Bright red: the colour of money

Hello once again:

I've got to make this very quick but I thought I should give an update. It seems I will not, repeat N-O-T, become a jackaroo after all. Bit of a long story, but I got a bad feeling when the woman from the backpacker job centre called and said she couldn't get a hold of the ranch but she'd keep trying. Then she said if this doesn't work out she could give me a 2-week gig at a national park as a gardener. Sounds all right . . . but 2 weeks?

So I went out and found my own dang job right here in Darwin. It's at a concrete block factory very near where I'm staying. I did my first day yesterday (1o hours!). It's hot, dusty and a bit boring but both the pay and hours are great, as in 50-60 hours per week. A large part of my day yesterday consisted of manning one of the cement mixers. Every 3-10 minutes a massive vat on a pulley comes over and dumps a whole lotta sand in the mixer. This was my cue to dump a 12 kilogram bag of bright red iron oxide pigment into the mixer. As a result, we get lovely bright-red bricks. The things you never thought about when you go to your local garden centre for pavers, eh?

By the time I got home I was ABSOLUTELY covered in bright red pigment myself. My face, arms, legs, clothes and even eyelids were a scary red colour. It took a lot of scrubbing to get off. I took a few pictures (not of me scrubbing but of when I got home), which I'll have to post as soon as possible.

So, I'm staying in Darwin for the month near to email, phones, computers, pubs, comfortable beds and all that good stuff.

Phew.

Survival of the fittest

I arrived in Darwin on Monday night after a three-hour flight from Cairns. As capital of Australia's Northern Territory, Darwin is the country's northernmost city. Keep in mind that north=hot and south=cold in the southern hemisphere. In other words, Darwin is a ridgy-didge stinker of a place. (That's Aussie for right effin' hot).

For example, it was +27 when I got out of bed this morning about 8 o'clock. And the humidity was somewhere around 92%. It's not so bad when you're still indoors with fans all around you and the choice of air-conditioning. It's just that as soon as you step outside you begin to sweat. Or at least I do anyway. "It's like having your own personal sauna," is how a woman I met yesterday put it.

I spent the first couple of days pounding the pavement and getting a feel for the city, as well as looking for a job. Yes, it's sadly that time again: time for Tyler to join the real world and work. My five weeks of jet-setting, sailing, scuba diving, four-wheel-driving and otherwise living as a hedonist have done a number on the bank account. Now it's time to recharge the funds, as it were.

Darwin is a pretty city. Lush flowers and gardens are practically everywhere. The water in the harbour has a beautiful teal colour to it, much like it does at the Great Barrier Reef. The city's architecture is also remarkable, for two main reasons. Number one: many of the buildings are bright and colourful with a "tropical" feel. This is a city that's not afraid to take a few risks when it comes to design. Take the parliament building, for example. Some critics have apparently dubbed it "the wedding cake." But I think it's beautiful. It's where the tropics meet British colonialism meet institutional poise. Or at least that's my take on things.

The second reason why Darwin's architecture impresses: very, very little of it dates before 1975. There is a fairly simple reason for this. On Christmas Eve 1974, a terrible cyclone gathered strength off the shores of Darwin. Then in the wee hours of Christmas Day, Cyclone Tracy hit ground and effectively destroyed Darwin. Something like 11,000 buildings were completely wiped out and 66 people killed. There are only a few buildings which survived, most of them of the stone and brick variety (which makes one question some of our "modern" building techniques, doesn't it?).

The result of this is that Darwin feels like a very young city when it is, in fact, well over 100 years old.

As for jobs: I was a bit worried when the first few places I called told me either that the position had already been filled or that they wanted to hire someone who lives permanently in Darwin (and not a backpacker who will surely run away to Sydney in a month's time . . . as I fully intend to do).

Then I found the Backpacker Job Centre in the heart of town. I was a bit skeptical about the centre, as we've all heard horror stories about employment centres that don't actually find people jobs but just take their money. Well, such was not the case this time.

