Season's Greetings 2009

Christmas time in London is a strange beast. The CBD is noticeably quieter. Majority of my office is away with Christmas obligations. Only the ex-pats and those with Visas in their passports turn up to work. The days surrounding Christmas, the 24th and the 26th casts something of a trance over London. It's a city possessed with consumerism.

Christmas eve, where people race against the 5 pm retail curfew; Desperately trying to fulfill last minute Christmas duties. Then comes the 25th, it's the day London shuts down. Public transport stops, the streets are empty and you'll be hard pressed to find anything but a steak or anything ethnic to eat (not that that's a bad thing). Boxing Day rolls around and the city sputters back to life. Thousands of people cram into back into the retail shopping districts in hope to grab a bargain on last season's stock.

Don't blink or you might miss those 24 hours when Christmas in London is removed from the 21st century. Keeping the spirits occupied and entertained with the simplicities of a warm house, some hot food and good company.

"You want me to come over I got an excuse" - Kickstart, Example

I ♥ Winter

I challenge you to find me something more visually indelible than winter. Calm serenity. That's all winter is good for, visuals. Everything else screams pain in the ass. It takes me an extra 5 minutes to do anything.

Winter, generally means added time. Things have to be done in slow motion, walk cautiously, thread warily. Extra time required to get ready to leave the house. Extra time to try on spent shopping. Cars move slower, the underground nine times out of ten will fail. End rant.

Weekend Trip: Take #1

This destination has long been on my European "todo" list. I've been told that if I were to see any major Scandinavian city, then this should be the one. A quick browse over travel forums and I soon realised that attractions were not the major draw card and found that it held a sentimental appeal of character and atmosphere. With newly assessed expectations and a fistful of Swedish Kronas we set out for Stockholm.

We opted for the after-work flight option and arrived at Arlanda International airport just before midnight local time. Thankfully the tourist information was still open and in the bright halogen illuminated room we stood in awe of the postcards and posters depicting an aestival Stockholm. This was unfortunately, not to be. We were greeted by cold, wet weather. That, and the fact we had limited daylight meant we had a severely reduced number of tourist options.

The general concensus, was that Stockholm is definitely a Summer city (A number of locals reiterated this point). Resigned to the fact that it would probably remain on my "todo" list I set out to count the number of Ikea Products, Saab Automobiles, H&M stores and beautiful Swedish women I would see over the trip. I lost count after the first day.

Stockholm Christmas Markets - Sugared Almond vendor.

My Ikea futon - In fact, in our hostel room alone, I counted 3 Ikea-labelled products. Don't get me started on the kitchen and bathroom.

Saab - It must have been the weather, but every single car we spotted was filthy and in dire need of a wash.

H&M

Dubbelrulle - It's 50% kebab, 50% hotdog. 100% post-alcohol snack.

Vasa Museum - Replica (10:1) of Sweden's most famous ship.

Overall, plenty of fun. We spent majority of the time cafes, sleeping and walking the streets of Old Town. Didn't get to see any Ericsson Mobiles or Nudie Jeans, that I'm afraid, will have to wait until the summer.

Krakow

It's time to dust off the keyboard and re-invigorate the fingers. My hiatus has been warranted, at least I believe so. November, simply put has been consumed by work. It gnaws at my patience, infiltrates my social life and leaves me in a stupor incapacable of discerning reality from office life. In other words, work has been busy. The exodus of expats has slowly come to a halt and despite the reduced numbers each weekend unfolds like the many before: hazy, distant, reckless and spontaneous. Of course, we can't forget one of the mains reason for being in the UK.

To travel. Next destination, Krakow. We had heard good things about Poland, relatively cheap, decent grub laced with plenty of culture. Unintentionally this had somehow ended up as a lad's trip and the had been billed by some as Bucharest, part 2. It turned out to be an intense 30 hours in Krakow and one of my favourite weekend trips to date.

Relatively cheap. We managed to get flights for around £68, one night at the Holiday Inn for £33 including tour prices and spending money the trip cost approximately £250.

Food. Not too many surprises here, follows the traditional Eastern Europe cuisine. Plenty of meat, potatoes, sauerkraut. There were a couple of gems that we stumbled across.

