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| May 5th-17th!!!!! |
| 05.17.04 (10:43 pm) [edit] |
My apologies to the faithful. I've fallen behind, but here it is, in shortened glory. Now that I'm up to date, I'll be more complete. MS
May 5th, Wednesday. A super nice day, mild but still sunny, warm, and blue skied.
Today, Mr. Slattery went back to school; he watched a rather gruesome video about the persecution, torture, and eventual execution of witches in Europe, three hundred years ago.
This was part of Patsy’s eco-ethics (?) course; in commemoration of Mr. Slattery’s attendance of said course, Patsy had especially chosen a film made , in part, by the CBC.
He had started the day off by doing his usual email and such in Patsy’s office; he then walked around Murdoch campus, enjoying the sights and sounds of student life and attended the ecophilosophy class.
Perhaps because of exposure to the sun during his walkabout, Mr. Slattery t made it to the student affairs office and signed his name up to a voluntary tree plant meant to take place in the beginning of June out on Rottnest island.
Lunch was had at the self-proclaimed ‘Asian Food’ chip truck set next to the engineering building. He approached the said truck, observed the three sweaty asian women working inside, and swore that he had to buy something from then, so pitiful and hot did they look
He bought some soya chicken—cheap, plentiful, and it came with rice and a light vegetable curry.
Later, he attended the ecophilosophy lecture out in the courtyard beside the social sciences building—a nice lawn shade by bamboo growth and tall trees.
There was, however, more to this day than just two classes: an evening lecture by the ecophilosophy visiting scholar, Anthony Weston.
Along with several other ecophilosophy students, Mr. Slattery laid out cold-cuts, cheeses, sun-dried tomatoes, smoked salmon, mussels, toasted croissants, and much, much more. It was a goodly spread, and Mr. Slattery made sure he ate as much of it as possible—although there were students there who also had a similar ecophilosophy in mind.
Mr. Slattery attended the lecture—regarding the ability, necessity, and power of perspective. That is, observing the other point of view. An engaging and energetic speaker, Mr. Weston did a good job in presenting his ideas.
After the lecture, coffee and tea, and then a clean-up of the whole schebang—making for a long and fun day.
May 6th, Thursday
Another damn nice day, really.
Off he went, he did, went to school, again! Although, today, Mr. Slattery had a very leisurely sort of morning: he bought the Australian, a latte, and sat in an outside courtyard situated next to the student cafeteria, sheltered by an awning and a grove of trees. After this serious exercise , Mr. Slattery went for a walk and sat down under a tree… to do some homework. Yes—to do the readings for the day’s ecophilosophy course.
While only eight or nine pages long, Mr. Slattery took an hour to read the article, with much head scratching, soul-searching, and cursing. He then made it back to the Asian Food chip truck and was welcomed back with a smile (the reverse of his original reception). He tried the lamb curry—and boy, did he eat it fast. Mostly so as to make it in time
Once done, he then refreshed himself with some water and began a book given to him the night before by the visiting scholar—a science fiction novel regarding the colonisation of Mars, written, though, following the conventions of the epic poem, stanzas, meter, and all.
He attended anvery interesting ecophilosophy lecture, well-informed for the first time—and then made plans with two of the students for the weekend—to see a band on Friday in Perth, and hit up a party on Saturday…
May 7th, Friday
Another fine day, although somewhat blustery and coolish… an storm expected within a few days. First of the winter season.
Friday; Michael went down to Perth on this day. He left in the middle of the day, to shop in Mandurah with Peter. Errands done, Michael was left off at the bus terminal, and got on the express bus into town.
Once there, it took him five attempts to get in contact with the Ecophilosophy student, Seth, with whom he was supposed to spend the weekend. Seth, though, believed that Michael was only going to stay for one night, not two; Michael’s presented plan forget this one detail. In any case, the EcoPhil was easy about this change of plans, and readily accepted.
