Santa eats mince pie.

On December 1, newly healthy from a nasty sinus germ, I boarded a plane to Melbourne excited to return to Australia and begin to research jobs and apts so that after my final stint of volunteer work, I'd be able to stay in one place for a few months. But my immune system had different ideas and by the time I exited the plane, I was sick again. I spent 4 days mostly just hanging around the YHA Metro in North Melbourne reading in the rooftop sunroom during the day and overdosing on cough medicine at night in an attempt to prevent my 7 roommates from murdering me.

At the time I didn't know it but this was the start of a 7 week stretch of trickier and less excitig times. I can say this now because as of this writing, things have turned around and I'm back to being astonished by my luck. But you'll have to wait for the next post to hear about that.

Anyway, on Friday, December 5, I rejoined CVA in Bendigo. I had expected to be housed in Melbourne for at least the weekend but once again they threw me for a loop when they put me on a train to Bendigo and told me to stay there for 2 weeks. I practically had to drag out of them instructions on what to do when my train arrived in this alleged Bendigo; which further increased my former frustrations with the organization.

Bendigo began as a mining town and is now the second largest city in Victoria -- Melbourne being the first. If you saw Bendigo and knew this little fact you would get a very clear picture of really how sparsely populated Australia is. Bendigo's downtown area makes Toms River look like a major city.

Although the volunteer work didn't begin until Monday, the Melbourne office had purchased a train ticket for me to go out to Bendigo on Friday -- which meant finding something to do all weekend in this tiny town. There were only 2 other people staying in the house over the weekend, two 24 year old Korean guys. They had been in Bendigo a week already and were excited to show me the library (where we could use the internet), the lookout tower (from which you could see the whole town), and well that's about all there was do. But mostly I think they were just very excited to ask me questions about America, such as (take note that they frequently used the word "famous" to mean "popular"):
Who is more famous in America, Beyonce or Mariah Carey?
What is the most famous thing to eat in America? KFC?
Have you met any famous people?
What is the most famous drama in America?
Do you watch Prison Break? Do you watch Lost?
Is WWF wrestling very famous in America? Does everyone watch it?
Does everyone have a gun in America? Do you have a gun?
Is it very easy to buy drugs in America?
Are there lots of Christians in America?
What is the most famous brand of clothing in America?
Why do you eat so many sandwiches?

So many questions. Sometimes I felt like a Martian being subjected to questioning about my mysterious world.

We watched Ugly Betty one night and they couldn't quite get over just how "ugly" she was. There were frequent groans and "Ohh, so ugly!" Then they asked me "What is the name for the barricade on her teeth?" ...Braces?

On Friday night we went down the street to the center of town where there was a christmas tree lighting ceremony going on. It felt like going to see the fireworks on the 4th of July at Lake Carasaljo. Except it was December... and there was a huge Christmas tree... and christmas carols... and santa arrived on a trolley... and there were no fireworks... or lake.

Well I guess the extent of the similarity was just the warm weather and the crowds of families with their blankets and lawn chairs gathering at dusk in the center of town. But in anycase, it was an experience that was at the same time so foreign and so familiar.

By the time Monday rolled around I decided that I was going to finish one more week of volunteer work and skip out on my 8th and last week. I was getting anxious to establish a bit of routine in my life, and not the kind of routine that involves walking loudly to scare off snakes, digging holes, smoko time, or eating nasty mystery lunch meat. Of course there were quite a number of other reasons why I decided it was time to call it quits but I'll keep my explaination of them here brief.

I have plenty of criticsms on the policies of CVA and the attitude of some of their staff. However, having been on the inside of an organization responsible for managing volunteer projects I do understand the wealth of challenges involved in making such project happen. And CVA faces some additional challenges in language barriers, providing overnight housing and meals, and the great distances that often must be traveled to get to the locations in need. Therefore I hesitate to say that there is for sure a better way to handle things. There are small ways that improvements could definitely be made. For instance, teamleaders should be required to bring soap and cleaning supplies with them to any house where their team will be staying. And providing accurate directions when sending volunteers out on their own shouldn't be so hard.

That final week with CVA was the slowest week ever. The work we did was mostly easy, driving around taking water samples from the Murray River and running Ph and oxygenation tests on them; except for a few hours of painful cactus removal on Wednesday afternoon. On Thursday we were staying at the house to make some repairs and improvements and to clean out the shed. One of the suggested improvements was to hang a map on the wall at the house that labeled the local movie theater, pharmacy, parks, internet etc. I volunteered to create this map because, duh, I love maps.

On Thursday afternoon the new head branch of Bendigo Bank happened to be having a grand opening ceremony just a block away from the CVA office, and the Australian Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd was going to be speaking. The other office staff were going and invited their new cartographer (me) along to check it out. We literally just trotted up a side alley and around the back of the stage where we joined a small crowd (less than 75 people) in perfect view of the ceremonies and speaches; although we had to look at the back of the heads of all who were speaking. I could not believe how close we were able to get to the prime minister, with no security checks and no huge crowd to fight.

That Friday I jumped on the train to head back to the city. I spent a good portion of the next week researching job and living options. It seemed there were plenty of places to live where you could pay rent by the week and not be required to sign any sort of lease. The jobs department was looking a bit trickier however since I couldn't manage to find any creative temp agencies like the sort I would use to find work in New York. I called and sent my resume out to many regular temp agencies expressing interest in both design work and administrative office work but the response, if I got one, was always that since it was less than 2 weeks until Christmas, nothing much was going on until January.

By the end of the week I decided that since city life making me antsy that i'd spend less time in Melbourne than the 4-5 months I'd originally planned and get back to traveling after only about 3. This meant that since I'd have less time to work, I'd need to get started doing it soon. So I created another version of my resume that included jobs I'd had in highschool and college and went off in search of restuarant or counter work.

The first place I tried was Fitzroy St. in St Kilda -- the beach town of Melbourne. Since I had no actual waitressing experience, just a few months as a hostess at Martells in Point Pleasant, I was doubtful that anyone would actually hire me for waitressing jobs. But when I spoke to one of the owners at a chain pizza and pasta place that day the conversation went something like this:

Him: Do you have experience?
Me: Not as a server but I did work at a very large restuarant in New Jersey as a hostess.
Him: New Jersey? huh? There are a lot of Italians in New Jersey.
Me: Yeah I guess so. I'm one of them.
Him: (Glancing at my name on the resume... first time he's looked at it) Heh. You are Italian. Come in tomorrow at 6.

And so I had a one day trial for about 4 hours, for which i did not actually get paid, and by the end of that 4 hours I was taking orders and using the computer. So even though no one told me so, I guessed I was hired because for the rest of that week they kept telling me to come back the next day. I still had absolutely no idea what I would be getting paid or when, how many hours a week I would generally get, or if my stupid ass knees would be able to cope with this kind of work, but it was a bit of income, and it was in the place where I'd hoped to live after Christmas, so I was content.

