Tag Archives: Australian lifestyle

Domestic happiness: An Australian destination that feels like a vacation abroad | Travel | Instant News


With international travel impossible ahead of time, many Australians are finally starting to find their own country.

Although the basket list has been reorganized to prioritize places like Uluru, the Great Barrier Reef and Sydney Harbor, there are many lesser-known destinations that are just as valuable. And they don’t all feel “Australian”. Apart from scratching the itch overseas, these spots will also be a lot cheaper than international flights, even by pre-pandemic standards.

Where you want to go: Southern France
Where to go now: Tasmanian lavender fields








Bridestowe lavender field in northern Tasmania. Photo: Rachel Dulson / Getty Images

Images of gentle Provence hills covered in dusky purple flowers have graced calendars and postcards long before the Instagram era. But the magic of this lavender field lies in its ability to engage more than one of the senses. As they explode with color each summer, the flowers rustle gently in the breeze and give off a soothing fragrance.

You can smell purple mist closer to home in a Tasmanian lavender plantation; the biggest, Bridestowe, conveniently located near Launceston, although you’ll also find ranches around Hobart. Here every summer rows of flowering bush curve toward the sheer mountains of the island’s interior.

Where you want to go: on safari in Tanzania

Where to go now: open shelters





A white rhino calf runs past its mother in a cage at the Taronga Western Plains zoo.



A white rhino calf runs past its mother in a cage at the Taronga Western Plains zoo. Photo: David Gray / Getty Images

Turning the sun rising over the dusty plains of western New South Wales into a Pride Rock moment takes a great deal of imagination, but it’s a lot easier when you can hear the lions roaring in the background.

Wildlife on Taronga West Plains it seems to think that Dubbo’s wide open space and dry climate make it a plausible proxy for the savanna in southern Africa. And while there are no guarantees of animal sightings in the wild, this outdoor sanctuary offers instant gratification; You can see the Big Five in a matter of hours and then sleep under a mosquito net next to a savanna inhabited by giraffes, zebras and rhinos. For a more budget-friendly option, there are many affordable hotels in town. A similar experience (without accommodation) can also be had in South Australia at Safari Monarto and Victoria on Werribee.

Where you want to go: Maldives
Current destination: Cocos (Keeling) Islands





Ragged hammocks hanging among palm trees on Direction Island in Cocos Keeling



Ragged hammocks hanging among palm trees on Direction Island in Cocos Keeling. Photo: MarciParavia / Getty Images / iStockphoto

You don’t have to book an international flight to visit the coral atolls covered in palm, cooled by trade winds and surrounded by the blue waters of the Indian Ocean. It is technically a territory outside Australia, culturally Cocos (Keeling) Islands is their own entity – Cocos Malay is the main language and Islam is the dominant religion. And since the accommodation is in bungalows rather than in closed resorts, You will have the opportunity to observe the local way of life.

With a population of only 600 and Perth a four-and-a-half hour flight away, secluded beaches are more than just claims made by tourist literature. You are unlikely to find crowds on the white sands of Cossie Beach. Explore the sand and you’ll also find great diving, fishing and kite surfing activities. Due to Covid-19 restrictions, visitors to the Cocos Keeling Islands must spend at least 14 days in Western Australia before arriving, although there is no requirement to quarantine or isolate once you arrive.

Where you want to go: Iceland
Where to go: Seeing the Aurora Australis in Tasmania





Aurora Australis or southern lights in the sky above blue bioluminescence in South Arm near Hobart.



Aurora Australis or southern lights in the sky above blue bioluminescence in South Arm near Hobart. Photo: Chasing Light – Photography by James Stone james-stone.com/Getty Images

Every year thousands of tourists travel to the icy lands of the north to see green, purple and red pirouette ribbons crossing the sky in majestic celestial dances. But the aurora borealis also has a southern counterpart.

It is difficult to predict exactly when the southern lights will appear (there are many Facebook groups with the latest information), but you can maximize your chances by choosing a night with a new moon and clear sky. Then find a spot with an unobstructed view of the south and minimal light pollution, and wait. For places near Hobart, go to Southern Arm, 40 minutes drive from town. Or pull your thermals and go south as far as the path that takes you, to Cockle Creek. Put up the tent Bruny Island is also a great way to maximize your chances.

