So below this post you will find two of the more fun assignments I've had to do this semester. These are some of the terrible tasks that have been monopolising a significant portion of my Time - and before you start jealously lamenting the life of a student, please give some consideration to the 7,000 words of essay writing, hundreds of hours of reading and research, and two exams that will occupy the next month or so of my life.
After you have considered that, go ahead and poke some fun at the Arts degree - I laugh at it all the time.
In case you are noticing a slight shift in the perspective of this blog, these are actually the current Adventures of Hamish. I, too, hope they will become more exciting very soon.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Another paper I have written this semester (yes, the joys of being a student)
(I hope you have a laugh at some of the hyperbole, the embellishment of usually insignificant experiences, and the rather terrible attempt at combining pseudo-romantic narrative with vaguely historical scholastica. The subject in question is named 'Pilgrim to Backpacker: Travel histories')
Wisemans Ferry: Winding and Wandering on a Pilgrim Trail
“You see things vacationing on a motorcycle in a way that is completely different from any other. In a car you’re always in a compartment... through that car window everything you see is just more TV...
On a cycle the frame is gone. You’re completely in contact with it all. You’re in the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming.” (Pirsig)
Being a motorcycle tourist is unique experience. As a motorcyclist every second and every centimetre of the journey is absorbed with exaggerated significance. Unlike in a car, stretching your legs means actually touching the road; every breath is of the air around you; every bump is felt, every change of environment is noticed. The road is as important as the destination, and it seems as though only fellow motorcyclists can appreciate this sentimentality.
As with any tourist experience, the trip begins with the preparation. For a biker this is steeped in ritual: check the weather, maps, fuel, tyre pressure, chain, strap bag to your back seat, climb into your riding gear (jacket, pants, gloves, helmet), press the starter and wait as the bike warms up. The anticipation builds, not just at the prospect of the ultimate destination, but also for the feeling of absolute freedom that the road brings.
Thankfully the weather was fine, and the maps looked promising: I was planning to visit Wisemans Ferry, a place not only of historical value and natural beauty, but also a Mecca for motorcyclists – and this would be my first time making this pilgrimage as a biker.
It wasn’t until after Windsor, when I was forced to turn to my well-beaten guide book that I began to truly feel like a motorcycle tourist. The roads slowly emptied as I followed the path of so many before me, heading north through Ebenezer, and down to the first ferry crossing at Sackville.
The ferries of this trip (I would take three in total) had an intrinsic value of their own – they offered the chance to stop and reflect on the roads just travelled and the roads yet to be ridden. It was on this first ferry crossing that I met a fellow pilgrim – another biker, eager to share tips on roads in the area that were worth exploring. As I made a mental note of road names and directions, I found myself reassured to know that I wasn’t alone.
This sense of community is something that would continue as I powered along Wisemans Ferry Road, pulling in to Hawkins Lookout on a ridge above the Hawkesbury River. A well-known bikers’ haunt, this is almost a compulsory stop for any bikers approaching Wisemans Ferry from this direction. Sure enough, I struck up conversation with a fellow pilgrim almost immediately – crouched first next to my bike, then his (inspecting engines, brakes, tyres, suspension), we talked about the different bikes we’d owned, and the journeys we had taken in the past. A few more riders pulled up and joined the conversation, including two on their way from Canberra to Newcastle via the back roads (seeking “adventure before dementia” in their own words), and the rider that I had met aboard the first ferry.
I had never met any of these men before, yet we were all able to share our stories freely, liberally – we were all united by our shared passion, embodied in our “journey of devotion.” This is exactly what I had hoped to find on this trip.
Down into Wisemans Ferry, I indulged in some genuine history; the reason that non-bikers might come to visit this historic town. Founded by Solomon Wiseman in the early 1800’s, the town gained its name when Wiseman established a ferry crossing here in 1827. Having run continuously in its current location since 1829, this ferry is the longest-running in New South Wales and possibly Australia.5 And then there is the famous Wisemans Ferry Inn. Originally built as Wiseman’s own home, the pub is now the traditional stop off for all bikers on the Wisemans Ferry run, and was where I stopped to catch an afternoon bite to eat.
But ultimately I was here to ride. Across the punt, left onto Settlers Road, sliding along the dirt road to St Albans, then back again along the tarmac to the last of my ferry trips for the day. Chatting with the ferry operators (a privilege that those in cars don’t have, as they are ordered to remain within their vehicles) I was urged to try River Road (ignoring the ‘Road Closed’ signs) before I left the area. A beautiful road that hugs the southern banks of the Hawkesbury, it is quiet, shaded by trees on either side. Add to this the twists, turns and the changes from tarmac to dirt; this idyllic setting becomes an exciting, fulfilling journey.
