Anzac Day Again

Another Anzac Day in the USA. This time I've made Anzac Biscuits to mark the occasion. The recipe seemed pretty easy except that you can't get golden syrup here. Not even treacle. Only a molasses that is as dark as pitch. (I think that's why it's Br'er Rabbit Brand.) In fact, they don't even know the word treacle, except for one of my classmates who had read it in Harry Potter! So I just used brown sugar instead of white and they taste the same.

Grey Bombers off Target

As we were getting into the car on our way home from the orchestra last night, Cindy pointed out an envelope under my windscreen wiper. I had received a parking ticket! (The first traffic ticket I've ever received.)

I didn't understand how, seeing as I was in a proper carpark. The ticket explained that I could contest the fine, so this was the explanation I submitted to the website:

Because I do not have a permit I was looking for a pay-parking space in the Jordan Ave parking garage. As I proceded to the lower level in search of a space I noticed that the boom gates were up and, as it was after 8pm and the booth was empty, I inferred that parking was free for the rest of the night. Had the booth been staffed I surely would have paid but, before I had a chance to pay, I received this ticket. The ticket states that I was in an A permit zone, however I was in a pay-parking garage. There were no signs indicating that any sort of permit was required.

It's all true. I really did believe that I was legally parked!

I still can't quite work it out. If by some chance I missed a sign on the way in saying that only permit holders were allowed, why would there be gates and a toll booth? And how could I not have seen it all the other times I've parked there when going to the orchestra?

I really don't want to pay the $40 but now they know who I am they'll be able to dock my pay! I briefly considered just ignoring the ticket, given that it's campus parking, not the real police. But I have heard that they can and do contact the Indiana Bureau of Motor Vehicles to track you down from your rego number. Damn!

Update - 2007/4/20
Good news! My appeal was successful. In less than 48 hour I received this reply:

Thanks for your appeal. I just wanted to let you know that the citation has been voided, and there is no fine due. If you are a student and the fee has been transferred to your Bursar account, a credit will be issued next Thursday; look for it to post by early the following week.

Hurrah! My faith in the system has been restored.

Buona Pasqua a Tutti!

So, today I finally get to break my chocolate fast! What a shame that it's so hard to find good quality chocolate here. And even the low quality stuff doesn't get sold as eggs very much. They've been in stores for a while now but it's mainly little ones, very few egg-sized eggs and absolutely no 300g, 500g or 1kg eggs available here. (Nor is there the great variety of flavours we have in Australia. Cadbury Creme Egg is the only interesting one.) I think it must be true what the Australian newspapers report every year, that Australians take their Easter chocolate more seriously than any other country.

Nor are there hot cross buns. I have seen just one or two packets of rather nasty looking buns with custard crosses and white glaze, not what we're used to. And none of those terrific chocolate hot cross buns you get from Baker's Delight or Woolies. (I wonder how long they would last in the freezer. If Erin bought me some now, would they still be good when I visit in December?)

But the strangest thing I have to share with you is that in France, they don't have an Easter Bunny. Instead, their Easter eggs are brought by flying church bells! I thought Cindy was having a lend of me when she told me that. But then I saw this on French Wíkîpédïà:

En Belgique et en France, ce sont les cloches de Pâques qui apportent les œufs de Pâques. Depuis le jeudi saint, les cloches sont silencieuses. On dit qu'elles sont parties pour Rome, et elles reviennent le jour de Pâques en ramenant des œufs qu'elles laissent tomber à leur passage.

In Belgium and France, it is Easter Bells who bring the Easter eggs. From Maundy Thursday the church bells are silent, so it is said that they have left for Rome and that they return on Easter Sunday filled with eggs, which they let fall as they pass.

Strange but true.

Cold Again

After a few weeks of warm weather (mid-20s Celsius) it's turned cold again! Yesterday and the next four days we have top temperatures <10˙C.

And last night it started snowing again! There was a little more this morning but the flakes are so few and far between that I don't think it will accumulate at all.

Crazy! (Even the Americans are complaining about Indiana weather.)

My First Passover

Last night I had another traditional American experience - I participated in a Passover Seder dinner with my Jewish friends.

Before dinner we had to do a few ceremonial things. Sean lent me a kippah and we sat around the table to hear explanations of why the various things were eaten. I forget why we ate parsely dipped in salty water; something to do with tears, I think. The bread has to be unleavened because the Hebrews were in such a hurry to leave. I thought matzo would be like pita but it's more like a big cracker. Before the actual dinner we had to eat a matzo sandwich with horseradish and another with charoset, a mixture of diced apples and dates in wine. (For some reason they were refering to the horseradish as a "bitter 'erb", even though it's clearly a root, not a herb.)

The dinner itself was turkey, not Paschal lamb, it being America and all. It was pretty good, latkes with applesauce make an interesting side dish.

There were a few songs in English and various chants in Hebrew (my throat's quite clear now, thanks for asking) between which we had to drink four cups of wine. Unfortunately it had to be kosher wine, most of which is increadibly sweet. (I managed to buy a bottle that tasted like normal cab sav but the Manischewitz and every other bottle was really quite syrupy.) It was certainly an eye-opener to see my friends reading Herbrew so fluently (in their American accents) and recounting childhood stories steeped in traditions I've never heard of.