Aussie Aussie Aussie Oi Oi Oi

If anyones asks if I had a favourite place while in Australia, I wouldn't know how to respond. It's not that I didn't like it, I just think that people don't understand it's enormity to warrant a single first-place prize for a favourite place. I have favourite memories, maybe, but everywhere is so incredibly different. It's comparable to traveling around America and asking if you had a favourite state, or around Europe and having a favourite country, let alone a revered city. Even though Australia has just 6 states, to travel just within one of those states is a ginormous adventure from one inch on the map to the next, which takes on average a 12 hour bus ride. That was the norm. You'd complain, but you wouldn't question it. Planning a trip to Australia can be overwhelming, which is why I booked a one way ticket with a year-long visa, but I was surprised by how many people just went over for a couple weeks' holiday, picking just one area to explore. There's so much I saw, and even more that I didn't see, I may just have to go back some day....for a visit. 

To sum up my Australian adventure, in definitely not 140 characters or less and in very much my own opinion, let me try to explain my eleven-month experience abroad Down Under. There are links to past posts about destinations and experiences that I would like to share, but not repeat completely again here. 

Perth*, in the very far west of Western Australia, is at least ten years behind the rest of the Australian cities due to its isolation, but it breathes booming potential. The perfect example is the restaurant chain Pie Face: when I was leaving Perth, there was a Pie Face that was just nearly opening; when I was in Brisbane, I was shocked to hear that Pie Face was open until 10pm; when I got to Melbourne, Pie Face was open 24 hours and a popular late night spot; when I got to Sydney, I was way over seeing Pie Face on every other corner; and now there is even a Pie Face in New York City. Perth will catch up. It is an attractive city with annually good weather - even when there are astonishingly loud tropical downpours, the sky still shines bright blue. It is an overly walkable city; well, city is a relative term purely dependant on the surrounding remoteness and walkable is a relative term dependant on my upbringing! Despite it's size and lack of apparent tourist sites, it actually offers a lot of attractions if you open your imagination to explore the area. It is close to the ocean and its hungry sharks; has a modern CBD; a small yet rowdy and fun nightlife overrun by Irish; has two AFL teams; close to Rottnest Island and quirky Fremantle; home to Gemma Ward, Heath Ledger, and Isla Fisher; contains the large, photogenic Kings Park; is the hub to the mining industry; exudes unfathomable wealth; can get away with charging $22 for toast and avocado breakfast dish; and sucks you in for longer than you want to stay. I wouldn't say Perth* is for everyone, but I liked it a lot.

To the north of Western Australia, I only went as far as Monkey Mia* in the Shark Bay Marina Park and  member of a World Heritage Site. Up there, the Outback creeps closer to the scantily inhabited coastline. 800 kilometres, 10 hours of driving, and only a dent made on the Western map, the ocean sparkles a brighter turquoise and the land flattens out to expanses of red dirt, dry bushes, and the danger of a kangaroo running into the front of your car at the exact moment in the middle of nowhere only because he panics during his temporary blindness from the lights of the car. The only other danger is of course breaking down. You could ride for hours without seeing another car, except for maybe one of the many terrifyingly long road-trains that dominate the drive. Even though you get the sense of being in the Outback, in the middle of nowhere, you aren't, and can't possibly fathom heading east where you really would be completely surrounded by the companionless red dirt. And even after all that driving, you may not accomplish what the adventure was for: to see a dolphin.

Less than 300 kilometres south of Perth is Margaret River, Western Australia's biggest wine region. Although the production is quite modest compared to the rest of Australia, it dominates the Australian wine market. Maybe only having experienced and visited much of the Italian wine world to compare it to, and especially from my stint at working at a winery further south in the smaller region of Great Southern of Western Australia, I feel as though Margaret River resembles Napa or Sonoma Valley. Almost showy like Disneyland. The area's wines are very popular, but not my favourite, and it seemed as though they were trying to make the most of their money from tourism with signs along the side of the street welcoming thirsty travelers to come in for a taste and buy wines directly from the source. Although there was one winery after another after another as you follow the wine map, each one has it's own distinct concept and background story that is unique to their neighbour that they use to their advantage to promote their wines: whether it is a luxurious estate with grandiose gardens perfect for wedding pictures, or a little wooden house with a family wine-making history that goes back for generations, or a corporately owned property by foreign investors who know how to market a world-wide popular label.

Continuing south of Western Australia through the Great Southern Region, you find yourself again completely surrounded by stark emptiness. Instead of red dirt though, there are overlapping fields of "happy" grazing cattle and mesmerising perfectly-planted rows of blue gum trees. Tall trees line and shadow the sides of the meandering roads. Kangaroos, either dead on the side of the road like an overturned table, or sneakily trying to get drunk off of the trellised wine grapes, are more populated in the area than people. From where I lived at the winery, 45 minutes was the standard average driving time to get anywhere, either to the mountains of the Stirling Ranges in the east or to the hippy towns of Albany and Denmark along the very southern coast where the popular beaches join the emptiness of Western Australia to the north with the solitary Southern Ocean with nothing beyond it until Antarctica. Working at the winery was probably one of my favourite experiences. I learned so much about wine production and was surprised to learn I could adapt to live in serious remoteness with housemates of spiders, mice, possums, and more spiders. 

