seeing is Bali ving

So after 19 years down under, several of which I have spent as a card carrying Aussie, I finally get to go to Bali - Benidorm of the south.

It was an earlyish start on Saturday, the sis-in-law packed us into the Delica and took us to the airport where we did the passport and x-ray thing, bimbled about (I bought a hat) and then got onto our Garuda airlines flight from Sydney to Denpasar.

A bit about the flight. We had a 2 rows of two window/aisle seats and it seemed like a reasonable amount of legroom for economy - thumbs up for the Indonesian carrier. The flight is a bit under 7 hours (or 17 trips to the toilet if you're my youngest) and takes you north west from Sydney. Meaning you see the Blue Mountains, then some farmland and then 4 hours of dirt before heading out over the Indian ocean and on to Bali. It really is quite awe inspiring to see just how much bugger all there is in the middle of Australia - I like it. We were lucky enough to fly over the rock, giving me what I think is my first for-real view of the icon. I took a picture with my phone I think came out OK considering I was 10km in the air.

The rock, the west coast and a shit load of awe inspiring dust #straya

A post shared by Kevin Foreman (@auswomble) on Jun 16, 2018 at 4:47am PDT

Not much more of note from the flight. I finally got around to watching Black Panther (thought it was good) and drinking my first Bintang (did not think it was good.) I later had a Heineken and was surprised to find it didn't taste a whole lot different to Bintang. I know I'm a beer snob, but I have nothing against uncomplicated lagers. However these were really ordinary. Ho-hum. I shouldn't be drinking at the moment though, what with the marathon coming up. But hey, I'm on holiday and I've already given up on a serious crack at sub three hours, so why not?


Got to Bali where it was around 30 degrees and muggy - as expected. I did not expect the arrivals hall to be so spacious and full of not much at all. Maybe in peak season it gets rammed?

Customs and baggage collection came and went, and then the organised chaos began. As we exited arrivals we were faced with a wall of taxi drivers awaiting their passengers. Fortunately we spotted our driver good and early and he lead us into the multi-story car park where he abandoned us while he went off to get his car.

I am not sure why the direction arrows are painted on the lanes in the car park. They are suggestions at best. The chaos of the tax driver huddle continues when they get on the road in their cars - most of which seem to be Suziki mini-vans - stopping and starting and heading in every and all directions possible. I could not make head nor tail of it but it did seem to just work.

Out on the main roads the melee has scooters added. Lots and lots of scooters. Which can carry up to - and maybe more than, I don't yet know - four people. Our driver, whose name I cannot recall right now, was a lovely chap, He taught us please and thank you in Indonesian (silahkan/ terima kasih) and explained that Indonesian drivers did not have a lot of emotion in their driving - hence everything just works. If this was Australia then (un)civil (world) war (three) would be breaking out. This calm demeanor is, our driver assured me, the reason why I'd seen so few - in fact maybe no - cars with dings. Quite extraordinary.

And so to our villa, at the southern end of Seminyak, a couple of suburbs north of Kuta. We quickly unpacked, the kids tried the pool (I wimped out) then we locked up and headed out to see if we could catch sunset (we missed it) and a bite to eat. By locked up I mean we put valuables in a safe, locked the bedroom doors and the door into out small courtyard garden. The main living area doesn't have a front wall - you can just wander straight into the living/dining/kitchen. It's nice, and you get a feeling of security courtesy of the 7 foot walls around the lush gardens as they are topped with broken glass.

We are a relatively short walk along a skinny/busy/touristy/scooter rammed road to the beach. The beach was really rather underwhelming; a few noisy tourist traps and some sand of dubious quality. But you know, I can see why people like it and we can't all live in Sydney. This is, after all, the tourist hot spot of the masses. Dinner came and went under a crescent moon, listening to some decent renditions of crowd pleasing songs - can't go wrong with a bit of Maroon 5 - while small bats and ornate kites flew overhead (how the bloody hell does a kite in the shape of a tall ship fly?!) I had an ordinary nasi goreng and completed my day's hatrick of disappointing beers with a Carlsberg. I'm sure they used to taste better...Sal had something forgettable and kids had kid fare. I did take some pictures but they were all rather ordinary so I deleted them, robbing you - dear reader - of the chance to agree/disagree.

And then it was the stroll home to bed, probably well before the beachside places got full on jumping. Given the H bomb's tendency to sleep walk, and aforementioned pool/no wall on the house, the sleeping arrangements are one adult, one kid in each bedroom. I got H as Sal sleeps like a log.