Mushroom Soup - Served in a loaf

Zapiekanka - The perfect after hours snack

Plenty of culture. I'll spare you the details but since coming back I've found myself immersed WWII history.

Auschwitz Concentration Camp

Salt Mines

Hookah - 30 minutes before the leaving for the airport

Home. Early flight back, time to meet my new house mates!

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it" - George Santayana

Sydney Goodies!

Nom nom nom - Thanks sis!

Cheddar

We left work early, left London late

to explore more of England and farewell a mate.
With provisions of noodles and Vegemite to snack
our luggage and boardgames we had in the back.
For three hours we drove through the highway darkness,
the GPS useless; we had no address.

Like the old man who wandered the street
we were lost, disorientated and suffering defeat.
It was dark, it was cold we'd driven for miles
our only landmark a pub with red tiles.
Four doors from there, we were told
West Moor Cottage our haven, our shelter from the cold.

We promised her eleven, twelve no later.
She revoked the contract, that old hater.
Enlisting the help of our local Saviour
we bargained and negotiated and asked for a favour.
Until she and her husband made amend
they agreed six could stay for the weekend.

The following day we woke to eggs and bacon.
A man in the kitchen, we were mistaken.
Saturday the caves, the goats, the cheese and the tower.
All trip long we argued the word 'flour'!
An afternoon of Cream Tea, the scones were unreal
before retiring to Wells for the evening meal.

Factoids, Humdingers and Cameos the attraction.
Cheese and Gin the main distraction.
Huddled, we sung under the starry night sky
Two shooting stars, why would I lie?
We readied for bed. Too tired to shower.
Revelation! It's daylight savings, lets stay up for another hour!

The house was cleaned and the men left last.
Glastonbury's Vegetarian breakfast - what a plastic farce.
Wookey Hole was rubbish so we unanimously agreed
to head back to Cheddar for a Sunday roast feed.
The drive home was easy with no need to hurry
so we opted for a Korean Dinner in nearby Surrey.

So there it is, our road trip in poem.
An epic weekend to Somerset then back home.
The singing, the cheese and the Nintendo DS
not to be forgotten, until next weekend's fancy dress.
A great trip. Good company. An indelible time.
So much so, I blogged this awful rhyme.

Always take the weather with you

This week marks two departures from London. Firstly, I think it's safe to say that London has felt its last ounce of warmth; Winter has set in. It's become bloody cold, bloody quick. Temperatures have dropped below 10 degrees and with that we bid farewell to the thongs and t-shirts and become reacquainted with jackets and our radiators. The upside is that I no longer have to properly iron my business shirts. A quick iron over the collars plus a fresh sweater and I'm ready for work; Little consolation really.


Over the last 18 months I have been fortunate enough to have met some really awesome people. I usually categorise my close friends as people I've shared life-changing experiences with or those who have been with me over a life-defining period. The two groups that immediately spring to mind are: High school friends and University friends.

So to this I add a new group: The London expat group. I had expected to come overseas and gain a greater perspective on the world. Live independently, travel abroad, open my eyes. What I had not expected was to meet people that I would share with me some of the best times of my life. The red eye flights, the same over crowded hostel, the same lousy discount carrier experience, the smiles, the laughter and even the tears of seeing friends leave.

The second departure ushers in the end of an era. My London initiation was void of the usual heartache of having to re-establish a social circle. Upon arrival I had the luxury of knowing people from Sydney here in London. It made the first couple of months bearable. I had a couch, advice on being an expat and for me, the most desirable, familiar faces. The last 6 months has seen people slowly return back to Sydney with the last person leaving this week. All the people I knew prior to coming to the UK have all but gone home. It just means less chance of somebody trying to derail your detox plans for the week; Little consolation really.

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." - Dr. Seuss

My Birthday cameo

I celebrated last year's Birthday completely sober. Read: Completely sober. After 7 successive Birthdays being utterly intoxicated 2008's sober experience felt alarmingly foreign yet somewhat appropriate. This was a sign of things to come, I had mindfully pulled the handbrake on the reckless train of self-destruction. Maturity and self-preservation had prevailed. Unfortunately this was not a forecast of future Birthday processions. It would be a premature call and nothing more than an outlier; a statistical exception.

