Teej's Secret Box

Sydney.  I remember when I was walking around, all used to the city, toward the end of the trip.  I was feeling that it is a fabulous location for me to actually live in for a few months at a time.  I am appealed by the ease of the train and ferry access, the delicious kindness of the people around, and the diversity of foods.

Jill did not quite like the city, but that is her prerogative.  I can see myself immersed in this, which provide a unique twist to the way of life I have always known.  One day, I actually got in the car with Jill, and drove around.  Jill was busy screaming her head off at my efforts to learn that left is right.  It was a thrilling experience to know that I could at least drive on the wrong side of the road, and live to tell the tale.

There is a deep pride for the country of Australia by the citizens themselves.  It is the same as here in the United States; despite the surface denial of such by many here (we are just being prissy at our current government and several glorified idiots, that is all.)  The rugby match between Australia and New Zealand was fiercely competed, and was riddled with ridiculous scandals (such as the Wallabys doing warm-ups after New Zealand do their mantra dance, which was quite scandalous within the press there.)  Due to the smaller size, Australia is much more inclusive of the outside world than the States.  While the US media were apparently focused on the whole Israel question, Australia was noticing a lot more from the world around us, and delivering in a sharply done media.

The deaf culture there is uniquely different, and yet very inclusive in many ways.  The sign languages are very different in many respects — due to the heritage difference between that country and our country — ASL derived from French Sign Language, while Auslan is derived mostly from British Sign Language.  Yet, they are very receptive of my presence, and very willing to show off several of the bests of the city and its communities.  They are progressing as fast as they could, just as we are here in the United States, to be seen as equals to the hearing world, and I applaud them for the efforts they have taken.

Air New Zealand have been a fabulous experience and their lay-flat bed is an absolute minimum for me now that I have the taste for it for long range travel (10+ hours).  The meals were delicious, yet unique.  The in-flight entertainment was decent, although I do hope they would consider subtitling some of their films.  Their service is very good, and the attendants were very nice, literally.  They have obviously been around the business for very long, and are deeply appreciative of a kind passenger, instead of a grumpy one making their job harder than it should be.

I discovered yesterday that Google Maps, despite what I saw before the trip, now illustrates the map of Sydney perfectly.  It was so wonderful to see by satellite where I have been to, what I saw, and how things look from a hundred kilometers up.  Now, I can see if Google could route a driving trip from Phoenix, AZ to Sydney, NSW.

Just this afternoon as I type this, I was walking back from lunch, and I found myself walking to the left of the groups, and looking right first before I cross the street.  It will be a habit that will eventually fade, yet gives me a nice reminder of where I just came from.

It is a wonderful experience, and I am glad I was able to go.  There are many things I would love to do, such as exploring out to the rest of the country.  But as I am standing there outside in Sydney, I suddenly realized that I am indeed ten thousand kilometers away from home.  Such a long way, and yet I felt at peace in Australia, just as I did in Netherlands, Costa Rica, and more.

So what is this entire world of our?

It is home.

* * * FIN.

The morning brought with it an event not seen since the previous Thursday — rain. Heavy duty rain. It was an appropriate mood-setting as I bid farewell to my best friend and depart to the airport (her flight leave later) via taxi. The way to the airport was pretty long, ducking under a runway that was rebuilt to accommodate the Airbus 380 (double-decker plane bigger than the Boeing 747 that we all know of — that one with the hump). It was slightly tricky to discover the Air New Zealand check in booth, and this terminal in Sydney reminds me of the JFK American Airlines terminal (B, I believe) with the multiple vertical rows of check in booths. And unlike every other country I have travel through; Australia Customs mans a buffer zone between the check-in terminal and the security zone toward the departure gates. I do not know quite what they are looking for, other than to make sure we are not taking out a lot of money, or smuggling something.

This experience is specifically different than the way Amsterdam handle their security zone — it was clear that Customs did not really care for what you have done in Australia, while Amsterdam was more concerned on what you could export (explosive/drugs/et cetera).