So initial impressions? It's a crowded, noisy, confusing and chaotic place. The mix of tat shops, higher class shopping, crazy-ornate architecture, obvious religious and spiritual trappings, tattoo parlors, massage salons/spas and the obvious signs of low grade hedonism is quite dizzying. But, a bit like Vegas, I think I am going to end up liking this place despite everything lining up perfectly for me to be a grumpy old bastard and hate it.

And that was arrival day. I think I've gone on long enough for one post and want to go to bed, so that'll do for now. Stay tuned for Sunday's run down, in which we find good coffee in a very cool cafe, we all get in the pool, I book five - yes FIVE - dives, I correctly identify a squirrel and H loses a tooth.

Bet you can't wait.

stay in your home that will tumble like a house of cards

stay in your home that will tumble like a house of cards
Originally uploaded by Auswomble

Scary stuff up north, but my blog, so me first and we'll get to Yasi.

Yesterday, my first day of the year without a single step run, I spent mostly indoors. Which was probably a good thing considering how fucking hot it was. Most people who ventured outside in Sydney were onyl saved from bursting into flames by the humidity. As my word day ended lady luck smiled and my bus was at the stop outside my office. Air conditioned office across shaded foyer to air conditioned bus. When I got off of the bus near home I thought I'd made my right turn along the pavement a little to sharpish and got a tad too close to the bus engine or exhaust. Then the bus drove away and the temperature stayed the same. Fuck this, I thought. Proper hot.

Of course, what with Brisbane having just been underwater and category 5 cyclone Yasi looking as though it may smash the absolute crap out of Cairns and possibly most of coastal North Queensland, I guess I mustn't grumble. But I'm still feeling a bit groggy from the cold and a little grumpy. By my standards of grumpy. Which makes me intolerably grumpy when judged by the standards of most others. Chest seems far clearer today as the remaining muck seems to have migrated north and is coming once again from my nose. Sleeping in the airconed lounge is not exactly helping but is preferable to enduring the heat; last night it didn't drop much below 30 degrees centigrade outside while the thermometer in AJ's room was reading 28. The dogs grudgingly came out for a walk this morning and I'm sure they will spend the best part of today doing absolutely bugger all.

Alex did her usual cry out at about 02:00. If ignored she goes back to sleep; I'm not convinced she is waking up in the wee small hours but at 4 she was definitely awake and had some milk before not falling back to sleep. I told her she could come out of her bedroom and sleep on the lounge floor next to me. She seemed to misinterpret this and instead decided to sleep on top of me, something I'd not have previously thought possible. I was laying on my front, head on hands. She somehow managed to wedge a knee between my head and shoulder and drape herself over me, resting on my back with an arm draped over my head. She seemed far more comfortable than I was, and although it was very cute I'm glad she soon rolled off of dad and came to rest on the floor, wedged between my makeshift bed and the sofa.

At 5 we got up and I checked the Bureau of Meteorology website, something I do every day before invariably deciding the weather is right for shorts and t-shirts. Optus have again managed to fuck up our internet connection. Another 12hours offline. Considering we have cable internet, which as far as I am aware means there is a fucking cable running from my house to the internet, this is some achievement for a big, grown-up ISP. Mind you, I guess we do live in the backwaters of about-8km-from-the-very-centre-of-Sydney. So completely unimpressed with their piss-poor service. So I checked the weather on my android phone, which is on an Optus plan. So Optus can maintain a wireless internet infrastructure, which as far as I can tell works by magic, but not one that is plugged in. Genius. Having found no connection last night we called the tech support line and were put into a 20minute long (their guesstimate) queue after being told the weather was responsible for some service disruptions. Really? If I was under 20ft of water in Brisbane or watching telegraph poles being ripped from the ground in Cairns I might swallow that, but in Sydney it has been a bit muggy and warm for a few days.

Can't wait to get home to see if I have internet tonight. Actually, I just can't wait to get home; having a shithouse day and really do not feel like being at work today or ever again.

I just checked the weather again. Sub-30 here in Sydney, but the gathering storm up north looks like a bastard. Mandatory evacuations, evacuation centres full. Get out now was the call; it may be too late to get out. Hunker down. Some reports are saying it could still be a cyclone even when it gets 500km inland. It's a monster and that means the chances of not being in its path are low. I'm trying to imagine just how fucking scary this is going to be. Sal and I copped the tail of a hurricane Ivan a couple of days before we nearly-didn't-get-married-because-of-a-hurricane, back in 2004 in Curacao. It came to very little, but it was interesting to see the hurried activities of the locals as they moved people and property away from the waters edge and started to lock-down the island. I look forward to the morning's news with a morbid fascination. Fuck the property, to hell with the money, I hope the people are safe.

