Globalisation. Everywhere you go you hear about it, pundits praise its ideals while protesters smash things in a frenzy at the very thought of it. It truly is a contentious issue. But what does it all mean? What is globalisation and what will it mean for you and me?
To answer that I must give you a little background. When I first arrived here in Belgium the apartment was equipped with some version of cable TV. Not bad. I could get CNN, BBC, MTV and and variety of other channels to keep me entertained whilst Miss K was busy with important assignments in the evenings. I would sit there and let my mind wander as I watched, whether it was news and current affairs or seeing Xzibit pimp someones ride.
One day however this was all cruelly snatched away from me, leaving me with just two Belgian channels that I can see clearly plus one that I cant. This is where I discovered the meaning of globalisation. It means that wherever you go in the world, not only are you assured McDonald's, but also versions of your least favourite reality programs. Of course I am talking about Idol, Big Brother and even, coming soon, a version of Survivor. No doubt Millionaire is coming too.
Of course everyone complains about these programs, and no one will admit to watching them, yet here they are, popping up all over the world like infected sores. Agent Smith got it wrong in the Matrix, human beings aren't a disease on this planet, reality TV shows are.
Of course there are still some English programs, usually movies, and they are on after big brother every weeknight. Oh good, I hear you say. Well...sometimes. You see the TV networks seem to have got a deal similar to one you might get from your cable provider. You take the good with the bad. So for every movie from column A, usually Hollywood "blockbusters" like Rush Hour, Legally Blond and Charlies Angels, you have to take some from column B, where Steven Segal movies reside and then some from column C. Column C is where you get movies where the headline star is someone like Treat Williams or Rick Schroeder. Column C is where you find movies by Alan Smithee.
There are also the odd TV shows in English that we get, including Boston Legal, Ripley's Believe it or Not and, ahem, McLeod's Daughters. I guess there is no way they can do a Belgian version of that show. Strewth, what a flamin' shocker!
So we're reduced to watching reality TV, which does include a Belgian version of Thank God You're Here called Godjidank. Whilst this is good for the Australian company, the Melbourne company, that devised it but hardly any good for me. It's all in Flemish. Big Brother, with the sound down, looks just like Big Brother. No doubt if I could understand what they were saying it would be the same inane drivel that the people in English speaking versions come up with. Idol is interesting in the fact that at least the songs are generally in English. Yes Mariah Carey, Celine Dion and Michael Jackson songs are tortured the world over. At least there is some fun to be had in assigning the judges personalities and then trying to guess what they are saying. The one female judge is obviously Marcia, she starts all her sentences with 'you go girlfriend'. There is a definite Dicko look alike but he doesn't seem to be as harsh as Dicko is. Not sure about Mark Holden, and that's just a general observation. I'm really not sure about that guy. Of course with the judges speaking Flemish, I can understand what they are saying about as well as I can understand Mark Holden so that is no great problem.
Of course many of our 'favourite' reality shows came from this region of the world, particularly Holland, which gave us Big Brother. One thing I also think we have to 'thank' them for is the up late game shows, which are on constantly here, and not just late. There are two channels I can get and at certain times of the day, obviously during the low times, the same game show is on both channels. This is the future of TV, they've done away with scripts and plots and characters, now they are going to do away with ideas and any kind of necessary thought. As long as the bucks roll in.
Anyway, enough of TV. What else is interesting in Belgium, there must be something more than TV? Of course there is. One of the most fun games to play when experiencing another culture is the 'look at the weird names they have for things' game. Everyone does it, even with other English speaking cultures. Some English guys I met got a kick out of the fact I said I was wearing a shirt and pants. 'Pants' are underwear, I should have said 'trousers'. Well excuse me! Anyway, this game is not as good in a country like Belgium where everyone speaks English and they know what sounds 'weird'. Not like some countries, Japan for instance where you can get chocolate filled wafer tubes called 'Colon' or a chocolate bar called 'Asse'. No such rookie mistakes here. But there is one product I have come across, a drink called 'Looza'. This stands out for obvious reasons and I have spent the better part of the last couple of days thinking up advertising scenarios for this brand should it ever come to Australia. I think I'm ready with a couple of pitches.
1. A lonely guy sits in the corner of a busy nightclub. Across the dance floor he spies a lonely girl, sitting in another corner. They look at each other, exchanging shy smiles. Slowly he raises his thumb and forefinger to his head in the shape of an L. The girl's eyes light up, she nods and returns his greeting. They get up and head for the bar, as they do a voice over comes up; 'When all else fails, go for a Looza.'
