So I mentioned cars in one of the first blogs I wrote, and since I have had a bit of chance to observe the driving in Adelaide I thought it would be a good time to talk about this some more. Cars, roads and the attitude of drivers towards each other and pedestrians are actually some of the key differences to the UK that I have found, although it is not as different in some areas as you might have been lead to believe.
Adelaide is arranged in a grid system and by and large is controlled by traffic lights. It is not impossible to find that you only have to make your own decision about whether to pull out of a junction or move forward about once a day. There aren't a huge amount of roundabouts either; these tend to be confined to suburban roads. I don't think I've seen anything on the scale of, say, The Shepherd and Flock near Farnham.
In general the roads are pretty good around the city, although they do deteriorate as you come out of the town and towards the hills, but from what I have seen so far they really aren't that bad; much better than some of the equivalent roads in the UK I can think of in fact. What is almost universally good is the width of the roads. Because Adelaide is a planned city, the vast majority of roads are predominantly straight and more than wide enough for all kinds of traffic. It sort of looks like a small American city in that regard (although I am only going from what I have seen of the US on television) or Milton Keynes.It is vastly more spacious in terms of driving than most of London, Guildford, Portsmouth, Birmingham or anywhere I can think of apart from MK. But hang on, you might say. London has some very wide roads. Of course it does, but in general there are three lanes of traffic. The norm for Adelaide is two, with three only on the main arterial routes and ring roads, if at all. The only bit of "motorway" I have been on is definitely no wider or longer the the M275 and only goes in one direction. From what I understand it switches the direction of travel between the rush hours to carry the larger volumes of commuters. I hate to get that one wrong at change over time!
One of the more constant bits of criticism you hear from ex pats is that the driving in South Australia is a bit rough and ready and that the traffic is terrible. Stories of people almost being run off the road by Utes kitted out with bull bars and of SA drivers racing between every set of lights, revving their engines and honking at anyone who gets in their way or doesn't react to the lights going green like Mark Webber on a Sunday afternoon. Now personally, I don't subscribe to this. I have driven for around 1000km in and around Adelaide at all times of day in a variety of different hire cars and I have never witnessed any really shocking driving at all. To be fair, I am pretty difficult to intimidate behind the wheel of a car so perhaps I am not the best judge, but it is nothing compared to Dalston High Street at 2pm on a Friday afternoon, or Tower Bridge Road at 8am on a Monday morning or the M25 at virtually any time of day or night. As far as traffic goes, you can pretty much take the previous examples and halve the congestion and you are about right for the worst conditions in Adelaide on a busy day. I think that reason for this lack of serious congestion is three fold:
1. All the streets are pretty much long straights.
2. Everything is controlled by traffic lights, and pedestrian crossings etc. definitely take a back seat.
3. A lot of the major arteries have "no right turn" restrictions at rush hours. This means that you don't lose a lane with traffic turning right. It's a pain of you happen to need to do that, but since everything is on a grid, you can always find another way around quite easily.
The key difference in the driving experience for me is the lack of awareness of other road users intentions, that all car drivers seem to display. Imagine you are going through London on a long straight road and you need to change line. Both lines of traffic are moving at roughly the same speed and you just need the guy behind and to your right to decelerate a little to let you in. Now in the UK one of three things will happen:
1. The other car will completely ignore you and effectively block you. You have to either miss your turning, slam on your brakes, or make a fairly aggressive move.
2. The other car will see you want to move, and speed up so as not to get caught behind you, but begrudgingly make room.
3. The other car will slow up a bit a with a cheery flash lights let you through.
I admit that option 3 is unlikely in most cases, but it does happen. In Adelaide only option 1 ever applies. No one ever lets you out of a junction, gives you the option of changing lanes or anything else similar under any circumstances. This is not done aggressively at all; it is obviously just not part of the road culture here, but I found myself missing a couple of turnings before I understood this. Interestingly enough the pedestrians also walk around like this. People do not move out of the way or give space to anyone else, the path they are taking is the path they follow, without exception. It is like being in a supermarket in the UK on pension day, it really is.
