A late afternoon flight on a western coast can provide some of the most stunning views you are ever likely to see. My flight from Perth to Karratha yesterday was delayed by an hour which was rather tiresome but meant that we were in the air as the sun set into the Indian Ocean. As it slowly lowered in the sky, changing from yellow to gold to red to pink, the landscape changed with it. Below us, the red hills of the Pilbara reflected the light, turning them an array of colours. The scattered, wispy clouds became pink candy floss, the ocean pink lemonade. It was beautiful. As we began our descent into Karratha, the sky had darkened and lights twinkled from houses, gas plants and distant tankers, occasionally illuminating the inky sea. Touching down on this Mars-like landscape I got the oddest feeling, one I never thought I would experience – I felt like I was coming home. Perhaps it had more to do with the fact that I was soon to be back with The Husband, as home will always be wherever he is. Driving back in the balmy early evening with the windows down, the deliciously cool breeze ruffling our hair, it felt right to be in Karratha. As long as we have each other and we continue to see the beauty in this strange, remote place, we’ll be alright here.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
A Wild Life
Driving in rural WA is not for the faint-hearted. Four- or five- trailer road trains hurtling towards you, physically blowing your car over to the side of the road, is just the start of it. At least you can see them from a distance on the long, straight roads. The real danger is the wildlife, and I don’t mean drunken hoons weaving around on the road, swigging beer and throwing the bottles out of the window, although they are a danger to every road user. What scares me more are the animals of the bush, as there’s a very good chance you won’t see them coming. Often, they appear out of nowhere, completely oblivious to the danger they’re putting themselves in. You really would have thought that they’d have learned by now – their brothers, sister, mothers, fathers, aunties, uncles and cousins (or parts of them at least) litter the roads throughout Australia. But no, they continue to bound or wander languidly across the road as vehicles come speeding towards them.
We drove the 1000km round trip from Karratha to Exmouth at the weekend for a little jolly on the Ningaloo reef. It was five hours there and another five back but absolutely worth it for the total escape it provided. We spotted an incredible amount of marine life while snorkelling but the journey there and back provided numerous encounters with wildlife on dry land too. We had to brake hard to avoid a kangaroo or two, a cow, a sheep, a couple of wild horses, and three emus who were in no hurry to get anywhere. At the side of the road were the remains of the animals that weren’t quite so lucky and more than a few who had clearly had an intimate encounter with a road train. We never drive at night as the risk of hitting an animal head-on increases manifold. Kangaroos are especially active between dusk and dawn and tend to freeze when they see the lights of your car rather than do the sensible thing and hurry along. Cows use the warm road to bunk down for a night’s kip. As we don’t have a bull bar fitted to the front of our car we run the risk not only of obliterating a roo, cow, sheep, giant goanna, emu, or other wild creature, but ourselves too. Not many survive a kick in the head from a flying roo. I felt safer in the water on the Ningaloo reef, amongst the sting rays, sharks, puffer fish and other nasties than I did on the road in the car.
Ah, the Ningaloo reef. Is there a finer place in this world? Talcum powder beaches, turquoise water, an aquarium’s worth of marine life just waiting to be discovered by you. We spent a glorious weekend going from sea to beach, beach to sea, back to the beach… you get the picture. Snorkelling on the Ningaloo reef is like immersing yourself in the biggest and best aquarium in the world, and the greatest thing about it is that, unlike the heavily touristed Great Barrier Reef, you won’t be surrounded by hordes of others. It feels like you’re discovering your own personal underwater world. In amongst the brightly coloured, incredibly shaped coral, swim luminous parrot fish, striped angel fish, giant fish of every colour, black-tipped reef sharks, shy octopuses, gentle turtles, spotted rays… I could go on and on. The only sounds you hear underwater are those of the fish chowing down on the coral. It’s another world and it’s a world I could be quite happy to explore for days on end.
Both on land and in the water, it’s a wild life in WA.
