Hey everyone! Time for the LAST installment…better get to it as there are some final days in Melbourne and 3 weeks of Queensland roadtripping to type out. Here it goes!
I guess we can start on Tuesday night, June the 22nd, my alleged final night at college. I’d like to report that I was cool, composed, and well behaved, but I was really not. After enjoying a few glasses of goon, it was off to a pub I had never been before; shockingly, the name escapes me. One of our college mates drove us to the pub as it was a fair distance from Glenn, and as luck would have it, after driving for a good 30 minutes in a freezing cold car (with only Vaguey’s mom’s old jacket to keep me warm in the backseat), looking for (and eventually finding) parking, and walking to queue up at the door, we found out that everyone had left and gone to Stolly’s…yes, the same Stolly’s that is ten minutes down the road from college. Upon reaching the car to make the return trip, fate dealt another low-blow in the form of a $75 parking ticket. The sign posted about 20 meters away declared that the street was a no parking zone between the hours of 8pm and 6am…probably the most random/ridiculous no parking hours ever, though I am sure it’s because there is a pub nearby and they don’t want the street clogged with cars and drunk people at all hours of the night.
After cursing the parking fairies, it was off to Stolly’s to meet up with everyone else. After a few rounds of good old Carlton Draught, and a few forced chugging competitions, the time came to head out for a fourth meal at Macca’s, where the cashier refused to take my order. Why? I am still asking myself that very question, my friends. Back at Glenn I barricaded myself in my room and bravely opened a ‘goodbye’ card and memory book put together by my floor and friends, and halfway through the third message was a messy wreck of snot and drunken tears. You guys have been awesome, and I am going to miss you all, more than you could ever know. I know you all meant it when you said it, and I do too: love you guys.
The next morning, after a few more goodbyes, I was off to the CBD (central business district, aka downtown) to move into Alex and Danielle’s apartment, as Glenn was kicking me out July 5th and, as you will find out, I would be several thousand kilometers north in the city of Cairns on that day. Once settled, we took the tram back toward Bundoora for a farewell dinner at Taco Bill’s, which, if you don’t recall, serves fishbowl margaritas and fake Mexican food. Most of the California kids were there, as well as a few of our Aussie mates, and we had a nice quiet night, excited for our trip up north, which would begin at approximately 3:30am.
So now we are at 3:30am on Thursday, June the 24th. We grabbed a maxi-taxi (our last one ever ), got to the airport, and had another horrible Tiger Airways experience, this time in the form of a massive bill for having two carry-on bags, which, when we flew to Tasmania, had not been a problem. Apparently the rule had changed the day before. No matter we had booked MONTHS ago. Ridiculous. And in the wise words of Danielle: “I am never… ever! …. EVER! Flying Tiger AGAIN!” Too true, Danielle, too true.
But we made it to Brisbane without any other problems. After collecting our baggage, we hitched a ride to the car rental office to collect our ‘mini-van.’ Trust me, there was nothing ‘mini’ about Bertha, which was her decided name. After we got lectured on the danger of hitting wildlife, we were scared enough into buying the extra insurance. We were also told not to drive more than 100km inland, as the risk of hitting wildlife increases by 100% … One hundred percent. Roughly translated to: you will hit an animal and cause damage to the car. Yikes. Apparently hitting a kangaroo is worse than hitting a hatchback, and hitting a wombat is like ramming full tilt into a small, immobile boulder. So, yes, we stuck to the coastal highway. Aside from attempting to park and nearly side-swiping a ute, not much else gave us too much worry on the road, and truthfully, Bertha wasn’t too hard to handle. So it was happy days with our small bus.
After picking up Danielle, who had absent mindedly booked her plane ticket a day earlier, we had a full vehicle: myself at the helm, Casey at shotty, and Danielle, David, Alex, and Kealoha scattered throughout the back rows. After grocery shopping, we headed north on Steve Irwin Motorway, which goes through his hometown of Beerwah (yes, I had a minor case of celebrity shock syndrome), and two hours later we were in Noosa, haven for surfers and paddle-boarders and home to wealthy retirees of Melbourne, Sydney, and Brisbane. And Noosa’s claim to fame doesn’t stop there; it is also heralded as having the most roundabouts per square kilometer than any other town or city in all of Australia… You know you’re jealous. Apart from all this, Noosa is practically owned by Kealoha’s aunt, Laurie, who, along with her husband Martin and son Keahi (say kay-ah-hee), graciously let us stay with them for three nights in their jungle and beach-inspired home. The house, built and designed by Martin and Laurie, is decorated and filled with odds and ends from the ocean, my favorite of which were the polished mollusk shells serving as handholds on the staircase banisters. Martin also carves jungle themed scenes and tiki men as a hobby, and has these all along the walls, in the bathrooms, etc, and they are all spectacular and amazing to look at.
We headed to the beach to play some soccer and stretch our legs on the soft sand, and left a short while after, complaining about both the sun setting over the hills rather than the ocean (east coast, remember?), as well as a funky smell flying up the beach on the breeze. The smell we found out, from Laurie, is this nasty orange gunk, which is an accumulation of coral gametes aka sperm and eggs. That’s just wonderful, isn’t it? Back at the house, we made dinner, Martin played the didgeridoo (which, for those who do not know, is a naturally hollow eucalypt branch sanded down, polished, and waxed, making it a musical instrument, invented by the Australian aboriginals; it is played by putting your lips inside the narrow end and vibrating them, producing a unique sound that most of you would recognize from the theme song to Rocko’s Modern Life), and then it was off to bed for an early night, exhausted from having travelled and been awake since 3:30 that morning.
The next day (Friday, 25th), Laurie set us up for paddle-boarding, in which you stand on a broad, long board and use an oar to paddle yourself around. People take them into the ocean and go surfing with them, but we were led by paddle-boarder extraordinaire Hayden around Noosa’s web of canals, which wrap snuggly around $10 million dollar mansions, some of them occupied for maybe 6 weeks out of the year. The paddle-boarding was heaps of fun, and as the girls will tell it, only the boys fell off the board. After a quick pb and j lunch, we headed to the beach for some afternoon soccer and sun, and then back to the house for dinner. We threw some snags on the Barbie, ate our fill, and then popped open a box of goon… we all know where this is headed. After a few glasses, and a few cracks at playing the dij (short for didgeridoo), we were off to the Koala Bar, a 20 minute walk down the road. The club closed quickly after our arrival (coincidence? Perhaps.), much to the lament of some raucous middle aged men and a strangely-dancing Dutch girl, who appeared to be all by herself. After a quick session at the playground down the street, it began to rain, and we headed home, though not empty handed. Casey found a large (not hollow) branch, out of which he was determined to make a dij, and I myself found a rain coat, which, though I thought would come in handy, I did not wear on the rainy walk home. Oh logic, how you elude us again!
Saturday was an absolutely gorgeous day, and our last in Noosa, so we made the most of it by, yes, tanning. The beach was alive with locals and tourists, the water was warm, the sun was hot. It was a great day. Once the sun went down, we headed back to the house to get our stuff together, and prepare for our early morning departure. At 6am on Sunday we piled into Bertha, got onto the Bruce Highway, and headed north to Hervey (say Harvey) Bay, known as a major hub for Fraser Island visitors, as well as the whale watching capital of the WORLD. Impressive is right, my friends. Along the highway there were several roadside attractions, most notably the Ginger Factory, where, it is rumored, all gingers, rangas, carrot-tops and any otherwise soul-less children come from. Jokes! I think it’s a ginger beer factory with an unfortunate name.
Upon arrival in Hervey Bay, we shopped, and then went to Fraser Magic to pick-up our four-wheel-drive (4WD). After watching a video on driving and touring Fraser Island, which had me thoroughly shitting my pants in fear of bogging in high tide, we got the keys to our 4WD, who we named Fin the Tank, or Fin the Beast, there was some argument. Fin, a 1995 model that looked like it may have actually served in the Vietnam War, was literally a large tin can with 8 seats and a steering wheel. To work the gas pedal you need to be able to leg press 200 pounds, and your arm needs to be at least 5 feet long to reach the rear-view mirror on the windshield. But as the video explains, “it’s all about the experience!” So off we went, to the ferry to take us to Fraser Island, the largest sand island in the WORLD. Australia has a lot of these ‘biggest/best/deadliest in the WORLD’ things. The going is slow across the island, as inland speed limit is only 30km per hour, about 20mph, but it is nothing short of boring. Literally, it is a real life version of the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland, complete with snakes flinging themselves at the windows, arrows whipping past your nose, and a massive boulder hurtling toward you. Not really, but you get the idea; it is a bumpy ride! No paved roads, only (sometimes) compacted sand from previous use. It’s for this reason that only 4WD vehicles are allowed on the island. It took us about an hour to reach our beachfront resort on the east shore, in the little area known as Eurong (say your-ong). We spent what precious sunlight we had left on the beach, staying far from the Great White shark infested ocean. After some dinner we watched my favorite show, Minute to Win it, which, I’m not sure if it’s in the states, but contestants complete odd tasks, such as removing all the tissues from a Kleenex box with one hand, within a minute’s time at a chance of winning one million dollars. It’s awesome.
The next day we left the apartment and headed inland to spend the first half of the day at Lake Berribee, one of the several freshwater, sandy bottom lakes on Fraser. It was a gorgeous sunny day, and the clear blue water and blinding white sand provided for a great hangout spot. After a few hours, we piled back into Fin, and headed out onto the 75 mile Beach Highway that runs up the east coast of Fraser. We drove north for about half an hour to the Maheno Wreck, an ocean liner from Tasmania that got moored and stuck in the sand in the early 1930s. It’s completely dilapidated now, covered in barnacles and rust, and buried in the sand at the water’s edge. After snagging a few (to put it lightly) photos, we headed back down the beach to Eurong.
About ten minutes before reaching the resort, we stumbled upon a Fraser Island native: a dingo! Dingoes are fairly uncommon on mainland Australia, and many of them are hybrids, having mated for years with domestic dogs. The isolated dingoes on Fraser are the most genetically pure in the whole country, which is nothing to wag a tail at. I deeply apologize for that awful pun, but it just popped into my head and I thought it was too absurdly horrid to leave out, so there it is. Anyways, we see a dingo! Which not everyone does when they go to the island, so it was pretty neat, and special (which would prove to be comically false the next day, but I won’t spoil that story just yet). We rolled passed it in Fin, taking photos and otherwise gawking at the dog, which range in size, but for the most part are about the stature of a large coyote. And even though they look friendly, they can apparently be pretty vicious, according to the signs posted everywhere on the island. The tourist video we watched when renting our 4WD included a segment on how to deal with a dingo encounter, which informs you to ‘assume the position’ by placing your arms across your chest in an x shape, and then back away slowly and quietly. We all laughed at the bad acting and the inherent idiocy of backing away from a dog that weighs maybe 35 pounds. As we were safe and sound in the car, we just sort of hung out the windows and admired from a distance. A few more minutes down the road and we saw another dingo, and then another, this last one hanging around a fisherman, trying his luck at snatching a free dinner. Three dingoes! What luck. After a quick dinner, it was off to bed for an early rise the next day.
We woke up, now Tuesday June 29, left Eurong at 6:45am, and headed north again on the 75 mile Beach Highway, past the Maheno Wreck. About halfway to our destination, we spotted the famous Hervey Bay migrating whales breaching not too far out, so we stopped and admired for a few minutes before continuing. After another half hour we got to Indian Head, the farthest north you can go on the island. High tide was at 10am, and as a rule of thumb, no one can drive on the beach within two hours of high tide, so we intended to (and did) spend the day up in the area. We had a cool hike up to a lookout, and were lucky enough to catch some glimpses of dolphins and manta rays passing by the outcropping. After taking in the view, we headed back to Fin for some pb and j, and then walked along the beach further north to the Champagne Pools, the only safe area to swim in the ocean on the island as it is protected from the sharks by a barrier of rock formations.