Within 15 minutes of arriving and handing in my application, I was back out the door with a job. It wasn't quite what I had pictured, mind you.

That's right: I am now Australia's latest cattle station hand, also known as a "jackaroo" in these parts. This means that I have to move to a farm 150 km south of Darwin very soon. I will spend most of my time out under the harsh sun doing I don't quite know what. I will work six days per week and probably be dead tired on the seventh. But, and this is the good part, I don't have to pay anything for food or lodging and I'll be taking home a very decent rate of pay on top of that (similar to what one can earn with an arts degree back in Canada).

I'm slightly scared that this will turn out to be a horrific experience but then, hey, I've probably had worse jobs. The woman at the job centre assured me that I'll have a good time (she said she worked on cattle stations herself when she first came to Australia from New Zealand). Here's hoping she's right.

Oh, and don't expect to hear from me much until I'm back in civilzation. There will be no cell phone reception at the cattle station so no text messages or sudden calls from me. I also HIGHLY doubt that there will be an Internet connection anywhere near me. So no blogging, checking emails or (gasp) Facebook for the next while. This doesn't, of course, mean that you can't keep sending me emails. That way I'll feel extra loved and important when I finally get back online.

Wish me luck!

P.S. I turn 29 in 10 days. I certainly never thought I'd be celebrating my birthday with a bunch of cows.

We found Nemo

Yes, my friends, it's true. I have literally taken the plunge and gone scuba diving for the first time in my life.

It wasn't really planned, it just sort of happened. I found myself in Cairns on Wednesday evening and was immediately bombarded with 10,000 different ways to go and see the Great Barrier Reef.

While the Reef is about 2,000 kilometres long, Cairns is probably the most popular base for visits and day-trips in all of Australia.

At first, I thought I might just pass on the Reef. I've already snorkelled in some pretty amazing places in Oz and have seen so many great things.

Wait a second: I can't come this far and be this close to one of the seven natural wonders of the world and not go and see it. Can I?

Then I started to think I'd just go and have a snorkel out at the Reef since I have neither my diver's certification or the $500 lying around to go and get it done at the moment.

Well, somehow I found a pretty sweet deal at the hostel I'm staying at. For $115 I got boat transfers to and from the Reef (two hours each way), lunch, two snorkels AND an introductory Scuba dive. Since it was going to cost $90 just to do the snorkelling, I thought why the hell not?

I didn't think too much about the dive until we got on the boat yesterday. That's when the instructor gave us a 45-minute safety talk, putting all sorts of frightening thoughts in the brain. "Remember, guys, the most important thing is to never come up to the surface too quickly. Or your lungs will explode."

Then he told us we'd be going as deep as 10 metres (more than 30 feet). Wowza, and I thought this was just for beginners.

I began to wonder if perhaps I shouldn't have given this a practice before coming out to open water where any number of things (sharks, jellyfish, coral) could slice, dice and have you for dinner.

But there was really no turning back at this point. That would have just been a wasted opportunity. The good thing is that the instructor gave us plenty of time to float on the surface and get used to breathing. It was very strange at first but then surprisingly easy once you calm down, relax and get used to all the bubbles surrounding you.

Then he took us one by one down a rope, making sure we were breathing properly and popping our ears as the pressure got too great.

And then away we went, swimming next to massive boulders of coral, spotting giant clams and basking in the warm, blue waters.

The highlight, of course, came when we discovered not one but two clown fish right on the ocean floor. That's right, we found Nemo! I certainly never expected that.

The dive only lasted about 15 minutes and then it was time to resurface (slowly!). I've never been so happy to breathe the good old-fashioned way in my life.

To be honest, the snorkelling is just as good on the Reef, as many of the sights are just a metre or two below the surface. I spent a good hour snorkelling at two different spots. I could have stayed even longer if they hadn't called us back to the boat.

I was exhausted by the end of the day. All that sun, salt air and water can really do a number on a person. Let's just say a three-hour nap was in order but at least I earned it.