Besides the childhood dream of seeing penguins in Australia, and of course see the sexy Rod Stewart in concert, one of the things I really wanted to do was take the train across the continent from the west to the east through the Outback. Not a single person I told thought it was a good idea. Everyone thought I was nuts, completely out of my mind to want to spend that time or money in the middle of nowhere.  No one understood my fascination with the red dirt as I tried to explain or justify a desire to want to see and be a part of the Outback as it is such a encompassing embodiment of what makes up Australia that not many people experience. I relished in the thought of being on that train with endless views and to be alone. Although I still do fancy the idea, rationality got the better of me and it was more practical to go east by airplane. I didn't make it to Darwin, but mum and I did go to Alice Springs and Uluru in the Northern Territory. Alice Springs* was a bit of a disappointment and it would be the only place throughout my travels I wouldn't glorify or necessarily commend going. I would, however, urge people to go, just so they could see it for themselves, maybe only for one night, and definitely as a stop to go to Uluru. At first I think we lamented a bit over deciding to go, regretted is not the right word, but now looking back at my time in Australia, I am appreciative that we did go because I know it would be somewhere I would have wished I had gone to. Uluru* is definitely worth the trip and I think if we had organised it better, both mum and I would have liked to spend more time there with our hiking boots and warm-weather clothes on.

I never went to Adelaide, but heard quaintly nice things. Heading east, the Great Southern Road* is a must drive. It is do-able in a day either by yourself or with a tour, or you can break it up and spend the night along the way. The Twelve Apostles* is an impressive sight by no exaggeration. The rest of the drive, with the observation look out points along the coast, are less awe-inspiring, if not repetitive*.

The south of Western Australia had a reminiscent Mediterranean climate, but Melbourne, in the South of Victoria is overall distinctly European. My experience of having grown up and survived many cold New England and Irish winters arrogantly convinced me that Melbourne couldn't be that cold - it is Australia after all and my backpack was only filled with summer clothes appropriate for 30 degrees! I was wrong. Melbourne*, as it is part of Australia, is still built to be like an Australian city despite it's long winters of cold rains and drafty winds. I was made fun of for wearing the same pink wind-breaker all the time, but it was the only one I had and there was always a chance it was going to rain during the day. Possibly because of the weather, Melbourne is European in lifestyle as well. Cafes are little niches found down past corners of secretly unassuming alley ways, coffee culture rules, pop up art galleries attract the stylish and the interested, and during the summer, everyone flocks to the beaches to soak up the first warmth of sun - comforted only by the common paleness of everyone else. At the same time, Melbourne also feels very much like Asia. Chinese, Japanese, Malaysian, Thai, Vietnamese, Taiwanese, Filipino, and Cambodian restaurants seem to dominate every street. I lived off $2 sushi rolls. The architecture is unique, artsy, and often so mind-boggling that it would endlessly stimulate any architect or design student. It appears to be a very young city, especially with the presence of the University in the city centre. Although I walked everywhere in Melbourne and the tram system was diligently efficient, I still felt a bit overwhelmed and unable to get a clear grasp on the city. Each surrounding neighbourhood has it's own distinct personality that attracts different crowds. I also don't think I "did" Melbourne "right." I always had one foot in, one foot out. Working two jobs only to leave, but wanting to stay.

Melbourne to Sydney is either a 14+ hour bus ride or an hour and a half flight. Fly. Sydney is a city better than expected. In saying that, I'd dare say it is the most visited destination in Australia with the most iconic sights, but remember that I also chose to fly to Perth first, where not as many people visit, so my overall opinion and preliminary assumptions might be a bit different. Actually seeing these magnificent monuments and symbols of Australia in person exceeds any expectation previously seen on TV or on postcards. Sydney Harbour* is an obvious example, but Manly Beach* is the first place I really felt a sensation for witnessing what is portrayed as Australian, or the perceived stereotype we learn from the movies. Sydney, the capital of New South Wales, is a really immaculate, handsome city - I have consciously noticed that in general about Australia on how well they proudly look after their places. Despite all the characteristic hustle and bustle of an international city, Sydney exudes a familiar, comfortable demeanour. I found it amusing that everytime I asked someone for the direction of Central Station, they would point, then warn me that it was a very far walk and I would be better off catching the train or bus. And I would smile in response as I knew, but assuaged their concern to their satisfaction by saying I just needed to know the direction - then off I would go, walking the entire way, not far at all.

An overnight bus ride from Sydney leads you to the ever popular Byron Bay*. The tour books say people come for a day and stay for a month. I booked for 3 nights and stayed for 5. It is generally the first or last stops along backpackers' trips up or down the coast. It is a small coastal town filled with people who are eager to catch some rays, surf, and start their partying at Cheeky Monkey's, or people who are soaking up the last of the sun and the waves and one last party at Cheeky Monkey's. Always Cheeky Monkey's. You can't go there without anyone telling you you have to go there, or without anyone asking if you have been there. Byron Bay = Cheeky Monkey's. Ok, a bit of an exaggeration, but they go hand in hand. The town has a sort of hippy eco-friendly vibe with a straightforward laid-back surfer attitude. The beautiful beach and the walk around the lighthouse to the most easterly point of mainland Australia are really worth the visit, as is the more private beach, Tallow Beach, popular to surfers and seagulls. Byron Bay will always be the start of my east coast travels and the start of a beautiful friendship.