2. Voice Over: 'You can get it alphabetising your X-men comics, you can get it playing on line Dungeons and Dragons, you can even get it colour co-ordinating your sock drawer. A hard earned thirst needs a specific drink, and the drink for you is Looza'
3. And finally. An average Aussie boofhead stands in line at the bar, running over his drink order in his head. As he steps up to face the waitress he takes one look at her chest and says the immortal words. 'Five Loozas thanks.' The tag line comes up, 'we're just saying what you're all thinking.'
So those are my campaigns for Looza. It's sure to be a hit, I've no doubt. And in case you were wondering, that's life in Belgium. Oh sure there's some buildings and museums and a thousand years of history, stuff like that, but I feel I've covered the important parts. Besides with all this typing, I've worked up a thirst.
As a matter of fact, I've got it now.
Tuesday, 20 March 2007
Thursday, 15 March 2007
Sugary Donuts and Cheesy Royals
One of the great things about living in a European city is that other European cities, as well as countries, are so close. In the time it would normally take to drive to say, Horsham, you can be in another country like Holland, Germany or Luxembourg. With that in mind, Miss K and I jumped on a train last weekend and headed out for Luxembourg city, which is not like Horsham one little bit.
So, a bit of history: If you're after a bit of a medieval experience that goes beyond Kryal Castle then you could do worse than Luxembourg, which began life as a castle on top of an escarpment overlooking a long valley. Over the years the castle became one of the biggest and most forbidding in Europe, before being comprehensively conquered and made even bigger. The town now spreads out into the valley and surrounding area but there is still quite a bit of the castle remaining. A lot of the original walls loom impressively above the floor of the valley. No doubt if I had've been an invader to the old town of Luxembourg, I would have taken one look at those walls and said, 'Well that's that then, let's go and invade Provence, before the English start buying all the property and building holiday villas.' These days the only invaders to Luxembourg, or L'bourg as the locals call it (possibly) are tourists and Miss K and I were no exception.
Luxembourg's one hostel was full of students and backpackers enjoying the simple comforts of an eight bed dorm, likewise many of L'bourg's many hotels were crowded with Germans looking for cheap booze and cigarettes, of which Luxembourg is renowned. Fortunately we managed to score a deal at the Novotel, which for the uninitiated is a large hotel chain that caters to business folk who have a meal allowance and are just in town to move some units, make some deals and press the flesh. We decided to wander through town and take in the sights on our way to the hotel. 'It can't be more than a kilometre,' I said optimistically. Of course not only could it be further, but inevitably it was. Our 'stroll' started out OK, we got a bit lost and Miss K needed to make a base camp for a while so she could stop for rations of goods from a bakery. Eventually we reached a stage where we did only have about a kilometre to go, which happened to be through a park. Sounds nice, sounds simple, sounds, in fact, like a walk in the park. Unfortunately it was more of a trudge up a steep dirt track from the bottom of the valley to the top, where the Novotel was cunningly hidden away in the business district with barely a sign to reveal its presence. Needless to say when we arrived there we were beyond disheveled, we were beyond being any kind of sheveled. They treated us with disdain, looking at my small day pack and Miss K's trolley case which had just survived some serious 4X4 action. We were backpackers on the cheap rate. To make matters worse we had to pass through a bunch of business folk who were milling in the foyer on a break from their conference on better ways to sell two and a half inch hose bits. We looked on with envious eyes as they snacked on plates brimming with cakes and donuts and other sugary things. Especially Miss K who was getting to the stage where she was ready to bite someones head off, if only to satisfy her hunger. Thankfully the gods of travel were smiling at us because after showering and appropriating all the toiletries we struck out for the city renewed. In the foyer an employee was straightening up the afternoon tea. Cakes and donuts were still in much abundance and the nice man noticed our plight, offering us a pick from the leftovers. So it was we made our way into the streets of Luxembourg with a spring in our step from handfuls of calorie laden delights we dubbed 'Foyer Donuts'.
Our remaining time in L'bourg was spent exploring the city, which is really quite spectacular. We explored the rambling foundations of the castle which extended deep into the earth and wandered for kilometres through the city and the valley below, enjoying the sunshine, the amazing architecture and landscapes. Of course we did the typical tourist thing and bought postcards which were of various city-scapes and sights. Probably my favourites though were the postcards featuring various members of the Royal family in differing states of repose and dress. Here they are in the park in white sweaters and casual pants, there they are in suits and dresses and now yet again in full military regalia. Apparently they love their royal family in L'bourg, but I'm not sure how influential they are in relation to the rest of the world. I mean have any of the young sons been on Australian Princess? Until that day comes I'll reserve judgement.