I came, I saw, I dived.


P.S. I have to share this funny little story: I was listening to a local radio station on my first day in Cairns (remember this is pronounced "Cans" by the Aussies). The radio announcer started talking about a female bartender in Western Australia who was fined for crushing beer cans between her breasts. (I have no idea what possessed her to crush the cans in this way or why she was fined for doing it. We've all got to have a party trick, don't we?)

Anyway, the female announcer said she thought maybe they should give this sort of thing a try locally.

Says she: "We'll have them crushing cans with cans in Cairns while doing the can-can."

Priceless.

The value of a good bed

The value of a good bed is priceless, I have learned.

In the past eight months I have slept on everything from a bed of sandstone to a fluffy, luxurious hotel mattress. And let me tell you, when I now find a good bed, I know it.

This is why I've been so happy with the last two hostels I've stayed in: Scotty's Beach House at Mission Beach (click on the link) and The Serpent in Cairns. Both hostels have super, ultra comfy beds (for a hostel that is). And both hostels seem to actually care whether their guests are comfortable and having a good time. This is unfortunately rather rare in a hostel.

Scotty's was probably the best hostel I've stayed in on any continent or in any country. Not only were the beds good, the pool was big, deep and clean; there were plenty of couches, hammocks, and lounges to hang out on; and the kitchen and Internet rooms were open 24/7. Staff even show you to your room and make sure it's OK at check-in. I've never seen that before in a hostel. So, if you're ever in Mission Beach, Scotty's is most definitely the place to stay.

And if anyone tries to tell you that there's nothing to do in Mission Beach?

Well, they're right. That's kind of what makes lying in the hammock all day so much guilt-free fun.

I've finally made it to Cairns last night. Very nice so far! I must now get my bum off the chair in front of the computer and out onto the streets to explore.

Ciao.

Every day is Sunday here

For some reason, I don't really feel like blogging today. It just seems like an awful lot of work and at the moment I feel like an awful lot of lazy. But no, I must persevere.

It's been almost a week since I stepped onto a yacht in Airlie Beach in anticipation of two days at sea in the Whitsunday Islands.

Let's see if I can sum up what it was like briefly: GORGEOUS.

The Whitsunday group of 74 islands are some of Australia's most famous and most breathtaking. Surrounded by warm teal waters, full of pristine beaches and nestled right next to the Great Barrier Reef; life doesn't get much better than it is in the Whitsundays.

The picture behind my blog title is at Whitehaven Beach, one of the most photographed locations in Oz. I'm sure I don't need to explain why.

I was a wee bit apprehensive about getting on a boat with 15 strangers (plus two crew) for such a long period of time but for the most part I had nothing to worry about. The first guy I met was a very friendly Brazilian named Mateus. This guy was a laugh from start to finish on the trip. I also had the pleasure of getting to know two lovely Swiss people (Carina and Stephane), Farquan from Scotland, and a nice Danish couple.

There was also a group of nine other travellers who were doing the sailing bit as part of an 18-day trip up Oz's east coast. It seems this group would rather have had a private boat than share with the rest of us. Let's just say "friendly" was not their strongest character trait (though a couple of them were all right). Aside from their group wanting to go to bed at 9 p.m. and the rest of us wanting to stay up and play cards/drinking games, we mostly got on OK. Anyway, we won't talk about that anymore. I will, however, warn you to think twice if you're ever contemplating booking a Let's Trek Australia tour. Unless of course you like going to bed at 9 every night on holidays.

Gripes aside, I had a beautiful time in the Whitsundays. It was the most time I've ever spent on a boat but I managed not to get seasick even once. Oddly enough, I found that drinking a beer made me feel better the couple of times I was a bit queasy. Homer Simpson would have been so proud of me.

The trip highlight had to be snorkelling in the reefs around two of the islands. It was like being suddenly part of an IMAX film. I'm now kicking myself for not shelling out the money for an underwater disposable camera. But that's OK, I have my memories.

