My people, let me introduce you to my people...

Oh my HANglish-speaking buddies, I have indeed neglected you...

I know you do get some juicy news from me through random Facebook/Messenger encounters, but I thought I should introduce you to my crowd here since you know some of them (that's right SEA has invaded the place) or hopefully will get to meet them someday (that goes out to all of you! I think I convinced half of them to come visit me in Montreal some time soon).

So first of all, my housemates:

Sophie who made me rediscover Coca Cola.
Sophie, a Kiwi from Auckland, likes: cats and making cat noises in the most random moments, Sid Vicious' poetry, Nutella toasts, anything that's leopard-printed, the cinemateque guy who was dressed up as a kamikaze for our first party (theme: Beyond the Grave, famous or not so famous dead people).

Breakfast in the yard.

Elise who makes me scream and laugh everytime she walks down the corridor, her hands wide opened in front of her eyes like that kid-eating monster in Pan's Labyrinth.

Elise, a true Melbourne-bred sheila from a "fuuuully-siK-mate" (with a Greek-Australian accent) ghetto near the airport, likes: cleaning the bathroom (yesss! how great is it to have a flatmate who can clean?!) while singing Indonesian rock tunes (she speaks bahasa indonesia fluently), making our windows (and probably that 93 years-old Italian neighbour who secretly waters her plants at night) shake to the sound of her electric guitar or her drums, pretending to be a ninja on a commando in between the lounge and the kitchen, puns with my nickname.

Elise with hair, and Sophie (at Comfy Chairs to celebrate Elise's success with the speech she gave at the local library on Indonesian diversity )

On the way BACK from Comfy Chairs

Elise's trademark (Elena dancing in the background just before that Croatian guy with the cap spilled all his beer on her)

Annur, Elise with no more hair and Sophie, on the bus.

Josh who changes my life at least once every two weeks when he brings back some eye-opening discussion topics from his radical feminism class.

Josh, a guy from Perth in Western Australia, likes: listening to the Scissor Sisters, with the volume to the max!, when he wakes up at like 1-2pm, "Let's get smashed and watch Spice Girls movies" nights with his sister Brooke and a couple of bottles of Grand Marnier, Malibu and Bailey's, the classics of English literature which he reads up to 4 am while eating instant noodles, cowboy hats.

Josh, on a mission to pour beer after our third jug. House night out to go see the show...

...of this amazing girl called Hazel Brown (second from left) who does somekind of folkish soulish music. The second guy on the left is the tall red-haired classmate of mine who plays trompet with her and her band.

Then you have Annur (does my favorite Indo girl need any introduction?) and her hipster friends. I sadly don't get to spend time with her so much apart when we're out with the whole bunch but I'll certainly try to do so before I leave. We're just so busy, it's hard to set a time aside to catch up which we haven't really done... But hey, we're going to see Clap Your Hands Say Yeah together next week, so that's a start. A late one but still...

Me drunk Jesus with beard falling in my wine, you drunk Mao dancing the night away... (first Warburton party)
L-t-r: Random Dutch backpacker, Mercia and boyfriend Jim, another random Ducth backpacker, Georgina, Jess, Sav...all Annur's friends at this outdoor shortfilm festival called Tropfest.
Annur and Soph, also at Tropfest
Ingram, Annur, Sophie, Elise and one of Sophie's friends visiting from NZ at a concert in some "in" pub.

Annur, Elise and Sophie at lunch on campus.

Actually, I've been mostly hanging out with those I like to call Ze German Mafia...
yeah, I know, Germans, who would have thought?!

A little bit older and loads of fun, there's Elena who's a modern dancer and a self-avowed man-eater who shares a love for Animal Orchestra's lattes and there's Jorn who's just published a book about travelling and working in Australia and who can do Michael Jackson's moonwalk (respect!). Robert, also a soon-to-be thirty Berlin exchange student, is a passionate guy who just loves political discussions (during when he always become a worrying shade of red-purple) and who's got the thickest German accent I've heard in my life. Finally, there's Sabine, the antithesis of the Western Europeans that sometimes do get on my nerves with their attitudes, who is this amazingly humble, funny and quietly funky drama student from Nuremberg. These are the core members, but apart from me, Francisco, the Chilean dude, Seicho, the Japanese, and Ravin, this chilled Kiwi guy, all exchange students, have also become authorized foreign members of the mafia and are regulars to our group outings and Wednesday lunch time pik-niks on the Uni's sunny South Lawn.

L-t-r: Sabine, Elena, me,Sally (Elena's flatmate), Seicho, Robert, Francisco... at a kind of theme park set up for this festival called Moomba (this city is just soooo amazingly happening!).

Elena and Jorn, grabbing dinner in front of Queen Victoria market during their summer evening fairs (I miss those, they were cool...)

Jorn and Boris in our front yard.

Robert and Sabine losing it on the dance floor at Saint-Jerome's.
Now I'm losing it too...

Jorn and Sabine, that same night.
Tom (Francisco's funny Chinese flatmate), a random waiter, Francisco and Seicho, same eventful night.

Risotto and gossiping session at Elena's

Girls' night out at Black Cat...actually, not! Sang was there

Finally, I also became quite involved with the Melbourne UWC bunch (sorry non-UWCers, you might want to skip that one), taking part in the selection process and all…
It’s not a huge network, but a great one I must say.
I met them through Pablo, a Chilean Pearson alumnus, whom I contacted when I went to Chile. He replied to me that he wasn’t in Santiago but in Melbourne to complete his Master’s in Educational Policies. So after communicating over Internet for a month, I finally met him along with other PC alumni: Australian Michelle, who graduated just a year before us and Paul, an Ecuadorian fashion design teacher who lived a few years in Montreal and speaks French fluently. I also met Australian American-West UWCers Jeremy and Gabi, a Jewish Australian of Argentinian origins but born in Venezuela who works in Melbourne as at IT consultant between trips to Thailand. A few LPC alumni : Mark, from Hong Kong, who’s a doctor and enthusiastic salsa dancer and Stratos, an Australian of Greek ancestry, who works for his parents’ business while completing a degree in engineering. I also met Peter, who went to SEA like twenty-five years ago. He's a great man, now an editor for one of the main newspaper here, The Age, and he had Dr.Underwood as a History teacher (hahahhaa...he said to me: "He was a very funny man, but not everyone got his humour"...hahaha, oh man I miss Doctor Underwood's impression of the evil Empress Dowager!). He wanted to know all the details of "the crisis" with Mr. Bennett... hahaha don't we just love gossiping about internal politics and scandalous UWCers we know? And I met Mahindra alumnus Camilla, whom I believe met Gavin (do you remember her Gav? I think she used to have long braids there), a graphic design student at the other big Melbourne University, RMIT, who’s half-Italian/half Hong Kongese. She knows Mallika Ramdas! Finally, a very nice Red Cross Norway Australian guy who, guess what, know Peter and Henrieke really well and also knows Horacio (and heard about Jenya).
Small world, once again..... and hanging out with them really reminded me what great people you all are and how lucky I got to know each and every single one of you...
We might be from all over the place, but every time we meet for some food, wine, gossips and a great night that always ends with a conversation about how we’re going to take over the world soon, I feel at home.

Los Latinos...Pablo y Paul

Pablo, Stratos and Camilla on Gabi's balcony watching...

...the gorgeous sunset over Melbourne...

...while Mark and Gabi are preparing the empanadas in the kitchen.

Etudiante a temps plein

(mercredi 29 mars)

15 :45.
Juste à temps pour mon rendez-vous!
Je m’assois, comme convenu, à la petite table de gauche de la terrasse du Animal Orchestra et j’attends en faisant semblant de réviser les notes de mon cours de ce matin.
Puis, enfin! Le voilà!
" Espresso, bella! "
La main de mon serveur préféré, celui qui a une moustache et qui gambade entre les tables, émerge de la fenêtre de la cuisine et me tend ma " date " : un espresso bien court et fumant.
Ahh…
Mon café du mercredi après-midi avant mon cours d’anthropologie est un autre petit moment de bonheur que j’ai inséré dans ma routine melbournienne.
Je regarde la nouvelle serveuse qui cherche des yeux le client qui a commandé un latte avec un brownies. J’ai envie de lui dire que c’est elle, là-bas, de l’autre coté de la terrasse, sous le parasol, celle qui est là tous les mercredi après-midi et qui, comme moi, commande toujours la même chose, oui, oui, elle, là, c’est ça.
…humm…quelque chose me dit que je suis rendue une habituée ici.
En la regardant, j’ai une pointe de jalousie. J’aurais bien aimé être cette nouvelle serveuse, moi.
Il y a deux semaines, Sang m’avait d’ailleurs poussée à parler au manager, mais les seuls horaires disponibles ne fittaient pas avec mes cours… Et puis, ces fameuses complications avec mon permis de travail (il aurait fallu que je me fasse faire un nouveau passeport car le mien est plein…à cause de ces *** agents d’immigration chiliens et australiens qui ont cru intelligent de chacun utiliser une de mes deux dernières pages vides.. en fait, c’est surtout à cause de mon manque de planification à moi, mais bon, toujours est-il que ce foutu passeport plein n’est plus bon à rien!) qui font que j’ai pour l’instant abandonné l’idée de travailler en Australie.
Ça remet en question mes grands plans de voyage antipodiens cet été (et peut-être un retour anticipé dont certains se réjouissent déjà…), mais, comme me le dit si bien ma maman (qui sait toujours me calmer les nerfs en période de " oh-mon-dieu-c’est-terrible-je-vais-mourir-de-faim-qu’est-ce-que-je-vais-faire "), ça va certainement me permettre de profiter à fond de mon expérience ici comme étudiante à temps plein (pour la première fois de ma vie depuis secondaire 4 en fait).