My recollection of October 9th is hazy at best. I remember being seated at my desk, a head popping up from the monitor in front of me saying "Are we going to the pub for your birthday?". I also remember rocking up to my birthday dinner at the Crown and Goose one hour late and extremely tipsy. I recall ordering the Roast Chicken and Pavlova. I remember not eating the pavlova. I remember a heartfelt Birthday speech. I remember being called "true blue", "a piss pot" and "a bastard". I remember drinking. I also remember being in a cab. I distinctively remember and vomiting 4 times at various places in Trafalgar Square much to the screaming of delirious passersby. I recall spending the best part of 5 minutes in Thai Square. I remember that SMS.


What a Birthday: Bring on 27!

Why are you going there?

An impromptu trip over to Romania for a 30th Birthday weekend. Weather was miserable - I only took one photo (from inside a cab).


Not much doing - Stayed what can only be described as the Bucharest projects. Had a tour night guide. Typical boys' trip out to Eastern Europe.

Oktoberfest 2009

I've officially experienced one of the busiest working weeks in my short working-career. Feature creep, misinterpreted requirements, various hacks and a tight deadline have culminated to what would either be a spectacular fail or conversely a product that would make Steve McQueen proud. To say work was busy would be an epic understatement. Let's back this up to Friday evening: 10 pm. I had just reached the 15th hour of work. To make matters worse, the air-conditioning had shutdown for the weekend and the cleaners had gone home. My eyes - dry and tired. My hands - cramping, RSI kicking in. My brain - mush. The Bulldogs - lost. My 6:20 pm flight to Munich - missed. This week - shit.

Despite this, I clung onto the only positive about missing my flight. That I would get to see my sister. At least, so I thought. Long story short, her roster had changed and she would no longer be flying to London but to Manila. This was rock bottom. I needed to drown my sorrows, I needed a beer.


What my sorrows got was not a drowning, it was asphyxiation by 6.9 million litres of smooth amber liquid. Resuscitated, then re-drowned until it was nothing but a soggy memory. On average, 6 million other people will head to Munich during this 16 day period. All with the same intention: to drink, eat and sing. It is the opposite of misery and self-wallow, it is Oktoberfest.


I arrived in Munich late Saturday evening. People of all ages were out walking the streets in traditional lederhosen and dirnl. The two days spent in Munich felt like one huge alcoholic roller coaster. It was as if the entire town was intoxicated (both fesitivity-wise and literally).

I'll try to outline a typical Oktoberfest day. Wake up early, you'll need to start lining up to get into the Beer Tents. By 9:30 most of them will close their doors until later in the evening. Activities that take place include:

Drinking: A Stein (1 litre of preservative free beer, higher-than-normal) will set you back approximately €8-10. The price of water was about €4. Prost!


Eating: Pretzels, breads, Schnitzel, Hendl, sausages and pork knuckles.


Talking: Great place to talk to people from all around the world.

Singing: Traditional Bavarian folk songs plus a healthy share of western classics make for a huge sing-a-long (Hey! Baby, Better Man, Country Road, Seven Nation Army).

Passing out: The higher than usual alcoholic content of beer claimed many casualties. Ranging from vomitting, passing out and alcohol poisoning.


Should you survive till 10 pm, there are countless after parties to take you deep into the evening. The legal drinking age is 16 and Oktoberfest caters to people of all ages. The grounds are not only home to beer tents but a Royal Easter Show-esque carnival. Amazing festival, definitely recommended and I'd consider returning in 2010.


Munich wasn't all about drinking (although it felt like it). On our final day we made the choice to visit Neuschwanstein Castle. It was a grueling 2.5 train + bus ride but the view was amazing. The tour was somewhat lackluster as was the hideous scaffolding but it added the final splash of culture this trip was missing.

Travel Fail

8:00 pm: Still at my desk. 4th late night at work this week. Krispy Kreme donuts for dinner. This boarding pass staring me in the face.

Waiting

Do you immediately curse the public rail network and then want to throw yourself in front of the next service each time you find that your train is delayed, or worse, canceled? Does the thought of watching paint dry make you want to inhale the fumes to end the misery? How about sitting in front of your PC while it defrags? I like to consider myself a patient person. The main thing about the above mentioned activities is that there's some metric of progress. My visa on the other hand is a black box. Submit and wait. There's nothing I can do, the outcome isn't guaranteed. I'm not even waiting for news, just a result. Waiting...

