Memoirs, Meat pies, and Moving

Memoirs, Meat Pies, and Moving
6-5-2011


Hello from Sydney—I sincerely hope everyone is doing great! The last week has been busy, but has been a great learning experience. For the most part, work for my project was fairly slow; however, the week was filled full of other things that needed to be done.

Over the last week, I stayed with one of my friends from NSWBC at his old place. In his old living situation, he roomed with another person in a three bedroom house. Because they had the room and knew I had few options, they offered me their extra room at a cheap rate.

The house was nice—certainly a vast improvement over chili blue. I was very thankful to have the opportunity to do some much needed laundry and catch up on other things. It was nice to have a home base where I could work from. The best part was that the house was only a short ten minute walk to my work. It did rain the first few days, but it wasn’t anything my second Sydney umbrella couldn’t handle.

One lesson I learned: Never buy cheap umbrellas in a city where you will be walking a lot. During my first week in Australia, I saw the weather report and realized that we were in for a few days of rain. I decided it would be a good idea to purchase an umbrella; of course, I never quite got around to it. This was the first mistake.

One beautiful morning, I left from chili blue in an attempt to find some housing. I had my backpack ready to go. It was completely filled to the brim with everything I might need for my couple hour excursion: computer, cords, folder (filled with a variety of useless information), passport, and even some dirty clothes that managed to get stowed away there. All in all, it was massive. Had the DELTA lady weighed it prior to my departure, it would have been staying at chili blue. I was unmistakably a tourist. Despite this fact, I set out to find a place I could call home for ten weeks with all my important belongings. It was dangerous to leave them at chili blue.

A few hours after I left, I noticed it started clouding up; the clouds became an ominous sign of what the next few days would bring. Soon after this, it began to rain, so I ducked into a place where I might be able to stay dry. I was very surprised to find a convenient store, and I thought that it might have an umbrella I could buy. I walked into the store and asked the store clerk if they had any umbrellas. He said yes and pointed me to the stockpile of overpriced umbrellas. All I know is that he must have looked at the same weather report that I did that morning because the umbrellas were obviously marked up. For as much as these umbrellas were running, I should have owned a percentage of the company.

I thought about leaving and then I heard the all too familiar sound of a torrential downpour. He knew he had me. Reluctantly, I began searching the bin for a something reasonable. Finally, I found a small umbrella. It looked sturdy enough and it was only $15 dollars or so. I walked up to the man to purchase the umbrella— he smiled.

The man knew all along he was a winner that day and there was nothing I could do about that fact. He knew that I was going to walk out of his place with a new umbrella regardless of the price. Buying an umbrella isn’t like purchasing a car; there are no test drives, especially not inside a building. I had no chips to bluff with and my hand of cards I had been dealt no chance of winning.

After I got about 100 yards from the store, a big wind came and my umbrella turned inside out. I soon learned that it wasn’t a good day to be carrying all of your valuables. I began to run down the streets of a suburb in Sydney called Darlinghurst. I had no idea where I was going. Finally, I found a coffee shop, and I tried to wait out the weather. After an hour, I decided to get back on my horse and left. I still had to make another stop in town, so I headed downtown for my next appointment. Of course, it started raining again. The umbrella was absolutely useless. I might as well have been trying to block the rain with McDonald’s napkins on a toothpick.

Again, I ducked away to avoid getting completely soaked. I ran down some stairs, which I thought led to one of the train stops. I saw a trash can and tossed my umbrella. I found another convenient store. Of course, they had umbrellas and they were proudly displayed in their window; I’m positive a spot that was only reserved for days such as that one. I went in and there was a nice lady behind the counter. She could tell I was frustrated, and I went straight towards the umbrellas. I saw one like I first purchased. I decided I should consider an upgrade. I couldn’t afford a big upgrade: The Cadillac of umbrellas was over $50. Instead, I selected the moderately expensive umbrella.