Nimbin*. What to say about Nimbin. Just go. And laugh ridiculously at the day.

Surfers Paradise* is unlike anywhere else in Australia. The safety flags that allow swimming in the ocean mark a small breadth and the beach is not the best looking in Australia, so where the name came from is a bit of a mystery, unless you Wikipedia it and read that it is ranked as one of the best beaches on the east, in which case, I am wrong. The name is clearly one of the draws as a popular tourist destination. The existence of the high rise buildings lining the coast also exemplify this popular spot proving that everyone wants a sliver of the view. If you don't like shopping, or theme parks, or clubbing nightlife, then this isn't the spot for you. The nightlife, including the mini skirts and the proper shoes, is spectacular, but expensive if you don't do it properly* but during the day, I was bored. It was the first place that I would have left with a bit of a bizarre impression of the place, but it was all about the people who made the place. Surfers may not be everyone's cup of tea (you won't be drinking tea there) but for me, it will be one of my favourite memories - and to be visited again two more times.

Brisbane* was better every time I visited. Third time's the charm. I visited the first time with mum, unsuccessfully to find a job or a new home there, then a weekend getaway to visit Ted, and the last time for the duration of my stay in Australia. I like Brisbane. It's energetic, sunny, attractive, walkable (or is that just a habit of mine??), jay-walk free, tidy, London-like, San Fran-like, bigger than Perth, open later than Perth, architecturally stimulating, outdoorsy, well-fed, cultural, bustling, dive-y, modern, hippy, hilly. Each of the ten bridges that cross the Brisbane River and connect the city are architecturally different, one with built-in benches to sit and enjoy the views. There was a devastating flood the year before and barely a trace of damage left today, except for lines marking the walls that measured how high the water raised. Nothing like the remaining traces of flooding in New Orleans. There isn't much night life in Brisbane, or so I found, but it is bustling with it's constant sunshine. There are the brightest purple flowering trees and sprawling red Queensland trees that just brighten the city, to an appreciative admirer in awe. 

Noosa is lovely. It's quaint, it's posh. It's a hotspot for celebrities, wealthy retirees, and surfers.

Rainbow Beach, the gateway to Fraser Island, has a remarkable beach that goes on for miles and a tiny little town seemingly only existing to suit the people passing by.
Fraser Island* is one of those trips you have to do while traveling the eastern coast. As the world's largest sand island, it is a World Heritage Site with some of the purest fresh water on the planet that will be-numbingly knock off any goon hangover. It is a bumpy adventure that is guaranteed to be filled with laughs. Watch out for dingo's, just cross your arms over your boobs if they come near you: it's a subtle gesture guaranteed to scare them away. Fraser Island is beautiful, but I never had a grasping moment where I thought, this is exactly what I've come to see. Maybe it was because I was too busy laughing the entire time to notice - entirely possible. But because of this experience, I really got a boost for my future travels that proved to me I can do this on my own.

There are stops along the coast between Rainbow Beach and Airlie Beach*, but a 12 hours bus will bring you there directly. As the bus pulls in and you squint in the morning light after an uncomfortable cramped semi-sleep, your eyes will immediately brighten when you see the absolute twinkling colour of the ocean. It shouts clearly in your head that you will like this place immensely. There is pretty much just one main street that leads through Airlie Beach, which doesn't have a beach at all but a man-made lagoon. Although there are day trips to the Whitsundays, most people go on boats for 3 days and 2 nights. There are innumerable amounts of boats, which all have their own personalities attracting different crowds for various experiences whether it is diving or partying or old people. Old. Ha. The trip around the islands is breath taking and relaxing and the underwater world seen through diving goggles is sublimely beyond words. Being stuck on a boat with a group of people for 3 days and 2 nights insists you become friends, or at least friendly, with them. The scenery is spectacular, but it is the people that make the trip memorable. After the boat trip, the cherry on top is a flight over the Whitsundays. There are different lengths, prices and trips of the flights, but the best, most worthwhile, and obviously the most expensive is the one that includes the Great Barrier Reef. Absolutely. Amazing.

Mission Beach* is tiny. Unless you are planning on skydiving over the Great Barrier Reef and landing on the beach or if you want a quiet couple of days to yourself, there really isn't much else going on there. I did hold a baby wallaby and saw a lot of wild ones, but yeah.

The road up and along northern Queensland is tropically spectacular. Really mesmerising and breath-taking with all sorts of vegetation and mountains to occupy any boredom on a typically long bus ride. Cairns* is as far north as I went. It's a mini city with an old country feel. It's easy to walk around, either around the harbour where restaurants and hotels take the place of hostels and backpackers or through the town with the outside dining and tourist offices offering all sorts of travel packages. The sun is warm, the nightlife is fun, and the swarming bats love it. I liked it more than I thought I would and would definitely like to go back again to see more of the Great Barrier Reef and the rain forest, but for me, the stop was just to head back down: a two hour plane ride instead of a bazillion hour bus ride.