Friday, Michael listened to music and drank beer. He then went to a rotten bar called Paddington’s with Cat, another EcoPhil (EP) that had a lame crowd and a van halen cover band. Originally, they were supposed to see a live act that didin’t play van halen covers; however, they missed out on the show because they drank too late before leaving the house.
All the same, it looked like he had a good time, standing right at the front of the small, short-raised, stage, dancing to Jump and other great eighties hits. The trip home required a shopping cart and a lot of pushing and running around.
May 8th Saturday
Saturday, Michael slept in and had a headache. He did manage to get out and try a Mrs. Mac’s Meat Pie ™ which was made of pretty unidentifiable meat product. He also bought a paper; afterwhich, he made fast retreat to the safety of the apartment, out of the sun’s way.
When Seth came back to the apartment after his shift at the bike shop, Michael and Seth’s roommate, Kylie—who had spontaneously joined in last night’s revelry and was, as such, also recovering—were lazing around the apartment, watching Australian Saturday programming at its best. Lots of cooking shows, with a strong british theme behind most of them, except for the one hosted by a fat Italian man who loved his seafood and pasta, his many different kinds of fresh ingredients plus pasta.
The rest was apparently necessary, as Michael then went with Seth over to a house across town, in the fourth suburb south of the city core, so as to drink the four bottles of wine they carried with them.
A bbq—sausages and onions—a funnel, and a fire in a raised metal can, carved in half. A backyard party, hosted by a friend of Ellie’s, another EP. Later, Michael then went to a night club in East Perth for a drum and bass cd launch party . The music was good, it seemed, although there were no cds at all available for sale.
May 9th, Sunday, Rainy, 20C or less.
Michael made it into Fremantle—or Freo—getting a ride through torrential rainfall that threatened to blind the driver’s view of the road. The rain
Fremantle—or Freo, as it known—is a fine and chilled out place, with many restaurants, coffee shops, and boutiques lining its streets. Most cafes and restaurants spill out onto the streets, shaded by large awnings. Much of the atmosphere, attitude, and style of the population on the streets made Michael think of Montreal, only Freo is found on a seashore, and the weather is clement, year round.
Now in town, Michael was to meet Patsy and Peter at a bookstore called New Editions. Michael, being new to town, went into the first second hand bookstore and confidently asked for the location of a “Second Edition” bookshop. The cashier looked at Michael like he was a piece of dirt, and told him that “New Editions” was located just down the street, around the corner.
Once reunited with Patsy and Peter, the three went off for lunch, at a place called Gino’s. there, Michael had the linguine Carbonara, Patsy a fettucineMarinara, and Peter a Greek salad that seemed to consist largely of tomatoes cut into quarters. While the food was good—Patsy’s pasta had the most amazingly fresh whole scallops, but like Michael’s pasta, the sauce was not quite on. All the same, the atmosphere of the restaurant was Mediterranean and overall, very nice.
A drive back to S. Yunderup, where Michael napped, and then awoke to be greeted by a roast for dinner—which P+P celebrate with dancing (to Elvis’s greatest hits), some cream sherry, and convivial conversation. This is a weekly event that is not missed, though, if it is, then instead held on Monday, Tuesday, or the next available day.
May 10th, Monday. A nice day, with a misting of rain now and then.
Michael went to Murdoch today, continuing his trend, and penchance, for free education. However, in attempting to print up some documents from Patsy’s email, he became possessed by the desire to clean up the computer’s desktop. As things turned out, emails were piled up 20, 30, or even 40 deep on the desktop. Patsy, it should be known, has never used the internet in her life, nor has the inclination to do so. In any case, Michael worked hard and successfully conquered the piles of unread emails.
He then retreated to the shaded courtyard where he has previously found himself, and read a great deal of Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code.
At 530pm, he met up with Patsy and travelled home, where a dinner awaited them, prepared by the gracious Peter! The team then watched the news, and Michael then read the rest of the Da Vinci Code, and then slept.