After the purchase, I still had some reservations as to whether I made the right choice. I would soon have a chance to find out. When I emerged from the underground station, the rain was coming down hard. I opened up my umbrella and to my surprise it gently glided open to protect me from the elements. To this day, it has been the best purchase that I have made while being in Australia.

Most days, though, the walk to and from work is really nice. I will turn on my music and just enjoy the walk to the office. The house is in a neat neighborhood and really provided me with a place to get caught up on the many things that had been mounting over the previous week. I didn’t have internet there until the end of my stay, but it was still much better than our first lodging experience in Sydney.

One of the best features of the house is the shower; it gets really hot. Throughout the week, I would take my dress shirts in there and use the steam to get the wrinkles out. One morning, I woke up and began my normal routine. I hung up a few shirts and began getting ready to hop in the shower. By this point, I had turned on some hot water so I could shave; I went to put some water on my face. It was ice cold (remember it is winter in Sydney). I thought maybe it had just not had a chance to warm up yet, so I left it on and went to do some other things. When I got back, it was still cold. The shower water wasn’t any warmer. If the record books kept track of the world’s quickest shower, I think that my time would have been competitive. The next day the shower was fixed and everything was back on track.

Right before I moved in with my friend from work, he let me know that he was about to be moving into a new flat the following weekend. He said it was two bedrooms, but I could come if I didn’t mind sleeping on the couch. He said the rent would only be $40 per week. The cheapest I had found prior to this offer was $260 per week. Someone upstairs was definitely looking out for me.

We spent this last weekend moving into a new flat only about a tenth of a mile away from his old flat. The flat is in a great area; one of the best in North Sydney. I can still walk to work and there are some great restaurants around. Because the new place is so close to the old house, we decided that we didn’t “need to hire a ute.” In English, we decided we didn’t need to rent a u-haul. He didn’t have a whole lot of stuff to move, so we thought we might be able to handle it. The only real problem is that we had to cross a major highway in North Sydney. The highway had crosswalks, which were very much out of the way. The highway was only four lanes across. If we moved quickly enough, then we thought we should be able to make it across okay. Thus, we believed we would be able to make the move ourselves.

In anticipation of the move, we began taking a few things over each day. Finally, on Saturday, the day came for us to move the heavy things. We only had seven pieces of big furniture: a desk; two mattresses; a chair; a small filing cabinet, an old heater, and chest of drawers. Before moving the first load, Mark, my friend’s old flatmate, suggested we ask his neighbor to borrow his dolly. We thought it was a good idea, so Nick went over to ask to see if we could use it for a bit.

He was gone for a long time. Nick came back smiling and said Harry was going to let us use his van. I was ecstatic. You see I was really worried about what might happen trying to lug that bed across the highway. I didn’t have a good feeling about it, but I was certainly willing to try. Fortunately, Harry came to the rescue.

When Harry appeared, I went over to introduce myself and thank him for offering to help. I said, “Hi, I’m Nate. Thank you for letting us use your truck.” He inaudibly mumbled something (it definitely wasn’t hello) and walked away. Harry is an interesting man. He’s about six feet tall and in his mid-eighties. When he spoke, it was very difficult to understand him. It sounded like he had a distinctive accent; one that certainly wasn’t Australian. But, I was afraid to ask where he was from in fear that he might say Sydney.

I have been around several older people that have been victims of strokes and, as a consequence, have lost the ability to do some things. When I was young, I can remember interacting with a man that lived beside my grandparent’s lake house. He was a very interesting man. One day, he had a stroke and it caused him to lose much of his mobility and speech. He did not let this keep him down though. The summer after it occurred we would often see him mowing his lawn. Still to this day he travels around his property on his riding lawnmower. He is still an incredible person, despite the fact that he can only speak a few words. As a result of his stroke, he became very good at expressing himself by writing more and by using different gestures. I hope I have a chance to visit with him soon.

As it turned out, ole Harry is German, and he immediately didn’t care much for me. He is an interesting man.