Where you want to go: Amazon

Where to go now: Daintree





River in the Daintree rainforest, Queensland, Australia.



River in the Daintree rainforest, Queensland, Australia. Photo: Maria Grazia Casella / Alamy Stock Photo / Alamy Stock Photo

Australia and South America were part of the same landmass and the Daintree rainforest has been around since then. In fact, they’re about 10 million years longer than Amazon.

While you won’t be confused with the Amazon, crossing the muddy, crocodile-infested Daintree River will take you to 180m year old rainforest where some of the buildings are dwarfed by the surrounding greenery.

Road signs warn drivers to slow down cassowary vehicles and trails that cut through impenetrable vegetation indicate plant species that have not changed in millennia. And if you’ve always wanted to live in a tree house, there are lots of options.

Where you want to go: Singapore’s hawker center

Where to go now: Darwin Market





Laksa at Parap Market in Darwin.



Laksa at Parap Market in Darwin. Photo: Matt Cherubino / Tourism NT

More than just a place to fill your stomach, Singapore’s hawkers chronicle the Lion City’s multicultural history in edible form. Midway between Singapore and Sydney, they find more sluggish tropical resonance in Darwin’s many markets where you can find many Cambodian, Filipino, Thai and Vietnamese flavors. But rightfully, it is the most arousing fusion dish.

Darwin’s title of best laksa is hotly debated (it even exists Laksa Festival). But the queues every Saturday in the open air of Parap Village demonstrate the consensus that it’s a breakfast meal to suit (best washed down with a fresh tropical fruit shake).

Where you want to go: Atacama Desert

The destination now: Mungo Lake





Eroded sand dunes or moon formations in Mungo National Park, western NSW, Australia.



Eroded sand dunes or moon formations in Mungo National Park, western NSW, Australia. Photo: Auscape / UIG via Getty Images

There is something enchanting about the remote landscape of Chile’s highland desert, but you will likely find enlightenment in Mungo National Park. Ancient sand dunes have been destroyed by the elements and turned into gardens of abstract sculpture. But not always desert. Before the last ice age, the lake was full and inhabited a large number of wildlife, along with humans.

When two burial rituals that were more than 40,000 years old were found nearby, they were rewrite European understanding of Australian history. Today, the vast expanses of clay appear striking and lonely, but the prunes and millennia of footprints are a reminder that this landscape is rich in stories as well as natural beauty.

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‘Customary clothing is the future. It’s time for the First Nation people to reclaim it. ‘| Mode | Instant News


Lee: I thought a lot about what Leecee Carmichael (an artist and designer Ngugi / Quandamooka) talks about, that weaving is the act of joining two fibers together and rubbing them on our feet. This has been happening for centuries, more than 60,000 years. And this is the essence of everything we wear today.

Weaving is very simple, but also difficult, because it is difficult and repetitive and long. It may be like life – but then you can create this beautiful thing.

Hobson: Your practice is very much about traditional weaving techniques, and you do it through a very beautiful and contemporary context. Could you speak with us a little about how you got to this point?

Lee: In my last year studying fashion at RMIT, I took my grandmother back to the Torres Strait – she hasn’t been back in 57 years. I was very young, I was 21 years old, and I was like, “What’s going on here?”

Nana I asked: “What do you want to do about this?” And I realized I needed to make something up in response; the best way I know how to react to situations is through my creative practice. I created a collection named Intertwined, and I’m connected to Uncle Ken Thaiday.

Uncle Ken kept inviting me back to learn more. I’ll come and bring my grandmother, and they’ll have threads. Weaving with it is very organic. He’s not like, “I’m going to teach you this.” He just did, so I said, “Ooh, can I try it?”

Fashion was a way for me to understand my cultural identity and to be proud, because it was suppressed in my father’s education.

Hobson: The concept of re-engaging with culture and community is very important.