Keeping with our desire to experience more of England outside of London. We chanced our arm with Windsor. I mean if it's good enough for the Queen and the Royal Family then surely it must be good enough for us convict commoners. The primary attraction of course is Windsor Castle but deep down we were all secretly harbouring high expectations of Legoland.


To avoid time wasting this excursion was dutifully organised with train tickets, Castle and theme park admission all pre-paid (Thanks Jen). An early rendezvous at Paddington station would give us ample time to see both the Castle and Legoland. The group slowly assembled from 10 am people arriving from Limehouse, Arsenal, Chalk Farm, Holloway Road and Sloane Square. Many were hung over and backing up after an intense evening of boardgames and alcohol. The journey to Slough would take no more than 25 minutes by train. A short interconnecting train and we were soon at Windsor and Eton station. Currently reading The White Tiger.


Windsor Castle (£16 + Train)

Audio guides at the best of times leave me wanting. Learning that Windsor Castle offered a free audio guide (read, free) left me somewhat dubious about the quality of the guide. The group shared this skepticism and unanimously decided that a (free) guided tour would provide a more stimulating experience. We waited 5 minutes for the midday tour and were soon being escorted around the grounds. We, like a class on a primary school excursion were constantly being told to be quiet, to pay attention and not to dawdle. It would be the beginning of re-living our childhood in Windsor. The tour was enjoyable and educational and more importantly checked off one of England's famous tourist destinations.


There would be only one queue within the grounds of Windsor Castle. A line stretching 30 metres long from the entrance of Queen Mary's Doll House. Little did we know this would be the first of many queues for the day. We waited approximately 25 minutes to get inside. Walking around the doll house we were initially awed until we soon found ourselves standing outside 5 minutes later. It was impressive but was it really worth the wait?

Legoland (£21)

Us: "We'd like to book some tickets for Legoland"
Legoland: "How many adults will be going?"
Us: "Seven"
Legoland: "And how many children?"
Us: "mmm... none"

Legoland's main demographic is children and if not children then the parents who bring the children along. We fell into neither category, which was apparent. Our objective, eat as much junk food, go on as many rides and see as much as possible. Of the time spent inside Legoland at least 50% of our time was spent waiting in line. Laser Ride in particular had us waiting 1 whole hour before we were seated. The highlight for me were the Lego sculptures: Motorcycles, statues, dinosaurs, people and cities. Distorted replicas of everyday objects like a plastic mosaic.


We waited for our taxi outside Legoland. Kids were running around and clearly outlasted us with an enthusiasm only an infant could sustain. After 15 minutes of waiting we decided to jump on the first available bus back to the station. There are complications when leaving an attraction at closing time: Traffic and crowds. Stuck behind a trail of brake lights stretching as far as the eye could see we spent the best part of 30 minutes stuck in traffic. Exhausted, famished and agitated we spoke of the banquet that awaited us back in London. The constant screaming of a child on the bus sounded like a jackhammer on corrugated iron. We missed our 8 pm train back to London and waited another 25 minutes for the next train.


Finally arrived in Bayswater at 9 pm, almost three hours to get home. Huddled outside Gold Mine restaurant we waited 15 minutes before being seated at our table. We ordered a sumptuous meal and the hot food instantly brought smiles to our previously grumpy faces. The day finished off with an excellent night out at Ruby Blue, champagne glass Jägerbombs and early morning Peking Duck.

So a day of waiting, a day of childhood nostalgia. They say good things come to those who... Wait, where's my visa?

Tier 2 Visa

First and foremost the status of my Visa application remains for the most part, still unknown. The process of gathering the required documentation and lack of correspondence still leaves me baffled. 15th of June we first made contact with the Immigration Lawyer. Almost 3 months down the track and I'm no closer to having a resolution.

As it stands, I'm now, no longer on the payroll and am showing good faith in working for the company unpaid. Which questions my motivation, working for free only to be reimbursed when I can be legally reinstated onto the payroll. The complications that this agreement poses is somewhat worrying and each day that passes leaves me feeling less confident. I have given myself until November for a resolution before I reluctantly pull the plug on my UK Nudie Run. Until then, watch this space.