So, as you can maybe see, all of Australia is extraordinary. There is not one place better than the other and the people are truly what make the place, the memories, and the experience.  Traveling up the coast, or down as some did, it seems as though the Australian coast is only filled with backpackers. There are sights to see, people to meet, parties to be had, skins to be tanned, native animals to be held, tours to be taken, animals to be scared of. Some people have it all planned out with a limited time frame. Some people leave room for flexibility. Some people stay in places longer than anticipated, but everyone is passing through. One bus to another, one city to another, one beach to another, one hostel to another, one group of friends to another. The cities have a different mentality, but they are also cities with all the amenities and shops found in other cities around the world so it is easier to stay and find a home there, but they just happen to be really far away from home. The good weather is definitely part of the appeal. The warmth of the sun makes it hard to leave and the thought of living anywhere else with cold and rain and snow is almost unfathomable. Australia lacks a bit of history and a bit of culture. I know it's there, in a minute sense compared to the rest of the world and it's not as evident or all-surrounding like it is in Europe. I missed that.  It's very Westernised; not much of a culture shock at all. When I arrived in Perth, I honestly thought I had just flown for twenty eight hours to arrive in California with funny accents and cars driving on the wrong side of the road. My sister asked me why I wouldn't just live in California if it was so similar to Perth, but I didn't have an answer. I didn't want to live in America and I wanted to like Perth and Australia - I did, I do -  I think I just wanted to find a home and was looking for it in the wrong place. Australia is also very American in the sense that it is a fairly new country where most of the Australians still have parents or grandparents who are from Europe. So for me, to stay there for another year would feel like just another year living abroad. I miss it already to be honest, now that I am writing this back in Ireland, but in all the unique, different, odd, and stunning places I went to in Australia, I was incredibly lucky with the tremendous experiences I had, the iconic places I was able to visit, and the unforgettable people that I met. For all the reasons, or lack of reasons, for going to Australia, I am glad that I did. I'm glad I went when I did. And now it's on to what's next. 


And if anyone really wants to know, my favourite part of Australia is the stars. Absolutely. 

“I sensed that a clear picture of my predicament lay veiled nearby, like an exam result in an envelope, or a pair of policemen sitting in the next-door room, awaiting my arrival.” - The Country Life.

As vintage slowly came to an end, so did my time at Frankland Estate. At first, I was taken aback when Elizabeth mentioned May, suggesting that I could stay until the end of vintage if I wanted to. Three months seemed like a daunting amount of time, but it soon became clear that it made sense. Not only was it the amount of time I needed for my regional work, but it was also the length of time Felix would be there for his internship. Those three months would have been a completely different experience for both of us if we didn’t have each other as roomies – I could not have been more grateful.

As the previous day's road trip clearly showed that vintage had come to an end (the work is so full-on that it is rare to have a day off) I spent the following day reading a book about a twenty-nine year old who leaves her London life to move to the country to work on a family estate. Suddenly, I had a terrible thought. Not terrifically terrible, but almost panicked. I thought, what if, once again, in a state of contentment and easiness, I have over-extended my stay. I don’t think it is quite over-extended yet, as last week was the end of vintage, but another month here I think will be over-extended. I knew the time was coming up, but I didn’t think that it was now, sooner rather than later. There wasn’t much work left for me to do at the winery – although there is always something to do – but I’m pretty sure I was all set with my experience in labeling, bottling, and shipments. It wasn’t so much the what or where that had me in a panic, but the time frame I had to figure those out. Last time I was trying to figure out what to do it took me three weeks. Luckily, as things always seem to work themselves out, I figured it out sooner rather than later during a weekend in Perth. After a week of researching, applying, and writing to people and places, I had an interview and a flat meeting set up. And before the weekend was over, I had a  part time job and a room in a flat! Everything seemed to come together so easily that I was just waiting for something to go wrong.  It didn’t. Goodbye country mice and vineyard spiders, Hello city life. 

One Last Road Trip in Great Southern.

As vintage slowly came to an end, we not only had a day to go on a road trip but also had two guests – the Sydney distributor and a sommelier who sells FE wines at his Sydney bar – to show around. First stop: the Rocky Gully Pub. A trip to Frankland wouldn’t be complete without the experience of the one and only local pub. We picked up some appropriately classy Emu Bitters and were on our way. 


We drove to Mt Barker and then even further out of town until we reached a little sign on the side road pointing down a driveway that said “Maleeya’s Thai Food.” Thai food on the outskirts of the Porongurup National Park might seem a bit odd, and maybe it was, but it was a tasty little treat. 


The petite Thai chef Maleeya has quite an impressive and international culinary background, including Le Cordon Bleu, and an equally impressive garden outside the restaurant where she grows not only 260 varieties of bamboo, edible plants, and exotic flowers, but the herbs and vegetables she uses in the kitchen. Her Swedish husband Peter served us the dishes that we shared along with the BYO wines we had brought. Being in what seems like the middle of nowhere and to amplify it's apparent randomness, the small dining room looks more like a tourist information center with its bright cedarwood, postcards for sale, posters of the surrounding area, and pictures of their home-range Highland cattle.

