Australia is an interesting place. They don't call it 'down under' for nothing.
It's weird to think of everything I know being down through the earth, beneath my feet somewhere. It's hard for anyone to grasp, especially if you are a flatlander that thinks stupid things like 'the earth revolves around the sun' like Jimmy Poon does.
Everything is kind of backwards here. We're upside down. (Or you are.) The sink swirls in the opposite direction. (Proof to follow.) Light switches are down for on, up for off.
Christ, it's no wonder I can't sleep here.
Cars... cars drive on the left. That provides hours of free fucking adrenalin every time we are in a bus, or uber, and we swing hard, fast left without hardly looking.
But the other thing is walking. People also walk left.
I've run smack into 1,902 different Australinas and New Zealanderses so far. Because when you do that little sidewalk dance, I always feint right and hit them square in the pouches.
I'm finally, finally starting to catch on, but every hallway, every pathway, every train station, every crowd is like fucking human bumper cars with me around.
Some other observations... the place is expensive.
|These chocolates cost me $16 each. Considering the cost of the room.|
$109 a night? Who are they kidding, when I can stay at the Cal for free?
$109 an night will get you what amounts to a mini-suite at Encore, with floor-to-ceiling windows, a huge bed, a separate living area with L shaped couch and a desk, and a bathroom the size of the Taj Mahal (with better plumbing).
When I booked the Hilton in Sydney it was about $400 a night.
Not forty. Four Hundred.
When I looked at booking a couple more nights for the end of our trip, into high season I guess, I had a shock.
Rates started at $600 a night.
$109 a night for Encore is a fucking bargoonoowooloodoo as the Aussies would say.
Maybe I'm out of touch with world room rates, but $600 a night for a cot in the lobby of the Hilton, by the bell desk, seems steep. Maybe it's a really fucking comfortable cot. And not that close to the bell desk.
Comp breakfast was of course approved and the next day, we got up and headed over there. The buffet was really quite good, and I hit it off well with the Egg Lady.
The help was friendly, even if they looked a bit Sheila Diesel-ish.
|Strawberry jam? Noy, noy, noy - you get jumbleberry. JUMBLEBERRY.|
They must color the food or something, it just ain't right!
|Eggs over hard are abused the world over, ridden hard and hot nine different ways before finally being allowed to rest on the plate.|
Finally, in spite of Sheila Diesel, I hit the raspberry jam motherlode. Where was the strawberry???
We enjoyed our meals - because comped.
Wait. What's that on the chair???
(I didn't notice this in the picture till later...)
That's an expensive Macbook sitting on that chair.
Later, after these checked tools had left, I noticed the laptop sitting there, all alone.
So here's an example of where Australian society is at.
I notified Sheila Diesel about the laptop. I pointed it out and said that I thought the people had gone. And perhaps the desk would know who they were, but more likely, someone would come back.
So what did Sheila Diesel do?
Well, she walked over there and picked the Macbook up off the chair. This way, nobody would sit on it, or move the chair, causing it to fall.
She then placed it... on the corner of the table.
Nobody from Security came. Nobody filled out forms. Nobody consulted with the manager.
And nobody stole it.
Five minutes later, a sweaty guy in a checked shirt came and picked it up, and then went to clean himself up.
It felt like 1967 again.
After breakfast we packed up, ready for our next flight, which would prove explosive.