Speaking of Christmas, by now there were just a few more doors left to open in the huge advent calendar in Federation Square. Each night they made some sort of show out of opening one of the doors that involved a strangely costumed dude hanging from wires about 60 to 80 feet off the ground and lots of colored light beams. It was very strange. Even Maxine, who has a degree in dance and choreographs performances was befuddled by this odd event.

Maxine and I spent the week of Christmas in the same hostel being each other's substitute family. We'd both found it a bit trickier than usual to meet people since our arrival in Melbourne, so it was just the two of us for Christmastime.

Since December is both the start of the season of summer, the end of the school year, and Christmas there was a great mix of things going on in the streets that to my northern hemisphere oriented brain did not seem to fit together. For instance, there were salvation army musicians on the corners playing Christmas carols in the warm weather (although at only about 67-72 it was unseasonably cool for December in Melbourne). There were graduates leaving their ceremonies in cap and gown and lining up with friends to have their picture taken with Santa. There were beachgoers wearing bathingsuits and Santa hats.

Although the collision of the excitement of summer with the excitement of Christmas means that December and January are just one big party everywhere you turn, it also means that nothing too exciting happens six months later in June. I think it would be very depressing to have put all your fun eggs into just one month's basket.

It seemed to me that Christmas was more toned down in terms of the media and decorations and seeing it everywhere in your face, than it is at home. Maybe this is because there is also the start of summer to celebrate; or maybe it was my lack of access to media, suburbs and actual families... I don't know. But I do know that I saw very few instances of Christmas lights on houses or plastic figures in yards.

Maxine and I ate our Christmas dinner at the hostel. We were quite pleased with this purchase as not only was it a good price at $15 it looked and tasted like normal good food... not like hostel food.We spent the early part of the afternoon on the roof with our bottle of wine and the later part wandering about the mostly deserted streets, save for some groups of asian families.

It was a Christmas that was educational more than celebrational. It passed in a way that made me wake up on Dec 26 thinking, was that real? Am I in a Dr. Seuss book? Did I really see a huge tree made out of plastic stars that sang Christmas carols, did I really see santa with graduates on his lap? Did I really go to church and find that some of the christmas songs had the same tune and name but the words were completely different? Did Maxine really tell me the disturbing fact that in England children leave santa mince pie?!


View pictures at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=54297&l=d339b&id=802088251

Can we frolic with the lambs?

All I wanted to do was go to sleep. I even skipped dinner to just go to sleep. But although the clock read 8:37 it wasn't dark out yet and so I just got into the clean, warm, bunkless hotel bed and watched TV for the first time in 5 weeks while I waited and waited and waited for the sun to call it quits for the night. It was 10:30 before darkness arrived and I fell asleep.

Christchurch New Zealand is at a southern latitude of 43 degrees. To put this in perspective, Chrischurch is the same distance from the south pole as Toronto, Canada is from the north pole. Therefore, they get quite long days in summer and short ones in winter. And the temperatures, at about an average of 67 in the daytime and 48 at night, were much colder than I'd been accustomed to over the past 4 months.

I'd flown from Sydney to Christchurch with Dennis on November 21st. We found Huiwon at our hotel, completing the reunioin of our trio on yet another continent. (Huiwon, Dennis and I traveled in Peru together in August of 2007). This time we'd be touring with Contiki, a company whose tours are geared towards 18-35 year olds and are most well-known for their party-filled tours of Europe. Since Contiki was created by a New Zealander (more commonly referred to as a Kiwi), we'd been reassured by STA Travel in New York that Contiki tours of New Zealand differed from their tours of Europe in that they tended to be more scenic based, attract a crowd a bit older than 18 and involved the kind of partying that did not include dancing on tables. Turns out that last part was not entirely true.

Our group consisted of 43 travelers; 9 guys, 34 girls, 2 couples on their honeymoons, 25 Australians, a dating German pilot and stewardess, several miners, an explosives engineer, a Kiwi tour guide, an Aussie bus driver and one super annoying Canadian jerk.



At 350,000 people, Christchurch is the largest city on New Zealand's southern island. The southern island is home to 1 million of New Zealand's 4 million human residents who are far outnumbered by the 60 million resident sheep. While the majority of the southern island of NZ is rural, mountainous, astonishingly scenic and ruled by sheep; Christchurch is a small city with a sprawling suburb similiar to others around the world -- except that it is filled with people who think that the number that comes after 5 is sex.

The New Zealand accent is quite similiar to the Australian accent in terms of their mutual boycott on pronouncing the letter "r". But there is one major difference. Kiwis pronounce their short "i" like a short "e" and vice versa. So "Do you have a tint?" means "Do you have a tent?" and "He's weaying a rid shet" means "He's wearing a red shirt".



After departing Christchurch we began the first of our many long bus journeys. Except for two days in Queenstown and two days in Wellington, every day included between 5 and 8 hours spent on the bus. The route usual took us through the mountains which meant every morning there was a mad dash for the coveted front seats (i.e. seats with a reduced chance of bus sickness). The remaining 85% of us were just left bopping around in the back with an occassional sick bag.

We traveled south from Christchurch to Milford Sound, which isn't really a sound but a fjord. A fjord is a body of water created by a melting glacier. We arrived and boarded a boat that would house us for the night out on the sound. Around 7:30pm, which is still very much the middle of the daytime in southern NZ, we had the option of taking out a kayak on the sound. It was raining quite hard but how many times do you get to kayak in a lake made of glacier ice, in the rain, surrounded by tiny penguins and mountains with waterfalls at a time of day that the large majority of humans equate with darkness or near darkness. So obviously we kayaked away. And obviously I beat Dennis by a whole kayak length in a race back to the boat. Obviously.
(I know, Dennis, I know. You hate me.)

After our night on the boat, the next stop was Queenstown, known as the adventure capital of the world. Queenstown was just a farming village until 20 years ago when AJ Hackett invented bungy jumping and set up the first bungy jump there. Queenstown still only has a few thousand residents but attracts over 1 million tourists each year who come for activities from skydiving, to canyon swinging, to white water rafting, to riverbording (going down the rapids with nothing but a wetsuit, a helmet and a small boggieboard), to jet boating, to even just checking out Lord of the Rings filming locations.

Two days before our arrival in Queenstown we were asked to choose from a list of activites available in Queenstown so that spots could be reserved for us during our limited time in town. After a great deal of debate and peer pressure both inside and outside my own head, in a moment of bravery/stupidity, I signed myself up for a skydive. And then I immediately proceeded to go into major introvert mode as I ignored everyone and turned my brain insideout trying to figure out why I would do such a thing and what percent chance there was that I would puke on my tandem diver while falling to the earth.

By the time we arrived in Queenstown I was angry that anyone had ever even invented skydiving and was at such a loss as to how to get out of it that I curled up in the fetal position on the bed and whined in a way that led Huiwon to comment, "I have never seen you like this before." To which I responded, "I'VE never seen me like this before."

