The definition of Irony

I realize that my blog is turning into such a serious matter that it is missing its purpose: to basically entertain whoever comes to check on me and my adventures overseas. Point made, this entry will try to put it back on track.
To achieve such purpose I will unfortunately have to use so coarse language and for that I apologize right now to the more sensible minds. Once again, I’m just trying to get a good laugh out of each of you and if a little bit of cursing will get the job done, what the hell!!!! (Already started…)

This story took place a couple of weeks ago but is still as fresh in my memory as if it was yesterday. I was out on one of the now “classic” Wednesday nights in Bondi beach. This means that we start off in the Beach road hotel and end up after a few beers and some cheap pick up lines under the influence at the Bondi Hotel. (And the answer to your question is yes, traveling overseas is not all about working there is some partying and drinking with good “mates” as well…)
Anyway we were all back at the Bondi Hotel; Dan, Tal, Caroline, Jemma and me. (And if you are wondering, yes that means two couples + 1… me)
So we were having a discussion about the “Internationality” of the crowd that one can actually meet around the Bondi area. French, English, Irish, US citizens (They are not the only Americans, I keep telling them. Americans are from the American continent. Don’t get me started on this… please don’t), Spanish, Swedish, etc. And obviously the Portuguese were not on the list.
You have to picture that the five of us are sitting at a table in a little “outside” area where there are only 4 or five tables pretty close together for the matter in hand. It’s around 2 o’clock in the morning and the night started early so I had had quite a few malted friends over for a chat. And you know that when one is a little “happy”, one has a natural tendency to get a few decibels louder than the “regulars”. Don’t get me wrong I wasn’t off my face or anything close to that, I was keeping my game together but in a relaxed way.
So there I am, bitching (sorry) to my friends about how I had never met a “Portuguese person” traveling in my total of four months down under. The very moment I finished my sentence, which I will not dare to repeat online, a little frightened voice comes from behind me:
“I am from Portugal” (in Portuguese)
What are the odds right? I know about the whole “It’s a small world after all”, but give me a fucking break! What were the odds of such a thing happening?
I’ll Tell you… 1 on 1000000000000000000000000000000 millions (if anyone feels like correcting me, please make the math’s and send me some feedback..)
And for some reason it did, funny Hey?
Obviously, with only a feminine voice as a reference, between the moment I heard the voice and the moment I laid eyes one the “voice provider” my imaginative mind started to fly around, dreaming about what was standing behind me. Honestly, the beers gave a hand and took it to the next level. To my mind came the words long hair, bright eyes, dark tanned skin, beautiful smile and so on, I am sure I do not need to draw it to you. You see it often in the movies when the character loses himself into his thoughts with an idiotic face of pleasure on his face, if you know what I mean.
It all died as soon as she came in sight. What am I saying? It was all savagely crushed repeatedly by a monstrous pitiless Bulldozer that you only see on construction sites into a little pile of compost that I would not dare to put outside my front door to be picked up by the garbage truck.
No tan, no bright eyes, her smile was scarier than anything else and I won’t even talk about the figure as a whole. I had brain freeze for an undetermined time.
I say it again, what were the odds of meeting a Portuguese girl right after finishing a sentence bitching about it and that she would be one of the ugliest girls I have seen around here? (I am not trying to be mean, I am sorry if I sound like I am)
Patriotism obliges, we started chatting in our native language which was very good for a change I have to admit. (But not before reassuring my mates that they are not all like that back home as I have been praising the beauty of Portuguese women everywhere I go.) And yes, she was a really nice.
Being Portuguese, she and her English boyfriend I also had the pleasure to meet managed to slip in a bottle of Sprite filled with absinth.
“It’s easy and much cheaper this way” she said
And I couldn’t agree more as I took a tinny tiny sympathetic sip out of it and was brought closer to calling it a night that I ever wished for. That is some Foul stuff I tell you.
So here comes my definition of Irony.
Irony: Work for two years to finally fly half-way around the world praising the beauty of your female natives only to find yourself four months later face to face to a really ugly specimen from Sesimbra talking for 20 minutes about some uninteresting trip back to the place you have lived all your life.

What is there more to say? Destiny works in mysterious ways...

I hope this entry fulfilled its objective.

Have a nice day.