The lounges for Air New Zealand are as usual top notch, but I was not pursuing any alcohol (way too early for that). The rain forced a cancellation of a flight to Auckland, and our plane arrived at the time we were supposed to depart. However, a quick turnaround, and departure was ensured, and we arrived not too much later than expected.

While in Auckland, I tried my best to find New Zealand currency proof set, but failed to secure anything more than two sets of coins. Apparently, on 31 July 2006, New Zealand decided to save money by changing their coin sizes. They dropped the 5 cents coin, and now have only 5 coins: 10 cents, 20 cents, 50 cents, $1, and $2. The old sized sub-dollar coins are still recognized as legal tender, but only until 1 November 2006, where they will only be accepted at the Reserve Bank in Wellington.

One other thing about Auckland Airport — it is small. Not surprisingly so, but still quite a small size compared to many International airports around the United States. In fact, they have less gates for the International wing than Phoenix airport does – 13 gates compared with 14 (at my best count – this is the concourse B East of Terminal 4.) However, unlike Phoenix which only serves London, and Mexico (Canada flights are boarded pre-cleared by US customs at Canada airports — much easier to manage at about 10 airports there than 50+ here that Air Canada and WestJet serves), Auckland airport serves just about everywhere all over the world — Asia, South America, North America, and Europe (via Los Angeles). I am surprised they do not serve Africa (South Africa) directly yet. Plenty of Cricket and Rugby fans there!

Also, unlike before when I went through, the Air New Zealand lounge in Auckland were showcasing the lay-flat bed on their 747s, which is a very nice thing to see for anyone who have not had the experience. Once again, if we could eliminate turbulence, this kind of experience would be the best way to travel on long-haul flights as it will bring you there fresh and ready for the day ahead.

The meals were good, but forgettable, IFE was as enjoyable as ever (Ice Age 2 was hilarious as hell, even without captioning.) The service was great.

Arriving in Los Angeles, it was fairly easy for me to find my way to the US Airways/Southwest Terminal (which is sorely in a need for a reorganization — it is as if US Airways and Southwest are growling at each other tugging at each other’s gates to dominate the terminal, scaring all the other airlines away, as both fight over the left-behind gates.) I am surprised that US Airways still have not done a nonstop between LAX and FLL (Fort Lauderdale Airport), probably due to lack of planes, but I digress.

The flight back to Phoenix was uneventful, and I am home.

At the behest of a deaf friend of mine living in the Sydney metro area, I went to Parametta today to visit her mother’s (and her’s) offices.  Deaf Education Network and the Deaf Society of NSW (New South Wales) are in the process of merging into the same office space.  DEN is responsible for training and educating everyone with a variety of subjects, with my friend doing her part teaching Auslan, including some of the certification classes for future interpreters.  Her mother is responsible for coordinating interpreters throughout the entire Sydney area to answer a need for deaf and hearing people as we all interacts with each other.  Unfortunately, none of the interpreters that I am aware of is skilled with ASL enough to interpret for me.  Darn.

When I used to live in Pittsburgh, which was born out of a collection of many smaller mining towns to a metropolitan area, I actually lived in an area called Monroeville, about 20 miles east of Pittsburgh.  It is a unique and separate community with its own business center, shopping areas, and homes.  The vast majority of its citizen travel to Pittsburgh for the jobs, but a growing number are finding jobs within the area.  This is what Parametta is all about for Sydney — a second growing city to Sydney’s west, with plenty of people flowing to the city, and yet finding themselves also working in the Parametta proper.  Thus, the area around Parametta have been booming, just as the area around Monroeville (well, Sydney is growing, while Pittsburgh is finding themselves shrinking, so it is all relative.)

There is a nice mall there, where I finally grabbed a copy of Ender’s Game by Oscar Scott Card, and enjoyed very much thus far.  There were an ancient arcade, victim of lack of funding, lack of crowds, and a shifting marketplace toward the home for video games entertainment.  It is sad to see that Australia could not escape this shrinking market either.  I miss my Magic Ballroom of Salem, Virginia so much.

