Pho in Australia for Sunday Best

 

Pho—often pronounced like "fur"—is far more than a bowl of noodles. It is a family inheritance, a recipe carried in memory rather than in measurements, simmered patiently in kitchens where every Vietnamese mother quietly guarded her own variation. Between the North and the South, there are endless debates over broth, herbs and sweetness, yet every bowl speaks the same language of home.

Strangely, I did not truly come to appreciate the alchemy of a proper bone stock until I migrated to Australia. Distance has a way of sharpening the palate. What had once been an ordinary meal became something extraordinary. In my younger years, pho was simply the cheapest, quickest lunch a student or migrant with little money could find. It filled the stomach without emptying the wallet. I never imagined that one day I would spend hours searching for a bowl worthy of memory.

Today, good pho has become elusive. Too often the broth is rushed, stripped of its depth and patience, leaving only the outline of what it once was. Finding an exceptional bowl has become an art, a quiet pursuit that rewards those willing to wander beyond the obvious.

When I attended a conference in Adelaide, I found myself hunting down every promising pho shop within walking distance of the CBD. Between lectures and presentations, I searched not for novelty but for familiarity—for that elusive fragrance of star anise, cinnamon and slow-simmered marrow that could momentarily transport me across decades and continents.

Joel used to dismiss pho with polite indifference. Now he eagerly suggests both ramen and pho whenever we travel. It is curious how tastes evolve. The foods we once overlooked sometimes become the ones we crave most, reminding us that people, like palates, are never fixed. They grow with experience, with companionship, and with time.

For me, tasting pho is never merely about flavour. It is tasting memory itself. Each spoonful carries echoes of another life—the uncertainties of migration, the thrift of youth, the quiet resilience of starting over, and the warmth of family gathered around a steaming pot. Time dissolves into the broth, and the struggles that once felt so heavy are softened by distance. What remains is gratitude. In every well-made bowl, I savour not only the richness of the stock but also the journey that brought me here, where memory and time are gently stirred together and served, still steaming.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sunday Best

Adelaide CBD signs for Sign2

 

Drawn by its near-perfect five-star Google rating, I made my way to Alley Brew Co. with expectations as high as the reviews that had preceded it. In a city increasingly celebrated for its coffee culture, I anticipated a latte that would linger in the memory. Instead, the first sip fell disappointingly flat. The coffee lacked depth and character, tasting more like warm, diluted milk than a carefully crafted espresso. It was one of those rare occasions when the reputation promised far more than the cup delivered.

Perhaps taste is simply subjective, but the disparity between the glowing reviews and my own experience was difficult to reconcile. It left me wondering whether the impressive rating truly reflected the quality of the coffee or whether enthusiastic support from friends and loyal patrons had helped elevate its standing beyond what a casual visitor might expect.

Thankfully, not everything about the visit disappointed. As I wandered outside with my camera, a charming little sign caught my eye. Two adorable illustrated cats beckoned visitors towards the café, their playful expressions adding a touch of whimsy that the coffee itself had failed to provide. Naturally, that became my second photograph—a reminder that sometimes the most memorable part of a café visit is not what is served in the cup, but the small details that quietly give a place its personality.

Photography has a way of finding beauty where expectations fall short. While the latte may not entice me back, those welcoming feline guides certainly earned a place in my collection, offering a smile where the coffee had left only disappointment.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sign2

Adelaide Car Park mural for Adelaide

 

This mural was impossible to ignore. Painted onto the stark concrete walls of a rather dingy city car park, it erupted from the grey like an apparition from another world. Through my lens, the monstrous figure resembled a Japanese demon samurai, its fearsome face hidden behind a menacing mask, crimson eyes burning with hostility and jagged teeth bared in a silent snarl. The wild white hair seemed to explode into the surrounding space, while the vivid blues and blacks sliced across the wall like strokes from a warrior's blade.

The bleakness of the car park only heightened its impact. What might otherwise have been a forgettable passage through the city became an unexpected gallery, where raw concrete served as the perfect canvas for an artist's imagination. I had wandered through Adelaide in search of murals, never quite knowing what would appear around the next corner, and this fierce guardian was a rewarding discovery.

One detail I appreciated was that the artwork had been left untouched. In a place where graffiti often gives way to random tagging, this mural still stood with its integrity intact, allowing every carefully crafted line and colour to command attention. It felt less like vandalism and more like contemporary mythology painted on an urban wall—a modern oni standing watch over an otherwise unremarkable parking structure.

As I framed the shot, I resisted the temptation to crop too tightly. Leaving the surrounding concrete in view preserved the contrast between the drab, industrial architecture and the explosive vitality of the mural. It is that juxtaposition—the ordinary meeting the extraordinary—that drew me to press the shutter. Sometimes the most compelling photographs are not found in grand landscapes, but in forgotten corners of a city where art unexpectedly breathes life into cold concrete.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

"She Imagined Bottons" Mural in Adelaide for Mural Monday (sorry spelling mistake)

 

At the corner where Morphett Street meets the restless tide of Hindley Street, an ordinary wall is transformed into an exuberant stage where imagination takes its bow. Towering above the passing traffic, "She Imagined Buttons," painted in 2020 by South Australian artist Jasmine Crisp, breathes unexpected life into the façade of the Rockford Hotel beside Sia Furler Lane. Commissioned as part of Adelaide's celebration as a UNESCO City of Music, the mural was conceived as a tribute to Adelaide-born singer Sia. Yet, after discussions surrounding its striking resemblance to the musician, Crisp reimagined the work into something even more personal—a joyful self-portrait inspired by the wonder she felt watching Sia perform as a teenager.