We drove the 1000km round trip from Karratha to Exmouth at the weekend for a little jolly on the Ningaloo reef. It was five hours there and another five back but absolutely worth it for the total escape it provided. We spotted an incredible amount of marine life while snorkelling but the journey there and back provided numerous encounters with wildlife on dry land too. We had to brake hard to avoid a kangaroo or two, a cow, a sheep, a couple of wild horses, and three emus who were in no hurry to get anywhere. At the side of the road were the remains of the animals that weren’t quite so lucky and more than a few who had clearly had an intimate encounter with a road train. We never drive at night as the risk of hitting an animal head-on increases manifold. Kangaroos are especially active between dusk and dawn and tend to freeze when they see the lights of your car rather than do the sensible thing and hurry along. Cows use the warm road to bunk down for a night’s kip. As we don’t have a bull bar fitted to the front of our car we run the risk not only of obliterating a roo, cow, sheep, giant goanna, emu, or other wild creature, but ourselves too. Not many survive a kick in the head from a flying roo. I felt safer in the water on the Ningaloo reef, amongst the sting rays, sharks, puffer fish and other nasties than I did on the road in the car.
Ah, the Ningaloo reef. Is there a finer place in this world? Talcum powder beaches, turquoise water, an aquarium’s worth of marine life just waiting to be discovered by you. We spent a glorious weekend going from sea to beach, beach to sea, back to the beach… you get the picture. Snorkelling on the Ningaloo reef is like immersing yourself in the biggest and best aquarium in the world, and the greatest thing about it is that, unlike the heavily touristed Great Barrier Reef, you won’t be surrounded by hordes of others. It feels like you’re discovering your own personal underwater world. In amongst the brightly coloured, incredibly shaped coral, swim luminous parrot fish, striped angel fish, giant fish of every colour, black-tipped reef sharks, shy octopuses, gentle turtles, spotted rays… I could go on and on. The only sounds you hear underwater are those of the fish chowing down on the coral. It’s another world and it’s a world I could be quite happy to explore for days on end.
Both on land and in the water, it’s a wild life in WA.
Friday, November 19, 2010
In Memorium of a Badly Behaved Goanna
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| An early picture of teenage goanna |
Having seen them every day, wriggling across the floor or playing out in the garden, I had come to think of them as pets and I always made sure I said hello to them. Then, yesterday morning, I was sitting at my computer in the dining room when I heard a kerfuffle outside, followed by a thwack as a large bird flew into the window. It’s not an unusual occurrence for birds to face-plant our windows – I don’t know whether the heat affects their brains but it happens more often than you’d think – but from the glimpse I got this seemed like a bigger bird than usual. So, armed with my Field Guide to Australian Birds, I looked out through the patio doors and saw the bird perched on one of our chairs. It looked like an overgrown magpie with a long, thin beak and I am still not sure exactly what it was as before I could consult my book I noticed something peeking out of its beak. It appeared to be a bit of straggly grass but it was moving. The bird noticed me then and flew down onto the grass, turning its head so I could see what was poking out of the other side of its beak. By now you’ve probably guessed that that bit of grass was in fact teenage goanna’s tail and from this new perspective I could clearly see its head, rendered immobile by the powerful grip of the bird’s beak. I gasped in shock. How could this be? How could a goanna go from being a naughty, lively, lusty teenager to being trapped in a death grip within minutes? The bird then flew up onto the fence, goanna still gripped tightly in its beak, but I could see that the goanna was now no longer moving. He was dead.
The world is a brutal place – it is dangerous out there. Poor teenage goanna was in the prime of his life when it was cruelly snatched from him by an evil, ugly giant magpie thing. At least he had his fun while he was alive and I certainly do not begrudge his romp with the female goanna the other week now. Perhaps this is a lesson to us all – enjoy life while you can as you never know when you will be swooped upon by a monster bird and clamped to death. RIP teenage goanna.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Stealth Insect
It was bound to happen sooner or later. No, I am not talking about Will and Kate’s engagement, although I seem to be just about the only person in the world not chattering excitedly about wedding plans as if I might actually be invited to the nuptials. I am talking about a far more important matter than the impending wedding of our future king – yesterday it finally happened, I swallowed a fly. Actually, that’s not quite accurate on two counts. It wasn’t a fly, it was some sort of flying ant type thing, which is even worse. I shudder now just thinking about it. Secondly, the reason I know it was not a fly was that ten minutes later, while I was in the shower, I coughed it up and spluttered it onto the floor. My body is not stupid – it knew that this flying monstrosity was not gourmet food and refused to send it down into my stomach. However, it also meant that for the duration of those ten minutes I could feel it prickling the back of my throat which was not pleasant. And I really could have done without seeing what had flown into my mouth and down my throat.