That's it for now. I'll leave you with a common expression from Luxembourg.
'Sorry, I speak only French.'
So, a bit of history: If you're after a bit of a medieval experience that goes beyond Kryal Castle then you could do worse than Luxembourg, which began life as a castle on top of an escarpment overlooking a long valley. Over the years the castle became one of the biggest and most forbidding in Europe, before being comprehensively conquered and made even bigger. The town now spreads out into the valley and surrounding area but there is still quite a bit of the castle remaining. A lot of the original walls loom impressively above the floor of the valley. No doubt if I had've been an invader to the old town of Luxembourg, I would have taken one look at those walls and said, 'Well that's that then, let's go and invade Provence, before the English start buying all the property and building holiday villas.' These days the only invaders to Luxembourg, or L'bourg as the locals call it (possibly) are tourists and Miss K and I were no exception.
Luxembourg's one hostel was full of students and backpackers enjoying the simple comforts of an eight bed dorm, likewise many of L'bourg's many hotels were crowded with Germans looking for cheap booze and cigarettes, of which Luxembourg is renowned. Fortunately we managed to score a deal at the Novotel, which for the uninitiated is a large hotel chain that caters to business folk who have a meal allowance and are just in town to move some units, make some deals and press the flesh. We decided to wander through town and take in the sights on our way to the hotel. 'It can't be more than a kilometre,' I said optimistically. Of course not only could it be further, but inevitably it was. Our 'stroll' started out OK, we got a bit lost and Miss K needed to make a base camp for a while so she could stop for rations of goods from a bakery. Eventually we reached a stage where we did only have about a kilometre to go, which happened to be through a park. Sounds nice, sounds simple, sounds, in fact, like a walk in the park. Unfortunately it was more of a trudge up a steep dirt track from the bottom of the valley to the top, where the Novotel was cunningly hidden away in the business district with barely a sign to reveal its presence. Needless to say when we arrived there we were beyond disheveled, we were beyond being any kind of sheveled. They treated us with disdain, looking at my small day pack and Miss K's trolley case which had just survived some serious 4X4 action. We were backpackers on the cheap rate. To make matters worse we had to pass through a bunch of business folk who were milling in the foyer on a break from their conference on better ways to sell two and a half inch hose bits. We looked on with envious eyes as they snacked on plates brimming with cakes and donuts and other sugary things. Especially Miss K who was getting to the stage where she was ready to bite someones head off, if only to satisfy her hunger. Thankfully the gods of travel were smiling at us because after showering and appropriating all the toiletries we struck out for the city renewed. In the foyer an employee was straightening up the afternoon tea. Cakes and donuts were still in much abundance and the nice man noticed our plight, offering us a pick from the leftovers. So it was we made our way into the streets of Luxembourg with a spring in our step from handfuls of calorie laden delights we dubbed 'Foyer Donuts'.
Our remaining time in L'bourg was spent exploring the city, which is really quite spectacular. We explored the rambling foundations of the castle which extended deep into the earth and wandered for kilometres through the city and the valley below, enjoying the sunshine, the amazing architecture and landscapes. Of course we did the typical tourist thing and bought postcards which were of various city-scapes and sights. Probably my favourites though were the postcards featuring various members of the Royal family in differing states of repose and dress. Here they are in the park in white sweaters and casual pants, there they are in suits and dresses and now yet again in full military regalia. Apparently they love their royal family in L'bourg, but I'm not sure how influential they are in relation to the rest of the world. I mean have any of the young sons been on Australian Princess? Until that day comes I'll reserve judgement.
That's it for now. I'll leave you with a common expression from Luxembourg.
'Sorry, I speak only French.'
Tuesday, 6 March 2007
A real wiseguy
Art imitates life which imitates art and so on. That's the idea anyway. In old European cities like Leuven there is plenty of art around, whether from actual "I don't know art but I know what I like" art, to a more broad definition of art, including architecture.
Now there's plenty of Architecture here and Sunday afternoons are the times to find the square full of tourists snapping pictures of the ornate and historic town hall and Gothic church. There is definitely a style in Dutch and Flemish architecture and Leuven is a Livin' example.