Sydney Foreshore trot

Sydney piers
Originally uploaded by Auswomble

I was half expecting to pull up pretty rough this morning after yesterday's double and after being woken by one of the dogs at stupid-o-clock last night. I staggered out of bed once I realised AJ was stirring, opened the back door to find Rowlf and Oscar looking at each other then me with expressions suggesting they also didn't know what was going on. Rumpole came trotting around the corner when I called him, saw the expression on my face and then his face, I am sure, dropped as he thought "oh boy, I'm in trouble now..." Which of course he was. We came to an agreement that the barking would stop and all went back to our beds. When AJ and I got up at still-really-very-stupid-o-clock, 04:40 today, I was again pleasantly surprised to find that my legs where ache-lite if not ache free. Creature of habit that I am you can re-read yesterday's dog walk news to find out what we did this morning. Only today the sunrise was far nicer.

I had, of course, checked the scores on the doors first thing and found that LocalAdventures had not logged more miles overnight and Jenks had only 3k on me. I figured Gary – can’t call him LocalAdventures all the time - would likely do some late miles and hoped it would be only a few. I was half right; he knocked out another big number that I knew I'd not be able to overhaul today. By the time I'd had my second coffee he’d taken his total to a painfully respectable 92k. After yesterday's split session I was today sticking to my guns and would do only my lunchtime run. I'd make sure it was an easy run by taking advantage of the slow start to the work year. Camera was coming today so I could snap a few pics and take a little longer than usual to trot around the Harbour foreshore.

You can see the pictures here.

See the activity on RunSaturday

The route I took today is one I now find a bit dull, probably because I've done it that many times. I usually waft around lost in my own thoughts and paying little attention to my surroundings beyond dodging tourists. And right about here is where I might start (continue?) to piss people off. Taking the camera forced me to me look again at what I often take for granted. First stop was taken immediately, not because there was much to see, but because I needed to wait a bit for NASA or the US military or whoever else owns the satellites to work out were I was with the city’s building partially obscuring the sky. I took a couple of pics, did some half-hearted stretching and then trotted off along the Hungry Mile. From there it is around a few piers, a pretty well executed mixture of renovation and modernisation. Moored by one pier was a yacht that looked very nice to me, but I know bugger all about yachts, renovation or restoration, so make of that last bit what you will. Under the bridge for another couple of shots, then another of a yacht before I found myself out front of the Opera house and a large, silver, bouncy-castlte thing. Modern art I think. Around farm cove, pausing to take a pic of my favourite tree in the Botanical, gardens, a 100+yr old dragon's blood that has fallen on its side, and then another shot across Farm Cove. Past Mrs Macquarie's and then another shot over top of the Andrew 'Boy' Charlton open air pool towards finger wharf, where Russell Crowe lives when he is in town. I once ran past him in the Botanical gardens; he had a huge bloke with him, maybe a minder, and was doing pushups. I digress. Up and around the back of the art gallery to take a pic of Brett Whitely's matchsticks, art I do like, then a quick self portrait shot at a water bubbler, a quick ABC shot (another bloody church, though this one is a Cathedral) before heading back to Martin Place where I snapped a shot of the Xmas tree being taken down - the holiday's over folks. I added a couple of kinks to my usual run in order to get into double figures. Back at base, 10.25k clocked, I took a couple of shots of the angled, mirrored glass wall of the Westpac office behind my building that continues to bug me. I cannot snap a decent picture of it despite being convinced there must be a way to do just that. Maybe using a camera instead of a smartphone would be a start.

And that's five down. Off to the cricket tomorrow, where I hope to watch England have as good a day with the ball as they are today with the bat. Need to work out how I’m going to get my miles in early because there is an ever-so-slight possibility that I’ll be having a beer or two in the morning. Then a few more in the afternoon.

Newcastle

Why didn't anyone tell me what a cool place Newcastle appears to be? Our last full day of our short break was Thursday, so I pondered what to do, considered a drive to the Hunter Valley then hit upon the idea of going to Newcastle. Sal's eyes lit up - big antique warehouse in Newcastle. The drive is about an hour and quite uneventful, though we did see a small kangeroo by the side of the road as we headed to the Pacific Highway. Our approach and entry to Newcastle took us along the waterfront, all industry and gentrification. Not sure where all the tenants for the offices and apartments will come from now the future is a little less (credit-fuelled) rosey than it used to be. Ho hum. Apparently the waterfront area has really been cleaned up, but someone who knows what it was like can tell you more than I can, what with having now been there just this once. Sal was complaining of hunger in a way that suggested she may chew my arm off if we didn't stop soon for breakfast, so with only just over minimal faffing we found a cafe overlooking the ocean and settled in.