But by the morning I had expended all my fearful energy and adrenaline, and resigned myself to the fact that there was no way out. If it was to be my day to go, then so be it. (Of course for the price of $300 I could have gotten out by simply not showing up and abandoning the money I'd paid. But I guess I wasn't so afraid that I was willing to, in essence, PAY $300 to keep my feet on the ground.)

However, after all that energy spent on fear, in the end mother nature gave me an out when the jump was cancelled due to rain. Huiwon and Dennis were able to reschedule for the next day but I was scheduled to do an all day river trip and did not have any timeslots left for skydiving. This meant I got to keep my feet on the ground for free.

Ruth's bungy jump

The river trip turned out to be a canoeing trip through the mountains and although its not as exciting to describe as plummeting to the earth would have been, it was an enjoyable day with scenery like you've only seen in movies like Lord of the Rings. Literally. I mean you really saw it in Lord of the Rings.

However, as soon as I saw Huiwon and Dennis after their skydive, that weird little itch to jump out of a plane was back again. And so it's back on the list. Why I can't be happy without torturing myself with constant physical and mental challenges I've yet to figure out.

While in Queenstown Huiwon and I also managed to find some time to visit the Kiwi Exhibit. The kiwi is a the national bird of New Zealand as this is the only place in the world that it lives. It is a flightless bird about the size of a chicken but it's eggs are about 6 times the size of a chicken's eggs. The kiwi lays the largest egg in relationship to its body size of any egg laying creature in the world. It also looks quite strange because it has 2 legs but no wings, arms, or front leg type appendages.

Before the arrival of Europeans in New Zealand the Maori people, who came from the Polynesian Islands had been living there for between 700 and 2000 years. This is not all that long considering the 50,000 years the aboriginees are believed to have been in Australia. Before Europeans, New Zealand was a place completely without mammals or even marsupials. There were only birds and reptiles for millions of years. Since there were no preditors these natives creatures had not developed any fear instincts. So when Europeans brought cats, rats, ferrets and stoats many of these bird species were wiped out very quickly. Could natural selection have been anymore obvious for Darwin when he sailed up in the Beagle?

The kea is one bird that is still holding strong in New Zealand. The bird is believed to be as intelligent as a 3 year old human.

By now it was nearly Thanksgiving. But as we all (should) know, there is no Thanksgiving in New Zealand. That also means no turkey. The only meals available to us that particular night were a vegetable pie or bangers and mash. I opted for the latter to at least work some mashed potatoes into my Thanksgiving.

The daytime hours of Thanksgiving day were spent at Fox Glacier. A few days before we arrived, a storm wiped out the trail that is normally used to hike up to the glacier. Since that route for visiting the glacier was no longer an option, our only chance was now to take a helicopter up to see it. I hadn't planned to travel up this way for fear my pesky knees wouldn't be able to make the icy journey back down from the glacier. We boarded the helicopter in groups of 6 and flew for 6 minutes. The helicopter dropped us off on the ice and we were ushered to a low area where we had to crouch down while the helicopter left to get the next of our 8 groups. Each time the helicopter returned we crouched and waited in the wind for it to leave again. We strapped cramps to our boots and in groups of 12 followed our guide around the strange land of ice. We crossed over deep crevices, under ice bridges and even through an ice tunnel, while all the time the ice was dripping and melting. Since it was summertime, this is to be expected. However, Fox Glacier is melting more rapidly in the summer than it is accumulating in the winter and it is expected to be completely gone within the next 10 years.






Our final stop was Wellington on the southern coast of the north island. Wellington is the windy city of New Zealand. There are on average 170 days of winds over 60 kph each year (about 40 mph).

After some final Contiki-style party time and some karaoke in Wellington, Huiwon, Dennis and I officially departed the Contiki tour. Others on the bus had paid for a 16-day tour that continued north through to Auckland and the Bay of Isles. Huiwon and Dennis would fly to Auckland and spend a few days there but I choose to skip Auckland and return to Australia.

I can confirm that New Zealand is just as breathtaking as you've heard. 2 weeks after my return to Australia I was back with the volunteer program and two Korean guys I was working with asked me why I never took any pictures of the Murray River in Victoria and it's surrounding landscapes. I showed them my pictures of New Zealand and explained that I just didn't find the Murray River picture worthy having just come from New Zealand. They oohed and aahhed over my pictures as only someone raised in an Asian country can do. And they agreed that the Murray wasn't worthy in the eyes of my camera.

Unfortunately I spent the majority of my time in New Zealand fighting some germ that had taken up residence in my sinuses. Coupled with a regular dose of bus sickness, I was left feeling pretty crappy. As a result I feel as though I didn't appreciate most of the sights and adventures of New Zealand for their full greatness. Although the Contiki tour was well run and is a great way for people who don't have a lot of time to see more in a short period of time, since I was coming from a slower sort of travel style, I couldn't help but feel a bit rushed. So just maybe I'll have to go back there some day. Did I hear Americans can get a working holiday visa in New Zealand?

View pictures at:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=51205&l=7da77&id=802088251
and
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=54289&l=d5e67&id=802088251

You need real shoes. Like heels.

On my final day in Byron, Grant from Virginia pointed out, "I haven't eaten a meal indoors in 3 months. And I think I would hate it." I too had recently realized that I disliked the idea of returning to a city -- away from the bush turkeys and lizards, hammocks and tents, guitars and digeridoos -- back to the crowds, dwellings with walls and doors, and people who dressed in clothing without holes.

But the time had come to meet Rachel and so at 8:55pm on November 8th, in the midst of a torrential downpour, I boarded the Greyhound for the final leg of my east coast bus pass -- a 13 hour journey from Byron Bay to Sydney. I lucked out and was one of the few people who got 2 seats to myself. After some careful contortion a person my size can actually sleep comfortably on two seats. My head and torso are short enough to lie flat and my legs... well my legs just fend for themselves. But the point is that I can fall asleep and stay asleep for hours.


Of course it shouldn't surprise you that I am enfatuated with the efficiency the night bus provides. It saves not only on the cost of accommidation for the night but also on usuable daytime hours that would otherwise be spent sitting on a bus. And there is the added bonus of getting to check out the crazies who decide that 2:37 am is great time to board a Greyhound bus in places with names like Woolgoolga.

When the bus arrived at Sydney Central Station at 9:45 am, I scrambled to gather all my bags from the sidewalk and suit up into my official "on-the-move" arrangement of baggage. The hostel was only a block away and Rachel had already called to say she'd arrived so I excitedly hurried off... little realizing I'd left an item of some importance sitting on the sidewalk. Uh oh... suspense!

