yet more sunshine and beaches ...

While our job application forms are being processed, muled over and regurgitated by seemingly lethargic pen pushers, my wife and I are left with the simple and daily decision of 'what now'. I prefer to do as little as possible, but contractual obligations (as stipulated in my marriage vows) compel/encourage me to accompany my beautiful wife to wherever she pleases. Fortunately for me, her recent choices have been to my liking and you will now see why. For some of you, the next photo may be familiar ...



If any of you actually recognised the above beach, then it is a sure indicator that you were not doing your homework after school as you should have been (tut tut). It is, of course, 'Summer Bay' from Aussie soap 'Home and Away'.

This is one of me proudly standing by Alf's Bait Shop and the Surf Club. We even managed to see some of the filming for Home and Away and that was jolly exciting and proved rather entertaining. We did not, however, take any photos of the filming as that would have made us feel more pathetic and sad than we did already. We were, by far, the oldest of the onlookers.


As an aside, I feel that some of you have not understood the true and malicious nature of the cats we live with. Indeed, several readers of this blog seem to think they are friendly. I can assure you that despite their cute and cuddly persona, this is not the case. After allowing Lucky to sit on my lap, it launched an unprovoked (and possibly calculated) attack and savaged my hand with its razor sharp fangs. Not content with this, it proceeded to sink its claws deep into my flesh. My dutiful wife decided not to mount a rescue and instead chose to capture this moment on our camera. In response to some of you feline lovers who have marvelled at how 'cute' our cohabiting cats are, let the next picture act as a warning: Cats are bastards and would kill you in a heartbeat if it knew how to use a tin opener.


As an aside from an aside, take a look at the next two photos we took of a Sydney advertising campaign. It would appear that the natives (the ones who all descend from law-breakers, philanderers and swines) have become complacent and are forgetting their debt of gratitude...


Remember you can click on the photo to make it larger ... this next one is alright though:


On Sunday, we went for a splendid stroll around a wonderful cove called La Perouse. The path snaked along the coast and gave a taste of how rugged and savage Australia can be. The dry heat was intense and the sun's rays descended unabstructed upon the dry soil underfoot. We observed the dangers of the outback first hand. The trail was alive with gargantuan spiders with multicoloured legs, lizards with terrifically long tails and a whole host of spine tingling creepy crawlies. Despite my concern that I would be imminently assaulted by a hoard of jumping spiders and rampaging lizards, I was able to enjoy the walk under the canopy of fragrant eucalyptus trees.



Just as well there was shelter as earlier in the day my hat was left on a train. While for those of you with heads full of hair this may be of no consequence, for my unprotected dome this meant disaster. The sun is particularly unkind to bald men and direct heat on the skull boils the blood around the brain. The ramifications of this can be unpredictable but for me it usually leads to bouts of extreme and insatiable hunger. My wife was kind enough to lend me her sarong and this combined with my newly acquired skill of turban tying provided a satisfactory outcome ..

I must now buy another hat. I am thinking a Trilbey over the Panama ... any suggestions? The walk also took us past some Australian Mimosa trees. My mum was given one by Steph for mother's day and this fragile plant has caused my mother perpetual distress and anxiety ever since. Mum, is it still alive?