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‘I am sad for Australia – no internet connection on earth can replace my connection to the country’ | Life and style | Instant News


me visiting my boyfriend in Victoria country for the weekend. We’ve been to the footy and the pub, and now we’re in his parents’ living room watching 60 Minutes, like they always do on Sunday nights.

The main story is about an Aboriginal community where alcoholism and violence are rampant. It followed the usual formula – something that would make home audiences shake their heads and then wash their hands. I became more and more uncomfortable. I could feel the dam of silence about to break, that someone was going to give off the kind of lowly racist comment that, as a mixed-race woman with pale skin, I was always unconsciously prepared. I started feeling restless around strangers, just in case Aboriginal topics came up. This time it was much worse than usual.

“We should shoot them all when we have the chance,” my future father-in-law announced. “We’re not going to have all these problems now.” My girlfriend said nothing except her mother laughed nervously. “Don’t say things like that in front of Kate.” He didn’t know I was Aboriginal, but he did know I was a left-handed law student.

He continues to fire from his storehouse of bigotry, finally landing on the classic: “I’m not racist. I have Aboriginal friends at work. “It’s true there were Aboriginal people in the factory where he worked, although I don’t know if they were friends. I had never heard him mention them before. I kept staring at the TV and waited for the TV to finish.

For the three of them, it was just a sad wish for an easier life; for me it is a push for genocide that will wipe out half my family.

Being a Native who could be considered white is a privilege and a burden, and privileges and burdens are the same thing: people don’t treat you like you are Aboriginal.

In some ways, you experience racism like an observer in a car accident – it doesn’t happen directly to you, but is traumatic nonetheless. Except in so many important things – mental and emotional repercussions – it happens to you.

Passing for white leaves you privy to the usual micro-aggression of those you love, but who don’t think of you as ‘truly’ Aboriginal. You are exposed to a deeply ingrained and disturbing prejudice that most people just feel comfortable airing in the blue light of their living room. At least until they find out who you are. But there’s that privilege again – they don’t have to know they’re talking about you, unless you tell them.

I tell them, my girlfriend’s family, sort of. I told my girlfriend a few days later that I was actually Yorta Yorta. I pointed out that I wouldn’t be here if her dad got what he said he wanted. The response was predictable. “But you are white. You should have told me. He’s not serious. He’s not racist. “The message was clear: I tricked him and his family into thinking I was someone who wasn’t me. We broke up soon after.

Twenty years later, it still hurts to think about it. And I still feel trapped between two warring cultures. (To be clear, I’m only speaking for myself here.)

I don’t know whether to call myself Aboriginal, Indigenous Australian, First Nation, Yorta Yorta, mixed race, or Australian with an x ​​heritage (insert any of the above). Here in England, that doesn’t seem to be the case. I started with Aboriginal or Native but explained more if someone shows interest. By the way, the English looked surprised Indigenous Australians treated today, without much acknowledging their own historical role. There is limited awareness of modern pain points, many people still wish me Happy Australia Day.

However I label myself, I know I don’t automatically fall into one of the cultures with just the birthright. I had to work on it, and there was always the painful worry that I was doing it wrong. In my naive youth, I tried to use colloquial language like ‘turn off’ or ‘cuz’. But I haven’t grown up saying it yet, so suddenly adopting them at 14 sounds wrong, and made my parents look at me strangely.

It was only then that I started realizing that my identity had nothing to do with how I spoke and everything to do with where I came from, where I felt at home, and who recognized me as part of their community.

Since moving overseas 15 years ago, I have tried to maintain my connection to the culture by following certain people online and reading a lot. But I don’t play any active role. When events like Naidoc Week or Australia Day roll around, I don’t always feel entitled to the undeniable pride or sadness I feel. Sometimes, it’s hard to disagree with people who say I have no right to that.

But it hurts me for Australia, especially this year. There is no internet connection on earth that can replace my connection to a country. No Google maps can get me into the bush. There were no street views from the dirt track where I rode my bicycle barefoot and in my clothes, the rubber tree where I carved my initials, or the ants that were always biting me. My feet miss the ground.

This damp and dark English land will never be mine, even if my surname is from Yorkshire. I crave dust that can’t stay wet, which blows from under the rope and settles in my pores; dirt that, after the rain, roasts and cracks into crunchy curls that are so satisfying to walk through.