 If you’re ever in the area, be sure to stop by for some home-made locally grown Thai food, but be sure to call ahead if you’re a vegetaraian and be definitely sure to BYO!

With a wine maker, a wine distributer, a sommelier, and a wine business student, it was natural that we would go to one of the local wineries. There are quite a few in the area, but most are quite small and we went to one of the better known ones, Castle Rock. Set on a hill, Castle Rock has extensive views with the mountains in the distance. 

It was quiet as the father and son wine makers were hidden amongst the tanks, busy at work and unexpectant of visitors, but were happy to give us a tasting.

After lunch, there was talk about taking a walk, or a hike, up one of the local mountains to check out the views. After the recent hike, or walk, up Bluff Knoll and after a full lunch that included a peanut allergic reaction and glasses of wine, and then more wine at Castle Rock, I was on the side of dissuading this excursion. 

Luckily, we ultimately decided it was a bit late in the day and we were ill-equipped for a trip that the locals informed us would take longer than we had anticipated. 

But, we still had a bottle of Pinot Noir to drink, so Hunter drove us to a spot I am pretty sure is not in any guide books of the area.*

climbing up.
*(if such a book existed HA). 

wine on the hill.

nice day. 

When life gives you lemons from a tree in the backyard 

and a sommelier from Sydney as your guest for the weekend, 

  let him make Whiskey Sours. 

Easter.

I had a long weekend for the Easter holiday so I decided to take advantage and use the travel time to go up to Perth. I yearned for a bit of civilization, socializing, and familiarity - sure, we’ve taken the weekends to get away and be touristy around Great Southern, but they've just been day trips really - and yet at the same time I was anxious about how I would feel towards “big”* city life after two months in “isolation”**: would I hate it, would I love it, would it be loud, would I feel rushed, would I miss it?  In the end, I really enjoyed being back in Perth: seeing people I knew, laughing a lot while catching up, learning how to play poker - and winning - singing karaoke, not drinking wine, and relishing in the familiar ease of navigating my way around.

*"big" as in Perth isn't really a big city.

** "isolation" as in Frankland really is isolated.

It would have been nice to have another day, but I had quickly spent all my money without knowing or realizing it – it’s just an expensive place in general. I spent in three hours to feel like a “normal” “civilized” “real” person again three times as much as I spend in an entire week down south. It was nice to know that I still liked Perth for future movements, and also nice to realize that I was happy to come back to my little "zoo" of a home in Frankland.

What I really realized from this weekend away was how lucky I have been. From talking to people about what I was doing four hours south, it occurred to me that I couldn’t have written to a better place to work at. I wrote to Frankland Estate because they were listed in the WWOOF book, not because I had heard of them before. Going through the book, I knew I wanted to work towards my three months of regional work to be eligible to apply for my second year visa as a dual-experience by combining it with a continuation of learning in an area I was interested in. I don't think I would be suitable for or interested in fence building, outdoor lavatories, or massive cattle farms, but I wrote to wineries, olive orchards, and even thought I could sacrifice my asthma for working on a goat farm making cheese. The WWOOF book only contains hosts that practice organic farming. The places I wrote to out of interest in their farming practices could have been of any quality and any size production. Only after had I received a response from the estate did I think to look it up online and began to search for it in wine guide books in the book stores of Perth. The fact that they even had a website and that the books even listed them gave them credibility to me – and more so with their high wine scores. I guess it is safe to say I was desperate for an opportunity and willing to take anything, but for some reason, luck was on my side. Despite all the anxious anticipation I had from reading how remote they were on the website, that soon eased away with the compatibility of my roomie, the friendliness of the family, the hands-on approach to the work, and the deliciousness of the wine. It all could have been crap and I could have hated it. But the Frankland Estate wines, even though I am still learning and trying to train my palate, are remarkable and I could not have been luckier to have such a wine-learning experience here. The patience and the fervor in which the people like to talk about wine is tremendous.  The hard work is literally never-ending, but because it is a family-run estate, the dedication is unstoppable and full of passion. They work for each other and with each other and the final product reveals this time, effort, and love.


Leaving for a long weekend and coming back, I realize how much I have learned and am grateful for the experience and opportunity. It was the perfect timing for it - not only mentally but because it is the end of vintage. Now, I need to figure out what’s next. You’d think I was used to it by now - always moving, always changing, always planning, always unsure of the future - but it always causes a scratching of anxiety that I try to block out. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it eventually comes to the surface, peer-pressuring me to face it, like the chore you don’t want to to do or the bill you avoid paying until last minute.

Baa-Baa 

2010: Two years ago I spent Easter in northern Greece eating all parts of a lamb roasted whole outside in the back yard with friends I had just met, but are now life-long friends.

2011: Last year I spent Easter with our family friends in Dunfanaghy eating Irish lamb and potatoes.

2012: This year I spent Easter in Australia with an American and a German eating a backyard-raised lamb grilled on the BBQ in the typical Aussie fashion outside on a warm autumn night. 