As I approached the YHA Sydney Central, I happened to look up and spot Rachel's back crossing the street at the next corner. Running to catch up with her was an impossibility considering the load I was carrying so I opted for plan B and yelled "RAACHELL!!! on the top of my lungs. Now picture this on a city street with me looking like a luggage cart with a head sticking out the top. Perhaps my social skills had deteriorated along with my hygene and desire to live indoors. A few attempts at this ferrel(*1) method of communication got the job done and she came back and hugged me and my baggage; even though she couldn't get her arms around us.

On the move

We got some breakfast and had a catchup and a wander through a bit of Sydney. It seemed as though no time had passed since I'd left home -- until the moment Rachel offered me a piece of gum. My wide-eyed excited response was "::gasp:: Gum?! I haven't had gum in so long!" As she handed me the piece she said, "I think it's time for you to come home. You are way too excited about this."



We spent the next 48 hours checking out Sydney -- the Opera House, the Sydeny Harbour Bridge, The Rocks, Circular Quay (pronounced "key"), the Australia Museum, a woman who fit herself into a 36" square box on the street, wine that was NOT goon(*2), $5 kangaroo roll(*3), hermit crab races(*4), etc.

Opera House

kangaroo roll

crab races


When we'd had enough of the city we headed to the Hunter Valley for a wine tour where I made the unfortunate mistake of being hungover BEFORE we started drinking at 11 am; but made it through all the tastings anyway, even the crazy chili shot.

It was around this time, about 3 days after arriving in Sydney that I realized that my hiking boots were missing. These were the boots that cost me a lot of money, were extremely rare in my size (only 2 pairs in the whole of the US) and required a bit of a wild goose chase before I managed to locate them at a store in California. Therefore as you can imagine, I really wanted them back. The only reasonable explanation for their disappearance was that I'd left them on the sidewalk when I got off the bus. My only hope for getting them back was that someone brought them into the Greyhound office that happened to be located near the store. When I enquired at the store, the man at the desk said, "I do have one pair of boots. They are very small." Jackpot.

We took the train out to Katoomba and the Blue Mountains to see the 3 Sisters and the Janolan Cave--where we had the priviledge of standing next what is believed to be the oldest known mud in the world--which in turn would make the caves the oldest known caves in the world. But don't hold me to it, that “fact” was imparted by our tour guide -- who just might have been the Australian double of Napoleon Dynamite.

Napoleon?

Janolan Caves

3 Sisters



We visited Bondi Beach for a day and spent 2 days in Manly Beach. Although these beaches are quite nice, the scenery does not even compare to the beaches of Queensland and northern New South Wales. I wished Rachel had more time and could have see these places that had floored me again and again. They were so abundant for such a length of time, that I think I began to take their scenery, atmosphere, and seclusion for granted. I was beginning to mourn those places and began to wonder, if I feel so overwhelmed and uninspired in a city the size of Sydney, will I ever feel ready to return to New York?

Reason why Australians have plastic Christmas trees.
Australian's get straight to the point.
Really straight to the point.

Dennis arrived in Sydney a week later and Rachel and I returned to the city center to meet him. We introduced him to kangaroo rolls and crab races before his jetlag got the best of him.


The following day was Rachel's last, and since we had not managed to locate a real, live, hopping, pocket-toutting, wild kangaroo, a trip to the zoo to see a real, live, pocket-touting, confined kangaroo was in order. Since Dennis also wanted to check "kangaroo" and other marsupials off his list and I'd already visited my share of Australian zoos, Dennis and Rachel made this trip on their own; leaving me to happily spend the morning reading in bed. As I'd explained to the two of them -- I am not on vacation, I am on an adventure. And the pace of an adventure is a bit slower than the pace of a vacation... kind of like a marathon vs a sprint.

After Rachel left us, I promptly got sick. Guess my immune system was just so sad to see her go.

I agreed to accompany Dennis out that night anyway and after some dinner and a few drinks we found a gay bar, as had been our intention for the night. But the bouncer took one look at me and determined he couldn't be letting a straight girl the likes of me into his establishment. Of course he claimed that my sandals (not even flip flops!) were the problem. "You need real shoes. Like heels," he said. Yeah sure. That sounds like sexuality profiling to me.

Dennis and I moved out to Bondi the next day where it rained and rained and rained and I slept and sniffled and slept some more. I think the highlight of our time in Bondi was meeting Jada from Canada and finding out that the name of her town in Saschachewan was Regina--pronouned Reh-j-eye-na. Yes she's heard all the jokes. But checking out hot Aussie waiters pulled a close second.

Chaos in Bondi





Is it a pool? Is it the sea? Is it a pool?

On November 21st we left Sydney behind when we boarded a flight to the land where men are men and sheep are scared. Or so I'd heard.

Footnotes:
1. Ferrel is the Australian term for Redneck or people who are not domesticated; as in the opposite of a domestic cat is a ferrel cat.
2. Goon=Aboriginal word for pillow, pillow=what the bag that is inside of box wine is used for when the contents are finished
3. Kangroo roll=Kangaroo steak, shredded tasty cheese, grilled onions and barbecue sauce on a hoagie roll. Does not come with a plate but does come with a beer.
4. Patrons at Scubar have the opportunity to choose one of 16 hermit crabs to name and support before the 16 crabs are released at the center of a large round board. The first crab to find its way to the edge wins it's supporter a prize that varies in value from hundreds of dollars to crap.



A special thanks to Rachel and Dennis for taking much better photos than me on this leg of the trip. Photo credit goes to them.

Creepy mustache required

As I was packing up my stuff to leave Byron Bay on November 8, the most common response I received from those who learned about my looming departure was "why?"

The Arts Factory, a hostel and campground in Byron Bay was one of the most unique places I have called home in Australia. Although I was there for only 12 days, I spent most of my time with travelers who were putting down loose roots in Byron for a few months by living in tents on the campground and held jobs in town. It was nice to stay in one place for awhile and consistently have the same people around... even if it was for only just short of 2 weeks. Mimi, you got it just right in your facebook message when you said it appeared that I had found my way to a "hippie commune in the 60s". Except for the addition of computers, the internet, a reception desk and the election of Obama; I felt like this was exactly where I'd found myself. And I loved every second of it.

The Arts Factory may be most well known as the hostel where you can sleep in a teepee. In addition to the campground, and dorms there is a large teepee with 10 beds, a bus converted into rooms, cabins, and The Pentagon. I was a resident of The Pentagon, which was a 5 sided tent with wood floors, electricity, and 4 sets of bunk beds. But of course I couldn't help but smirk every time I was asked where I lived and had to respond, "The Pentagon."


Bus rooms


Teepee

If I had time to stay much longer in Byron I would have looked into getting a tent and staying on the campground. This campground is not the type with defined lots where everyone gets equal amounts of space and plenty of room between themselves and their neighbors. It is more like a squatter’s village or refugee camp. Tents are sometimes only a foot or so from one another. There are tarps strung from trees to shade the tents, clotheslines hung all over and bushturkeys running about stealing anything they can carry. Many people stay long enough that it is worthwhile for them to put furniture (mattresses, tables, bamboo rugs, milk crates to use as dressers, etc.) inside their tents. Most of these items are purchased or adopted from former campground residents. Let's just say I was a bit jealous that I didn't have enough time to try out this lifestyle for myself.


