Of Pawns and Kings

In Hyde Park, massive fig trees rustle their leaves to a silent melody, ibises patrol the lush grounds on silent feet, and, on the northwest corner, grizzled immigrants duel on a concrete battlefield.

These men conduct daily war against each other on a giant chessboard. There's a grey-haired tyrant, who shouts profanities in some European language as he proudly knocks over his opponent's pawns. His opponents are a mix of old and young allied forces. They pool at the edge of the board like a collective think-tank, encouraging their lead solider to defeat the "tyrant." On rare occasions of victory, the allied forces crow in triumph like roosters at dawn. It's an amusing scene.  

Expectorating walk

When I see a 9km trail, gently winding through forested glens, secluded beaches, and grand cliffs, I can think of many more elegant and graceful names than:

Bob and I hiked The Spit to Manly Walk over the weekend. I felt from the name we should be embarking on a mission down a giant's digestive tract. Rather, the path led us through diverse habitats, past multitudes of basking lizards (Bob's very proud of his picture of this Eastern Water Dragon),

 past the most pathetic lighthouse in the Southern Hemisphere, and left us with a great craving for ice cream.

Cliffs thrust their limbs to the Pacific Ocean with rocky abandonment (see attached warning below).

And those nautically endowed flooded the waters with sailboats and high flying acts. 

At the end of our hike we met our friend Fiona for a drink and to admire the crowds at the surf beach of Manly.

"I get around"

Mardi Gras was celebrated a bit late in Sydney, but Bob and I went to see the night parade. After weeding our way thru a very lively and very intoxicated crowd, we were disappointed by our lack of view. An unusual amount of spectators were tall, fit, and broad-shouldered men. The man in front of me was particularly tall and I thought maybe Bob and I had inadvertently ended up at some buff sports game. There certainly was a lot of yelling. 

Out of curiosity, I turned to a guy on my right to see if he was wearing a sports jersey. He was wearing lingerie. I turned to my left, that guy was wearing pink fairy wings. Turns out Sydney's Mardi Gras parade, is the Sydney Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras Parade.

Once Bob and I finally found a spot in the flashy crowd, we were entertained by drag-queens, co-ed lifeguards singing to the Beach Boys 'I get around, ' and lesbian's on motorcycles, and so on. The crowd was crazy with enthusiasm and with over 300,000 spectators, it was quite a show.  

Politically incorrect

After a few months in Australia, I have come to a conclusion that most people grasp in minutes. Australia's version of "politically correct" is very different than America's. 

Breast cancer fundraising banner at the mall. "Every mouthful helps."

Ad for a job website at the train station. The disclaimer reads, "Results may vary."

It may not be p.c., but I can't help but laugh.

Slip, Slop, Slap

Bob and I went north to the lovely Balmoral Beach on saturday. Our plan was to spend a few hours on the beach to soak up some sun and go for a swim - not a bad itinerary for a February day.

As summer started, I heard a lot of radio ads for, "Slip, Slop, Slap." Without any further information, I came to the conclusion that "Slip, Slop, Slap," must be a slogan for some dodgy brothel. However, one day at the beach, I head a little girl yell out to her brother,"DON'T FORGET TO SLIP, SLOP, SLAP!" And I thought, "That's just not right."

Turns out "Slip, Slop, Slap" is a slogan for the Cancer Council of Australia. "Slip on a shirt, slop on sunscreen and slap on a hat." That makes more sense.

Australia has a very aggressive skin cancer awareness campaign. Which makes sense for a country with the world's highest incidence of skin cancer. 

So while Bob and I were at the beach we were careful to protect our skin. Due to a rather grotesque commercial by Al Bino that is aired rather frequently, I can't seem to apply sunscreen without thinking of a cheese-head version of a mole singing, "It's a beautiful day for cancer." No words can accurately describe it. Be happy the commercial isn't playing in the States, it's gross, but effective.

Work=cake=fair dinkum of a deal

I sort of have a job! I started freelance work for a video production company a few weeks ago, and have worked 50-60 hr weeks since. I actually have a career-like job, and the office dog is in love with me so I am happy. 

I also got articles published in the Australian Associated Press, Canberra Times, and Townsville Bulletin. Look at me getting paid to think!

Bob is an even more fantastic man because he bought me chocolate cake to celebrate!

So once my brain reboots I'll post a new story.

A horse named Dingo

I'm sore. My legs throb, my palms are rubbed raw, my right ankle is swollen, I'm $65 poorer and I have to sleep outside on the ground. I was not mugged in the city or thrown out of my apartment due to illegally housing goldfish. Nope, Bob and I went camping.

We headed north on a cloudy day to Glenworth Valley for my horseback riding lesson. The sun popped out for an hour as I rode a horse named Dingo. I immediately liked him because he has the same name as my cat.

 Just knowing there is another soul out there who likes to make animals as species-confused as I do cheered me up immensely. 

 We walked, trotted, and cantered about the corral. I had a great time and it wasn't until my feet touched ground again that I realized how sore I was. 

Bob and I had purchased a tent the night before to camp, and while camping sounded good then, my muscles were now screaming with multilingual swears of insanity. We pitched our tent in a lower paddock and, due to a fire ban, drove to the nearby town of Gosford in search of sustenance. 

Gosford has a big hill to go down, a few closed streets, then a big hill to drive back up. Ta-dah. You would think it'd be easy to find an open restaurant in a town of 150,000 but that was not the case.  We ended up getting surprisingly good pizza at a shop next to a gas station.

On our way back to the tent we passed some wallabies and lots of parrots.

 We opened a bottle of wine and took a stroll through the campsites as night settled in. Bob got well into the wine, and while he was in charge of putting one foot in front of the other, I was in charge of making sure we didn't step on any funnel web spiders and die. Bob had more fun.

Though sore, I was out before ten. I woke up early and walked to the car to get a few things. Walking back to the tent, I found myself slightly lost. Our tent had become obscured behind 200 frisky horses. 

I pulled out my camera and started taking pictures. I realized guides were bringing the horses up to the stables for the day, and I also realized that standing in front of 200 galloping horses wasn't the smartest idea.