Europemania

Navkljub blaznemu patriotizmu se zdi, da si vsak Avstralec, ki marsikaj da nase, želi biti Evropejec. Kako drugače bi lahko razložili dejstvo, da se v Avstraliji vse kar v imenu nosi pridevnik 'European' smatra za ueber prefinjeno. Trgovci to seveda spretno izkoriščajo in nabijajo grozovite marže. Se čisto zavedam, da mora blago prepotovati n-km, ampak sigurno pot ne more biti tako zelo draga?. Italijanski pršut? 100$ za kg. Baguette? 3.50$. Marmelada Bonne Maman? 6.50$. Camper čevlji? 300$. Diesel kavbojke? Od 350$. Mandarina Duck? Od 300$. Še večji nateg pa se zgodi kadar slabemu izdelku nabijejo ceno le, ker je Made in Europe. V delikatesi veleblagovnice David Jones sem tako na prodajnih policah videla avstrijsko marmelado za katero vem, da je pri nas čisto brez statusa, ker je brezveze in ima preveč dodatkov in sladkorja, tukaj pa so jo očitno označili za delikateso in ji nabili ceno 7$ za majhen kozarček.

V Melbournu imamo, kot se za evropsko wannabe mesto spodobi, tudi veliko delicatessens, boulangeries, patisseries, bistros in cafes. Na Spring Street stoji sofisticiran cafe The European, v katerem za zajrtk lahko pojemo Croque monsieur in spijemo najboljšo kavo v Melbournu. Ja, Melbournčani so ponosni pivci kave. Ali vsaj mediji pravijo tako. Ker je pač evropsko. (Mogoče imam le jaz tako smolo, da so okoli mene sami pivci čaja z...mlekom.) Tako so za propad Starbucksa, ki je v nedeljo zaprl 61 od vsega 84 lokalov po vsej Avstraliji časopisi ponosno krivili 'evropejskost' Melbournčanov, ki so od nekdaj navajeni piti dobro kavo in so coffee culture, kar kofetarska korporacija prodaja, imeli celo že pred letom 2001, ko je vstopila na avstralski trg. Strabucks tu skratka ni nikoli imel šanse, ker je preveč ameriški. Starbucks kava stinks, se strinjam. Je umetna z dodatki sirupov in vodena in brez arome, če jo naročiš brez. Čisto mogoče, da posel ni stekel zaradi prefinjenosti avstralskih kofetarjev. Bolj možno pa se mi zdi, da je k temu pripomogla visoka cena. V Starbucksu je latte 3.90$, v cafeju pa ne preseže 3.20. In glede na to, da so Avstralci zelo šparoven narod, če sem danes politično korektna, jih večina Strabucksa sigurno ni vzela za svojega.

Zakaj torej taka vsesplošna obsesija z Evropo? Mogoče se prenaša iz roda v rod - prvi evropski priseljenci so zagotovo pogrešali in zato idealizirali nekdanjo domovino. Lahko pa, da so krivi mediji, ki evropejstvo tako močno propagirajo, najbrž zato, da uslugo delajo trgovcem. In kupci so še enkrat zmanipulirani. Nekateri celo tako močno, da njihovi avtomobili namesto avstralske standardne tablice nosijo EU model. Kaj pa EU zvezde? No problem. Na tej strani oble imamo ja Souther Cross!

In čisto samo zato, ker je tale članek zadetek v polno, pa tudi zato, da ne boste mislili, da iz domotožja pristransko in zlobno nakladam, sem ga copy-pastala iz sobotnega The Age. Enjoy the read.

Life at home just doesn't Campari

Raymond Gill yearns for his own European reunion.

How can you not feel empathy for those poor people trapped inside the Qantas jumbo last week? Everyone knows that when returning to Australia after an extended holiday certain feelings are inevitable - depression, decompression, a sinking feeling, and finally a bumpy landing.

Those feelings are not as literal as they were last week in the Arthur Hailey scenario in Manila, but anyone who returns home and is presented with an arrival card asking how much cattle semen you have on you knows, landing in Oz can sometimes feel like entering a parallel universe.

Like, where are all the people? If Melbourne is supposed to be attracting 1500 emigres a week desperate to embrace the latte lane-way good life, where the hell are they?

As you leave Tullamarine and drive past shrub after shrub through flat, darkened suburbs it's only the yellow glow of the occasional Midas Muffler sign that indicates that there might be a life form out there.

The city centre looks like an elaborate set for an off-shore Hollywood movie about the end of the world in some anonymous American city. There are convincing looking freeways, stadiums and skyscrapers but somehow it's all become part of an M. Night Shamalayan film: the human beings must have been transported to other eco-systems.

After weeks of lofty reading in The Herald Tribune about the Norwegian volte-face on beetroot-farming or insider deconstructions of an al-Qaeda cell in a remote goat-herding region of Kazakhstan, you turn on the TV and open the papers to see lead-stories on Aussie Rules.
Your mind casts back to that galaxy far, far away known as the rest of the world and you reflect that Ireland might have been playing hard to get by refusing to sign the Lisbon Treaty for Mr Sarkozy, but well, why don't we sign it?

After six weeks in Europe-land, who hasn't fantasised about getting Oz into the European Union, even if it means sitting through Carla Bruni's new album Comme Si De Rien N'Etait, described as "all slow-motion xylophones and swirly guitars"? Hell, we'll even look at nude photos of her if we have to, and who can resist the appeal of our great nation being in the Eurovision Song Contest?

In other old-world news the Cornish have been refusing to loan their "Cornish pasty" moniker, insisting that the only Cornish pasty comes from Cornwall. But wouldn't we all be happy to offer up the Pie Floater, the lamington or even Peach Melba for European culinary piracy if it meant a place in the EU?

Call it Euro-snobbery, but as Barbra Streisand or someone once put it, I Yam What I Yam. In a city like Melbourne, which likes to boast about how "European" it is, it's hard not to pine for the real thing. A McCappuccino in a McCafe on McSwanston Street is all very nice and everything but it's not quite an Italian stand-up coffee bar with blood-orange Camparis and customers arguing politics above the din of buzzing Vespas.

If we're going to pretend we're all very Euro-sophisticated then why not go the whole hog, so to speak? If female Italian traffic cops can walk the cobblestones of central Rome in sky-high stilettos handing out parking tickets, don't you think our traffic gals could manage a little hike around the CBD without donning trainers the size of Yorkshire terriers? We should all be spending a little more time at Brunetti's and if at all possible, smoking.

In the face of post Euro-vacation-gloom, it's hard not to sympathise with Sydney rugby bolter Sonny Bill Williams, who jumped on a plane for La France this week, abandoning his five-year contractual obligations to the Bulldogs and doing something very un-Aussie, letting his mates down.

But who could blame the guy? It may appear to be a sporting issue, but Sonny and anyone who's come down in the last jumbo out of Charles de Gaulle knows, it's all about lifestyle. Is it going to be a post-training beer at the local pokies club or a Pernod at an outdoor cafe overlooking the Mediterranean? When it comes to training at the Belmore sports-ground or the local oval in St Tropez, the Australian code of good behaviour gets kicked out la fenetre.