.

Closer encounters
It is kind of confusing being in Australia, the country must be going through some sort of growing pains. On one hand it has been comforting to find relics of the outdated traditions by which we have always characterised our ANZAC neighbour, undeniably illustrated when an attractive, well dressed woman walked through the old-fashioned Formica-tabled lounge bar we were sitting in. From a jug-eared, ruddy-faced old codger that could well have been from an episode of the outback televisions shows Blue Heelers or Flying Doctors emanated a loud wolf-whistle that drew the attention of everyone in the bar, a prompt for heads to turn and check out the woman. What a classic, it’s the sort of thing not seen or heard in New Zealand for the best part of forty years but here it was in full unabashed glory, and no-one seemed to think it out of place.
On the other hand, the same bar specialises in having low calorie beers on tap designed to save men from enhancing their bellies, and who would have heard of that? There was a time Australian men would have been proud to have sported an ample sized girth under or even protruding out from below their singlet, but no more. Seemingly metrosexuals of the new Perth and our old friend with the jug ears are now embraced as one. Now that is integration.
On the subject of beer, it is hard to believe that in a nation renowned for drinking the amber fluid could cost so much. There is nothing in the six pack range of stubbies costing under $A15 ($NZ19), with the standard price being around $A18 ($23). We have been told it is not a matter of higher taxes in Australia than at home, but rather that there is less competition. However, the truth may be that, if reports of the hot climate here are accurate (we’ve not experienced it yet), then the brewers know that they have a captive market. Certainly, the infamous Sunday sessions at local hotels indicate that price is not a barrier to more than ample consumption.
But back to the bar we were at, there was a sign on the door drawing attention to its dress standards, and this caused some trans-Tasman puzzlement. Thongs are strictly banned the notice read and we pondered on this. At home thongs are a type of underwear which covers very little at the front and almost nothing at the back, a single strip of material riding, uncomfortably so we would imagine, between the cheeks of the wearers buttocks. It was only right to question why the bar would take such an interest in the type of underwear patrons would be wearing, but it may have been a precaution against impromptu strip shows, the censorship laws being quite strict here. But of course there was a simple explanation; thongs are what we know as jandals, but even why jandals would be banned when almost anything else goes is quite beyond comprehension.
As part of the planning process for Seath and Nicole’s new home, we have been looking at some of these new housing developments springing up all over the place and the question has to be asked why, in a country of endless size, do these house have to be all cheek by jowl, the new subdivisions forming a sea of roofs in the arid, rural landscape? It has intrigued us that in many of the new developments in rural or semi rural locations at home, like Prebbleton or Halswell, houses appear to be only a couple of metres apart, raising the question of why people want to live so close in a rural landscape. If closeness is what they want, why not live in the city and leave the country to those wanting some space and open air? These places do not even get views. It is the same here, miles from anywhere new towns are springing up with houses by the score and not an ounce of room between them. As an aside, we have viewed a number of show homes, and there are dozens of them as building companies vie for dominance, and it appears that separate theatre rooms are now a standard feature, along with four bedrooms and huge, covered barbeque areas. And quite by coincidence a young salesman we were chatting to turned out to be a similar age to our younger children and had gone to Cashmere High School at the same time they were there. Small world.
Perth itself may be growing on us, quickly so. The city centre is vibrant with a skyline not unlike Dubai in some respects, with gardens and some beautiful old buildings, but what makes a real difference is that the city centre has a heart. And that is unlike Christchurch or Auckland.
The last word is reserved for GoGos Madras Curry House which serves the very best Indian food we have ever eaten (including tender and very edible goat), and so too half of the world’s cricket teams. It turns out that GoGo, the owner and chef, has done the catering at the WACA ground for ten years and the walls of the restaurant are adorned with cricketing memorabilia, including signed plates and cricket shirts and testimonials from the players to the greatness of GoGo’s food. A sporting version of a Hard Rock Café.