After the trip to Parametta, I went to the local post office, and got the 2006 Australian Proof Set coins, which includes the now-discontinued-except-for-big-bucks-proof-set 1 cent and 2 cent coins.  With Australian currency, it is so nice to not have to worry about the pennies and two-pennies (for a lack of better word), with the stores now pricing not only in whole prices, but also including taxes.  $2 AUD is $2 AUD.  Thanks to this philosophy, the one cent/two cent coins pretty much are not missed.  It is a shame I did not get the time to go to Canberra, where the Royal Australian Mint is based, just over 250 kilometers to the southwest.  Next time!

At night, Jill and I spent the time being a typical tourist — looking for cheap junks to find and bring back to our friends and families.  From what I saw, Jill’s friends and family will be tickled pink by her gifts.

But one thing finally caused me to wonders about Sydney’s sanity — everything downtown, all restaurants, and closes down at 9 to 10pm.  Dead.  So once we were done with shopping at 9, we were unable to find any place to eat dinner anywhere but the hotel.  It was quite disappointing, though.  You would think that a large footprint of a city like this would actively promote an influx of citizens toward downtown in the evenings, but their ferries stop around 10pm – 11pm, and their CityRail grinds to a stop at 11pm – 1am.  This is so unlike Montreal — which does shut down most malls at 9pm on Thursdays, yet keep their restaurants open until midnight, and their metro open until 2am.  I am quite curious on whether there is a cultural reason for this early closure of downtown.

In the end result, we went to bed, instead of staying up all night partying.  We just did not know where to party after all.

I know that the next time I head back to Australia; I will find myself on the first train/plane out of Sydney.  By this point, I was already running out of things to do and see in Sydney.  Fortunately, the concierge came through for me, and recommended a trip to Manly Beach.  Yes, Manly Beach — where testosterones get filled up, and we all feel as if we are justified to be a man!

Oh, I am sure it is named after some famous dead fart with a funny last name, but I would prefer to believe otherwise.

A trip to Manly Beach would be best done with a ferry traversing 7 miles of water.  Yes, I said 7 miles, not some number of kilometers.  It was my first time seeing miles being used, and there it was on the information screen on the ferry itself.  The ferry is a pretty big one, capable of holding a thousand people, shuffling them from downtown to a single pier that is heavily under construction (so much that there is only one side available to dock on, requiring a wait for the high speed shuttle boat that compete against the ferry on this route.  High speed, indeed.

Manly Beach is a wider version of Bonzi Beach, a slightly curved C shaped beach stretching approximately 3 kilometers wide.  You get there from the ferry by walking approximately 600 meters through a number of interesting stores and restaurants, mostly gearing toward the town of Manly, instead of the beach — so unlike the East Coast beach towns, which are primarily focused on the tourists, not on the local residents.  Well, at least it used to be that way with Myrtle Beach before the influx of chain stores, restaurants, and malls.  I am sure it is still true with Ocean City, Maryland, among other smaller beach towns.

Unlike those beach towns, people who live in Manly Beach usually are those who are wealthy enough to appreciate an ocean view, and shuttle to work via ferry, bus, or car (the very long way).  Yes, there are tourists, and there are surfers (or at least surfers wannabes — there is a school of surfers in session when I was there).  But most interestingly, there are school kids by the hundreds.  The sea of blue, green, red, and white uniformed kids all clumped together with peers of the same colors doing a wide variety of activity — rollerblading for the white, beach volleyball for the green, beach-prowling for the blue, and marching here and there for the reds.  I am so pleased to see that schools are still interested in activities that would enrich their children’s mind and body outside the classroom environment.  Meanwhile, American kids have only 50 minutes for PE, if even that.

There were several dozens surfers out in the water at various points in the ocean, oh excuse me, the Tasman Sea.  After all New Zealand just starts around the area of Sydney, so it is not the Pacific Ocean, oh no.

Too bad, there were not sunbathers, but then it was not quite warm enough for the sightseeing events to start — after all, it is the wintertime in Sydney.

