h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Arcadia is a mythological place. Virgil knew it, and wrote about it.
Basically, legend has it that it was a utopian paradise that still contained death
and some of the darker sides of life's dodecahedron.
As well as containing mortals, it also contained a fairish proportion of dryads,
satyrs and nymphs. More drivel at http://www.parnasse.com/etpnt.htm

Not much has changed, except it's not in eternal summer anymore. You will
still feel as though you've escaped whatever nasties lurk outside as the nasties
are told less-than-politely to bugger off. Hawkers, nutters, smelly people and those
with outspoken egos are swept under the enormous carpet that is the outside world.

Don't get me wrong, there are crazies there, Old Ron nibbles on Valium while showing
a tendancy to keep his lower jaw much further to the left of the rest of his head that
would normally be considered healthy, and John (or Animal) seems only to want to
say every third word in the sentence in his head. Mostly they keep to a fairly unobtrusive
schedule of alternate reality.

Before visiting, learn how to drink in Australia http://www.h2g2.com/P70615

You can have a beer from just about any part of the world (70-odd varieties) but the best
is the standard fare in any pub in Melbourne, 'Carlton Draught'. It's cold, it's wet, it doesn't
taste unpleasant and will get you pissed, or not, depending on how quickly you consume
it.

If you want a cocktail, you will be TOLERATED.

The girls, and guys I suppose, that work thereare good-looking, young, and can carry off a
conversation. They are also extremely prone to hanging around after their shift, getting
slaughtered and doing things they will regret in the morning.

The best thing about this pub is that you get what you came for. Almost anything. A game
of pool. A yak with a local. Drunk. Advice on changing a head gasket on the 1984 Nissan
Exa. It is not unknown for the manager or publican to shout a beer to someone they don't
know, for no other reason than a bit of a chat.

If you're after something a bit more, uh, primal, the nymphs and satyrs are still there at night.
Hordes of them. Doing the kind of thing that nymphs and satyrs like to do. There have been
impromptu stripteases on barstools, a bit of pant-swapping, and pheremones run rampant. Peer
in the windows after closing time to see the staff play strip pool TO LOSE.

More like a lounge room than a pub, with the same easiness and familiarity, but with the added
bonus of six pool tables, ten beers on tap and countless others in the fridge, servants, guests and
pervability.

But, you can still die. The old fellas drop dead after thirty years of drinking in the public bar. Not the
worst way to go I suppose.