In fact, until it came flying out of my mouth, I couldn’t be sure that anything had actually flown into it. I didn’t see anything buzzing around me or hear that irritating high-pitched whine. The first time I realised something had happened was when I felt something sharp in my throat. It just came out of nowhere, as if it was on a suicide mission. Does he think that there will be a thousand virginal flying ant girls waiting for him in flying ant paradise? Running is certainly a dangerous activity here, especially when there are stealth insects flying around. I really need to work on that closed mouth breathing technique.
In fact, until it came flying out of my mouth, I couldn’t be sure that anything had actually flown into it. I didn’t see anything buzzing around me or hear that irritating high-pitched whine. The first time I realised something had happened was when I felt something sharp in my throat. It just came out of nowhere, as if it was on a suicide mission. Does he think that there will be a thousand virginal flying ant girls waiting for him in flying ant paradise? Running is certainly a dangerous activity here, especially when there are stealth insects flying around. I really need to work on that closed mouth breathing technique.
Monday, November 15, 2010
The Pilbara Time Warp
Like in Thailand, it is often hard to notice the passing of time here - even remembering what month you’re in is sometimes a struggle (and no, that has nothing to do with growing older or a penchant for G&Ts). The seasons in Thailand were ‘hot and humid’, ‘hot and slightly less humid’, and ‘hot, humid and wet’. Here in the Pilbara they are ‘hot’ and ‘so hot you feel like you’re walking into a sauna when you step outside’. In England, the year is marked by its seasons. You get the cold, wet, gloomy first months of the year as winter properly kicks in, followed by slightly warmer days, the trees bursting to life with blossom and new leaves as spring arrives. Summer brings sunny days (well, at least for a week or two) and beautiful gardens full of roses, lavender and honeysuckle, before autumn heralds the necessity for a jumper and coat again and the leaves on the trees become a riot of sunsets and flames. In the last dying months of the year, the weather turns cold and frosty and starts to feel very festive as Christmas approaches. By mid-November, I have normally started the countdown to Christmas, one that starts on November 5th, Guy Fawkes Night.
November 5th is when I officially allow myself to wear a woolly hat and gloves. Often I feel cold enough to don the woollies in October but I know that to do so too early would mean a very, very cold winter for me. Also, English people think you’re weird if you walk around dressed for a holiday on the ski slopes when summer has only just ended. So, I stuff my hands in my pockets to keep warm until Guy Fawkes Night, upon which I pile on jumpers, a big coat, scarf, hat and gloves to stand in the freezing cold and watch the fireworks. Then of course I get uncomfortably hot when surrounded by hundreds of people and standing right by a huge bonfire. But I’m getting off-subject now. The point I was trying to make was that unless I actually think about it, I have no idea what time of year we’re in. Guy Fawkes this year was 42°C. It doesn’t feel like Christmas is fast approaching at all. There are none of my usual markers – piling more clothes on when I go out, turning up the heating, the smell of wood smoke drifting from chimneys, dark days and nights, the first time you can see your breath in the air.
There’s now only two weeks until the start of December, when I will undoubtedly go into festive overdrive - decorating the house to within an inch of its life, blasting Christmas music 24/7, making mince pies, sipping mulled wine (with the air-con jacked up to ensure that I don’t collapse from heat exhaustion), writing cards and wrapping presents. My big fear is that if I don’t make it blatantly obvious that we are in the festive season, I might forget about it all together. I actually had a nightmare recently that I did just that and I woke with palpitations and a cold sweat, terror coursing through my veins. Whatever it takes, I am determined to make December as festive as possible, despite the raging temperatures outside.
