The start of week 3.

Early in the week I had an experience that I am sure only a South African could understand. Becca and I were walking home from a stint at the ‘Big W’, and I noticed we were being followed, every step of the way. All the way up Marlborough he followed, every step of the way, didn’t want to alarm Rebecca but told her to walk a little faster… but he walked just as quick… Every step of the way.  Past the bus stop, and across the road. Further up the road, I slowed down and he stopped outside the butcher shop, to ‘look in the window’. I sped up and snuck into another pathway that leads to our apartment block, not near our flat (because I didn’t want him to see), but enough to see him hopefully pass up the road… next minute I hear steps... look back and he is now RIGHT behind us… with… with damn keys… for his unit…  So I pretended to be looking for something I had supposedly ‘dropped’ in the bush. Rebecca was so confused and I felt so damn neurotic. So the person following was actually just another tenant, I keep wondering what he was thinking of me.

Flat living has been great, I think I have now officially met the Curry Family Father, and China Man and I are still regular late night laundry club members.

Bern went to the registration department to register Mitsi in his name, and the amazing part was that they didn’t even want to see his driver’s license.  Yip, that’s correct, you can actually own a car, EVEN if you aren’t a qualified driver. Funny though, Bern realised mid week that the drivers license he keeps showing  everyone actually expired in 2007… thank goodness the cops haven’t stopped us… Luckily he found his current license and was able to drive. Although it did occur to me that his new mountain bike was sitting in Rebecca’s room, and that perhaps he was going to use the excuse – Sorry love, I can’t drive… buutttt I can take my bike…

Some Aussie things I’m  learning.

·         You don’t say Howzit… you say ‘Hiya’

·         You don’t say Cheers… you say ‘See ya’

·         And Cheers is ‘thank you’

·         Trains with diesel engines need to be banned, man they are loud.

·         If an Aussie (or anyone for that matter) gets rude, (for us English speakers) just speak Natal Afrikaans, even if the broken ‘taal ‘you’re speaking would make an Afrikaaner cringe.

·         Everything get’s shortened, like rego (registration), journo (journalist), salvo (salvation army)… you get the point.

·         Alcoholic apple ciders do not seem to be popular here. Beer drinkers seem to have endless choice.

·         Smokers have it hard. A carton of smokes is going to cost the best part of R700.00.thank goodness I stopped before we arrived.

·         You don’t hear all that much swearing in public, BUT switch on to some TV channels, and it’s quite shocking, and I ain’t no prude.

 

Bernard and Mitsi did a great job of getting us safely to Victor harbour, an hour South of Adelaide. Along the route though we noticed how concerned the Aussie’s are with speed. They have these red and black markers all along the highway that indicate a fatalities (black) and injuries (red). They even had a sign stating – Accident free for 95 days.

At Victor harbour we rode a horse drawn tram over a causeway across Encounter Bay to ‘Granite Island’. The small tram is pulled by one great Clydesdale horse that weighs approximately 1 ton.  Getting off at the tram stop we went for a 2.5km hike around the perimeter of the island. I think Becca has decided that Australia and walking are one in the same thing.

 

Mid week, when Bern went out to look for work, the girls decided to do some baking. Why I even bothered I am not entirely sure, but we went ahead. For some reason the mixture that we put together was way too sticky. It stuck to me, the counter top and the rolling pin. Fed up I told Becca.. ‘enough!! I am packing this in’. So I go to wash my hands, and no water. Picture this. My hands are coated in sticky mess, the bowl, spoon and rolling pin are coated to, Rebecca sobbing because I am tossing her baking mess in the bin, and my temper growing because WHY did I even plan this, when I am not, and probably never will be a baker. The only way to get this off, was to run my hands under fridge water… it worked but crikey my hands were frozen after that. Perhaps it cooled the temper and I decided to go ahead with cooking the sticky mess. Unfortunately we were unable to make the gingerbread men, so I made a gingerbread filled baking tray, and once cooked cut into squares. Becca was happy that she had baked something, and I was relieved I didn’t entirely ruin her day.

But the lack of water problem persisted, and then the mind started to wonder off… ‘South Australia has water restrictions, did I use too much water, and now we have to pay, worse yet do we have a monthly water allocation and I’ve used it all… and now we wouldn’t have water for Christmas, how would we shower… join a gym, perhaps, use their water’…

 

Turned out actually that the gardener had seen a leak and switched off the water mains, clearly not thinking about the residents, but more about water conservation.

Good on ya mate!!!