Tin Cans and Rattle Snakes

I used to think that I had bad luck when it came to cars.

When I was sixteen, newly licensed and free to access the world at large, I made the mistake of backing my dad's (newish) '95 Ford Escort wagon into a lovely little red sports car while exiting a parking spot.  The incident, as it was referred to at the time, was something that I was sure spelled the end of my driving career.  Cars, being very expensive, and also potentially dangerous if not handled with the appropriate respect, were a very important thing in my family; my abuse of the new car was something that, at least in my addled sixteen year-old mind, was  going to be epic.  I imagined the return home, telling my father that not only had I driven IN to a parking spot, but I had backed IN to another car.  Somehow my brain had taken me to a point where I would be banished from the family, only to live in unlicensed hell for all eternity.

Of course, it didn't turn out that way.  My dad was very levelheaded with the conversation, as we detailed what happened, and the gentleman I drove into even came calling to speak with him.  The exchange was very calm, very quite and almost supremely civilized.

The suspense was killing me. Surely there would be an epic outburst before my exile?  Surely someone would flail and strip me of my little blue card that otherwise entitled me to roam?

No such conversation ever happened.  I paid for the repairs to our car, and my father paid for the repairs to the other.  He did say, in none-too-clear terms, that if ever he caught me driving into another parking spot, I would no longer be allowed to drive his cars.

That resonated.

Many years later, while visiting friends in Texas, I borrowed a car to go roaming with my friend Cheryl.  It was late, and I was in foreign terrain, not to mention supremely sleep deprived.  At the time, the drive seemed like a great idea, and we set off with such zeal that I had even joked with my friends that were the police to call them, they were to kindly post our bail.

I had been joking at the time.

The drive was really very short and only leading us from our friends' home by two streets, though, the second was a long, isolated road upon which there were few other cars.  The further along the road I drove, my friend Cheryl and I noted how desolate it seemed - only a few cars were passing us now in the opposite direction, and none seemed to be headed our way.

Clear skies were visible - there were no longer street lamps or traffic lights, but merely the glow of the September Texas skies.  It felt like heaven, even though the temperatures hovered near the hundred point, and our poor Canadian systems were nowhere near prepared for it.

Eventually, hoping to procure a street sign in a fit of mid-twenties mid-mid-life crisis, I drove the car up beside our selected sign and crept out of the car only to marvel in the emptiness.  There was no one for miles, and the only thing within sight was a silent dairy farm.

Our robbery would go unnoticed.

Still, too short to reach the sign, I needed to bring the car in closer.  Whatever happened next is really a question for the Gods, because one moment we were on terra firma, slowly moving closer to our goal, and the next, two tires were only perilously resting on the ground, while the other two barely touched.

It took moments before we exited the car, assessed the situation by cellphone light and then promptly decided that perhaps, with a little luck and sheer brute strength, maybe we could *drive* the car out of the ditch, while the other was lifting.  2000 pounds of metal does not move easily - we know that now most certainly.

While sitting in the car, with cellphones that had no reception, and our windows rolled down to try and cool off, we realized there was distinctive shifting in the grass, and a rattle emanating from the area.  We'd heard there were rattle snakes in the area - but did that mean we had company?

Panic struck and we rolled up the windows, sitting in horror waiting for some ax-wielding maniac to come and finish us off - wasn't that what happened in situations like this?

911, being such a reliable service as it is, was thankfully a number we could dial, even in our tin-can death trap, perched in a ditch dangling over a snake pit.  That must have been, at least for that operator, the funniest 911 call ever...

You see, when you tell a panicking girl that help is hours away, things tend to get wrangy.

"Listen, it can NOT take three hours - we're two Canadian girls, lost in the middle of nowhere, we've borrowed our friend's car, and she does NOT know where we are.  We have no cellphone reception, and we have BOTH seen Texas Chainsaw Masacre..."

The tow truck took less then 50 minutes.

In recent years I have had a few more car adventures - though none quite as colourful as that.  My darling Estella, the car I bought what seems like ages ago, has now begun to creek with old age.  When shifting, she sounds as if there are dozens of tin cans trailing behind, and though I've already been in to see a mechanic, major surgery is required.

Still, I won't tempt the fates; already I've had a series of unusual events, and I know now what it's like to be scared and waiting for a fate worse than the ones you've already imagined.  I don't soon wish to repeat that experience.

That's why I still only back into parking spots.

In Memoriam...

I hate anniversaries – of any variety.  It seems a funny thing to say, considering they are typically joyous occasions, however through the years I have found it harder and harder to acknowledge these events without sadness enveloping me.  The thing is, every year older is another year further from those memories I hold dear. 

This isn’t to sound melodramatic – there are so many new memories that are also very dear to my heart, but each year at this time, I’m reminded of another anniversary that reminds me of the way things have changed. 

On August 8^th, 1990, my grandfather died in an accident.  He was 58 years old.  My entire life changed, in ways that I’m still trying to comprehend, and yet, in many ways, I’m sure I never will. 

Every year since Papa’s death has been somewhat of a milestone for me, because, even at 8 years old, I never quite understood how there could be a minute more of my life than my time with him.  There was no conscious acceptance of a life of my own because in I felt as though life was forever the one that he had built for us. 

It sounds crazy and perhaps a bit deluded, but as a child, you have such a strange grasp on reality that the little things that change in your daily life (such as a new car, a new toy or a new home) seem like a huge deal.  Something as massive as death is far too complex to really grasp in any context, aside from the invariable clarity that life will never be the same. 

That notion, as simple as it might seem from an adult perspective, was unfathomable to the 8 year old me who watched the world screech to a halt, all in the course of one day. 

The thing about loss is that it’s so confusing – there’s the strange reality of it that you never quite come to terms with.

When you have someone or something in your life, it becomes so much a part of you that it can so easily be taken for granted; it’s not that you value it less, but you never quite think about those times when it may no longer be there.  Those moments that you have, every day, seem so average and consistent that the reality of the fragility of life can be lost on you. 

But when someone leaves – they die, move away, or move on – those moments suddenly become memories that you now have to re-categorize and reassess.  Moments that were simple points of fact now become elusive and hard to grasp. 

From my own experience, I can say that the loss you feel from that person’s departure seems insurmountable.  It feels as if there’s no way to fill that void without losing them, or losing yourself in the process.  What you used to accept as your world suddenly becomes your world without them. 

And you can’t prepare for the inevitable, no matter how hard you try.  The thing is, there is no imagining a world without someone until they are gone; there is no way to prepare for that absence because you’ll never know what thing you’ll miss most: the way the smell or sound, the bristle of their voice, or the company over coffee first thing in the morning. 

When someone is there, it is just an inevitable fact; when they’re gone, there is no going back. 

Loss is something I’ve struggled with, not because it has been consistent but because it has been overwhelming for me.  Never learning what was ok, I always felt as if there would be no more ‘normal’ left; that with the passing of a loved one, you too began to pass. 

Twenty years ago, I could not imagine a moment even five minutes in the future because those minutes, however near, were minutes without that constant that I had always had.  Every minute, every hour and every day were challenges that I felt completely unprepared to face because if for no other reason than his absence, I was no longer a whole. 