Once we’d had our fill of sun and taking underwater photos of the fish in the water, it was low tide again and we headed back to Fin and back south to Eurong. Along the way we stopped at Eli Creek, a supposedly swift-flowing creek that pumps thousands of gallons of water a minute, and carries you from the source on the island out to a lagoon on the beach. Flotation devices are not necessary because, well, it is just so fast! Well, to say Eli Creek was not all it was cracked up to be would be quite the understatement. At barely knee-deep and moving at maybe the pace of a crawling newborn, we were not very impressed with the creek named Eli. We made it back to Eurong, and, after grabbing a snack, Kealoha opted for doing laundry and the rest of us decided to go on a small hike, the trailhead for which is only a 10 minute drive from the resort. We arrived at the head and walked barefoot on the sand path toward Lake Wabby, the deepest lake on the island. On the way, the path opens up to a sandblow, a huge area of just sand dunes. We traversed the blow, and came to the crest of a huge dune, at the bottom of which lies Lake Wabby. We did not swim in Lake Wabby because it looked more disgusting than Pine Lake at Stern Grove and it was teeming with large catfish. Definitely not on par with Lake Berribee from the day before.
From the lake, there was another path that led back up to the beach as an alternate route to going up the massive sand dune. So we are walking along, and suddenly, the tourist video’s warning about dingo attacks and ‘assuming the position’ weren’t so funny anymore. The events I describe to you now are in no way fabricated; this was a real dingo encounter.
As we are walking along the path, David falls behind, as is usual haha. We wait for him to catch up, and finally he does. We continue walking, and not five minutes later, David, again behind the rest of the group (but within eyesight, miraculously), shouts: “Hey guys! A dingo!” We all turn to look at him, pointing at the dingo standing five feet away from him. A little surprised, we just sort of kept walking, keeping an eye over our shoulders as we rounded the corner, ensuring that the dingo wasn’t following. It wasn’t. Whew! Not 30 seconds later, around the next bend, another dingo stood in the middle of the path, looked up and yapped at us, stamped the ground and then sat. Oh, we assumed the position faster than you can say ‘dingo ate my baby.’ The dingo followed us for a good 5minutes as we backed away back the way we came and whispered about what to do. We picked up heavy sticks in case it wanted to lunge at us, but otherwise we were sort of at a loss of what to do. Should we just run at it? Yell at it? It’s a little dog, what can it do? Before we could come to a decision, it ran off the path, into the bushes, clearing our way. We all burst out laughing and continued on our way, keeping the sticks just in case of another encounter.
Well, keeping those sticks really sealed our fate. As we approached another bend in the path, TWO dingoes ran around the corner, coming to short stop upon seeing us only 10 feet in front of them. One let out a surprised bark, and we , yes, assumed the position and began to back away, sticks in vice-like grips in our hands. One was clearly a little more pissed off at us, growling as it approached us, while the other timidly followed us down the path, head bowed and ears down. We again began the verbal brainstorming of what to do. We can’t just keep walking backwards, it’s about to be dark, we aren’t allowed to drive at night on the beach. Time was running out, and the dingoes were getting closer, and closer, and closer. They had us pinned. We got stuck in a narrow part of the path and just rolled up into a ball, immobilized, sticks in hands, and eyes on the dingoes only two steps away. With a snarl, the dingo attacked, latching onto Casey’s arm. Alex acted fast, and stabbed the dingo through the rib cage with her stick, which she had cleverly fashioned into a spear during our first dingo encounter. She yelled a battle cry at the other dingo, which, wisely, ran far off into the bush, tail between its legs. Oh, how I wish that had happened! In all seriousness, the two dingoes got within arm’s reach of us and then, with a yelp, ran off into the bushes. With a collective sigh of relief, we continued on our way to the car, safely reaching it without any more wildlife related troubles. Now up to 7 dingoes, the number quickly escalated to 15 on the 10 minute drive back to the resort, which, luckily, is guarded from the dogs with an electric driveway.
The next day it was time to leave the island and embark on our 1000km journey to Airlie Beach, a bit more than halfway to Cairns. Queensland is a beautiful state. It’s green, slightly hilly, loaded with trees, and bounding with kangaroos. But after 10 hours of driving through it, we were a little sick of the ‘Sunshine State.’ The Bruce Highway, aka National Highway A1, runs the length of the East Coast, most of it a two-lane road constantly under construction. There are a few towns along the highway, some are built literally on the highway and you go from 75mph to 25mph every 30 minutes or so to accommodate roundabouts and neighborhoods that suddenly appear in these small, one-horse towns. But other than that, there exists little else to break the monotony of grass and gum trees.
We stopped at Rockhampton, the commercial capital of central Queensland, aka a biggish town. It has a lot of character though. First off, it lies on the Tropic of Cancer, the barrier between the temperate and tropic zones; tropics to the north, temperate to the south. Secondly, it is home to many large concrete steer, representing the town’s pride and history as Australia’s number one producer of beef. A funny story, when the bulls were created and posted at random places in the town (some on top of buildings), the mayor at the time thought that local hooligans would think it funny to steal the huge cast iron testicles hanging from each statue. In his wisdom, the mayor secretly had extra testicles made in order to replace the existing ones, should they ever go missing. Well, his forethought paid off; as soon as the bulls were set up, local urchins castrated them, just as the mayor had anticipated. Everyone was dumbfounded the next day when, mysteriously, the bulls were once again well endowed.
The next stop on the highway was our dinner break in Mackay (say Mc-eye). We decided on Hungry Jack’s, which is really Burger King by another name. I have to say, it was quite the experience. First of all, central Queensland is, for lack of a better word, extremely bogan. Like, really bogan. It looks like the most happening thing to do on a warm holiday night in Mackay is drag race in your pimped out ute, after stopping at HJ’s (Hungry Jack’s) of course. Anyways, we go in and give our order to the 10 year old kid behind the counter, and wait for our burgers, passing the time by singing along and dancing to the songs playing overhead. Upon finishing our meals and throwing away the rubbish, we discover that the great sound system in the joint was actually just a small boombox on top of the rubbish bin. Resourceful.
We finally rolled into Airlie Beach around midnight, and got into our hostel after paying a sketchy security guard in cash to let us inside… weird? To say the least, my friends, to say the least. We had a lazy, but early morning, mucking about on the free internet until we decided to hit the road again up to Cairns, about a 7 hour drive from our current position. We got back on the Bruce Highway and bolted for the north, stopping only once for some pb and j. Upon arrival in Cairns, we went first to our hostel, Gilligan’s, which is a huge resort/hostel/dance club/info center, etc. It has it all. WE were all very excited to let loose after two days of driving, and on top of it all, it was Casey’s 21st bday. It was gonna be a good night. Thursday nights are Ladies Nights and Gilligan’s, and in the bar, all girls (and any boys dressed as girls) get 5 free glasses of champagne; we were going to do it, but somewhere between the goon, beer and vodka shots, that idea sort of fell out of our minds.
After ‘pissing’ off some locals (chuckle chuckle, nudge nudge… if you were there, you know haha), we made our way to Woolshed’s, an even bigger club down the block. As fate would have it, it was also Ladies Night at Woolshed’s. We were a little bummed that we missed Wet T-shirt Wednesday, but you can’t win ‘em all. Anyways, Thursdays, as part of Ladies Night, has a Wet Jock competition; jock in Aussie English refers to tighty whiteys, not athlete. Basically the male version of a wet t-shirt competition. Well, we had done some prior research on Woolshed’s and discovered this piece of information, and put into the workings a master plan to get Casey drunk enough to enter the competition and truly make it an unforgettable 21st bday. Here’s how it happened:
Tim walks up to the bar.
Barmaid: What’ll it be?
Tim: Hey, my friend really wants to do the wet jock competition, can he still sign up?
Barmaid: Oh! Errr, yea! Hold on, let me go ask to make sure!
Tim: Awesome, thanks.
[two minutes later, another barmaid stops in front of me. I mistook her for the same girl]
Tim: How did it go?
Barmaid #2: [confused look] What? … What do you want to drink?
Tim: [surprised and caught off guard] Oh! Errrrrrr, ummm, pint? Four X?
Barmaid #2: Eight dollars, ta.
Tim: [Inner monologue: EIGHT FRIGGEN DOLLARS! I don’t even want this. UGH!] [Smiling] Here ya go, thanks!
[sipping and waiting, maybe for a minute longer]
Barmaid #1: Ok! Where’s your friend?
Tim: [dropping beer on the bar] Over here! [grabbing Casey’s arm]
Barmaid #1: This way guys, follow me.
Casey: [very confused] Where are we going?
Tim: There’s a birthday special downstairs, for you.
Casey: [in his fake Aussie accent] Sweeeeeeeet assssssssssss, mate.
Down the stairs we go, following Barmaid #1, she opens a door, which happens to be the boy’s bathroom, and holds out a pair of jocks to Casey. Inside the bathroom are other guys, about to change.
Random Guy in Bathroom #1: Ah! Youse blokes doin’ the wet jock too!?
Casey: [skeptical] What?
Random Guy in Bathroom #2: Ah, you got to, mate!
Casey: [turning to me] Wait….Are you doing it?
Tim: No, mate. You are, it’s your bday.
Casey: [striking a bargain] I’ll do it if you do it.
Tim: [laughing] No, Casey, it’s your bday, you have to!
Casey: [running away] I’m not doing it!
Tim: [turning to Barmaid #1] Sorry, I guess he got cold feet.
Random Guy in Bathroom #2: Ah, come on mate, do it!
Tim: Mmm, that’s alright.
So ended the attempt to get Casey in the Wet Jock, which ended up being three mostly naked guys dancing on a table in front of a not-very-enthusiastic crowd. Casey being so tall though may have handicapped him, as the ceiling was pretty low once on top of that table… Even so, we all thought he really wanted to do it; to spare him the embarrassment, I won’t say why, but to any third party, it was obvious he was keen to be in the competition. The night ended with us getting kicked out of Woolshed’s, which, I can honestly not recall if it was simply closing time, or if we were for some reason asked to leave. Anyways, that was pretty much the end of the night, save a run to get Casey’s favorite fourth meal, souvlaki. Overall, successful and funny as night, despite failing to force Casey into a debut performance (or, rather encore? Haha aaaaaah I hope you guys are getting these inside jokes). Haha, hope you had heaps of fun mate!
Friday morning arrived with not only a wave of goon after-effect, but also of sadness. Danielle and Kealoha were leaving us that day to go back to Melbourne and then home-home to America. We left them at Gilligan’s as the four remaining Californians got rid of Bertha and welcomed into our group a small hatchback, who we lovingly baptized as Jose. Why? No clue. After that, it was up north to Cape Tribulation, a small township in the Daintree National Rainforest, accessible only via cable ferry across the Daintree River. While waiting for the ferry we read some of the signs explaining certain fauna in the area. Most notable is the sheer number: over half of all Australian animal species live in the northern rainforests. That is a lot of endemic biodiversity in such a small area. The northern rainforests cover an area roughly the size of New England. Imagine over half of all our animal species living only in New England… crazy. The signs also explained the dangers in the area, namely saltwater crocodiles and cassowaries. I am sure you all know what a crocodile is, and that they are not only deadly, but aggressive as well, but lesser known is the cassowary. It is a large bird, about five feet tall, with a long, bright blue and red serpentine neck, a sturdy, black body and powerful legs, equipped with sharp talons. On top of its head it has a spade-like horn, made of keratin, just like a rhinoceros. Basically, they look like dinosaurs. Run not from a cassowary, it will catch you, and it will kick you. People have died from cassowary attacks after having their rib cages sliced open, their belly cut open and bowels spilled onto the forest floor, and their legs shredded as if they were made of tissue paper. Not the friendliest creature, I reckon. And after our run-in with the dingoes, we weren’t exactly keen on coming face-to-face with a cassowary. But, as they are so rare, we openly admitted that it would be so cool to run into one.