I was a pleasure seeker, indulging in both the ride and in the pleasure of being a member of a community of riders who had all passed before me. Just like a pilgrim or a grand tourist, it was this community that truly defined my day of riding: riding the established biker paths, engaging passionately with those that I met along the way, and truly earning my place within the motorcycling society.
Wisemans Ferry: Winding and Wandering on a Pilgrim Trail
“You see things vacationing on a motorcycle in a way that is completely different from any other. In a car you’re always in a compartment... through that car window everything you see is just more TV...
On a cycle the frame is gone. You’re completely in contact with it all. You’re in the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming.” (Pirsig)
Being a motorcycle tourist is unique experience. As a motorcyclist every second and every centimetre of the journey is absorbed with exaggerated significance. Unlike in a car, stretching your legs means actually touching the road; every breath is of the air around you; every bump is felt, every change of environment is noticed. The road is as important as the destination, and it seems as though only fellow motorcyclists can appreciate this sentimentality.
As with any tourist experience, the trip begins with the preparation. For a biker this is steeped in ritual: check the weather, maps, fuel, tyre pressure, chain, strap bag to your back seat, climb into your riding gear (jacket, pants, gloves, helmet), press the starter and wait as the bike warms up. The anticipation builds, not just at the prospect of the ultimate destination, but also for the feeling of absolute freedom that the road brings.
Thankfully the weather was fine, and the maps looked promising: I was planning to visit Wisemans Ferry, a place not only of historical value and natural beauty, but also a Mecca for motorcyclists – and this would be my first time making this pilgrimage as a biker.
It wasn’t until after Windsor, when I was forced to turn to my well-beaten guide book that I began to truly feel like a motorcycle tourist. The roads slowly emptied as I followed the path of so many before me, heading north through Ebenezer, and down to the first ferry crossing at Sackville.
The ferries of this trip (I would take three in total) had an intrinsic value of their own – they offered the chance to stop and reflect on the roads just travelled and the roads yet to be ridden. It was on this first ferry crossing that I met a fellow pilgrim – another biker, eager to share tips on roads in the area that were worth exploring. As I made a mental note of road names and directions, I found myself reassured to know that I wasn’t alone.
This sense of community is something that would continue as I powered along Wisemans Ferry Road, pulling in to Hawkins Lookout on a ridge above the Hawkesbury River. A well-known bikers’ haunt, this is almost a compulsory stop for any bikers approaching Wisemans Ferry from this direction. Sure enough, I struck up conversation with a fellow pilgrim almost immediately – crouched first next to my bike, then his (inspecting engines, brakes, tyres, suspension), we talked about the different bikes we’d owned, and the journeys we had taken in the past. A few more riders pulled up and joined the conversation, including two on their way from Canberra to Newcastle via the back roads (seeking “adventure before dementia” in their own words), and the rider that I had met aboard the first ferry.
I had never met any of these men before, yet we were all able to share our stories freely, liberally – we were all united by our shared passion, embodied in our “journey of devotion.” This is exactly what I had hoped to find on this trip.
Down into Wisemans Ferry, I indulged in some genuine history; the reason that non-bikers might come to visit this historic town. Founded by Solomon Wiseman in the early 1800’s, the town gained its name when Wiseman established a ferry crossing here in 1827. Having run continuously in its current location since 1829, this ferry is the longest-running in New South Wales and possibly Australia.5 And then there is the famous Wisemans Ferry Inn. Originally built as Wiseman’s own home, the pub is now the traditional stop off for all bikers on the Wisemans Ferry run, and was where I stopped to catch an afternoon bite to eat.
But ultimately I was here to ride. Across the punt, left onto Settlers Road, sliding along the dirt road to St Albans, then back again along the tarmac to the last of my ferry trips for the day. Chatting with the ferry operators (a privilege that those in cars don’t have, as they are ordered to remain within their vehicles) I was urged to try River Road (ignoring the ‘Road Closed’ signs) before I left the area. A beautiful road that hugs the southern banks of the Hawkesbury, it is quiet, shaded by trees on either side. Add to this the twists, turns and the changes from tarmac to dirt; this idyllic setting becomes an exciting, fulfilling journey.
I was a pleasure seeker, indulging in both the ride and in the pleasure of being a member of a community of riders who had all passed before me. Just like a pilgrim or a grand tourist, it was this community that truly defined my day of riding: riding the established biker paths, engaging passionately with those that I met along the way, and truly earning my place within the motorcycling society.
The sort of papers I occasionally get to write this semester...
(For a history subject called 'Food, Environment and Culture in Europe' - and yes, it is a real subject.)
Foodie Fantasies, Decadent Dreams: An exploration of Sydney’s more luxurious side
Degustation menus, once solely the domain of the most expensive restaurants, exploded onto the Sydney scene around 2004, for no apparent reason other than to allow chefs to demonstrate their expertise. Naturally expecting the best from my restaurant experiences, I decided to optimistically investigate some of Sydney’s more luxurious options.