Curious about the hill buttressing one the north end of the beach, I decided to take a stroll up the hill.  Here is what I learned:

When there is a bump in the road with a sign showing feet, if you are ever in a sense to look toward that crosswalk ever thinking of crossing it, a thick bulletproof steel wall suddenly erects up on both sides of the crosswalks, preventing cars and trucks from crossing until you change your mind about crossing.  Or something like that — there is apparently a rule in Australia’s driving that mandates that you not drive across a crosswalk if there is anyone in the anticipation of crossing it, not just those that are making the crossing.  You must stop, and you must wait like a good Aussie.

No matter how exclusive a beach is, there is always an even more exclusive one with better surf on the other side of the hill.  The hill is apparently called Queenscliff, and the beach is Queenscliff Bay.  I also spot a very cute gray/black cat with such rich shiny fur coloring, all eager to stalk birds nearby.

A school bus is just a regular city bus, with a little sign quietly stating that it is a SCHOOL BUS.  Kids do get out of school around 3ish, considering the huge influx of kids in the neighborhoods as I was walking back to the ferry.

Instead of collision, you are supposed to use the word smash.  Yes, Smash Repair Center was sighted.

Most gas stations were definitely not prepared for the over-$1/liter gas price tag.  So how do they compensate?  By exposing a slot to the left of the letters, and using that as an indication that there is a $1 added to the actual number provided.  So folks, Aussies are not lazy at putting up the signs, there is a reason for the madness.  So do not go all hopping in a car heading to Australia for those 39 cents/liter petrol.

That night, Jill was overworked, and wanted to crash and burn, so I chose to ask the concierge to recommend a sushi place.  He named a few, so I headed out to the 2nd closest one.  Mind you, I asked the concierge to name the most traditional Japanese sushi place within Sydney.  When I arrived at my first choice, I took a look at the sushi chef (25-ish year old), and the options on the sushi bar (5-6 fishes visible.)  I also took a look at the menu which matches the limited fish options.  I knew that this was not the place for me.  So I turn around and walked out.

My second choice was Yoshii.  It was a fabulous choice by far, and in the end result, despite one snafu, now resides on the top of the “Best Sushi Place Worldwide That I Have Eaten At.”  It is a lofty title, competing against hundreds of other sushi places I have frequented in 5 countries thus far.  No, I have not been to Japan, so it is quite easy for this list to be mixed up once I learn how to decode “SUSHI” in kanji while wandering around Tokyo and Kyoto.

Why is this restaurant so good?  It is the chef, Naoki Fukazawa.  According to him, he has worked as a Sushi chef for 26 years.  Only 4 more before he start playing with puffer fishes, which he does not quite relish doing.  That is right, sushi chefs in Japan are generally required to be on the job for at least 30 years before they are even considered as skilled enough to even be able to weed out the vast majority of the poison within the fish to make it presentable.  Even despite that, there is enough poison left to give someone a nasty buzz if they are not ready for it.  It is quite a dangerous dish, and makes me wonders how the world Japanese people survived long enough to realize that YES… yes, there is something tasty within all of this thorny dangerous thing.

But how good is he, really?  Well, let’s give you an example — squid.  Squid is this thick chewy thing that is not quite all that special.  It is far worse than octopus in a level of chewy style.  But you know what?  That is not correct.  It is not THAT chewy.  The squid I had was actually soft, tender, fresh, and delicious!  Granted, if you do not freeze the fish, the tender/fresh part really shines.  But how can this squid be so soft and delicious?  It is all within the cutting technique that the sushi chef employed.  Yes, indeed — the difference between enjoying and tolerating a dish are all within the technique you employ in cutting the fish.

So if he is able to cut up squid just right, imagine how good he was with the staple dishes such as salmon, tuna, and shrimp?!  It was one of those rare moments that I truly enjoyed a tuna sushi.  It was not a boring bland thing, but an actual tasting dish.  He also made escolar (cooked white fish) that was light years better than Sakana in Phoenix, AZ could ever make it.  And I love escolar at Sakana!