We arrived at PK’s Jungle Village, a collection of jungle huts and campsites adjacent to the Jungle Bar, THE place to be when the sun goes down in Cape Trib. The outdoor kitchen was a little lacking in utensils and crockery, but other than that it was a really cool place to stay, right smack dab in the middle of the jungle, whistling bugs, croaking frogs, and chirping geckos everywhere. After a good dinner and some much needed laundry, it was off to bed.
Saturday morning we went off into the jungle for a short nature walk, and then it was off to meet our tour guide for our croc cruise. Like any true blue Aussie croc wrangler, the guide was wearing, yes, Crocs, the ugliest shoe to ever grace the human foot. His were orange. The tour was cool, we went up and down the river in a large boat, searching for crocs, and we found I think 4. Don’t get me wrong, it was really cool to see them, but, I mean, if you’ve seen one at the zoo, don’t bother. We were told that this same company we were going with, on their first ever tour ten years ago, took their boat full of people past the shore where a pig was drinking water. Out of nowhere, a croc jolted out of the shallows, bit down on the pig’s head, and death-rolled. Right in front of everyone. That would have been well worth my 25 dollars, but sadly our crocs just sat there on the shoreline. The tour was otherwise very informative on the local ecosystem, which is largely mangrove. WARNING, I’m about to nerd out on you all. Mangroves are anoxic (lacking oxygen) swamps on the water’s edge where, funny enough, mangrove trees grow. The trees have aerial roots to gather gases from the atmosphere, as opposed to the soil. The soil salinity level is so high that the trees will sacrifice certain leaves, loading them with salt, which turns them yellow, and killing them, in order to spare the rest of the tree. When you look at the mangroves, you see maybe one yellow leaf for every fifty green ones, so it’s a pretty effective system.
After our croc cruise, we stopped at a small roadside restaurant, made some pb and j’s, and then ordered a massive basket of wedges with sour cream and sweet chili. Last night I had wedges at BJ’s in Westwood and, 1) they called them ‘wedged and seasoned fried potatoes’ ummm … aka wedges? and 2) they were just not up to snuff with Aussie wedges. I’m gonna miss ‘em. Anyways, we pigged out on that, and then went to the Swimming Hole, a croc-free area of the rainforest, complete with rope swings and deep clear water. After taking some swinging action shots and swimming for a bit, we were off to the Bat House, a rehab, research and education station in the middle of the Daintree Park.
Once inside we met two of the House’s bats, Edward (named after Edward Scissorhands because of how his wing is shredded into long bony hands), and Jasper, who lost his bottom jaw in an incident involving a python and another bat. They were very friendly, and we got to pat and feed them as the hung upside down from a net in the corner of the room. The wings are sooooooo weird to the touch. Like a hybrid of leather and nylon. They were really eager to eat, and if you weren’t quick enough to get it to their mouth, they would reach out with their clawed thumb to try and bring your hand closer. It kinda freaked Casey out. Hahaha. After that we took a stroll around a reforestation area, where, 45 years ago, the rainforest had been cleared to raise cattle.
Up the road we decided to go on yet another nature walk, and good thing we did! Rounding a bend on the boardwalk, we ran into a family staring and pointing silently out into the jungle. David spotted it first: “Hey guys! A cassowary!” Not just a cassowary; an adult and its chick, which is apparently equated to running into a mama bear and her cub. They seemed to be minding their own business, with the occasional glance toward us on the boardwalk, which is raised only about a foot high from the forest floor. After a few minutes, the two of them seemed to lose interest in whatever they were doing, and ran off deeper into the jungle. We later found out that a couple has been coming to Cape Trib every winter for about a week for the last four years, and have yet to see a cassowary. We were there for barely 24 hours. FAR OUT.
Back at PK’s, we shared a jug and some parmas at the Jungle Bar and watched some of the World Cup game broadcasting. After the game, the bar started becoming a bit more crowded, drawing in locals like moths to a flame. The girl from the Bat House was there, the receptionist for the hostel was there, and I am pretty sure I saw someone in orange Crocs walking around with a pint. It is THE place to be, for sure. After listening to some live music and watching a drunkard make a fool of himself on the dance floor (all alone, for most of the time), it was time to hit the hay.
After checking out, we were off to, yes, another nature walk. Next, we made a pit stop for some jungle-grown coffee, and then to the highlight of the day: exotic fruit tasting. Our hostess was Trish, a middle-aged Brazilian transplant who has made it her life goal to travel the world in search of new fruits. She is as nutty as one would expect of someone with such aspirations, but hey, that’s a pretty cool life, I have to say. The tasting lasted about 90 minutes, and we tried 10 different fruits, including papaya, breadfruit, sapotes, and an abui. Trish encouraged us to express our feelings on the fruits through moans of approval and pleasure, which sort of made us all feel awkward and uncomfortable. After the tasting, we got a grand tour of the groves, and then said our farewells to Trish the fruit lady.
We drove back south toward Cairns, stopping for dinner in Port Douglass, a posh town off the Coral Sea, home to the Sheraton Mirage, arguably the most beautiful hotel in the country, and definitely not in our budget. We continued south to Cairns, arriving at our hostel, this time avoiding the 24 hour party of Gilligan’s and sticking to the quieter side of town. Looking back on it now, I have no idea why we did that haha, but eh, whatever. The next day we woke up and went down to brekky, where there were HEAPS of old people. In a hostel… very odd. One of them complimented a passerby on her, “elegant” shoes; they were bright yellow Crocs. After brekky, we drove a bit inland and up the mountains to the Kuranda Markets, a very touristy and overly commercial open-air shopping center where I nearly bought a singlet aka tank top with the slogan “I fear no beer,” but decided against it with a passing thought. After the markets we went to see the waterfall in the area. We walked out onto the viewing platform, and, ironically, our view was obstructed by overgrown trees. Nice. Adding insult to injury, it began to pour down rain. Determined to make the most of the day, we drove out to Palm Grove/Cove, or Palm Tree Grove/Cove, clearly I wasn’t paying attention, and we walked around the little beach town in the wind and rain, eventually seeking refuge in a coffee hut.
When the weather subsided, we headed back to Cairns and decided to go see Toy Story 3, which was actually not playing at a time we wanted, and so saw Shrek 4 instead, for $17. Ayayay. Afterwards we picked up a slab (24 pack) of XXXX (say ‘four ex’) beer, a Queensland beer, and tried to cheer ourselves up over the shit weather. After a few rounds of quarter hockey, we were off to Woolshed’s for Mr. and Mrs. Backpacker Night, keen on one of us winning the ultimate prize. Sadly, the bouncer asked us to pay a cover, even though he had just let in a group for free right in front of our eyes. We decided to just walk around a bit more, and then head back, sore that we couldn’t have a big last night in Cairns.
Next morning was an early start back south to Airlie Beach. We arrived at our apartment at the Whitsunday Terrace, and had an amazing sunset view from our deck. After a $10 steak dinner, we headed back up to the Terrace to watch Minute to Win It, and pack for our sailing trip leaving the next morning. We woke up to a beautiful day, made a bangin’ brekky, hung out with the cockatoos on our balcony, and then headed off down to the main drag to check some emails and facey. We then spent about 15 minutes in the liquor store debating on what sort of alcohol to buy and bring along with us on the boat, eventually deciding on a meager slab. Six beers each to last us two nights. It was time to cut back, I guess. Then we were off to the marina to board our vessel, the Mandrake, an older vessel used in its past life for training for the Americas Cup. We didn’t really meet anyone because the skipper didn’t even really introduce himself, so that made for an awkward first ten minutes. But eventually everyone knew everyone, and we were getting along smashingly with our boatmates Jane, Rob, Mac and Matt of Sydney, George of London, Alex of Holland, and Alfonso of Spain; oh, and Captain Dave and his First Mate Liam.
The first afternoon on the boat was pretty chill. After everyone unloaded their beverages into the massive eski (ice box), we discovered we were very much unprepared; our meager slab looked miniscule beside the goon bags, 2 liter bottles of rum and coke, and heaps of beer. It was positively shameful on our end. We left the marina, and Liam attempted to put up the sail, which was broken, unfortunately, so we just sort of bobbed along toward our snorkeling spot for the day. We settled in a secluded cove, got on our stinger suits and snorkels, and dove down into another world. The reef explodes with color, even on semi-overcast days. Orange, pink, purple, blue, green. You name it, it’s there. And that’s just the coral. The fish themselves represent (though it seems possible) an even wider color spectrum than the coral. After a good snorkeling session, we were back on board, playing cards and sharing stories over a few cold ones. Liam made us spaggy bol (spaghetti Bolognese) for dinner, and then we followed up with some good conversation and truly spectacular stargazing. Before long, it was time to head below deck to our sleeping quarters. Each bed was about the size of a baby’s crib, and the sea rocked us as if it were one. So it was pretty comfy, for everyone else. Six-foot-five Casey and I however shared a triangular space at the bow whose width tapered from about the size of a pillow to that of a twin bed; bit cramped, not gonna lie.
The next day, the anchor was up and we were off to another snorkeling destination. It was a bit cold outside, so we were all a little unwilling to jump in the water. But once we tested it and discovered it to be about 5 degrees warmer than the air temp, we eagerly jumped in. After chasing fish, taking underwater photos, and badgering clams, it was time to climb back on board and head to Whitehaven Beach. On the way we saw HEAPS of sea turtles, and, according to Liam, HEAPS of whales, of which I, nor anyone else, saw any. Liam then drove us in the dingy to the beach. The sand on Whitehaven is pure silica, and is actually exported for glass production because it is said to be the purest in the world. After walking around the beach and the inland track, we chased the hoards of hundreds of soldier crabs through the creeks and lagoons, and then traversed a particularly wide and deep creek, which happened to be the home of a timid sting ray, and a not so timid large crab. Once across we hung out for a bit, and then decided to attempt a self timer ten person pyramid. Can it even be done, you say? With four of us on the bottom, three on top, and another two on top of them, Alex positioned the camera carefully on the impossibly white sand, set the ten second timer, and ran for her life, shimmied up to the top of the pyramid, and made it, with seconds to spare. Amazing. Well done mates.
That night was spent with a much-longer-than-expected lecture on the Whitsunday Islands by Captain Dave, which ranged in focus from the history of the islands and its native people to the celebrity resorts and Captain Dave’s favorite joint to ‘get on the piss’ (get drunk). Very interesting, but as he interrupted our game of King’s Cup, we weren’t entirely invested in the conversation. The rest of the night was a lot of fun, until we woke up Captain Dave and he yelled at us, which, I have to say, was pretty scary at the moment, but now I only remember laughing about the ridiculous phrases he used to convey his displeasure with our behavior. The next day we headed back to Airlie Beach, checked into our hostel for that night (Magnum’s .... cool name), which I would say really gives Gilligan’s a run for its money. After grabbing a quick lunch, we headed out to Coral Beach, accessible only by foot down a path that had caution tape all over it, warning us of ‘danger: likely injury or death’ if we continued down the path. Naturally, we did continue down the path, and, miraculously, none of us were injured nor died. But it was very treacherous, especially the part on the path with the ladder carelessly left in the middle of the path.