Campground


Cooking in the kitchen at the Arts Factory


I remetup (is that a word?) with Dan from NJ who I'd met a month earlier in 1770 and since he'd been at the arts factory for a few weeks already, he'd already gotten to know the other long termers on the campground and brought me along to bonfires on the beach and at the quarry, a Halloween party at an actual house (!), Sunday nights when the fat lady sings at the Beach Hotel, bacon cheese hamburger night with the boys, rainy afternoon movie time on the porch of Ben's tent, the 24 hour (meat) pie shop, the drum circle and whatever other craziness was going on.


Bonfire at the quarry

One afternoon I'd joined a group of people having a barbeque on a beach that required crossing from one beach to another by scrambling around the bottom of a rocky cliff over the rocks as the surf washed in and out on the low parts. We hung out there for a few afternoon hours and I FINALLY saw the ocean life that people were always pointing out but I could never spot. Three dolphins, about 50 meters from shore were swimming and jumping out of the waves. It should have been a postcard.

Byron is one of the best places in Australia to learn to surf. And so when I arrived in Byron it was time to put the money that Rachel, Greg, Linar and Mike gave me for my birthday towards surfing lessons. It was raining on the morning of the first day of the lessons but the waves were very calm -- so good for beginner surfers that our instructor said that if we couldn't stand up today we should just give up on ever being able to do it. I stood up for every wave except one. I could have used some extra instruction on how to dismount without making a fool of myself though. We were surfing quite close to shore and frequently I was still standing on the board as it road up into about 6 inches of water on the beach -- and I usually flopped off the board onto my hip or butt (or my face) like a dying fish. On the second day the weather was awesome and the waves were a bit bigger but now we were responsible for figuring out when to paddle and stand up on our own so it was a bit more difficult. I had the next day off which was really lucky because it ended up pouring all day. The following day, the weather was nice again but the rain from the day before was the result of a storm out on the pacific which meant the waves continued to be large from the storm and the tide quite strong with the water washing back to the ocean at about an 80 degree angle with the beach. The ocean battered me again and again both on my way in and on my way out. I did stand up a few times... but still couldn't figure out how to get off the board gracefully.

I was in Byron for Halloween. Apparently Canadians do Halloween like we do, but no one else does. Australians don't do decorations, pumpkins or trick r treating. It seems that their only recognition of Halloween is the occasional costume party. Which means that when about 30 of us (mostly American and Canadian) walked through town in costume on our way to a party we attracted enough attention to qualify us as a parade.

The end of Halloween was not the end of the excitement for the weekend. November 1st marked the 1st day of Movember, and there were many razor anxious guys around Byron ready to participate. Movember is an Australian and New Zealand fundraising event where guys sport ridiculous and usually creepy mustaches during the month of November. They ask their family and friends to sponsor their facial hair to raise money and awareness for prostate cancer and men's mental health. Since living in a tent with very little belongings often also means shaving is optional, there were probably more guys who removed facial hair to leave a mustache behind than those that had to start growing from scratch. There were way too many excited participants at the Arts Factory. So if my pictures appear to be full of creepy looking mustache clad characters, you now know why.

A few days after all the mustache excitement began was the day we'd ALL been waiting for... American election day. Since New South Wales is currently 16 hours ahead of EST, when the poles started to close at 7pm EST on the 4th, it was already 11am on the 5th in NSW. Sooo, election day monitoring for us happened on the 5th. This day happened to be quite rainy, which meant that rather than being on the beaches, or playing guitars on the campground or wandering about town, many people were seeking shelter on the kitchen balcony and covered area below the kitchen. Danny, from England, set up his laptop in this area and was consistently monitoring the BBC website. Grant, from Virginia, initiated the phrase, "Happy Obama Day", early that morning way before any polls had closed. Dan, from NJ, brought the celebratory beers. Claire from Canada, downloaded the acceptance speech from youtube on her laptop and a crowd of us "huddled around 'a radio' in a forgotten corner of the world" to watch. And unnamed people participated in another celebration titled "Bongs for Obama."

Throughout the remainder of the day we Americans received congratulations from Australians, English, Canadians, Israelis, Germans, and quite possibly much more. Liz from PA remarked that she was relieved because this meant that maybe she would be ok with going home again someday. Claire from Canada commented that this was a good day for Canada too because "the last 8 years for Canada has been like having a retarded siamese twin."

A few days before the election I was at a bar and an Australian woman must have heard Dan and I talking and came over and asked if we were American. She then followed this up with a phrase that was a first for my time in Australia. "I like Americans." I'm pretty sure we both looked at her with dropped jaws. Haha just kidding. I said, "Really? That's not something we hear often." She said something along the lines of, "Americans are loud. And they can be loud and annoying. Australians are loud and annoying too. But Americans have conviction. They get things done. So I like Americans." That reminded me of what the Italian girl Gulia said way back in Cairns when a bunch of us were discussing the meteorite that is predicted to come dangerously close to earth in something like 2020. She said, "I'm not worried about it. The Americans will do something." So maybe some of the world does believe there is a hope and a use for us yet. :)

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"So this is why they call it the bush" Continued

After returning to Brisbane from Cannondale I joined our team leader, Cameron at his friend Amanda's apartment for some beers. That's the second real living dwelling that I've been to in this country. We sat on her balcony (which they call a veranda) and she had a beautiful view of the city. Apparently both Cameron and Amanda normally don't care for Americans... ok I think they might have used the word "hate" but that's kinda harsh so I'm pretending they didn't say that.

But I passed the acceptable test and of course we had to discuss the reasons why this is the case. I think it all pretty much comes down to an ignorant self-centered cockiness that has been their past experience with Americans. Amanda was extremely well-educated about American politics. She said she thinks our candidate choices are really sucky and she doesn't think either one is a good pick. But I asked her if she could think of someone who would be a good option and she didn't have an answer for this. However, she did comment that my reason for voting for Obama is the best argument for either candidate that she has heard anywhere. (I think that was the moment I passed the American test.)

On Saturday morning I joined a tour group to go to Morton Island for 2 days and 1 night. Morton Island is another sand island, just not as large as Fraser Island. This adventure included snorkeling among ship wrecks, sand tobogganing in the desert, visiting a fresh water lake, a lighthouse and another beach with rips strong enough that it was not advisable to enter the water even just up to your knees. Unexpected adventures included: breaking down in the 4-wheel-drive truck on the inland sand track, witnessing a bird/duck creature pluck a fish out of the water that was twice the width of the bird’s neck and swallow it whole, rain, and my first Australian campfire.

