Last Thursday marked the arrival of Ian, my first cousin on my Mother's side, who is currently studying up on the Gold Coast for the semester. We were excited for Ian to come visit, as he and I spent a brief amount of time growing up together, at least until my family and I moved down to Roswell when I was eight (so Ian was three). Sparing large family events (cousin's marriages, family funerals, etc), Ian and I hadn't really had a lot of time to recount our respective lives' triumphs and setbacks. Needless to say, we had some catching up to do.
Ian arrived late Thursday evening from the Gold Coast airport, Lydia and I took the tram into the city to meet him at Southern Cross station to get him back to the apartment to settle in. On the tram ride home, we were able to somewhat avoid the awkward, "so never mind what have you been up to these past 17 years, what are you doing now?" conversation and ensuing barrage of questions, as Ian has been documenting his Australian experiences on his own blog which you can find
here.
Ian is rather well-travelled in Australia thus far, in fact so much so as to put Lydia and I to shame; he's been in the country only two weeks longer, but has already set foot in three of the six States, been to Brisbane, Sydney, and Melbourne, has travelled to the Australian Outback and back, and has been surfing and SCUBA diving up on the Gold Coast. The furthest Lydia and I have ventured so far is an hour or so outside of Melbourne. Granted, Lydia and I have a longer timeframe to see and do many of the things Ian has done, so we're a little harder pressed to get the time away from work necessary to pursue such adventures, but nonetheless, Ian's travels are no small feat.
We picked up from where the blog left off, catching up as to Ian's studies, life back home, and getting the scoop on the rest of the family. We let Ian settle in for the evening and went to bed, as Lydia and I had work the next day.
The next day while Lydia and I were at work, Ian managed to see a good portion of the CBD, the Melbourne sports complex, and the Royal Botanical Gardens (which Lydia and I still have yet to visit). We met up back at the apartment after work to take Ian out, in lieu of our typical Friday happy hour drinks with work friends. We started the evening up on Brunswick Street, in search of food as per the suggestion of a work colleague. Lydia, in her adorable naievety, doubted my assertion that Brunswick street held some culinary and cultural treasures, which we discovered (at length) after passing the multiple public housing complexes and abundant meth-seeking vagrants. After carefully navigating the pan handlers and schizophrenics, we ended up stumbling upon the Little Creatures Dining Hall. Little Creatures is an Australian microbrew based out of Perth that produces a decent pale ale, and a handful of other mediocre craft beers. The atmosphere and food were the highlights; the hall had a diverse range of patrons, all happy to let loose and enjoy the evening, free from the constraints of the work week, and unlike pubs and bars downtown, did not espouse an air of pretentiousness or ostentatious sophistication. The three of us split an order of fries, calamari, and a pizza, all of which we enjoyed (though less so in the case of the calamari).
After dinner, we briefly stopped back at the apartment, then set out on our way into the CBD to show Ian a good time (and affirm that I could just as much hold my own as I did in my college days). Our first destination was the Croft Institute, a bar designed in the likeness of a Mad Scientist's laboratory, although we all agreed that they could've taken the theme a bit further- we were thinking that white lab coats and maybe a smoke machine would've driven the point home. From there, we left to stop by Hofbraeuhaus in honor or Melbourne's (belated) Oktoberfest celebration where we shared two flights of delicious German beer and I felt it the appropriate time to confess to Ian my much suppressed indignation from one of Ian’s childhood transgressions-
You see, since a very early age, I've been a loyal, committed devotee to the most superior superheros of all time; I am speaking, of course, about Batman. I need not explain why he is the best (perhaps a subject for a later post?), simply that I revered, nay, idolized Batman for as long as I can recall. My mother can attest to my devotion to the Dark Knight, as a child I would often accompany her to the grocery store dressed in his likeness (I was Batman for Halloween when I was four years old, and insisted on continuing to wear the costume long after the holiday had passed). Aside from dressing in honor of the famed superhero, I also was the proud owner of the Batman & Robin action figures, which accompanied me through the greater part of my early childhood (well, not Robin, he was never good for anything). Yes, Batman was never further than an arm’s reach from me, until one day he wasn’t. My treasured action figure simply disappeared, off to fight Gotham City’s political corruption and social ills, never to return again to my toy room. After fruitlessly searching for Batman for I am sure what had to be at least a couple of hours, I surrendered, crestfallen, and accepted that my treasured action figure was forever gone. Days, weeks, months passed, all days void of Batman, until one fateful visit to my Uncle Doug’s house. On that day, while briefly walking through Ian’s toy room on my way into the kitchen, I casually looked to my left, where to my horror, within a clear plastic container, pressed against the side facing outwards, my Batman stared- imprisoned among other less worthy toys. Deception! Injustice! Villainy! And to think- my own flesh and blood! For Batman had not disappeared valiantly during the call of duty, he disappeared because a two-year-old Ian had most assuredly schemed and premeditatedly absconded with my Batman, never to return. I took the high road that day- I neither uttered a grievance nor protested my case; the deed was done, the ties had been cut. And for the years since, I have never forgotten the injustice committed nor fully forgiven Ian for his misgivings as a toddler- until this past weekend. It’s amazing what can be resolved over a few beers.