I've also mentioned this before, but the Australians love a V8. I can't put a definite figure on this, but I would estimate that 10% of vehicles have V6 or V8 engines. The sound track of Monday morning commuter traffic is something to behold, it really is. I really wanted an electric car in the UK, but that sense of environmental conscientiousness is being eroded away steadily to the point that what I really want is a V8 Holden! Also, there seems to be a preference for automatic transmissions here. I am normally not a fan of autos and I have driven a lot of them; some of the finest (BMW 5-series and Ferrari F430) and some of the worst (Austin Montego). I have only ever owned a car with one by choice once, and I swore never to do it again. But, as with the electric car, I am finding my mind being changed. In fact I'll go on record and state that not only have I not driven a manual over here, I have actually paid extra when given the choice to hire an auto. Neither are sentiments that anyone who knows me would have expected me to express. I think that it is the long straight roads and lack of actual corners that make this work. The first time we drove out of the city and encountered a bend in the road it was actually a little disconcerting. I could see myself buying and getting on with an auto here.
There is a pretty lively scene in classic cars, but the lean is towards American and Australian muscle cars rather than crappy British sports cars. Sunday is the day that many people get out in their Chevy Impalas, Holden Commodores or Dodge Chargers and go for a drive. I love seeing this; there is a refreshing lack of tweed and beards and a lot of chrome, V8's and sunshine.
The other thing that I really love is the trucks. Almost universally they are based on American style Kenworth tractor units. If you don't know what this is then think Smokey and the Bandit or Convoy. Zach and I were literally beside ourselves with excitement when we saw our first big lorries, although it is worth mentioning that the standard single trailer trucks are, like their American counterparts, actually smaller than the standard European articulated lorries. The double trailered "road trains" are impressive though, and they don't hang about. There must be different noise restrictions particularly with commercial vehicles as they are loud to my ears. They also run 24/7. As the motel we stayed in when we first arrived was literally next to the main access road into Adelaide we lost countless hours of sleep because of this. It was even louder than when I lived on the A3 a mile south of the Hindhead lights, unlikely as this may sound. In fact, as I type this it is 03.41am, blowing a gale, and I can still hear the occasional truck on Portrush Road, which is around 500m away.
So we can say that Adelaide is a well designed city which caters admirably for the motor cars, lorries, buses and trams that ferry people and goods around. The roads are quite nice and it is all managed with some sensible traffic management policies that keep everyone moving freely. There is a downside though: It is a bugger being a pedestrian.
Any country that has drive through off licences has to be dedicated to the motor car. You may think that pedestrians in the UK are treated with contempt by drivers but they are given a lot more priority by the British Government than I original thought.. For example, there are no "on demand" pedestrian crossings in Adelaide with the exception of near some schools and even then there aren't any traffic lights to enforce this. On many roads it is almost impossible to think of crossing anywhere else other than a designated pedestrian crossing and these are few and far between, and jaywalking is not just inadvisable, but also illegal. This means that if you are coming out of a shop on one side of the road and want to go into a shop on the opposite side you will almost definitely have to walk 100 metres to the next crossing and come back down. Also, all pedestrian crossings are phased in with the normal traffic lights, so when traffic joining from the side is released so are the pedestrians. There is no separate phase for people to cross, although they do have right of way in this case, so the drivers pull forward as far towards the pedestrians as they can and stare at them in disbelief as they cross. Also, if you arrive at a set of lights during a phase where you would normally cross and no-one has pressed the button the pedestrian lights always stay red until the next cycle. Basically, you spend a lot of time standing at lights. Remember, most junctions are crossroads; if you are walking south to the bus stop and are on the wrong (eastern in this case) side of the road you will always have to cross two roads to get on the right track. I think my record for crossing a main junction is something like 15 minutes, and no I am not exaggerating at all, literally 15 mins. You really do have to factor in that time when you are going anywhere, like catching a bus for example. I have missed loads just because of the amount of time I have spent waiting to cross the road!
The public transport here is pretty good. An all day ticket costs $8.80 and takes you everywhere in and around the city (usually to the nearest towns as well) and includes the trams which run through the heart of the city and out to the beach. On Saturdays and school holidays Zach travels free if he is with an adult with an all day ticket, which does save you money. All public transport is clean and mostly modern and well maintained (did have one bus with a clutch that was definitely on the way out. It would have been quicker and significantly less smelly to walk that journey) and as such it seems that people seem to respect this. There is no graffiti and to be honest I have only had to sit next to the Aussie equivalent of the drunk Glaswegian twice. Even the teenagers are unfailingly polite.