Recently I also discovered a statue near the town square. It's not overly historic but it's meaningful and some might say even artistic. This statue is officially titled Fons Sapientiae(Fountain of Knowledge) but is apparently known locally as Fonske. Fonske is not a particularly historical fellow, he was a gift to the town from the university, but he is much a part of the town as bellowing in the streets at two in the morning and running people down on your bicycle. It's safe to say that there are those who think that Fonske has some aesthetic, even artistic merit. As for me, I just cant help but think he looks like a certain comic book superhero. Here's what I mean:
Now there's plenty of Architecture here and Sunday afternoons are the times to find the square full of tourists snapping pictures of the ornate and historic town hall and Gothic church. There is definitely a style in Dutch and Flemish architecture and Leuven is a Livin' example.
Recently I also discovered a statue near the town square. It's not overly historic but it's meaningful and some might say even artistic. This statue is officially titled Fons Sapientiae(Fountain of Knowledge) but is apparently known locally as Fonske. Fonske is not a particularly historical fellow, he was a gift to the town from the university, but he is much a part of the town as bellowing in the streets at two in the morning and running people down on your bicycle. It's safe to say that there are those who think that Fonske has some aesthetic, even artistic merit. As for me, I just cant help but think he looks like a certain comic book superhero. Here's what I mean:
Too Much Coffee Man, caffeine fuelled Superhero.
Fonske, AKA Too Much Wisdom Man, Statue.
A strange coincidence or something more sinister? OK so it's just a strange coincidence, but I guess in reality, when it comes to being a University student, when it comes time for exams a head full of coffee is the next best thing to a head full of wisdom. Then again I could be wrong, maybe this whole thing is just a monument to my stupidity.
So that's it for now, with apologies to Shannon Wheeler, creator of Too Much Coffee Man. Check out the web site for a fun read. See www.tmcm.com
Later.
Saturday, 3 March 2007
It's a trundle out there.
Well, it's Friday here and classes at the Uni are finishing up for the week. In Leuven, that means one thing; a non-stop procession of students pulling trolley cases along the cobblestones outside the apartment. Many of the students in Leuven are from other parts of Belgium and considering the whole country is the size of a postage stamp, they load up the case with dirty clothes, trundle off to the bus stop or train station and head home for a weekend of wurst, waffles and washing.
For this reason, Thursday night is the big night here in Leuven for night life. Head out for dinner at eight, off to a nightclub at ten and stagger home at three and fall into bed. On Friday they wake refreshed in time to catch an afternoon train to their village seven kilometres away where Mum waits with the Omo and a cup of cocoa. It's good to see that students are the same the world over.
Miss K and I actually experienced the nightlife last night, heading out to dinner with her classmates who are a nice bunch. It's always a humbling experience as a native English speaker when the Belgians are switching fluently between English, Flemish and French without a moment's hesitation. I have a sneaking suspicion that these are not the only languages they know either. I wouldn't be surprised if they could converse with Vikings in ancient Norse. I have a theory that this is why Australians like to teach Europeans Aussie slang. Sure they can speak 57 languages, but do they know how to order a Coldie, chuck a snag on the barbie or tell their friends they're as dry as a dead dingo's donger. It's even funnier for us because no-one in Australia actually uses these phrases. Not so smart now are you?
Anyway, Miss K and I will also be getting on to the train tomorrow and heading into the city of Brussels for a bit of sight seeing and cultural experiences. Miss K is hoping to check out an arts festival, I am going to see if I can find Jean Claude Van Damme, the 'Muscles from Brussels', so I can teach him to say 'You havin a go at me mate?'
Laters.
For this reason, Thursday night is the big night here in Leuven for night life. Head out for dinner at eight, off to a nightclub at ten and stagger home at three and fall into bed. On Friday they wake refreshed in time to catch an afternoon train to their village seven kilometres away where Mum waits with the Omo and a cup of cocoa. It's good to see that students are the same the world over.
Miss K and I actually experienced the nightlife last night, heading out to dinner with her classmates who are a nice bunch. It's always a humbling experience as a native English speaker when the Belgians are switching fluently between English, Flemish and French without a moment's hesitation. I have a sneaking suspicion that these are not the only languages they know either. I wouldn't be surprised if they could converse with Vikings in ancient Norse. I have a theory that this is why Australians like to teach Europeans Aussie slang. Sure they can speak 57 languages, but do they know how to order a Coldie, chuck a snag on the barbie or tell their friends they're as dry as a dead dingo's donger. It's even funnier for us because no-one in Australia actually uses these phrases. Not so smart now are you?
