Booy!

Halloween was a major disappointment. I saw two zombies and a trainer at the gym dressed up a steroidal Luke Skywalker. I expected not to see any Thanksgiving celebration or even an Australian version because sharing a meal was the last thing the Aboriginals and settlers would do, but I thought Halloween was a little more ubiquitous. Turns out I was wrong. Whereas in the US, it gives grown up teenagers and excuse to dress up and drink on a weekday night, the Aussies don’t need an excuse (well, except for the costume part.)

There was one perk however. I got to bar tend at a wake. That’s not the perk; that’s still to come. But before I get to that, I might point out the irony that they use a wake as an excuse to get together and drink on a Wednesday evening over Halloween! Back to the perk, at the wake there was one bored young girl hoped up on soft drinks and the excitement of her first trick or treating who amused herself by running up to guest and shouting, “Booy” at them. This was a perk because it a perfect illustration of the Australian accent. The secret to speaking like an Australian is to not open your mouth too widely. All the vowel sounds are formed with the back of the tongue rather than the lips. “Why is this noteworthy?” you ask. Because of something I learned from a Venezuelan guy while bartending for a group of private high school association mothers. (Side note: I poured my body weight Champagne that day. The kids could have gotten away with murder when the ladies picked them up from school…if they made it that far. Side side note: This was an event to memorialize Armistice Day. Don’t worry, a ten second moment of silence was held before the first bottle popped.) Side side side note, NO HALLOWEEN?!  

So the Venezuelan guy told me this, “The reason that Aussies came to speak like this is because it prevents them from opening their mouths too widely because of the flies. THE FLIES! That is another story…But if you think about it and had six flies make out with your face at once, you would understand. Then you might swipe at your face and accidentally clip your nose. Anyway it is an interesting fun fact to know and tell. And because it is just the sort of pratfall that I would make with a claim about the Dutch, I will back it up with this: Angelo told me a teacher told him this. So Aussies if you read this, take it up with his teacher. Finally the last thing I have to say is BOO! or BOOY! Depending on how close you are to open water.

In my catering uniform, cutting off my too long backpacker hair. End of that Halloween costume.

Monday Morning Football

(A post that I started a few weeks ago which was far more relevant then.) Monday mornings in Perth are much like Monday mornings in Meppel. I wake up with a mild hangover and an achy body. Well at least I wake up with an achy body every other week. Due to the import rules of this league, an import pitcher can only pitch every other week. Yesterday I played 1^st base for the clubs “A grade” team which where the “boys” who have been playing with the club for 20 years have been playing. It is always fun to get a bat in my hands even when we lose by ten runs. It’s also nice not to have peel my body off my bed the next morning after an 180 pitch effort. (My thinking is that if I only get to pitch once every two weeks, I am going to make every pitch win, lose, or draw.)

Mondays are a slow day for me the Burger Shack is closed on Mondays and catering doesn’t really happen so all I have to do is get into the gym at some point.  So I wake up, cook and omelet and post up on the couch and watch whatever game the Australian Fox affiliate decides to broadcast to me. This is where my first attempt ends. I don’t remember where I was going with this but besides this; I have had some pretty successful Mondays. I got my bank account, jobs, mobile phone, internet, rental room and tax details. I guess that’s it. You can only be so successful without at car here. I will leave that for next Monday.

Look Right Then Left

You may not know this, but the Aussies drive on the left side of the road. In order to prevent another body and life flipping collision, I have learned to look right then left when crossing the street. However, most differences I have picked up on here are not that stark. Unlike the more easily recognized idiosyncrasies I noticed in Holland, the land down under is very much the same as back home with a the odd peculiarity sprinkled in for flavor. 

The first thing I have to comment on is obviously the speech. While in Europe, I often encountered Australian backpackers and in the course of regular conversation I would often have to hold back laughter because simple directions on how to find the bathroom would conjure the likeness of Crocodile Dundee and Steve Irwin the Crocodile Hunter type adventures. Suddenly a simple trip to the bathroom became exciting if not life risking adventure. Slowly though, I have adjusted and picked up the “mates,” “good-on-yas,” and “it’ll be ‘rights.” I have however, found it hard to throw the four letter C-word around in conversation let alone using it to refer to those you like and respect. But give it time, I’ll be right.

The second instantly noticeable thing is the money. I’m not talking about the Monopoly looking notes and 1 and 2 dollar coins but the prices on everything. I have slowly accepted the fact that I am going to pay 40 to 50% percent more than what I am used to paying for the same things in the States. For instance when I saw the first Kentucky Fried Chicken I had seen in four months, I suddenly got hungry for a taste of home (like I said there is a lot of similarities here.) When I had got my fill, everything had tasted the same greasy goodness but it is impossible to get out of there with a meal costing less than twelve dollars. Levis 501s-$110, a liter of Coca Cola- $4.50, a Corona -$8: its everything. I was pleasantly surprised though when I saw how cheap rent and gym membership prices were… and then I found out that these were the prices per week!  On the day that I arrived I had $46 dollars to my name. I thought this was going to by a lean six months or a shorter stay. So the following day I went job hunting. 

 I convinced myself that $1.65 bus ticket was a worthy investment in order to find work. I headed in to town from my temporary host’s housing. I wrote down the names of the hotels and restaurants where I thought I might find casual work as the bus passed them. Finally the bus ended in the center of the Perth. I started to walk around and figured I had better just start asking around. What choice did I have? The first place seemed like a safe bet: Fast Eddy’s, a hamburger restaurant would surely hire and American. What luck! They were hiring, but I wasn’t so keen on working 11 pm to 5 am. I kept that application in my back pocket with a positive outlook. Emboldened by my hint of possibility, I walked down the block. The second place I tried was a classy but youthful place coincidentally a burger joint as well.  “Are you looking for any kitchen or wait staff?” I asked, and a short conversation made shorter, he replied “come back at six tonight.”