November 5th is when I officially allow myself to wear a woolly hat and gloves. Often I feel cold enough to don the woollies in October but I know that to do so too early would mean a very, very cold winter for me. Also, English people think you’re weird if you walk around dressed for a holiday on the ski slopes when summer has only just ended. So, I stuff my hands in my pockets to keep warm until Guy Fawkes Night, upon which I pile on jumpers, a big coat, scarf, hat and gloves to stand in the freezing cold and watch the fireworks. Then of course I get uncomfortably hot when surrounded by hundreds of people and standing right by a huge bonfire. But I’m getting off-subject now. The point I was trying to make was that unless I actually think about it, I have no idea what time of year we’re in. Guy Fawkes this year was 42°C. It doesn’t feel like Christmas is fast approaching at all. There are none of my usual markers – piling more clothes on when I go out, turning up the heating, the smell of wood smoke drifting from chimneys, dark days and nights, the first time you can see your breath in the air.
There’s now only two weeks until the start of December, when I will undoubtedly go into festive overdrive - decorating the house to within an inch of its life, blasting Christmas music 24/7, making mince pies, sipping mulled wine (with the air-con jacked up to ensure that I don’t collapse from heat exhaustion), writing cards and wrapping presents. My big fear is that if I don’t make it blatantly obvious that we are in the festive season, I might forget about it all together. I actually had a nightmare recently that I did just that and I woke with palpitations and a cold sweat, terror coursing through my veins. Whatever it takes, I am determined to make December as festive as possible, despite the raging temperatures outside.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Mile-High Muggers Get Their Comeuppance (but more needs to be done)
It would seem that my blog post regarding the extortionate charges airlines levy on their customers (see Mile-High Mugging) was somewhat topical as, unbeknownst to me, the very same day on which I uploaded it the European Commission fined eleven airlines a total of nearly €800m. It wasn’t in relation to fees for flight changes or indeed any passenger-related charges, but it is still a lot of money and it just might make them think. The record fines were for air cargo price-fixing, which went on from 1999 to 2006 before it was reported by an airline that decided to come forward. The illegal cartel co-ordinated with each other to ensure that their charges for fuel and security were consistently the same, effectively enforcing a flat rate surcharge. According to European Competition Commissioner, Joaquin Alumnia, the airlines involved had price-fixing meetings whereby they would ensure that every single carrier in the cartel increased their prices.
The ‘deplorable’ cartel, as Alumnia described it, might have primarily affected companies (although of course consumers always end up paying for it in the long run with hiked prices on goods to cover the cost of freight) but the principle is there. Big airlines cannot go around enforcing ridiculous fees just because they can. Now, it seems, they can’t - they won’t get away with it. Perhaps next the European Commission could look into passenger surcharges. Seriously, what is going on with these airlines? They burst into flames mid-air (2 Airbus A380s and now a Boeing 747 Dreamliner too, all within a week), they are increasingly stingy with what you get for free (on how many airlines do you now have to pay extra for checked luggage, earphones, food, drink? I had to pay for water on a recent domestic flight which I can assure you was not cheap but sure seemed like a no-frills service), their crews strike at times engineered to cause maximum chaos for all, their computers malfunction resulting in hundreds of cancelled and delayed flights and thousands of stranded passengers. It all begs the question - what exactly is it that we’re paying for?
The ‘deplorable’ cartel, as Alumnia described it, might have primarily affected companies (although of course consumers always end up paying for it in the long run with hiked prices on goods to cover the cost of freight) but the principle is there. Big airlines cannot go around enforcing ridiculous fees just because they can. Now, it seems, they can’t - they won’t get away with it. Perhaps next the European Commission could look into passenger surcharges. Seriously, what is going on with these airlines? They burst into flames mid-air (2 Airbus A380s and now a Boeing 747 Dreamliner too, all within a week), they are increasingly stingy with what you get for free (on how many airlines do you now have to pay extra for checked luggage, earphones, food, drink? I had to pay for water on a recent domestic flight which I can assure you was not cheap but sure seemed like a no-frills service), their crews strike at times engineered to cause maximum chaos for all, their computers malfunction resulting in hundreds of cancelled and delayed flights and thousands of stranded passengers. It all begs the question - what exactly is it that we’re paying for?
