Zoo zombies

It's been awhile since I've posted anything, but we've been whipping around the States and just got back last week after a whirlwind trip that included stops to Chicago, Iowa, Arkensas and finally Kansas City, for Jeff and Sarah's beautiful wedding. Phew! Naturally, we arrive completely jet-lagged and decide it makes perfect sense to go to the zoo. Who wouldn't? Let's see.
I think we rode a gondola, saw some kangaroos and watched a bird show. Oh, and maybe there was a koala. Yeah, there was definitely a koala. And a platypus, I think. Didn't I write a report on that in 4th grade? Did it have a duckbill? I can't remember. By 8:30 that evening we agreed that we gave mr. jet lag a serious ass whooping. We should go back again when we're actually awake. I think there was a seal show? Maybe there's a picture...

Burpees and bear crawls

Nothing very exciting to report, so I thought I'd fill you in on our new morning fitness routine. We've been doing this three times a week since the end of February. I swear, every time the alarm goes off, there is about 45 seconds of wingeing (a great Aussie term), occasionally a bit of swearing, creative excuses for not getting out of bed, etc. but eventually we unfurl, and sleepwalk up to Observatory Hill for our 30-minute torture session with Daniel, our "conditioning coach". It's a love/hate relationship.

This all came about because over the past few months, we've noticed a peculiar outdoor group fitness phenomenon - people charging at each other with boxing gloves, throwing around medicine balls, etc. It's everywhere. We were curious and agreed it might be good to try something other than running - I believe this is called "cross training".

Yeah. Cross training. This term scares me. Chris pointed out a group of decidedly fit people running, jumping and rolling around on the grass on top of Observatory Hill, so we tentatively approach to see what is going on. Fast forward four days and we are chin down in the muddy grass, doing body blasts, spiderman crawls, sprinter shuffles, star jumps, hover-to-pushups, and another 10 things that I can't remember the names of because they were so painful I blocked them out. Oh, wait. There were bear crawls and burpees too. Who came up with the term burpee?

The stuff is hard. The next day neither of us can get out of bed. But it gets us going in the morning, and our group is small so we've gotten to know some interesting personalities. It's amazing the things you say to complete strangers when you're in pain.

Last Monday we arrive at 7:05 and about 15 minutes in, it starts raining. I don't mean a light, lovely mist to cool your face, this is a deluge. So the group starts wingeing (I so LOVE it!) and moping around. Tamsen isn't happy. Emily certainly isn't happy, but Daniel isn't about to give in. It is pouring and I'm drenched and muddy, but I have to admit, I did feel a little bit like Rambo doing push-ups in the mud. The last session of our 8-week "commitment" was Friday, but now I'm worried. I mean, we can't just STOP, right? What's gonna happen? I get up the next morning instantly sad and flabby?

Our next session begins on Monday.

Tim Tam Slam!

Ahhh, the Tim Tam. Yummy chocolate filling surrounded by a crispy chocolate cookie, coated in, um, more chocolate. You can only get these in Australia, and we have been eating them ever since Chris noticed that his coworkers devour them. He knew I would love them, especially since there is a fun trick you can do if you have the right technique. It's called a Tim Tam Slam. It also goes by the name Tim Tam Explosion and Tim Tam Bomb. You get the idea. There are rumors that it's been attempted in the United States using Oreo cookies, but without success.

Because of the Tim Tam's unique properties, you can, with the right approach, use it as a straw to sip your coffee. Pure heaven. Or so I'm told. I've never actually had a successful Tim Tam Slam. Here are the step-by-step instructions, plus a video tutorial. This dude makes it look easy, but don't be fooled. Many a Tim Tam has been wasted while attempting the Slam.

1. Chill Tim Tam. Most Aussies suggest keeping the box in your fridge for quick access during parties and such.

2. Make yourself a cup of hot coffee or tea.

3. Take a small bite from the both ends of the Tim Tam. Warning: do not overbite. It's obviously very easy to do, and I blame all of my failed attempts on overly-enthusiastic biting.

4. Place the Tim Tam in your mouth and secure with your teeth, not lips, which will cause it to melt prematurely.

5. Plunge the Tim Tam about half way down into the coffee and suck like crazy.

There are two outcomes. Sadly, I have only achieved the first.

Outcome A: As you desperately suck on the Tim Tam, it falls apart and leaves you with chocolate-smeared fingers and sad, lumpy coffee.

Outcome B: The gooey center of the Tim Tam is successfully siphoned out of the hard cookie shell into your waiting mouth, allowing you to exhale, take a deep breath, and experience the amazing taste trifecta!

Is this my 15 minutes?