Une expérience qui n’est pas si pénible que ça, à en juger par la dernière gorgée de café que je viens d’avaler avant de m’attaquer à mes lectures pour mon cours d’anthropologie sur les liens entre la migrance (ou la mouvance peut-être; migrancy en anglais), un terme qui regroupe pas mal tous les types de mouvements humains : des réfugiés aux gitans, et l’identité ethnique et culturelle. Un cours passionnant, donné par deux profs passionnants : un géant bosniaque qui a lui-même vécu l’expérience de l’immigration illégale et du réfugié, et un Anglais brouillon au caractère bouillant.
Mais tiens, si c’est pas justement lui, à deux tables de moi, l'Anglais, mi-assis, mi-perché et apparemment lancé dans une grande discussion. Je ne peux pas retenir un sourire en le regardant agiter dangereusement ses lunettes à la Charlie au-dessus de son crâne chauve. Je repense à la dernière fois où, dans un cours, il s’est lancé dans une tirade et a envoyé valser sa tasse de café dans la première rangée de l’auditorium, passant proche d’ébouillanter ce sympathique fonctionnaire bangladeshi envoyé par son gouvernement pour compléter une maîtrise en développement.

Mes cours d’anthropologie ne sont pas les seuls où s’asseoir dans les premières rangées comporte certains risques… Comme l’a appris mon ami Jorn à ses dépends dans un autre de mes cours, " Australia Now " (un " crash-course " en histoire, géographie, politique et économie australienne), le théâtral Professeur Carthwright adore reproduire les scènes historiques, comme la campagne de Gallipoli durant la Deuxième Guerre Mondiale où de nombreux Australiens ont perdu la vie, en incorporant les premières rangées dans ses représentations (cette fois-là, quelques-uns ont bel et bien failli se faire harponner par le bâton/baïonnette d’un soldat Carthwright désireux d’en finir avec les Turcs).

Mais je suis qui pour parler? Moi qui doit me retenir d’harponner quelques-uns des étudiants de cette classe-là à chaque " tutorial " (l’équivalent des " conferences " de McGill, où on se rencontre en petits groupes avec un tuteur pour discuter nos lectures)! Le cours étant spécialement conçu pour les étudiants en échange, dont les Américains composent probablement 90%, mon tutorial est littéralement un combat Sarah versus The American Midwest sur les concepts à la base de l’identité australienne actuelle (multiculturalisme, fair-go -une version australienne de l’égalité-, etc.) qui ressemblent pas mal plus aux nôtres qu’aux leurs d’après ce que disent mes collègues de classe de l’Iowa et du Wisconsin qui ont peur de se faire empoisonner par leurs femmes de ménage mexicaines ou de se faire poignarder par un noir dans les rues de L.A. (sérieusement, c’est ce que Tim a sorti l’autre jour!!!).
S’ils pouvaient lire mes pensées, c’est pas sur leur frontière sud qu’ils construiraient un mur!
La semaine prochaine, si mon niveau de frustration ne me fait pas encore une fois perdre mon anglais, je vous promets de trouver de bons arguments!

J’ai l’air de chialer, mais je dois avouer que j’aime bien le challenge. En fait, c’est probablement ma plus intéressante session d’université à date. Des cours passionnants, des profs uniques et inspirants, des collègues de classe parfois enrageants, souvent brillants mais toujours stimulants, un magnifique campus en pleine ville et à deux pas de mon café préféré… je pense pas que j’ai jamais autant apprécié ma vie d’étudiante! Et étudiante à temps plein à part de ça!