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Dirty Phone Call
As a freelance journalist, I am signed up to a couple of press release services which deliver relevant releases to my inbox each day. At least, that’s the theory. Sometimes I receive real oddball releases which are clearly not relevant to my request for material relating to ‘beauty’, ‘fitness’, and ‘travel’. In fact, some press releases are so odd I don’t understand how they could be relevant to anyone’s requests. The other day a particularly strange press release landed in my inbox, involving a survey conducted by a website which sells mobile phones. The title was, ‘Mobile Phones Can Give You Haemorrhoids’. Naturally, I was intrigued, in spite of it being completely irrelevant to me as a beauty and travel journalist. How exactly could a mobile phone possibly give you an ailment down below? Despite myself (and four imminent deadlines), I had to read on.
I shouldn’t really have been surprised that the link was so tenuous, it was barely plausible. It was also one of the weirdest surveys I’ve ever come across, and it produced some disturbing results. The website surveyed over 1000 people in the UK and found that a whopping 82% of them frequently use their mobile phones whilst doing their business on the toilet. I wonder how many of the people they speak to know where they are while they’re on the phone to them? It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'dirty phone call'. In this age of instantaneous gratification, do people really need to be doing something all the time, even when on the toilet? It is, perhaps, a sad reflection of our time.
You may still be wondering where the link between mobile phones and haemorrhoids comes in (especially if you are one of those people who secretly make phone calls whilst on the toilet). Or of course you might have decided that you really don’t care, but either way I am going to tell you. Those who regularly use their phone while doing their business spend on average an extra 3.5 minutes longer on the loo than those who do not, and it is that prolonged time spent sitting on a cold, hard surface that could give you haemorrhoids. So there you have it, a lesson for us all, don’t phone your mate while on the loo and you could avoid a serious pain in the bum. Oh, and next time someone calls you from their mobile phone, try not to listen too closely to the background noise – it’s probably best just not to know.
NB Because I have referenced their survey, I have to add the following link onto my blog or they may sue me – I guess they were smart in sending this release to everyone after all. www.mobilesplease.co.cuk
I shouldn’t really have been surprised that the link was so tenuous, it was barely plausible. It was also one of the weirdest surveys I’ve ever come across, and it produced some disturbing results. The website surveyed over 1000 people in the UK and found that a whopping 82% of them frequently use their mobile phones whilst doing their business on the toilet. I wonder how many of the people they speak to know where they are while they’re on the phone to them? It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'dirty phone call'. In this age of instantaneous gratification, do people really need to be doing something all the time, even when on the toilet? It is, perhaps, a sad reflection of our time.
You may still be wondering where the link between mobile phones and haemorrhoids comes in (especially if you are one of those people who secretly make phone calls whilst on the toilet). Or of course you might have decided that you really don’t care, but either way I am going to tell you. Those who regularly use their phone while doing their business spend on average an extra 3.5 minutes longer on the loo than those who do not, and it is that prolonged time spent sitting on a cold, hard surface that could give you haemorrhoids. So there you have it, a lesson for us all, don’t phone your mate while on the loo and you could avoid a serious pain in the bum. Oh, and next time someone calls you from their mobile phone, try not to listen too closely to the background noise – it’s probably best just not to know.
NB Because I have referenced their survey, I have to add the following link onto my blog or they may sue me – I guess they were smart in sending this release to everyone after all. www.mobilesplease.co.cuk
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Mile-High Mugging
I apologise in advance for the blog post that you are about to read as I fear it may turn into a bit of a rant. However, as The Husband is refusing to do his job as ‘ear to all and sunder for which his wife wishes to impart’, I have no other medium. I have just changed my flight back from Hong Kong in the new year as I will now be working as blogger for a tennis tournament that ends a few days after my original flight leaves the country. I phoned up and was delighted to hear that the flight I wanted to change to was exactly the same price as my original one. Now, I’m not stupid, I knew that the airline would charge some sort of an admin fee. What I was not expecting was it to cost $136! How can it possibly cost that much to take someone off the list of one flight and put them on another. It was an online booking so it’s not even as if they have to print out another paper ticket, they just need to change some details on an e-ticket.