The beach, as the name implies, is completely made of coral, devoid of all sand. In its place are the shattered and ancient remains of the reef off the coast of Airlie Beach, now long dead. After a few hours of laying in the sun, we headed back up the deadly trail, which was all aflutter with butterflies in the warm arvo sunshine. Once back at Magnum’s, we took much awaited showers (no showers on the Mandrake), and then waited patiently for the Friday night Free Pizza and Beer Backpacker event, which was pretty epic. The four of us split a small pizza and a jug of beer, got some cheap cocktails and then a free shot for doing the limbo. Not bad. Not bad at all. As the night went on, the club hosted various games, including a scavenger hunt for various items, during which we downed our jug so we could give a girl our empty one, a guy took off his red shirt for another girl, and one girl in the competition removed her underwear to win the final prize. Impressive is right, my friends. Soon enough, it was time to walk Alex to the Greyhound stop, as she was catching a red eye back up to Cairns to meet her dad. After a somber goodbye, the boys headed to get some pizza, and then it was off to bed at a shameful hour of 10pm. The most exciting thing to happen later that night was eavesdropping on the, um, interesting conversations we overheard outside our room, the point of which, I decided, is that Europeans are odd.
The final two days were spent mostly by driving. We headed back down the ONE highway that goes through Queensland, spent the night in Hervey Bay, and then headed to Brisbane, arriving in Manly Harbour, one of its more posh burbs, on the way to which I saw my first wild, LIVE, kangaroo. Very exciting. After a pretty chill day of sight-seeing around the city, it was back to the hostel for an early night so we could wake up for the World Cup Final, broadcasting at 4:30 the next morning. We made it to a casino in the city by about 4:45, and watched with heavy hearts as Spain eventually got the better of the Dutch. Lots of somber faces clad in orange leaving the various bars and other venues as we made our way back to the car. From there we checked out of the hostel and spent the day on Gold Coast, specifically Surfer’s Paradise, a huge commercial and tourist driven metropolis right on top of the beach.
After a few hours in the sun, it was back to the Sunshine Coast and the airport. The flight was one of the worst I have ever experienced, thanks to a crying baby in the row directly behind us. I used to think a cockatoo squawking was the worst sound in the known universe. I was wrong. Pathetically wrong. So after two hours of verbal abuse coming from the mouth of a toddler, we were back in Melbourne, exhausted and hungry, but tan beyond belief. After spending the night at Alex and Danielle’s now nearly-empty apartment, I headed out to Federation Square to meet my friend from college, Bernie. We had a great time at the Australian Center for the Moving Image, which is currently showing an exhibition on Tim Burton’s career, which showcases his pre-professional work (including a short story written on binder paper for his junior year English class) along with his hugely famous masterpieces, all the way up to the most recent version of Alice in Wonderland. I have to say I always enjoyed his films, but after seeing the exhibit, I am really just left in awe at how talented he was and still is to this day. If the exhibit makes its way to the states, I recommend it to everyone. Way cool.
After the exhibit, we headed to lunch a really cool converted warehouse known as Little Creatures (thanks to Alex for the recommendation), and then we rode the elevator up the 89 floors to the Eureka Tower Sky Deck, the third tallest residential building in the world, and the highest vantage point in the entire Southern Hemisphere. Needless to say, it offers panoramic views of the entire city of Melbourne and surrounding areas, and is not recommended for people with a fear of heights, go figure. From there Bernie took me back to college, where I said a final farewell to anyone still at Glenn, which was not very many on account of it being July holidays, their equivalent to our winter break. After some final packing, I headed over to Chisholm to hang out with my long lost friend Shannon from St. Stephen’s, who, by happy coincidence, is studying at La Trobe this upcoming semester. The goon was flowing, and before I knew it, it was 3am and I decided I bet get back to rest up for my 11am flight.
Well folks, that just about does it. If you didn’t know, I did indeed make it back safe and sound, and I am finishing this blog sitting in my bedroom in San Francisco. The last five months have been nothing short of incredible, and I thank any and all that contributed to my experience. It was a great ride, and I cannot wait to go back and reunite with everyone. Thanks also for anyone who diligently read my entries. I know that they are long, sometimes impossibly so, but I am a story teller, even if a long-winded one, and that means no detail gets left un-typed. Testament to that, this entry is pushing the 9,000 word mark. Worry not, it was completed in about 8 different sittings; first on the plane home, then at home, then in the car to and from LA, one night at the hotel, and other various moments when I had a random memory or pun I thought to write in. I guess that’s all I have for you. It has been an absolute pleasure to write, and even more of a pleasure knowing that people read (and enjoy reading) this blog. I don’t think I am going to edit it, so if there are numerous errors, deal with it. Haha, now I just have to think of what I think will be a clever title, and then it will become public domain. As my Aussie friend Jess wrote in my picture book, “you’ve been here long enough to know that we say ‘see ya,’ not goodbye.” So, this is not goodbye, only ‘see ya’ until my next adventure. Thanks for coming with me on this one.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Third Time's the Charm: Stories from Chapel Street
Well folks, the time has come for another installment. I don’t know how much I have to fill you in on…uni has really slowed down because of SWOT-VAC and exams (Study WithOut Teaching VACation). Tomorrow is in fact my last exam, and in two days I move out of Glenn, which is incredibly depressing. But enough of the melancholy, you all read this to laugh and chase away the Monday blues, so I will try to keep this one as upbeat as the others.
I noted on my calendar where I left off with the last blog, and jotted down notes of what I did, how much I drank, what substance I abused...you get the idea. Well according to my calendar, this entry should start on May 12th (yea, been awhile). May 12th was one of the final sports competitions of the semester between the colleges. It’s a bit like intramurals except the team is made about three days before the competition, you train once (maybe twice) and then compete. So far we have had swimming, hockey (field, not ice, surprisingly…which is also a boy’s sport down under), and footy… I think that may be it. Menzies, as is usual, is currently in 1st place, followed closely by the Glennies, and last (and surely least) is Chisholm. May 12th was the tennis competition, to be followed by a Menzies Tight and Bright Rave and our Glenn White Night (similar to Golf Pros and Tennis Ho*s, for those wondering). The games started as soon as the sun went down, and we, the spectators, watched, screamed, cheered and drank, surrounding the three adjacent courts around a ten foot high chain link fence. One side of the courts featured a nice selection of fluorescent loincloths and sports bras, and the other, a wide range of white clothing items, including bed sheets, tea towels and short shorts. Keep in mind May is their equivalent to November…I’d say it was about 45 F, and windy. Really windy.
Sadly, Glenn lost to Menzies (that’s all we really care about, Chisholm is not really competitive). That did not stop us, however, from still celebrating in the Rec Room once the games were over, and we danced like idiots into the wee hours, and then came back to the units and I made Easy Mac, which, I am happy to report, was deemed ‘the best thing I have ever eaten’ by one of my mates. Basically I am Gordon Ramsay, what can I say? It was quite the compliment, if you want the recipe, please don’t hesitate to ask, sharing is caring. I have no idea what happened Thursday night (the next day); meaning it’s been too long and I don’t remember, not that I was passed out in a coma somewhere. Probably just went to the Eagle, you know, got a jug or five.
On Saturday the hoodrats headed into the city to one another girl in our program’s house and we had a nice little party before heading out. At the beginning of the night, we had every intention of heading to an area of the city we had never been to before: Chapel Street. But, as we should expect, a series of interesting events prevented this from happening. Here we go.
Before leaving the apt, someone got a small case of the spews. By ‘small’ I mean several episodes.
We then missed our intended tram.
Next, we met some Aussies around our age, who were much drunker than we, and we tried to convince them we were Australian also. That lasted for about two minutes. They then tried to pretend to be from Texas. That fooled us for maybe a syllable.
The tram arrived, and we all got on, new found friends included. We have video evidence of trying to teach the Aussies how to speak Texan. At the end of the video, Nick (fellow EAPer/Californian) yells at us all to get off the tram.
DISCLAIMER … you may want to avoid the next paragraph if you are squeamish or severely judgmental …
If memory serves correct, this was the wrong stop. So we again waited for the tram. The tram came, and while riding, the spews plagued one of our members again, and we rushed off the tram ‘before anyone could notice.’ Yea…like no one noticed the river of spew making its way down the aisle as inertia pulled it toward the driver… Gross? Yes. Hilarious? MOST DEFINITELY.
So at this point we sort of gave up on getting to Chapel Street, as it was close to midnight, it was cold, and we had someone vomming everywhere (to be fair, it was finished after the one in the tram) and another someone unable to walk. I reckon we made the correct decision.
We were pretty close to Danielle and Alex’s apt so we decided to just walk. We made a pit stop for some grub, got the evil eye and some not-so-nice words from a sloshed 65 year old woman, and then continued on our way. Upon reaching the apt, it was time for bed for one of our members, and the rest of us decided we would still like to go out. The decision making skills are just…wow, top notch, don’t you think?
We waited for a good 20 minutes in the cold by the tram stop, and passed the time by posing for photos on the tram tracks, sprawled out spread eagle. Really artistic, actually. Someone then got the idea to check the tram schedule posted 5 feet away. The final tram is scheduled for 1:30. It was 2:00. Bummer is right, my friends. Officially crushed, we went back inside for a sleep.
Such was our first attempt at Chapel Street. This entry will reveal two more attempts. Stay tuned to see if we ever make it…
Tuesday was probably just a Stolly’s night, but Thursday was FLOOR CRAWL. Floor Crawl, aka Sunshine Party (don’t ask, I don’t know the correlation), was probably one of the funnest/funniest nights (most fun? I tell you, my grammar has indeed gone to shit) I have had in Australia. Basically, each floor in the college has its own party; each floor is responsible for providing one drink (at least) for every member of the floor, and an activity. Each floor also has a theme, and costumes are not only encouraged, they are required. Our theme is Cowboys and Indians (feathers, not dots).
All the cowfolk looked great, as did the Indians, dressed basically as ‘Pocahontas meets Village People.’ As my observant friend from back home noted “You could never wear that costume at UCLA....the Native American student union would kill you.” Well, political correctness is not one of Australia’s main concerns, and when in Rome… I reckon I wasn’t as bad as the guys down the hall that dressed up as Indians (dots, not feathers), including painting their bodies brown. But yea, the night was awesome. Each room had some form of alcohol, most notable were cowboy shots, goon punch, and jelly shots (really JELL-O, remember the Aussies call it jelly…). Afterward, we met up with all the other Glennies to go to the Eagle (everyone still in costume), and wreak havoc on the dance floor. Halfway through the night I realized I was covered in cinnamon…? Like, hair, arms, neck… Still unsure of how that happened. And I was obviously not too concerned about it as I woke up the next morrow still covered in it.
Saturday marked our second attempt at Chapel Street. The hoodrats flocked to the city and we met up with the crew at their apt for some goon and juice. By the time we could be bothered to go actually outside, we couldn’t be bothered to tram and train it all the way to Chapel, so we settled for nearby Persa (Perseverance) for some classic pop and rock. Getting in proved to be a little more difficult than the last time we were there. First of all, I would like to state that we were being perfectly polite, not crazy and belligerent like some of the 17 year olds behind us. We even made some friends in line (Timmy and David), and they recorded a really nice video for Danielle’s mum. Top blokes, for sure. By the time we got to the bouncer he told us one of our members ‘was obviously intoxicated,’ which, let me tell you, was completely false. So he gave us an ultimatum: the rest of us go inside and he waits 30 min, or we all wait 30 min and then go in. So we did what any good friends would, we left, and went to another pub (albeit a very creepy one), got a beer each, went back to Persa and walked right in. I guess we were less intoxicated after the beer, good to know.
