I arrived back in Melbourne on Saturday morning after a hellish trip home from Perth- waited 4 hours only to be delayed a further 4 thanks to a violent man who had to be arrested and removed from the plane meanwhile allowing impenetrable fog to descend.
Finally took off at 4am Perth time and landed in Melbourne 9:30am EST.
Goodbye Kalgoorlie, I daresay I’ll be seeing you again soon…
Anyone headed to the West Australian Goldfields region soon should not deny themselves a visit to Sassy Sue’s. Why? Because on the main street of Kalgoorlie lies the most impressive collection of vintage clothes, accessories, homewares, books, jewellery and more this side of the country.
Owner Suzanne Pugl is a bone fide collector and (excuse the crass expression) knows her shit. Her vintage collection, some of which borders on antique- note the dress from Coolgardie circa 1904 in the last pic, comes from all over the globe and is sure to impress.
Buying from Sassy Sue’s is like buying your own slice of museum-worthy history.
Hopefully I’ll get to visit again soon.
Also, while standing out the front of the shop I finally felt the blast that happens every afternoon at about 4pm when the mine at the top of the main street (?!) rocks from the explosives used to…. create more mine I guess. Impressive. Feels like a mini earth quake.
Sassy Sue’s 65a-67 Hannah Street, Kalgoorlie WA
My friend Kate invited me over recently for a catch up and baking session?! I was apprehensive, don’t think I have to re-admit my fear and loathing of food preparation. Anyway, it was hugely successful. Sure I did the old whiney “Kaaaate, I’m not doing it riiiight” routine whilst doing simple things like sifting flour and stirring the batter. But it all worked out in the end, look at those perfect cookies! Maybe I’ll bake again some day. They were delicious. Thanks to Donna Hay. And Kate.
Ps.Random fact: Mageirocophobia is the intense fear of having to cook
This time last year I was leaving NYC having swiftly fallen in love with the place after 2 weeks (such a cliche, i know). I headed to Europe for a few months and was lucky enough to return to the Big Apple on my way home in February this year. The two visits couldn’t have been more different.
The first trip was sweltering hot, my friend Kate and I managed to catch a heat wave that recorded the highest temperatures in 10 years (103 degrees fahrenheit or 39 degrees celsius) and humidity I’ve never experienced outside of South East Asia. Together we partied hard, ate, shopped, drank, saw EVERYTHING (including Brooklyn and The Bronx), made friends with everyone in the two hostels we stayed and left sleep deprived and shattered.
The second trip was solo and averaged 2 degrees celsius. I never felt alone (except when I had to go out for dinner having watched two back-to-back episodes of Law & Order, which is apparently way scarier when you’re in the city that the show is set in), I felt more at home than I had in weeks and enjoyed walking the streets and re-visiting my favourite restaurants. I also got to take many of the same photos, as you can see above.
Comparing and contrasting hasn’t been this fun since year 12 english!
I’ve been in the twin-cities for the last week doing a work experience placement at the daily newspaper while staying with my journalist friend Rania. And I LOVE IT HERE. Kalgoorlie, for those outside Australia, is a mining town in rural Western Australia. A town infamous for gold, miners, and brothels and the closest Australia has to a ‘Wild West’. The Super Pit (second photo) is the largest open pit mine in Australia. It’s hard to see how deep the pit really is, but that black spec at the bottom is a truck with a scoop the size of the one i’m standing in 3 photos later. HUGE. The closest city is Perth, 595 kilometres away.
For an taste of Kal, I strongly recommend watching Kalgoorlie Cops
Back to Melbourne on Friday night x
What fascinated me most was how Barbie and Ken have evolved in the last 15 years, presumably to greater reflect modern men and women. Well not so much Barbie, but Ken. Gone is the hard plastic helmet-hair, the 5 o clock shadow and 3/4 length ‘Dad shorts’ sported by the Ken dolls of my childhood. Those ‘Action Man’ wannabees have been replaced by much younger looking fashionable plastic figurines with cleverly coordinated outfits, ‘real’ hair and moveable limbs capable of over 100 poses- as it hilariously informs us on the box (how is that a selling point?!).
Perhaps todays Ken reflects the more fashion and beauty conscious, dare-I-use-the-most-overused-word-since-2000 ‘metrosexual’ young men of today. Or perhaps he reflects a crisis of masculinity in society lecturers in my gender studies classes swore was happening. Whilst Barbie is off being a doctor or lifesaver or ballerina or bride (she hasn’t quite evolved past the big white dress yet) or whatever she wants to be because dammit, she has the right to choose, Ken gets skinny jeans and a bunch of new poses. I couldn’t help but start to feel sorry for Ken. He seemed so confused- in one box he seemed wittingly camp with an indeterminate sexual preference, and in another he stood sheepishly next to Barbie, branded with her lipstick on his cheek, ‘Together Again!’. Purportedly she took him back after dumping him. Barbie holds all the cards, Ken is subject to her whims. Not since the Golliwog have toys been so politically loaded. What next for Ken? Perhaps he will soon be available for purchase with one of those super emasculating baby-holders strapped to his chest. A car with a baby-seat in the back? At least give him a Hummer or something.