May 11th, Tuesday. Another nice day, with no rain whatsoever.
Michael continued his decadent lifestyle today, sleeping in, then eating a leisurely breakfast, which he followed up by a good session with his guitar, torturing the local songbirds with his jangling, off-tone, string plucking.
He did, though, make a vegetable soup stock, which he then attempted to convert into a soup through perverse kind of alchemy. While lacking a blender or the necessary skills to make a soup, he persevered and produced something that was not quite good or very bad, and most definitely not gold. He redeemed himself, however, by making an acceptable pasta—a chili tomato sauce with sautéed sausage meat and green capsicum.
That evening, the group watched a hilarious video on Rex Hunt, fisher extraordinaire, and his fishing trip in the Kimberleys, the wild, rugged, landscape of northern western Australia. An overweight man with a penchant for dramatic one liners, skewed politics, and ardent environmentalism, he fished his way around in rivers, coral reefs, and croc infestedwaters.
This was the day, and Michael went to sleep having learned that the Australian fisherman, in certain areas, had to reel in his fish with great speed, competing with the circling sharks for a piece of the catch.
To bed at a reasonable hour.
May 12th, Wednesday. Cool, but nice out, sunny and pleasant, 15C.
Back to school he went, did Michael, yet again! Today, though, he did only a little follow up work on Patsy’s computer and spend the rest of the day hanging out, attending the EP class in themorning, then the Environmental Ethics class, where Mr. Weston lectured in his easy going but engaging manner, hands –a-flutter in the air. He then spent the rest of the afternoon reading a book by an Australian anthropologist , Tim Flannery, called ThrowimWay Leg, regarding the wildlife of crazy, cannibalistic, jungle ladenwestern New Guinea.
Peter had accompanied Michael and Patsy today to school; he, however, did something in the category of good fun, driving out into the hills east of Perth for some archery with his son, Damien.
The two men returned in the evening to pick up the two bookish people. The four then made their way back to Freo, picking up some chinese takeout along the ay. The group had dinner at Dami’s house , accompanied by friend Brie and son Indiana. Indi, who looks like a smaller version of a WWF wrestler, looked Michael over at first sight, then gave him a big, unreserved, hug. Indi also firmly identified himself as a “big kid,” and most certainly not a “child.”
The P+P+M team then made their way home—Michael worked some more on his guitar, remembering what he had been told: “You got to love your guitar regularly or it won’t love you back!”
May 13th, Thursday. Another nice day in paradise.
More school! Today, Michael read some more at school, then attended the EP class, but had to jet home immediately afterwards, forgoing the usual Thursday pub action .
The afternoon EP class was held on a sun soaked grassy knoll, and the discussion today was particularly engaging –Michael though, only listened, and did some stretches, basking in the warm light.
Patsy and Michael had to jet home –Anthony Weston and charming, friendly, family (Amy, his wife, and daughters Anna Ruth, and Molly)were coming over for dinner. Peter had prepared another great meal of vegetarian curry and some curried chicken—but, to Michael’s chagrin, the leftover ‘soup’ he had made earlier in the week was served… doctored, though, with great success, by Patsy, with some honey.
A very nice evening, with good conversation—all capped off by a bumbleberry pie (rhubarb, apple, and raspberries) made by Anna Ruth with vanilla ice cream. The group then closed down the night with a row along the canal, in Rosie, the pink dinghy. Michael fell asleep in the cool air, alone in the bow, a silent figure held under a star laden southern hemisphere, while Patsy rowed—green phosphorous t railing the oars’ arc through the water.
May 14th, Friday. A beautiful, warm, sunny day.
The day began well, with a pancake breakfast cooked over wood fire—on the front lawn of Good Camp (the home’s name) . Pancakes decorated with maple syrup, or fresh lime juic e and brown sugar crystals; the limes picked off of the lime tree set just beside the house.
