A Bridge and a Mountain

Before hitting the Shahi Indian Restaurant in Milford, where I polished of a mix of vegetable samosas, seekh kebabs, chicken tikka masala, soft garlic naan bread, washed down by Kingfisher beer, my hosts took me across the Harbour Bridge to see the city as the sun went down. Down by The Wharf, a place that is currently being renovated and seems to be a location for special functions like weddings, graduation parties, and the funeral of a very rich relative, there is a jetty from where it's possible to see the downtown metropolis under the span of the bridge.

Then we took a narrow, winding road to the top of Mount Eden, an extinct volcano that overlooks Auckland and offers a darkened, secluded venue to folks looking for a little smooching time. Needless to say I avoid the courting couples and climbed up to the highest point in order to take some pics. Of course, not having the equipment to take perfect night shots, I was only able to get a reasonably ordinary snap of a strip of lights against a black background. But honestly, it is the city of Auckland with its iconic Sky Tower in the center.

Why I Won't Be A Time Traveler

In British TV culture, there is a popular iconic hero called "Dr. Who." Since the early sixties, this character has made both TV and big screen appearances with the role of the Doctor being played by a succession of actors. The premise of the story is that the Doctor is a Time Lord, able to travel backwards and forwards in time using his time ship, the Tardis. The Tardis looks, from the outside, like an old London police phone box. But it is also "transdimensional, " which means that inside it is HUGE with many many rooms. And one other defining characteristic of the Tardis is this: It is broken. Sure, the Doctor can sometimes go from time A to time B with reasonable accuracy, but on the whole, what makes the series interesting is that you are never sure if the Tardis is going to (a) work, or (b) get to when it is supposed to be going.

That just about sums up my perceptions of Time as it now exists on my Australasia tour. Traveling from Adelaide to Auckland, NZ necessitated a change of 2 hours 30 minutes forward. Yes, there is a bizarre 30-minute variation. The flight from Auckland to Christchurch (same day) didn't need a time change - until we got to the hotel. The friendly staff reminded my colleagues and I that Daylight Savings was about to kick in at 2:00 am. At this stage, I was unsure of the time, the date, and even the day, so I decided to just give up on the whole thing. The Doctor is a slightly eccentric character and I was now beginning to understand why - he has clearly decided to toss the whole notion of Time out the window.

All I now knew was that it was late and I was hungry. Time to go find something to eat.
Along the banks of the river in Christchurch is a strip of eating places. We got there too late for any significant food intake but the Sticky Fingers restaurant was able to provide three vital products; beer, pizza, and chips. And for those who need the translation, "chips" in NZ and Australia are "French fries." The other good news was that one of the pizzas on offer was the "Carnivore." Bearing in mind that for the past week I seem to have been trying hard to eat my way through the entire animal population of the Southern hemisphere, choosing the "Carnivore" was a no brainer.

And it was indeed meaty! Chicken, ham, barbecue sauce, and several other dead animals made it a deliciously fulfilling offering, enhanced by tomato sauce-laden fries. Washed down with a couple of glasses of Speight's, this meal took us through to "late" - remember, I had given up on trying to work out the time. We walked past the other watering holes along the bank of the river, which were all by now full of folks eating, drinking, and making merry. Given two weeks to explore, I think I could quite happily have spent all my time drifting from place to place without having to eat in the same place twice.

Eventually, I crawled into bed, ignored the clock, and slept though until I felt hungry. I mean, who needs a clock anyway?

Slaughterhouse Six: Revenge of the Carnivores

Vegetarian may want to stop reading now because the following contains descriptions of such animal carnage that this blogger accepts no responsibility for any consequences. Meat-lovers may want to start licking their lips in anticipation.

The Red-Hot Brazilian Charcoal Grill is a modest, unassuming little place on Adelaide's Gouger Street, unpretentious and basic in decor. However, for the unashamed carnivores among us, it represents a retreat from the over-hyped world of the sensitive, caring eaters and an atavistic throwback to when men were men and hoofed-animals were nervous.