Anyway, Miss K and I will also be getting on to the train tomorrow and heading into the city of Brussels for a bit of sight seeing and cultural experiences. Miss K is hoping to check out an arts festival, I am going to see if I can find Jean Claude Van Damme, the 'Muscles from Brussels', so I can teach him to say 'You havin a go at me mate?'
Laters.
Wednesday, 28 February 2007
It's your shout.
'For let, 1 bedroom apartment in the heart of vibrant Leuven, surrounded by shops, cafes and bars, this furnished apartment is ideally located for anyone looking to experience European life at its finest.' No doubt the agents who handle the apartment Miss K and I find ourselves in probably advertised it something like that. Sounds great, sounds promising, as it should. How about this though; 'For let, 1 bedroom apartment in a town populated mostly by university students, in a street filled with bars and cafes, in a country that has one of the highest rates of beer consumption in the world.' Yes indeedy, the revellers are out in force and they are happy, boisterous young things who are full of...well, beer.
For the first time in my life I am living in the heart of a city, right on one of the busiest streets. So what do I do with this opportunity? Well, I have become a curtain twitcher. I'm not proud of it, but I spend my time peering out at the street as groups of party animals go loudly by on foot, or worse still, on bikes. I am like a bearded Mrs Mangels, more like Alby Mangels I suppose.
Miss K and I are on the corner of a main street and a small lane as well as opposite a lane. Both of these lanes lead, inevitably, to more bars. So we're a hub for drunks and socialites everywhere. Down the road a bit is a jazz club that seems to be the place to be, not that we can ever hear any jazz though, only the dull doof of random techno. Still, it makes life interesting to be able to look out the window at the leaders of tomorrow partying hard and shouting drunkenly as they weave up the street. Last night there was even one optimistic soul strumming a guitar as he walked. I'm not sure what the tune was as he had skillfully hidden it between the bad notes.
So that's a Tuesday night in Leuven. Can't wait to see how things are when people get properly revved up on a weekend.
Apart from people watching, I have been fridge watching. The small fridge in the apartment has an interesting work ethic. As soon as our backs are turned it stops working altogether, takes a coffee break using our slowly warming milk. If someone was to prank call me and ask, 'Is your fridge running?' I would most likely be able to honestly answer, 'No, thanks for the reminder.' The problem is that the fridge needs a certain special touch to get it up and running again. A special touch which consists of a solid thump on both sides, it's like jump starting a heart. I shout 'clear' and give the thing the a solid kick start. I'm like the Fonz, only with a fridge instead of a jukebox, a well placed thump will get that baby singing and I turn around to the usually empty apartment and say, 'Heeyyy'. I know you were thinking the same thing.
So that's my day, spying out the window, beating up fridges and indulging my inner Fonzie. I am also doing serious work, using my time for other than frivolous pursuits, I promise. Plus, on a positive note, we will be out later in the week with the students, we will be the revellers on the street, making the most of the experience. I just hope that bloody fridge doesn't stop running...
For the first time in my life I am living in the heart of a city, right on one of the busiest streets. So what do I do with this opportunity? Well, I have become a curtain twitcher. I'm not proud of it, but I spend my time peering out at the street as groups of party animals go loudly by on foot, or worse still, on bikes. I am like a bearded Mrs Mangels, more like Alby Mangels I suppose.
Miss K and I are on the corner of a main street and a small lane as well as opposite a lane. Both of these lanes lead, inevitably, to more bars. So we're a hub for drunks and socialites everywhere. Down the road a bit is a jazz club that seems to be the place to be, not that we can ever hear any jazz though, only the dull doof of random techno. Still, it makes life interesting to be able to look out the window at the leaders of tomorrow partying hard and shouting drunkenly as they weave up the street. Last night there was even one optimistic soul strumming a guitar as he walked. I'm not sure what the tune was as he had skillfully hidden it between the bad notes.
So that's a Tuesday night in Leuven. Can't wait to see how things are when people get properly revved up on a weekend.
Apart from people watching, I have been fridge watching. The small fridge in the apartment has an interesting work ethic. As soon as our backs are turned it stops working altogether, takes a coffee break using our slowly warming milk. If someone was to prank call me and ask, 'Is your fridge running?' I would most likely be able to honestly answer, 'No, thanks for the reminder.' The problem is that the fridge needs a certain special touch to get it up and running again. A special touch which consists of a solid thump on both sides, it's like jump starting a heart. I shout 'clear' and give the thing the a solid kick start. I'm like the Fonz, only with a fridge instead of a jukebox, a well placed thump will get that baby singing and I turn around to the usually empty apartment and say, 'Heeyyy'. I know you were thinking the same thing.