Tonight I'm in the city of Townsville (a lovely city, by the way) before taking off to Mission Beach tomorrow, arriving finally in Cairns on Wednesday. It may have taken me six months to get this far from Sydney, but I made it!

P.S. Almost forgot my exciting news: I've seen a real koala out in the wilderness. At long last! Here's a pic of him.

Paradise found

It's only 7 a.m. but I already feel sick to my stomach.

We've just finished loading up our massive Toyota jeep with camping equipment, backpacks and food for 9 people over the upcoming three days on Fraser Island.

Next we are corralled into a room and shown videos about all the horrible things that can (and will!) happen to us on the island if we don't obey all the rules. No driving on sand dunes. No using 4WD on pavement. No driving over 60 km/h. No feeding the dingoes. And on and on.

It's an awful lot of information to absorb in just 30 minutes. To make matters worse, I've been nominated as our group's first driver from the hostel to the ferry and then down the wild, sand roads of Fraser. It's my credit card that's been registered on the vehicle insurance form. This brings another rule: no speeding to and from the ferry. If we get a ticket from the police, it'll be issued directly to me.

So, I'm put behind the wheel and away we go. Keep in mind, this is only my second time ever driving in Australia and on the left-hand side of the road, and my first time ever driving a 4WD. Lucky me that I have the lives of eight passenger in my hands.

Koala's Hervey Bay, our hostel, has divided 27 backpackers into three groups of nine. Somehow, and I can only ponder why, I'm the sole male in my group. It's me, three German girls, two Irish girls, and three British girls. For some men this would be an incredible stroke of luck. For others, it is. . .not such a big deal.

Anyway, I'm the Official Boy of the group and that's the way it is. This means I not only get to do much of the driving, but also plenty of heavy lifting, packing and repacking the vehicle and. . . my favourite task. . . chasing dingoes away from the campsite at dinnertime!

Driving on Fraser doesn't seem so bad at first. The roads are more like a loose gravel than full-on sand as we leave the barge landing. But within five minutes we are bouncing all over the place on a sandy laneway through the forest. It reminds me of driving down a very snowy street in the middle of a Canadian blizzard. Who says being from the Prairies doesn't pay after all?

The next couple of days bring their fair share of stories to tell. There was the road we got stuck on deep in the middle of the forest on our way to setting up camp the first night. We managed to get ourselves unstuck quickly, only to witness another car get stuck right after us. Much digging and car-pushing ensued as we helped the middle-aged man and his wife out of a jam. Somehow we made it to the campsite just as dusk set in. Phew.

The next day we get stuck on the beach. Again it is late in the afternoon, we are on our way to the campsite and high tide is quickly approaching. Water laps against the rear wheel well as we dig and push some more. Luckily, a group of Aussie fishermen stop and offer to tow us out. Being towed is technically against the long list of rules but then so is getting salt water anywhere on the undercarriage of the vehicle! We have no choice but to do it. It's literally sink or swim.

Just as the Aussies are about to tow us out, one of them had a look at our wheels. "Hey, this thing isn't in four-wheel drive," he said. "Hehehe, oops," I said sheepishly. It seems one of the other groups from the hostel decided to have a bit of fun with us by switching the wheels from 4WD to 2WD when we were away from the jeep (this can be done from the outside).

Don't worry, we got them back later for this.

Somehow me made it through both nights and days on the island and saw so many beautiful things. . . crystal clear freshwater lakes, strange sand formations, leaping lizzards, hungry dingoes. This was roughing it in the truest sense. And I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Beautiful sand formations along the eastern beaches of Fraser.

A few of the girls and I take a dip in the Champagne Pools. They are rockpools just next to the ocean that fill up at high tide. The crashing waves look like champagne overflowing from the bottle as the cork is opened. The water even bubbles like champagne when the big waves hit.

The Wreck of the Maheno: this ship crashed into Fraser's shores in 1935 due to gale force winds and a fierce storm. It hasn't been moved since. We visited it in the early morning when the skies were overcast and there was plenty of mist on the beach. Spooky, indeed.