Ce qui me rappelle… les étudiants c’est supposé étudier ça…

À plus!

Il etait une fois un vieux divan confortable...

(Jeudi 22 mars)

Ca s’passe dans l’fond d’un divan du fond d’un bar qui porte bien son nom (Comfortable Chair ou, pour les habitués, Comfy Chair).

Taylor ramasse la grande frange blonde qui lui cache la vue en riant. Son imitation de l’australien homophobe à qui il a fait signer sa pétition aujourd’hui est hilarante.
" …but, oh my god, it’s sooo not funny! "
Il parle de la décision de l’Université de Melbourne de démanteler son département de Gender Studies, qui regroupe, ou, dois-je dire, regroupait, les plus grands experts australiens sur la condition féminine et sur les questions GLBT. La rumeur veut que, tout comme la population étudiante, aucun des professeurs n’aie été consulté et que cette décision-surprise soit irréversible depuis la réunion de cet après-midi entre les conseil d’administration et le comité de restructuration académique (qui ne se fait d’ailleurs pas beaucoup d’amis avec son " Melbourne Model ", un espèce de nouveau diplôme de premier cycle général à la nord-américaine) qu’une manifestation improvisée à la dernière minute a en vain tenté d’influencer.
Taylor rit, mais il n’est pas content.
Comme pas mal tous les étudiants qui partagent mon pichet de Cooper’s Pale Ale ce soir, je ne comprends pas comment une université de renommée mondiale peut juger que les Gender Studies ne sont pas à l’agenda du vingt-et-unième siècle alors que le département d’études classiques, lui, est toujours dans le décor. Écoutez, j’ai rien contre l’apprentissage du latin langue seconde (y a ben des groupes de conversation en elfique et des livres publiés en espéranto), mais, à mon avis, si l’élite intellectuelle d’un pays comme l’Australie croit qu’il n’y a plus rien à apprendre sur les problématiques reliées aux différences d’identité et d’orientation sexuelle, ben c’est peut-être le temps qu’ils jasent avec Taylor. Ou avec Fiona, ou avec Bonnie, ou avec Paul, ou avec Sam, ou Gabi, ou Mary, ou Leigh, ou Elise, ou Josh…
Mais c’est justement là le problème : c’est pas l’élite intellectuelle qui tient les cordons de la bourse de l’Université… une bourse qui n’a apparemment plus assez d’argent pour entretenir un département résolument trop " multidisciplinaire ", à ce qu’ils ont dit. C’est peut-être mon éducation au P.E.I. (aujourd’hui je t’en remplirais un commentaire, moi, sur chacune des aires d’interaction, pis dans le détail à part de ça) ou dans un milieu qui considère que faire des liens entre les différentes connaissances qu’on acquiert est une forme de connaissance en soi, mais il me semble que c’est bel et bien un pas en arrière pour une institution dont le slogan est " Evolution starts here ".
(ouais, c’est ça, dans le bon vieux temps des amibes et des protozoaires)