Encore des journees bien remplies

En attendant que toutes les administrations concernees se demenent pour valider nos competences en temps qu'assistant social et enseignante, on passe pas mal de temps a visiter le coin, et absorber la culture locale. C'est comme ca qu'on est partit avec des copains faire une balade qui nous a menee jusqu'a la jolie plage de Coogee, en partant de Bondi Beach et en passant par quelques jolies plages dont je ne me souviens plus des noms. Voici une photo de la plage Bondi, dont on parle beaucoup. C'est la seule plage a Sydney qui est surveillee toute l'annee par les Surf Life Guards. Toutes les autres ne sont pas surveillees en hiver, il fait trop frois apparement. (C'est quand j'entends des choses comme ca que j'ai peur de l'hiver qui approche. Mais je me rassure en me disant que je n'ai pas encore vu de manteaux dans les magasins de vetements!) Donc voici la plage de Bondi. Quand on voit le monde qu'il y a la-bas, on comprend pourquoi il y a un grand fillet par-requins dans l'eau. Donc, pas d'inquietude. Fait divers: Notre coloc nous a dit qu'une fois, ils ont decide de changer le filet par-requins. En sortant le filet, ils ont decouvert un requin coince dedans, mais le requin etait dans le sens inverse, il essayait de s'echapper de la plage.... Hmmm, interessant. Voila quelques jolis paysages que nous avons pris en photo sur le chemin. Les rochers et la couleur de l'eau nous rappelaient la belle cote Corse.


Voila la preuve que l'eau n'est pas froide, loin de la, et que mon cher mari est un petit frileux :)

Apres pres de 2 heures de marches en tongs, nos pieds etaient bien contents de s'arreter. Pour feter ca, nous avons mange dans un boui-boui ou le plat etait a $5 (l'equivalent de 4 euros). Qui dit mieux. Une photo de mon mari qui se prepare a entamer le plat de spaghetti del mare le moins cher de son existence. Hier, malheureusement, il ne faisait pas aussi beau que d'habitude. Nous avons donc decide de visiter un musee. Mon guide parlait d'un excellent Museum of History, le Musuem of Sydney. Mais le guide ne precisait pas de quelle histoire il s'agissait, c'est quand meme un bien grand mot, l'Histoire. Pour clarifier le doute, nous y sommes quand meme alles. Et c'est apres quelques minutes dans le musee qu'on s'est rendu compte qu'il s'agissait en effet de toute l'Histoire de la region, et que cette Histoire se repend sur 2 etages seuleument. Un peu sur l'arrivee de anglais, un peu sur les aborigenes et le sort qu'ils leurs etaient reserves par les anglais civilises, un peu sur les manifestations des annees '70, un peu sur les Jeux Olympiques, et le tour est joue, c'est dans la poche! Je me suis dit que mes notes d'histoire auraient peut-etre ete plus elevees si j'avais ete australienne.... Voila pour la petite histoire.
Photo prise a l'exterieur du musee, les noms graves sur le poteau sont des noms des clans aborigenes literalement decimes par l'arrivess des blancs sur leur territoire.

Bisous a tout le monde
Ju
PS: j'ai vu un film excellent l'autre soir a la tele que je conseille a tout le monde de voir. Le film est intitule Jame's Journey to Jerusalem. Je n'en dit pas plus.

Strawberry cheesecake, come on!

I can't believe no one has voted for Strawberry Cheesecake, this is by far the most fantastic flavour, out of all the the flavours of ice cream!
Unfortunately, I can't vote! Phil's explained to me about 100 times (and I still don't get it!) that it's because there can only be one vote per IP address...
Yeah, whatever! I still feel like a second-class citizen whose voice about Strawberry Cheesecake is not listened to.

Love to you all, Pistachio and Vanilla lovers

Ju

PS: Celia, have you been caught by your boss? Has he banned you from reading the blog? Is that why we haven't heard from you for such a long time?

Glorious chips and divine ice cream...

In terms of culinary delights, Sydney has yet to tingle our taste buds in the way we expected. So far, however, there have been two exceptions to this. The first, was a particularly mouth-watering box of fish and chips, and the second, was a rather divine ice cream.

We stumbled upon the Fish and Chip place simply because our attention was drawn to people in the shop eating from boxes. Now, I have always wanted to eat my take-aways from a box (á l' américaine) because it just feels right. All the food is nicely packed (or squashed) into a little, greasy parcel which acts like a chest guarding treasure (in this case, my food).

Ju took the elegant and healthy option of lightly grilled fish (marinated with lemon, basil and pepper) on a bed of fresh salad leaves, served with corn on the cob and shavings of sweet potato. Her dish was light and full of flavour. It left her wanting more...

