Terrorists take Camden!

You don’t see too many stories about Australia on the news over here, but this morning on the BBC I was greeted by this little gem.

Town moves against Islamic school

The ‘once peaceful’ town of Camden is being taken over by Mussies. Yep, a man can’t even drink drive while beating his wife nowadays without some Islam preaching terrorism at him.

Besides sport, Australia doesn’t make the news too often, and when they do it’s usually for the wrong reasons. I can’t really blame BBC, it’s a pretty good story accompanied by some awesome footage of Akubra wearing rednecks baying for Muslim blood.

Such a fucked argument too. “Those bloody Muslims are coming over here and educating their children! You heard me, they’re teaching them things right here in our community.”

I was sharing a Fosters with a Palestinian friend the other night while I explained to him how awesome Australia is. He said he would like to go but probably couldn’t because people see his Palestinian passport and think he’s a terrorist. I wiped the tears off his suicide vest and wished him all the best, just kidding, I told him that he was just the flavour of the decade and people would find someone new to hate in a few years. He found my explanation of Australia’s transient xenophobia (which I have explained here before) quite amusing.

It’s confirmed in this wonderful quote from the President of the Camden Darkie Hating Association;

“This town has every nationality... but Muslims do not fit in this town. We are Aussies, OK.”

Oh, I just have to put this woman’s whole quote in. It’s hilarious.

"Everywhere is being destroyed. Why don't we tell the truth. They're wrecking Australia. They're taking us over...Why hasn't anyone got any guts? They've got terrorists amongst 'em... They want to be here so they can go and hide in all the farm houses... This town has every nationality... but Muslims do not fit in this town. We are Aussies, OK."

Fucking gold. You can’t make that shit up.

I know it’s the words of an under-educated sheep masseur from country NSW but her words sum up a few things about racism in Australia.

Firstly, “Why don’t we tell the truth” – An undercurrent of racism.

Very few people are walking around the streets calling people Boongs and Towel Heads to their faces nowadays but given half a chance and the feeling that they are among friends and it all comes out. We seem to have got the message that open racism is bad, but lots of us are still racist. Given half a chance we revert back to the 50s, ala Cronulla riots.

“They've got terrorists amongst 'em” – Enormous Ignorance

I’ll wager that this woman has been more emotionally harmed by the recent UDL price increase than she ever has been by terrorism, yet fear of the latter has compelled her to don her best singlet and face the international media.

“This town has every nationality... but Muslims do not fit in this town” – Lack of historical perspective

Australia fucking hated Vietnamese and Cambodian gangs 15 years ago, what happened there... you stupid inbred hick?

Having witnessed some pretty horrible shit over here I must say that Australia is still scoring pretty high on the tolerance stakes, but we are far from the utopia we like to think we are sometimes.

But as I sit here in the Middle East listening to the evening call to prayer, having been at work all day with my Australian, French, Pilipino, Indian, Nepalese, Emirati, Polish, English and Swedish colleagues I can’t help but reflect that all it takes to combat racism is the willingness to have a chat to people. (Well, that and the ability to speak English)

You realise so quickly how people are just people. They obviously have their own cultural quirks, but their personalities quickly override all that. That guy’s funny, that guy’s a smartarse, that guy’s a cockhead, that guy’s missing his wife, that guy’s a champion bloke.

I dream of a world where people of all races can join as one... and make immature dick jokes together.

Cannonball Run

I’ve been in this charming *cough* little city called Abu Dhabi for almost three months now and I’m starting to get used to some of its crazy ways. But before I get assimilated and try to buy a turbo-charged Land Cruiser I just have to write about the most striking thing that a newbie encounters in this city, the traffic.

Cars

The car de jour here is huge and has tinted windows. Sounds like most of America right, but not quite. You see there might be window tinting regulations here but they are most certainly not enforced and these guys take it to the extreme. The phrase ‘blacker than the ace of spades’ comes to mind. 1400% tinting on all windows, including the windscreen. They even have reflective tinting here, where the window looks like a mirror. I have even seen a few people driving with sunshades on. The ones with the suction caps on a rod on each side and essentially thick black shadecloth stretched between them. Perfect for protecting your interior when parked in the sun, not so good when in place over the windscreen of the Landcruiser coming up behind you at 160kmh.