As those minutes moved forward, whether I liked it or not, I began to create new ‘normals’ and I began to appreciate the new days as ones that hurt a little less, and felt a littler fresher.  There was no longer the overwhelming sadness that came in those first few days after he’d gone, and suddenly it became a dull ache that I thought about often, but that I knew was inconsolable. 

Twenty years later, I look back on the years between then and now, and wonder what it would have all been like had the hydraulic lift not failed, had he not been working on the truck that day, or had any other series of events prevented the tragedy from occurring. 

I’ll never know what could have been, and I’ll never have the peace of mind of knowing that I appreciated those moments together before that day enough when they were happening.  My only consolation in it all has been that in the twenty years that have passed, not only have I lost people, but I’ve gained wonderful loved ones in the process; people who I could not have fathomed in my life at that time have now become staples of a reality created in the wake of that accident. 

I might always hate anniversaries and other ‘special’ occasions that I should love; I still see a lot of these moments as reminders of sadness and awkwardness borne of fearfulness.  But, on the other hand, I do try to remember that even as a child, I looked forward as far as I could – a few minutes at a time – and braved what felt like a whole new world ever-changing before my eyes.  And there has been so much good and kindness since. 

Twenty years is a long time – and at the same time it can feel like a minute; life is the culmination of the duality of everything we are able and unable to comprehend, and the way we forge onward.  Try as we might to move on, it is only moving forward. 

Our consolation is, for however long it lasts, we are loved and love others – and we are forever growing into the people we should be. 

A smart man taught me that – and even though all these years have passed, I won’t ever forget the impact he had on my life.  Our time together may have been brief, but it was significant none-the-less. 

Much love and adoration, Papa.  I hope you’re enjoying the view.  X 

When You Don't Like What You See Around You...

Look within you.

Sometimes when I get really stressed, my knee-jerk reaction is to, well, be a jerk.  It's easy; I can say something mean, which, for the moment is a relief, and then when aforementioned relief wears off, I can then wallow in self-pity.  Somehow this cycle of frustration and angst feeds ever so nicely into my perception of things, and then, well... watch out world!

As I get older, I am slowly learning that the idea of perpetuating this cycle of juvenile self-absorbed angst is only so helpful.  Although there is that momentary relief that comes from the comfort and familiarity of this twelve-year old reaction to a situation, there is then the later regret - the hesitation when you realize that just maybe someone saw your actions as reprehensible as you now find them.

I'm learning to appreciate the view around me.

In an attempt to stop chasing a life outside someone else's window, I've had to look at the view I have and try to figure out where the pieces fit together.  There are things I've seen I do not like, and with the help of some guidance from a very zen friend, I've learned that much of that comes from the way I project into the world.  If you don't like what you're experiencing, look at what you're doing to contribute to that experience - odds are, your actions have more to do with the result than you'd think.

Some people say things that are hurtful, and whether they mean it or not, they don't quite realize that in letting that kind of energy out into the world, it perpetuates and feeds, changing the way others experience the world in which they live.  I have, for many years, thought that if the view sucked, I could quite simply walk away.

That old adage - the one we all love to hate - says the grass is always greener on the other side.  Too bad we don't realize that until, after having crossed to the 'other side', we look back and realize that once again, we've pitted ourselves directly across from what we want.  There is no perfect nor is there a reasonable facsimile of it, but there is a way to see more of what you want in the world at large.

My current goal, instead of planning a great escape from these four walls and windows, is to look out, and appreciate my view, and then realize how good it is to see yourself reflected in the world.  Not to say I don't want to move on, forward, away... but for now I want to be that person who, in some way or another, manages to kiss the universe goodnight and hug the stars.

Cloudy Perception and Inherent Goodness

Fridays are, by all counts, my favourite day of the week.  Not only do I begin my weekend, where inevitably I will do very little but enjoy it greatly, but there's a nice sense of finality to the week that allows me to feel accomplished.  Whether that sense of accomplishment stems from a job well done, or as in the case of this week, merely surviving the five days since my last reprieve, it's always lovely to look back and realize that, like it or not, there's a new week coming.  I enjoy that sense of rebirth that happens very late on Sunday night, as I crawl into bed and start to plan the week ahead.

My day started out quite regularly, and nice as it was to be predictable, it felt somewhat mundane.

My first patient changed everything.  You see, sometimes I get so stuck in the appearances of the things I see that I forget that my perception can be skewed.  The woman who presented herself to me - bright and early, I might add - was in earlier this week to place her order.  I diligently did the job quickly because it was easy and I had nothing better to do at the time.  Now, this woman is not indicative of our typical clientele (which, more often are upper-middle class or affluent citizens of the world; numerous addresses in our database are international) and I made the first-glance (mis)judgement that she would be a handful, or so over-the-top as to be unbearable.

Not only was she fabulously kind and sweet, she was also very appreciative of what we'd done for her - more so than I've ever seen a patient be.  The gratitude she expressed was incredible, and she was so genuinely kind and warm that for a while, I almost hoped she'd stick around longer.

The thing is, my judgement of her - my very skewed perception of this variation in our clientele - was to assume that she was (excuse me for saying this) ghetto-trash.

I have a keen ghetto-radar because, as I am quite proud to admit, I am a former ghetto-dweller.  Ok, fine, I have no snazzy sense of street talk, nor do I particularly enjoy things like road hockey, however after years of living in those sorts of neighborhoods (the ones you don't actually tell people you live in for fear of being blacklisted) I do have a pretty good eye for these things.

All too often, I can spot the telltale signs of poverty (the ones that those who have nothing are equally well-trained in hiding) from a mile away, and though it makes me terribly sad, I also think about what sorts of obstacles they have to overcome.  The horrendous lack of viable social programming, affordable education, and of course lack of money are all further hardening their struggle.

The fact of the matter is, this woman who had very few material possessions to speak of (as she didn't hesitate to discuss with me) had a radiating kindness within her that overshadowed her somewhat slanted view of reality.  In her eyes, there was something about us that made us 'better' than her - she'd said as much while we were chatting away - and for a moment I wanted to kick myself because, when she'd approached me earlier, I had a fleeting momentary thought that I was somehow better than her.

At the end of our fitting, she smiled kindly, thanked me emphatically, and then stopped to tell me a bit more about her goings-on.  It was refreshing to have such an exuberant explanation of how she perceived the world around her, and in a way to be reminded that the circumstances in which one lives is not defining of a person's worth, nor is it indicative of their value in the community.

I left my ghetto quite a while ago, and for a long time I was trying to change it for something better - to learn to see a different view of what I always hated - but maybe what I should have been doing all along was trying to focus my perception on the inherent goodness that lives in all sorts of communities, in various economic standings, and across socio-economic terms.

I'm grateful for that woman for starting my day in such a way as to make me question the notions I otherwise took for 'solid' and for letting me see a little of the world from her view - try as I may to be a good person, it takes someone like her to remind me that there's no such thing as better, just worse.

