Woolloongabba Cricket Party - 1-6-12

 "I have found out that there ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them." -Mark Twain

Crew with a view.

The Acropolis in Athens, Greece gives a surveying view over the city that provides an empowering feeling of visionary dominance over the capital. Brisbane, alike, has a Acropolis-esque hill on which there is no Parthenon, but a small cafe with tourist shop in tow. Both with inflated prices, of course. Though the setting (and foregoing approach) are not near as romantic, picturesque, or well defined, the same feeling overtakes you at the expansive sight of a city whose winding streets you were wandering through just 20 minutes ago. Every city has their "lookout point", "lookout mountain", "lookout plateau", or other Acropolisesque view point, and Brisbane's is just the same and equally anticlamactic.

A little lost...

"Genuine" Aboriginal cave drawings.

After our "hike" along a highway up to view the city - a trek of hilarity - , we took in the sights, snapped a picture and payed 5 dollars for some ice cream. Pretty standard fare. On our way down, we were treated with some "genuine" artifactual aboriginal cave drawings and rock formations that had been there for hundreds if not thousands of years...hmm. The tourist trapping rendition of aboriginal art and culture in whatever form or appearance the tourist council, or whoever, sees fit is getting a bit old. I am ready for some spear chuckin'-no English speaking- indigenous aboriginal people. With a bit of knowledge on the history of australia in the past 150 some odd years, you know this may be asking a bit much. Oh well, one can dream. Or at least pray we will be spared the sight of any more attempted aboriginal showings. They come off a bit cheesy and forced.  A sad attempt at providing sights of presumable genuine interest to likely tourists.  Im probably just being vain, however.

Chasing turkey looking things around the ugliest tree in the world.

After a short period of aimless wandering, we made it back into the city to rest up before an attempted trial by fire at becoming a cricket fan...or viewer, or whatever you can manage. Had a meeting with Anoop to run over the general rules beforehand so as to give us some sort of bearing on the symmetrical baseball sort of sport. Sport being used lightly as in any game where the players do not remove their warmups for the actual game may, in fact, not qualify as a sport. In my book, anyway.  We got an amateur understanding of such phrases as wicket, bowler, over, 4, pitch, floo powder, snitch, and various others I fail to recall before heading into the stadium. We were warned by the attendant at the lobby that the Mexican wave is illegal and will bring about prompt ejection. Why?  Apparently attendees would relieve themselves in empty beer cups, do the wave, throw hands up, and subsequently spray unfortunate bystanders with their cup's contents. These people are animals at a cricket game - the team-sport counterpart to golf (in reference to the turn it on and fall asleep on a Sunday sort of quality). I can't wait to go to a Rugby match.

It was a nail biter, but in the end, in a struggled attempt to keep track of the score, over, outs, etc., the Brisbane heat came out on top 201-198; winning me 22 bucks. And I never even got sprayed with pee. Good night in my book, and it is off to the local pubs to celebrate with the cricket degenerates.

On the train to the Gold Coast as I write this with excited zeal. Met some girls from "goldy", as they mockingly retorted in correction to our Gold Coast questioning, and they had great things to say. I'm anticipating a Panama City meets Destin meets Australia. Gonna try and steer clear from the PC region, unless that's where the waves are. We will see.

Cheers.