Once I no longer wanted to vomit…

23 Aug

I had a great time in Manly. Josh (an American colleague who just relocated to our Sydney office two months ago) and his fiancée, Malia, live in Manly, so they graciously offered to meet up for lunch when I arrived.

Manly is a peninsula with one side facing the harbor and the other side facing the Pacific Ocean. The ferry brings you in on the harbor side, but it’s a very short walk across a pedestrian area to get to the ocean. When I first landed, we walked a bit along the harbor side before shuffling along The Corso (pedestrian area) to the ocean.

Even though it was winter, and despite a “no swimming” sign stuck in the middle of the sand, the waves were large, the water dotted with dozens of surfers. Apparently it is – as Outback Steakhouse and Fosters commercials would lead you to believe – the national pastime. I love well-founded clichés.

We grabbed lunch (fish and chips, which – if you believe the guidebooks – is probably actually shark and chips) at a café next to Shelly Beach, and then got on the topic of the North Head and the Quarantine Station, both of which were just up the hill from where we were sitting.

The Quarantine Station appealed to my fascination with the morbid since it was where they quarantined people with the bubonic plague or the flu after WWI. Apparently they do a mean ghost tour up there in the evening, but  – still scarred from my ferry crossing – I had decided to hop the boat back to Sydney before sunset so that if we did end up dog-paddling around in the bay, the helicopters would be able to spot me. Alas, that ruled out the ghost tour.

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It’s called Manly because sissies won’t take the ferry.

22 Aug

Everyone told me I had to take the ferry to Manly while I’m here. What they didn’t tell me was that I might need to wear a diaper.

Manly is one of the beaches north of Sydney, right where the Harbor opens out to the Pacific Ocean. You get there by taking a 30-minute ferry ride from Circular Quay right in Sydney Harbor.

My guidebook told me to take my camera, so I did, plunking myself on a bench out on the deck so I could snap some photos. Opera House? Check. Harbour Bridge? Check. I was snapping along happily, right up until the point where we passed where the Harbor opens into the Ocean.

The waves started to get bigger, the boat started to rock, and suddenly the deck was getting pummeled by waves. Naturally, I grabbed my little camera and slid inside the cabin so I could stay dry behind a window.

I’m so glad I did, because the action was only just beginning. The waves got bigger and it was as stomach-lurching as riding a roller coaster while we were heading into the waves. People on board were actually squealing as if they were on a roller coaster, looking at each other with large eyes that seemed to say, “Can you believe this?”

The younger version of me (that also enjoyed turbulence on airplanes) would’ve loved this. The current version of me had images of sharks chewing my legs off when we capsized.

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Flying fox, my ass. You know that’s a bat.

21 Aug

After getting rejected from the City2Surf fun run, I ventured down to the Royal Botanical Gardens. The Botanical Gardens are beautiful — it’s a huge chunk of land that slopes down to the harbor and is incredibly well manicured, with a flagstone path guiding you along fountains and statues.

The garden is surrounded by a fence and the gate is opened at 6am on weekends, so you know someone must be around. But when I tentatively set foot inside the gate at 7:30 last Sunday morning, I definitely stood there for a moment, debating the wisdom of walking solo  into a park that seemed desserted.

I was still standing there imaging serial killers lurking at every turn, when I started seeing a few people on the paths in the distance. Activity was starting to pick up, so I proceeded.

(After the fact, I checked out Wikipedia for information on Australian serial killers. Australia has a pretty sizable list compared to other countries, which shouldn’t have come as a shock considering Australia was originally founded as a penal colony. The wording of one line item in particular disturbed me: John and Sarah Makin – who killed 12 children in their work as “baby farmers.” Seriously? Baby Farmers?)

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My bucket list requires a helmet.

20 Aug

Thursday my colleague Rebecca and I flew to Melbourne for the day to meet with the team there. It was a mini-reunion of sorts, because one of the women there (the one who sent me the terrifying photo of the huge spider) worked on our Boston team when I was first hired. It was great to see her and get a mini-orientation of Melbourne.

We landed around 8am and hopped a cab into the city. The rush hour traffic was fierce, so although we were on the highway, it was all “hurry up and wait” with a lot of quick acceleration, followed by a jamming of the brakes. I was feeling a bit woozy from the flight (“Touch of turbulence, mate!”) and the cab ride wasn’t helping things.

To take my mind off how crappy I felt, I started telling Rebecca stories of random business travel experiences I’d had the US. In the middle of one of these stories, our cab (again) stopped. Then we heard a crunch, and were suddenly whipped forward. It took us a minute to process what had just happened.

Awesome! I’ve now been in car accidents on two continents. Check that off the bucket list!

It was a bit surreal. Our driver got out, went back and traded information with the driver who had hit us. (Apparently they only call the police if someone is injured or isn’t taking responsibility — much more civil.) It was all very matter of fact and calm — none of the American drama with people screaming, “What were you THINKING, you jackass?”

When our driver hopped back in the car, he said, simply, “People aren’t driving very properly today. What you gonna do?”

I love that. Goes right along with the “no worries” attitude that seems to be the national motto.

The rest of our drive was without incident, and when he deposited us downtown, I stood outside the car, waiting for Rebecca’s credit card to run. As soon as it had, she jumped out.

“Do you not tip cabbies?” I asked her.

She looked at me like I had five eyes. “Seriously?”

I nodded.

“No. And I think even if if I did routinely tip, I wouldn’t if they got me in an accident.”

I can see her logic. No wonder Americans are known for being tip-happy.

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If only Americans talked like this.

17 Aug

I love the way Aussies talk.

I’m here for work, so in addition to hanging out with our Australian team, I’ve been able to get out and meet a client or two, and sit in on an interview this week.

My second day in town I attended a visit with the Studio Manager of a large financial institution. He was an incredibly nice guy, who spent an hour helping us understand the organization structure and business challenges he faced. It was a great meeting, but I had to stifle giggles when the conversation shifted to industry trends.

Pre-Lick.

“We’re seeing a big push to move digital,” he said. “Going paperless and all that…”

The agent with me made a comment about how quickly the technology is evolving and the opportunities for mobile application development, and was met by affirmation from the client. His observation:

“Just the other day, I was on the train home and looked over and saw a wee little baby in a pram, licking an iPad.”

I love that. I can’t imagine that sentence ever surfacing during a client visit in the US. Sigh. I love the Aussies.

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