I recently dreamed of stepping into Murray, the gravelly sand beneath my feet turning to silken silt, cold gusts of water swirling over my feet, stomach, shoulders until I drowned. I turned around, looked up at the sky and floated on the river like I did when I was a kid.

I felt it all – hot from above and cold from below, the occasional sweep that terrified me whatever was at my feet. This is where my grandparents – my white grandfather and my mixed Nan – took me. They camp here for months every year, chasing fish and whacking snakes. But is this a black or white craving? Why do I care so much?

After breaking up with my girlfriend, I retreated into my left-handed student bubble, safe in knowing that the only Sunday night conversations I will have about Aborigines will involve wine, candlelight, well-meaning performances and pleas for my ‘unique perspective’. .

In my effort to feel more Aboriginal, I started gathering at Indigenous student centers. I took part in the march and then, having switched from law to journalism, I started writing a little bit for the newspaper Koori Mail, which gave me a connection to a community I had never felt before, and frankly, probably not since then.

When I went to visit the newspaper headquarters in Lismore to find work there after graduation, I immediately felt at home and completely foreign. It struck me how little I knew about Indigenous culture, and it was a feeling I never really got rid of. I felt wrong about taking the job, when I didn’t qualify in what matters most.

My Nari’s relationship with her Aboriginalities is also complicated. He never said the A word, at least not to me. I don’t even know there’s a word for us. I noticed, of course, that her parents had much darker skin than everyone I know, but, oddly enough I guess, it didn’t occur to me that they were Aboriginal until I went to my great-grandmother’s funeral and saw it was actually, oh , every one on my family side it’s quite dark.

As a teenager who dreams of becoming a human rights lawyer, I will envy them in winter, when I turn white back and they stick with the same dark honey color. Of course, there are plenty of problematic exoticizations and privileges here that I’m still unpacking 30 years later.

Nan never said a word but she told many stories about ghosts and yowies. Several times he whispered in my ear that I was descended from a king and must not forget it. I never knew who, or what, he meant. He would take me to Boat Rock, a cultural site about 15 minutes from our home where the local Bpangerang used to collect rainwater. While he was sitting there, I was going to run into him, loving how the pockmarked granite felt under my hands and feet, thinking of people who had been doing the same thing for thousands of years before me.

I have thought a lot about Boat Rock this year because, like many others, I faced nostalgia and another vicious pandemic, made worse by being abroad and unable to return.

After breaking up, I never saw the boyfriend or father again. But when I tried to untangle my complicated feelings about home and identity, 20 years later, I finally approached something closer to peace by remembering who I was. And say it out loud.

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‘What happened was pretty sad’: what brewery closings are saying about drinking in Australia | Food | Instant News


THe West End Brewery has long been a focal point of community life. This site, with its high chimneys overlooking the Torrens River, has made beer strongly associated with working-class and South Australian identities.

The business has lasted 160 years until parent company Lion Nathan announced last month that it was closing operations and shifting production eastward.

Beginning in 1859 on Hindley Street on Adelaide’s west bank, the brewery flourished in a series of mergers until 1983 when it was moved from the city to its current location in Thebarton where the West End and Southwark breweries are solid.

Speaking to reporters, Lion Australia managing director James Brindley blamed the decision to close “long-term trends and the viability of the brewery”.

“Over the last few decades, consumer preferences have changed, the mass beer market has steadily declined and is now at the lowest per capita consumption on record in Australia, while 700 new craft factories have sprung up so competition is fierce… and the cost base continues to increase,” said Brindley.

Market research firm Roy Morgan’s work in this area appears to support Lion Nathan’s view, in part. Jobs from the start of this year find Australian people actually drink less alcohol overall during a pandemic – with older people more likely to drink at home.

Meanwhile, Jade Favell, tax collector for the Wheatsheaf Hotel, a micro-brewery, live music venue and pub operating in Thebarton, said closing the brewery to craft beer was a “comfortable” cover for a deeper problem.