I covet my TimeOut Sydney. So much so, that come Wednesday morning nothing can stop me from rushing out the door and snatching up the latest edition. Today, I flip through the pages to see that a photo I sent in a few weeks ago has won the City snaps competition! My prize is a free year's subscription. Yippee! I've thought about it, and I can't decide which is more ironic - submitting a picture that made absolutely no sense to me, or having my 15 minutes in the spotlight as "Anne Kent".

Anyway, You decide. I guess I'm just happy that I caught this shot while on the train back from Mardi Gras a couple of weeks ago. Someone had placed red tape over part of the billboard as some sort of social commentary. I Googled a bit, and discovered that Sydney's rail system is widely lambasted as the world's worst. Ouch. In an attempt to improve the over-burdened system, the city is spending $1.5 billion to create more rail lines (clearways) that will attempt to keep things running when individual lines break down. Most Sydneysiders think this is just another band aid and the whole thing needs to be overhauled. Today's transportation trivia brought to you by Anne Kent.

Easter in Melbourne

I love this picture, because it completely captures the beauty and vibe of Melbourne, but I can't take credit. It was snapped by this guy. We've been seriously analyzing how we should spend our Easter weekend. A four-day weekend at home sounds like heaven (watching Lost reruns, eating Tim Tams, staying in bed way past any respectable hour, you get the picture.) However. We have a finite amount of time in this country, so onward! We decide to fly down to Melbourne, the gastronomical and, some say, cultural capital of Australia. People refer to it as the 'Victorian City'. There is a fierce rivalry between Melbourne and Sydney, each hungering for the crown of "Autralia's Best City". I guess it's sort of like pitting the art and theatre crowd in high school against the cheerleading squad and homecoming court. Architecturally, it's very European. Tons of intricate ironwork and beautiful, manicured gardens. Trams, that you can hop on and off for free, crisscross through the city center. I have a crush on Melbourne. It's so colorful, and the pace is really relaxed, plus it just oozes culture. The laneways are filled with really charming bars and restaurants, live music, and art galleries. A lot more dyed hair and tattoos. Less Manolos. Anyway, we touch down on Friday morning, bleary-eyed after almost missing our flight. Here is the play-by-play:

6:56 a.m. - wake up and frantically realize our flight leaves in 54 minutes.
7:01 - hustle out the door.
7:02 to 7:07 - search for a cab.
7:13 - arrive at the train station.
7:13 to 7:18 - muck around trying to buy tickets.
7:29 - jump on the train.
7:42 - arrive at the airport.
7:48 - get stopped at security because of nail clippers.
7:56 - collapse at the gate where the pilot turns to us and says, "No worries, mate. I'm flying the plane and we're not going anywhere yet."

What a start to the weekend. After a much-needed snooze, we are starving, and head out in search of lunch, wandering through the Fitzroy Gardens, and down along Spring Street into Chinatown. We immediately discover our poor timing, as everything is closed on Good Friday. Strangely, people jam the restaurants and shops on Easter Sunday like it's the day after Thanksgiving. We do manage to find an open restaurant, and I scarf down some of the best pizza I've ever had, so points scored there. Jeff and Melissa invite us over on Friday evening for some wine and cheese before heading to a charming French bistro along the Yarra river. Such a fun evening! Saturday begins with a tour Rod Laver Arena, home to the Australian Open, and then a stroll around Queen Victoria Market. We hop on the tram that lumbers up Swanston Street and wander around the hundreds of interesting stalls. Every type of vendor is here: fruit, vegetable, meat, seafood, wine, cheese, chocolate, you name it, and the entire market is gorgeous. I would come here every day if I lived in Melbourne! Melissa tells me that she and Jeff love to come to the "Queen Vic" on Wednesday nights in summer, when there is live music, and tastings of everything. Ahhh, sounds perfect. We walk down Victoria Street and take a tour of the Old Melbourne Gaol (Jail), which is disturbing and totally fascinating. The inmate artwork on the cell walls is particularly eerie. The evening ends with last minute tickets to the Melbourne Comedy Festival, and we land on Mark Watson. Don't ask me to judge how to tell good comedy, but this guy is seriously funny! On Sunday, we stroll through the Botanic Gardens, which are very dry because of the drought. It is actually raining a bit, so we enjoy a leisurely lunch at Southgate and people-watch for a couple of hours. A young stunt biker is attempting a new trick where he rides up the railing along the river, pops himself up on his back tire, bounces around to get his balance, and then jumps over to the far railing, still resting on only his back tire. He must try at least 20 times before he finally sticks it, and everyone around breaks out into applause. Talk about determination! In the evening, we join Ange, a co-worker of Chris's, and her boyfriend at the Black Pearl. It's a cozy, very charming pub in Fitzroy, a hip, artsy neighborhood. We move on to an Afghan restaurant for dinner and end the evening at Polly, a over-the-top lounge with gilt mirrors, fountains, and even some faux Roman statuary sprinkled about! Love it. Heading into Monday, on the recommendation of Ange, we explore St. Kilda, as well as Acland Street, famous for it's cake shops. The afternoon is spent walking along Bay Beach, and finally we end up back at our hotel for, what else, movie night. On the agenda is No Country for Old Men. Wow. Javier Bardem = Hannibal Lechter with mega scary hair. We have a very early wake-up call, bedtime is the senior-citizen hour of 9:00 p.m.