Notting Hill Carnival

Once a year the surrounding suburbs of Notting Hill close down. Shop fronts are bordered up and hundred of thousand of people gather for one of the world's largest street parties. Long weekends in London aren't so bad.

Beach, eh?

My visa situation has left me grounded. It was around this time of the year I had expected to be back in Sydney. April, August and September - dates which I had thrown around for my revisit. Late August and I find myself still in London. How about October? It's another form of restriction, not having the freedom to schedule and plan the upcoming weeks, being absolutely wingless. It's the uncertainty which is the most frustrating, where will I be at the end of 2009? So I wait, filling each passing week with the same itinerary. Endless partying which seamlessly blur together in a mash of debaucherous evenings and regretful mornings. Was it last week that we celebrated that Birthday or was that the parting farewell? The monotony of it all reminds me that of being back home only more intense and hectic.


With this in mind it would be decided to make the most of being overseas and to explore England as a whole. A one hour train ride from London Bridge and you are transported to Brighton, South England. It's a far cry from a 15 minute drive down Gardeners Road to the Eastern Beaches of Sydney but it would have to do. Not the most ideal weather conditions for the beach, an overcast sky and a desperate sun trying to break the cloud cover. Deep down, I wouldn't have wanted to experience an English seaside town under any other conditions. A brisk 10 minute walk from the train station we were at the pebble coastline looking out into the ocean. The shore stretches for miles in each direction. The pebbles, like the seagulls were massive with kids frolicking in the water with thongs only to protect their feet.


Brighton Pier - one of Brighton's major attractions instantly reminded me of Ruby Pier from Mitch Albom's The Five People You Meet In Heaven. A family setting with bumper cars, screaming children, candy floss, games, rides bound by a hauntingly old carnival vibe. Still in the back of my mind I feel unease and anxiety. I need to get out of this place...

Masterchef

"Do you cook often?"

Yes I do. It should be noted that my culinary gamut consists of 3 staples: the durable stir fry, odd curry and trusty pasta. Occasionally the weekend inspires me to research a recipe and cook something up; for the most part I'm rarely bothered. Produce doesn't keep so well here with vegetables having a shelf life of a couple of days and majority of my meat being kept in the freezer. The chore of having to cook for one person and manage ingredients proves more troublesome and more often than not I find myself in a Chinatown or Soho eating out.

My latest kitchen adventure was inspired by a fellow country man, or in this case woman. Most conversations with Malaysians often converge onto the topic of food. Soon enough we were exchanging our favourite dishes and desserts from back home. Strangely enough, the topic of Fried Dace with Black Beans came up and I was pleased to find that we weren't the only family to enjoy seafood from a can. After much excitement it was suggested that I try the following recipe. The description screams Frankenstein meal but this stomach-churning description left me in a curious state. It sounded so disgusting it had to be nice.

Fried Dace and Black Bean Pasta Recipe


Serves 1

Ingredients:
1/2 onion
1 Glove of Garlic
1 Chunk of Ginger
1/2 tin of Fried Dace in Black bean
Spring Onions for garnish
100 grams of pasta/spaghetti
1 tablespoon of Oyster Sauce
1 tablespoon of Dark Soy
Splash of Fish oil
Pepper


Method:
1. Boil the pasta until cooked. Drain.
2. Chop vegetables
3. Throw everything into a pan. Fry.
4. Enjoy*


* This is optional.

Viva La Vida

The familiar yet still unsavory chime of my alarm rouses me from my sleep. Scrunching my eyes tightly together I breathe a heavy sigh and roll over to my side. I blindly fumble for my alarm clock. Prying my eyes open proves to be a less than simple task. "Just another 5 minutes". Despite having almost 12 hours of sleep I still feel completely rundown and soon find myself negotiating with my sleep deprived alter-ego for more sleep. "How about going to into work late? Actually, you should call in sick".

Snapping out of my stupor I casually slip my earphones on and listen to Coldplays' Viva La Vida. The introduction brings back a wave of memories, Spain, Bilbao, San Sebastian, Pamplona and Ibiza. In short, this trip is best described as an agglomerate, a sensory orgy of all things Spanish; food, culture and friendships old and new. Indelible and memorable, this trip will be forever held as the climax of my European travels. If my EU travels were to be analogous to sex, this would be the orgasm. Similarly, I find myself lying on my back in a state of contemplation.