Maybe lamb is the only commonality between these last couple of years, in various countries around the world with different people, but as we remarked this year, it doesn't matter where you are or who you are with but that one little piece of tradition brings the holiday together. Tradition doesn't have to be about doing the same thing every year, but you make it mean something to yourself. We could have ate pasta. We didn't have mint sauce. But the lamb made it feel like we were celebrating Easter. It was appropriate and it was appreciated. 

I wanted a perfect ending.  Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end.  Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.  ~Gilda Radner

Shit Australians Say #7*

*Australian winemakers

"It takes a lot of beer to make good wine."

ohmygoodness.

Agrizoophobia – fear of wild animals

Chiroptophobia – fear of bats

Entomophobia – fear/dislike of insects

Ergophobia – fear of work or functioning

Mottephobia – fear/dislike of butterflies and/or moths

Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia - fear of long words

ok, that one is just ridiculous, Wikipedia. 

I don't even think I have words for this blog post, but I just had to share what I found in my bucket of picked grapes this morning. I have shared the difference between hand picking and mechanical picking in terms of what we have to pick through and remove once the grapes are brought back to the winery. And I have explained how the bug and mice pickings are slim with handpicking, but I haven't described what you have to go through while hand picking to make that work back at the winery easier. Sure, the earwigs are crouched inside the snug bunches of grapes but generally you can grab the stem and not touch them. Yeah, there are spider webs but very rarely have I seen a spider (knock on wood). Of course I know what's potentially in the vines from seeing what is brought in, but this. 

I don't even know. 

As the grape picking goes, you have your clippers and move down the rows of vines with someone else on the other side picking the grapes on that side. It's a bit of companionship to get you through the work, keeps up the steady pace, and also makes the work easier as each person has better access to the grape stems depending on the direction they are growing off the vine.  Sometimes the grape bunches are completely entwined amongst the vine and having two people trying to find the stem is just a bit less burdensome on you and the grapes. You clip as quickly as you can, trying not to puncture the grapes so they don't oxidize, and cusp the bunch as you snip to gently throw into the bucket at your feet. As the bucket fills up, you push it into the vine so that the tractor comes along and can pick it up and move on to the next empty bucket waiting to be filled. 

So, today, as we just happened to be chatting about snakes, I look down at my nearly-full bucket and see something spotted and grey fluttering beneath a bunch of grapes. I bend down to look a little closer - I don't want any leaves or anythings to make my work back in the winery any harder - and slowly back off with hands on my hips as though to retain them from reaching into the bucket. I stare curiously wide-eyed at the pulsating bunches in the bucket. Luckily, we were in the middle of the row where the pickers coming from the other end met us. Andy sees my face and looks in my bucket. "It looks like a moth,"he says as he reaches in to brush aside the grapes so it can escape. "It looks like a Very Big moth." I'm slowly backing further away. He lifts it out, and it is absolutely humongous. I have never seen such an animal. I am not convinced it is a moth, although it looks like one, but it is the size of a bat.  

He places it onto the vine and it doesn't fly away.

Seriously, what is that thing.

"I've done my 5 hours, I'm outta here." - me

The wings span is incredible and the artwork is spectacular. But still, I'm freaked out about the size, the species, and how it got into my bucket........Did I touch it? don't.think.about.it.

The body is like a pine cone. 

I guess all I can say is that - all jokes aside he didn't eat me alive and he didn't carry me away - this Thing is lucky that I spotted it's fluttering and he didn't end up in the de-stemmer machine. But please, I don't want to see you again; as I had just texted Dad before I left to the vineyard, I quite like the grape picking; there is no room for fear in this line of work. 

Another Sky Post.

Sometimes the sunsets aren't private or shared with Felix. Sometimes, those little creatures like a little bit of the show as well. And sometimes, when you're trying to get wi fi from the one spot outside of the winery to talk to your family at a decent 12-hour-difference time, it is necessary to make some sacrifices, suck it up, and not be afraid of the spider that is hanging out above you, while the sun slowly sets and you are left alone in the dark with it. 

"oh, hello."

 Surprisingly not afraid to get a bit close to take a picture...

And still the view, the sunset, the familiar conversation half way around the world, and the somewhat satisfaction of a non-freak-out is all worth it. 

The Sky.

On a March Wednesday, after the first day the red Merlot and Shiraz grapes were picked, I was lucky enough to witness a spectacular sight. I had gone home after work full of grape juice stickiness and earwig and mouse itchiness to have a hot wash-away shower. I went back to the winery to use the Internet, but with a frustratingly low connection, I left with a worth-while experience. 

Check out this sunset.

Is this for real? yes.

Just minutes passed as I walked by before the deliciously vibrant flavors of the sky were licked up and swallowed by the sunset. I could not be luckier.

Then I got home and took off my sweater, and still found an earwig attached to the shoulder of my shirt. Hmmm. Still worth-while. 

I don’t know if I have said this before, and if I have it is to bewildered, unconvinced eyes, but I think that in another life I have and/or would like to study the sky and clouds. There is something about it that constantly finds my feet slowly coming to a halt, my eyes peering up wide-eyed, and my mind in a silent awe. I don’t think I could ever be an astrologist though, as the unfathomable expanse of the universe and beyond somewhat terrifies me. I can’t visual it so I can’t comprehend it. I don’t get it and I don't understand why we don't know more about it.

