Observations on Life in Darwin Town

I used to think that I would find the perfect place, and the more I think about Darwin the more I think that I have found it.

What Goes On

While I was in Darwin town I would eat breakfast in the little cafe at the bottom of the hotel. I was greeted each morning by the lovely staff, a wonderful coffee, muesli and a newspaper with 'Stabbed in the back while having sex' emblazoned across the front page. Apparently this sort of news is normal up there. So, as long as I am not the man being stabbed in the back while having sex, I think I could quite happily read about it in the morning over a cold, sugary grapefruit.

What You Can See

Crocodiles. According to the NT News they are everywhere.

I didn't see one, although I could feel them watching me from the dark of every street drain I passed.

You can also see very nice park areas and a bush turkey mound. I discovered that bush turkeys are avid recyclers as they collect those recycled/recyclable bags you buy in supermarkets. Apparently building a mound containing 'green' bags and other recyclable products widens the field of available lady turkeys.

Who Lives There

There is poverty and there is wealth. They are both obvious and are worn on Darwin's sleeve. The poor sit around in park areas (not the malls strangely) and the outer edges of the city. The rich people wear horse blinkers and can be found buying recycled/recyclable bags in your local supermarket. Neither group read the NT Times, however both feature prominently in its pages. The rest of the people, if they aren't tourists, backpackers or turkeys, are very relaxed, down to earth people.

The Weather

Brilliant. It is hot and humid and makes me NEED spicy food and gin and tonics. And beer. This is a climate made for me.

I wonder what the family will think...

Darwin - Evolution or just Coincidence

I have always wanted to go to Darwin, ever since I found out that it was a place when I was a kid. It always seemed like this exotic far-away place that was yet to be discovered by most, but discovered enough so that I didn't have to hack my way through mangroves and fight crocodiles with my fists and a blunt razor to find it.

Now that I am here I have come to the conclusion that it is much pretty like Wollongong or Newcastle, except in a sauna. The first afternoon here I checked into the office, said g'day, and then went for an explore around the town. I stumbled across a pub that looks like it was there during the cyclone and no one bothered to whip around with a hammer and a few nails. The anthropologist in me said 'go and buy a beer and sit out the front on a bar stool like the other four blokes to get a feel for Darwin'. The beer drinker in me said 'go and get a beer, I don't give a shit where you sit'. So I grabbed a beer after much arm-twisting and went and sat on a bar stool. From this vantage point I worked out that the men of Darwin sit silently, sipping their beer watching traffic go past. They only turn their heads when young female backpackers go past. I finished my beer and wandered off with a strange sense of fulfilment.

I eventually found the ubiquitous backpacker precinct with the ubiquitous Irish pub with a name like 'O'Reillies' or Shenanigans or something. I would have been more tempted to name it something like 'O'What place does an Irish pub have in Darwin'.

I sat had a beer and waited for the restaurants to open. My stomach was of the opinion that the time really was 6:30 although the sun in the sky was convinced that it was only 5:00. Beer was going to my head violently and dangerously, and I was sweating so much my eyes were filling up. Using my pen was like writing with a bar of soap.

Time to move to another pub...

I ended up sitting across the road from the Indian restaurant, gin and tonic in hand, feeling even worse. 6pm came and went and there was no sign of movement in the restaurant, so I did what I was desperately trying to avoid all along. Sitting in the hotel restaurant, by myself, staring out at the world through sad, lonely eyes. There must be some sort of a look lone travellers have, because upon arival the waiter showed me to a single seat and brought out a glass of shiraz large enough to drown my sorrows and two large horses.

So there endeth my first day in Darwin; me, a meal, wine, a street view and the only company available was a boot that someone had thoughtfully thrown up onth the roof of the shed across the road.

My Not so New Favourite Shiny Car

Everyone has a favourite car. It doesn't matter if you are a hippie, with an outward love of an ironic people mover that manifested itself out of Nazi Germany, or a complete rev head that has to paint his 458 kilowatt 6.7 litre, supercharged V8 a shade of pink that would make the Mardi Gras jealous. For each and every one of us there is a car that we want and secretly need. Here are some examples:

• The Dalai Lama could cross the sub-continent on bare feet, but I am sure he would love to do it in a Tata Nano and really stick it to the Chinese
• Arnold Schwarzenegger, famous for his role in the movie Predator and nothing else, brought the Hummer into popular culture - a car with a reputation for violating trees and burning the evidence with raw coal, hippies and coral. He really wanted to import the Humber (my dad had one, therefore it is cool). Unfortunately people in Carlifaunya found his accent confusing and decided on a car made for serious military applications and suburban wankers. Arnie was so distraught and emotional he went and made movies about being pregnant and the end of the world in the future, which is really the past and is caused by machines. What?
  
• John Howard likes cars because he discovered them three days ago when he finally pulled his head out of George Bush's arse. He apparently likes humming, not Humbers.
  
• Kevin Rudd likes cars because they can be insulated, and they burn oil. His outward and open favourite is the Prius, but secretly he prefers anything made by Learjet.
• Paris Hilton likes the Hummer too. Apparently it was so 'like, yesterday'.

We all have a car, and mine is ths one:

This is the Dodge Challenger. It is made from sex, chocolate and the biggest, fattest, dirtiest Barossa Shiraz ever made. It also has a bit of chili beef jerky stuck between the front teeth. It eats Hot Dogs from a corner-diner and drinks beer with a bourbon/tabasco chaser. Apparenly corners are being phased out in 17 States because of this car's inability to accept the fact that it has to compromise power for practicality.

One of my first memories is of when I was about my son's age; 2-3 years old to be precise. I was in the back of Mum and Dad's Honda Civic at the Narrabundah Drive In watching Star Wars. Aside from gaining an infatuation with Darth Vader, I remember thinking 'I can't believe I am at a drive-in movie, in the late 70's in a fucking Honda Civic. I mean, seriously Dad, what happened to the Humber, and why didn't you upgrade to a SRT-8 friggin Challenger?' My thoughts followed on eventually to 'geez, Darth Vader would have bought a Challenger, I mean, he cut off his own son's hand! That is pure dedication...' I went to sleep in the underwhelmingly proportioned back seat, breathing with great, profound depth.

My Mazda Astina recently blew up. It is dead. It is an ex-parrot. It has ceased to exist.

I told my lovely, patient wife that I needed a new car, and the safest option was something akin to an Abrams tank that could get out of sticky situations through sheer power. If needed. You know, for the safety of the kids...

I have to find a new favourite car. Apparently.

The Dreameth Hath Endetheth