Une montée de lait et quelques verres de bières plus tard, je me replie dans le confort de mon vieux la-Z-boy et je laisse mon regard flotter.
Au plafond, des étoiles multicolores qui confirment que la position appropriée chez Comfy Chair, c’est " ben canté ". Droit devant moi, entre les coupures de journaux des années cinquante aux annonces qui prônent la vertueuse ménagère au milieu de ses instruments de cuisine, une grande peinture psychédélique d’une femme toute nue dans un champs de champignons (plus ça change, plus c’est pareil…) qui me rappelle ce party où on atterrit par hasard samedi dernier vers 2 heures du matin; un party où il y avait plus de rastas et de vêtements en chanvre au pied carré que de monde dans le métro vers Berri un lundi matin (même après les avoir lavés, mes cheveux sentaient le patchouli!); un party où j’ai écouté un très grand et très maigre sud-africain blanc parler de sa vie et de l’apartheid pendant presque deux heures. Après avoir tout dit d’un seul souffle, il s’est arrêté. Les yeux dans l’eau, il m’a donné une grande colle en silence et il est parti. Ca avait fait longtemps qu’on l’avait écouté celui-là. Partout autour, dans les divans dépareillés mais toujours confortables, des Melbourniens qui placotent, rient, boivent et fument (oui oui, mais eux aussi leur temps est compté : juin prochain à ce qu’on m’a dit). C’est une foule assez " in ", j’imagine, avec leurs pantalons serrés, leurs bottes pointues, leurs coupes de cheveux des films futuristes des années 80 et leurs ensembles " style usagé ". À ma gauche, deux (spectaculairement belles) asiatiques au fort accent australien qui jouent au pinball électronique intégré à leur table. Au bar, un couple qui frenche entre deux gorgées de White Russian. C’est peut-être les cheveux ou les bottes, ou encore ma vue embrouillée, mais j’arrive pas à dire qui est qui, qui est quoi : un gars, une fille, deux gars, deux filles? Je sais pas pis, étrangement je réalise, aucune de ces options-là ne me surprendrait vraiment…et ne me choquerait certainement pas. Je pensais à ça l’autre jour et je me suis rendue compte à quel point j’ai côtoyé de la diversité sexuelle depuis les deux dernières années, à quel point je me suis entourée de gens qui, s’ils ne l’enrichissent pas individuellement, la comprennent et l’acceptent sans préjugés. Mais j’en suis venue à imaginer que toute la société est comme ça… toute la société est comme ma petite bulle et moi. J’arrive plus à concevoir l’intolérance et encore moins comment la combattre sans moi même juger. Et c’est ça le danger.

Mais bon, pour l’instant, je vais me contenter de sortir de ma bulle d’observatrice léthargique car tout le monde est déjà debout, prêt pour l’action de ce Thursday Night Out Part II qui se déroule à la soirée Queer & Alternative d’un club de l’autre coté de la ville.
La troupe s’élance déjà vers le tram qui vient de s’immobiliser devant la porte du bar.
Mais pour moi, l’irrésistible appel de mon lit à à peine deux rues d’ici est plus fort que celui du plancher de danse de A Bar Called Barry…

Elise, le pied sur la marche du tram, se retourne vers moi :
" Hey Q, you’re not coming to QQQQ & A? " qu’elle me crie en éclatant de rire (ma coloc préférée adore insérer mon nouveau surnom dans le plus de phrases possibles)
" Euhh, I don’t think so man…I’m too tired, but thank-QQQQQ! "
Les portes se referment sur elle et son fou rire (mes jokes poches font toujours un malheur avec une audience en état d’ébriété) et le tram s’éloigne à la lumière d’une lune qui croit à l’envers…


Ca s’finit dans l’fond d’un lit dans la chambre du fond d’une maison jaune quelque part aux antipodes.

Pour Gi!

Salut la gang!

Je suis presentement en train de vous ecrire des nouvelles, histoire de vous montrer un peu ce que je fais a part fouiller dans les vidanges pour des curios et manger de la creme glacee...

Mais, juste avant, un trio de photos recentes pour repondre a la demande speciale de Giselle qui dit qu'on voit tout le temps juste mes pieds (c'est un concept man!):

Jeudi. Photo avec Francisco alias The Chilean Guy, Pancho ou maintenant "Partner" (je vous reparlerai de notre "deal") quand on est sorti avec la mafia allemande (Elena, Sabine, Robert, Jorn, etc..) au Saint-Jerome's, un bar vraiment cool qui me fait un peu penser aux Foufs mais en plus intime et plus diversifie;

Vendredi. Photo avec Annur, mes colocs et leurs amis alors qu'on sortait d'un party chez Mercia, dans une banlieue a l'autre bout du monde, pour ses 21 ans (c'est un gros party ici, toujours bouffe et alcool fournis -on en a d'ailleurs fait quelques provisions... pour la route);

Et finalement, samedi. Photo prise dans un party de la St.-Pat's au Black Cat, un autre bar vraiment funky, avec mon ami Sang Jin (Ming, il fait dire bonjour!) qui est en visite chez moi jusqu'a demain :(.

Prochain coup, je vous conte pour vrai ce que je fais de bon (a part le party! hehehe).
Gros becs a tout le monde!

Q.

News from Q

Oh, I told you guys I would reappear under another name?
Well, I think I told the French-speakers.
They like nicknames here.
Too many Sarahs they say...
Thus, from now on, you will be known as Q!
Q as in Quebec. And if confusion arises, you will be Q.B. As in QueBec, or Q Belanger.
First T.S., now Q.B. I think I have an alphabet face.
And judging by their reaction when I told them Q in French meant ass, this nickname will sure stick to me...
On this cheerful note, I wish you all a very good day.
With me, I'm off to bed.