They breed their surfers hard in Newcastle. Several were out in just board shorts; fine for a quick swim, but a session in the surf? The guy in the cafe thought they were mad too, so I felt a little less soft. Breakfast was fine enough, but I think we were ripped off or subject to a genuine maths error with the bill. I'm prepared to go with the latter; we paid and went for a wander. With my phone camera working again I was always going to dawdle around the Ocean Baths, and so it was. They are closed for cleaning each Thursday, so were water free as we wandered past. No bother, that gave me the opportunity to wander through them and click off some pics. Also being restored, so some parts fenced off. Very picturesqe, though maybe not on a bright, hot, clear day. Plenty of history too, which I'll not bore you with but you can get here. While I bimbled about Sal continued walking around the foreshore, and I caught up with her at Nobby's Beach that has for quite some time been runaground-tanker-free. A cracking little bay where plenty of local sprogs seemed to be having their school sports lessons. I don't remember doing too much surfing back in Morden. AH well, these are things AJ has to look forward to.

It was pretty warm by now, so we watered up and kept wandering towards town, stopping for AJ to have a roll on a grassy patch in front of Customs House - she'd been in her pram for long enough. Our wander through town was sort-of an antique shop hunt and on that front it was a resounding failure. However, I was mightyly impressed with the architecture of Newcastle. For whatever reason - foresight, oversight, apathy, don't care - there is plenty of old building stock left in Newcastle. The blight of 60s progress has not left too much of a scar on the city (though the Telstra building is, of course, a fucking shocker.) There is the massive art deco bulk of the Great Nothern Hotel that hits you straight in the face. I just checked their website and it lists swimwear model, Ralph model and manhunt; I suspect it is not exactly a classy establishment, and while off on this tangent, as much as I liked the city around lunch time on a sunny Thursday it did have the feel of a place that may be altogether more menacing come Friday (or any other) night. I digress.

We wandererd to and through the main shopping drag, again finding solid old building stock all around. What's more, inside some of these buildings were funkly little cafes that would not have looked out of place in Melbourne. But wait, there's more! Large metal curves were situated in a couple of the laneways just off of the main drag and they had speakers attached and shade sails ready to deploy. Again, much more Melbourne than Sydney this use of public space. There was more art deco, more federation, some old weatherboard; nothing I could capture particularly well with my phone, but certainly plenty to whet my appetite for a return trip, armed with proper cameras (chances of that happening? We shall see.)

Oh yeah, AJ was just chilling all along. Not really a lot more she can do at the moment. Thought I'd mention it to reassure you we'd not left her down by Customs House.

We meandered back to the car and then started back to Bundabah. On the way out, with utter luck trumping any judgement I managed to find an antiques warehouse and a 15min free parking spot just outside. Sal damn near rolled out of the car as we drove by, popped in, did a quick round and popped back to the car to tell me how damn expensive a lot of the old stuff was. Ah well.

And that was Newcastle.

chk-chk-bullshit

I may as well add my two cents to the Clare Werberloff story.

So, this fat nigger shot this skinny nigger, chk-chk-BOOM!

I'm not sure I'd get away with saying that. I'd definitely not get away with it in London. But it looks like our Clare's fat and skinny wog reference has not only reignited the debate racism debate in Australia, it seems she may get a media career from her party-piece. Lucky her. If you're one of the four internet users not yet to view her performance you can visit Youtube and search for Chk-Chk-Boom. You'll find the eye witness report she gave to a shooting she did not witness. And the "Club Mix" of said report. I mean like man, it is just so funny right!

I think a great many Australians have a relaxed attitude to things many people regard racist. There is a casual attitude to language that stereotypes people. But worse, pointing this out is regarded as somewhat un-Australian. Starting the debate is taken as an attack on Australia and Australians. It is all rather quaint really.

At work i was discussing this with two colleagues, both level headed, articulate white Australian men. They could not be convinced Australia has this casual attitude. I asked one what he'd call a large house with stone pillars and maybe marble lions at its ornate gates. The answer - a "wog mansion." And that isn't just a little bit racist? Maybe the smallest bit culturally insensitive, if not racist? No. What, he asked, did we call such houses in England? Well, I explained, we may refer to a house as Georgian or Edwardian, maybe Tuscan or like a Swiss Chalet. We may single out a house and it's owner for shocking bad taste - mock Tudor is architecturally shocking - but we'll not label an architectural style by reference to the accent and skin colour of the people who typically build such houses. He was a bit shocked. but not as shocked as I was when I saw his shock.