Within a week of my arrival I had set myself up pretty well: a baseball team, part time job bartending Friday and Saturday nights and serving and flipping burgers for weekday lunches, a public transportation card, a tax file number, an Australian phone number, and an Australian bank account with a savings account rate of just over 5%, yes, 5%! I thought I had it pretty “cruisey” as they say here but then second month came. Soon I will catch up to that but the 26 year old boy lives on!...just a little busier.

Dirt Farm

After I left the Hippy Hostel I headed off I left work for a Bulgarian kid who is interest in permaculture is reflected in the name of his operation: Waste No More Farms. What that means is I went to help on a dirt farm.

 

Every time I travel I surprise myself equally if I make it to my destination soundly or if I don’t. This time was no exception. I woke up as the bus was revving to a start. I looked around and out the window. I looked across the street to the train station and saw the sign that said Казанлък. I sounded it out, “ka-za-n- something- ak. Oh shit!” I sprang up out of my seat and swooped up my stuff with the speed that riders on a particularly long bus ride would see only as crazy or dangerous. I could feel people tense and clutch their belongings and their children as I scooted towards the door. I jumped out the door as it was closing and by this point the bus driver saw that me and kept the bus still long enough to let me grab my bag from below the bus. So I arrived in another town in Bulgaria greeted by especially puzzled stares.

I gathered my things and my mind and I paid 15 cents to go take a piss on the wall of a bathroom above a drain that smelled like it really didn’t drain. I came out ready to figure out the next part. I had made tenuous contact with my host here via email and although I was expected and I had told him when I would be there, there was no final confirmation. So I did what worked in the past; I started walking. With each step my plan came together. I would find the main square of town and then find the internet café that, according to my ten year old, used bookstore guide to Bulgaria, would be nearby.  As I guessed what direction I would take I  saw a short young guy walking up to me with purpose. To me he didn’t look strange. He wore a baseball cap with a flat bill, electric green framed sunglasses, a t shirt and board shorts. To a Bulgarian his style must look as strange as I do. I would come to find that he cultivated this individuality as much as he did the worms in his farm.

We got into his biodiesel powered Mitsubishi 4x4 and agreed that a swim in the river would be a good way to cool down. When we parked I went to the back of the jeep to grab my swim trunks and told him I should change because if I swam in these shorts they would never dry off. He casually replied, “I usually don’t wear shorts.” This seemed funny to me seeing as he was wearing board shorts but ok, I thought, "when in Rome." We walked up the mountainside to find a beautifully untouched stream that had cleaned a ravine from everything but the rounded granite boulders. We lost the shorts and I jumped in. I have to admit I was a little weary of somebody seeing two buck naked guys scrambling up these boulders to get to the higher pools.

After I had made my best effort to clean the cement dust that had glued my hair together we headed off. Our first destination was to pick up about 20 liters of raw fuel from the fryers of a nearby hotel. From there we headed to his farm. The farm sat on a half acre between a metal fabrication shop and a furniture shop. To be honest, it didn’t look like much. It looked like mulch. (sorry it was too easy) There were some tall rows of dirt beds with nothing growing on them. I saw one thriving cherry tomato plant. All kinds of questions were forming in my head which luckily would soon be answered.

He went on to show me his waste oil processing system to refine his biodiesel. He explained to me that his business plan was an organic fertilizer and worms business. We dug into one of the rows to reveal what looked like one part cow manure and one part worms. It was amazing! He had planted very exotic looking native plants whose roots repelled moles. He had planted trees with large prehistoric looking leaves in random places. These trees turned out to be the fastest growing trees on earth and can be harvested for hardwood in only seven years. He had all these things but in an organization pattern that made nearly no sense at all to me as far as maximizing production, but that is the difference between Bulgaria and the bottom line driven American I am. It has potential though.

We spent my short time there building a very rudimentary worm casting “sieving machine,” (framing an old mattress with tightly woven wire) digging an outflow channel for his rainwater collection pond, and building a compost bin. It was an interesting experience having to cooperate our two working styles. I had to ease back from my highly accessible material, planning and measuring, build for permanence paradigm and sit back quietly watch him burn through fence posts with a dull chainsaw. Nevertheless we accomplished a good bit.

Though his resources are limited, his ambition and passion are great. He recommended a documentary to me called Dirt. If you have not seen it, I highly recommend it too. He embodied the goals of the film. He told me all about how we can avoid the use of pesticides and fertilizers if we provide healthier dirt and environments to our plants. He also, as his farm’s name suggests, is more interested in the ideals of a sustainable future of food production than he is in his bottom line. I admire his substance. At 23 he had pardoned himself from the college to career sentence and jumped into a business. He has an interesting perspective on his business. Whereas Bulgaria is not a rich country but he has concerned himself not with his economic growth but with the security of the self-sufficient style of life and wellbeing of his country’s future. 

A Bulgarian flag flying lantern from the balcony of his home. Grape vines climbing up the side

Unfortunately I was only able to Not Waste five days with Dimo. While I was there I received exciting news that would shake my world up even further than running around Bulgaria.

The sign entering the town entering the town that I returned to after the "dirt farm." You have to learn how read Cyrillic or you are not getting anywhere. Most signs do not have translation.

This is a little out of sequence and I have got some more catching up to do but I’ll get there. I just got my own internet today.