Q.

The Great Idea

Brains are very complex organs.
Especially mine.
Once in a while, a brilliant idea comes out of there. It’s rare, but it does happen.

The last time it did was last Wednesday…


I was sitting on the pavement outside Queen Victoria Market, eating my ‘roo burger (yes I did! I ate some Skippy!) with my cold Melbourne Bitter and listening to the live African drums band with Ze Germans (if I haven’t told you yet about them, they’re Elena, Jörn, Sabine and Robert, the German friends I hang out with these days) and a bunch of other international students. It was the last Wednesday evening music and food fair of the summer so we had all come out to enjoy its festive atmosphere.
Between two handfuls of dhal and rice, Francisco, aka The Chilean guy, who cut his long dreadlocks the night before (and sent them by mail to his mom who had been harassing him to get rid of it for the past three years), told me: "Sarrrrah! Guess what? I’m going to Sydneyyyy! Today, I buy this tourrr. And I will surrrrf therrre and they have like carrrnival therre! Is grrrreat!"
Damn right it’s great Francisco! If I had the 400$ I’d so do it…
Though I might pass on the surfing, cause me and waves are not on speaking terms and New South Wales sharks have quite a reputation, but…
"Sharrrrks? Nah! No sharrrks!"
Yes sharks.
"Rrrrreally?"
Unh-uhn.
Francisco looked down on his plate and I wondered what he was thinking about.
"Is ok. I’m not scarrred. I’m man you know."
That’s just Francisco’s favourite line ("I’m man you know").

I smiled and tried to contain my jealousy…no, not about being a man, on that side I’m good thanks, but the idea of spending a weekend in Sydney, cooling off at Bondi beach and dancing with the dragqueens for the Mardi Gras parade did sound grrrreat to me.

If only I could…

(And that’s when it happened:)

…but why not?!

24 hours later, I was on the top front sit of a huge double-decker bus speeding out of Melbourne in the dry and flat country towards the big metropolis, Sydney.

This should happen to me everyday.

---
Here are some pictures of the adventure:

My big big bus at 2:30am, in the middle of absolutely nowhere (the kind of places where kangaroos are not in your plate but hopping around).

And here's the bwana, my good friend Ng'ang'a, whom I hadn't seen for a year and a half and who must love me very much to wake up at 6 to come and pick me up from the bus station. That's actually taken from Circular Quay station and at the back you can see the famous Sydney bridge and the Queen Elisabeth (who's been following me from Chile!)

Ng'ang'a, who's studying at Lafayette college in the US , is also on an exchange here in Australia. Life does these things: him from Kenya, me from Canada; meeting in Singapore, off to different countries for uni and curiously ending up on the same side of the planet once more...

That's his uni, University of New South Wales (that's the name of the state, cause some parts of Sydney reminded some guy of Wales... maybe it was a very cloudy and rainy day). Not quite as charming as Melbourne Uni's old campus, but still very nice I found. My other friend from Singapore Sandra (if you don't know her, you'll meet her in a few pics) also goes to school here.

Sydney is basically built all around an immense bay called Port Jackson but some of its suburbs, many of them with beautiful small beaches, are located right on the South Pacific Ocean. Ng'ang'a lives near Coogee Bay and from there we just walked for a few hours, following the coast all the way up to Bondi beach.

We spent some time looking at the old graves in the scenic Waverley cemetery (seriously, what a gorgeous place to spend the rest of your eternity). I guess it was a Catholic one cause most names were either Irish or Italian. It's funny how on the same family tombstone, the older generations have Italian inscriptions while the younger ones are now in English. That reflects well the reality of immigration (which is probably something I'll tell you more about soon cause 3 out of my 4 classes are pretty much about that).

Ng'ang'a trying to "catch a wave"...

...and me taking pictures that will piss people off :)

Famous Bondi beach... if you manage to zoom in on the "general warnings" sign, you can figure out why, although I put my feet in the water, I did NOT swim that day (just kidding, actually, I forgot my swimsuit and there just a little too many people for me to go skinny-dipping)
On the following day, we went to town and did what had to be done: a picture of the Sydney Opera House. I don't know if you knew that, but the architect who built it never saw it finished. No, not because he died, but because he got in a fight with the government over the financing of the project (which costed like 4 times what he initially told the government) and never set foot in Sydney again. Money, money, money... allows you to do loads, but can make you miss out on a lot too.

