South Australia

So I'm back where I started this journey. Back to the land of Great White Sharks, 'The City of Churches' and supposedly the murder capital of Oz, Adelaide South Australia. Yes, apparently this is the place in Australia where the most people are murdered, and in the strangest ways. Supposedly more than a few people in Adelaide have been taken from this world, and then had the remnants of their mortal coil placed into small containers.
What I like about this place, (aside from the strange murders of course!) is its proximity to the earth. The real one that we haven't completely covered in cement yet. In the span of three days, I went crab fishing off a pier (or 'Jetty' in Australian), tended bar at my Adelaide Fringe venue the Tuxedo Cat for a punk rock show where the feature act was a Japanese band called 'The Jetboys' (where the lead guitarist got naked) and opening was a Melbourne band called 'Strawberry Fist Cake', went olive picking, fishing, wine tasting and surfing. This is what about love about the region. All you do is say 'yes' a few times and life is just waiting to hit you right in the face here.
First off, I landed in Adelaide and was graciously picked up by Bryan, the co-owner of Tuxedo Cat and his daughter, Scout. After taking almost a dozen flights since I've been here, being picked up at the airport has now become a huge luxury.


My first morning back I get a call from Karl "Thundershaft" Lyons (bitumen layer, Arborist, part-time bouncer at the Tuxedo Cat) who asks if I'd like to join him on the Jetty for some crab fishing. I said 'yes' and within an hour we were on Grange Beach where we tying fish heads to a net and tossing them over the side. After four hours, we had split a six pack of Jim Beam & Coke (I also had a tallboy of VB, which every Australian makes fun of here, but my brother in law loves it and I love him) and caught only three crabs. Two of which were too small, but one was well above size. The excitement of catching it was quickly replaced with regret for having doomed the poor guy to a boiled death. I'm still not quite sure on where you might draw the line between how much living creatures have awareness of their impending death. Crabs arguably just have a central nervous system, but whether or not they actually feel pain is debatable. I would now like to make a formal apology to the little sand crab.
Dear Mr. or Mrs. Sand Crab,
Sorry for leaving you in the kitchen for my friends to throw in a boiling pot. Thank you for being delicious.
Sincerely,
Christophe
Not the most sentimental I know, but humans are pretty brutal at the best of times. I am no different. My heart is as hard as a sand crab's shell.
That night was spent tending bar at the Tuxedo Cat. Like any music show, the bands started 2hrs late. The show was awesome, and had all the trappings of a good Tuxedo Cat show. Tons of booze, nudity, and the night ending when Cass discovered that the poo smell near the front of the stage turned out to be some cabbage.
After getting to bed around 5am, I awoke at 9am to start my weekend of olive picking with James. I stayed with Karen and James my last few weeks of the Fringe and already raved about how wonderful these two people are. They won't be able to house me next year as they are currently in the process of building their very own home in the countryside where they will essentially grow all of their vegetables, have chickens for their eggs, and live in a sustainable house eventually powered by the sun! That is way to fucking do it!
James and Karen's front porch view.

So this past weekend, James and I met up with his friends Damian and Matt, to pick olives in order to have them pressed for their yearly supply of olive oil. I was told this weekend was very sacred, and difficult to be a part of, but seeing as I can't take my share of the oil back home with me, I was a welcomed with open arms.


I had prepared myself for some hard, toiling work ahead, but being out in South Australian wine country, raking away at olive trees as they satisfyingly rained down into the tarp, I didn't for a moment feel like it was work. I'm sure if I had to do it more than two days a year I might feel differently, but it was absolutely gratifying to look at the over half ton of olives we managed to pick by the end of the weekend. Taking a photo of areas is nice, but I highly recommend getting your hands dirty and actually touching the scenery you admire.
We finished early on Sunday and managed to get some surfing in. The waves were coming on hard, and the battle just to get out on the other side of the break was the vast majority of the work. After surfing three times now, I'm amazed at how little time is spent actually catching a wave. So much of the basics is just learning how to get underneath the big waves that you are not catching, and reading which ones you can actually catch. I spent most of my time thrashing around, successfully imitating a wounded seal, but finally did manage to catch and ride one big wave. By 'ride' I mean on my stomach and knees. Standing up is going to take a few more tries.

Monday was spent fishing off an area that looks very much like photos I've seen of Scotland. No real fish biting, but the scenery more than made up for it. On our way home, we stopped by a winery to taste some of the region's best old grape juice, left with a few bottles, swung by a cheese shop and made it home for a great dinner with two of my favorite South Australians. I said it in the last entry and I'll say it again. To anyone who doesn't like South Australia...you're doing it wrong.