None of that healthy tomfoolery for me. When it comes to fish and chips, I aim to punish my left ventricle and clog it up with fat. My fish must always be deep fried in heavy batter so that when I bite down on it, I can feel the batter crisp and break away as my teeth sink into a moist and fresh fillet of glistening white fish flesh. My chips, they have to be big and chunky. My preference is for the hand-cut variety. I like to have a selection of chips in front of me. The large, chunky chip, fluffy in the middle is the hallmark of stodge and does what's required in preparing my stomach for what's to come. On the other hand, the small, slightly crispy and overcooked chips, are light enough to have at the end of the meal.

As you can see above, I did break with tradition and this is an example where the Australians do what Brits do, and do it better. They have done away with chicken nuggets (thank God) and replaced it with deep fried calamari rings. Unlike British attempts (bland in taste and elastic in texture), these calamari melted in my mouth. Quite simply, they were divine and succulent. Each mouthful took me back to my childhood in Greece with the taste of fresh squid, drizzled in lemon and encased in a golden batter. This meal was a real feast tha left us wholly satisfied and we didn't mind leaving, as we knew that we would be back.




The second item that tickled our taste buds is their gelato. Sydney is the hub of Italian immigrants and naturally this means that pizza bars and ice cream parlours are everywhere. While the parents are slaving away to make wonderful pizzas and divine ice creams, their children litter the streets. Just like back in their native land, adolescent boys buzz past on their vespas while 'cao, cao'ing the unimpressed girls as they go past.


Ju treated herself to one scoop of Yogurt and Berry and another of Lime Cheescake. Personally, I believe that this was a poor choice, underpinned by mild hysteria induced by the plethora of mosquito bites my poor wife has been suffering from. When it comes to ice cream, the first flavour must always be pistachio and depending on the climate, the second is either vanilla or almond. When it comes to quality of taste, the simple flavours cannot hide poor ingredients. The more complex flavours try to hide and deceive the taste buds by overwhelming them with a massive explosion of taste that is quickly followed by no taste at all. Whereas with the humble and much maligned pistachio, the flavour is simple and unassuming. While it is pleasing it is also familiar and soothing. The flavour continues to play on the senses long after the dish is empty.

Please look at the poll we are undertaking and participate to see who has true culinary taste and who does not ....

Happy Easter!

Well, Happy Easter to everyone! I find it quite satisfying to know that while you are all sleeping, Ju and I are eating a slightly obscene amount of chocolate and sweets. This year we have distanced ourselves from the common and much loved chocolate egg and moved on to new pastures. Ju's chocolate of choice was a native chocolate biscuit called Tim Tam: a particularly tasty replica of the Penguin a la Rocky. Ju made an unlikely discovery that if she nibbled away at both ends of the bar she could use it as a straw to suck up her tea. This would ensure that the centre of the bar would become all melted and her tea would have a distinct tea-like flavour ... trust my wife to find that out! (in fact, a friend of mine had told me about it before I left. she said that it was likely to be the main reason for us to decide not to come back to the UK!), however, I moved away from chocolate all together. Nothing quite as delicious as strawberry liquorice tubes, slightly melted and tied together in one big ball.

To celebrate Easter we had a quick walk to the gardens overlooking Sydney Opera House and the bridge. Walking through the gardens was a real pleasure, with tall, fragrant eucalyptus trees
providing shelter for our promenade. We did our best to take a photo of an Easter bunny, but our hunt was futile and it proved illusive, so you'll have to make do with an Easter parrot. A beautiful looking but frankly irritating sounding bird that for all intents and purposes would be better suited grilling happily away on my BBQ than squawking irritatingly up a tree ...

Take a look at the next photo. We had to take a second glance to ensure we read it correctly. It is a great example of Australian mentality which combines light hearted humour with a relaxed approach to letting you live your own life. I wonder if we will ever see a sign like this in Parc Monceaux in beautiful Paris ... if the picture is too small, click on it and it should open up larger.