The Habershmidt(-mass…?) –Westons had slept over and were given a tour of Sky following breakfast. Patsy’s dresser was investigated by delighted Anna and Molly, as it takes up half of P+P’s bedroom, and has every single style of dress dating back the last 70 years.
The day began late, and people had places to go, including Michael. Generously offered a ride into Freo by the W-Hs, Michael accepted. The three woman of the family crammed into the back of the rental while the brute-sized Michael got the passenger seat—feeling quite guilty because the rear of the car was crammed for space, as the driver’s seat was propped from behind by a child seat, thus using up half of the rear seating capacity.
The ride to Freo was excellent—conversation covered many topics, especially media representation of the events in Iraq. Anthony expressed a long time desire to teach a class on such a subject and was interested to hear about the Canadian press coverage of American international affairs—both Amy and Anthony are both university professors from the States.
Once in Freo, Michael was deposited at the train station—and off he went to Perth, to get some business done.
It being the 14th of May, Michael had been in the country for almost three weeks . However, he had yet to declare himself to the Department of Immigration… or, accordingly, open a bank account. Living off the fruits of the land (and the Royal Bank of Patsy and Peter), Michael decided that it was high time he brought some of his Canadian money into Australia.
As things turn out, Michael did get his work visa stuck into his passport , without ever having to show a single bank statement during the entire five minute process. This means that Michael could have come to Australia with no money whatsoever and still would have received his work visa. A thought that hits too close to home, really—because without a bank account, Michael really was without means.
So he opened a bank account, but hit a snag—the Commonwealth Bank of Australia could not import his money—apparently, the bank could not “act as a third party in such a transactionbecause it’s illegal”. Legality aside, this left Mr. Slattery with an empty bank account.
Still, he had a bank account—that was something in itself. Michael then went and purchased his first ever cheap cell phone using the magical VISA card—so he has his number, 0415181860, internation code 011. Call him only in emergency—as the longdisance, let alone the regular rates, is killer.
He then looked into buying a converter for his battery charger… as it turns out, a 3A converter costs more than the battery recharger, so Michael had carried this piece of equipment around uselessly . Relunctant to use the magical VISA card, Mr. Slattery held off from buying an Australian battery charger. A silly decision, as it turns out, because he still needs to charge his batteries and has no other way of charging them.
In any case, the highlight of the afternoon’s urban delights did not end on the floor of the electronic store DickSmiths. Mr. Slattery found, by pure accident, Tom’s Gentleman Barbershop on Hay St. in downtown Perth. This place looked like the classic barbershop: one barber, two red leather chairs, linoleum floors, two windows with faded blue and red lettering on them, a turning red spiral, and lots of large posters of naked women on the
walls. In fact, there were even large piles of porno magazines to read—back issues, too, organized by decade, and shelved for easy access!
This brought back memories to Mr. Slattery: the barbershop at the bottom of Margueretta street, where the old Portuguese barber, stubbled and grey, cut his hair while chatting to the permanently ensconced men at the back of the shop. A solitary calendar hung in the shadows, only visible to the patron, reflected just so in the mirror, with a naked woman highlighting the days of the month.
Tom’s barbershop was a souped up version the old kind Michael grew up in: four foot by three feet sized posters of naked nubians in high heels and giant afros was the theme.
Mr. Slattery fiddled with his gizmo phone while waiting for the red chair… and observed the barber’s skill. Tom looked Italian, which boded well—Mr. Slattery’s barber, Enrico, back in Toronto, was also Italian, and Mr. Slattery is biased in their favour.
When it came to Mr. Slattery, Tom asked him what he wanted. “What I want,” said Mr. Slattery, “is a lot off, everywhere.” And so Tom proceeded, with great speed, and skill, to give Mr. Slattery the exact same haircut that Enrico would give him. Mr. Slattery said “Nice,” a fair bit, and looked a fair bit nicer, too, by the end of the operation.