Finally, what I love most of all about driving and cars in Adelaide also acts as a prime example of how much context matters in different cultures, and how, with the right approach, the Australians can take something that doesn't work in Britain and make it something truly brilliant:
Personalised number plates
Now there is nothing wrong with personalised number plates in the UK. If you happen to live in Chesire or near Guildford I can see the point of advertising that you have so much excess wealth that you feel the need to announce to other road users that either you are arrogant enough to think anyone else cares what your initials are or you are so profoundly dyslexic that you think a random assortment of letters and numbers will mean anything significant to other road users. The only exception to this is when your number plate actually spells something meaningful without having to use black screw caps to turn an "11" into an "H". I can think of three that I have seen in the UK that I genuinely admired. One belonged to Richard Attenborough, one to someone I worked for and another to a bloke that was known for lightly stabbing people in pubs. Interestingly enough the first was on a Rolls Royce and the others were on Range Rovers.
This is how the Australians get it right: they allow a variety of different customisation options which include different coloured plates and a fully customisable seven letter registration mark.
For the first few weeks I was staggered by the amount of them that I saw, and they were using actual letters and spelling out actual words (or though some of the more creative ones were also amusing). So I googled and discovered that not only is this all legal and above board, it is called "Ezyplate" and it is government run. There is a website where you can type in your chosen phrase and find out immediately if it is available and then register it online; they even tell you the last order date before Christmas. Not only that, it only costs a couple of hundred dollars a year! What this means is that virtually everyone can afford to do it and they can actually chose a meaningful word or phrase that is completely legible to everyone else. It takes the exclusivity and therefore the pretension out of the whole thing.
See for yourself. Follow the link below, select custom plate and have some fun. But please, please, please post your favourites in the comments section to this blog. I might even register the best one when I get a car.
http://www.transport.sa.gov.au/ezyplates/pickaplate/ezyplates_app.htm
.....Yes Gary, the plates "Shocker" and "Player" are both available.
Here are a few that I've seen on the road.
Obie 1 - (Obviously a Star Wars fan)
Tree Doc - on a tree surgeons Ute
Penny 7
I'll sign off with my personal favourite:
PS. All taxis have the word "TAXI" followed by their operator number instead of a normal registration mark. It takes some of the guess work out of finding a cab after a night out.
Tuesday, 29 November 2011
Tuesday, 15 November 2011
Will we know it's Christmas?
It is a bit like waking up in the morning after a heavy night out and realising you are still a little bit drunk. That's what I thought when I saw the first Christmas advert around the start of November when it was a shade over 30 degrees centigrade outside. Everything seems normal, but you feel a slightly jarring sense that there is some way in which you are viewing all this from somewhere else, and you shouldn't be. That the song they chose to accompany the decidedly summery weathered advert was Shakin' Stevens' "Merry Christmas Everyone" made it even more surreal. Don't get me wrong: I am a massive Shaky fan, but I find it hard to follow the logic of using a song whose first verse starts with the lyric "snow is falling all around me" in a country where the odds on a white Christmas are even smaller than Old Blighty.
Australia is a sufficiently different culture from the UK that you can easily convince yourself that you are on the other side of the world and everything is a new a exhilarating experience to immerse yourself in, without the tedium of having to learn another language. So, when something as familiar as a previous Xmas No1 comes on the telly encouraging you to start the festivities in November, there is a sense that there is some part of this that I am not quite getting. It is ever so slightly unpleasant, and whilst I wouldn't say it makes me homesick, it does remind me that even though I have adjusted myself to life in Oz pretty well, it isn't quite home yet. It is at moments like this that you realise that you are a bit of an outsider.