West End Brewery workers on Hindley Street in 1888. Photo: South Australian State Library

“That’s a funny sentence from Lion Nathan. I’m sure craft beer would love to have West End as a scalp, ”he said. “What happened was quite sad. Many of the people who worked there came to drink beer and chat. In a broader sense it is equally sad, if not more so, it is [company] sold out in the 90’s. “

He said the closure came as international conglomerates stepped in to take local brands. The ACCC assessment in May 2020 found that two companies, Lion and CUB, accounts for 80% of the Australian beer market. In June 2020, CUB was acquired by Asahi Holdings Group.

“Yes, the beer is made at Thebarton, but it’s also a brand owned by a global company,” Favell said. “Once that happened, it was a bigger creature and they didn’t really care about the local community. Making money is a priority, not us. “

The sentiment was also shared by Mark Whenan, the food and beverage coordinator of the SA Union Trade Union, who said the decision was more about achieving economies of scale, meaning the 94 fired people were not a factor.





The original site of the West End Brewery on Hindley Street in 1920



Original site of West End Brewery on Hindley Street in 1920. Photo: South Australian State Library

Over the years, the workforce has seen Lion Nathan – owned by Japanese beverage company Kirin Brewery Company – close down Vale Swan Brewery’s Canning operations in Western Australia and shift production of the Swan and Emu brands to South Australia. Then, the company again shifted this production to the east coast, further reducing volume.

“Once the decision to close the West End was announced, companies were already asking workers at their factory in Victoria to take overtime shifts,” Whenan said. “They have been running the factory for a while now. The company has made a deliberate decision to expand production at Tooheys and XXXX. “

Whenan said unions were not given notification of the decision until it would happen and some in the world of work were left to seek out the media.

Lion Nathan told Guardian Australia they would not comment further on the closure, but said, through media releases, that they will “consult with each team member to support them through this proposed change”.

Billy Ryan, category manager for local craft and beer at the Endeavor Group, which supplies Dan Murphy’s and BWS, said real consumer tastes are changing.

“When I started, there were 200, 300 factories in the country and that number has grown phenomenally,” Ryan said. “Our reach has grown with it, even though we only have 140 to 150 different products in store.”

With brewers and alcohol dealers looking for the next trend in the US, many are starting to thirst for pre-mixed drinks such as hard seltzer – a mixture of sparkling water and liquor – which saw huge growth in July when sales jumped 255% in one week. Hard seltzers now account for more than 10% of the US beer market.

The question is whether Australians will take it too.

Big brands like Lion Nathan have already started betting. In May, the company locked in the rights to sell the Australian White Claw, the best-selling hard seltzer brand in the US which already controls 60% of the market.

Meanwhile, hundreds of small factories across Australia have launched their own hard seltzer products this summer – partly in response to the pandemic.

“When Covid hit the many small factories, many took a break and took the time to reassess their portfolios,” said Danielle Allen, co-owner of Two Birds, which claims the title of Australia’s first female brewery. “Everyone finishes one. In some form or form. “

When Allen’s business partner Jayne Lewis caught on to the hard seltzer trend 18 months ago, they released their first grapefruit-flavored drink a year ago and are now following it with watermelon flavor.





Seltzer cans hard White Claw resting on the box.



Hard seltzers now control more than 10% of the US beer market and in Australia major brands and indie players are changing their portfolios to try the trend. Photo: Tribune Content Agency LLC / Alamy

The women said that while the lockdown prevented them from running their tap rooms in downtown Melbourne, it has brought them closer to their customers, who have made a point in their favor.

“Every state has a unique climate, culture and heritage,” said Allen. “Every state has its own unique beer that people drink and support. More and more will become local brewers, compared to one beer drunk statewide.

“It’s hard to be unique these days. But you know, hard seltzers are just part of the future … Beer is immortal. Beer is king. Or queen. Whichever way you look at it. “

With the average person now able to choose between 150 different types of beer, it’s possible that the choices now weigh more than ever – especially in a pandemic. Mass markets or crafts, local or global, what people drink and where they drink, end up forming more than just night walks.