The Cornulla Riots

Let me try and make a point here.
Close your eyes (not before reading the whole sentence please…) and picture in your mind an Australian. What does a typical Australian look like to you? Think about it…

My guess is that you pictured a young male in his twenties. Blond hair, fair eyes, semi long blond hair with a surfer’s look on his face. It’s all right. That’s how I would have pictured it myself once upon a time.
And the problem lays right there. No one sees an Australian with Asian features or dark skinned and for some reason some people are not ready to accept an Asian looking bloke with o accent, living in the country for his whole life as a “true” Australian.

What we can't forget is that Australia was founded on international immigration. Even though they passed an "All White Law" that dictaded at some point that only white caucasian could enter the country, there are so many different nationalities around, especially from the United Kingdom and all over Asia. Such a cultural melting pot is extremely hard to coexist anywhere in the world and I gotta give hands down to Australia for managing it so far.

I was on the beach today; on Bondi Beach which is a beach on the eastern suburbs of Sydney about 10 minute drive from where the riots took place. And some 20 meters away from me about 7 (and I don’t like to use these terms) Middle Eastern looking guys started into an argument with a typical Australian (see definition above…) and all of a sudden the whole beach area stopped. Everyone was staring with the images of the riots still fresh in the memories. I don’t know why it all started and I don’t care since it looked like a silly argument just to get some shit started but no punch was thrown. And honestly, I don’t know what would have happened if it did. There is some kind of tension in the air and I am telling you that the shit will hit the fan soon enough. The Cornulla riots were just the tip of the iceberg of a growing feeling among Australians of nationalism, patriotism and “defending our ground” kinda thing. Mark my words, this is not the end of it...

Australia

A lot of things have happened in the last few weeks and I’ve been either quite lazy to tell about it or maybe I just want to save some mystery about my whereabouts so that I do have some stories to tell when I go back home.

As I have been reading about it in Down Under (Bill Bryson, I do recommend it) Australia is quite unique in its own way. It is so far away from everything that hardly anyone can remember the name of its prime minister because it simply doesn’t matter to anyone but Australians. And even some of those are not sure about who is running the country because they are so far inland from everything that no matter who is calling the shots, life will be as it has been since they can remember.

It is, though, a country of some antagonism.

A country where it is forbidden to drink alcoholic beverages on public ground (Beaches, parks, streets and pretty much anywhere outdoors) but that has a record of being the biggest alcohol consumer per capita and in volume when talking about Bourbon. (This is a distant cousin from whiskey). And I won’t get started on the taxes on alcohol.

A country where smoking is forbidden or heavily restricted indoors (bars and nightclubs included) but that sell cigarettes in packs up to 50!!! And that has more brands and variations that you can ever imagine. (Also heavily taxed…)

A country where the sun shines most of the year but is so strong that Australians rather stay indoors and most of the time don’t show any signs of sun bathing. (And one of the reasons for such a strong sun is a hole in the ozone layer right above us)

A country with one of the most beautiful and varied landscape in the world but holds in its corners the most dangerous and poisonous animals on the planet giving the expression “walk in a park” a whole new meaning.

A country where the only real Australians are the ones that where here before it was “discovered” and that are nowadays marginalized by the new citizens and the government in power.

A country that claims to be a sanctuary for foreigners and travelers but that turn any application for a visa into a living nightmare. (unless you are a refugee to who the doors are always open).

A country that dreams about detaching itself from "Mother England", calling englishmen POME'S (Prisonners of mother England) but still drives on the left side of the road and wears the Queen's face on their two dollars coins.

A country struggling with its problems like any other. Don't get me wrong, despite of all this, it is still a very sweet place to live in. But don't take my word for it, come and take a look for yourselves.

Pictures

I'm really sorry about the lack of pictures latelly, but after a while I just got tired of taking my camera everywhere. After all I've been living here for 2 months now and I feel more like an "almost local" that a turist.
And plus I gotta thank my parents for sending a new toy for christmas.
That's right, I got myself a video camera. I am now spending more time taping stuff than just taking pictures of it. I'm loving it!!!

Muito obrigado e muitos beijinhos!!!! Bom natal para todos...

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!!!

First things first...
In this new madness of the Christmas period, in which a "season greeting" is more politically correct than a good old “merry Christmas”, I have to start by greeting all the ones that take a few minutes from their precious time to come and check on my travels. So let’s put that behind right now…

Bom Natal!
Merry Christmas!
Happy Hannukah!
Joyeux Noel!
Feliz Navidad!

And let me know if I forgot about anyone, I’ll make sure to get back to you on that.

It is in times like these that one realizes that christmas is not about the size of the tree or the amount of presents. It's all about family, friends and the christmas routine or tradition as you want to call it. I did miss it a lot.