So that's my day, spying out the window, beating up fridges and indulging my inner Fonzie. I am also doing serious work, using my time for other than frivolous pursuits, I promise. Plus, on a positive note, we will be out later in the week with the students, we will be the revellers on the street, making the most of the experience. I just hope that bloody fridge doesn't stop running...
Sunday, 25 February 2007
Belgian waffling
Finally, after months of saving and full minutes of planning and thinking things through, I have fled the country. Miss K, my architecture fancying counterpart, has taken up a semester of study in the Belgian town of Leuven. Having seen plenty of inspirational Hollywood movies, I realised that this was a chance for me to seize the day and live each day as if it was my last, or something like that. At least it was a chance to see Europe again, including some of the places I missed last time. So out of the baking, drought ridden heat of Australia I have come to this pretty little town which is all rain soaked cobblestones and students on fiets. I am now neck deep in waffles, chocolate, Tintin and Flemish, which is to say Dutch, but not quite Dutch. I won't go into a detailed account of what Leuven is like, other than to say that it's a university town where students from all over the world come to study, which from the amount of shops and bars in the immediate vicinity, means shopping and drinking. With so many international students around everyone seems very accepting, it's very much a case of Leuven let live. I know, it's a terrible pun but the worst part is, there's plenty more coming.
It's always interesting and exciting to fly out of your own country and experience a little more of the world and Europe has plenty to offer, from cold soup to blood sausage to chocolate, from Van Gogh to Dali to Turner, from Kafka to Hugo to J.K. Rowling. Having said that however, the plane trip itself can take you from the crushing depths of soul destroying boredom to the dizzying heights of things that are mildly amusing. With thirty-odd hours, four different flights, one lost bag, various dull movies and something that could have been food, I had plenty of chance to observe the vagaries of air travel. There are, I realised, certain laws that govern air travel, laws that go beyond laws of physics and laws of the land. Here are some of those laws;
Everyone, no matter what class they are flying, is going to try and carry on as much hand luggage as they can. Why risk having to pay excess baggage fees when that set of golf clubs can be easily crammed into an overhead bin on top of your fellow passenger's duty free ipod and Toblerone bars?
Everyone will complain about the food, but will still eat it and will eat it whenever it is served up. Pasta with 'chicken' at four in the morning, or three in the afternoon, depending on where you have been and where you are going? Absolutely. Why? Because I bloody well paid good money for this ticket and I am going to get everything I can out of this airline.
The captain will be warm, friendly and make everyone feel comfortable. He will also do his utmost to downplay the weather conditions in whatever city you are arriving in.
'It's a slightly chilly minus forty on the ground in Reykjavik, best put on a coat and say goodbye to your fingertips.'
'There's a little bit of a hurricane blowing in Kansas, but as soon as the control tower falls to the ground we'll be clear to land.'
Despite this, travel is exciting and planes are only a half of it. After all that, there's still that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you are coming in to land at your final destination and you realise that soon you will just be another bloody tourist.
I will leave you with this final piece of trivia. The Dutch word for glove, handschoen, translates literally as hand shoe, I don't know why but that amuses me.
Until next time,
Dag.
It's always interesting and exciting to fly out of your own country and experience a little more of the world and Europe has plenty to offer, from cold soup to blood sausage to chocolate, from Van Gogh to Dali to Turner, from Kafka to Hugo to J.K. Rowling. Having said that however, the plane trip itself can take you from the crushing depths of soul destroying boredom to the dizzying heights of things that are mildly amusing. With thirty-odd hours, four different flights, one lost bag, various dull movies and something that could have been food, I had plenty of chance to observe the vagaries of air travel. There are, I realised, certain laws that govern air travel, laws that go beyond laws of physics and laws of the land. Here are some of those laws;
Everyone, no matter what class they are flying, is going to try and carry on as much hand luggage as they can. Why risk having to pay excess baggage fees when that set of golf clubs can be easily crammed into an overhead bin on top of your fellow passenger's duty free ipod and Toblerone bars?
Everyone will complain about the food, but will still eat it and will eat it whenever it is served up. Pasta with 'chicken' at four in the morning, or three in the afternoon, depending on where you have been and where you are going? Absolutely. Why? Because I bloody well paid good money for this ticket and I am going to get everything I can out of this airline.
The captain will be warm, friendly and make everyone feel comfortable. He will also do his utmost to downplay the weather conditions in whatever city you are arriving in.