The other guy handed me a win on plate. Soccer, or Association Rules Football or just plain Football (as it is called in most countries in which it is played) was often, and sometimes still is referred to as "wog ball". Why? Well, Rugby League and Australian Rules Football were already called football and Soccer was played by the wogs. Easy. Wog, in the Australian vernacular, is a catch-all for people whose ancestry might be traced back to somewhere near the Mediterranean; typically Italians and Greeks. Or if they look like they might.

The same tired old defense to the charge of racism is trotted out each time the conversation is started. Wogs call each other wogs and it is a term of endearment, a jokey, matey term. So if Chris Rock calls his black friends niggers then nigger is acceptable? If you're black? Not convinced, and anyway Clare isn't a wog; she is a white Australian from Sydney's Northern Beaches. What about the term of endearment argument? How was an eyewitness report of a shooting where the gunman and his victim were unknown to Clare in any way endearing?

Clare may get a media career from her "possibly" racist remarks. Some are saying she is a smart girl and was employing irony. I'm not so sure. She drapes herself in the Australian flag and has a southern cross tattoo on her foot. I know I should not read anything into that, but I suspect she has an extremely relaxed attitude to what some people may regard as racism. She is simply lucky that she lives in the lucky country. Racist? No, just relaxed and laid back.

But hey, it's an isolated incident, so lets move on.

Well let's not move on because it is not an isolated incident. Last week in a rugby league match the captain of the Cronulla Sharks Paul Gallen was alleged to have made a racial slur aimed at the St George Illawara player Mickey Paea. The national Rugby League have issued him with a $10,000 breach notice. Some reactions in the media dismiss the incident as something that happens on the field and while it is bad you'd hear the same on a building site. First, two wrongs do not make a right; racial abuse in the workplace is not something that should be so swiftly dismissed. Sports stars are role models. They set an example, good or bad. They should be expected to set a good example. In a neat epilogue to this story, Gallen was selected to represent New South Wales in the State of Origin rugby league competition, the highest level of non-international representative football in Australia. So there you have it kids, please don't racially abuse people, but if you do, it is unlikely to hamper your career. (Oddly enough, playing for the Sharks, who are shit, also doesn't hamper a career in representative football. Go figure.) As it happens a shoulder injury has achieved that which (alleged) racial abuse did not. Gallen will not be playing in Origin 1.

Two incidents then. But wait, there's more!

In the same week Sol Trajilo, the recently departed Telstra CEO had the audacity to express his views on racism in Australia. His views seem to be in step with mine. The media response? He was massively well paid and Telstra's share price fell while he was at the helm! Sol is of Mexican descent and had a job in Australia! He knows fuck all! I added the last bit; the media did not go that far, but that was the gist. Racism was not the story, his former salary was. The catalyst for Sol's "rambling" "tirade" was the Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd's "adios." Racist? Well, possibly according to Sol, and let's face it, he was on the receiving end. He had been portrayed as a bumbling, sombrero wearing Latino throughout his time in Australia. Adios? Not racist according to the media. Sol simply does not understand the relaxed, laid back Aussie lifestyle that K Rudd was typifying. Hmmm.

I think Peter Holmes A Court had it about right on the ABC's Q & A. Racist? Maybe a bit. Hugely insensitive? Definitely. Australia needs to grow up and the first step is to engage in the debate. Don't brush it aside as a lack of understanding on the part of everyone else and a decent proportion of the Australian public. Trotting out the same old lines about how multicultural Australia is, how immigration policy is becoming more relaxed and how migrants add so much to modern Australia simply sidesteps the debate.

So the week in summary.

Launch your media career by calling a recently shot stranger a skinny wog. Play representative football despite (allegedly) racially abusing a fellow player. Brush aside the views of a recently departed high-profile wetback (that IS irony Clare) because he was very well paid.

Relaxed attitude to racism in Australia? Nah mate, you just need to chill out.

addendum...

It is strange, but I find the casual acceptance of cultural stereotyping somewhat more insidious and sinister than outright racist fuckwit behaviour. It seems that is on the rise here as in many other countries. Overseas students - particularly Indians - are being targeted for attack.

UNSW international students officer Sakshi Sehgal said there were increased concerns about the safety of international students from all countries, not just India.

Fuckwits will always be fuckwits. But they are typically honest about it.