No Comment VII

The Set Up:




The Place:

The Captain:

The Boat:

The hole group:

Wakeboard

Watch out for the Sun...


Gotta Give it a Try...

Not too good on the looks but still a jump, right?

How it Should be Done: Ladies & Gentleman, Richard Morris Munitz on a Roll

Week-End Out of the City

some more....

Wiseman Fear

Fim de Semana Muito bem passado...

Despedida

Recebi agora algumas das fotografias da despedida...

acho que esta merece comparecer..

Beijinhos e Abracos

Blue Mountains

De passagem por Sydney, a Joana Macedo Santos (Vodafonica e grande representante da Armani no Stand do Estoril Open) e a sua cara metade, Francisco (Igualmente representante da marca e agora Estudante em Coolangata, Australia) desafiaram me para lhe fazer companhia ate as Blue Mountains. No relogio ja passavam das 2 da tarde e apesar de nos terem avisado da longa viagem e de algumas indecisoes la nos fizemos a estrada. Katoomba, ou algo parecido era o destino, onde se pode apreciar uma suposta vista fenomenal das "tres irmas".
Coma ajuda de um mapa, do Lonely Planet, da ajuda dos locais e de alguma sorte conseguimos chegar la sem nos desviar do caminho.

Primeira surpresa... A altitude ja era significativa e a temperatura fora do carro rondava os 10/15 graus... Nao estava claramente preparado com as minhas chanatas e calcoes (ate tinha fato de banho por baixo visto que tinha pensado ir para a praia antes de falar com o Francisco).

Segunda surpresa... Conseguimos ver ao longe uma carga de agua pronta a chegar. Uns 15 minutos a contar com os fortes ventos...

A Vista com as nuvens a Chegar.

As "Tres Irmas".

Os Tugas em Terras Australianas.

Ainda tivemos tempo de fazer a caminhada das "Three Sisters" antes de comecar a chover. Chuva que comecou a cair passados 5 minutos de entrar no carro. Seguimos para a o centro da vila para comer alguma coisa. Um Coffee shop como qualquer outro foi o escolhido. Igual? Talvez nao... Na mesa das pastelarias tinham uma etiqueta que dizia "Portuguese Custard Tarts - 3.00". Ou se quisermos ler nas entre linhas, "temos aqui uma coisa parecida mas que nao tem nada a ver e pela qual, meu otario, vais desembolsar 2 herois!" Nao deixamos de experimentar.
O sabor que tanot procuravamos nao foi satisfatorio, mas antes acordou um sentimento, mais forte para o Francisco e para mim, de nostalgia do nosso bom velho Portugal.

A Caminho das Blue Mountains, passamos pela "Tuga Town". Nao tao cosmopolita e conhecida como as Chinatown mas mesmo assim a unica ligacao com o velho continente. Vamos la tentar comer um belo bacalhau a antiga. Esta idea passou a ser um objectivo que rapidamente se tornou uma obsessao a medida que os kilometros passavam e Sydney e seus arrendores unca mais chegavam. Depois de muitas voltas e reviravoltas, la descobrimos a rua dos restaurantes, agora sob chuva pesada pois a tempestade ja tinha chegado a cidade. (E sim continuo de chanatas e ja nem sinto os pes...)

O Silva do seu nome foi o restaurante em que abancamos. Bacalhau a Gomes de Sa para o Francisco e para mim, Bife a portuguesa para a Joana. O Tudo regado com uma Sagres bem fresca. (Estavam a espera do proximo carregamento de Super Bock que pelos padros temporais portugueses deve demorar um a dois anos a chegar...). Mas que bela comedia que foi...

Ainda tivemos a curiosidade para passear pela rua a procura de sinais lusiadas... Aqui estao eles:

Sweet Belem, onde a Dona Silva do Restaurante diz que se fazem os melhores "Belem Cakes" de Sydney. 36 anos e muito tempo, o suficiente para esquecer muito da lingua materna. Nos falavamos em portugues, ela respondia em Ingles.

Tivemos direito a um aniversario na mesa vizinha, em que um casal tentava aproximar o seu filho das suas raizes qo leva-lo a ele e a namorada Australiana a um restaurante portugues para os festejos. Qual nao foi a felicidade quando entoamos os tres em coro o "Happy Birthday" versao portuguesa. A mae ate nos veio agradecer pelo apoio.

Chegou para encher o estomago e matar alguma saudade. Hei de la voltar com certeza. Alias se houver algum jogo da Seleccao, sera por aquelas bandas que irei ver o Jogo.

Bjs e Abracos