How to drive at 500 km a week, and not for work

Stay outside a central business district, because the shopping, cafes and distractions will ensure that you won't even have a chance to get out of there.

Cancel all pay tv, internet downloading and home cooking, as these are fierce time competitors.

Convince yourself you have to get that nursery plant or check out this deli - and they are all at least an hour's drive away.

Chalk up the mileage on Monday and Tuesday nights - when most feel they need to stay home to watch the best tv shows, catch up on emails and rest from weekend driving.

Attend that evening talk after work - and ensure it's held as faraway as possible.

Get the dishwasher going and the laundry spinning - and when you come home after all that driving, the house work's done. Positive association between driving and getting the reward of auto housework!

Plan an appointment in between the required bouts of long-distance driving. Catch up with a friend, eat much loved food in between to break the journey and have a place to stay for the night.

Get to drive over a variety of routes and differing landscapes.

Hook up your iPod to the car stereo and ensure hands free bluetooth mobile phone connection.

Bring along family, a pet or a good mate for the ride.

Drive towards a sunrise, sunset or just have a full moon guide you along the way!

Reward yourself with frequent driving happy thinking, strategic time and just sheer singing.

The Immigrant Shop

It was what long time residents would call an “immigrant shop”. For most of this shop's customers, it is a slice of home, a reassuring place of what they knew from childhood and where they can be fully themselves. It was also a sort of McDonalds for them, where you know you can get what you want. This happened to be a Hong Kong-styled eatery I was in that day.

The owners had to encourage business to compete with similar outlets surrounding them. The staff tried to greet every person who stepped inside, past the plastic sheaves vertically hanging down at the entrance, placed perhaps to discourage insects. It was obvious this was originally a butchery business now expanding to sell food.

So on a typical day at what would be lunchtime, there are steaming bowls of egg noodles in soup graced with roast chicken or duck. The so-called fellow countrymen and women knew what to order – hot pots with chicken and mushrooms – without having to refer to numbers. The mainstream society customers, who did not know the language and food of the owners, had to ask for descriptives, and quote numbers from photo panels on the wall.

Yes, business was growing, but the operators were slow in coming out with the meals required. They did not distinguish between take-aways and sit-in food orders. Who can wait longer when there was pressure on the cook, heard but not seen, audibly busy with his wok in the kitchen somewnere behind another door and beyond the view of the customers. There was an obvious boss moving around, but he too looked overwhelmed, although happy with the number of people who had ordered food.

An elderly lady was struggling with the size of the serving in front of her. She had just returned from Hong Kong the day before, and maybe just a bit shocked at the huge amount of food served in this fortunate land. On another table, a mother and her grown up son were quietly enjoying their food. She looked tough and aggressive while her son seemed too gentle and demure – what a contrast! There were grandparents who brought their grandchildren, the former conversing in the mother tongue, while the latter were twirling their tongues in Australian English.

The impatience of customers who had waited more than the customary ten minutes began to show. Fidgeting, eyes staring into the counter or the ceiling. A teenager walked in with his Maltese on hand. Young mothers brought bags of shopping with them and waited for their take-aways. An ambulance service woman could not contain her impatience anymore whe, after ordering, she had to wait for an inordinate length of time just to get fried rice. She burst out in English to the staff member at the counter, “how long is it going to take further, I have a job to go to”. Unfortunately this staff member did not understand English. Now why have someone, who did not understand the mainstream language, serve at the front line? Ah, she does actually know the language of most of her customers, originally from Hong Kong and other parts of Asia.

There are boxes stacked up even beside customers’ tables. There is no emphasis on aesthetics, only the logistics to bring in the money. It’s interesting how yuppie restaurants go to the other extreme, with ambience and designer environs, while Hong Kong restaurants tend to be rough and ready. It’s okay as long as the food tastes good and is value for the money paid. There’s no point to have paintings to observe while swallowing unpalatable food.

Two young men in white overalls carry the cleaned carcass of a pig past the customers’ tables. Their long truck is parked outside. So the Hong Kong shop turns such raw stuff into delicacies such as roast duck, smoked flat chicken and barbequed pork. From the inside, one could hear two men making a bit of a riot in trying to sell boxes of bananas at wholesale prices on the pavement.

A little bit of Hong Kong thrives in a Sydney suburb. Hong Kong may have changed through the years, but this shop shall most likely carry on traditions and practices that may already be discarded in Hong Kong itself.

Wonwin, or where shells lie

A suburban outing, of getting the marketing and groceries done on a lazy weekend afternoon, turned out to be special in Shellharbour on the South Coast Coast of New South Wales.

I aimed to buy prawns and salmon, followed by some fruits like mandarins and plums, and then come home fast. I planned to spend the least time as posible on clearing what was seen as shopping chore and was more looking forward to clear my garage of stored stuff and get the evening cooking done. Then I saw the extraordinary cuts of chicken fillets, the bright orangy salmon streaks and the extra friendly air of shop assistants who need not be so cheerful on this Sunday afternoon.

Wonwin, the Aboriginal name for Shellharbour, has a seafront and an inland shopping centre nestled amongst the houses built on hilly slopes overlooking the ocean. The coastal views offer sea kelp on its rocky outcrops and sandy beaches, apart from the abundance of shells that give the place its English name. The inland shopping precinct offers medium sized retail outlets without a department store to dominate. The variety of servicess and products offered retain a possibly village atmosphere without the overbearing impersonalness of some Sydney shopping malls.

There is no parking problem, whether by the coast with its cafes and surf lifestyle, or in the compact shopping centre inland. You can get deep fried chicken wings from an Amercian fast food chain as easily as ponder over whether you should get that article from a homewares shop. There are multiple-hall cinemas, a lively food court and two mainstream grocery chain outlets.

I bumped into a dear ex-colleague, one who has provided the right balance of inspiration and challenge at work, even when I thought he had moved on to Canberra, three hours drive away.
And yes, I did get the seafood and fruits on my shopping list. There was no sense of impacting crowdedness, and when I drove out of Shellharbour to go home, there were wide open skies, vistas of green slopes, mountains in the horizon and the whiff of ocean breeze. And I could not be bothered to clear my garage when I got home that Sunday evening.