A Little Bit of Alcohol, a Lot of Introspection

I had a business dinner tonight: the kind where you go out, talk a little bit of shop, and then imbibe multiple bottles of wine and gossip while pretending it's business related?  (I'm sure you know those dinners; they're really all the rage these days - with ample alcohol and a little of necessary business-related propaganda?)  These dinners are entirely justifiable because a) they're on the tab of a multi-billion dollar international distributor and b) we so rarely get them normally that even though they've become 'monthly' events, we still find them to be novel and exciting.  

Dinner was one of those things where, because the view was so different from where I've spent most of my life, I spent equal parts awkwardly grasping for things to say, and otherwise trying to figure out the acceptable way to behave.  Reasonably upscale restaurants, with 90$ bottles of wine flowing freely, are not the kind of places I've spent much time in as of late.  Or ever, for that matter.  

My knee-jerk reaction is to be introverted, and to allow the world to happen around me.  I find this inherently sad, but very much the way I tend to deal with things.  If I force myself to participate, the reaction then becomes something different - a mix of an alcohol-induced bravery and a boisterous extroversion that makes no sense to my logical mind.  I do try to avoid that sort of out-going behavior, all too familiar with the knowledge that I tend to regret it fairly soon thereafter, if not immediately.  

Tonight, as we sat hunched around the table, our fancy wine and several cocktails spread over the table, I realized several things.  

Most impressively, I realized that palm reading is alive and well in upper-middle class society, and based on a novice reading of my palm, not only will I live a long time (too bad!) but I will also have at least one great romance (that fizzles in senior-citizenship) and no children (I could have told you that).  I also learned that apparently (according to my palm) I'm more level-headed than creative, and that I am destined to own property (either purchased or inherited).  These realizations are sort of what I would have called no-brainers.  Being not particularly well-behaved, I have long subscribed to 'only the good die young' - and as such, I have determined a long life to be my punishment for past indiscretions - and the reality of 'relationships' have long been lost on me.  It amuses me that this 'palm reading' could be taken seriously at all, considering how completely open to interpretation it is, though I suppose that is what makes it fun.  

I also realized that when placed around a table together, women of all ages let loose and have little to no fear as to what they say.  Menopause, PMS, breast size, breast texture, and various degrees of mutual admiration all featured as topics of conversation, and it was normal.  It really was - we didn't seem to think twice about saying these incredibly personal, incredibly intense things.  

And this was, in some small way, a business dinner.  

Sometimes I forget that the view I have now - the life I have now - is so vastly different than the life I've lived, that it becomes a crazy, intangible reality.  700$ dinners and posh bottles of wine that I will never again be able to order (without immense anxiety at the expense) are things that are so distant from my view that I don't quite know how to justify them even now, when they're 'free'.  

But nothing's free, and somehow even though tonight was fun, I do still feel like there is a little piece of my soul bartered for one more flirtini and a heavenly slice of flourless chocolate cake.  Every day that I get further from the girl I used to be, I wonder if I'll be able to go back - if $12 bottles of wine will ever seem acceptable again or if I'm permanently corrupted and destined to yearn for those things well beyond my means. 

Tonight felt like a little bit of faking, and a healthy dose of alcohol...  I lost count somewhere around seven drinks, and though I'm not drunk, I've had enough to wonder just what I was thinking when I thought I belonged there.  

Crazy Things that Happen...

My current home city isn't always the most exciting place on earth; it's often referred to as 'the city that fun forgot' and though I wish it were untrue, it tends to be really quite the opposite.  And, even when fun manages to sneak through, my locals are withdrawn and boring.

So today, when a 5.5 magnitude earthquake struck, these boring people took to the street in a moment, and took in the sunlight of an otherwise fabulous day.

It started small, as these things do, with a little rumble that felt more like construction than a real notable event, but only a few seconds later the earth began to sway, the power went out, and started screams rang throughout the office.  It felt like minutes - as if there were time to logically try to work things out - however apparently it was a mere 30 seconds.  The lights didn't come back on, and the sirens began to blare throughout the city as emergency crews attended to the numerous alarms.

Not long after the earthquake, we were given permission to leave and head home.  The city streets were full of people, all milling about, many of whom were holding their cellphones to the sky; the network was so inundated that they crashed.  No news to be googled, no twitter updates, and certainly no phone calls.

The lack of technological accessibility was at first incredibly disconcerting - I'm not accustomed to being 'out of touch' for any length of time, but especially not when there's something worth talking about!  Alas, as Chantal's big black Benz worked it's way up Bank Street, it was incredible to see the people in the streets, milling about, and the impromptu picnics that suddenly lined the lawns of the big buildings.

Only here is an earthquake cause for a picnic.

Traffic was crazy, as were the torrents of people rushing along the sidewalks, but in the end of it all, I got home in a reasonably good time, and with minimal damage sustained.  There's a few things damaged, including a stand that needs repair due to the vibration, some pictures that fell, and some dishes that tumbled, but I figure a few small things are relatively acceptable when considering how much worse these things can be.

Sometimes this city surprises me, while other times it just amazes me.

No Worries...

Although I've been home for a couple of weeks now, I was entirely reluctant to post an update of my final days in Sydney.  Originally, my concern was too sombre a post and really nothing much to say aside from how much I missed Australia.  Though that is somewhat true - there is less to say from here, and I miss our travels desperately - I've realized that being back is as much of an opportunity to 'reset' my life as any.

My final 24 hours in Sydney were filled with sadness as I debated what coming home would mean.  I had grown so fond of the lifestyle we were living in Australia, that I knew coming back would be tough.

On the Friday afternoon, I made my way to Patty's Market, bought a few souvenirs, and then wandered to the Powerhouse Museum that was highly recommended to me by numerous people I met along the way.  The weather was good, but there were still spots of rain throughout the day, and the thing I wanted most was to absorb some of the Australian culture.

My adventures on my last day were incredible; the city that I had come to know quite well after only a week started to feel more like 'home' than any place else we'd visited along the way.  Being stationary for more than a day or two at a time I suppose facilitated the closeness I was feeling with the harbour, the bridge, and the people themselves.

Friday evening there were fireworks in the harbour, and though I rationally knew that they were for the Jazz festival that was kicking off, a part of me liked to think they were for us, and for all we achieved during our travels.  Certainly two women, one four year old and a car for 30 + hours deserved a little bit of fanfare even if only in our minds.

On the Saturday morning that I left, I watched the sunrise from the balcony of our hotel, packed my bags and said goodbye to Australia.  It was harder than I would have thought and for a few minutes I stood out on Liverpool Street wondering if I could stay behind, living under the bridge if the need be.  The sobering reality of it all was that I am not blessed with saleable skills, and as such, my potential as a busker would be somewhat limited.

The sadness loomed over me for ages - through checking in and waiting at the airport, boarding, and even while in flight.  The distance between Ottawa and Australia is so great (and the expense comparably gargantuan) that I didn't know when I'd be able to return - which I so desperately wanted.

Thankfully, as we flew into the evening - a strange enough thing having taken off just after sunrise - there was a peacefulness to seeing the sunset only hours after watching its birth.  Cliche as it might be, the reality that the sun was setting on my vacation was both saddening and encouraging.