Restaurateur Guillaume Brahimi puts on a menu to match the fine location of his Opera House restaurant Guillaume’s at Bennelong – he combines his French style with local flavours to present such wonders as the deboned rib eye of Mayura wagyu beef with a tombé of field mushrooms, baby spinach, confit of shallot, and merlot sauce. At $250 with a complement of French wines to match this eight course menu, one would expect such extravagance.
Tetsuya’s is often flouted as one of Sydney’s best, and Tetsuya Wakuda only offers a degustation menu to his diners. I have it on good authority that, amongst the nine courses on offer, it is his tataki of veal with roasted eggplant & caviar that best demonstrates his ability to marry his Japanese background with French styling. To be treated to a meal at Tetsuya’s one would need a spare $290, accompanying wines included.
And how could one go past restaurant of the year for 2009, Quay. Chef Peter Gilmore oversees an eight course tasting menu that can cost up to $400 with the inclusion of his finest wines. He makes a point of showing off his ability to source only the best ingredients with dishes such as the Butter poached quail breasts, pink turnips and onions, white lentils, morels, truffle custard, bitter chocolate black pudding, jamon de bellota, and milk skin.
The purpose of these menus is twofold – they allow chefs to demonstrate their creative culinary credibility, whilst indulging diners with luxuries of nearly unaffordable decadence. For those enjoying such meals there is grandeur comparable to the banqueting of the French courts in the time of Louis XIV: settings and service are impeccable, and meals are presented in such a way that creates harmony between the beauty of the ingredients and the skill of the chef. For those creating the meals, there is an obvious need to put all of their skills on display: dishes are created and plated with flamboyance, flair, and finesse, appealing to the fine tastes of consumers of luxury. But (if the profiles of these chefs is to be believed) there is also an emphasis on creating a harmony with natural ingredients, recalling the Enlightenment philosophies of finding reason in the kitchen, and having an intimate knowledge of the properties of food.
Dishes are supposed to present the extravagance of the Old Regime in their presentation, their showmanship and in the number of courses on offer; but they also pay tribute to the nouvelle cuisine of the Enlightenment in their (apparently) simplistic appeal to natural flavours, and the experience of the chef. Whether or not the degustation menus of Sydney’s finest restaurants are successful in treading the fine line between decadence and natural simplicity, they are all proud of their French inspirations. Ultimately, it is French cooking methodology that still rules supreme in the kitchens of Sydney. I wonder how many of these chefs have a copy of François Massialot’s Le Cuisinier roïal et bourgeois sitting on a dusty shelf in their kitchens…
Foodie Fantasies, Decadent Dreams: An exploration of Sydney’s more luxurious side
Degustation menus, once solely the domain of the most expensive restaurants, exploded onto the Sydney scene around 2004, for no apparent reason other than to allow chefs to demonstrate their expertise. Naturally expecting the best from my restaurant experiences, I decided to optimistically investigate some of Sydney’s more luxurious options.
Restaurateur Guillaume Brahimi puts on a menu to match the fine location of his Opera House restaurant Guillaume’s at Bennelong – he combines his French style with local flavours to present such wonders as the deboned rib eye of Mayura wagyu beef with a tombé of field mushrooms, baby spinach, confit of shallot, and merlot sauce. At $250 with a complement of French wines to match this eight course menu, one would expect such extravagance.
Tetsuya’s is often flouted as one of Sydney’s best, and Tetsuya Wakuda only offers a degustation menu to his diners. I have it on good authority that, amongst the nine courses on offer, it is his tataki of veal with roasted eggplant & caviar that best demonstrates his ability to marry his Japanese background with French styling. To be treated to a meal at Tetsuya’s one would need a spare $290, accompanying wines included.
And how could one go past restaurant of the year for 2009, Quay. Chef Peter Gilmore oversees an eight course tasting menu that can cost up to $400 with the inclusion of his finest wines. He makes a point of showing off his ability to source only the best ingredients with dishes such as the Butter poached quail breasts, pink turnips and onions, white lentils, morels, truffle custard, bitter chocolate black pudding, jamon de bellota, and milk skin.
The purpose of these menus is twofold – they allow chefs to demonstrate their creative culinary credibility, whilst indulging diners with luxuries of nearly unaffordable decadence. For those enjoying such meals there is grandeur comparable to the banqueting of the French courts in the time of Louis XIV: settings and service are impeccable, and meals are presented in such a way that creates harmony between the beauty of the ingredients and the skill of the chef. For those creating the meals, there is an obvious need to put all of their skills on display: dishes are created and plated with flamboyance, flair, and finesse, appealing to the fine tastes of consumers of luxury. But (if the profiles of these chefs is to be believed) there is also an emphasis on creating a harmony with natural ingredients, recalling the Enlightenment philosophies of finding reason in the kitchen, and having an intimate knowledge of the properties of food.
