Guitar Wolf played at The Tote last night, a typical rocker bar in the Smith Street area of Melbourne. But there was nothing typical about this pre-New Year’s sweat and noise fest.
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The Great Ocean Road stretches along the southeastern coast of Australia, starting a bit south of Melbourne and ending around 400 km west, a bit before reaching Adelaide. As with much of my Country Victoria experience, it reminded me more of California than almost any other place I’ve been.
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What’s the one thing that could’ve delayed a road trip down the Great Ocean Rd. to South Australia?

No, not insanity and a great love of fish.
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It’s pretty hard now to ignore yesterday’s riots in a suburban Sydney beach town, but you wouldn’t know it from this morning’s The Age newspaper, which ran only one article on the story.

The front-pager credited the violence to alcohol, extreme patriotism and racist intent. The anger of the crowd, which happened to be mostly young white males, was so virulent that they even attacked an ambulance that was helping the victims of the violence. The victims were generally those who looked to be of Middle Eastern descent, although the rioters also targetted those protecting the attacked.

Later Sunday evening a revenge mob of about 60 Arab-looking men broke car windows in another neighborhood.

Disappointing though this all may be, it doesn’t come as a shock.
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As cities go, Melbourne isn’t particularly old when compared to the ancients in Europe. And although this may come to shock to some Americans – who might not even be able to place Australia on a map – it is old enough to have structures protected by the ubiquitous “historical building” laws.

Who cares, right? Every modern city in a Westernized country has something to keep its past alive long after the expiration date on the books. But Melbourne is also smart enough to take an innovative approach to maintaining its historical sites in a way that’s more than just formaldehyde for bricks.
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Last night I found myself at a great little wine bar called “Deco” in North Fitzroy. Yeah, “great” and “wine bar” don’t exactly go together.

I hit the place with my Financial and Menu Adivser and her friend, who lived nearby. I’ve never been one for coming up with excuses for drinking, but if you’re looking for one its that I needed a break after researching visas for continuing the trip.

Deco, though, had a John Hammond cover of Tom Waits’ “16 Shells from a 30-Ought-6″ playing on the stereo and the owner was wearing a Beer Lao T-shirt. Any joint that plays up the art deconess of New York City while blasting one of the few good Tom Waits and bedecked in Southeast Asia’s finest means you’re dealing with a guy who loves the wackiness of it all.
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A few months back, I found myself in the small Orange County, CA, town of Dana Point. It was a kind of willing banishment, if you will. Like Napoleon’s St. Helena, without the never-return and dying at the end bit.

Dana Point, notable for being so far south as to be closer to San Diego than L.A., was also remarkable for something else. They had a lantern fetish.
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