For the princely sum of $32 Australian dollars, the diner can gorge on freshly grilled beef, chicken, barbecue ribs, lamb, sausage, pork, and kangaroo. Yes, kangaroo. To assuage some guilt, there is the option to add some grilled sweetcorn and salad to your plate in an effort to change its appearance from an explosion at a slaughterhouse to something resembling a food plate - but yours truly was quite happy to forgo the greenery and focus on the burnt offerings.

When you order, your server gives you a small card in the shape of a cow that's green on one side and red on the other. As long as the green cow s face up, the servers will periodically visit your table with a large skewer of some type of meat, dripping hot fat into a large metal dish. Armed only with very sharp knives, they will cut off slabs of protein as many times as you like until you flip the cow to show red.

The beef was beefy; the pork was porky; the lamb was lamby; and the kangaroo was... rooish. I have to say I wasn't over-excited by the roo on offer because it was a little chewy and had a slightly bitter after-taste. According to friends, this may just have been a by-product of how it was prepared, possibly due to a marinade and under-cooking. Nevertheless, I can now claim to have eaten "Skippy" and one more helpless animal can be stricken off my list of "things-to-eat-before-I-die."

After consuming a small herd of assorted beasts, my colleagues and I walked back to our hotel in an attempt to burn off at least some of the ingested protein and fat. We can but hope that was true.

Guzzling Garfish and Mony's Minute

Having experienced authentic Australian cuisine at Montezuma's Mexican restaurant, it was time to sample more native food - at the Amalfi Italian. Now here's a place so popular that it we had to book a table on a Tuesday night. A local favorite, the Amalfi has been serving food to the good people of Adelaide for many years and apparently the menu has stayed pretty much the same, with occasional modifications to maintain interest.

It's always good to go for local when on the road, so I opted for the garfish because (a) it is local, (b) I like fish, and (c) I had no clue what a damn garfish was! So time to try. Turns out that it looks like a really small swordfish, and is so small that you don't get "a" garfish but "some" garfish. With "fish" being both a singular and plural noun, of course, the word "garfish" on the menu doesn't tell you anything about number. I thought I was getting one, but turns out I had a school. Well, maybe not quite that many but at least six.


Before hitting the restaurant, I did manage to snag an internet connection for 30 minutes and was able to hang with Mony for a while. Seemed like I hadn't seen her for the longest time but it was actually only a few days. It's amazing how SL becomes just a part of RL and the people you know might as well be living in the same city as you. Incredible. And time moves so fast in SL that I felt we only had a minute. Maybe time dilation is a new law of Physics that only applies to Second Life. Researchers take note. Still , the minute was worth all 60 seconds.

Mexicana At Montezuma's

I'm no historian but I'm pretty sure the closest that Montezuma got to Adelaide was his backyard toilet. Nevertheless, the restaurant Montezuma's tries hard to recreate an authentic Aztec eating establishment - or not. The color scheme of the place resembles and explosion in an M&Ms factory where the notion of "too colorful" doesn't exist. Still, it's a fun place and was very busy to say I was there on a Monday. The Chili Verde with Spanish Rice was spicy enough, with wonderfully tender meat, but the rice was rather overcooked; unless they prefer their rice dry and crispy at the edges in Mexico. I think maybe not.


The owners clearly have a sense of humor though. The toilets are not marked "Men" and "Womens" or even "Hombres" and "Chicas" but "God" and "Goddess." Irreverent but appealing, especially to self-absorbed egotistical avatars like myself.

Oh, and for those familial with the phrase "Montezuma's Revenge" as a description of bowel functioning the day after consuming spicy Mexican food, I didn't need to go through any "God" doors today. And clue number two - the name of the restaurant - means you could hack into the databases of the credit card companies and search for a receipt that includes the purchase of a Chili Verde. Go to it , Sherlock!