Another weird one was Remembrance Day. I had been so preoccupied with 11/11/11 being named Nigel Tufnel Day (google "these go up to eleven", watch the youtube clip that you are bound to find from This is Spinal Tap) that I had forgotten all about the true meaning of the day. It wasn't until I saw someone wearing a poppy that it struck me what day it was. Again it slipped my mind until I was in one of the excellent Asian supermarkets in the Adelaide Central Market (more on this in a minute). At the 11th hour a solemn voice on the tannoy reminded us all of the appropriate minute's silence with which to reflect on the sacrifice of all those who go to war, and then the traditional "Age shall not weary them" stuff. So there I was, standing in silence along with all the other people of European heritage, hands clasped in front of me, shopping at my feet, staring silently ahead and feeling slightly guilty about scanning the shelves for a big bag of turmeric during the allotted time of reflection and consideration for those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice. The surreal element was added by a number of my fellow shoppers who either didn't understand the announcement, or just weren't that bothered at the solemnity of the occasion as they continued making purchases and talking to each other in Cantonese (I assume). Nothing wrong with this at all, but again I was struck with a sense of being on the outside looking in slightly. I imagine that it is this slow burning realisation of all the things that are not the same is what most ex pats find it most difficult to get on with, and that successful integration into a new country depends on how you cope with this. At the moment I find it quite interesting.
The Adelaide Central Market deserves some mention (http://adelaidecentralmarket.com.au/). It is one of the most iconic and best loved parts of the city, and is definitely a high point for me. It is probably best described as a cross between the old Bull Ring in Birmingham (although mostly focused on food rather than clothing etc.) and Borough Market near Southwark Cathedral. It is located a bit of a walk from the main retail area (Rundle Mall) towards the outside of the CBD. This allows it a slightly bohemian feel, although there is still a Coles supermarket for you to buy all the normal things. There are loads of grocers, fishmonger and butchers providing a good range of the normal market fare, as well as some more niche stalls who specialise in one product. There is a mushroom seller, an olive place and some really nice cheese purveyors, as well as a couple who specialise in kangaroo meat. You get the general idea. Before we had a house we didn't really bother shopping there as we had nowhere to cook using fresh ingredients. So at the first opportunity I shook off the tyranny and perceived high prices of the supermarkets and headed into town on the bus to go to the market.
We have been led to believe that the market was the place to snag bargains and get amazing deals. Not being one to go into a new situation unprepared and being on a very tight budget, I went to the supermarket first to buy a few essentials not available from the other traders and to check out the prices of what I was looking to get from the market. So with a brain full of the price of peppers and potatoes, sausages and salmon I headed in.
After a confusing half an hour I hadn't bought anything and was feeling a bit down hearted. The prices were, if anything, higher and there was so much choice that it was just getting confusing. However, time was running out. It was 2pm and stalls were beginning to close (most shops shut at around 5pm in Adelaide). I started indescriminately grabbing things, only to realise that as I moved from stall to stall that I could have got whatever I had just bought cheaper on the other side of the market. As far as the "market being cheaper" idea went, I began to suspect to suspect the following:
It was bollocks!
That was until I heard a cry from a fishmonger: "All this salmon $4. A kilo of salmon for $4. Who wants the last one?
I was in there like a shot. Now I realised why there were crowds of people hovering beside the various stalls. They were waiting for the end of day deals. It was a game of brinksmanship that tested your resolve and courage. You stood shoulder to shoulder with people looking derisively at the nervous Nelly who jumped for the first bargain the trader offered. The game was to wait until it looked as though all the good stuff had gone, and once the last X of Y at $notverymuch was produced you had to pounce like a salt water crocodile seeing its unsuspecting victim walking along the shoreline. It was a sweaty, nervous atmosphere; peopled by others with the same competitive nature and drive to not spend anymore than they absolutely had to, but I tasted victory that day and the freezer still groans under the weight of all that salmon. In my mind I have now edited the mantra of Adelaide shoppers. The market is the best place to get deals and snag bargains at 2pm on a Saturday afternoon; if you can hold your nerve.
Just a final word of caution though: If something looks to good to be true, it probably is.
After all the feelings that it was a bit of a waste of time spending $8.80 on a bus ticket and about three hours going there and back to the market, imagine how delighted I was when I stumbled upon some chicken mince for $1.50/kilo at the butcher where I buy my roasting chooks. Ok, on closer inspection it was neck mince, but again we are on a tight budget and we're not too proud to eat what others turn their nose up at. So I dived in there after I saw a pensioner buying some. "Perfect for burgers and kebabs" I thought and enough to keep us going for a month.