Anyways, moving on from Hofbraeuhaus, we went to Section 8, a bar tucked away in one of Melbourne’s many side alley ways. The bar is made entirely out of shipping containers:
Lydia and I have frequented Section 8 on a number of other occasions and we generally like the atmosphere, spare for the fact that on one occasion after work, I was not admitted entry until removing my tie… more on that in a later post.
On Saturday, after slowly rising out of bed (it would seem that although I can drink about as much as I could in college, I apparently can’t bounce back quite as quickly the next morning), we headed out into the city to show Ian around town and do some sight-seeing. We ventured around the CBD, showing Ian the Queen Victoria Market, the Docklands, Etihad stadium, Southbank, and finally the Eureka Tower, the tallest building in Victoria. Although the view was well-worth the price of admission, the “Edge Experience” was not- it’s akin to the Sears Tower skydeck, where a glass-floored room is shifted outside of the building (by some ingenious engineering), allowing its occupants to see most of Melbourne and the 88-floor distance below. Nonetheless, we were happy to have done it so we will never be left wondering what could have been.
After completing our SkyDeck experience, we went home to relax before embarking on our Old Melbourne Gaol [jail] tour. Since moving here, one tourist attraction that caught my eye was the Old Melbourne Gaol- the jail was erected in the mid-19
th century (so perhaps not
that “old” by other historical standards), which has now turned into an Australian landmark. They have preserved one of original wings of the jail, where they offer day tours and information on Melbourne and its criminal history. Perhaps the most intriguing part of the jail is that it was where Australia’s infamous folk hero, Ned Kelly, was quartered and later executed. For those that have read Bill Bryson’s,
In a Sunburned Country, you may recall him mentioning Mr. Kelly and his peculiar penchants for killing Australian law enforcement while donning a home-made bullet-proof armor. Here is Lydia modelling his likeness:
We were happy to learn via one of the tourism brochures on the City Circle tram that the Gaol conducts “haunted” night tours of the Gaol, which seemed quite appropriate given the time of year and approaching holiday. We arrived early at the jail house, after having our expectations set high by a fellow tram-rider on our way over; he alluded to a “surprise,” which did not want to ruin. The tour started late thanks in large part to the number of people arriving late and their ensuing bathroom breaks (unwritten courtesy rule: if it is a precondition for an event that everyone is in attendance, don’t meander in 15 minutes late and take an ensuing 10 minute bathroom break). We began the tour which seemed promising at first- they shut off all the lights in the Gaol and “induct” you into the Gaol as if you’re a 19
th-century criminal, and you are escorted around the facility by candlelight by a tour guide in-character as the Gaol executioner (whom, we learned, have an apparent habit of going insane and conducting their duties on themselves). Throughout the 45-minute tour, we were anticipating the “surprise” that our tram friend had alluded to, however to our dismay, no such excitement presented itself. All-told, the tour was well done and we enjoyed it, however it was not nearly as “haunted” as we were anticipating. Sadly, Australians don’t really celebrate Halloween (which I find perplexing, given the Irish enthusiasm for the holiday and the large number of Australians who have Irish ancestry), so it doesn’t seem like we’ll get to have the haunted experience we so desire. We ended the evening at a Collingwood bar, sleepily sipping on our drinks and recounting the day’s events.
Ian and I awoke early on Sunday to catch the 10am kick-off for the Georgia Vandy game. One commonality that Ian and I lament about living abroad is the difficulty associated with watching US sports (for me- UGA football). After some frustrations getting the game on (ESPN3 blacked it out due to its availability on Fox Sports South), Ian helped me find a free, illegitimate site to watch the game live. We promptly broke out the beer pong table (see
Sharing Culture), and honored the college football tradition of “eggs and kegs.” After one close game and two not-so-close games, I was able to squeeze out at least one victory over Ian. I’ll chalk it up to the fact that he’s had more recent practice than I, although I think Ian can just as easily argue that he’s simply better. Regardless, we had a good time, despite Georgia’s near-loss. After the game, I promptly napped, before heading out for my Victorian Corporate Games beach volleyball practice. Ian and Lydia remained home to rest and relax for the rest of Sunday.
On Monday morning, Ian woke up early to go on a bus tour of the
Great Ocean Road (further putting Lydia and I to shame, as we haven’t yet seen it), which runs along the Victorian coast line. He was gone for the majority of the day, but returned home late that evening to share with us his experience and awesome pictures (which you can see on
his blog). Lydia and I have since resolved to do the same tour soon.
We had a great time with Ian, exploring the city, resolving repressed childhood anxiety, and sharing our new home with him. It was great to catch up with family, if only briefly. The family reunions may not yet be concluded, as Ian may try to join Lydia and I up in Port Douglas for a day or two for some Great Barrier Reef SCUBA diving.