I must confess, the rest of the meal, a $100 omasake dinner, including the entrees, cleanser, soup, and dessert, were mostly good, yet forgettable.  Actually, I take that back, it was the best miso soup I have had anywhere.  Instead of a sea-based broth, it was decidedly beef broth that they chose to use, which provides a nice kick to the standard tofu, scallions, and other bits.  The tofu was very good too.

The sushi omasake blew me away so much that I was highly appreciative toward the sushi chef, who humbly accepted the praise.  I have finally found the next level in skilled sushi making, and I am better for it.  Sure, I still love Sakana, but I know exactly what to demand for once I get the mood to go out and have a kick ass sushi meal.  Here to hoping that I will be able to eventually find a good domestic location for ultimate sushi.

With a smirk, or rather a huge smile on my face, I find myself doing the Motown dance 100 meters off the ground, to the ever pleasure of the people in a tower nearby. A moment in the journey to the top of Sydney’s Harbor Bridge this morning.

The Harbor Bridge was built in the early 30s to connect Sydney to North Sydney. Next to the Opera House, both are considered as icons of Sydney, along with the Sydney Tower. It turns out that you could actually climb up the arc, currently the world largest single-arc bridge, and absorb the view from up there. All for a fairly high price, even for a 3 1/2 hour experience. Despite the price, the demand has been huge. So much that for a slot of 12 people every 10 minutes, a large number of them is booked every day. Even in the middle of the week, in the wintertime, you are seeing full teams departing every 10 minutes. That is one serious dough this organization is making, despite the draconian rules they have to follow thanks to safety concerns.

What safety concerns? Well, if you are caught spitting a loogie at the cars down below, chances is good you will be hauled to jail. And do not think you can escape the prying eyes, there are numerous cameras positioned everywhere watching you through the entire climb.

The security level is severe enough that they require that you remove every single loose item. Yup, that includes that panties and bras, ma’am. *slap* OW! Okay, fine, clothes are accepted, but not much else. Glasses are required to be attached, although my hearing aids are not, which is good — I have been carrying these for years, and it is not quite a habit where I would drop them, even in an intense roller coaster such as the Dragster at Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio. I ought to go there someday soon.

After a review, and a breathalyzer (sorry buddy, being drunk is not acceptable, but hey, if you got some ganja, by all mean, toke it up!), we were sent to a place where we bundle up with a uniform with no pockets. I decided to be different and put the black pants under the single-piece uniform, but was sent back with a firm warning to not screw around. Poo.

Then the fun began — we put on the belt that contains the device that hold us to a single metal string that gives everyone the illusion of full safety up there (or do you really think it is? *sinister music* We shall discuss here on the Outer Limits… *music play*) Then we tacked on a hat, a cap, slips for the glasses, locking bolts for the radio, and a fleece jacket.

A brief training session and we are off. We climbed up a pylon, and walked under the bridge to the start of the arc, and climbed up to the bottom, and hiked to the very top of the east-side. Then we switched over to the west side, and returned to base in the reverse order. Frequently, we stopped to either take pictures (I had 4 all framed up), or to have a viewing lesson of which I could barely understood due to the high static, and the close proximity the microphone was to the tour guide’s cheek — every breath, every rub of the skin, everything was transmitted.

At one point, I actually stepped onto the arc itself, so yes, yes I was able to say that I was on the arc.

Speaking of the bridge, despite being built in the 30s, there are 8 lanes of highways, and 2 lanes of rail. That sure is a case of future-proofing for a bridge that I have ever seen in my life. Actually, it could be only 6 highway lanes, since the other 2 lanes were obviously formerly rail lines. But who needs 4 lanes with all the fancy timing system the CityRail like to promote these days? Still, it is an impressive thing to know that someone back then was thoughtful to make the bridge as wide as it is for maximum use. I doubt this bridge have a severe need for any future replacement for anything wider, especially since there is a tunnel built nearby that bypass the city’s downtown for parts east (the bridge feed into the western part of downtown.)