The result is a work that feels less like a portrait than a waking dream. Against the measured geometry of steel, glass and concrete, a young woman emerges from behind crimson theatre curtains, clothed in flowing charcoal folds yet adorned with necklaces of candy-coloured buttons, fields of crocheted flowers and a sky as bright as childhood memory. Her playful pose, framed by clouds and an explosion of colour, suggests someone caught between dance and laughter, inviting the city below to suspend disbelief for just a moment.

She is daring, though not because she bares her shoulders or gazes confidently across the intersection. Her true audacity lies in her refusal to surrender wonder to adulthood. Buttons become stars, needlework blossoms into landscapes, and forgotten craft is elevated into fine art. Every brilliant splash of colour defies the restrained palette of the surrounding buildings, quietly declaring that beauty often begins with the simplest of things and the courage to imagine them differently.

Palm trees drift across her figure like reluctant stage curtains, their trunks briefly obscuring the performance before revealing it again. Beneath her, cars stream endlessly through the intersection, pedestrians hurry towards appointments, and traffic lights dictate the rhythm of the day. Yet above this perpetual motion she remains suspended in joyful defiance, smiling as though time itself has slowed to admire the spectacle.

Perhaps that is the mural's greatest achievement. Born as an homage to a celebrated musician, it evolved into something far more universal—a celebration of inspiration itself. It reminds us that art does not merely imitate life; it transforms it, carrying the echoes of music, memory and imagination into places where they are least expected. In the heart of Adelaide's bustling CBD, where modern towers cast long shadows over busy streets, Jasmine Crisp's magnificent mural continues its silent performance, inviting every passer-by to look up, to smile, and to remember that even amid concrete and commerce, there is always room for colour, playfulness, and impossible dreams.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

The current housing debate often attributes the shortage of affordable housing to property investors. However, this overlooks the important role that private investment has traditionally played in supplying rental accommodation.

For decades, housing tenure has generally comprised three broad groups: those who own their homes outright, those purchasing with a mortgage, and those who rent. Although the exact proportions have changed over time, there has always been a significant proportion of the population who either cannot satisfy mortgage lending requirements or choose to rent because it better suits their circumstances. A healthy housing market therefore depends on a well-supplied rental sector.

From this perspective, Victoria's rental crisis is not simply the result of rising demand but also of a decline in rental supply. It is argued that successive Victorian Government policies have reduced the financial viability of residential property investment through higher taxes, increased regulatory obligations, and rising compliance costs. In response, many investors have exited the market by selling their rental properties, reducing the stock of homes available for lease.

When rental supply contracts while demand remains strong or continues to increase, vacancy rates fall, competition for available properties intensifies, and rents inevitably rise. Regardless of one's views on property investment, the reality is that private investors have historically provided a substantial proportion of Australia's rental housing. Policies that discourage investment without creating sufficient alternative sources of rental accommodation risk exacerbating shortages rather than alleviating them.

Addressing Victoria's housing challenges will require policies that increase overall housing supply while maintaining a viable and sustainable rental market for both tenants and housing providers.

Hindson Street Signs in Adelaide for Sign2

 

At last, a conference has gifted me something increasingly rare: free evenings. With no work schedule waiting to reclaim the hours, I wandered beyond the hotel with my camera, drawn by the quiet allure of unfamiliar streets and fading shopfronts.

The neighbourhood revealed a different side of the city. Many storefronts stood vacant, their dark windows reflecting a sense of uncertainty and change. Along the streets moved a mixture of people carrying burdens both visible and unseen—some asking passers-by for spare coins, others simply drifting through the evening. As I walked with my camera slung over my shoulder, I found myself unusually conscious of my surroundings, reluctant to stray too far alone after dark.

A simple trip to Woolworths for a bag of mandarins left me with an unexpected feeling of guilt. Emerging from the bright aisles into the cool evening air, I was confronted once again by the stark contrast between my own temporary comforts and the hardships evident around me.

One encounter lingered particularly in my mind. A man repeatedly directed crude remarks toward a young woman and appeared to follow her along the street. The scene unfolded uncomfortably close to a police station, a reminder that the presence of authority does not always prevent moments that leave others feeling vulnerable.

Photography often encourages us to look more closely at a place, but sometimes what we see is not beauty alone. These evening walks revealed a city of contrasts—grand historic buildings standing beside empty premises, conference delegates mingling with those struggling on the margins, prosperity and hardship sharing the same pavement. It was a side of Adelaide that felt raw, complex, and difficult to ignore.

Sony A7RV

FE 16mm f1.8 G

Linking Sign2

Adelaide Mural Victoria Street Mural for Mural Monday

 

During my stay at the Playford Hotel in Adelaide for this year's geriatric conference, I often found my gaze drawn across the street to an elegant steakhouse adorned with a striking mural. It lent the place an air of sophistication, inviting the promise of an exceptional dining experience. Curious, I eventually stepped inside.

The meal was pleasant enough—the steak competently prepared and enjoyable without fault. Yet, for all its stylish presentation and premium pricing, it never quite rose to the heights its surroundings seemed to promise. Like the mural itself, the restaurant excelled in appearance and atmosphere, but the memory it left was more one of admiration than delight. 

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday