Corroboree
Greetings from the majestic city of Sydney where, in an odd twist of harbour geography, the sun still sets over water even though we're on the east coast of Australia (my sister told me that this would be an interesting fact to put in the blog).
We arrived here last Tuesday, after using the (I'm sure) fascinating Victorian city of Bendigo for little more than a supermarket/laundry stop so that we wouldn't show up unclean and hungry. Bob's friends from a few years ago--the elementary school teacher Claire and the Mexican named Hans--are still around and have generously welcomed us with open arms. The combination of old friends and city life means that we have made much party in the past week. No complaints yet, but it may start to take its toll soon.
Queeda has, unfortunately, been a cause of undue stress. I suppose the situation is analogous to when you've decided that you need to break up with someone but haven't yet worked out the logistical details in your head. We made a flyer, posted them in heavily trafficked backpacker areas among dozens of other similar car-hawking flyers, and got the oil changed. Have had one nibble thus far, an English couple who seemed less than enthralled and who had one comment for us: "It's a bit rusty, isn't it?"
Fortunately, as you can imagine, the resourceful team of Bob and Mel still has a few tricks up the collective sleeve. Our strategies include, but are certainly not limited to a) putting an ad in the trading post, b) re-papering popular backpacker areas with more flyers, since ours are very likely buried by now, and c) accepting that we may end up taking a loss and moving on with life. "C" is looking more and more like our best option.
There's actually a place where backpackers trying to sell their car can park it in a quasi-dealership. Basically, a little money will get you a spot and will guarantee buyers that your car has all its papers (like a purebred dog), because otherwise the owners of this particular racket won't have you. It's an odd little community of people living out of their vehicles, waiting for buyers, all on a parking deck level that's three floors underground. Saw a newspaper article on the subject and hear that the max stay in this dungeon was 37 days. Wonder if the carbon monoxide finally got them.
For our concerned readers, the above set-up is a last resort, if anything. As it is, we're not too desperate (yet); when push comes to shove, we can always take it to the wrecker and strip 'er down for parts.
None of this should come as a surprise, since getting people to part with their money (especially when the exchange is a 1987 Ford Falcon XF) is never easy.
In the meantime, Sydney is fabulous if a little tough on the wallet and liver. Today is Anzac Day, so we're off to the pub a little later to do some gambling (maybe we can make the price of the car that way, but somehow I doubt it).
We arrived here last Tuesday, after using the (I'm sure) fascinating Victorian city of Bendigo for little more than a supermarket/laundry stop so that we wouldn't show up unclean and hungry. Bob's friends from a few years ago--the elementary school teacher Claire and the Mexican named Hans--are still around and have generously welcomed us with open arms. The combination of old friends and city life means that we have made much party in the past week. No complaints yet, but it may start to take its toll soon.
Queeda has, unfortunately, been a cause of undue stress. I suppose the situation is analogous to when you've decided that you need to break up with someone but haven't yet worked out the logistical details in your head. We made a flyer, posted them in heavily trafficked backpacker areas among dozens of other similar car-hawking flyers, and got the oil changed. Have had one nibble thus far, an English couple who seemed less than enthralled and who had one comment for us: "It's a bit rusty, isn't it?"
Fortunately, as you can imagine, the resourceful team of Bob and Mel still has a few tricks up the collective sleeve. Our strategies include, but are certainly not limited to a) putting an ad in the trading post, b) re-papering popular backpacker areas with more flyers, since ours are very likely buried by now, and c) accepting that we may end up taking a loss and moving on with life. "C" is looking more and more like our best option.
There's actually a place where backpackers trying to sell their car can park it in a quasi-dealership. Basically, a little money will get you a spot and will guarantee buyers that your car has all its papers (like a purebred dog), because otherwise the owners of this particular racket won't have you. It's an odd little community of people living out of their vehicles, waiting for buyers, all on a parking deck level that's three floors underground. Saw a newspaper article on the subject and hear that the max stay in this dungeon was 37 days. Wonder if the carbon monoxide finally got them.
For our concerned readers, the above set-up is a last resort, if anything. As it is, we're not too desperate (yet); when push comes to shove, we can always take it to the wrecker and strip 'er down for parts.
None of this should come as a surprise, since getting people to part with their money (especially when the exchange is a 1987 Ford Falcon XF) is never easy.
In the meantime, Sydney is fabulous if a little tough on the wallet and liver. Today is Anzac Day, so we're off to the pub a little later to do some gambling (maybe we can make the price of the car that way, but somehow I doubt it).
2 Comments:
I've heard that cars are being sunken and turned into artificial reefs. That could satisfy the green side of you.
Or you could sell it to a fraternity, who could then sell sledgehammer shots for $1 apiece or so.
Or perhaps a starving sculptor could use it to fashion the next Thinker.
Or, you could drive it to a quiet little deadend street, tuck the keys above the dashboard, and leave the country.
Creative ideas from Dad
Props to Mr. Venable for the car-bashing idea. Make sure you remove the gas tank, though. If there's one thing the Key Club taught me. . .
love,
DRA
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