It’s crazy what some of these airlines think they can get away with but of course that’s just it – they can get away with it because you don’t have much choice, especially as they all seem to be about as bad as each other. UK and US governments are now cracking down on unfair bank charges but maybe they need to look at the exorbitant amount airlines are charging its customers. There’s no doubt about it – Qantas are actually making money out of changing my flight for me. They’ve turned flight change requests into a profitable business . You’d have thought that in this time of economic uncertainty, when less people are forking out the money to take overseas holidays, airlines would be doing everything in their power to reduce the cost of air travel and inspire loyalty in their customers. Perhaps that’s exactly the issue, though – the airlines are making less money these days so need to make some extra cash any way they can. What with this airline’s recent bad press regarding near mid-air disasters, you’d have thought they might be wanting to keep me as a loyal customer rather than mugging me for my money. This Expat Wife is not impressed.
It’s crazy what some of these airlines think they can get away with but of course that’s just it – they can get away with it because you don’t have much choice, especially as they all seem to be about as bad as each other. UK and US governments are now cracking down on unfair bank charges but maybe they need to look at the exorbitant amount airlines are charging its customers. There’s no doubt about it – Qantas are actually making money out of changing my flight for me. They’ve turned flight change requests into a profitable business . You’d have thought that in this time of economic uncertainty, when less people are forking out the money to take overseas holidays, airlines would be doing everything in their power to reduce the cost of air travel and inspire loyalty in their customers. Perhaps that’s exactly the issue, though – the airlines are making less money these days so need to make some extra cash any way they can. What with this airline’s recent bad press regarding near mid-air disasters, you’d have thought they might be wanting to keep me as a loyal customer rather than mugging me for my money. This Expat Wife is not impressed.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Drinking Your Way to the Top
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| The Husband wasn't feeling quite as much love but was giving it a go |
This isn’t unusual in Australia, where drinking is an art form, but this was a work do. If you were running around like a crazed loon, kissing everyone that came near you, or falling into a crumpled heap like a rag doll, you were doing this in front of your colleagues and your bosses. Your colleagues you were going to see at work on Monday and endure endless ribbing and your boss you are hoping to impress in order to advance your career. However, there are two reasons no-one cared about any of that. 1) Everybody was inebriated so you were all in the same boat and it’s a good bet no-one else will remember the moment you tripped over on the dance floor and fell on your face. 2) Getting pissed with your boss is the Aussie way to network – it’s their version of schmoozing. Far from being looked down on come Monday morning, you will probably be called a ‘top bloke’ from then onwards. They’re a funny lot, those Aussies, but if drinking copious amounts of alcohol helps you get to the top in this country, I’ll go a long way!
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Another Hot, Sunny Day
I did have something else in mind to blog about today but I couldn’t resist describing just what I am doing right now. Other than blogging, obviously. As it is a Saturday I thought I would escape the dark, air-conditioned interior of the house and get some fresh air into my lungs and sun on my face. I am lying in our back garden under a cerulean sky, the sun gloriously warm on my skin. I can smell sun cream (mine), that heady, happy, holiday aroma of freshly mown grass (not mine, I don’t do mowing, especially not in this heat), and a light, sweet perfume I can only assume is being brought to me on the breeze from the tiny purple flowers covering the tree languidly hanging over our fence. However, the overriding smell as you emerge from the gloom of the living room (purposely kept that way in an attempt to keep it as cool as possible) into the dazzling sunlight, is heat.
You might not think that heat has a smell and I suppose technically it doesn’t, but it certainly affects whatever it touches. Hot brick, hot grass, hot dust, hot iron. They all have a distinct aroma and it is that which you smell first as you step outside on a hot day in the Pilbara. It is not an unpleasant smell, in fact it reminds me only of happy times. Those all too rare summer days in England when the sky is cloudless and the sun hot – sitting in a pub garden wearing a cotton sun dress and drinking Pimms; walking across a sun-baked London on our way to watch the tennis at Wimbledon; stepping out of our front door and feeling the thrill of being able to leave the house without a cardigan or jacket, of wearing sunglasses and sandals rather than scarves and socks. Only those who have never lived anywhere cold and wet fail to still be thrilled by a scorching hot day. It was only when I moved back to England for university that I realised just how much I missed and loved the warmth. Now I don’t believe I will ever cease to appreciate the rush of endorphins that flood my body with joy as I draw the blinds to reveal another hot, sunny day.
You might not think that heat has a smell and I suppose technically it doesn’t, but it certainly affects whatever it touches. Hot brick, hot grass, hot dust, hot iron. They all have a distinct aroma and it is that which you smell first as you step outside on a hot day in the Pilbara. It is not an unpleasant smell, in fact it reminds me only of happy times. Those all too rare summer days in England when the sky is cloudless and the sun hot – sitting in a pub garden wearing a cotton sun dress and drinking Pimms; walking across a sun-baked London on our way to watch the tennis at Wimbledon; stepping out of our front door and feeling the thrill of being able to leave the house without a cardigan or jacket, of wearing sunglasses and sandals rather than scarves and socks. Only those who have never lived anywhere cold and wet fail to still be thrilled by a scorching hot day. It was only when I moved back to England for university that I realised just how much I missed and loved the warmth. Now I don’t believe I will ever cease to appreciate the rush of endorphins that flood my body with joy as I draw the blinds to reveal another hot, sunny day.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Cyclone Season
Monday marked the first day of cyclone season here in the northwest. From November 1st to April 30th, there is every chance that we will be hit by at least one cyclone, if not more. The northwest, between Broome and Exmouth, is the most cyclone prone part of Australia’s coastline – and that’s a big coastline. The area was subject to not a single cyclone last season (when we arrived in April it had been 16 months since it had last rained here) but this season they’re predicting at least two category 5 cyclones – the most severe and destructive on the cyclone scale. The Australian Bureau of Meteorology states that category 5 cyclones are, ‘extremely dangerous with widespread destruction.’ That doesn’t sound good. The Bureau elaborates with, ‘tropical cyclones are dangerous because they produce destructive winds, heavy rainfall with flooding and damaging storm surges that can cause inundation of low-lying coastal areas’. Right, that would be us then. I don’t know what to be more scared of, the storm surges or the ‘destructive winds [which] can cause extensive property damage and turn airborne debris into potentially lethal missiles.’ They certainly don’t mince their words – ‘potentially lethal missiles’ sounds like something a character would say in a disaster movie with a sense of foreboding in their voice, quickly followed by some dramatic music. This is seriously scary stuff.
Because of the very real threat cyclones pose, especially to communities like Karratha which live right on the coast in a low-lying, very flat area, each year the council provides a free clean-up service for residential areas. You’re responsible for trimming trees and removing loose items from your garden but if you put them at the front of your house, a big truck will come and take them away. The Husband spent an hour on Sunday evening hacking away at a particularly wayward tree which had grown beyond all proportions and was making its way across our roof. The trucks came on Monday, lifted up the branches and threw them into their beds, before moving on to the next house. There was an almighty racket and, peeping out through the window I spotted three or four trucks all advancing down the street like some sort of truck army. It was an impressive sight and brought home just how seriously people take cyclone season. The last thing most people want to do on their day off is clean up their gardens, especially in Karratha’s blistering heat, but the whole neighbourhood seemed to have rallied themselves to get it done – no-one wants a tree crashing through their window or a rogue length of hose hurtling its way across the sky and smashing through their own or someone else’s patio doors.
We’ve also got to prepare an emergency kit, including plenty of drinking water, canned or dried food, a torch, extra batteries, a portable stove, matches, candles and a first aid kit. In the event of a cyclone, the power and water will be shut off so we will have to fend for ourselves – not unlike camping, except with comfy beds and a roof over our heads (that is, as long as the roof doesn’t blow off ). The daunting thing is that research has shown that Australian cyclones are more erratic than in any other part of the world – the cyclone might last for a few days or a few weeks. I can’t imagine living like that for weeks on end – we’ll stink after weeks of having no air conditioning and being unable to wash and I don't even like baked beans that much!
They have predicted that we will get one of these potentially lethal category 5 cyclones before Christmas so any time from now we may be in trouble. Cue dramatic music...
Because of the very real threat cyclones pose, especially to communities like Karratha which live right on the coast in a low-lying, very flat area, each year the council provides a free clean-up service for residential areas. You’re responsible for trimming trees and removing loose items from your garden but if you put them at the front of your house, a big truck will come and take them away. The Husband spent an hour on Sunday evening hacking away at a particularly wayward tree which had grown beyond all proportions and was making its way across our roof. The trucks came on Monday, lifted up the branches and threw them into their beds, before moving on to the next house. There was an almighty racket and, peeping out through the window I spotted three or four trucks all advancing down the street like some sort of truck army. It was an impressive sight and brought home just how seriously people take cyclone season. The last thing most people want to do on their day off is clean up their gardens, especially in Karratha’s blistering heat, but the whole neighbourhood seemed to have rallied themselves to get it done – no-one wants a tree crashing through their window or a rogue length of hose hurtling its way across the sky and smashing through their own or someone else’s patio doors.
We’ve also got to prepare an emergency kit, including plenty of drinking water, canned or dried food, a torch, extra batteries, a portable stove, matches, candles and a first aid kit. In the event of a cyclone, the power and water will be shut off so we will have to fend for ourselves – not unlike camping, except with comfy beds and a roof over our heads (that is, as long as the roof doesn’t blow off ). The daunting thing is that research has shown that Australian cyclones are more erratic than in any other part of the world – the cyclone might last for a few days or a few weeks. I can’t imagine living like that for weeks on end – we’ll stink after weeks of having no air conditioning and being unable to wash and I don't even like baked beans that much!
They have predicted that we will get one of these potentially lethal category 5 cyclones before Christmas so any time from now we may be in trouble. Cue dramatic music...
Monday, November 1, 2010
The Mane Attraction
In the Southern Hemisphere spring is in the air and that can only mean one thing in Australia – horse racing. No, not watching a tiny TV in a dusty betting office surrounded by desperate men in singlets with names like Bruce and Wayne. I’m talking about the glamour, the fashion, the Champagne. Apparently horses are involved but it’s really about getting dressed up – ladies, pretty and demure dresses, killer heels and outrageous headwear are all essential and for gents it’s all about a sharp suit, scuff-free shoes and perhaps even a trilby. Racewear ideas fill the pages of Aussie magazines and Sunday papers and get massive coverage on television breakfast shows. It’s all about seeing and being seen and celebs make an appearance at the biggest meets, quaffing the free Champers and looking fabulous for the paps.
Unfortunately, the four big days of the spring racing calendar – Derby Day, Melbourne Cup, Oaks Day and Stakes Day – are all held in and around the city that inspired Crowded House to write ‘Four Seasons In One Day’. The weather in Melbourne is notoriously unpredictable, much like the UK really, although I do believe they do manage rather more sunshine in between the rain, hail and brisk winds. Derby Day was held yesterday and watching some of the highlights (the hottest marquees, most fabulous dresses, biggest names – again, I think horses were a part of it somewhere but who really cares about that?) was like watching an English event. It absolutely hammered it down with rain. It was torrential and lasted all day. I did feel sorry for the poor girls in their lovely dresses, hair immaculate, skyscraper heels, tottering about in the downpour, trying not to get wet. The forecast is not great for the rest of the week either, which doesn’t bode well for the other meets. It was 32°C with beautiful sunshine at Derby Day last year – this year it was 17°C with torrential rain. I feel right at home.
Unfortunately, the four big days of the spring racing calendar – Derby Day, Melbourne Cup, Oaks Day and Stakes Day – are all held in and around the city that inspired Crowded House to write ‘Four Seasons In One Day’. The weather in Melbourne is notoriously unpredictable, much like the UK really, although I do believe they do manage rather more sunshine in between the rain, hail and brisk winds. Derby Day was held yesterday and watching some of the highlights (the hottest marquees, most fabulous dresses, biggest names – again, I think horses were a part of it somewhere but who really cares about that?) was like watching an English event. It absolutely hammered it down with rain. It was torrential and lasted all day. I did feel sorry for the poor girls in their lovely dresses, hair immaculate, skyscraper heels, tottering about in the downpour, trying not to get wet. The forecast is not great for the rest of the week either, which doesn’t bode well for the other meets. It was 32°C with beautiful sunshine at Derby Day last year – this year it was 17°C with torrential rain. I feel right at home.
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