After such a long walk, we decided to walk to Russell Crowe's House and see if he was in. He wasn't so we had a 'Tiger' pie in the legendary Harry's Cafe De Wheels: A small pie house opened in the 1940's that sits right on the docks and is the first stop for returning sailors and famous celebs alike. The 'Tiger' is a steak pie topped with mash potato, encased in mushy peas and drowning in gravy with a dollop of cheese sauce. My dad, and anyone else brought up during rationing, would love it!

Open up the picture for a closer look at the spectacular 'Tiger' Pie!
The girl on the left is Solene, a French girl we met and befriended back at the bacpacker's. She's lovely, from Brittany, and I realise that maybe we should have asked her if she agrees to be exhibited like that on the World Wide Web... Ju's happy, she found a running buddy but hasn't gne running once yet... No coments!

Old Russell lives at the end of this Wharf ...


Merci Phil,
avec tout ca, tu viens d'avouer a la Terre entiere que nous avons literalement abandonne notre regime draconien a l'australienne de fruits et de salades... En meme temps, c'est Paques, on a le droit, non?

Voici une photo de l'appart dans lequel nous avons emmenage vendredi. On a pas encore eu l'occasion de prendre une photo de la vue (j'avoue avec amertume qu'hier, il ne faisait pas beau. Vraiment pas beau. Mais rassurez vous, aujourd'hui, tout est de retour a la normale!).



L'appart n'est pas seulement chouette grace a la vue, mais aussi grace aux 2 mignons petits chatons: Lucky et Not-So. Certains risquent d'etre choques en voyant la photo qui suit: moi, a proximite de chats, et toujours le sourire aux levres!



N'est ce pas Jess? T'es sciee, hein?

Bisous a tout le monde, merci pour tous vos comments, c'est vraiment sympa,

going to the beach now,

love,
Ju

Happy Birthday Mozie!

Aujourd'hui, c'est le premier jour du printemps, les fleurs vont commencer a eclore, les jours vont serieusement se mettre a rallonger et les petits animaux mignons vont sortir de leur hibernation. Que du bonheur, quoi. Mais aujourd'hui, c'est aussi ton anniversaire, petite Moz cherie et je souhaite que cette prochaine annee soit pleine de joie, de paix et d'amour. Joyeux anniversaire, ma petite Moz cherie.
Ta Julie.

En Francais ...

Petit incident de parcours, il vaut mieux lire le billet de Philip avant de lire le mien, c'est l'ordre chronologique dans lequel ils ont ete ecrits.

Chers famille et amis francophones,

Il est temps d’ajouter un peu de francais a ce blog.

Bon, pour ce que Phil vient de dire, c’est vrai que je me suis un peu pris une raclee cet après-midi, une vague digne de ce nom. Disons que le bleu sur la hanche ne fera qu’ajouter un peu de couleur a mon corps encore si pale, en contraste avec les australiennes dorees. Juste ce don’t j’avais besoin!

Et puis, pour la petite histoire d’hier soir, pas de probleme, j’assume completement!

Donc, voila ce qui s’est passé... Après avoir passé un bon moment sur le port a prendre des photos de l’opera et du pont, j’ai pense que nous avions besoin d’un peu d’aventure pour pimenter la soiree. J’ai propose a mon mari de prendre un train (metro, RER, subway, tram... appelez ca comme vous voudrez), sans regarder sa direction ni sa destination, et de voir un peu ou le vent nous menerait. J’imaginais arriver dans un coin bucolique, inconnu du Lonely Planet, ou nous pourrions nous fondre dans la foule autochtone. Vous admettrez que l’idee etait plutot sympa. C’est ce que je croyais en tous cas. Mon mari lui, etait moins convaincu par l’excellence de mon idée, mais parfait comme il est, il a accepte de me faire plaisir et de se prendre au jeu.