Saturday night’s sunset from the western beach might have been the most beautiful sunset I have seen in this country yet... and I've seen a lot a sunsets.

On Sunday night we returned to Brisbane. Technically I was no longer supposed to be staying at the CVA house in Brisbane. But since I only took one small bag to Morton, I had to go back to the house to get the rest of my stuff. And the house sleeps 20 people and I knew there was only 1 person scheduled to be there on Sunday night. Annnd since I knew the door code, it seemed a waste to not just sleep there for one more night. So I went back to Albion and crept quietly around that creepy old house. Luckily the one other person staying there, who I hadn't met before, wasn't frightened by my presence and I got a free place to stay for the night. I packed up early on Monday and crept out without anyone from the office noticing.

I took an 8:15am train from the house to the main station in the city where to get the Greyhound bus to Byron Bay. The train was full of people going to work -- in offices! I had tuned that part of life out of my head for so long that I'd kinda forgotten that not all people in Australia are environmental team leaders or tour guides who don't wear shoes. But even so, sitting in a coffee shop in a train station in Brisbane and watching people go to work, I noticed that they looked so much more relaxed, so much less frantic, and so much less crowded than people in New York.

I spent 4 weekends in Brisbane and initially I wasn't so impressed. But by the end it had begun to grown on me. It reminds me of Denver…except with palm trees and purple trees and a beach not so far away and people who conclude every paragraph with "no worries".

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"So this is why they call it the bush."

Picking back up on my earlier comment that I spent 4 weekends in Brisbane, when I left Mooloolaba my destination was to return to Brisbane. I was scheduled to arrive at the Brisbane CVA office in South Bank around noon. I successfully navigated the bus to the train into the city but then ended up walking entirely around the outside of the train station (with all my stuff) looking for the bus to south bank before figuring out that I could have just stayed on the train one more stop to get to my destination. I purchased another train ticket, boarded the train, encountered an Australian guy who said, "You're crazy for trying to walk around this city with all that", exited the train, walked about 400 meters uphill in the wrong direction, turned around and reoriented myself and walked about 600 or 700 meters to the correct location of the office. Then I wanted a nap. But at least now I know that I can walk a kilometer with all my stuff.

Brisbane CVA differs from other CVAs in that they have a house just outside the city that can house 20 volunteers on the weekend but during the week they send all volunteers to assignments outside of Brisbane.

The CVA house in the city looked like the kind of place a horror movie could be filmed in. The architecture was old, the rooms were in a maze like pattern and the front door which had no porch light was mysteriously open all the time. Haha... no, that's just how people do it in Australia, doors spend most of their time open.


Sign in the bathroom. There was also a 4 minute sand timer hanging in the shower.

The other spooky thing about the Brisbane house was that it had 3 other Americans in it! There were only a total of 7 of us staying at the house that first weekend I arrived. Corey, 22 and from PA; Pat, 18 and from Buffalo; Will, 20 and from NJ; Maxine, 21 and from England (I volunteered for one week with her in Cairns as well); Anita, 19 and from Germany; Stefan, 19 and from Germany; John, 23 and from Korea. Everyone was there on their own. Corey had just graduated from Pratt and was spending 2 months in Australia before getting a job; Pat had just graduated high school in June and although he was super smart he didn't get into any schools that he really wanted to go to and so decided to take a year off to volunteer and travel as well as fill out applications to reapply to college; Will was attending Lehigh but would have been required to declare a major this semester and since he was unsure between engineering and something that would lead to law school, he was taking a semester off to figure it out; Anita and Stefan had both just finished high school in Germany where it is normal to go to high school until 19 if you are tracking yourself for Uni as well as common to take a year or 2 off to work or travel before actually going to Uni). Anita wants to go to Uni for marine biology but would prefer not to go to a German Uni since they have no ocean or "sea" as she says. She's in Australia for a year or two trying to figure out if it will be financially possible for her to go to Uni here. Stefan is completing 13 weeks of volunteer work with CVA in various places all over Australia before he will go back to Germany to fill his public service requirements. In Germany there is a lottery that everyone gets put into for public service at age 19 or 20 and if your name gets called you are required to spend a year in the army or as a firefighter or paramedic. Stefan is doing his voluntarily because he will get free training as a firefighter and paramedic and if he likes it enough, then after a year he can start getting paid to continue doing that work. John is in Australia working and traveling before going back to Korea to finish his degree in tourism, at which point his family would look down on a decision to travel because he would be expected to put his degree to work. Maxine, who I first met in Cairns in early September, will be completing 12 weeks with CVA over 4.5 months. She just finished a degree in dance and creative writing and is in Australia to travel before she has to look for a job at home.

Maxine and I went out that first Friday night and met up with 5 Irish girls I'd met on the Whitsundays and 3 Irish girls she'd met on the Whitsundays. The first bar we went to was filled with Australians who'd come straight from work all dressed in their work clothes. It was strange but they seemed so foreign to me that it was almost like I forgot that I'd ever actually been part of that professional working world. It was a bit weird and awkward as so we eventually peaced out for the comforts of... what else but an Irish pub.

And it was here that I met Canadian Chris who surfs in Canada. I didn't know that was physically possible. But apparently with a good wet suit and a whole lot of conviction, one can surf in Vancouver. He's out in Australia for a year enjoying the warm water. He'd just spent a number of months traveling from Cairns to Brisbane and living in his van. He was in Brisbane for about 2 weeks hanging out with people he'd met along the way through couchsurfers.com. (I’m not going to explain it. If you are curious check it out.) He’d also come to Brisbane to sell his van before flying down to Melbourne to spend another 3 months surfing there before the end of his visa would send him home. Over the course of our conversation he revealed that he did not usually like Americans but that he did pay more attention to our politics than to Canada's. When at the end of the night we exchanged Australian phone numbers he commented that he could not believe he wanted the phone number of an American. I guess now I know what it is like to be the stereotyped minority. Except unlike minorities whose culture is evident on their faces, no one knows my identity until I open my mouth and share it.

So back to that CVA business. On Monday my team consisted of myself, Maxine, Will, Pat and another Korean guy named Kim who joined us that morning. Our teamleader was Fab. And our assignment for the week was Happy Valley on Fraser Island! The trip would take us 4 hours back up the highway along the coast and 2 hours on the beach "highway" on the island. We were making this trip in a 4wd "troopie" as this group called it -- which meant sideways bench seats and occasionally flying off the seat resulting in the addition of a few new bruises to the collection on my legs as well as a bump on the head.



