Newtown
It’s yet another gloriously sunny day and I’m sitting inside an indulgently decorated dark room drinking a flat white at La Boemia Caffe Emporio, the coffee shop beneath our guesthouse. As I had initially suspected upon my arrival I am in fact a regular customer here and have since gotten to know the staff quite well. Marco, the owner, saw me one day sitting at a table happily tapping away at my laptop when he kindly offered me the use of his “cigar room”. He suggested that the air conditioned and comfortably furnished interior would be a better place for me to work. The room is, as the appropriate name suggests, a place where people can smoke cigars and drink coffee surrounded by antique furniture, rococo drapery and an impressive display of baroque framed art. I spent more time studying the contents of the room than actually doing any work. I asked Marco if the room was popular with the locals but surprisingly he told me that just recently he decided to close it. Apparently the room wasn’t much of a success largely due to the fact that even when just two people occupied the room it discouraged others from entering. He said that customers were intimidated by other people who had already made themselves comfortable and it was as if they had claimed the entire room for themselves. Marco suggested a different layout and some additional tables might solve the problem but for now it remained closed. Except to me of course. The cigar room has just become my new studio. You’re probably still wondering what a flat white is…I didn’t know either until after my first coffee shop experience in Newtown. I confidently walked into a coffee shop called Corelli’s on King Street and requested a regular coffee. The large gothic inspired queen behind the counter asked sharply “what kind of coffee” without even looking at me. I replied “well, just a drip coffee. Filtered coffee perhaps.” He looked up and with an impatient tone of voice said “we don’t do that.” “Okay, well…” and I looked at the espresso machine in front of him and figured that it was going to have to be a bar drink. The next best thing to a regular coffee is an Americano which is a shot of espresso topped up with hot water so I offered “…erm, an Americano.” “No! We don’t do that either…look, what is it you want. A latte or something?” I didn’t want a latte. I didn’t want a cappuccino, macchiato or anything like that. “Just a normal coffee, don’t you have anything like that” I asked. “Flat white. That’ll be two fifty please.” I didn’t even bother asking him what the hell made up a flat white but whatever it was it tasted good. I have since learnt that it is two thirds coffee and one third milk. I never went back to that coffee shop.
The Australians seem to have a different name for everything here. I was shocked to see a sign in a bar saying “No Thongs Please” until I later learnt that thongs are the ozzie name for flip flops. Singlets the name for ladies vests. Schooner the name of a pint glass (although it’s actually nowhere near as big as a pint). Even long established international brands seem to feel the need to join the bandwagon and change their name. Burger King is called “Hungry Jack’s” and Walls ice-cream for some bizarre reason have decided to re-name themselves “Streets.”
I had fun at the supermarket a few days ago. It’s been a while since I last shopped for groceries and I found it remarkably soothing. I was amazed at how quickly I settled back into the routine of spending lord knows how long standing in front of packaged goods trying to justify their purchase and convince myself that a $4.50 jar of Italian green stuffed olives would not be a frivolous purchase. My first real difficult decision making experience took place at the cheese section. Ever since I left Italy I have been craving three things. Coffee, cheese and wine. Most places in Asia do not supply these products or if they do, they’re outrageously expensive (for obvious reasons) or locally produced and therefore disgusting. After much thought I decided that I really just fancied some plain and simple cheddar so I checked to see what was on offer. “Sharp,” “tasty” or “mild” seemed to be the choice. I went for “tasty” assuming that meant it was medium in strength. Then I spent a while looking for the wine and spirits section until I was told that it is against the law for supermarkets to sell alcohol here.
I have just started working part-time at a bar on King Street called Zanzibar which is turning out to be a lot more than I bargained for. The bar has three floors which include a rooftop terrace, cocktail lounge and main bar. I have been working outdoors on the rooftop familiarizing myself with the strange accents, unfamiliar products and strict staff procedures. I have worked in bars with high standards before but this place “takes the biscuit”. Coopers Draught, Toohey’s New, Victoria Bitter…all names of beer that I have never heard of which people ask for. I would have a better chance of identifying the drink they requested if it wasn’t for the additional challenge of an Australian accent. Next week I will be starting to learn how to make cocktails. Not just make them…but spin the bottles and light things on fire known as “flaring”. They reckon in three weeks time I will be “flaring my tits off”. Last night the bartenders put on a show for a private function and lit the whole bar surface on fire while spinning flaming bottles in the air. I wondered why a bar that is so strict on health and safety matters allowed such activities to take place. In contrast, I have also been asked to attend a second interview for a senior graphic design position in the city and have already resumed work for old clients in Chicago.