Malheureusement, la realite, comme vous pouvez vous en douter, etait loin d’etre... ‘sympa’. Il s’est avere que le train dans lequel le vent nous avait pousse etait un train a arrets limites; tellement limites les arrets que le premier se trouvait bien en dehors de notre cercle de securite. On descend, et la, rien. Pas un chat. La banlieue du genre craignos, couvre-feu a 20h00 et fenetres placardees. La grande classe. Les seuls ‘autochtones’ du coin avaient, on aurait dit, un peu force sur la Foster. Inutile de dire que mon mari n’etait pas impressione (oui, je sais, c’est un faux-ami, mais la franchement, je trouve pas d’equivalent). Lui qui avait si gentillement accepte de se prendre au jeu, meme si un peu a contre-coeur, a promis qu’il se mefierait dorenavant de mes idees de genie.

Je peux le comprendre.

Bref, on a vite fait demi-tour, et sommes rentres chez nous, bien sagement, dans notre auberge de jeunesse dans le quartier rouge de Sydney. (Au moins ici, la police ose y mettre les pieds, c’est déjà mieux qu’a No-Man’s-Land, d’ou on venait.) Au moins, ca bouge.

Comme Phil a dit, demain, on s’en va pour emmenager temporairement dans un appart, pas loin d’ici. Lui, il est plutot content de quitter l’auberge, et moi aussi, mais pas pour les memes raisons. Lui, ce qui l’embete, c’est de devoir mettre des tongs pour prendre une douche, ou de devoir laver le bol avant d’y mettre les cereales. Moi, c’est pas du tout ca qui m’embete. Ce qui m’embete, ou devrais-je dire me terrorise, c’est les autres residents de l’auberge. Les AUTRES, c’est ceux qui ne font pas partie de la race humaine. Ceux qui font partie de la race du diable-incarne-en-insecte-ragoutant. Vous savez de qui je parle? Ils sont un peu comme Voldemort, il ne faut pas prononcer leur nom... ils risqueraient de m’entendre... (pour ceux qui ne sont pas surs, je parles des sdrafac bien sur).

Moz dit que je devrais me debarasser de cette phobie une bonne fois pour toutes. Elle propose l’hypnotherapie. Je sais pas si c’est une bonne idée. Et si les effets secondaires faisaient que je me mettais a fumer? Remarquez, je pourrais peut-etre en profiter pour me debarasser aussi de mon besoin vital pour le chocolat. Ca pourrait etre un bon investissement, finalement.

Voila, c’est tout pour aujourd’hui.

Voici quelques photos que nous avons pris hier soir et aujourd'hui sur la plage.

PS: Maintenant, Celia, retourne au travail!

Kidnapping Waves ...

Well tonight is the last night we will write this blog from Eva’s Backpacker’s Hostel. There is not point lying to you, I’m jolly happy about it. I could try to convince you that I’m not and be all lah dee dah positive. But most of you know that for me to tolerate a youth hostel with insufferable and fetid backpackers is a feat of gargantuan proportions. I am looking forward to writing to you from my 9^th floor flat: with panoramic views of Sydney in front of me, a single malt scotch to my left (swishing happily in a heavy crystal ware tumbler – thanks Nick) and a cup of blue M&M’s to my right. Behind me will be the kitchen, and if I am lucky, Ju will be making pancakes for yours truly.

To escape the smell of what I believe to be the rancid, decaying and rotten flesh of unwashed , scurvy ridden backpackers (sometimes I think I am the only one that can detect their odour), my wife and I went for a pleasant stroll to the eye catching Opera House. No photograph can do this place any justice. I for one have never been particularly impressed by it on paper, but close up it is a wonderful sight and a marvel of modern architecture. To fuel our meandering, Ju had a tongue tingling falafel wrap and I had a succulent souflaki. Energy levels restored, we continued our walk under the Harbour Bride. Wonderful place to see rather sinister sized bats. I’ll let Ju tell you about the rest of the evening later on. If you read French then you’ll be fine. If you don’t, well you’re missing a good tale...