Not a stage kangaroo!!

I know she looks fake, but this ole gal is real! We're in the Hunter Valley this weekend, a beautiful 2.5 hours drive north of Sydney. It's the premium wine region of New South Wales, and is best known for it's Semillon, considered a national treasure among wine enthusiasts. Base camp is charming, a French farmhouse-inspired bed and breakfast with the delightful name of Thistle Hill (24-year old miss kanga reigns over these grounds and is not afraid to let you know who's boss). We arrive on Friday afternoon after a fairly stressless (minus the bridge crossing) drive to 28-acres of beauty. The vineyard and winery belong to Carol and Peter, and they are both oozing with hospitality and pure joie de vivre. They so truly love their life. Carol recommends we try Bistro Molines for dinner this evening, and winks that we won't be disappointed; this is the new restaurant from award-winning Robert Molines and his wife Sally. It's simple, unpretentious, bistro food, but also pure perfection. Well, of course, we book a table, and, wow, this is a meal to remember! The restaurant is decorated with lovable French antique furnishings and a mish-mash of decorative pieces. So warm and inviting. And just so you know, I very rarely remember the particulars of my meals, unless they are absolutely fantastic. Well, this is one for the record books! I will attempt to illustrate. We start with a pot of steaming mussels bathed in in an unbelievably rich shallot butter, so good I want to drink it. Then a Tahitian white fish salad with mango and avocado dressed in a pungent curry sauce - Oh my god, I've never tasted anything like this. Chris tries the lamb with plum sauce and it comes with a little plate of the thickest-cut french fries I've ever seen, cooked to perfection and then sprinkled with pink Himalayan salt flakes (don't worry, I asked about the salt - I'm not Martha Stewart). It is, simply, a perfect meal. The next morning we head out for a 5-winery laugh-a-thon with James' Wine Tours, along with 10 Australians. Such a great time! It's so interesting getting to know true-blue Aussies, hearing their views on politics, culture, the world economy, etc. And with the wine flowing, the opinions really come out! To cap off the day, we pull up to the Smelly Cheese Shop, a jolly Hunter establishment. I load up on some decadent treats to eat this evening and James pours us out at Thistle Hill at around 5:00. It's a perfect time to stroll around the grounds and almost run into a gigantic spider web. What else is new. Afterwards Chris and I relax in our room and sample some of our newly-acquired cheese and sausage, feeling very European. On Sunday, it's back to Sydney, but we hit a traffic jam that stalls our arrival into the city until just before our rental car agency closes. Stressful hour, plus another bridge crossing, but in the end, we pull in at 5:59 p.m. with ONE minute to spare without being charged an extra day. Sigh. Time to get ready for Monday.

Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras

For those of you who don't know, Sydney has one of the largest gay and lesbian communities in the world, and Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras parade is the biggest party of the year. This time around it is particularly raucous because it's the 30th anniversary, and we aren't going to miss it! At around 6:00 we head down to Hyde Park and make our way up Oxford Street toward Taylor Square. Finding the perfect vantage point (slightly downward sloping streetscape and less than two-person deep audience) we park ourselves and wait for the parade to start. It opens with the traditional 'Dykes on Bikes' spectacle as hundreds of motorcycles roar up and down Oxford Street, getting things, um, warmed up. Then come the floats, which include 'Divas through the Decades', and 'Oz Fag Hags', among other very colorful and flamboyant scenes! We are right in the thick of the action, but as the night progresses, the crowd swells and I get a bit nervous that we'll lose our peep hole. Ah, but with every problem comes a solution. Especially when money is involved. After paying an obscene $20 for two flimsy plastic stools that will be chucked in the trash post-parade, we are at least a head-and-a-half above the other losers who didn't shell out. Other highlights include: a drunk girl taking a world-class face plant behind us, only to pop up and explain "but I'm not drunk, and that's the annoying thing!", and a pair of buttless jeans that look very handmade. Well done! Refreshing and practical, all for the price of a pair of scissors.