Traffic

The driving here is fucking crazy, but if you endure it long enough a certain logic emerges. For a reference, think of the way motorbikes and tuk-tuks drive in Thailand or Bali, then replace those small vehicles with Land Rovers and Porsche Cayenne’s and triple the average speed. Everyone here drives fast, and if you are not driving fast then get the fuck out of the way.

The safest way to drive here, or anywhere really, is to stay with the flow of traffic. Fine usually, but there have been times where I have hit the accelerator to keep up with the group then realised that I’m doing 160kmh.

There are speed cameras here, but they give you 40ks leeway and the speed limit on the highway is 120. Plus they stick out like dog’s balls so you have plenty of time to slow down (to 160). The cops are plentiful, but they don’t give a shit unless you actually crash into them. I had a friend tell me he passed a cop car the other day while going 170kmh. Let me repeat that, he passed a cop doing a hundred and fucking seventy!

Highways

The highways here are awesome, usually three or four lanes and not a pothole to be found. They are divided into the truck lane, one or two fast lanes, and the insanely fucking fast lane. You would be wise to stick to lanes two and three unless you wear a white racing suit and are called The Stig. The far left lane (drive on the right here) is reserved for impatient leadfooted maniacs in huge cars. If you want to drive really fast (160+) you use this lane, but if you want to drive really fucking fast you use this lane and put your headlights on. Someone driving in that lane with their headlights on means ‘Get the fuck out of my way because I’m about to break the speed of sound’.

The usual tactic for someone in this lane encountering a person whose redlining Landcruiser can’t go quite as fast as their 7 series BMW is to flash their lights, failing that, flash their lights and tailgate within one or two metres of said slowcoach (at 170kph mind you), failing that, beep their horn constantly, tailgate and switch on their high beams. It usually works.

The City

But that’s highway driving, the real test of one’s mettle is in tackling the city traffic. Abu Dhabi, as I’ve said before, is a nicely planned out city with a simple grid system of roads... containing about five times the sensible number of cars. It’s busy, and everyone is impatient and insane. But driving here is fine as long as you realise that everyone is insane and is liable to do anything at any possible time.

Let me give you a few examples. Most city streets are four lanes, with a fifth turning lane at the intersections. If you want to turn left (wrong side remember) you theoretically get into the turning lane, but most people think that since everyone in the turning lane is going to turn anyway, they can turn in the first straight-ahead lane, then some ballsy people think that if most people in the 1st lane are turning then they can also turn in the 2nd straight lane, then a few maniacs think it’s also fine to turn in the 3rd straight lane. That’s right, you have to expect that the dickhead to your right, three lanes from where he should be will try and turn left across two lanes of fast moving traffic. As long as you expect it and look out of it, you’re fine.

Roundabouts

Same, if not many times worse with roundabouts. Some sadist decided to create three lane roundabouts in a city with no regard for the existence of traffic lanes or speed limits. So every day I have to traverse a three lane roundabout (which I nicknamed the roundabout of death) where anyone can turn any direction at any time. It’s madness, but organised madness, because everyone else expects the same. So if you were to blindfold yourself and drive through it you would most likely not be hit because everyone would be expecting your uncontrolled zig-zag through the traffic. Unconventional, but it seems to work.

Parking

I think I have bored you enough, so I will leave you with a photo to say my last thousand words. This is the view from my apartment window in downtown Abu Dhabi. Every car here except the three I have marked are parked.




UPDATE:

It's too late people. I got my license today so I'm one of them now...

Some dick at a press conference

Meh, I'm lazy this week... so here is a flying penis.



Got to hand it to the commies, that's an awesome protest idea.

Tiger’s Fang

I was talking to a Frenchmen the other day and he said that he thought that French was a better language than English because it has so many subtle nuances that seemed to be missing from English. I replied that English is as full of subtle nuances as Paris is of arrogant Frenchmen and that he didn’t notice them because his English wasn’t as good as he thought it was. Anyway, this got me thinking about the Queen's own and one of my favourite parts of it, rhyming slang.

I was reminded of a comment from Corey on my old post about swearing. "Just getting a beer out of the Jayden Lesky" which expanded to, "Just getting a couple of Britney Spears out of the Jayden Lesky, then I'd better hit the Frog and Toad before the Trouble and Strife gets on the Dog and Bone.” Which, if it’s not clean means I’m getting a couple of beers out of the esky then I’d better get going before my darling wife calls me.