'It's a slightly chilly minus forty on the ground in Reykjavik, best put on a coat and say goodbye to your fingertips.'
'There's a little bit of a hurricane blowing in Kansas, but as soon as the control tower falls to the ground we'll be clear to land.'
Despite this, travel is exciting and planes are only a half of it. After all that, there's still that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you are coming in to land at your final destination and you realise that soon you will just be another bloody tourist.
I will leave you with this final piece of trivia. The Dutch word for glove, handschoen, translates literally as hand shoe, I don't know why but that amuses me.
Until next time,
Dag.
Thursday, 1 February 2007
Top Five Movie Lists.
I have myself a little radio show on a little radio station (Yarra Valley FM, 99.1 in Melbourne) where I do movie and book reviews. I also do lists of my top five movies related to whatever random topic I choose that week. Here are some of those lists for you to disagree with. Keep in mind that the movies aren't always that good, but they often had an impact in one way or another, or I couldn't think of any others to fill a spot! I will endeavour to get some reviews up here soon too.
TOP FIVE...
TOP FIVE...
AUSTRALIAN FILMS
Starring an up and coming Mel Gibson and Directed by Peter Weir, Gallipoli deals with one of the most important parts of Australian history and is a perfect example of an Anti War war film. The final shot is devastating and unforgettable.
Deals with something close to Aussie’s hearts, and I don’t mean bogans. A little story about a big dream, the dream of owning a piece of suburbia, as well as a house in Bonnie Doon, a driveway full of Holdens and possibly a pulpit. A genre defining classic.
Proof that Mel Gibson has always been dangerous on the highways, although in this case you want him on your side. A film that plays on our love affair with the car and the fear of what might be beyond the borders of our cities.
Introduced us all to Baz Luhrman, whose next project is simply called Australia, showcased Australia’s culture of dagginess and multiculturalism equally and made Ballroom dancing popular again, so we have this movie to blame for Darryl being on TV again.
Made every red blooded young bloke want to don an akubra and ride hell for leather down a mountain. The Victorian high country has never looked better and this took Australian bush epics from cheesy TV movies to full scale, heart swelling spectaculars.
MARTIAL ARTS MOVIES.
In no particular order.
Enter the dragon is probably Bruce’s most well known film but for me I prefer this, his directorial debut. Bruce plays the fish out of water role, transported to
Like Bruce Lee, you can’t talk about martial arts movies without including Jackie Chan. I’ve chosen Drunken Master 2 for its outstanding fight scenes – including drunken boxing – Jackie’s humour and the real punishment he puts himself through in order to create the best movies he can.
This is not one of Li’s better known movies and is possibly hard to get a hold of but it features one of cinemas best martial artists in his prime. Li goes from Shaolin Monk to outcast to Tai Chi master. The story is strong, the fight scenes are fantastic and it features Michelle Yeoh, one of the best Chinese actresses around, later seen in Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon and Memoirs of a Geisha.
The only reason to mention the plot of this movie is to say that what little there is gets in the way of the fight sequences. The fights themselves have to be seen to be believed. Tony Jaa is a Mauy Thai monk in training with fists, knees, elbows and head of fury. Forget your fancy wirework, these guys are pulling no punches and it shows, the most full on and unbelievably skilled fights I have ever seen on film. It even features a tuk tuk chase through downtown
A mid twenties actor playing a teenager in a new town, an aging Japanese handyman come Sensei, all American bullies we can despise, a love interest and a catch phrase that swept through the world. ‘Wax on, wax off.’ Pure
CHRISTMAS THEMED MOVIES
Depending on your age you will have seen the original 1947 version or the 1994 remake. Either way it’s the quintessential Christmas movie about believing and about holding onto your beliefs. A cute as pie little girl, a genial old bugger and the system they are fighting, you can’t go wrong.
Charles Dickens’ timeless tale in one of its many many remakes. This is the one I like because it has Bill Murray and Bobcat Goldthwait in it. For another hilarious take on it I would also recommend The Blackadder Christmas special.
After all that saccharine sweetness you need something a little bitter to chase it away. What better that Billy Bob Thornton as a whiskey swilling, foul mouthed redneck Santa who happy to beat kids up. So wrong but so funny.
Introduced us to the first of the Culkin’s, spawned 3 sequels and was possibly single handedly responsible for a rise in roles for smart mouth little brats. But it was funny and clever and we couldn’t wait to see what little Macaulay was going to do to Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern next.
Mclane goes out to the coast for a few laughs over the Christmas holidays and finds himself up to his neck in terrorists - bad news for the terrorists. Alan Rickman gives the bad guys of tomorrow something to aspire to and Willis gets to smirk his way through one liners and action aplenty. Gold.
The road movie takes a physical journey and uses it as a catalyst for a spiritual emotional or moral journey. Disregarding any number of horror movies where the travellers find themselves in a semi deserted locale with strange and hostile residents bent on doing them harm, here are my top 5 in no particular order.
Jack Nicholson, Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper, drugs, motorbikes and the open road. It’s 1969, it’s free love, it’s time to find yourself and expand your conscious. Welcome to the new
Before the Fokkers, before analysing this or that, De Niro was playing it straight for laughs as a bounty hunter dragging mafia accountant Charles Grodin across
The scene: Steve Martin and John Candy, newly acquainted and travelling across the country together, are forced to share a bed in a cheap motel. Inevitably they wake up snuggled together in bed, Candy’s arm draped across Martins chest.
‘Where’s your other hand?’ Martin inquires.
‘Between two pillows,’ replies Candy. Cue a horrified look from Martin, followed by the line, ‘those aren’t pillows!’
Pure gold.
The Griswolds just want to go to Walleyworld, well at least Dad Clark does, and he’s dragging the rest of the family with him. Redneck cousins, getting stuck in the ‘poor black neighbourhood’ and a blond in a convertible will not get in their way. It’s cheesy and the jokes are often lame, but if you’ve ever been on a family vacation, you’ll sympathise.
Max is the ultimate traveller, the wanderer, the nomad. What’s more he is the catalyst for change in those around him. A quintessential Australian road movie (or series of movies), it made real our sense of unease at the vast desert that lies in the heart of our country.
CHICK FLICKS.
Not just one but 5 or 6 separate stories of various relationships in modern day
‘I’ll have what she’s having.’ One of the funniest and most famous lines of the movie, said by the director’s mother. The movie that hypothesised that men and women couldn’t be friends than show two who were for years, then they weren’t then they were again.
Thank God that annoying little kid left his backpack at the top of the
Audrey Tatou is adorable, what can I say? Before she annoyed in The Da Vinci Code, Audrey was Amelie in this quirky romantic fable, set in a Paris that we all want to believe exists, but know doesn’t really. With another actor in the lead it might have been ordinary but Audrey’s sweetness and innocence elevated it to another level.
A movie that should have been in my top five road movies but missed out because I wasn’t thinking straight. Not a relationship movie in the sense of the previous four movies but a different kind of relationship. Two women doing things their own way and paying the consequences. Plus it featured Brad Pitt in his first real role.
DYSTOPIAN FUTURES.
Going to the movies can leave you well and truly depressed. You won’t need shades, because the future ain’t bright. Here is a list of some serious and not so serious dystopian futures.
The book that became the movie that became the template for many lesser stories as well as influencing our language. Big Brother is watching.
A future where we will all be slaves to machines that drain our lives, of course we won’t notice because we are being fed a false reality to keep us happy and compliant. An allegorical tale of modern life mixed with religion, disguised as Sci-Fi.
In the future, you are either genetically modified to perfection or you are a naturally born baby, and therefore a second class citizen. Ethan Hawk is a ‘natural’ playing a dangerous game to climb to the top of the elite ladder.
I’ve seen the future, and apparently we’re all going to be dressed by Gaultier and driving hover cars that look like they were designed in the 1940’s. We will also be under threat of annihilation from a race of deadly aliens – Unless Bruce Willis can tell the fifth element he loves her, and Chris Rock can find fire.
MOVIES FEATURING WRESTING.
In no particular order.
Peter Parker tries out his new found power in an all challengers welcome wrestling match. In doing so he discovers that with great power comes great responsibility.
The movie opens with Connor McLeod, our immortality seeking hero, watching a wrestling match. He then heads down to the underground car park where he proceeds to engage in some combat of his own, liberating a foe from his head.
The professional wrestling documentary that exposed the world of wrestling for what it was. Of particular interest is Mick Foley and the injuries he receives in this ‘fake’ sport, and Jake the Snake, a wrestler who has lost the spotlight but has found drugs. Compelling viewing.
Robin Williams as a Greco Roman Wrestling intellectual, John Lithgow as an enormous transvestite and sex scene that goes terribly wrong.
Replace Michael J Fox with Jason Bateman, Basketball with wrestling and keep everything else pretty much the same. Ok, so it’s not really a good movie at all, but it does have wrestling in it.
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