I don’t know how many pictures have been unrelentingly taken of the sunsets putting the Piscataqua River to sleep while waking up the nightlife of downtown Portsmouth. The early jet-lagged morning sunrises over the Dunfanaghy Golf Course bringing eastern promises of rain or sun to the Northwest coast of Ireland. The bike rides around Colorno that were stopped to absorb the sight of the clouds sweeping the culatello-weathered smell of Prosciutto di Parma and Parmigiano Reggiano across Emilia Romagna. The runs to the Indian Ocean timed perfectly as the heat of the sun disappeared into the water with the sun. The northern, very westerly clouds leaving Monkey Mia smeared like FunFetti vanilla frosting against the baby-blue sky that sweetly reminded me of skinny days of scooping spoonfuls directly out of the tub as an afternoon snack. 

If it's not the people or the food, it is the sky that will remain in my memories. 

Recently, as in since I've been at Frankland Estate for the last month (a month!), I have caught myself noticing they sky more than a couple times a day. At four in the morning when the moon is still lighting the night’s sky with the still-present stars, it confuses the sleepy hour of having to start work. Then later the sun starts to rise over the vineyard warming the grapes awake from the cool night. No picture I have taken has yet to capture the colors that make the early morning work hours worthwhile. Then, during the day as I walk to and from the winery along the dirt road and in between the vines, I twirl in place searching for a cloud amongst the blanketing blue sky above and around me. Not a cloud in sight. I envision a satellite or spaceship over me, looking down and having clear access to be able to see the remote, isolated Frankland River region with pristine precision. Me, barely a speck. Or when I'm standing in The Spot of mobile reception talking to John and Sheelagh, I look up at the sky in the dawn light or dusk sky and wonder what the sky looks like where they are, 12 hours behind. And if the timing is just right when I leave the winery after my dose of Internet communication with civilization or after a beer with the guys, I get my own sunset each night to marvel at as I walk home. This private show usually lasts the duration of my walk home, gradually disappearing behind the vines and stealing one last glimpse of the fading color specturm through the trees for myself before I step inside. Other times I share this with Felix as we sit on the couch that we moved out onto the veranda, watching the sheep chew their way across the field in front of us, the wind blowing a cool night breeze, the sound mice scampering across the wooden boards, and the spiders lurking somewhere. We have the best front row seat to watch the array of colors slowly blend into a single black backdrop of Jackson Pollocked-stars, so crystal clear they pierce not only the sky like sprawled sparkling diamonds on a black velvet tray in a jeweler’s shop, but sharpen your utter disbelief that you are witnessing such a sight. I'm not exaggerating, people. 

Ok ONE MORE I swear!

I heard in the Outback you can see the sun setting in one direction, and then you turn around to the east at that same moment and can see the moon, the night sky, and the stars already out for their nocturnal postings. I can't wait for that.

If it weren’t for the prickly dry grass and the looming presence of night critters, I would totally go out and lie in the field and stare up into the sky until the sun rose again. But, unfortunately, that sheer fear of creepy crawlies will keep me safely on the veranda, home to it’s own zoo of Western Australian creatures. 

Secondary Fermentation of Chardonnay

There is a room here just for Chardonnay. To access it from inside the winery, you have to sideways-walk between tall stainless steel tanks and then bend over to reach through the little door, watching your step in. When the white grapes come in and we pick out all the wildlife bits, the juice is racked (aka pumped) into these wooden barrels. With patience and precision, the winemaker can time exactly how long it takes to fill a barrel to the right level without overflowing.

The little science experiment turning this juice into wine causes airlock gauges to gurgle, filling the whole wooden room with a curiously calming and soothing sound - it's almost like quietly walking into a room with a baby monitor where you can hear the infant happily burble, babble, and drool in its dreams.

The fermentation lock on top is needed so that oxygen doesn't enter, but the carbon dioxide can escape; the pressure inside is pushing the gas up and out causing the bubbles in the airlock. When the bubbles stop, it is a clear sign to the wine maker that the (here, wild) yeast has eaten all the sugar. 

When you run out of such contraptions however, you can brilliantly use a bag of sand that is still malleable enough to yield to the carbon dioxide pushing it's way out. I'm pretty sure the spilled minor-explosion of juice on the barrel in the picture above is not a very good sign, but the soon-to-be-wine can easily be transferred to less-full barrels and the sticky juice wiped off. 

It's most likely the worst 25 second video you've ever seen. And the noise in the background is probably less of the fascinating fermentation and more of the bird-scarer outside (yes, there is such a noise and unfortunately is not silent to humans like a dog whistle. #birdpeckfree #goodwinesacrifices). But walking into the room full of bubbling barrels turning the grape juice into wine in front of you is really quite impressive. dramatic. miraculous.wonderful.

At least adjective-worthy enough for me to try to capture it with a dinky video. 

"What's brown and sticky? A stick." - 4 yr old Digby.

To determine whether or not grapes are ready to be picked, a few bunches are picked from a couple different locations within the block. Their total weight is divided by the number of bunches and then they are squished by hand into juice. The baume (sugar/density), pH, and acid levels are all tested from this grape juice to evaluate the development of the ripening grapes. 