Coming home meant I would once again have access to a few things that I did miss while away.  My cats, who clearly would at least yearn for attention, were back home in Ottawa, and my family (though whether they were yearning for attention is possibly less predictable) were all 'back home' too.  The possibility of waking in the same bed for more than three mornings in a row also struck me as comforting and desirable, though the reality of having to make my own bed was hardly as pleasing.

Several hours later, as the plane neared LA, I watched the sunrise again - this time the sadness of leaving Sydney was lessened by the reality of being on my way home, and on my way to see the people I love.

Two sunrises in one day, and what would eventually be two sunsets somehow seemed to be the nearly perfect way to leave a wonderful, magical time abroad.  Things that are impossible in daily realities become possible while away and though the wonder of these events never cease to amaze me, they give me comfort that daily reality also has such awe-inspiring potential.

Coming home to affordable (though significantly less palatable) coffee, and my own home that remained as it was left while I was away was comforting - just as reliving the memories of our adventures in Australia remind me of the beauty of travel.

Now that I'm home, I'm searching out a different reality than the one I knew previously.  I'm accepting that beauty and awe can be found close to home, and for significantly less money.  The little things are more important and the time I've spent debating where home is reminds me that it's where I choose to wake up every day.

Travel will be back-burnered for a while, which is a hard thing for me to say.  I've lived the last 9 years searching for adventure anywhere but here, but I might be getting a little too old to be quite so obsessive in my compulsion to get away.  I do hope that the adventure here in town, and in the surrounding areas, will give me an opportunity to see the world in which I live a little differently.

In the interim, I plan on providing a little distraction therapy for myself in the form of hebrew studies and planning for what I hope will be a trip to Israel in 2012.

For now, though, I'm going to enjoy the view outside MY window, and learn how to love where I am right now because, sadly, reality is that you can't wake up in a new room every day - eventually you have to make your own bed.

You Hesitate, You Die...

“You hesitate, you die…” as said by Dutchie, on Sea Patrol and never have truer words been spoken.  Or at least, not if you’ve ever driven in Sydney. 

I have driven on three continents now, and in major cities that usually invoke fear in even seasoned drivers:  New York City, Paris, Montreal, London, San Antonio (the loop at 1402 is terrifying!) and Toronto.  I never flinched with those drives, instead considering them an adventure. 

Driving in Sydney is hell.  There’s no other description. 

Aside from the typical problems (driving on the wrong side of the road, in a car that’s unfamiliar to me, and having the constant nattering of a four-year-old in the background…) there are a series of one-way streets, hyper-aggressive drivers, and distributor roads at every turn (for those of you who’ve never experienced them, imagine tunnels that are unidirectional and that have no exits, that are ‘cross-city’) Add to that hills of epic proportions, and lights that have very strange delays and you can only begin to imagine the nightmare that is driving in Sydney. 

It had been awful coming in on Sunday, as we realized that the streets changed names frequently, and that the hills were a problem for a novice manual-transmission driver…  Poor Jayne made the car make noises I have never heard before, and our poor little red focus was creating SMELLS I never knew possible. 

The hills were so steep (and the drivers so close to me) that I was terrified I’d hit someone trying to start the car…  I was frustrated and exhausted. 

Most of the week, we haven’t had to drive; both of our hotels have been in central locations so it’s been a cakewalk, but yesterday we had to drive to THIS hotel, and it was Jayne’s turn to drive.  On top of getting lost/getting detoured and just generally getting frustrated, Ben was on a ‘it’ll take ages’ kick, as he so enjoys, and I was getting snappy (neither of us had thought to write down the address of the hotel – and were paying for it dearly as we drove across the CBD!) 

Once we got here yesterday, Jayne decided the car was going back – she was NOT driving in this city again.  And after Sunday’s debacle getting into Sydney after our long journey, I was inclined to agree.

Since Jayne was still a little traumatized from yesterday, I chose to drive – and the first 15 seconds of our commute required us to cut across three lanes of traffic within about three feet, as to make the light and our turn or else face the eastern-distributor (again – he nearly killed us yesterday too!) 

Needless to say, that’s what inspired our blog title tonight.  Sydney is full of terrible drivers, and people who really make for some terrible pedestrians, so the combination of the two is sheer hell.  I highly recommend, if you ever visit Sydney, that you stay somewhere central and take the commuter rail – it’s economical and less stressful.  (Additionally, parking in this city is astronomical, almost as much so as Brisbane – if you enjoy extortionist rates of upwards of $30 a day, for no in/out privileges, by all means, drive, but… your unlimited rail pass for a WEEK would only be $41 – and gets you EVERYWHERE!  Family passes for 2 adults and one child are also available!) 

Now that the sticky, noisy Focus is back at Hertz, we can embrace our love of the city once more – we walked through Hyde Park, up to the Finger Wharves and saw Harry’s – a Sydney icon who sells pies topped with mushy peas and gravy.  The smell was quite tantalizing, but my level of bravery was significantly lower; I opted to wait for lunch even though I was ravenous. 

Next we trudged back up a million stairs, and into the Botanical Gardens to see Mrs. McQuarrie’s Chair – a lovely lookout onto the harbour and the best way to get pictures of the bridge and the opera house from dry land.  There were a million tourists – and it was hot, sticky, and maybe a little warmer than we would have enjoyed for our probably 10 km trek however after the downpour earlier this week, we opted not to complain. 

After the gardens, we wandered up to Circular Quay and caught the Manley Ferry.  This is a must-do for anybody visiting the area.  Manley is a gorgeous little beach, but more importantly, the ferry ride gives you incredible perspective. 

As you travel the harbour shores, you get to glimpse at the various suburbs of this enormous city.  From filthy rich to moderately so, and then on to probably middle-class, you can check out various homes near the water.  You can also get a view of the naval yards, the Gap, and of course our ever favourite bridge and Opera House. 

From the water, you don’t feel like a part of the city.  It’s more like this completely serene out of body experience where you watch it disappear, into a sea of puffy white clouds and blue sky, with incredible bursts of reality; cities blend into cliffs, and then beaches, and so on. 

Tomorrow’s my last day here, before I begin the journey back.  I would stay here in a heartbeat, and happily embrace the ‘no worries’ lifestyle that I’ve been able to sample the past few weeks. 

Looking back at my early pictures from Melbourne, it feels like a completely different time and place – at that time, everything felt so foreign, and now, after weeks immersed in the culture and amongst the people, I’m happy to say I feel much more comfortable with the marvels that are Australia. 

(As an aside, I land Saturday evening at 5:55 pm after traveling for just over 24 hours – once you include all the time at the airport and the 20 hours of flying…  I’m thinking I’ll be a zombie next week at work – hmmm… maybe I should go back to Melbourne?)

Three More Sleeps...

I was starting to lose hope that I'd get to see any sunny moments in Sydney before I begin my journey back on Saturday.  The rain was coming down in sheets creating a wall of hard rain that made it foreboding as you'd step out onto the street.  It was warm, but completely deceptive because the minute you'd get outside, you'd be drenched, and the harbour wind would cut right through you.

I was starting to hate Sydney - because I couldn't fault anything else...

This morning, when I woke up, the grey skies were ominous but slightly more optimistic than last night, when our 'room with a view' wouldn't even let us see five feet out the panoramic window.  Still, by the time we showered, dressed, and readied to go out, the rain began again.