Today we both finished our application forms for employment: Ju, as a noble, principled and dedicated teacher and me, as a nosey, interfering and pesky social worker. To celebrate this we went to the beach. This is no easy task. There are a plethora of golden beaches around Sydney to choose from. So how does one make the selection? By the coolest sounding name of course. Today’s winner (and my personal favourite) was Coogee Beach. A great place to get assaulted by massive and thunderous waves.

The trouble, as if often the case in this matter, was getting into the water. As you have come to expect, the water was cold. Ordinarily, I take my time: toes go first, then ankles, shin, knees and etc. This beach wasn’t having that. The moment we approached the shoreline, waves as high as a man would come crashing down, spraying us from head to toe with a volley of ice-cold sea water. Then, as the water retreated back towards the sea, the current took our ankles and pulled our reluctant bodies further into the blue. To my horror, another massive wave caught us by surprise and took us both under. As quickly as she took me under, I ejected my body out of the sea (propelled by fear of the cold more than any athletic ability). Unfortunately, the wave kept Ju under for a while and then regurgitated her forcefully onto the sand, leaving a rather nasty and large bruise to the hip. Poor wee lass.

winter?

Chilling out on the rooftop, writing the blog.

Not much to say about the last two days, apart from the fact that we have found a flat to stay in for the next few weeks. It’s a shared flat with an English guy, just next door to our backpackers. In fact, we can see its balcony from the rooftop of our hostel. It’s a pretty flat, with stunning views of Sydney (including the harbour and Russell Crowe’s place), there’s a swimming pool in the building (free for the residents) and a huge rooftop terrace, where BBQs will be de rigueur. Phil still can’t believe he’s going to be flat-sharing. He thought staying in a youth hostel and using public transport was it. Clearly things can get worse for him... This is a photo of our youth hostel.

The guy is cool, he sounds Australian, although he’s from Birmingham. He gave us the list of all the things that are better back in England. The list is short: decent sausages, Coronation Street, Alan Partridge and football. And my list is even shorter, as I don’t watch Coronation Street, don’t like Alan Partridge and am really not bothered about football.

We didn’t go to the beach yesterday as we spent most the day looking for a place to stay on a longer basis and applied for teacher and social worker registration. It turns out to be a pretty lengthy process. We also need an address here, that’s why we were quite desperate to find a flat. So desperate, that the only solution is to find a spot in the sun and enjoy freshly juiced watermelon and strawberry smoothie.

Early this morning, we had a lovely surprise. Mum called us. How nice! It was great to hear your voice, Moz, I do miss you all. But next time, can you please avoid calling at 4.30am... I love you and all, but I need my beauty sleep. (No, but seriously, I was truly deligted to hear your voice, so call me whenever you want, even half-way through the night).

A few moments ago, we were on the rooftop, when something bad happened. We were preoccupied with post BBQ digestion and I was quietly writing this for the blog while Phil was chilling enjoying the view, when I saw IT.... Yes, you all guessed: my biggest fear, there it was, crawling under my chair: a Cockroach!!!! Ahhhhh! I had to run back inside, to wait for my brave husband to gather the computer and the dishes so we could sit in the safety of the communal area. The view’s not as good, but it’s safe ( Sorry Ju, but a communal area filled with smelly backpacking hippie swines is not my idea of safe ... at least not when hygiene is concerned). At least I know it’s unlikely I’ll get eaten by a giant creepy crawler here (yes, there’re jus as big as in Vietnam). Speaking of eating, here is a photo of Phil warning me off his food...

While Ju goes to recover from her terrible and unwelcome ordeal, I shall do my best to inform you of the latest ...