Honestly, it is a great experience to do, but after a week in Sydney, I have seen plenty of the city that what I saw up there pretty much closely fits what I saw from the top of the Zoo, and the top of Sydney Tower. It was nice, but it was not a life-changing experience. It was clearly enjoyable for the two boys in the group, but for me, it was an experience I will most likely forget as I get up there in the years. It is nothing like Alaska or Costa Rica the first time. The powerful experience on the rawness of the environment around us really echoes in my soul. Perhaps I am too used to being a city boy these days.

One cute note — on the Wall of Fame, full of pictures, there were quite a few Olympians from Sydney 2000 who had their pictures taken. One in particular was Misty Hyman, gold medalist for the 200m butterfly. There were several from the US men. But absolutely zero pictures of the home team of Australia. I wonder why…

* * *

That night, I asked my concierge to recommend the best steakhouse in town, and with quite a bit of hem and hawing, Prime was named. Prime Steakhouse is located in the basement of the Westin (much like Ruth Chris under the Hilton in Toronto), and is served by a Japanese-import chef, much to my surprise.

This influx of Japanese cooking style brings us Wagyu steaks. Wagyu, also known as Kobe steaks, is a breed line that is primarily focused on slower feeding style, slower growth, and eventually yielding higher quality meat rated on a 12-point scale. The chef’s best steak was a 6, as it was the belief that the top-rated (12) steak is too fatty for our own good. It figures that the chef only offers sirloin and tenderloin as the two options for those top-tier steaks. If only he would relent and offer my favorite cut, the rib-eye.

The restaurant is located right next to an incredibly loud and packed bar, and yet once you step inside, the silence is deafening. There were only three groups of people in the restaurant by the time we were done, so ideally, you would think that the waiter would have far more time to attend our needs than he would. But despite our great hunger, we were forced to wait a long while the waiter would get to ask us for our drinks.

So he would approach, and I decided to have a martini. However, we are in Australia, and the only imported stuff is the Grey Goose — something that I barely tolerate dirty (olive juice). The waiter, to my great shock, does not know what vodka the restaurant has, much less what the best one would be. Not only that, he spent over 10 minutes talking with a variety of people in the distance for this information. Not only that, he have the inability to even make any recommendation on wines!

Whether he is new or not, this is a severe shortcoming, the lengthy time waited to even get our order in, and the inability to even talk martinis or wines — both a requirement for waiters with upper-crusted steakhouses in the states. According to one person I know that tried to get in a job with Ruth Chris Steakhouse (a upper-crusted chain), a waiter is required to start out as a server’s assistant for upward to 3 months, until they can recite from memory everything involving the restaurant’s menu — including the ideal alcohol that would compliment a specific meal, what the bar have, what the deserts are, what the specials are, and the list goes on. I have seen other upper-crusted restaurants in variety of locations actually spend at least a hour with their entire server staff discussing the menu of the day, including providing samples, so that the staff knows down cold what is ideal for a person who may have a mood for a specific type of dish, or may have a specific allergen, among other situations.

In other words, if you want to be a fancy restaurant, your servers must be able to do far more than anyone else. I wonder if this is what we get for the lack of tipping culture in Australia, compared to North America. It is doubtful that any restaurants would be willing to pay the waiter the insane amount of money earned by tips by waiters in the upper-crusted restaurants in the States. After all, a group meal can easily result in a $200 tip alone for a 2 hour work. Several tables like that, and you will see how healthy of an income servers have, and how high of a demand there is to be part of that crowd. Thus, the restaurants in the States are probably more able to be highly selective of their servers and more demanding on them than anyone else.

It is a point to ponder.

As for the steak itself, the Wagyu steak is sinfully expensive, yet very decent, despite the lack of fat. Jill had a T-bone, and I sampled her dish after having some Wagyu steak, and could easily tell the huge difference in quality between both dishes. Jill also noticed the difference, but is it enough to justify the doubling of price for half the size? I do not quite think so. It was satisfying, but not as satisfying as a meal at Queue de Cheval in Montreal, Quebec (Canada). The wine was excellent, a local brand near Melbourne. Decently overpriced food, and great wine, and we were ready to rush back to the hotel for some free dessert — the executive lounge have cheesecake, mind you!