Because we were changing hotels (and moving on to the posh hotel in Darling Harbour, sans view, but of epically great location) we opted to move the car and make the most of it.  In pouring rain, we drove out, with the intent to do the beaches of Sydney - and if need be sneak out during moments of lesser rain to snap some photos.

The first few beaches were hard to see - sadly, the amount of rain we received was making the views impressive to see, but incredibly difficult to photograph.  According to the news, this rain fall broke records more than seven years old.  All I can say is, thank you, mother nature.  (The heartless bitch!)

Pleasantly though, as we moved on, from beach to beach, we were able to get more and more sunlight and suddenly the day was looking up.

By the time we made it to Waverley Cemetery, it was a beautiful combination of tempestuous and barely-hidden sun creeping out to welcome us.  It was incredible.

The day rebounded fantastically, allowing us several glorious hours of wandering, picture-taking, and enjoying the city.  We toured the Chinese Garden of Friendship, walked the harbour and then walked back up to Paddy's Markets before coming 'home' to the hotel, and diving into the most luxurious pool I have ever had the pleasure of swimming in.

I rescind all negative feelings I was beginning to harbour against Sydney, and acknowledge that patience is not a virtue I've ever been accused of possession.  I will, however, note that weather rainy or sunny, there is something magical about this place; even during the most depressing moments of meteorological hell, there is something that makes you want to discover more.

Only three more sleeps until this incredible trip comes to an end.  I'm ready to see my kitties, to have a phone call that doesn't cost $2 a minute to dial, and to see my friends and family back home, but otherwise, I really could stay here forever.

I think there will definitely be a time when I need to come back, and I hope that time is sooner rather than later.

Rain, Rain, Go Away...

For the past two weeks, we have had amazing weather - weather that, by all standards, completely skewed my perception of fall in Australia.

Mother nature decided to kick my ass, and I'm not impressed.

It's been raining for two days straight, and though it's provided excellent opportunity to frequent some local museums, it would be nice to be able to go out and see the sights in the open air.  We've already visited the Maritime Museum, which offered an interesting account of the history of the settlement of Australia and the Navy, and then we wandered to the Australia Museum.

Now, in all fairness, I have been spoiled - I've been the to Smithsonian twice, and I live a stone's throw from the Museum of Civilization in Ottawa.  I've also had the joy of visiting museums in Paris, and London, as well as throughout the US.  I'm a bit of a museum snob.

The Australia Museum was a huge let down by all counts.  Not only were the exhibits mostly closed (though there was no notice of that at the time of paying admission) but there were a variety of stuffed animals that were to pass as an exhibit.  We've been to the Australia Zoo and saw the animals when they were alive, but seeing them stuffed was disconcerting.  Even more so when Ben asked a random stranger if they were real, and her response being 'yes, but now they're dead...'  Uh, ok, crazy hippy bitch?!  Explain that to a four year old.

The rest of the exhibits (all two of them) were spent explaining that the animals were a) real and b) dead. We still don't know their cause of death.  The kangaroo looked like he took on a mac truck, but at least now we know why we saw no wildlife during our travels; they're all stuffed and in the Australia Museum in Sydney!

This evening we have sat in, watching bad tv (the only type they have in Australia) and ignoring Ben as he refuses to go to sleep.  It's working very well, actually, as we're eating dessert and vegging.  I'm starting to realize that Australia's population is seriously screwed as pretty much everyone here is driving their cars over cliffs, or fishing on the rocks and finding themselves dead (and possibly taxidermied for the upcoming exhibits in the Australia museum) But having watched their tv, we can understand why.  When 'A Current Affair' is running an expose on 'The Impregnator', we can rest assured, it's bad.

And now, we're watching Australia's Got Talent - and they don't, I swear!

I'm a little worried about the state of the nation: a leader of the opposition who admits he lies when on the spot, bad TV, and a national museum that sucks?  Thank God they have gorgeous beaches, beautiful people, and a reasonably nice climate...

I still love Australia, don't get me wrong...  I'm just learning the bits I like more than others.  ;)

In Sydney! FINALLY!

After traveling several thousand kilometers, we arrived in Sydney this afternoon just after 2PM.  We were tired, cranky, bored – the ride was definitely lacking in adventure (and stops) so by the time we rolled into the hotel in Potts Point, we were ready to get out and get to seeing things. 

Our room has a view of the bridge, and of the Opera house, and though we wouldn’t normally splurge on things like that there is something to be said for such a welcome to the city.  The plan we had originally was to spend six days in this hotel, however when the exchange rate went to pot, we opted to spend three nights here, and our next three at the Radisson just on the border of Chinatown – and near several of our intended sights! 

This afternoon we wandered through Potts Point, and also through Kings Cross.  Kings Cross is seedy and lovely in a very strange red light district sort of way.  Several of the merchants are open twenty-four hours and it has an impressive selection of scandalous people.  It was a fabulous introduction to what I would typically consider a rather first-class city. 

This evening, we did the responsible thing – we went through our luggage and packed it to see how much space we have left for shopping this week, and to figure out what if anything needs to be shipped back.  My luggage is still in fairly good shape, so I look forward to being able to acquire a few more bits before I leave on Saturday morning.  

Tomorrow’s itinerary is much more exciting than today’s: we’ll wander the harbour, as well as some of the CBD.  Our goal is to make it up to Hyde Park to people watch at lunchtime, and maybe take the Ferry out to Watson’s Bay for the afternoon. 

This time next week, I’ll be preparing to head back to Ottawa.  I’m already thinking about how to get back here, and see more of this amazing place. 

Now that we’ve found out how to find reasonably priced food and drink, it seems like a much more attainable place to be!  

Are Any of You a Foreigner?

(Pictures were to be included, but this internet connection... sucks... sorry all!)

Imagine my surprise when a rather round woman in bad glasses leaned her head into our car while we were parked at the giant banana (on our quest to make a giant smoothie) and asked us that very question. 

I admit, I was somewhat surprised.  “Depends on what you call a foreigner – I’m from Canada.  They’re from the UK,” I said, pointing at Jayne and Ben. 

“See?  I told you we’d be able to cross a few things off the list here,” she said, gesturing to the three young kids there with her (who were making crude gestures while in the shadow of the massive phallic fruit).

Apparently – and I wonder what this is all about even to this point – they were doing a birthday scavenger hunt and on the list were things like ‘take picture with a foreigner’, ‘take a picture with a giant phallic fruit’ (I’m guessing on that one), and ‘kiss a stranger’ – we helped them with two out of their three, and the banana took care of the rest. 

Also on our travels, we were able to track down a few more giant things: a giant avocado (at, you guessed it, Tropical Fruit World) and also a giant shrimp.  That was sheer luck. 

This has been the summary of our day, during our travels from Surfer’s Paradise, to Coffs Harbour in New South Wales.  This is our third state and is a great start to our third week.  Tomorrow we end up in Sydney – one day after Jessica Watson, thankfully. 