He was an engineer in his youth and still enjoys solving problems. At one point during the move, he was tying a mattress on top of the van. He looked at me and said “tick tock.” It didn’t know what he was saying so I asked him if he reminding repeating himself. “Tick tock. Tick tock.” Harry repeated. I obviously looked very confused. He said “that’s the sound of my brain at work.”

He used a rope and wrapped it around various points around the van. His design was quite brilliant. When he went to shut the door, the pressure from the door caused the rope to gently tighten, which eventually stabilized the mattress.

His van had an open passenger seat and some room in the back between the seats and the furniture. I began to get in the van; instead, Harry muttered something inaudible and Bundy, his dog of at least thirty years, jumped into my spot.

He had a peculiar relationship with Bundy. Bundy would be in the way and Harry would get frustrated. Then, he would scream something in German.—Bundy would act like he didn’t hear him. In response, Harry would count “one, two, three.” If Bundy was still there, then Harry would say “I’m going to get you.” After those words, Bundy would listen and quickly retreat from whatever he was doing wrong.

They rode to the flat, and I walked. Harry didn’t want to double park in front of the building, so we parked about a block away from the building. Harry was good at giving directions. He would say, “up up,” meaning something that still escapes me. For each piece of furniture, he would instruct us on how to place it correctly on the dolly so as to maximize our efficiency. After several bad instances of him shouting “up up” and us doing the wrong thing, I think he gave up on us.

On the next load, I remembered that the mattress had some handles built on it. I thought it might increase the stability of the load if we looped the rope under the handles. I approached Harry and told him my idea. His reply: “I’ve done this before.” I definitely understood those words.

Between loads, Harry mentioned to us that he was having some computer trouble. At that point, it became clear that Harry wasn’t helping us to earn some volunteer hours. In return for his help, he expected us to fix his computer. Whether we knew it or not at the time he said he would help, we had irrevocably bound ourselves into a contract with Harry: We would fix his computer and in return, we would get his truck and uninterrupted counsel.

After a few trips of me walking and Bundy riding, we finally got everything unloaded. After we finally pulled the last load from his van, he immediately drove off. When Nick and I returned to his old flat, we noticed that his garage was down. He obviously had lost faith in us and did not want us coming anywhere near his computer. He didn’t even let us return the dolly.

Finally, on Sunday afternoon, I was able to unpack my bag for the first time. Exactly three weeks ago Sunday, I arrived in Sydney. It felt great to finally get my bags unpacked. All in all, the new flat looks really great, and I am very fortunate to be here. Our other flatmate seems to be a wonderful person.

One of the highlights of last week was going to the Rag and Famish. “The Rag,” as it is known to Australians, is one of the oldest pubs in Sydney. After people discovered that I have never had a meat pie, they said I had to go to this place. Honestly, I wasn’t really looking forward to it. When I thought of a meat pie, I had visions of chicken pot pies, which I just can’t bring myself to eat. I reluctantly agreed to go to “the Rag.”

When we got there, the place was packed. I went to the counter and saw that they had fish and chips: I had a way out, which I was happy to take! When I said I thought I was going to order the fish and chips, everyone was disappointed. After seeing this disappointment, I asked the person at the bar who taking our order what was in it. His response: meat. I thought well at least there are no peas, and I ordered my first meat pie.

After ordering my food, I saw a beautiful brunette that worked at the restaurant. She was gorgeous and I immediately thought about how great it would be to meet her. Another thing I have learned is that my accent makes it difficult for people to understand me. During one our first nights in town, Marc and I entered a poker game in order to escape chili blue for a couple hours.

For part of the game, I was placed next to a girl who was working in Sydney that was from Germany. She spoke perfect English, and I thought we were having a good conversation (at least as much as you can while playing poker). Later on, however, I realized that she had no idea what I was saying. At one point, she leaned over to Marc—who she was able to understand perfectly—and admitted that she had understood about three words of what I said the entire evening. Marc hasn’t let me live that down.