At this point I probably ought to mention that in Australia it is clearly the custom to feed pets with fresh meat, albeit of a lesser quality than the truly excellent meat intended for human consumption, and at an accordingly lower price. Penny kept reminding me every time I went shopping in the supermarket that they put the meat for pets next to the normal stuff, and they don't label this particularly brazenly. You can see what's coming next, can't you?
I got the shopping home and bunged everything in the fridge, stomped out to the garden to pick some fresh herbs, rolled up my sleeves and got on with making use of the chicken. I don't know how anyone else does it, but when I make burgers I get all my bread crumbs, herbs, garlic, onions and chili minced up in a bowl and and add the meat before making it into patties. So after doing all the prep. work, imagine my surprise and dismay when I put my hands in to the bag of mince and realised that it had a gritty texture. Penny's words started to appear in my mind like the title sequence of Tales of the Unexpected. What I was feeling was bone fragments. The necks were obviously minced up without removing the vertebrae first.
Now, I am not one to waste my effort and money by giving up easily. So I decided to make a burger or two first and shove one under the grill to see if the bone fragments were as noticeable once cooked. All I can say is that it took about ten minutes to stop myself from choking and thoroughly remove all traces of bone from my esophagus after the first mouthful. Needless to say that the burgers were relegated to the wheelie bin.
This experience does beg a couple of questions going forward:
Did I subconciously insert the word "meat" into the product name when I hastily purchased 20 kangaroo meatballs for $5 from the market the other day, and am I man enough to eat them and find out.
Australia is a sufficiently different culture from the UK that you can easily convince yourself that you are on the other side of the world and everything is a new a exhilarating experience to immerse yourself in, without the tedium of having to learn another language. So, when something as familiar as a previous Xmas No1 comes on the telly encouraging you to start the festivities in November, there is a sense that there is some part of this that I am not quite getting. It is ever so slightly unpleasant, and whilst I wouldn't say it makes me homesick, it does remind me that even though I have adjusted myself to life in Oz pretty well, it isn't quite home yet. It is at moments like this that you realise that you are a bit of an outsider.
Another weird one was Remembrance Day. I had been so preoccupied with 11/11/11 being named Nigel Tufnel Day (google "these go up to eleven", watch the youtube clip that you are bound to find from This is Spinal Tap) that I had forgotten all about the true meaning of the day. It wasn't until I saw someone wearing a poppy that it struck me what day it was. Again it slipped my mind until I was in one of the excellent Asian supermarkets in the Adelaide Central Market (more on this in a minute). At the 11th hour a solemn voice on the tannoy reminded us all of the appropriate minute's silence with which to reflect on the sacrifice of all those who go to war, and then the traditional "Age shall not weary them" stuff. So there I was, standing in silence along with all the other people of European heritage, hands clasped in front of me, shopping at my feet, staring silently ahead and feeling slightly guilty about scanning the shelves for a big bag of turmeric during the allotted time of reflection and consideration for those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice. The surreal element was added by a number of my fellow shoppers who either didn't understand the announcement, or just weren't that bothered at the solemnity of the occasion as they continued making purchases and talking to each other in Cantonese (I assume). Nothing wrong with this at all, but again I was struck with a sense of being on the outside looking in slightly. I imagine that it is this slow burning realisation of all the things that are not the same is what most ex pats find it most difficult to get on with, and that successful integration into a new country depends on how you cope with this. At the moment I find it quite interesting.
The Adelaide Central Market deserves some mention (http://adelaidecentralmarket.com.au/). It is one of the most iconic and best loved parts of the city, and is definitely a high point for me. It is probably best described as a cross between the old Bull Ring in Birmingham (although mostly focused on food rather than clothing etc.) and Borough Market near Southwark Cathedral. It is located a bit of a walk from the main retail area (Rundle Mall) towards the outside of the CBD. This allows it a slightly bohemian feel, although there is still a Coles supermarket for you to buy all the normal things. There are loads of grocers, fishmonger and butchers providing a good range of the normal market fare, as well as some more niche stalls who specialise in one product. There is a mushroom seller, an olive place and some really nice cheese purveyors, as well as a couple who specialise in kangaroo meat. You get the general idea. Before we had a house we didn't really bother shopping there as we had nowhere to cook using fresh ingredients. So at the first opportunity I shook off the tyranny and perceived high prices of the supermarkets and headed into town on the bus to go to the market.
