Saturday, July 19

[Australian alpine region]

And so my fourth season of skiing has come to pass. Does that make me an annual skier? I reckon so.

I awoke very early last Sunday morning to finalise my packing. It all became a bit rushed in the end; thank goodness Jess drove me to Spencer Street Station. Discovering that the clock on my phone was slow (I don't wear a watch) didn't help.

Anyway, Gossy and I found one another and boarded a cramped bus that seemed disproportionately laden with children. If you ignore the confined conditions and high likelihood of DVT, a trip like this is not so bad. We had a bizarre driver who kept telling us not to drop anything on the floor – apparently it's hard to get a vacuum cleaner inside the bus, as if we care, I've paid perfectly decent money and therefore don't need a guilt trip. He also recommended multinational service stations over local small businesses (Goss and I defiantly wandered across the road to a coffee shop) and was obsessed with bushfires. Who needs morbid thoughts at the start of a holiday? He said something about pregnant cows getting so hot that they suffered from explosive abortions, firing foetuses in a projectile fashion, I mean who wants to hear this stuff? At least we got to watch Ice Age (queer subtext, anyone?) and Miss Congeniality.

At last we arrived atop the mountain. I donned my backpack and hiked up the snowy terrain while Goss waited 1.5 hours for the 'oversnow', how ridiculous. Our accommodation was comfortable, and the dust blowing out of the heating unit provided a convincing realism to the African-themed interior.

There were so many of us that we had practically hired out the entire building. Such numbers would have been unmanageable were it not for Sandra's post-it note system and her decree that everyone was responsible for their own fun.

I skied for two days, the Monday and the Wednesday, and through a combination of good advice and good luck, they were probably the best times. This season is not very good; the snow cover is fairly light and the conditions were at times quite icy. I'm certainly a lot more confident with my skiing now, and even chose to attempt a 'black' run (the most difficult rating), rather than being inadvertently led down one by Sandra (as I was on my second-ever day of skiing). Unfortunately we strayed off the defined path (which was called 'The Slot' by the way) and ended up in a region replete with protruding branches, large rocks, ice-chutes and ravines... somewhere in between 'The Slot' and 'International'. Just awful, I don't enjoy these conditions and prefer to stick to the much more cruisy 'blue' runs. I took no major falls but did get wiped out by a couple of beginners.

I like to think I had the best sunglasses on the mountain, but we all have our fantasies. Ours was an eccentric bunch, which is lucky because it aids identification in near-whiteout conditions. It has to be said that, in general, the clothing choices of most skiers (including myself, I didn't have the designer white jacket this year) leaves a little to be desired.

During my days off I nursed aching muscles and lounged around in a pleasantly cold environment. There were several other non-skiers who busied themselves with cafe crawling and the construction of the traditional snow-woman called 'Mrs Jelly' (see above). It's a feminist statement evidently... two years ago they used real pubic hair scraped out of the bathroom drain, it nearly made me sick.

Then there was the opportunity to drink red wine, cocktails, hot chocolate, coffee, tea, etc... several trip participants were unbelievably fun in this department.

Actually, the whole holiday was a great opportunity to catch up with some wonderful friends from Adelaide, and I also got to meet some new people. Most nights we stayed up late, chatting and laughing. We were a diverse bunch, with a wide variety of ages, backgrounds and ethnicities. It could have been a hippie commune if we weren't all such rampant consumers.

The inevitable last day dawned, and actually several of us were very glad because we got a bit fed-up with being on holiday and just wanted to get off the damn mountain. The minibus snaked down to the little town of Mt Beauty... everyone else left for home and I was stranded in a country town for 4 hours, waiting for my bus to Melbourne. I went for a walk and found a delightful spot to sit and read, which transformed the day of waiting into a day of intellectual pursuit (I began the day by devouring a copy of The Face in a Falls Creek cafe, so it was all uphill from there). At last I went to the bus station where an interesting woman befriended me and tried to establish group dynamics between her, myself and another young passenger. All a bit odd, but she was out of her mind due to a series of strange events that culminated in her car catching on fire, so I was happy to lend an ear. The trip itself was uneventful, I read a huge amount of my Banana Yoshimoto novel and listened to CDs while trying to ignore the inane Blue Crush. I arrived at Spencer Street Station at 11pm and lugged my backpack home.

posted by pete at 10:39

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Wednesday, July 9

[Snow]

I must start my preparations because I leave for the snow at 9am on Sunday and haven't even begun to think about what I might need to take.