Our accommodation on the island was another one of these Australian structures that is caught somewhere in between of being inside and outside. The bedrooms had 4 walls but like any campground type structure were inhabited by spiders in every crevice. The kitchen and bathroom could be described the same way but the common area had 2 walls that were really just screens overlayed with a metal grate. This kept most bugs out but not wind, rain or temperature. The floor was like a wooden deck raised a few feet above the ground. There was about a half inch between each board and so when we swept you never needed a dust pan because you just swept all the crumbs, dirt and sand into the cracks and down onto the ground. There was real furniture (ie not outdoor or waterproof furniture) in the common area and a tv with dvd player so it was a bit disorienting as to whether you should think of yourself as indoors or outdoors. This was highlighted on Wednesday night when we experience a torential downpour while we watched a dvd in the dark. We had to turn the volume up because the rain was so loud -- and because there was no wall between us and it. (For those who were wondering, the movie was either Predator, Alien, Alien vs. Predator, Wagons East, Blood Diamonds, or a Kiwi film called Eagle vs Shark. We watched them all that week. Oh yeah and Kiwi means a person or thing from New Zealand.)


Dingo






Our work on Fraser was just weeding. We sat on the ground and pulled out crows foot on the campground in the mornings when the tide was too high for us to drive from our accommidation in Dundaburra to Happy Valley. And in the afternoons we went to Happy Valley and pushed through the bush looking for Easter Cassia, which we pulled out of the ground and hung upside down from the trees so that it didn't reroot itself. Easter cassia is fairly easy to pull out but finding it, which meant plowing through branches and brush and vines and the insects that inhabit them was not my favorite. But we did occasionally push through to the top of some hill and could see out to the ocean that was perpetually in earshot and the sight was another one to make you stop in your tracks -- well either that or a sharp wait-awhile vine that snagged you around the shin.


Anita, me and Stephen

On Friday we headed back to Brisbane and went out for a few drinks at a very typical backpacker bar called Down Under. And on Saturday Maxine, Anita, Will, Stefan and I took a two hour train and bus ride to Surfers Paradise to spend the day. Contrary to the name, Surfers is not really the most ideal place to find good surfing waves. It is however, a great place for nightlife. Unlike all other Australian beaches I have seen, the beaches in Surfers are lined with tall buildings and feels kind of like what I'd imagine Miami would be like. Maxine commented this beach reminded her of European beaches.

My favorite part of Surfers was the talking bathrooms. Just off the beach was a series of individual toilet units that on the outside were reminiscent of a porta potty. But once you got inside, this was no temporary nasty toilet. When you closed the door, the bathroom spoke to you to inform you that you had 10 minutes to use the toilet and that you should lock the door. Then "All You Need is Love" began to play. There was no button to flush the toilet but the toilet would flush automatically when you turned on the water to wash your hands (I was also in another one where the door unlocked when you washed your hands). It was like using the bathroom on Star Ship 9.

The following Monday, Will, Pat, Corey and Stefan had all left for their next destinations and my new team consisted of myself, Maxine, John and another Korean guy named Martin. Our teamleader was Cameron and our location was Kennelworth in the Cannondale Mountains about 2 hours outside of Brisbane. Our task was more weeding -- but this time the foreign plant of choice was Lantana.

Each day began with a 3 km hike out into the woods -- but this time with the luxury of a trail -- to meet one of the (power) rangers. Lantana is a plant that was brought here from Europe by the english to create hedges. It grows all twisted and entwined in itself and generally grows about 6 or 7 feet tall, although if it latches onto a tree it may creep even taller. The roots come out of th ground fairly easily but getting yourself in close enough to them to get a good grasp is a bit tricky. Also it's branches are stiff like sticks, not flexible like a flower stem, and so when they do come out they are pointing 7 feet in every direction and sometimes a power ranger might pull one out and stab an innocent American girl in the eye. But no worries, my contact saved the day -- even though it subsequently fell out into the dirt. But I'm like a master bushwalker and managed to find a way to clean it and pop that sucker back in.

Of all the places I had been so far the Cannondale Mountains poised to biggest threat in terms of deadly Australian nature. Several species of poisonous snakes were known to live in those woods; including the brown snake. A trapdoor spider joined us for smoko one day, but the funnelwebs stayed away. There are leeches, jumping ants, plenty of breeds of ticks and stinging trees inhabiting these woods too. I'd always thought that you only find leeches in the water but I was wrong, they live on ground too. Our teamleader, Cameron, had 3 leeches on him in one day. Jumping ants literally jump to about knee (or in my case, hip) height and they bite. Based on the Martin's expression after falling victim to a jumping ant, I deduce that it is as painful as the Australian’s claim. But this pain subsides -- kind of like a bee sting. The stinging tree on the other hand keeps you in pain for weeks/months. These woods were home to GIANT stinging trees, which means that they are about as tall as a 6-8 story building and they have leaves about the size of your hand (not my hand -- your hand) that are covered in silia containing a poison. The silia just need to brush your skin to become embedded and when this happens they will continue to sting until they come out. And it usually takes a long time for them to get out. They are too tiny to pull out with tweezers, although sometimes a bit of tape will do the trick. Temperature changes aggravate the exposed area even more, so showers -- both hot and cold -- are extremely uncomfortable. But you must be thinking, “ if the leaves of a giant stinging are located 6 stories up into the air they can't be much danger to people, right?” No, no, you silly American; these leaves fall to the ground and their silia continue to be capable of stinging you for 100 years after they fall. That's right, dead leaves that want to hurt you are hanging out all over the ground, crumbling up and disgusing themselves as innocent rubbish. What kind of place is this where even the leaves are out to get you?

Then there is the ominous bush turkey; who won't bite but will steal your lunch. I may have mentioned bush turkeys before. They are black, about two feet long, have a red face and a yellow hangy neck. They creep around looking for things to steal and bring them back to the mound that they build out of leaves and sticks and flipflops (or thongs or pluggers or whatever you'd like to call them). They make a noise that sounds like "HHMMMMMM". They can't really fly but they do jump and manage to get up into trees, especially ones that have plastic bags containing ham sandwiches tied to them, but their balance isn't so hot so occasionally they fall out of the trees. Their thievery doesn't end with food products as we discovered when Martin informed Cameron "Turkey steal you cigarette." And sure enough, a bush turkey had run off with the whole box.


Bush turkey


Refilling my waterbottle in a creek. Tasted and looked like perfect bottled water.

Pulling out lantana is not so much fun so we managed to entertain ourselves with a hike up a dry creek bed one day, a hike along the edge of a wet creek another day, and a hike to a waterhole with a waterfall to go for a swim on a third day. Only Cameron, Maxine and I went out to the waterhole, and we arrived to find that we had it completely to ourselves, which Maxine commented would be impossible to find in England.

When we wrapped up in Kennelworth, on Friday, we headed back into Brisbane. After checking on facebook and my Morton Island plans for the weekend I joined Cameron and his friend Amanda at Amanda's apartment in Fortitude Valley. It was great to chat with a few Australians on a level that wasn't restricted by their tourguide or teamleader status…

OK I am tired and so this post will have to be continued at a later date.

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Do you have the kitchen sink in there?