When the grapes are ripe, depending on the test mentioned above, the variety, and the weather forecast they are ready to be picked! A lot of the vineyard blocks so far have been mechanically picked during the night when the moonlit air is cool and the machine is able to shine light upon the rows of vines. The importance of the quality of the air temperature is to ensure that the grapes are still cool when they are brought into the winery and they are not over-ripened by the heat of the day. Hand-picking is a much slower process that requires sunlight and more people to expedite the work that could take hours. However, light and visibility are not the only variables that factor into the choice between mechanically picked and hand picked. Both have their advantages and disadvantages. As can be seen in the morning-shot photos below, this block is quite close to the winery so the grapes have less distance to travel after being picked and speed of the mechanical pick means they stay out in the heat.

The machine goes through one row while a tractor in the adjacent row follows with a trail of bins for the grapes to be dumped into off an overhanging conveyor belt. 

Maybe "dump" sounds a bit aggressive.

Me standing above the grapes!

The machine gently vibrates the vines as it passes, dropping everything on the vines into it. "Everything" not only includes the bunches of grapes but also fallen leaves, snapped sticks, yanked twigs, doomed mice, pinched spiders, wangled earwigs, nesting birds, more seized spiders, gathered cockroaches, broken branches, and captured moths. This is called MOG: "material other than grapes." 

All of this is passed onto a conveyor belt that goes over the picked-vines and into the bins following the tracker in the other row. It's quite effective in terms of being faster than hand picking, covering many more rows and collecting more grapes (and MOG). It also requires less labour which is cheaper than paying the hourly rate for the manual labor (my ride up and down the row was free.)

The other option, hand picking, has it's own advantages as the picker goes through each row, vine by vine, and snips off the bunches of grapes from the stem with clippers. Usually you work with another person on the other side so that you can both move down the line, removing grapes on both sides rather than trying to reach through the tangled leafy vines. By hand picking, the picker also does not include (or technically, should not include) big vine stems or leaves, no one is adding mice to the little bins and can cut around bad bunches of grapes. It's laborious and requires swift skills to snip quickly as often the bunches have grown around the vines and finding the stem deserves crafty maneuvering. Hand picking can also be the way to go if the vines are young or if there are obstacles like power lines positioned through a row that the machine can not pass through with it's overhanging conveyor belt.

The buckets are filled down the row until they are filled to the top and pushed to one side so that the tractor with the trailing bins drives along with another person following who dumps the grapes into the bins. Ok, maybe "dumps" is more aggressive here because hand picking is definitely more gentle on the grapes rather than being vibrated off the vine by machine, often causing a bit of squishing or skin tear, which could cause oxidation or not work for "whole-bunch" pressings.

It's hard to see when you can't cut the leaves.
Sometimes down on your knees.
 Sometimes getting up under and in the vines to see.
Sometimes the little bits of dried grass against the shin cause frantic thoughts of spiders.
But always a nice little sugary snack to keep you going.

After the picking is completed, we meet these compiled bins in the winery and then have to sort through the grapes on another conveyor belt to get rid of any MOG. Not every winery does this next step, but we sort through both mechanically and hand picked grapes. The mechanically picked grapes obviously have many more MOG particles, bits and pieces than the hand picked selection and really makes a difference on the scale of fear-factor nervous-anticipation during work. Our job of sorting through the pickings is not only important to prevent the damage a chunky stick could do to the press and other machinery, but the removal of the MOG makes a substantial difference in the quality of the wine you want to make. Every load is different though. Sometimes there are lots of bugs, sometimes there are just lots of leaves. 

One day, as we were sorting through the clusters of Poison Hill Riesling grapes, (one of our favorites out of the 3 of 4 Rieslings of theirs we have tasted) it was particularly full of large sticks, thick twigs, and entire leaves still attached to the branch, yet remarkably lacking a legion of insects.  Reaching into the grape juice to pull out the MOG for a long amount of time quickly covers your fingers and hand in a sugary syrup. (I had hopefully thought the juice would be full of grape antioxidants and act as an anti-wrinkle-grandma-hand-remedy, but instead the constant wetness and stickiness dries out my fingers, causing them to crack. More band-aides.) We were pulling out abounding sticks and twigs whizzing by on the conveyor belt that we couldn't believe the size or amount of, and as I looked down at my hands covered in viscous grape juice with little bits of crushed green grapes sticking to them, I said to Felix, "This is especially sticky today." He laughed and said, "Yeah, in a double meaning of the word."

pause.

pause.

stare.

Bahahaha 

I get it. 

And I'm even the native English speaker. 

A bit later, in between the sticks, twigs, and branches, we saw only two spiders but both of unbelievable staggering size and astonishing color that I made some sort of squealing noise causing everyone to look at me as I convulsed in absolute sheer horror, waving my soggy hands in disgust as I nearly fell off the box crate. I wanted to puke, then faint, then run away, but could only laugh at myself. 

Two ill-fated birds with their grey feathers drenched and matted also passed by in a heavy-hearted horror. 

Felix goes, "Now you know why Poison Hill tastes so good."