The next week was positively shocking. None of you may be able to believe it, but I swear it is the stone cold truth. I was sober for six days. I know, pathetic, right? I finally broke the fast and we headed to…. wait for it….. CHAPEL STREET. Nice old Irish pub with a contemporary twist, live band, cheap drinks; pretty good night, I have to say. We got a cabbie to take us back to the CBD (central business district, downtown area where we catch the late night bus). There were five of us and he would only take 4 UNLESS someone ducked down on the floor. Guess who drew the short straw? Yup, yours truly. When I poked my head up to see where we are I was yelled at by the cabbie…not a very pleasant man. After some well-earned Maccas, we took the night bus back and then huddled together for warmth on the way back to the dorms, which is kind of a scary route. Not much lighting, lots of possums. Treacherous, really.
The last sports competition of the year was baseball, and the warden of the college, a baseball fanatic, asked me to play, knowing I am American. Just gonna take the time right now to state that the last time I played organized baseball (maybe even unorganized?) was in 5th grade. I told this to the warden, Mick, and his reply was “Oh, you’ll be right. At least you’ll know the rules.” Fair enough, Mick. Fair enough. That’s half the game after all, isn’t it? So I played baseball. Struck out once (shocker), but otherwise hit a double and a single, not too shabby. We beat Chisholm easily (11-0), and crushed Menzies (10-4)!! Amazing win, Mick was thrilled. Most kudos goes to our pitcher, who played all through high school in the East Bay. We didn’t have to work too hard in the field. Favorite part about playing was at the training the night before the game when Mick explained the rules…best question: “soooo can you just chuck it at the runner to get them out?” Against Menzies? YES.
From here on out, things have been pretty slow. Big nights here and there, Kuhloha’s 21st bday was this past weekend and it was lots of fun. We actually had a whole week of celebration, ending with a Power Hour and night out at Persa on Friday. Otherwise it’s just been exams so everyone has been studying. BORING. My first exam was my microbiology practical, in which I had to perform all the techniques we did over the semester..sorry if this is gonna be a really boring story but I just want to tell it because I seriously am the luckiest kid alive…
Anyone ever prepared a gram stain? Well, if not, a gram stain is a process in which you have a bacterial smear on a slide and you dye it using pigments and chemicals, the end result of which is to see if the bacteria on the slide are gram positive or gram negative. This difference is only in the cell wall; I’ll spare you and not go more into it. If you are just itching to know, Wikipedia is a great resource. Ok, so we needed to make a gram stain using a colony from a plate, and also one from a broth. I HATE making slides from broth because the concentration of specimen is much lower than that on a plate, and for some reason I always accidentally wash off the slide while preparing it (part of the prep calls for an alcohol rinse; this is to shrink the cell wall and trap the dye; you also need to rinse the slide with water in between steps, so really it’s just a lot of flushing). So after the first rinse I go OH CRAP because I can clearly see the smear just wash right off the slide. This happened the last time I did it, and my professor, Anna, said to “just go with the flow because sometimes there will be ‘clingers’ and you may actually get a really nice stain.” Keeping this in mind, and the fact that I was too lazy to prepare another one, I just continued the prep. When I looked on the clear-as-day slide under the microscope and searched around, I literally found the FIVE cells that didn’t get washed off. Five beautiful, pink and red, gram-negative cells just sitting there in a nice little chain, ready for my demonstrator to give me top marks. GREAT SUCCESS.
So after that I was just … elated. It was a welcome confidence booster after I nearly burned my eyebrows off trying to light my burner while striking a match with trembling, nervous hands. Yikes. The theory exam for microbiology was next, and I reckon it went pretty well. Some multiple choice, essay questions, diagramming. Aboriginal studies was next and it was 60 multiple choice, (A, B, C, D only, btw). I finished in 20 minutes, along with 75% of the other students), and I went back and looked at my answer sheet after finishing and counted 25 D’s. TWENTY FIVE… out of SIXTY! Lots of ‘all of the above’s, hopefully. After consulting with friends in the class, I found out that they too answered ‘D’ to nearly half of the questions. Tomorrow is my last exam. It should be fine. Fingers crossed.
I am in Australia for only three more weeks. It has been an absolute whirlwind, and I cannot believe it’s almost over. The last three weeks will be spent in Queensland on an epic, coming-of-age late 90s/early millennium teen movie style ROAD TRIP. We are flying into Brisbane, staying in Noosa (apparently a posh celebrity hot spot..who knew), then off to Fraser Island, the world’s largest sand island, home to fishermen, four wheel drive vehicles, and a healthy dingo population. From there we’re driving up the coast to Cairns for Casey’s 21st bday, then off to the rainforest for a few days in Cape Tribulation. After that we will drive back down the coast to Airlie Beach and embark on a 2 night yacht excursion on the Great Barrier Reef, taking full advantage of the situation via snorkel and scuba. Afterwards it’s just a matter of driving back down to Brisbane for my flight back to Melbourne. The driving will be roughly the distance of Santa Barbara to Seattle, and back. Quite the adventure; cannot wait. It is perpetual summer up in Queensland, and the best time of year to go is during the winter months (July thru September), during the dry season. We absolutely cannot wait, and be sure that most of my time spent on the 17 hour flight back to California will be devoted to chronicling the trip.
Even though I am really bummed about leaving, I am very excited to come home and see everyone! See you all on July 14th, my mom and dad are throwing a kegger!! A five dollar donation to the Save Callie’s Bladder Foundation is encouraged, but not required. Love you all!
Fun Facts and Vocabulary
Chicken Parmigiana is called parma (mainly Victoria) or parmy (mainly New South Wales) (say pahma, or pahmee), and it is EVERYWHERE. I’d say it’s our equivalent to a club sandwich. A lot of pubs post a sign that says “pot and parma special” or something like that. But it is everywhere. Pubs, cafes, mall food courts. It is also a bit different than ours. The chicken is more like bologna, in that it is ground up and then made into a large loaf; it is then shaped, breaded, and fried. After that it is smothered in marinara (*note, marinara in Australia is a sea food pasta. I am referring to the marinara of America), cheese is spread on top and then it is put in the oven to melt. Some places add a layer of ham on top of the schnitzel (schnitzel is the piece of breaded, deep fried chicken-loaf). I have had one..it was about the size of a small child. It was good, but I have definitely had much better back home.
Hungry Jacks = Burger King .. the menus are pretty identical (whoppers, etc), but there are original items, such as the Aussie Burger, which comes with the lot (veggies, egg, and bacon).
Turkey cold cuts are really expensive ($27 per kilo) so I usually just buy ham or shaved chicken. All my shopping is done at Coles, and it is a great place. Basically the Lucky of Australia. Loaf of multigrain bread for $1.80. Bag of carrots for $1.29. Kilo of celery for $2.50. What more could you want?
There are ten police officers of Asian descent in the whole Melbourne Police force. TEN. Not sure how many cops there are total, but the greater Melbourne area supports a population of about four million. So the force must be pretty large.
Underbelly is a television series about organized crime and the drug trade, and the corrupt cops that kept it under wraps and financially benefited from it. It is mostly true actually, real people’s names are used, etc. At the moment, ‘The Golden Mile’ is on air, which details Sydney’s Kings Cross district, a haven for drug lords, prostitution, etc. The first season was all about Melbourne, and was actually banned in Victoria because of its portrayal of the city’s underworld. A lot of cops are currently in jail because they got found-out, and Ant and Becks (a radio show I listen to in the arvo) just had on their show one of the most prominent whistle-blowers at the time. She was the single reason a lot of the corruption came to light, and just really a brave person; nearly killed twice trying to do the right thing…while pregnant. One of the main guys involved in it all was just found murdered in a solitary confinement cell a few weeks ago…obviously the corruption and infiltration of the force continues to this day.
A pram is a stroller. I just watched ‘Hook’ the other day, and Robin Williams also called it a pram...so maybe it is said America as well? However, I don’t think I have ever seen a sign in America that denotes a parking spot as for ‘Moms with Prams Only.’ They can be found at grocery stores, shopping centers, etc. Australians will also call it a stroller, but not a buggy. In Switzerland, however, they do call it a buggy (sorry if that sounded random, one of my unit mates is Swiss).
A dummy is a pacifier/binky/schnully.
Aussies drink cordial (say cor dee ull). It is a concentrated juice to which you add water, or the alcoholic beverage of your choice, in order to dilute it. It’s pretty much like Kool-Aid or frozen concentrate. I don’t really like it. At all. It’s ridiculously sweet. But we used it for our Floor Crawl punch, and that worked out well, so you know, it has its ups.
Nothing is made with corn syrup, since Australia doesn’t really grow much corn. The sweetener in soda/lollies is cane sugar or glucose syrup. So there are none of those ANNOYING anti or pro high fructose corn syrup advertisements. And according to a pediatric endocrinologist at UCSF, neither form of sugar is more or less as likely to influence childhood/acquired diabetes or obesity. It is just the amount in which they are consumed, and since HFCS is in much of a typical person’s diet, it is looked as THE cause of obesity in America. I would also like to point out that Australia is, by percentage, more obese than America. Granted they do have less than 10% of our population, and if you go to Disneyland, or Texas, the amount of fatties to be seen may cause your own arteries to clog, but still. We aren’t the fattest nation!! Haha
“to crack the shits” = to go crazy, in an angry way; Example: On mad taco night, Dad cracks the shits.
“to shit all over” = to be better than. Example: A home cooked meal shits all over college food.
Pharmacies are interesting. Anything on the shelf has to be natural, herbal, organic. Anything with a chemical/medication/alcohol is behind the shelf. This would include cough syrup, cough drops, pain meds, etc.
“jokes!” = just kidding!
Voting is compulsory in Australia once you turn 18. You can be fined if you do not show up to the poll.
Australia is in a “drought.” I can safely say it has never rained nearly as hard nor as often in San Francisco or Los Angeles than it has here in the past few months. Absolute buckets of water.
I will be time traveling to get home. My flight out of Melbourne is at 11am, I connect in Sydney, and then soar out over the Big Blue at about 3pm. This is on July 14th. I arrive at SFO at 10:40am, also on July 14th. Gonna make up for the day I missed flying over. I will never know what February 10th 2010 would have been like.
I noted on my calendar where I left off with the last blog, and jotted down notes of what I did, how much I drank, what substance I abused...you get the idea. Well according to my calendar, this entry should start on May 12th (yea, been awhile). May 12th was one of the final sports competitions of the semester between the colleges. It’s a bit like intramurals except the team is made about three days before the competition, you train once (maybe twice) and then compete. So far we have had swimming, hockey (field, not ice, surprisingly…which is also a boy’s sport down under), and footy… I think that may be it. Menzies, as is usual, is currently in 1st place, followed closely by the Glennies, and last (and surely least) is Chisholm. May 12th was the tennis competition, to be followed by a Menzies Tight and Bright Rave and our Glenn White Night (similar to Golf Pros and Tennis Ho*s, for those wondering). The games started as soon as the sun went down, and we, the spectators, watched, screamed, cheered and drank, surrounding the three adjacent courts around a ten foot high chain link fence. One side of the courts featured a nice selection of fluorescent loincloths and sports bras, and the other, a wide range of white clothing items, including bed sheets, tea towels and short shorts. Keep in mind May is their equivalent to November…I’d say it was about 45 F, and windy. Really windy.
Sadly, Glenn lost to Menzies (that’s all we really care about, Chisholm is not really competitive). That did not stop us, however, from still celebrating in the Rec Room once the games were over, and we danced like idiots into the wee hours, and then came back to the units and I made Easy Mac, which, I am happy to report, was deemed ‘the best thing I have ever eaten’ by one of my mates. Basically I am Gordon Ramsay, what can I say? It was quite the compliment, if you want the recipe, please don’t hesitate to ask, sharing is caring. I have no idea what happened Thursday night (the next day); meaning it’s been too long and I don’t remember, not that I was passed out in a coma somewhere. Probably just went to the Eagle, you know, got a jug or five.
