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Fush & Chups
Lesbian mud wresting. We cannot believe that none of our friends have taken us or even suggested this as a must-see attraction, but it happens every Wednesday night at the Connections nightclub in the trendy area of Northbridge. Described as one of Perth’s craziest events, intending patrons are advised to get in early to ensure a ring side seat and witness the sexiest survival of the slipperiest. It may just be that the 10.00pm start time is too late for our working acquaintances, but we’re not working.
While we may not have yet been to the wrestling, we have found the Kiwi Fish and Chip shop in the suburb of Dianella. Brilliant, it is classic; tattered outdated copies of women’s, car sales and real estate magazines litter Formica tables and their tubular chrome chairs, a few pinball type-machines are lined against the wall, the fridge is chocker with L&P, there are K bars on the counter, an All Black tea towel, New Zealand flag and a few faded posters adorning the walls, and then to top it off, a Paeroa road sign points to nowhere in particular. But this wasn’t just a cosmetic display; the fish and chips were the real deal, proper ones as we know them from our own shops back home. Also on the menu other delectable treats such as oysters, scallops and whitebait. This was as close to making us homesick as anything we’ve experienced.
We were amused; on the wall of the shop was a guide on how to speak New Zealand, with an instruction to read each item aloud. Included among the thirty or so translated words were: peck (to fill a suitcase), min (male of the species), Milburn (the Australian city), pigs (for hanging out washing), guess (vapour), ear roebucks (exercise at the gym, iggs ectley (precise) and sivven sucks sivven (a large Boeing aircraft). Then there were the ubiquitous fush (marine creatures) and chups (things made from potatoes).
When travelling, it is generally easy to pick Kiwis, because offshore they wear their New Zealandness. They hang out at shops selling New Zealand food and souvenirs, congregate in Kiwi pubs, wear carved bone and greenstone pendants and, at sporting events, paint their faces or wave silver fern or national flags. But aside from at rugby matches that sort of patriotism is rarely evident at home and that is one thing that makes this country quite different. Aussies are patriotic and like to show it everywhere, whether it be the five stars of their flag tattooed anywhere at all on their bodies, driving big Australian built cars or wearing yellow and green clothes. There is nothing awkward about it all, and a good example is Seath and Nicole’s flatmate, a miner, who has the Australian flag hanging in his room. To him it is perfectly natural.
Natural it was too at the cricket, the first day of the third test between Australia and the West Indies; the large crowd stood without hesitation for the national anthem and a good proportion sported Australian-branded clothing, and those who didn’t sport flags as ponchos wore hollowed-out watermelons on their heads. We’re sure it meant something, but there was no doubt that all of those around us were more expert at cricket, team selections and tactics than a typical All Black fan. So much so, we moved to a less populated part of the stand and set about supporting the West Indies, which proved difficult as the Aussies piled on more than 320 runs for the loss of only three wickets.
What we have learned in Western Australia is that Kiwi chicks rule, we’ve seen bogan-esque stickers saying so on a number of cars, and then we found the source. The Kiwi Shop in Joondalup has an extensive array of souvenirs, sports clothing, food and even a mobile electric hangi. Iced animal biscuits, bluebird chips, buzz bars and chocolate fish, snifters, pineapple lumps, L&P, Watties tomato sauce and Edmonds baking products, they are all there. We brought a traditional New Zealand flag and a couple of All Black beer coolers to send as mementos to our friends at the Kiwi bar in Patong. The girls have emailed recently saying that life is “bouring” without us.
There is a curious phenomenon in Western Australia and that is the fly-in, fly-out worker. Thousands of miners and support staff such as cleaners are based in and around Perth but work in remote parts of the territory, usually rostered on for between two and four weeks at a time and then return home for one or two weeks. The mining companies fly them in and out as part of the deal, and so the domestic airport is like a commuter hub. But what intrigued us when we went to pick up Seath and Nicole is that many of the workers treat the flights as though we would a car or bus journey to work. On a Friday evening, hundreds of them, fresh from the mine (still wearing overalls and workboots and without any luggage whatsoever), amble through the airport and get into cars driven by waiting spouse or friends. In turn, rather than pay parking charges, the spouses wait, their cars lining the roads leading to the airport, for a text or call from the incoming partner to say they have arrived. It’s a funny old world.