Clean cut in appearance, but not in soul, Mr. Slattery marched west to the suburb of Subiaco, where Mary Roche, his second cousin, lives. She prepared a beautiful lamb roast, roasted potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, thick cut celeriac, and was an excellent hostess, her cottage-like house the expression of her very refined tastes. Never having met this relative (his aunt’s cousin) before, Mr. Slattery enjoyed himself very much—as well he should, considering he was staying over at her house for the entire weekend.
There was much good wine consumed and people stayed up late.
May 15th, Saturday. Cloudy, threats of showers. Cool.
Breakfast was had in the garden behind the house: fresh fruit, yoghurt, cereal, fresh breads (walnut, and fruit), and two newspapers. It was decadent and excellent. Patsy and Peter had to go—other obligations called—and so Michael stayed on. Mary then took him kayaking on the Canning river, one of the tributaries of the Swan, which was fantastic, despite it being Michael’s second time ever in a kayak.
The Canning is public park, so once on the water, it is as if the waterway exists in some remote place, beyond humanity’s grasp. The only thing that disturbed this illusion was the sound of the occasional car passing by.
A lunch of bread and cheese on the river bank provided respite—then a return back down the river.
That evening, Mr. Slattery made it to the Rosemount with Seth, with whom he spent another night. They saw the Nordeens, a thrash guitar type band, that made Mr. Slattery think of George Reid’s playing style. While the Nordeens were the main act, there were three or four warm up bands, who varied from very poor to fair. All the same, the Rosemount was a good venue for live music, large, a good view from all points, and not overly loud.
A late night, a beery night.
May 16th, Sunday. Fine weather, no rain, just sun and a light breeze.
A late morning, that quickly moved over to make way for the afternoon. By 3pm, Mr. Slattery was down on Oxford Street, home to tony cafes, restaurants, and high end boutiques. As with the last Sunday, Michael witnessed the utter lack of open cornerstores—as Sunday shopping is the exception, not the rule in Western Australia. This fact makes Mr. Slattery wary of walking around the streets of Perth with a hangover with no water to drink, let alone buy.
From North Perth to Leederville, across the walking bridge and into West Leederville, and then down into Subiaco, Mr. Slattery walked, staggered, but did not fall.
He arrived back at Mary’s in decent shape, a bit hungry, dehydrated, but otherwise fine.
Mary and Anthony were out at a car show, riding around in a friend’s convertible Rolls-Royce. Michael read the rest of the Saturday papers until they came home.
For dinner, a very nice shrimp pasta that Mary whipped up out of nowhere, sauce made from scratch, served up with goat cheese and a nice white wine.
To bed Michael went, a bit pooped from his exertions.
May 17th, Monday. Sunny slightly overcast. Very nice.
Michael went out to buy croissants and chocolatine chez Jean-Claude Pattiserie, a French pattiserie found not far from Mary’s house. While expensive ($1.70 for croissants, $2.20 for the chocolatines) it was well worth the price; Michael made some omelettes and then bid adieu to Mary, going off to Freo for an evening encounter with Peter and Patsy and two of their close friends, Kurt and Miche.
Kurt and Miche, as it turns out, study blue whales, pigmy whales, and humped back whales for a living. Their 44 foot catamaran, Whalesong, is another hand built job—but this gets ahead of things. Kurt is Canadian, although Mr. Slattery failed to identify his accent, and Miche a Kiwi; they have two blond daughters, Mica (9) and Tasman(5), who are outgoing and confident children.
The family live on Whalesong year round, conducting scientific research on the habits of the whales—to say the least, a dream job. After dinner, the group went back to Whalesong, which was moured at the Fremantle Marina. Kurt and Miche were on their way up to Exmouth for the winter, moving from Pigmy to Blue whale study—they showed some recent photographs Miche had recently aken swimming with pigmy whales.
Vanilla coffee was offered, served, and consumed—a massive caffeine rush, for sure. Unformtunately, P+P+M had to make it home, so the visit was brief, but intense.
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