On Saturday the hoodrats headed into the city to one another girl in our program’s house and we had a nice little party before heading out. At the beginning of the night, we had every intention of heading to an area of the city we had never been to before: Chapel Street. But, as we should expect, a series of interesting events prevented this from happening. Here we go.
Before leaving the apt, someone got a small case of the spews. By ‘small’ I mean several episodes.
We then missed our intended tram.
Next, we met some Aussies around our age, who were much drunker than we, and we tried to convince them we were Australian also. That lasted for about two minutes. They then tried to pretend to be from Texas. That fooled us for maybe a syllable.
The tram arrived, and we all got on, new found friends included. We have video evidence of trying to teach the Aussies how to speak Texan. At the end of the video, Nick (fellow EAPer/Californian) yells at us all to get off the tram.
DISCLAIMER … you may want to avoid the next paragraph if you are squeamish or severely judgmental …
If memory serves correct, this was the wrong stop. So we again waited for the tram. The tram came, and while riding, the spews plagued one of our members again, and we rushed off the tram ‘before anyone could notice.’ Yea…like no one noticed the river of spew making its way down the aisle as inertia pulled it toward the driver… Gross? Yes. Hilarious? MOST DEFINITELY.
So at this point we sort of gave up on getting to Chapel Street, as it was close to midnight, it was cold, and we had someone vomming everywhere (to be fair, it was finished after the one in the tram) and another someone unable to walk. I reckon we made the correct decision.
We were pretty close to Danielle and Alex’s apt so we decided to just walk. We made a pit stop for some grub, got the evil eye and some not-so-nice words from a sloshed 65 year old woman, and then continued on our way. Upon reaching the apt, it was time for bed for one of our members, and the rest of us decided we would still like to go out. The decision making skills are just…wow, top notch, don’t you think?
We waited for a good 20 minutes in the cold by the tram stop, and passed the time by posing for photos on the tram tracks, sprawled out spread eagle. Really artistic, actually. Someone then got the idea to check the tram schedule posted 5 feet away. The final tram is scheduled for 1:30. It was 2:00. Bummer is right, my friends. Officially crushed, we went back inside for a sleep.
Such was our first attempt at Chapel Street. This entry will reveal two more attempts. Stay tuned to see if we ever make it…
Tuesday was probably just a Stolly’s night, but Thursday was FLOOR CRAWL. Floor Crawl, aka Sunshine Party (don’t ask, I don’t know the correlation), was probably one of the funnest/funniest nights (most fun? I tell you, my grammar has indeed gone to shit) I have had in Australia. Basically, each floor in the college has its own party; each floor is responsible for providing one drink (at least) for every member of the floor, and an activity. Each floor also has a theme, and costumes are not only encouraged, they are required. Our theme is Cowboys and Indians (feathers, not dots).
All the cowfolk looked great, as did the Indians, dressed basically as ‘Pocahontas meets Village People.’ As my observant friend from back home noted “You could never wear that costume at UCLA....the Native American student union would kill you.” Well, political correctness is not one of Australia’s main concerns, and when in Rome… I reckon I wasn’t as bad as the guys down the hall that dressed up as Indians (dots, not feathers), including painting their bodies brown. But yea, the night was awesome. Each room had some form of alcohol, most notable were cowboy shots, goon punch, and jelly shots (really JELL-O, remember the Aussies call it jelly…). Afterward, we met up with all the other Glennies to go to the Eagle (everyone still in costume), and wreak havoc on the dance floor. Halfway through the night I realized I was covered in cinnamon…? Like, hair, arms, neck… Still unsure of how that happened. And I was obviously not too concerned about it as I woke up the next morrow still covered in it.
Saturday marked our second attempt at Chapel Street. The hoodrats flocked to the city and we met up with the crew at their apt for some goon and juice. By the time we could be bothered to go actually outside, we couldn’t be bothered to tram and train it all the way to Chapel, so we settled for nearby Persa (Perseverance) for some classic pop and rock. Getting in proved to be a little more difficult than the last time we were there. First of all, I would like to state that we were being perfectly polite, not crazy and belligerent like some of the 17 year olds behind us. We even made some friends in line (Timmy and David), and they recorded a really nice video for Danielle’s mum. Top blokes, for sure. By the time we got to the bouncer he told us one of our members ‘was obviously intoxicated,’ which, let me tell you, was completely false. So he gave us an ultimatum: the rest of us go inside and he waits 30 min, or we all wait 30 min and then go in. So we did what any good friends would, we left, and went to another pub (albeit a very creepy one), got a beer each, went back to Persa and walked right in. I guess we were less intoxicated after the beer, good to know.
The next week was positively shocking. None of you may be able to believe it, but I swear it is the stone cold truth. I was sober for six days. I know, pathetic, right? I finally broke the fast and we headed to…. wait for it….. CHAPEL STREET. Nice old Irish pub with a contemporary twist, live band, cheap drinks; pretty good night, I have to say. We got a cabbie to take us back to the CBD (central business district, downtown area where we catch the late night bus). There were five of us and he would only take 4 UNLESS someone ducked down on the floor. Guess who drew the short straw? Yup, yours truly. When I poked my head up to see where we are I was yelled at by the cabbie…not a very pleasant man. After some well-earned Maccas, we took the night bus back and then huddled together for warmth on the way back to the dorms, which is kind of a scary route. Not much lighting, lots of possums. Treacherous, really.
The last sports competition of the year was baseball, and the warden of the college, a baseball fanatic, asked me to play, knowing I am American. Just gonna take the time right now to state that the last time I played organized baseball (maybe even unorganized?) was in 5th grade. I told this to the warden, Mick, and his reply was “Oh, you’ll be right. At least you’ll know the rules.” Fair enough, Mick. Fair enough. That’s half the game after all, isn’t it? So I played baseball. Struck out once (shocker), but otherwise hit a double and a single, not too shabby. We beat Chisholm easily (11-0), and crushed Menzies (10-4)!! Amazing win, Mick was thrilled. Most kudos goes to our pitcher, who played all through high school in the East Bay. We didn’t have to work too hard in the field. Favorite part about playing was at the training the night before the game when Mick explained the rules…best question: “soooo can you just chuck it at the runner to get them out?” Against Menzies? YES.
From here on out, things have been pretty slow. Big nights here and there, Kuhloha’s 21st bday was this past weekend and it was lots of fun. We actually had a whole week of celebration, ending with a Power Hour and night out at Persa on Friday. Otherwise it’s just been exams so everyone has been studying. BORING. My first exam was my microbiology practical, in which I had to perform all the techniques we did over the semester..sorry if this is gonna be a really boring story but I just want to tell it because I seriously am the luckiest kid alive…
Anyone ever prepared a gram stain? Well, if not, a gram stain is a process in which you have a bacterial smear on a slide and you dye it using pigments and chemicals, the end result of which is to see if the bacteria on the slide are gram positive or gram negative. This difference is only in the cell wall; I’ll spare you and not go more into it. If you are just itching to know, Wikipedia is a great resource. Ok, so we needed to make a gram stain using a colony from a plate, and also one from a broth. I HATE making slides from broth because the concentration of specimen is much lower than that on a plate, and for some reason I always accidentally wash off the slide while preparing it (part of the prep calls for an alcohol rinse; this is to shrink the cell wall and trap the dye; you also need to rinse the slide with water in between steps, so really it’s just a lot of flushing). So after the first rinse I go OH CRAP because I can clearly see the smear just wash right off the slide. This happened the last time I did it, and my professor, Anna, said to “just go with the flow because sometimes there will be ‘clingers’ and you may actually get a really nice stain.” Keeping this in mind, and the fact that I was too lazy to prepare another one, I just continued the prep. When I looked on the clear-as-day slide under the microscope and searched around, I literally found the FIVE cells that didn’t get washed off. Five beautiful, pink and red, gram-negative cells just sitting there in a nice little chain, ready for my demonstrator to give me top marks. GREAT SUCCESS.
So after that I was just … elated. It was a welcome confidence booster after I nearly burned my eyebrows off trying to light my burner while striking a match with trembling, nervous hands. Yikes. The theory exam for microbiology was next, and I reckon it went pretty well. Some multiple choice, essay questions, diagramming. Aboriginal studies was next and it was 60 multiple choice, (A, B, C, D only, btw). I finished in 20 minutes, along with 75% of the other students), and I went back and looked at my answer sheet after finishing and counted 25 D’s. TWENTY FIVE… out of SIXTY! Lots of ‘all of the above’s, hopefully. After consulting with friends in the class, I found out that they too answered ‘D’ to nearly half of the questions. Tomorrow is my last exam. It should be fine. Fingers crossed.
I am in Australia for only three more weeks. It has been an absolute whirlwind, and I cannot believe it’s almost over. The last three weeks will be spent in Queensland on an epic, coming-of-age late 90s/early millennium teen movie style ROAD TRIP. We are flying into Brisbane, staying in Noosa (apparently a posh celebrity hot spot..who knew), then off to Fraser Island, the world’s largest sand island, home to fishermen, four wheel drive vehicles, and a healthy dingo population. From there we’re driving up the coast to Cairns for Casey’s 21st bday, then off to the rainforest for a few days in Cape Tribulation. After that we will drive back down the coast to Airlie Beach and embark on a 2 night yacht excursion on the Great Barrier Reef, taking full advantage of the situation via snorkel and scuba. Afterwards it’s just a matter of driving back down to Brisbane for my flight back to Melbourne. The driving will be roughly the distance of Santa Barbara to Seattle, and back. Quite the adventure; cannot wait. It is perpetual summer up in Queensland, and the best time of year to go is during the winter months (July thru September), during the dry season. We absolutely cannot wait, and be sure that most of my time spent on the 17 hour flight back to California will be devoted to chronicling the trip.
Even though I am really bummed about leaving, I am very excited to come home and see everyone! See you all on July 14th, my mom and dad are throwing a kegger!! A five dollar donation to the Save Callie’s Bladder Foundation is encouraged, but not required. Love you all!
Fun Facts and Vocabulary
Chicken Parmigiana is called parma (mainly Victoria) or parmy (mainly New South Wales) (say pahma, or pahmee), and it is EVERYWHERE. I’d say it’s our equivalent to a club sandwich. A lot of pubs post a sign that says “pot and parma special” or something like that. But it is everywhere. Pubs, cafes, mall food courts. It is also a bit different than ours. The chicken is more like bologna, in that it is ground up and then made into a large loaf; it is then shaped, breaded, and fried. After that it is smothered in marinara (*note, marinara in Australia is a sea food pasta. I am referring to the marinara of America), cheese is spread on top and then it is put in the oven to melt. Some places add a layer of ham on top of the schnitzel (schnitzel is the piece of breaded, deep fried chicken-loaf). I have had one..it was about the size of a small child. It was good, but I have definitely had much better back home.
Hungry Jacks = Burger King .. the menus are pretty identical (whoppers, etc), but there are original items, such as the Aussie Burger, which comes with the lot (veggies, egg, and bacon).
Turkey cold cuts are really expensive ($27 per kilo) so I usually just buy ham or shaved chicken. All my shopping is done at Coles, and it is a great place. Basically the Lucky of Australia. Loaf of multigrain bread for $1.80. Bag of carrots for $1.29. Kilo of celery for $2.50. What more could you want?
There are ten police officers of Asian descent in the whole Melbourne Police force. TEN. Not sure how many cops there are total, but the greater Melbourne area supports a population of about four million. So the force must be pretty large.