Dishes are supposed to present the extravagance of the Old Regime in their presentation, their showmanship and in the number of courses on offer; but they also pay tribute to the nouvelle cuisine of the Enlightenment in their (apparently) simplistic appeal to natural flavours, and the experience of the chef. Whether or not the degustation menus of Sydney’s finest restaurants are successful in treading the fine line between decadence and natural simplicity, they are all proud of their French inspirations. Ultimately, it is French cooking methodology that still rules supreme in the kitchens of Sydney. I wonder how many of these chefs have a copy of François Massialot’s Le Cuisinier roïal et bourgeois sitting on a dusty shelf in their kitchens…
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Adjusting, re-adjusting. Considering, reconsidering.
Time is.
And that is all that we can really say about it. There is nothing else in this world that is comparable, and descriptions (in words) rely on comparison, imagery, tangibility to at least one of the five senses. But Time is different.
Even air you can feel. Time just passes. It just is.
I'm really struggling with concepts of Time this year. Since returning from my grande adventure I haven't been able to grasp how Time works in Australia. I haven't been able to grasp Time at all. It is, to me, some ethereal concept that is as foreign here as the sun was in Edinburgh.
This has been a real problem for me. Where I reach out and grasp at this thing named Time, my hands return full of Discontent instead. And Discontent, contrary to popular belief, is a tangible commodity.
The thing in between Time and Discontent, in Sydney, seems to be another concept that we call Life - have I lost you yet? I, myself, am reasonably confused at all of this. And that is the essence of the problem.
I went travelling to find, above all, Perspective. Thankfully, this is exactly what I brought back with me. Mission successful, right?
Not quite. Perspective on Life is glorious. But Perspective without Time is useless. Perspective combined with Discontent is frustrating.
And that is exactly what I am with Life in Sydney - frustrated. I have no concept of Time here, and my newfound Perspective is fuelling the Discontent.
In more tangible terms, I am enjoying being back at University. The learning and thinking and growing have all reminded me how satisfying personal progress can be. Not having a steady job is difficult, because I miss applying my personal progress to activities that have value outside Academia. I am in an amazing relationship, have fantastic friends, and a wonderful (if absurdly dysfunctional) family.
But I just don't have the Time to use my new Perspective. It is itching to get out, pushing at the flood gates that hold it back, and driving the feelings of frustration and Discontent that exist in between all the other moments. It's like that new toy sitting in the wardrobe that is begging you to play with it, but you know that you have to do your homework first.
But maybe I am looking at it all wrong - maybe I don't need Time to use Perspective. Maybe I need Perspective to understand Time.
I'll get there eventually... I just need a bit more Time.
And that is all that we can really say about it. There is nothing else in this world that is comparable, and descriptions (in words) rely on comparison, imagery, tangibility to at least one of the five senses. But Time is different.
Even air you can feel. Time just passes. It just is.
I'm really struggling with concepts of Time this year. Since returning from my grande adventure I haven't been able to grasp how Time works in Australia. I haven't been able to grasp Time at all. It is, to me, some ethereal concept that is as foreign here as the sun was in Edinburgh.
This has been a real problem for me. Where I reach out and grasp at this thing named Time, my hands return full of Discontent instead. And Discontent, contrary to popular belief, is a tangible commodity.
The thing in between Time and Discontent, in Sydney, seems to be another concept that we call Life - have I lost you yet? I, myself, am reasonably confused at all of this. And that is the essence of the problem.
I went travelling to find, above all, Perspective. Thankfully, this is exactly what I brought back with me. Mission successful, right?
Not quite. Perspective on Life is glorious. But Perspective without Time is useless. Perspective combined with Discontent is frustrating.
And that is exactly what I am with Life in Sydney - frustrated. I have no concept of Time here, and my newfound Perspective is fuelling the Discontent.
In more tangible terms, I am enjoying being back at University. The learning and thinking and growing have all reminded me how satisfying personal progress can be. Not having a steady job is difficult, because I miss applying my personal progress to activities that have value outside Academia. I am in an amazing relationship, have fantastic friends, and a wonderful (if absurdly dysfunctional) family.
But I just don't have the Time to use my new Perspective. It is itching to get out, pushing at the flood gates that hold it back, and driving the feelings of frustration and Discontent that exist in between all the other moments. It's like that new toy sitting in the wardrobe that is begging you to play with it, but you know that you have to do your homework first.
But maybe I am looking at it all wrong - maybe I don't need Time to use Perspective. Maybe I need Perspective to understand Time.
I'll get there eventually... I just need a bit more Time.
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