There is a sign along the side of the highway as you enter Brisbane (pronounced briz bin) that says "Brisbane - Australia's most livable city." Who was in charge of writing taglines that day? Debbie Downer?

For the last 4 weekends I have arrived in Brisbane on Friday or Saturday and left on Monday. Brisbane is the largest city outside of Melbourne that I have been to in Australia so far. Cairns was a "city" but the downtown (or CBD as they call it) is small and exists pretty much only for tourists. And everything outside of Cairns CBD is really just a large suburb. So arriving in Brisbane for the first time on Saturday October 4, I was greeted with familiar city sounds and sites for the first time in over 2 months. Brisbane is still pretty small as cities go but it has experienced a great deal of growth over the last 10-15 years.

When I arrived in Brisbane on the 4th I was traveling with Jess and Alex, the 22 year old English girls that I originally met in 1770 and had traveled to Fraser Island with. After parting ways with the rest of our Fraser Island group, Jess, Alex and I went to Noosa for one night and then continued on to the Australia Zoo near Gimpy (yes, there is a town called Gimpy). We brought all our luggage with us to the zoo and locked it up in lockers for the day.

Australia Zoo, is the "Home of Steve Irwin, Crocodile Hunter." This is where many of Irwin's crocs live as well as plenty of animals with pockets and spikes, and venom, and crazy wacko names. There were of course plenty of kangaroos, wallabies, koalas and lizards. There were cassowaries and dingoes, emus and wombats, tasmanian devils and every one of the 10 most poisonous snakes. There were non native species like camels, otters, elephants and american alligators (probably just for the sake of comparison to the ginormous salties). We went to see the croc show at the Crocoseum where in addition to hand feeding the crocodiles chunks of meet, they also released all kinds of colorful and huge tropical Australian birds. There is no roof on the Crocoseum so the birds really could have just flown away. But they circled in and out and around and all came back to their trainers. I used the $41 from the 50/50 the New York Caresers held on behalf of my trip went to pay for my ticket to visit the home of these crazy marsupials. Thanks guys! I heart animals with pockets!




I didn't technically need to be in Brisbane for another week but I decided that it would be more fun to go to the zoo with Jess and Alex and spend the weekend with them in the city than to venture on my own again. Plus, the Canadian and English guys from our Fraser Island trip were living in Brisbane for another 2 weeks and we'd made plans to go out with them on Sunday. Turns out we were super tired by the time we arrived on Saturday and just spent the evening uploading pictures and checking email. The boys had been at a music festival for the day and when they called around 10 to see if we would want to come out, we sillily passed on the offer to save our energy for the following day. What we should have foreseen was that the boys would been in worse shape on Sunday and would therefore back out on those plans. Boys! But the 3 of us made it out to the Normanby Hotel (an old hotel turned into a bar) anyway and had a good time.

I parted ways with Jess and Alex on Monday morning. They were continuing further south and I headed back north a bit to a town called Mooloolaba (pronounced MOO lu la ba). Since I was backtracking I couldn't use my Cairns to Sydney Greyhound pass or I would run out of kilometers about 100k short of Sydney and they'd have to chuck me off the bus into the bush.

So instead I took regular Brisbane area public transportation. This involved taking the train to a bus. Brisbane's transportation system is pretty good. And it's very new, easy to use, clean and not crowded. As I boarded the bus to the hostel with all my gear, a woman who I believe was in her late 70s asked me, "do you have the kitchen sink in there?" I chatted with this woman for the bus ride and it turned out that she was born in England but had been living in Oz since she was about 10. She has some grandchildren who are now back living in England (Who knows why!) To keep in touch with them she has a small device about the size of my fold up keyboard when it is open (like 10 inches by 4 inches) and she can type out emails and send them via cell service... just like me. I showed her my phone and keyboard. Funny that the only person I've encountered in my travels who is able to send emails remotely like myself is a woman in her 70s. Love it.

Mooloolaba is a bit off the normal backpacker track. There is only one hostel and many of the people there were in town to find work as strawberry pickers. They get picked up at like 6:30 am and pick until about noon, but after that it is too hot so they send everyone home. They get paid by the amount that they pick and average is about $50 in a 5 hour day. For those who are thinking that this is strange that travelers are working as strawberry pickers, here is the deal. Australia does not directly border any country... especially any developing country with people who are willing to do manual labor for very little pay. Therefore, there is a constant shortage of people to work in agriculture jobs. The solution is that jobs that in America would frequently be filled by Mexicans and Central Americans, in Australia are filled by European, Asian and American travelers in their 20s. These people are often college educated and come from middle class backgrounds but are desperate for some quick cash without commitment in order to fund their journeys. You must have a working holiday visa in order to do this work (that is the visa I have) but other than that you can usually show up in Mooloolaba, or Bundaberg or Bowen or any of the many other base locations for agri work and make arrangements to start picking capsicums, or mangos, or pineapples, within a day or so and quit whenever the trauma of the heat, the thorns and the repetition conquers your psyche. As an added incentive, any traveler who does 3 months of agricultural work can get an extension on their visa to stay for a 2nd year.

I stayed in Mooloolaba from Monday through Thursday nights. It was a pretty quiet week. I didn't make much of an effort to make friends because I was really hoping for some time to myself to read on the beach and wander around and keep things inexpensive. However I did have one adventure that week -- in the mall. On Thursday it was cloudy and cool so I decided to go to the mall so that I could see a movie, buy a new shirt or two (clothes get worn out quickly when you wear the same things several times a week), and find a new book to read.

Well it turns out that in Australia I look like a criminal. I was taking my sweet time in a H&M type store called Supre. I was debating a lot because when you have to carry everything you own on your back, and you aren't earning any money, you don't want to make any rash purchasing decisions. Anyway, the store employees didn't seem to think that my slow method of shopping was as innocent as I did, and they suspected me of shopping lifting. They told mall security that they thought I might have put clothes on under my clothes in the dressing room. Fair enough, considering my speed and the number of times I went in there... but if they had used their brains it would have only taken one glance at me to realize the absurdity of this since I was wearing a WHITE TANK TOP... the kind where the only thing I could hide behind it would be a neutral colored bra. Or maybe a pair of stockings. And since this store didn't carry either of those items, there wasn't anything I could have gotten in there that wouldn't be just as obvious as writing thief on my face. But even so, the mall security guy took me to his little booth and made me empty out my bags. Amongst my wallet and cell phone and sunglasses was my white sweatshirt, which thankfully has permanent dirt stains on the sleeves, my plastic box with my sandwich for lunch and my water bottle. Maybe these items weren't helping my case since they made it look like I was a bum in need of a day of shoplifting. But after pointing out the white-tank-top aspect of the ridiculousness of this scenario to Mr. Mall Security Guard, he agreed that I was just a traveler with whole lot of time on my hands and sent me on my way strip-search free.

And that was the end of my time in Mooloolaba.

Leaving Australia zoo.


Can someone tell me what this sign means?