Lake Mackenzie: arguably Fraser's favourite beach. The waters are crystal clear and clean as can be. An amazing way to wash off the filth of camping!

Wet and wild

As you can imagine, much of life in Australia revolves around sun, sand and surf. If you live in any of Australia's five largest cities on the mainland (Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Perth, Darwin) you are probably never more than 20 kilometres or so from the beach. Especially if you live in Sydney where there are something like a dozen beaches within the city limits.

As a result, many of the pictures I've taken in the last seven months involve the beach and/or water in some way or another. I think growing up in a landlocked province in Western Canada has only increased my fascination with the beach, to boot. Look at me in this picture. I'm jumping for joy. Shameless.

Here are a few more photos from recent wet-water pursuits.

A glorious sunset on Moreton Island. A couple of friends and I spent a Saturday night camping in the woods. This is the sunset we were treated to that evening. Couldn't have asked for it be much better.

Oddur holds up his big catch: a starfish we found while strolling the beaches of Moreton Island, which you'll note, span miles and miles of ground.

The resort I worked at is in the far distance, near where the land juts out further to sea.

The Tornado: one of the most "death-defying" slides at Wet 'n Wild, a waterslide park south of Brisbane that I visited last weekend.

This ride was cool! You sit three or four to a tube and come flying down a chute before being hurled into the round part of the slide (the tornado) and out the other end. It's all over very quickly but well worth the wait in line.

A couple of kids are shot out the end of the tube.

Washed out the end of tornado for the grand finale.

Whale Bone a-go-go (or How I Spent My Last Days at Tangalooma)

"You went home so early last night," my co-worker Lance said to me on Friday morning, my last day at the resort. "You should have stayed out with us. We went to the Flensing Deck and hung out there until 3 or 4 in the morning."

"What is that some kind of new nightclub?" I said, bursting into a laugh.

You know you live and work somewhere really special when the hottest place to party is at a place called the Flensing Deck.

But this is how life is on Moreton Island where you've got but one bar and one pub on the entire island (Note: the two are separated by a distance of about 15 km.)

The Flensing Deck, in case you were wondering, is a hollowed-out concrete building in which, once upon a time, giant humpback whales were gutted, deboned and otherwise mangled during the height of the Australian whaling industry in the 1950s-60s. The building now serves as a badminton and basketball court for resort guests by day and a place to party for staff when the main bar shuts down. Funny that, isn't it?

Well, I never made it to the Flensing Deck on Thursday night but I sure had a good time anyway. My co-workers and I from the shop went out for dinner at the Steakhouse where we enjoyed fine slabs of cow, chicken and fish, along with a few very tasty desserts.

"It's so nice having a meal that's actually prepared especially for you and not 180 of your 'closest' friends," said Lance, referring (not-too-kindly) to our usual meals in the horrific resort staff room. He is full of witty remarks that boy.

We all had a really good time drinking down at the bar and laughing for a couple of hours after dinner. It was the first time we all went out like that and I now wish we'd have done it more. And as Lance noted, I never got too crazy. I was at home by midnight and in bed by one. I had to open the shop at 6:45 a.m. after all!

My last week at Tangalooma went by in a flash. Between doing laundry, packing my bags, cleaning my room, oh, and working 37 hours, I didn't have much time to twiddle my thumbs. Of course, I'm not complaining. I think life is often at its best during periods of change when the anticipation of future events keeps you feeling relatively carefree.

I'm now back in Brisbane for a few days before heading far, far north up the Queensland coast to the city of Cairns (pronounced Cans, as in beer cans). I figure it's going to take at least three weeks to get there with all the stops I plan on making. Queensland is truly blessed with natural beauty, beaches and a whole bunch of other good things, such as the Great Barrier Reef. I'm so excited about snorkelling up there that it isn't even funny.

Speaking of, I tried snorkelling for the first time ever with two new friends about two weeks ago. We spent a night camping on Moreton Island about 2 km from the resort, just off the beach from a landmark known as the Wrecks. The Wrecks is a group of 15 ships that were deliberately sunken in order to create a safe haven for small boats that drop anchor there when the tide is rough. The sealife like it too, making it a great spot for fishing, snorkelling and diving.

Snorkelling was one of the most relaxing experiences I've ever had. All you can hear is the sound of your breathing as you float from wreck to wreck and look at all of the amazing fish swimming right in front of your face.

I've got some great pictures of all the things I've been doing in the last month or so but they'll have to wait until the next post. I wasn't organized enough today to get dressed, find my camera AND make it to the library by 10:15 a.m.

My new friend Oddur will be joining me for the first few days as I travel northward. A native Brisbanite, Oddur has been very good about showing me around the city and taking me to places I would otherwise never know about or get the chance to see. Last weekend we visited Mt. Warning, an absolutely beautiful and ancient volcano in the middle of lush rainforest about two hours south of Brisbane.

Yesterday Oddur, his brother and I went to a waterslide park on the Gold Coast near Surfers Paradise called Wet 'n Wild. It's essentially the watersliding version of Disneyland. What a blast! I hadn't been watersliding in years since my last visit to the West Edmonton Mall. Pictures of some of the slides to come too.

Well, I'm now running out of time on computer. But rest assured, I'll be posting again a lot sooner than I have been lately.

Thanks for reading.

Daddy Roo

Ahh, how the days fly past and the months roll on.

It's been weeks since I've written so much as a word on the blog. There are lots of reasons for this but I won't bore you with the details. As it stands, I've got exactly 27 minutes to finish this entry, continue checking emails and do some other miscellaneous Internet stuff. Then I've got to buy a long distance phone card, get some groceries (not to mention a bit of alcohol) and make my way to the ferry back to the island. The prices for food and booze are shocking on the island so I prefer to do a bit of stocking up when I'm in the city. The joys of living on a remote, nearly empty island are truly endless. I don't mean that in a completely sarcastic way.

I cannot believe that I never posted this picture sooner. Not sure what I was thinking. I was oh-so-pleased about making friends with this kangaroo when I visited Brisbane's wildlife sanctuary a couple of months ago. This guy here was posed so perfectly and relaxing in the sun when I found him. He wasn't scared or intimidated when I got right close to take the picture and he even let me pat him on the head a couple of times (kangaroos in the wild are not this tame, mind you).

So, I still haven't seen a roo in nature (or any koalas) but at least I got this cool photo.

I was lucky enough to visit Noosa, a resort town north of Brisbane this weekend, with a couple of new friends. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful drive to and from. We thought maybe we'd catch a glimpse of some koalas sleeping in the eucalypts near the beach but no such luck. Maybe next time.

This here is another favourite photo from the resort: It's taken underneath the jetty (i.e. wharf, pier) on a day with a very low tide but unusually rocky sea. The different shades of water happen based on how deep the ocean floor is beneath. The shallow parts reflect the sand and take on the greeny/aqua shade while the deeper parts are more of a classic ocean blue. It's beautiful!

My time is sadly running out. This wasn't much of a blog entry but it was better than nothing.

In a few more weeks I'm going to quit my job on the island and head back to the mainland for further travels north. I'm very excited about getting back on the road and there are so many things ahead of me. Rest assured, the blog will also regain a bit of vitality once I set off.

Toodles.

Aussie-isms

My oh my, is it time for some new additions to my not-so-definitive guide to Australian vocab and slang, or what?

I started this part of the blog months ago with every intention to create a lengthy list for my linguistically inclined friends and confidantes. And now I've left you out in the cold.

Working with so many Australians on Moreton Island has given me the chance to pick up quite a few new words, many of them to do with the workplace itself.

So, without further ado, here are a bunch of new words you've probably never heard before and will likely never use!

The workplace:

Smoke-o: a short break given to employees for the purpose of inhaling a cigarette or two. Of course, one does not actually have to smoke during smoke-o. I first heard this term when I was working on the construction site in Brisbane. It took me a day or two to figure out what in tarnation the other guys meant when they kept saying things like, "Youze goin' on smoke-o at 10:30, mate?" In the case of the construction site, most guys did indeed have a ciggie or two during smoke-o. (I just ate an apple or orange and drank some water.) Hell, half of them smoked as they worked. It's very "en vogue" to do that in the construction industry.

In keeping with the theme of labour/trades, Aussies have a number of endearing terms to refer to the different types of tradesmen and labourers. Here are a few:

Chippy: a carpenter (as in wood chips, I guess)

Sparky: an electrician, for obvious reasons

Bricky: a bricklayer . . .( are you catching onto a trend yet?)

Yardy: a yardsman

Dishy: a dishwasher. The politically correct term for such a person is "kitchen hand," of course. That being said, no one ever actually calls them kitchen hands at the resort. They're just the dishies.

By this time, you might have begun to notice that Australians love to shorten words. This is probably the most defining characteristic of Australian English. If there is a way to shorten a word, Aussies will find it. My boss Madonna (but remember that everyone just calls her "Donsy") says it's because Aussies are just plain lazy. I don't know about that, but they do have a laidback approach to language.

Even the shortest of names gets shortened further by Aussies. Example: Adam becomes "Adsy" to his friends. Sharon or Sheila becomes "Shazza" or "Shaz." Darren becomes "Dazza." Strangely enough, most Australians call me by my full name. Perhaps that's because Tyler isn't a common name over here. I'm sure once they discover that they can just call me "Ty", they'll be onto it like vegemite on bread. (Make that peanut butter on toast for you North Americans.)

* * * * *

Food:

Tomato sauce: Us North Americans know this one better as "ketchup." If you say ketchup here, you usually get a "Pardon?" and then have to say it again. It's better to just ask for tomato sauce (and that's toe-mah-toe not toe-may-toe). And you must ask. They don't just hand it out with the fries over here.

Choc top: just about anything that is covered with a layer of chocolate on top is a "choc top" in Oz. That goes for ice-cream cones, doughnuts, pastry puffs, etc.

Meat pie: Australians have a major fascination/addiction to the "meat pie", a small, pastry-crusted pie stuffed with any combination of meat and vegetables (usually beef or chicken). I think we'd call these a "pot pie" back in Canada. Meat pies are common street food over here, akin to a slice of pizza or a donair (or gyro or whatever you want to call it). But I've also served them at swanky corporate cocktail parties and luncheons.

Sultana: this fancy name refers to that most unglamorous of fruits: the raisin.

Capsicum: another fancy name for something we Canadians simplistically call the "red pepper."

Rockmelon: I couldn't figure out what this one was for the longest time until one day I finally saw it for sale at the grocery store. It's cantaloupe!

Paw paw: another exotic fruit by a different name. Paw paw, which tastes like a combination of mango and banana, is the same fruit as the papaya. At least I think it is.


Drink:

Short black: known as an espresso in the rest of the world, a short black is what you order when you need a quick caffeine jolt. It is, after all, a short, little cup of coffee.

Long black: known as an americano to Canadians (and, presumably, Americans), this is a coffee that's half-water with a shot or two of espresso mixed in.

Lemonade: In Oz, this drink is the same as what we would call Sprite. That is, lemon-lime soda. In fact, if you ask for lemonade you'll usually get Sprite or some other brand of similar taste.

Lemon Squash: This is what Canucks call lemonade, i.e. a more pulpy, tangy version of Sprite.

Pot: a small glass of beer that is more or less equal to a half-pint.

Middy: same thing as a pot, different name. At first I thought the Aussies were calling it a "mini" so that's what I ordered the first few times.

Schooner: Fans of Boston Pizza will be disappointed. Why? Because in Canada a schooner has come to mean a huge glass of beer (about three pints worth). In Australia, it's a very average-sized beer and smaller than a pint.

To be continued. . . .