stella (Wooda wooda, oh). Charles somehow managed to get poohed on and cried at within 10 minutes of walking in the door. Must have been the beard. But then we all settled down to open prezzies and the older kids, Harriett and Tom, were most helpful with the unwrapping.

I had brought a little gift basket from Oregon which included jams, Australian cookies (Anzac biscuits) made in The Dalles and Dad’s homemade organic novello wine. At our insistence, Charles’ Dad opened it and had a big glass, saying all sorts of nice things about it. It wasn’t until dinner that Charles and I had a sip –to find that it hadn’t travelled well at all.

But the wine wasn’t the only one that had a hard time getting here. Sally, Paul and baby didn’t make it through the bushfire road blocks and had to spend Xmas eve in a hotel room (no manger for Stella on this Xmas eve). And on the afternoon of the 25th, as the Youngs and the rest of the little beach neighbourhood were preparing Christmas dinner, the power went out. In summer. With fridges full of turkeys and other melting things. Thinking quickly, Richard and Michelle drove to the next town for ice. They brought back 20 bags and, to Michelle’s horror, sold them to the neighborhood for a profit. Richard is currently running Wranglers.com.au, I’ll be sure to let you all know when they go public.

It’s very strange to celebrate the holidays in shorts and a tank top. One of their family traditions is to make homemade ice cream. The next morning we even got up early to take a dip in the ocean before driving back to Sydney.