Before heading to the Art Gallery of New South Wales to see some fantastic Aboriginal art works, we walked and ate ice-cream (that what they say here: an ice-cream a day keeps the doctor away) in the very beautiful Royal Botanical Gardens.
Right in the middle of the city, it's an oasis from the urban noise and pollution. A good place to take a nap (tested and true). But you still have to pick a good spot...

...if you don't want surprises falling from the sky...

...or some big and hairy friends to cuddle up with you.

Downtown Sydney. It's a big city. The comparison with Toronto often holds I find (and with the funky artsy city, Montreal, being Melbourne...haha! nananan) and it's probably just as multicultural. On the bus, practically every sit had someone from a different skin shade. Out of the 5 girls who were wearing a Muslim headscarf, one was Indonesian, another one Somali, one seemed like North African, one was completely white (I have no clue from where...) and the other one, well, I couldn't tell cause she was wearing the full burkha. The whole world aboard the same bus.

Oh! I wanted to show you... on that last picture, can you see the monorail passing above the street? I thought that was very futuristically cool.

And of course, every town's got its Chinatown. And of course, every Chinatown's got its dumpling restaurant. And of course Sarah loves dumplings and can so many of them till her stomach starts hurting and she has to lie down to recover.

...which we did, on the grass of Tumbalong Park (where you can rent the coolest thing on the planet: pedal boats! I was very much tempted but I resisted). We needed to gather our strenghts for the very special Saturday night ahead of us: Mardi Gras!

First off all, if you don't know her, let me introduce you to Sandra O'Connor and her friendly red-haired buddy Dina. Sandra, that I hadn't seen for more than three years, was my half-Irish/half tribal Malaysian (also called Chinese with freckles) roomate for a year and a half in Singapore (her, me and Amanda, whom I saw briefly in Toronto). She's got more tatoos and about two dozens more piercings than the dozen she already had back then, but she's still the same. And we still have the same great time together.

Then, let me introduce you to Mardi Gras... It might not be on a Tuesday and the people there might tend to be more muscly and covered in oil and sparkles than fat, but that doesn't make it less fun. Au contraire mon frere! (sorry for the inside) Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras is one of the biggest event of this type in the world. Basically, it's a big parade and a night-long party during which the ban on public drinking is officially lifted and where half a million people come down in the street to watch or take part in the festivity, dressing up as anything inspired by the gay and lesbian iconography. The Marie-Antoinettes were there, so were the biker girls, the Cleopatras, all the Village people and many unidentifiable funky characters. All of them out to have fun and to party. To that we say sawah!

It's a night that celebrates diversity but also a night where differences are merged, lines blurred... We keep on putting people in boxes, trying to figure out who's what, who's who. Actually, we just assume (or, at least, I have the bad habit to...once again, I realized after three weeks, that my flatmate' boyfriend is in fact a girlfriend). Well on that night, you just can't. Really? You thought she was a girl? Well, think again! All assumptions, tonight, are vain. And it does feel good once in a while to have whatever you held obvious challenged.

Talking about diversity and blurriness... I just thought I'd stick in that one of us three in the steamy crowd, just in case some Benetton agent coincidentally surfing on my blog wants to cast us in one of their ads.

Some fireworks...

...and another explosive topic. They might not all agree on where you go after you die if you are "on the other team" (as fellow ex-workmates would say), but I thought it was interesting to see many churches affirm their support to the gay and lesbian community on that day. Needless to say, Good Old Roman Catholic Church wasn't at the party (maybe they just weren't invited, nahh!).

Talking about party, another kind of... Let's discuss politics. As you can notice from the poster on the left, there's a guy called John Howard whom people would like to come out...and out of office they mean. Howard, who readily calls himself the most conservative prime minister has ever had, has been around for a decade now, playing best friend with another well-liked bloke George "Dubya" Bush. Refusing to apologize for the harm caused to Aboriginals by the White settlers, sending Australia to Iraq, attacking US Democrats by saying Al-Qaida would be happy to see Obama elected (maybe he just got confused, B and S so look the same), toughening up on asylum seekers, and of course a strong opposition to legal union of same-sex partners, among others, are on his CV. This year being an election year, let's hope Australians get the message.

And the party continued till very very very late...

One last picture of me and Sandra (until she comes visit me) while I waited to board the bus that'd take me back to Melbourne, right on time for my 2 o'clock lecture...