Is it just me, or are modern discourses of food ruining our ability to take pleasure in the simple dishes?
Reality food television in particular, has for the last decade instilled an element of competition into food preparation that I simply don’t appreciate. Thanks to the likes of Masterchef, every schmuck with a fork fancies himself as a connoisseur of fine food who samples everything with an unimpressed scowl to rival Matt Preston’s (pictured above). And every other schmuck with a slow cooker smugly informs others at social engagements of the recent coq au vin they whipped up to the delight of their dinner guests (at a party on Saturday night I had to nod politely during a detailed account of beef cheeks).
I understand that for many, food preparation is a favoured pastime and highly enjoyable. Sadly, I am not one of those people. I hate cooking. Go ahead, throw your stones. I find it stressful, boring and messy. I do however, love eating. I derive a serious amount of pleasure from consuming food. If it tastes good, I love it. One of the problems with loving food but hating cooking (of which there are many) is having to pretend to care about the ingredients other people have used to create the meals you are eating. Particularly since Masterchef et al have made ingredients and their origins unnecessarily pretentious. I don’t care if the carrots are organic or if the goats cheese was harvested by tibetan monks during a gibbous moon, or that the dukka has been directly sourced from Egypt. Don’t even get me started on farmers markets. For me, enjoyment of food is not directly proportionate to how difficult its ingredients are to source. Food is more than just the sum of its parts.
I’m fortunate to have dined at some of Melbourne’s most highly revered restaurants, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped regular visits to Taco Bill or those kitch 1950s American themed diners I can’t seem to get enough of. I delight in the first crack on the top of a creme brulee just as much as the first bite of a big mac. To the newly converted ‘foodies‘ (read: food snobs) out there, I ask that you not forget the enjoyment of Mum’s lasagna (even if it came out of a box from Sara Lee) which was your favourite for a solid 10 years, or the unmatchable crunch of a vienetta ice cream log for dessert. You can enjoy dishes made entirely of ingredients from Safeway, I won’t tell anyone. Promise.
(image from news.com.au)
Yesterday I spent a magical afternoon at the National Gallery of Victoria’s ‘Vienna: Art & Design’ exhibition. I may or may not have mentioned a thousand times that I spent a semester living in Vienna while studying at the University of Vienna 2010-2011. Subsequently, I have been in love with the city ever since.
I was a bit teary-eyed and nostalgic as I saw a planning sketch for one of Vienna’s above-ground train stations ‘Gumpendorferstrasse’ where my friend Claire and I would purchase kasekrainers (amazing sausages with cheese inside) on the way home at 4am. So below I present you with just a few of my favourite photos (it was hard, I had 1,397 to choose from!) from one of the greatest cities in the world.
Museums Quarter, ceiling at Schönbrunn Palace, Gloriette at Schönbrunn Palace, kasekrainers, Belvedere Palace, Wiener Riesenrad (featured on The First Man), Cafe Central, Cafe Central, Stephansdom, Wirtschaftsuniversität Ball at the Hofburg Palace, chandeliers at the Hofburg Palace, horse drawn carriage at the Hofburg, Cafe Sperl, Wiener Schnitzel, Apfelstrudel, Christmas Markets at the Rathaus
Dry July kicked-off with a relaxing weekend at the beach with friends. Thanks to being rather ill in the days prior I couldn’t have been paid to down an alcoholic beverage (hello silver-lining!). We ate, boated, beach-frolicked, played UNO, drank (diet coke and lemon lime & bitters for me), and watched a pod of dolphins swim about lazily. Weekend perfection.
Next Weekend: I attend a 21st Birthday Party sober, see how it unfolds!
My Bloggable Day 
Haunted
Do you believe in ghosts? The Kalgoorlie Miner building is seriously haunted. Sure these photos are aided by the black and white function in iPhoto, but nevertheless the abandoned section at the back of the second level looks like the set of a horror movie. Complete with random chains and hooks, dust and dilapidated furniture.
Downstairs houses the ye olde and now defunct printing press which looks conveniently like a torture machine. It was in the printing press room that I saw and felt a ghost. True story. I kid you not. The place is crawling with them.
Everyone who works there has their own ghost story to tell. Whether they’ve heard strange tapping on long gone type-writers, seen the woman in the long white dress downstairs (apparently an office manager from long ago) or the editor who used to live and work in the building, you don’t truly work at the Miner until you’ve had a supernatural encounter.
The building dates back to 1896 when the paper first began production. Old = Haunted. You couldn’t pay me to go in there at night.
Have you ever seen/felt a ghostly presence?