Tonight we’re exhausted, and all feeling somewhat under the weather.  Ben’s been asthmatic and coughing, Jayne’s been achy, and I managed to do in my leg a couple days ago – clearly we’d be terrible gypsies as we’re so fatigued after two weeks of constant movement.  My daily regiment for healing has included an excessive number of over-priced naproxen and fists full of ibuprofen.  I must be in tip-top shape for the six days of walking I have ahead of me! 

We’ve taken this evening to relax – we’ve curled up in bed with bad movies and stuffed animals – a slew of stuffies, actually – and plan to retire quite soon.  We’ve got a long drive tomorrow to get to Sydney, and then thankfully we have three nights in one hotel before we move on to three nights in our final hotel. 

Since today was a quiet day, spent mostly in the car, on the beach, and in bed (what a luxurious combination!) I decided to share some previously acquired knowledge with you – it seems only fair to keep you updated of all the goings-on here in Oz. 

A few interesting things we’ve noticed on our travels:

-            Australians are paranoid about dying in car accidents (or at least in Queensland as every traffic sign en route seems to be berating drunk drivers and those who travel with fatigue…) We know now that this holds true for NSW as well, as they are constantly berating people for their poor driving – whether on bulletin boards, TV adverts or with speed posting signs.  In watching and reading the daily news, I’ve come to learn that a disproportionate number of Australians do actually die in automobile accidents.  The only rationale I can come up with as to why is boredom.  Or wandering Cassowaries. 

-             Bananas quite possibly grow in bags, as evidenced by the farms along the way, and if they do, you are not allowed to move them as they are apparently quarantined.  Does that strike anyone else as worrisome considering we eat them?  Also quarantined is sugarcane – which at one point we almost thought was corn. 

-            When we came to Australia, we expected to find animals in the wild – it may have been a naïve tourist sensitivity expecting the great wild, however we were not prepared for the fact that the only animals we seem to find are roadkill – a wombat, a small kangaroo, and several small feathered things that were beyond identification.  After two weeks and thousands of kilometers, we’ve still not seen any of the aforementioned wildlife alive 

-            Australian media gets away with a lot more than our North American media outlets.  Where as we have very subdued billboards, theirs are really quite dirty and funny.  One sign for Mission Beach (a famous location for swimming, skydiving and hostelling) read: “Get High, Get Wet, Get Laid” and beside each was a picture – one of a skydiver, another of a swimmer, and the final of a person laying in bed.  Brilliantly funny.  There was another sign further along that said ‘Tired and Drunk Drivers RIP’.  So do you spontaneously die because you’re tired and/or drunk or is that a preventative thing? 

-            Bacon comes not in strips, but in rashers, and is similar to pea-meal bacon but way better: less ham-y and more yummy.

            

Muppets are Bootilicious - Seriously!

Today, I learned many things. 

I learned that dolphins experience 13 months of gestation (and in captivity, are content enough to have ultrasounds), that sting rays are really very placid (and have no teeth), that Disney has yet again failed me, as starfish are bumpy and hard, as opposed to soft and fluffy, and that muppets can really shake their groove-things.  Seriously. 

As you can probably tell, Sea World was incredibly educational for me. 

It was a good day in all, except for gay pirates that seemed to be stand-ins for the Highschool Musical cast, and with a very questionable accent, no less. 

I also learned that polar bears, apparently, want to be brown bears as they rolled in mulch that made them look like Yogi, even sharks don’t want to live in Canada, and it’s fun to get wet. 

Watching Bert and Ernie’s Island Holiday at Sea World was something akin to hell for me, but Ben seemed to love it.  The cast – Bert and Ernie, of course, Big Bird, Grover, Cookie Monster, Zoe and Elmo – were all pretty into their songs too, shaking their respective booty in ways that I was unaware muppets could.  Elmo, in particular, seemed to have a shimmy unbecoming of a respectable, red monster*. 

Now, the premise of this show – which at best would be described as 15 minutes of frolicking fur – was that Bert and Ernie went on vacation in the Caribbean and discover that they enjoyed it very much.  They liked their island, the banana tree (that was apparently completely foreign to them) and the random musical numbers that they kept breaking out into. 

This is when I realized that somewhere along the way, Jayne and I have morphed into Bert and Ernie.  I refuse to consider too seriously who is who, as neither is a particularly good option, but seeing as we’re both on our very own ‘tropical’ island, having just discovered banana trees for the first time, and cranking the tunes in the car at decibels that would be ear-deafening to most, it is worrisome.  My only consolation is that we have better shoes and eyebrows. 

We spent quite a long time at Sea World, which was a good thing considering how ridiculously expensive it was for admission (A$72/pp) and how many things were actually closed for seasonal renovation.  Thankfully, being off season also meant that there were almost no queues and that we were able to get up close and personal with the animals (though it in no way compares to the awe I still feel for the Australia Zoo) 

Aside from the dodgy Sesame Street show and the animal facts, Ben and I rode on a Splash Mountain-style ride that apparently took us deep into the Bermuda Triangle to be abducted by aliens – Ben loved it.  I don’t remember being quite so brave at four, but the poor thing drives with Jayne and me regularly so he is likely already accustomed to fast starts, strange stops, and what must feel like plummeting to the earth periodically. 

We had yummy soft-serve ice cream with lime-flavoured syrup and were so steaming hot that we drank what felt like a billion bottles of water.  So many Aussies were there, in ten layers and dressed as if it were ten degrees.  We were wishing we could remove more layers. 

Dinner tonight was at a cool Irish pub complete with a crazy A$10 Steak dinner, and live musical accompaniment.  It felt very much like a regular dinner out – just as I would have in Ottawa or whatever destination I might be living in.  As much as I’m not enamored with Surfer’s Paradise, I am very much in love with Australia itself. 

Before I got here, I had written it off as a neat place to go with a friend however it had never been a dream destination for me.  Now I very much consider Australia as a place to which I must return, for as long as I can manage, and next time around I have a much better idea as to how to plan, and what the financial demands will be. 

Tomorrow marks my two weeks here – I feel like it’s been much longer, and still not long enough.  Next week is the more luxurious part of the journey, with us in Sydney from Sunday on, and staying in four-star accommodations for the entirety.  I look forward to the adventure, perhaps to more time walking around solitarily, and also more time to get to know my amazing little Squidge, who has grown up so much already – and even in the past couple of weeks. 

*I have taken quite a bit of flack from Jayne for labeling Elmo a monster, as apparently his species is adequately described as ‘Muppet’ where as I think that’s far too broad of a classification.  As per Jayne, muppet is adequate as a descriptor and calling him a monster implies something negative; I counter that not all monsters are inherently bad, but that it’s their actions that define whether they’re good or bad (as it does with humans).   By that classification, Cookie Monster, Grover, Elmo and Zoe would be monsters, while Big Bird is obviously just that, and Snuffleupagus is just a hairy, earless mutant elephant with gender issues (am I the only one who remembers her to be a him during their youth?)  Jayne says I’m a labeler; Ben agrees with me.

Goodbye Noosa. Hello Brisbane, Goodbye...

Today was one of those days I sometimes have on vacation, when I no longer know where I am, or what I’m doing.  The day of the week, the time of day – everything – has become completely unknown to me.  I woke up startled this morning, confused as to where I was, until reality sunk in and I recognized the fabulous apartment we had while in Noosa. 