While sapping/interrogating a local Australian waitress for insider knowledge, she divulged to us that the best place for a dip would be a place called Cronulla Beach. She described it as being a snorkelling paradise. With mask and tuba in hand, we skipped joyfully to this little known spot. As we arrived, this unsightly whisper of a cloud disturbed our blue sky and a light breeze picked up (you can see this ghastly cloud in the left hand side of the photo bellow). The temperature dropped well below 30 Celsius and mild consideration was given to perhaps doing up a button on my shirt. Winter is well and truly on its way. Pfff...

As we reached the ‘snorkelling paradise’ it became clear that local advice should be treated with contempt, suspicion and general disbelief. This is particularly true when the interrogator is a posh sounding Pom and the interogee is an overenthusiastic Aussie.

The beach was made up of a stretch of reinforced concrete with steps leading to dark and ice-cold looking water. After consoling ourselves with chips we gathered enough courage to go for a swim. When it takes Ju a good 5 minutes to go into the water (followed by moments of frantic paddling), I know that the water can only be described as glacial. With my wife already in the water and the natives watching my every move, I had no option but to make a swift dive into the sea. Clearly a foolish and school-boy error. I should have feigned an injury and made a discrete retreat. I spent the next two hours recovering from the icy clutches of the Pacific Ocean.

Once in the water, however, the fish were simply amazing. There were dozens of different fish ranging from schools of tiny little things to a massive blue (and perhaps shark-like) thing. My experience left me with two definitive thoughts. One, these fish were not bothered by us and were close enough to touch. They were so big and so slow that even Nick could shoot these guys with a harpoon gun. So thus, I need a harpoon gun. Two, I need a wetsuit.

Good old Manly

After a busy morning of flat hunting and job searching, we thought we deserved a bit of a rest. Trouble was, I wanted a boat trip and Julie wanted the beach. As my Mum always says, couples must always compromise. So we went for a boat trip to the beach!

We took the, apparently, famous Manly Ferry to... er... Manly. The so called surfer's paradise. The boat trip leaves from the centre of town form a Marseille-esque port past THE bridge and THE opera house. Under the clear Pacific sky and the warm breeze, we had a feast on the magnificent views of the high cliffs and the naughty yachts whose sole aim was to catch our wake. Despite waiting patiently, camera in hand, none of them capsized. Didums. The video bellow will show how horrible the weather is over here ... Just click on the play sign...

Manly is a coastal town about 30 minutes ferry ride out of Sydney. It can only be describbed as being a tacky resort which by all rights should be twinned with Brighton Pier (Steph and Emm, you know it's true). The town leaves you with little option but to drive you through 'The Corso'. The Corso is a 500m stretch of gauntlette running through tacky shops and even tackier backpackers. Restaurants in The Corso know you won't come back so sell what we consider to be a combination of wholly unacceptable and rancid food products and equally offensive drinks at ungodly prices. To reward you, at the end of The Corso is the beach. The beach can only be describbed as a forgetful stretch of unimpressive coast filled to the brim with unimpressive tourists. While Phil was filled with dispair and disgust, Julie took charge and bought fruit juices and frogmarched him onto the nearest bus and off we went. A short ride up the coast delivered us to Curl Curl Beach.

Curl Curl Beach is a long stretch of orange coloured sand with thundering waves. Coming from the tide-less island of Corsica, I din't find the waves particularly inviting, but my fearless wife dove right in. Afraid of looking like a 'winging pom', I ran at speed towards the waves and with renewed bravery, I jumped into the shallow abyss (oxymoron?). My moment of glory, however, proved to be short-lived. I anticipated the water to be warm like Callum's bath. It came as somewhat of a surpise when my big toe entered the sea that it almost fell off with frostbite. To my profound horror, the water was ice-cold. Unfortuantely, my momentum carried me forward and I fell with an ungainly and most un-manlike scream into water, limbs thrashing. Like a big hairy dog afraid of the water, I quickly scrambled out the sea. Not an easy task when the clutches of the waves refused to let me go. So instead, from the warmth and safety of the sand, I took this film of my mermaidesque Julie swimming in the Pacific.