We have been led to believe that the market was the place to snag bargains and get amazing deals. Not being one to go into a new situation unprepared and being on a very tight budget, I went to the supermarket first to buy a few essentials not available from the other traders and to check out the prices of what I was looking to get from the market. So with a brain full of the price of peppers and potatoes, sausages and salmon I headed in.
After a confusing half an hour I hadn't bought anything and was feeling a bit down hearted. The prices were, if anything, higher and there was so much choice that it was just getting confusing. However, time was running out. It was 2pm and stalls were beginning to close (most shops shut at around 5pm in Adelaide). I started indescriminately grabbing things, only to realise that as I moved from stall to stall that I could have got whatever I had just bought cheaper on the other side of the market. As far as the "market being cheaper" idea went, I began to suspect to suspect the following:
It was bollocks!
That was until I heard a cry from a fishmonger: "All this salmon $4. A kilo of salmon for $4. Who wants the last one?
I was in there like a shot. Now I realised why there were crowds of people hovering beside the various stalls. They were waiting for the end of day deals. It was a game of brinksmanship that tested your resolve and courage. You stood shoulder to shoulder with people looking derisively at the nervous Nelly who jumped for the first bargain the trader offered. The game was to wait until it looked as though all the good stuff had gone, and once the last X of Y at $notverymuch was produced you had to pounce like a salt water crocodile seeing its unsuspecting victim walking along the shoreline. It was a sweaty, nervous atmosphere; peopled by others with the same competitive nature and drive to not spend anymore than they absolutely had to, but I tasted victory that day and the freezer still groans under the weight of all that salmon. In my mind I have now edited the mantra of Adelaide shoppers. The market is the best place to get deals and snag bargains at 2pm on a Saturday afternoon; if you can hold your nerve.
Just a final word of caution though: If something looks to good to be true, it probably is.
After all the feelings that it was a bit of a waste of time spending $8.80 on a bus ticket and about three hours going there and back to the market, imagine how delighted I was when I stumbled upon some chicken mince for $1.50/kilo at the butcher where I buy my roasting chooks. Ok, on closer inspection it was neck mince, but again we are on a tight budget and we're not too proud to eat what others turn their nose up at. So I dived in there after I saw a pensioner buying some. "Perfect for burgers and kebabs" I thought and enough to keep us going for a month.
At this point I probably ought to mention that in Australia it is clearly the custom to feed pets with fresh meat, albeit of a lesser quality than the truly excellent meat intended for human consumption, and at an accordingly lower price. Penny kept reminding me every time I went shopping in the supermarket that they put the meat for pets next to the normal stuff, and they don't label this particularly brazenly. You can see what's coming next, can't you?
I got the shopping home and bunged everything in the fridge, stomped out to the garden to pick some fresh herbs, rolled up my sleeves and got on with making use of the chicken. I don't know how anyone else does it, but when I make burgers I get all my bread crumbs, herbs, garlic, onions and chili minced up in a bowl and and add the meat before making it into patties. So after doing all the prep. work, imagine my surprise and dismay when I put my hands in to the bag of mince and realised that it had a gritty texture. Penny's words started to appear in my mind like the title sequence of Tales of the Unexpected. What I was feeling was bone fragments. The necks were obviously minced up without removing the vertebrae first.
Now, I am not one to waste my effort and money by giving up easily. So I decided to make a burger or two first and shove one under the grill to see if the bone fragments were as noticeable once cooked. All I can say is that it took about ten minutes to stop myself from choking and thoroughly remove all traces of bone from my esophagus after the first mouthful. Needless to say that the burgers were relegated to the wheelie bin.
This experience does beg a couple of questions going forward:
Did I subconciously insert the word "meat" into the product name when I hastily purchased 20 kangaroo meatballs for $5 from the market the other day, and am I man enough to eat them and find out.
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