When I went to pick up my meat pie the beautiful brunette was working the counter. This was my chance. While I was approaching, I tried to think of something witty to say. Unfortunately, I underestimated the time it would take to get to the counter. When I got to the counter, I still had nothing to say. After at about a five second pause—which I’m sure impressed her—I asked her for some Ketchup. She said “the tomato sauce is behind you.” There was nothing else left to be said. I turned, picked up the “tomato sauce,” and returned to my chair. Not only had I completely blown an opportunity, I didn’t even use the correct words.

The meat pie was great. For those that have never had a meat pie, they come in a variety of forms. That night, ours had chunks of meat and dark gravy that was made from Guinness beer. Around the entire pie is a pastry-like covering. It was served with fries and a salad. The meat reminded me of my grandma’s Sunday lunch pot roast—it was a great meal. Nick mentioned to me that there are better meat pies in town. Despite this, I will be returning once a week to “the Rag.” Hopefully, future conversations might be a little more substantive than getting directions to the condiments.

One of the best things about the IPSP has been the time I have had to reflect on a variety of different things. When you have no internet, phone, e-mail, or place to live, you end up doing a lot of thinking. Another thing I have had the chance to do is read for fun. Since entering law school, I haven’t done this much. I always do my best to read for class. Even though I give it my best effort, I often don’t succeed in finishing everything for the week. Because of this, it just doesn’t seem right to take time and read stuff for fun when it would put me even further behind in my reading for class.  Since I have been on this trip, though, I have had a lot of time so I’ve been trying to catch up on some reading.

Already, I have had a chance to read two books: “Stay on Message” and “Best Lawyer in a One Lawyer Town.” “Stay on Message” was written by Paul Ritchie. Paul is my supervisor on the trip and is a good person. He is the media relations specialist for NSW Business Chamber. The book is also really insightful. Paul has accrued an abundance of experience in media relations from working in a variety of roles that have dealt with the media.

After returning to Australia from completing a degree from the Kennedy School, he decided to write a book on communications. “Stay on Message” discusses the important factors of effective communication. The book highlights how strong relationships and trust play important roles in working with the media and creating a message that resonates with the public. It is a really good book that makes use of several recent examples both from Australia and the US. I would definitely recommend it for anyone interested the field of communication.

“Best Lawyer in a One Lawyer Town” is one of the best books I have ever read. Senator Dale Bumpers does a great job of capturing the essence of Arkansas politics. It offers a unique description of historical events in Arkansas and beyond. His wit and story-telling ability makes the book a fast read. In the past, I have had an opportunity to read the memoirs of Senator David Pryor and President Bill Clinton. It is fascinating to see all of the common themes in each book and see many of the same historical events viewed from different perspectives. Senator Bumpers book is very similar in this way and provides additional insights into Arkansas history and politics. Add any book from Barth or Parry to the mix, and I think any out-of-state person would be interested in moving to Arkansas. Any student of Arkansas politics must read “Best Lawyer in a One Lawyer Town.”

Honestly, I feel terrible and am embarrassed to say that I have just now read this book. When I graduated high school, one of my former teachers and one of my dear friends gave me this book. Bonnie Smith (Ms. Smith) was also one of my sponsors for student council. While working with her in that capacity, she discovered my passion for public service and for politics. It is a signed copy, and the book must have been terribly difficult to get. I have always cherished the gift and have been waiting for the “right time” to read it. Unfortunately, it kept getting put on the back burner, and I never got around to it.

I missed out. In the book, Senator Bumpers details the challenges and triumphs that almost every politician encounters. He shares many of the difficulties of being a progressive politician in the South. He emphasizes the importance in standing up for what is right, regardless of whether or not it might be politically popular to do so. Above this, however, he tells a story of the resiliency of the American people and particularly Arkansans. This book is both educational and inspirational, and I would definitely encourage anyone with an interest in Arkansas politics to read it.

It has been a good week from here in Sydney. As always, I miss everyone in Arkansas and look forward to coming home. I will be in touch soon.