I must now go and find something healthy to eat (youth hostel, public transport and now 'healthy' ... will it never end? What is next? making friends with a soap-dodging, vegetarian, back-packing, philosophying bloomin hippie student?), so I hand over the proverbial plume to Ju...



Bonjour family and friends,
I don't know if Philip made it clear enough, but the weather here is... Fan-Tas-Tic. Imagine the sunniest of your summer days, the one where they are no clouds in the sky, it's very warm, but not ridiculously hot and the sun is shining. Well, this is the way it's been here since we set foot in this beautiful country. We must touch wood though, because a waitress told us that this is the warmest it's been all summer. Let's hope it lasts!




So, anyway, we came back from the beach, and went shopping for something to cook for dinner. We were quite surprised with our first visit to the supermarket. The prices are the equivalent to Waitrose or Monoprix (depending in which country you live in) but the quality was the equivalent to Lidl (no matter where you live). We ended up with healthy stuff to make a salad and it cost us over £10. Ouch! We might get back to eating out (lots of junk food places, and sushi places). But, if we want any chance to look anything like the beautiful looking Australian dudes and dudettes, we should probably stick to the salads. What was also surprising at the supermarket (apart from its name: Woolworths!) was the provenance of the kiwis. You'll never guess... Italy! The world is seriously wrong sometimes.

We made the salad in the communal kitchen of the youth hostel (nice enough, full of German and French backpackers typing away on their laptops) and took our meal upstairs on the rooftop. Niiiice! That was 99% great. The 1% missing is for the hoards of bats flying above us. Not niiiiice! And for dessert: a peach in the stretta! Check out the photos.







And that's about it for the day. Just one more general comment: we fell in love with Australia, the Australians are friendly and the weather is gorgeous, but what's really disappointing is the distinct lack of banana pancakes, koalas and kangourous. Aren't they supposed to run accross the streets? And Kylie? Haven't met her yet! (However, saw an advert for an Olivia Newton-John concert!).

Thank you for reading us, don't hesistate to leave us some comments, we'll love to hear from you.
We miss you all very much,
Ju and Phil

PS: Papa, j'espere que tu vas vite te retablir. Je pense tres fort a toi.

Hello Sydney!

The one noticeable difference between setting foot outside an airport in Sydney and one in say, Luton, is the heat. The wonderful, spine tingling heat that envelopes your entire body like a small blast furnace. The sky was a deep shade of blue that stretched, unbroken by cloud, over the expanse of the horizon. Our porcelain skin was left unprotected from the scathing rays of the Aussie sun. This was exactly why we left the lush and green fields of Normandy and the hypothermia inducing cold of Edinburgh.


Our youth hostel (not really our cup of tea but a necessary burden to suffer), is but a short walk from the train station and yet we arrived covered in perspiration and with heavy breath. Despite the heat and the dry tarmac underfoot, the trees were losing their leaves. Sydney in Autumn. The platan trees, the wide streets, the inviting cafes and the colonial houses gave a distinct New Orleans feel to our new neighbourhood. Our Youth Hostel is certainly not a five star, but perfectly acceptable. After a quick shower, there was only one place we could go... the world famous Bondi Beach.



Twenty minutes by public transport (a youth hostel and public transport in one day? How are we coping with this peasant-like existence?) and we are delivered to a long expanse of rich golden sand and the inviting pacific ocean ... Our initial thoughts of swimming were shattered by two concerns. The first, those pesky Great White Sharks that must surely be patrolling the shore line, damn their eyes. The second, the natives. After a brief scan of the beach, it became clear that we did not fit in. All the people were deeply tanned. The men were tall and had physiques that parallelled ancient statues of Greek gods. The woman were clearly genetically (or cosmetically) modified and quite frankly, they made Ajacciennes look like pathetic runts. A few less M & M's for Phil then ... and a more greens for Ju ...