Underbelly is a television series about organized crime and the drug trade, and the corrupt cops that kept it under wraps and financially benefited from it. It is mostly true actually, real people’s names are used, etc. At the moment, ‘The Golden Mile’ is on air, which details Sydney’s Kings Cross district, a haven for drug lords, prostitution, etc. The first season was all about Melbourne, and was actually banned in Victoria because of its portrayal of the city’s underworld. A lot of cops are currently in jail because they got found-out, and Ant and Becks (a radio show I listen to in the arvo) just had on their show one of the most prominent whistle-blowers at the time. She was the single reason a lot of the corruption came to light, and just really a brave person; nearly killed twice trying to do the right thing…while pregnant. One of the main guys involved in it all was just found murdered in a solitary confinement cell a few weeks ago…obviously the corruption and infiltration of the force continues to this day.
A pram is a stroller. I just watched ‘Hook’ the other day, and Robin Williams also called it a pram...so maybe it is said America as well? However, I don’t think I have ever seen a sign in America that denotes a parking spot as for ‘Moms with Prams Only.’ They can be found at grocery stores, shopping centers, etc. Australians will also call it a stroller, but not a buggy. In Switzerland, however, they do call it a buggy (sorry if that sounded random, one of my unit mates is Swiss).
A dummy is a pacifier/binky/schnully.
Aussies drink cordial (say cor dee ull). It is a concentrated juice to which you add water, or the alcoholic beverage of your choice, in order to dilute it. It’s pretty much like Kool-Aid or frozen concentrate. I don’t really like it. At all. It’s ridiculously sweet. But we used it for our Floor Crawl punch, and that worked out well, so you know, it has its ups.
Nothing is made with corn syrup, since Australia doesn’t really grow much corn. The sweetener in soda/lollies is cane sugar or glucose syrup. So there are none of those ANNOYING anti or pro high fructose corn syrup advertisements. And according to a pediatric endocrinologist at UCSF, neither form of sugar is more or less as likely to influence childhood/acquired diabetes or obesity. It is just the amount in which they are consumed, and since HFCS is in much of a typical person’s diet, it is looked as THE cause of obesity in America. I would also like to point out that Australia is, by percentage, more obese than America. Granted they do have less than 10% of our population, and if you go to Disneyland, or Texas, the amount of fatties to be seen may cause your own arteries to clog, but still. We aren’t the fattest nation!! Haha
“to crack the shits” = to go crazy, in an angry way; Example: On mad taco night, Dad cracks the shits.
“to shit all over” = to be better than. Example: A home cooked meal shits all over college food.
Pharmacies are interesting. Anything on the shelf has to be natural, herbal, organic. Anything with a chemical/medication/alcohol is behind the shelf. This would include cough syrup, cough drops, pain meds, etc.
“jokes!” = just kidding!
Voting is compulsory in Australia once you turn 18. You can be fined if you do not show up to the poll.
Australia is in a “drought.” I can safely say it has never rained nearly as hard nor as often in San Francisco or Los Angeles than it has here in the past few months. Absolute buckets of water.
I will be time traveling to get home. My flight out of Melbourne is at 11am, I connect in Sydney, and then soar out over the Big Blue at about 3pm. This is on July 14th. I arrive at SFO at 10:40am, also on July 14th. Gonna make up for the day I missed flying over. I will never know what February 10th 2010 would have been like.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
...Then I found one hundred dollars.
Hey everyone! I hope this new installment comes to you on a good day, and if not, hopefully it might cheer you up. Life is still going really well down here and I cannot believe I am in my final 2 months! Time sure does fly when you’re having fun, and with the amount of fun I am having, it comes as no surprise that while I feel like I just arrived in Melbourne yesterday, it has already been 3 months. Better make the next eight weeks count!
Last I left you was a week before Anzac Day. The week leading up to Anzac was regrettably uneventful, or at least I do not remember anything out of the ordinary happening. I probably went to Stolly’s on Tuesday, took a break on Wednesday, you know, the usual. Thursday was Open Mic Night at Glenn and we all headed to the Rec Room to watch the musically inclined strut their stuff on stage. Lots of talent in this small community, let me tell you. Afterward, we headed back into our units and got ready to go to…? Yes, correct. The Eagle. Gosh, you guys are getting really good at this! At the Eagle I was determined to get a pitcher.
“A what?”
“A pitcher.”
“…Pitcha!? A photo!?”
“A JUG!”
“Oi, mate, why didincha say so?”
Such is my life, forgetting to speak Australian at the necessary times. The Eagle was a pretty standard night. No jelly wrestling this time, neither the Jagerettes nor the Jim Beam girls showed up, and I wasn’t splashed with boiling oil…I think I forgot to mention that in my last entry…Usually at the Eagle there is a barbecue fundraiser on Thursdays, for school groups, charities, etc. Well, a few weeks ago, the night of the Jungle Party to be precise, they were using a griddle instead of a grill to cook the snags, and as I was waiting in line to make a charitable donation and collect my snag wrapped in white bread and smothered in tomawto sowce, someone behind the griddle decided to throw a bunch of raw snags on the HOT, GREASY surface and about fifteen droplets of boiling fat and oil splashed all-along my sleeveless arm and shoulder. Ouch is right, my friends! It HURT! They just recently healed, so now I have little white burn scars all up my arm. Could have been worse though. My beautiful face was spared.
As is usual, Friday was extremely low-key, lying somewhere between “sometimes it’s nice to stay in and watch movie” and “please shoot me before I die of boredom.” It’s a nice mix. Luckily I had a lot to look forward to on Saturday, which, by and large started the most INSANE 7 days of my entire time here in Australia. Ladies and gents, please put your seat belts on.
9 am Saturday morning, Kuhloha (formerly Kealoha) and I tramped it to the tram and rode to the Parliament Station, where we met with the cityfolk Danielle, Casey, Alex/Harv, and Kelsey. From there we took the train to the Dandenongs (Say Dandy-nongs), a small mountainous and forested area north east of Melbourne. The train stop we got off is called Ferntree Gully, which we unanimously voted to call Fern Gully instead. As chance would have it, the trail we picked was Anzac themed! How appropriate for Anzac weekend. Every 100 or so meters up the mountain there was a sign detailing our current location as if we were in New Guinea; so it was basically like we were soldiers on a trek during WWII in the tropics of New Guinea. Pretty cool. It certainly felt tropical, what with the warm temperature, pouring rain and ferns everywhere. Covered in sweat and rainwater, we made it to the top in about an hour, breaked for lunch, and then began our descent down a different trail. This new trail was a bit steep to say the least, so we ended up running down it for a good portion, and reached the bottom in about 15 minutes. Not too shabby.
After that we headed back to the city and hung out for the rest of the afternoon at the girls’ apartment, showered and then headed to the MCG! The MCG is the Melbourne Cricket Ground, a large oval-shaped, open air arena that hosts a number of, yes, cricket matches, but more importantly, footy matches! Kuhloha and I sprung some free tickets through La Trobe Uni’s International office, and so we treated ourselves and our Californian friends to a free match. Melbourne was playing Brisbane (Say Bris-bin…I’m telling you, it’s a different language), which was supposedly an ‘alright’ match-up. It was also the day before the Anzac match, the biggest match of the season aside from the Grand Final, and so it wasn’t terribly crowded. Lots of empty seats in the 100,000 capacity stadium. Melbourne ended up SMASHING Brisbane, which was awesome, and Melbourne supporters were ecstatic! Not that people barrack their home teams fairly often; rather you pick any team you like, and support them for life, whether they’re awful or really good (barrack, not to be confused with Mr. President Obama, is to support a team. Example, Harnzy barracks the Pies [meaning the Collingwood Magpies]. You do not say ‘root for.’ Root has a very different meaning in Aussie English. It means to know someone…in the Biblical sense).
The issue with the ‘support your home-team’ mentality is that in the Melbourne area alone there are nine teams; ten if you include Geelong (last time I said this is pronounced Jah-long…I have now heard Jee-long as well, so you know, to each his own). In the AFL (Australian Football League) there are 16 teams. The remaining six teams are the two in Perth, two in Adelaide, one in Sydney, and one in Brisbane. To put it into perspective, this would be like San Francisco, the Marina, the Sunset, the Richmond, Menlo-Atheron, Burlingame, Marin, Daly City, San Mateo, San Jose, The Upper East Side of Manhattan, Long Island, Orlando, Disney World, Chicago, and Seattle being the teams of the NFL. Outrageous, right? It’s because footy is enormously popular in Victoria specifically. Rugby is much more popular in New South Wales. But yea, people barrack whomever they want, BUT you cannot change. Once you pick the North Melbourne Roos, you’re a Roo for life, lest you be jeered at the remainder of your life for riding the band wagon.
We left the MCG and headed out into the chilly night back to the apartment to start the night right with some goon and juice, and some Pure Blondes. Somewhere between the sipping and the laughing, we decided to purchase concert and plane tickets. $30 to see LMFAO rock out in a private venue, and $48 one way to Brisbane. Great success. We left the apartment, caught the tram to Bourke Street, stepped off, and…wait for it…FOUND ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS IN COLD, HARD, CASH. All credit goes to Casey. Well sort of. When we had first gotten off the tram, Casey wanted to go right; however, two American blokes we met one the tram were heading to the same place as us (the Carlton Club), and they insisted it was left. To settle the matter, we asked a nice lady cop. Left it is! So, really, credit for finding that $100 goes to the cop. We got to the Carlton Club but were denied entry because we weren’t on the guest list…I have never been to the Carlton, but Kuhloha tells me its ‘filled with 40 year olds.’ Apparently to get in you must be either on the guest list, or over the hill. Maybe both? No worries though, we ditched the other Americans and headed to the Deck, a trendy place only a few blocks away. Danielle wanted to get some “classy cocktails” since we found the $100, but when we got there I involuntarily yelled JAGERBOMBS! Classy, for sure. We bought Danielle a Long Island though to keep her happy. So that took care of about half our new-found fortune, and the rest of the night we opted for pots (remember what a pot is? Standard size of beer…come guys, keep up).
The night was really fun, great music, I tried YET AGAIN to start up an electric slide when they played Sweet Home Alabama, but alas, to no avail. People just watched, probably out of jealousy and wonder. We also did some swing dance, and people watched again. This time probably just out of jealousy. We were also clearly underdressed. Especially me, in denim, a plaid flannel, and Casey’s shoes (Casey is 6’3 and prob size 13. I know it’s been awhile since you’ve all seen me, but I am just a bit smaller than that). Oh well, we got in and out without issue. Actually getting out was a bit of an experience. Some girl handed me her breezer and said ‘Happy Birthday!’ and then some guy, yelled HAPPY BIRTHDAY and gave me a peck on the cheek. Then Kuhloha goes, “Oh! It’s his TWENTY FIRST!” What did that get me? Yes. A peck on the lips. Thanks mate…sorry I forgot to shave. So after that I just about downed the breezer (waste not!), and we headed out and everyone laughed at Tim for getting kissed by a dude. Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny.
After the Deck we made the executive decision to stay out all night. Why? Well, we wanted to go see the Dawn Service at the Shrine of Remembrance, which was commencing at 6am. It was already 2:30 and didn’t want to risk over-sleeping. So we headed to Crown Casino to lose money, I mean gamble. I decided it was fair to put in $20 since I had gotten at least that much in free drinks at the Deck; I was up $10 at one point, and then it was just all downhill from there. Paul our dealer was just not on my side that night. I cashed in my $5 chip with my head held low, and then we marched outside behind a very cranky Harv. After sitting for a few minutes outside the casino, letting our feet hang over the Yarra, we decided to move on and grab some food. We walked up Swanston to Pie Face, a 24 hour pie eatery. Not dessert pie, meat pie. They are friggen GOOD AS. Lamb and rosemary is my personal favorite. They get their name from the fact that they draw a smiley face on each pie, which are about the size of a large muffin. Anyways, we filled up on Pie Face and then continued on our trek to the apartment to grab coats and jackets. Once there, we got bundled up and waited outside for the tram to pick us up and take us to the Shrine.