That's a slight lie, because I was wondering whether I should get together a few root vegetables, some chickpeas, a bag of rice and a home-made sachet of spices so I can cook up a huge curry at the start and then have food for the week, thereby eliminating any need to eat out.

It won't work. The aroma of the curry would probably permeate every room of the apartment and thus I would be subject to the vexation of others, and also I'd never get motivated to chop the vegetables and would probably end up going to a restaurant instead. This idea is all in the name of financial responsibility, but now is probably no time to be careful.

I can leave that until the end of July. I think.

posted by pete at 23:03

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Friday, July 4

[Canberra]

After a second-rate flight of about an hour's duration, I touched down for the first time in the national capital. It's hard to see the city for the trees really... many different varieties cluster around the circular streets. The city's setting is very pretty, but the fact that the whole place was built virtually from scratch not all that long ago removes a certain degree of charm.

The ever-gorgeous Melita met me at the airport and people curiously watched our greeting (it doesn't seem to matter where you are in the Canberra airport, it feels like there is a row of people looking at you). We took some circuitous path into town, picked up Cam from his office at ANU (he's doing a PhD in physics) and went directly to a cafe in civic.

Which was pretty much where we spent the entire afternoon.

The evening saw dinner at a Malaysian restaurant followed by red wine at an Irish pub, oh how I pine for the abundance of good South Australian vinous beverages, not that we didn't have a good time. Somehow we ended up in some horrible tram-themed pokie venue; let me tell you it was bright lights small city, I don't understand the addictive quality of gambling, especially since the machines themselves are so visually unattractive. Oooh, it's the 'dollar man'!!! Ugly, ugly, ugly. It's like sitting in front of a poorly designed neon sign for hours on end; needless to say I spent none of my hard earned *cough* money.

After a fine sleep on a deceptively comfortable modular couch, the real day of sightseeing began. Melita and I commenced it all in a very nouvelle fashion, breakfasting in a delighful Kingston bakery/cafe where we shared a toasted brioche with mascarpone and roasted pears and also a bruschetta with lentils, herbs, poached egg and a horseradish salsa... combined with the requisite coffee these provided an unbelievably delicious breakfast. And oh how we posed out the front of that establishment; it would make anyone sick (although I secretly longed for a designer-label shopping bag to carry as well; it would have properly silenced a couple of wayward public servants who annoyed me).

Then it was up to the Telstra Tower for a panoramic view and a creepy Ring-like experience when our car radio started picking up a billion simultaneous signals. Thank goodness I'm not psychotic 'cause there would have been some messages encoded for me in there.

We picked up Cam and hit the National Museum where flailing architectural forms project above artificial spaces. The building is quite arresting at first but becomes a bit tiring once you realise there are multimedia kiosks to endure. We experienced some virtual ride/movie thing which was cleverly assembled, but the ranks of screaming school kids really took it out of me.

So it was time for a quick and convenient sushi lunch, and then up to the imposing Parliament House. The building is great from the outside but absolutely ugly inside... an overwhelming sea of marble and timber. I was prepared this time, and removed my belt prior to stepping through the X-ray machine. Melita had to relinquish her pocket knife.

We looked at one of the gardens nearby, then tried to find the much-mentioned 'sculpture garden' in several different places before discovering it, oddly enough, right next to the National Art Gallery. This gallery is wonderful and I could have spent the entire day there, but time did not permit and it was a bit of a hurried rush. Nonetheless, we viewed some wonderful works.

After that we visited Melita's former workplace, and then dropped in on a fascinating friend of hers who owns an entire coffee machine (cafe-size) and is about to put on a rave in his house. We then went back home (via an icecream store) for a chilled-out evening... Benet and Franca taught me a strange Italian card game which proved to be lots of fun. Once more I have met a bunch of interesting people, many of whom I am unlikely to see again. A late dinner at another Malaysian restaurant and then back to the modular lounge. Benet gave me a weird psychological evaluation but that's a story for another time.

And so the day of the road trip dawned. Melita is an amazingly efficient packer (especially given that she was actually moving cities, not just visiting) so we were on the road in good time. Which was lucky because we took the wrong highway to begin with and had to wind back to the correct direction... three minutes into the trip and we were already lost. The journey was pleasant and fun; for some strange reason we ended up listening to an old Bush tape in between the dying radio signals. Funny how our high school years coincided exactly with the profusion of indie angst-rock (as opposed to grunge). A very misty Melbourne received us and the Sallys weren't home so we escaped the cold by visiting their friendly neighbours. When the girls did arrive, another pleasant evening began.

posted by pete at 10:38

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