I can’t decide if the confusion is good or bad, as I know that reality is waiting for me somewhere on the other side of the earth.  Either way, I choose not to dwell. 

Instead, I’ve plugged in my iPod, and begun listening to my newly acquired Mumford & Sons CD that I picked up at the Big W in Noosa .  In case you’re unaware, they are a band out of London (UK) who sing a kind of folky-rock.  It’s brilliantly done and they are played repeatedly here (they’re number one on the Australian charts…) I’ve picked up dessert from the hotel restaurant, and tucked myself in with the laptop to tap away.  I consider dessert in bed with a computer therapy: does that make me unwell? 

This morning we set out for Brisbane, intent on partaking in some retail therapy.  En route, we encountered a much-advertised giant Pineapple.  If we continue with such luck at finding giant fruit, by the time we leave, we’ll have enough to make a giant smoothie.  (As an aside, on our way to Sydney, we’ll be driving past a theme park called ‘Tropical Fruit World.  In front of it, there’s a giant avocado – searching out these absurd giant things is a lovely challenge…)

Once in Brisbane, we felt somewhat redeemed in our decision to skip staying in the city itself; it’s friggin’ expensive!  Even the parking was far too rich for our blood, weighing in at about A$65 for a 6 hour stay – and at best, just under A$50 for a half-day’s parking. 

Instead of staying in the CBD, as we usually do, we instead went to South Bank where we found parking for less (a bargain at A$16) and lots of activities for Ben.  South Bank is really a great place; there’s the world’s largest IMAX screen, as well as lots of little shops, restaurants, another fabulous lagoon/beach, a small ‘rainforest’ and miles of coastline. 

Jayne and Ben stayed in the park and splashed about in the water.  I, being the intrepid explorer that I am, could not quite fathom spending my day sitting in a park.  I would like to say that as much as I enjoy parks, I wanted to see a little more than one-square city block. 

With only a few hours, I managed to travel from South Bank to the CBD (by foot), walked about twenty blocks, and then hopped on the city ferry to do a tour up the river. 

The city ferry is a part of a water-based travel option for residents here: think city bus on water.  The rides are inexpensive (I had an unlimited day pass for only A$5.10) and can take several hours if you have so much time to invest.  Even more interesting is that on the schedule, they list all the points of interest, and how best to see them – so you can get a little mini-tour out of it, without it costing a fortune. 

On the Ferry, I met three lovely women from Sydney who were doing the circuit (about 2 hours in total on that particular line) and actually had a son-in-law who works in the hotel we’re staying in when we get to Sydney – small world!  We chatted as I snapped away, and caught up on my Brisbane geography. 

Once I got off at Eagle Point Road, I met a lovely man from China who traveled to Brisbane for business.  We chatted for ages while waiting, and then took the Ferry back to South Bank. 

What I find most interesting about travel is how much you get from the experience when you’re alone.  I always end up meeting such incredible people – when I was in New York last, I met a lovely couple from Scotland, a family from Kentucky, and a couple of Aussies.  Same can be said for previous travels alone – being alone means you have to interact with others.  Love it. 

Eventually I abandoned my new friends to catch up with Jayne and Ben, and we set out for Surfer’s Paradise. 

I don’t know what expectation I had of Surfer’s, except that I can say it was not at all what I expected.  Think Myrtle Beach except warmer (all year long) and maybe even tackier – seriously!  It’s not bad, the level of kitsch on display here, but it is funny – one street there’s a few dozen stores like Hermes, Gucci, Tiffany (swoon) and Fendi, but then the next block there’s everything you could ever want for one dollar.  I don’t get it. 

Surfer’s is definitely not on my to-redo list, for future travels, but I’ve been here, done this, so next time around I won’t feel guilty when I plan my travels around it. 

No Shoes? No Shirt? No Worries!

We've spent the past few days in Noosa, and I have to admit, three whole nights in one hotel (especially one as great as our little one-bedroom waterfront apartment that we have here) has been amazing.  Talk about luxury!  A balcony, a heated pool, and access to a great town?  Love it!

Noosa is, by all counts, my new favourite Australian place!  Cairns was quite nice: it was small town meets big amenities, but when you drive into Noosa, you know you're somewhere luxurious.  Where as Cairns was small town America chic, Noosa is Miami chic, complete with canals, and massive houses, boats everywhere, and heaps of beautiful people.

South Beach ain't got nothin' on Noosa!

We hadn't planned to stay here so long - in fact, it was supposed to be a one day stopover on our journey, but we fell in love with the city, the people, and the food.  I actually do not have a single complaint or concern in regard to Noosa, aside from the fact that in the next hour or so, we'll be leaving for a day of retail therapy in Brisbane before heading to Surfer's Paradise tonight.

Yesterday was incredible.  Apparently it's been a little cool here (and by cool, I mean by their standards - it was only 28 degrees!) so the beaches were a little quieter than they would be normally, but that didn't keep the surfers in, nor a few of the sunbathers.

Jayne, Squidge and I took a walk through the park, which is lovely as the path we chose is coastal, however bordering on the forrest.  Listening to the crashing of waves while breathing in the scent of eucalyptus is really pretty much heaven by count.

The scenery is incredible in Noosa; there are beautitful waterfronts everywhere you go, and everyone is so very relaxed.

What I have noticed in Noosa, unlike in the other towns we've been to, is that people really don't wear shoes around here - it's as if shoes will somehow impede their relaxation, and as such, you really don't see all that many.  Also, the trend of 'Australia's so expensive' continues; yesterday I went into a Payless Shoes in Noosa Civic (the largest shopping mall in the area) and was mortified to find that while shoes back home are typically C$20-40 here they were in excess of A$50, with some going all the way up to A$80 - for man-made materials?

We have found some inexpensive yummy food, including an incredible fish and chip shop that makes your food to order upon request; I wish we found them sooner!

So, I'll start getting ready, and say goodbye to Noosa - but I can't complain because I've heard amazing things about Surfer's Paradise too!

Warm, Furry Creatures on the Loose

What a lovely, long day… We started out with an exchange of our rental car – the other one was making noises of the mysterious variety and we decided it was a bad idea to keep it any longer – and then a remarkably short drive to the zoo. 

As someone who is typically fairly against zoos, it was a pleasant surprise when we pulled up at the Australia Zoo in Beerwah.  This is the zoo made famous by Steve Irwin and his Crocodile Hunter show, and the risky behaviour he displayed prior to his untimely death a few years ago. 

The zoo is a 70 acre nature preserve, and it heavily conveys the message of conservation as opposed to animal exhibition.  Even more interesting is that the staff say – in no uncertain terms – that they intend to make us fall in love with the animals so we care (because, sadly, as humans, that’s the only way we actually respond to such serious plights)  Although they have the typical animal shows, it’s funny, tongue-in-cheek narratives that make you want to stay and watch more. 