For 5:15am, the tram was PACKED. We had to stand, unfortunately, but the Shrine is only 15 minutes away, so it wasn’t too bad. We disembarked and journeyed with the other pilgrims up the hill to the Shrine which already had a sizable crowd gathered in front of it. The Shrine, by the way, is huge, very majestic; basically, it’s the Parthenon. The hundreds of people were completely silent, and so monkey-see-monkey-do, we stood quietly, trying desperately not to fall asleep. Soon enough the ceremony started. The audio was beyond understandable, and all I caught was the Anzac slogan (Lest We Forget) after everything they said, and a reading of John McCrae’s poem, ‘In Flander’s Field,’ which I still know by heart from Ms. Z’s 8th grade poetry project. As the first rays of sunlight shed their golden beams onto the crowd, the ceremony ended and we headed across the street to the park for a free (donations encouraged) Anzac breakfast. I contributed a $2 coin; can’t say the same for the 3 ugly Americans with me…(yes, at this point we had lost Danielle; she fell victim to her bed after the Deck). After some eggs, beans, snags, coffee, tea, and Anzac cookies, we took a nice stroll down to the Yarra and slept in the sun until the start of the parade. After seeing a bunch of old men in their uniforms, some old cars, and getting accidentally bashed in the head by a bagpiper (it hurt, not gonna lie), I was a bit over the parade. After collecting our stuff from the apartment, Kuhloha and I sat at Bourke and Elizabeth for the 86 tram to go back to the hood. Please go to the dictionary and look up ‘hot mess;’ you should find our picture there. We looked god awful, but it was good practice because we have since taken the ‘tram ride of shame’ 3 more times.
Once back in Bundoora, Glenn was still serving brunch. Famished, I sat and ate. Everyone asked me where I was going that day (I was wearing two jackets, the free footy scarf I got at the game, sunglasses, tennis shoes, and had my backpack). I left my answer at, “Oh, I just got back from the Dawn Service.” They loved that. Good on ya, Timmy! The rest of the day was spent, yes, napping. Monday was a school holiday, and to be truthful, my only sober day of the week. Sorry mom. We went to the mall to buy art supplies for making t-shirts for the LMFAO concert on Thursday, and spent the better half of the day making stencils and painting our shirts.
Tuesday was, shockingly, a Stolly’s night. Wednesday was Sheds, which, I’m not sure if I talked about it, but Sheds is when we go to the footy oval on campus and have a party in the footy clubhouse aka shed. There are cheap drinks and a DJ and its cold and muddy and just a lot of fun. Afterward, Kealoha and I inevitably (this happens every night we go out) got into a political argument with Australians. Whether it be on the Aboriginal issue, or Australian history and global involvement, we always manage to get into very interesting, and probably nonsensical, debates. Finally Thursday came and after spending the day in class, I was ready for some LMFAO. The concert was in St. Kilda, a neighborhood/suburb of Melbourne, where it so happens our fellow Californian Kelsey now lives. So we all met up at her place, cracked out some glowsticks (and glow glasses!!), deflated a goon bag, and walked a few blocks down to the Prince Band Room. We were about 2 hours early, wanting to make sure we got a good spot on the floor. Well, we were in luck. Literally 10 people were in there. So we passed the time by dancing like idiots in front of the gathering crowd. You could not miss us on the floor. Not only were we the only eight people dancing, we were also GLOWING in our fluorescent clothing, bracelets, and glasses. Lots of jealous onlookers, let me tell you. Finally the opening act took stage. They call themselves “OH SNAP” … Oh snap, indeed. Nothing gets the crowd going more than two tubby white guys in track suits wearing sunglasses and breathlessly shouting nonsense into the microphones… Eventually they ended their act and LMFAO came out onto stage.
To say the concert was INSANE would be a complete understatement. It was unbelievable. For those that do not know, LMFAO is a male duo and records what they call “party rock.” Their songs are all about drinking, partying, picking up, and such. A good representation of them would be some of their song titles, which include “Shots,” “I am not a Whore,” and “I’m in Miami Bitch.” You get the idea. (Note: They have since released an album titled “I’m in Your City.” There are fifty tracks on it, all identical save the title city. Favorites are Miami, LA, The Bay, and Chattanooga. Yes, Chattanooga). Anyways, they start off the show by taking shots of Patron (tailgate anyone?) on stage and then screaming “I’M IN MELBIN BITCH!” Well, we just about peed our pants with excitement. They played all their big hits in between talking to the audience, taking shots, pulling girls up on stage, showering the audience with beer and champagne, and waterfalling Grey Goose, Belvedere, and Patron into the mouths of those close enough to the stage. Yes, I was among the fortunate. And props to Harv for being the first chica on stage!!
The concert came to an end, and we hiked through St. Kilda back to Kelsey’s apartment and grabbed a MaxiTaxi back into the city. Us hoodrats had the intention of taking the Night Rider bus back to Bundoora, but alas, it only runs in the wee small hours of the morning on Saturday and Sunday, and it was only Friday. So we settled for some Maccas and then walked up to the girls’ apartment on Swanston, which we found out as we were walking by, is next door to a brothel. How did we find out? A patron entered as we walked by. He stepped past the door, held open by the busty Madame of the house, into a neon red interior, and as he passed by, she said in a very practiced, sultry tone, “welcome to the Manhattan Terrace.” I know staring is rude, but we all took full advantage of the situation and gawked until the door closed firmly behind the Madame. We made it up to the high-rise apartment, and slept quite soundly for a few hours.
After waking up, Kuhloha and I skipped down the block to the tram and completed our second ride of shame for that week (third to come soon). Friday was a very chill day, and all the international students had an event that night. So we went into the Glenn dining hall and made small talk with all the other internationals and the Aussie student leaders (RAs), who had been forced to come. Much to our surprise, there was BOTTLED wine. Quite nice. Dinner was a bit lack-luster, as is usual for the Glenn dining hall. After eating, we played a bunch of different games. I volunteered to go first for my team, and out of a German, Swede, Russian, and Indian, I drew the best map of Australia! Go Team America! I won a jar of Vegemite. Haha, score. After some more games, everyone had to go up and sing their national anthem; the five Americans present did awesome, but the girls from Singapore were CRAZY GOOD! Be proud Alvin, if you’re reading this haha.
Saturday night Kuhloha and I met up with Casey in the city to check out Perseverance (known as Persa to the Aussies), a small venue that traditionally plays pop, classic rock, etc…music you know and can sing along to, aka my kind of music. We also almost got into a pretty intense fist fight on the tram when some douchebags asked us if we like Osama bin Laden, but that’s a story for another day. At Persa, I knew EVERY song that played, some notables include “Jesse’s Girl,” “You Belong With Me,” “Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough,” and “You Shook Me All Night Long.” It was a top night! Afterward we found a bustling Greek shop and got ourselves some souvlaki, which is basically a Greek burrito (there are Greeks EVERYWHERE in Melbourne; huge immigrant community, kebabs and souvlaki shops are a dime a dozen). With full bellies we headed back to Casey’s place where we took a nice 4 hour nap before Kuhloha and I made our third ride of shame of that week back to the hood. We are total pros now, by the way.
The next week was pretty quiet. Wednesday was the study abroad fair at La Trobe and I volunteered to work the American booth. Not too many people showed up, but Jenna (San Diego), Rachel (Wash DC) and I gave some really great advice to all the Aussies that came to our table. Good advice such as: go to California. To be honest, Aussies are deathly afraid of the cold, and the last thing I want on my conscience is sending some poor bloke to the middle of Wisconsin. We definitely talked up Washington state and Northeast as well, so it wasn’t all one sided. Wednesday also happened to be Cinco de Mayo, which, if you can believe it, is not celebrated in Australia. My Cinco de Mayo was spent at Danielle and Alex’s apartment (next to the Manhattan Terrace) planning our three week road trip we’re going to take after finals. We’ll be flying into Brisbane and driving round trip from there up to Cairns (say Cans), roughly the distance from Santa Barbara to Seattle and back. Yikes is right! Lots of driving, but plenty of pit stops and excursions are in the plans. Cannot wait!
The next day was dormal (dorm + formal), the annual Glenn Ball. It was in North Fitzroy, one of the burbs north of Melbourne, at a nice reception hall. Dinner + open bar + dance floor = recipe for success. Our table was miraculously situated next to the bar, and every time Marla the Waitress passed by she brought us more beer/wine/champagne/jugs of mixed drinks; by far the best service I have ever experienced. Hands down. Dinner started with a pumpkin soup (they LOVE pumpkin here. Pureed, steamed, baked, in salad, lasagna, pasta, crepes, etc. You know what they don’t have? Pumpkin pie. Go figure.), followed by the standard “chicken or beef” main course, and a desert tray. The dance floor was off and poppin’ soon enough and I learned the Aussie version of the electric slide! FINALLY! It’s called the Nutbush Dance. It’s okay to laugh, I did too. Remind me to teach you all. It’s sick as.
The rest of the week was pretty quiet. I went into the city to the Queen Victoria Market, a huge outdoor farmer’s market downtown. That was a lot of fun. After that I went and saw a movie with some friends at Hoyts, basically the Century Theater group down under. We saw Date Night (Steve Carrel and Tina Fey)…highly recommended. Funny as. Sunday was Kelsey’s 21st, but we were all kind of sick haha so it was a fairly quiet night. We got some pizza, had some goon and then walked down to her local pub, the Hotel Barkly. She got a martini for “free.” It technically wasn’t free since the owner made her sing karaoke in front of everyone (a sizable crowd of about 50 people). At least she could pick the song (Cher’s “Do You Believe in Life After Love”); though with her laryngitis, it probably wasn’t the wisest decision.
That pretty much brings us to here. It’s a cold day, and I have been listening to Christmas music, cooped up inside with a cough. It’s okay to think me strange, I do too. Missing Stolly’s is never a great thing, but I would rather be rid of this cold, so it looks like a movie night! … Unless I can be persuaded. Lord, I am a sucker for peer pressure. I hope everyone is doing well back home!
Aussie-isms
Adding ‘as’ to adjectives. Example: funny as, sick as, good as, shit as. (its pronounced azzz, not asss). Basically it means ‘really’ or ‘very.’ Probably derived from people saying ‘oh, it’s good as gold’ or ‘funny as a clown,’ but has since been shortened to just ‘as.’ It can be a bit confusing at first. You find yourself asking the person, “good as ‘what,’ mate?”
At a dinner, tapas/hors d'oeuvres are called appetizers, soup/salad is called the entrée, and the main course is called the main.
“You little ankle biter/ripper/vegemite” means ‘child.’
Chewie = gum
Fairy floss = cotton candy
Trackies = sweatpants
Heaps = a lot. Can also be similar to the Northern Californian word ‘hella.’ For example, “Yea there were heaps of people there” or “Yea, it was heaps fun!”
Add-id-ass = Adidas. They pronounce the ‘I’ like in ‘it’
Tall poppy syndrome = if you have tall poppy syndrome, you are a cocky SOB (son of a female dog). The origin comes from the fact that in a field, the tall poppy is the one with its neck sticking out, and is likely to get its head chopped off. You do not want to be the tall poppy.
Skeleeetal = skeletal. They do, however, pronounce skeleton correctly.
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