As Corey noted, the Jayden Lesky one is getting a little dated. The Britney one, while recent, is timeless and will be with us long after she overdoses on Vicodin, but the rest are as old as the hills. It’s time to update them.

Couple of my old favourites first:

Persian Rugs : Drugs

“Had big night on the Persians last night.”

Jack and Jills : Pills

“You just on the Brittneys or are there any Jack and Jills floating around?”

Harry Secombe : Capsicum

“Get some tommies, some ‘rotts and a couple of Harries”

Judy Dench : Stench

“What’s that God Awful Judy Dench?”

So I tried to think up some new ones and realised that it’s really hard. I kind of got one for Google.

Google : Ramen Noodle

“I thought he was famous but a quick look on the old ramen noodle turned up squat”

I guess they have to evolve rather than be forced. Anyone got any good ones?

War

I was going to write a blog about my recent trip to Bahrain (because I had to leave the country then return to get another visitor’s visa in the UAE) but I found the most interesting aspect of the trip was some of the people I met there; most notably, a bunch of American soldiers.

Now while this sounds like the intro to a gay porno I assure you it was all above board. Although I did have my shirt off at one point and the last few hours are kind of a blur... but anyway.

For a little backstory: I was in Bahrain for just under two days and I intended to spend them touring the capital city of Manama where I was staying. I went down to the lobby of the hotel to grab a map, and couldn’t help noticing the sign for the bar they had on the mezzanine level. Figuring I was going to need a few minutes to map out the tourist attractions I wanted to see, I went up to the bar, ordered a pint and studied my map.

It was there I met a friendly deep southerner named John, who was later joined by his mates Josh and Jeremy. That was at 1pm, and I was not to leave until well after midnight.

Besides the drunken friendships we forged, the most interesting thing about meeting these Seppos was getting first hand stories of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Most if not all of them had been in both theatres (to use the military parlance) and at first they seemed both relieved and a little bored to have been posted to the relative pre-school that is Bahrain.

I won’t lie to you. The beer, scotch, tequila and double jacks were flowing that day. But with it was the gradual unlayering of minds shaped by war. I have read libraries of experience of conflict, but very seldom heard about it in the first hand.

At first the conversation was a pissing contest of war stories. Well, actually, the first conversation was about American football and how it had nothing on AFL, but once we got on to the wars it was all about who had the most exciting story. Driving through Bagdad in a convoy that was attacked, an IED exploding right under the car, a piece of shrapnel just missing someone’s head, mortars dropping a few yards from where they were standing. Dick waving contests, but this was only seven or eight beers in.

Next came loneliness. These guys were all between 25 and 30, married and most had kids. Jeremy had been married less than six months ago and his wife was pregnant. He was stationed here for a year so he knew he would miss seeing his first child born. The heartbreak was tangible.

After that came the surprising confessions of what is essentially post traumatic stress disorder. As we got chummier the real effects of the events in the dick waving stories came out. As the tales of gunfights, mortars and bombs returned the same bragging smiles shown before were gone, and in their place was a pained face looking for understanding. The Vietnam cliché “you don’t know what it’s like man” came to mind.

One told me that the experiences of death and suffering he had were simply impossible to talk about with his wife upon his return home. He had nightmares and couldn’t explain to those around him what they contained. He said he sometimes got angry and hit his wife. I don’t want to excuse his behaviour here, but the look of confused regret in his eyes made me think of someone with a mental disorder more than a wife beater.

This was classic war trauma stuff, fitting any veteran’s tales from Vietnam or the great wars. I know stories like this are a dime a dozen if one chooses to tune into the twice weekly SBS horror docos (or better yet, Al Jazeera cable news service) but it is the first time I have heard it from someone firsthand, let alone a crying man telling me he wishes it could all just go away.

All I could think of was how many other bastards (on the yank’s side and orders of magnitude more on the other) are out there with the exact same experiences. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have claimed many hundreds of thousands if not millions of lives but that is just the tip of the iceberg when considering the true cost they have wreaked upon human kind. Like a cancer, their effects spread out and infect all around them.

The problem with war is that it is so easily to distance yourself from it, or simplify it, or with a bit of work justify it. But that doesn’t change what it is. Send a million men to fight a million more and you have four million victims.

It seems no one gets out whole.