I trudge into the shower and soon find myself humming the tune that will forever be associated with what was an amazing holiday. Viva La Vida, Spanish for "Long Live Life". Amen to that.

Ibiza

"If we could party all night and sleep all day and throw all of my problems away. My life would be easy"

Ibiza, named after Bes, the god of music and dance. A significant portion group would continue the week long trip to Ibiza. We would also soon welcome new additions to the party. With clubs charging a ludicrous amount for drinks (€10 for water, €12 for a beer or €15 for a mixed drink) we stocked up on Duty Free Alcohol and Gummi bears. With poisons in hand we stepped off the plane and like many others transformed into denizens of the island.

Wednesday 8th July

10:30 pm: After some initial confusion about sleeping arrangements we managed to check into our Apartment. Poseidon I in Evissa just off play D'en Bossa.


Thursday 9th July

1:00 am - 7:30 am: Espuma Foam party @ Amnesia (€30). Club located just off a major road, There were two room, one consisted of house/electro accompanied by transvestite performers the other being the commercial pop room. At 4 am the room filled with foam. It rose up past the ankles until my torso was completely submerged in foam. We were completely soaked and some of the causalities included a ruined passport and iPhone. Memorable song: Kool & The Gang - Celebration


12:00 pm: Many of us tried to hire scooters. These two wheeled vehicles would prove to get the better of us. Some of the sustained injuries included: Corked thighs, grazed legs, chipped toenails and a mountain of insurance excess.

4:00 pm: Lazy afternoon spent drinking beer along the Playa D'en Bossa. Bora Bora looks to be a popular haunt for drug dealers; approached numerous times. Couple of promoters from Privilege "allegedly" offered us free entry to Friday Night's party.

7:00 pm: The couple decided to cook us some delicious chorizo spaghetti for dinner.

9:00 pm: Nap time

10:00 pm: Pre-drinks, we have a superfluous stockpile of alcohol. Tough times ahead.

Friday 10th July

1 am - 5 am: F**K Me I'm Famous @ Pacha (€49). Considered one of the trendier clubs of Ibiza we were fortunate enough to have Will.i.am and David Guetta DJ-ing on the same night. Great party, all the hits were played. Had duds but was still an amazing evening. Memorable song: Black Eyed Pea - I got A feeling.

2:00 pm: Blue Marlin. Asian influenced beach side bar, think where Vincent Chase would hang out. Beautiful people walking around, sun baking the place to be seen. Relaxed by the ocean on the couches very swanky place.



7:00 pm: San Antonio for sunset. Large congregation of people loiter around the rocks and socialise until sunset. Glorious sight; Round of applause as the sun sets.


10:00 pm: Freshened up

11:00 pm: Pre-drinks.

Saturday 11th July

2:30 am - 6:00 am: Supermartxe @ Privilege (€30): Not surprised that entry was NOT free. Rocked up to the World's biggest club. Cameras were confiscated at the door as there was a strange stage show performance. Very noir interpretation of popular children stories: Mickey and Minnie mouse making out, Tinkerbell flying around on a drug trip, Snow White stripping naked and so forth.

11:00 am: Ferry ride to Formentera (€20) Hired bikes (€7) and rode up to the main beach. Playa Illetes. The island has a local Spanish charm with dirt roads, rustic buildings and pristine coastlines. Fell asleep on the beach, I think I'm suffering from heat stroke.


9:00 pm: Evening nap. Ugh, feeling dusty.

12:00 am: Pre-drinks.

Sunday 12th July

2:00 - 6:30 am: Hed Kandi @ Space (€30): Going through hot and cold sweats, I probably shouldn't be out. Music was awesome, highlight of the night and possibly of Ibiza is the Saxaphonist, Laura Fowles. Hauntingly beautiful on the sax and made my evening. Memorable songs: Coldplay's Viva La Vida and Delerium's Silence.


9:30 am: Packed and headed to the airport.

6:00 pm: Arrived back home, unpacked, showered, laundry.

8:30 pm: Sleep.