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How donuts become a symbol of hope for Covid Australia | Life and style | Instant News


In March, images of empty supermarket shelves every day evoke dread as toilet paper and kitchen supplies pile up around the world. On October 26, a photo of an empty Woolworths shelf on Melbourne, Cleared of donuts that day, sparked hope.

“Everyone in Melbourne has the same idea! Donuts are sold out! Sally Rugg, writer and executive director change.org, tweeted to his 46,000 followers.


Sally Rugg
(@hospital)

Everyone in Melbourne has the same idea!

Donuts are sold out! 😂😂😂 pic.twitter.com/tsMpIoCT9V


25 October 2020

Just hours after the Victorian Department of Health and Human Services announced the first day of zero new cases and zero deaths since early June, confined residents began celebrating the end of the second wave of Covid-19 infections with donuts, posting photos and emojis. on social media with the hashtag #donutday.

The Prime Minister of Victoria, Daniel Andrews, declared it a “Good afternoon” and poses in a classic glazed pose, while the state’s chief health officer, Prof Brett Sutton (who has replaced the “O” in his Twitter username with a donut emoji) is greeted home from work with mixed box.

Chief Health Officer, Victoria
(@Sexy_gt)

Look what I just got home. Nice Victoria. What a wonderful country we live in and what a wonderful achievement of all. thanks. 🍩🍺 pic.twitter.com/Kv3vPKwiF5


October 26, 2020

Six days in a row there were no new cases in Victoria, and the marking was Saturday Australia’s first day without locally acquired cases since June 9, the hashtag has exploded, with donut shops feeling the echo.

“Donuts make people happy – I can’t imagine a better way to celebrate,” said Anthony Ivey, co-owner of Shortstop Coffee and Donuts in downtown Melbourne.

Since the restrictions were lifted, Shortstop sales have doubled, and sold out right after lunch on a double zero day (no new cases, no new deaths).

“I didn’t know it would be a problem, but one of our regular customers said he waited until the first ‘donut day’ to get his first donut after the lockup,” said Ivey.

The unexpected trend caught suppliers off guard, with some output rising and others jumping on the news promote offers and gifts.


“The first four or five days are zero [production] significantly higher, ”said Raph Rashid, owner of All Day Donuts in Brunswick. “We made two or three times what we used to do.”

Although Rugg was an early adopter of the trend of the hashtags #donutday and #putoutyourdonuts – reminiscent of #putoutyourpotatoes trend after Peter Dutton lost a spill of leadership in 2018 – he said he already saw the term on Twitter that morning.

Of course #donutday has been tagged many times before, for National Donut Day in the US, it was first celebrated in 1938 in honor of the Salvation Army “Donut Lassies” – women serving donuts and coffee to frontline troops during World War I.

But in Australia, donuts have been symbolic of Covid’s hopes since April 20, when Anthony Macali, data analyst and reporting and founder Covid Live, tweeted a donut emoji to praise South Australia’s third day of zero new cases.

COVID LIVE 🧪
(@Sexy_gt)

Latest Coronavirus totals [Wed 1 Jul]# COVID19Aus # covid_19australia
Australia 7920 [87 new cases, +86 total]
Active Cases 386
Test 49,941 (0.32% positive) pic.twitter.com/xwZsPCvkE7


July 1, 2020

Since then, Macali has created it graphic with sprinkled candy instead of zeros, and using the donut emoji on Twitter as an abbreviation for “no new cases today”. Covid Australia, another data account, complimented him with starting a trend.

“Usually waiting for a Covid number every time it feels tense and anxious, so I thought a donut might be a fun way to celebrate an achievement,” Macali told Guardian Australia, saying he got the idea from tennis, where “bagels” or “donuts” are slang for a set that ends 6-0.

Although one Twitter user suggested “love day” as another tennis-themed alternative, fritters won out.

“I never thought it would go our first day without a case, but here we are,” said Macali. “[Donuts are] ways to treat ourselves during this lockdown [but] I think any treat is valid, it doesn’t have to be a donut. “

Melbourne donut connoisseurs have embraced the silliness and optimism of it all, feeling connected through little indulgences. And, after spending more than half of 2020 in lockdown, Rashid said Melburnians just needed something lighter to focus on – “anything to break it”.

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