Kangaroo Heaven, which is a large open area spotted with trees and lovely grassy areas, is exactly that: heaven.  The kangaroos and wallabies wander together, and happily enjoy Kanga-food that tourists distribute quite contentedly.  Unlike most zoos, where this is done under the watchful eye of someone who clearly hates their job, you enter the sanctuary and wander on your own.  The kangas and wallabies are so content to have interaction with people that they allow you to scratch their chins, pet them, take an absurd number of photos, and typically just wander with them. 

Everything about the zoo was incredible.  It was an educational day, full of genuine Australian hospitality, and a fabulous view; I would love to have had more time there to explore further into the zoo, read a few more signs, and absorb the amazing sun. 

So, I’ve spent the day in the company of two of my favourite people, as well as koalas, wallabies and kangaroos.  There were, as well, about a dozen other not-so furry creatures that we stumbled upon. 

What I love most about the zoo is that you really are in the company of the animals; there are lizards and iguanas wandering the cement walkways between exhibitions, and endless birds that fly free of typical aviaries.  There are acres of lush green trees and water fixtures, in addition to sculptures in keeping with the design of the ‘region’ of the animals. 

In all, it is an incredible way to pass a day, and I am so thankful we did it. 

Tomorrow we start our voyage toward Sydney, though we have lots of stops in between.  First stop is in Brisbane, then on to Surfer’s Paradise, and on Sunday we’ll arrive in Sydney and onto our last week. 

I hate to admit it, but I’m not quite ready to go back to Ottawa yet; there’s so much to see, and I would desperately love to continue the exploration.  ‘Real’ life seems so distant right now, and it’s a lovely way to be.  

In Search of Koala Signs and Entertainment

AKA the land of McNothin'...

Another day on the road, and here I sit with the laptop on my legs, relaxed quite comfortably against the dash of the car.  A recurring theme on our journey so far has been ‘thank God it’s not a Yaris’.  We were supposed to have a Yaris, but at both airports were upgraded to a Corolla Seca.  Since we are completely smushed as is – even in the upgrade – the notion of a smaller car is horrifying. 

We’ve had a busy few days, complete with a lot of traveling (we’ve done just over 1600kms so far, which ain’t bad considering it’s only been three days!) so the view outside our window has been pretty consistently the same.  The first day, the novelty of being in transit was clearly great as we snapped a million pictures, joked around and were all generally amicable.  By day three, we’re exhausted, semi-homeless (we were having difficulties planning hotels) and antsy.  Not a pretty digression. 

The food situation was, at first, precarious as always.  It’s becoming such a routine rant I fear I’m boring all four of you who actually read this.  Alas, we have discovered something amazing. 

As loathe as we are to admit this, the McDonald’s McCafe actually has some yummy stuff, and isn’t as toxic as you’d think.  When we first arrived in Australia, when asking about places to eat, everyone would recommend this to us, and we would cringe in horror.  I thought that maybe they thought I was American, and as such decided I’d be in want of fastfood, but now I’ve come to realize that it really is an Australian staple, and any time we’ve swung in for coffee (really, very good coffee!) or pastries, the place has been packed! 

The good news is, we’ve sorted all but one night’s accommodations – which just so happens to be the night after next, so … We really will have to do that tomorrow but then, after that, we know where we’ll be each night (and as of Sunday, we have 6 straight nights of posh-er hotels a la the Marriott, etc)

I’m a few days behind now – due to some stress and anxiety, not to mention a little bit of an eww factor.  But, I am now recovered, and feeling less mental, so I feel the need to share. 

After a lovely relaxing day Friday, we set out first thing Saturday to destinations unknown.  This is the way we tend to travel which means that booking hotels in advance is a crapshoot.  By booking it, we might not make it to the right destination at the right time, and by might, what I mean is that there’s slim to no chance that we end up in the right place. 

This trip, knowing that we do travel at a break-neck pace, we’ve ended up having to choose hotels as we go and on a whim.  Because we’ve discovered that the Australian accommodations market is a very expensive, very harsh game, we’ve opted to stick to motels as much as possible. 

Thursday, we stayed in near-opulence (by our current standards) at a Holiday Inn on the beach in Cairns.  It really wasn’t anything spectacular, aside from the mini-rainforest it held in the lobby, and the amazing views of both coast and mountains – it was impressive, but not because the rooms were particularly well appointed, but because of location. 

Friday, we stayed in a no-name motel in Bowen – with an ant infestation. 

Apparently, for no particular reason, there was a run on hotel/motel rooms in the teeny, tiny town, and even the skeeziest hotels were booked to capacity – including ours! 

The Pearly Beach is a little dated, as its name suggests.  Think Golden Girls with plastic deck furniture in the eat-in kitchen.  It’s actually quite reasonable in terms of rooms.  They seem clean enough, and have all the necessary features, in addition to being quite large.  The location is good: in walking distance to the Red Rooster (a fast-food place we won’t eat at… long story) and a convenience store that doesn’t really have much of anything.  There’s also a local fish and chip shop, though it’s nowhere near anything. 

Then there are the ants – the teeny-tiny beasts from hell that make me itchy just thinking about it. 

We spent much of last week in the tropics, so I can appreciate that creepy crawlies are going to be residents.  Let’s face it: they were here first.  I do not, however, love the idea of sharing my space with them.  They might have been here first, but I’m paying for the room… 

The other thing that was somewhat frustrating about this room is my bed.  There was a double bed, as well as two singles.  Ben assigned us places to sleep, and they are quite reasonable as a whole, however the single in which I slept leaned on a precarious 45 degree angle.  I feared that falling asleep meant not only rolling out of bed unceremoniously however possibly also be carried away by the creepy crawlies when I hit the floor…

Anyway, enough with the rant about the motel in Bowen.  Last night we moved on to a lovely little cottage in the city of Rockhampton – the beef capital of Australia.  What appealed to us most was that there was a kitchen we could cook in, and so that meant a night of normal priced food, as well as a chance to eat something that wouldn’t disable us all.  Hallelujah! 

The cottage was large and airy, as well as fully equipped.  After the night at the Bates Motel, this was heaven x 10.  I did laundry and we made our dinner watching bad Australian TV and oddly it felt like home.  It was all very splendid. 

Tonight’s accommodation is even nicer; we made it to Noosa, and have a lovely one bedroom apartment to enjoy.  Again, we’re able to cook our own meals and we trekked up to Woolworth’s to buy our evening’s groceries.  The view is lovely – a sidelong shot of the beach – and the path we walked along coming home from the grocery was on the waterfront.  I do hope to get some pictures tomorrow, however today was really more about stretching our legs and decompressing from the millions of miles we feel like we’ve put behind us. 

What we do have, however, is a picture of the big-ass pelican on the beach, which goes quite well with the other big-ass things we’ve found so far. 

Australians love their giant creepy statues and so without further ado, I will share them with you.

A giant mango.  Seriously...

Tomorrow we’re heading to the Beerwah Zoo (also known as Steve Irwin’s zoo) and we have one more night in Noosa, followed by Wednesday morning here.  Wednesday we leave for Brisbane (homeless… Sigh) and then Thursday on to Surfer’s Paradise. 

It’s almost hard to believe the trip is 1/3 over (quickly working it’s way to half way) because there’s just so much still left to see and do.  Even after some stressful car moments, there are things that I would never change – like seeing this amazing country with my best friend and my fave four year old.