I couldn’t pick a title. So I used three.
It was dazzlingly obvious that the universe was blowing kisses promising us good fortune on our trip to New Zealand. First, our Jet Star flight from Bond to Christchurch didn’t crash! It was touch-and-go for awhile, with our plane’s engines making what only can be described as a high-power vacuum cleaner that just sucked up a small mammal, and now said mammal is lodged in it. Secondly, upon turned on the radio in our rental vehicle, we found ourselves in the midst of an hour long Fleetwood Mac marathon. YAHTZEE! Finally, in the first 20 minutes in driving in New Zealand, we were treated to, not one, but two sets of cows doing it by the side of the road. I mean, if that’s not fantastic karma…
So we were off in our chariot—the beautiful, the wonderful, the marvelous, the glorious Ms. Bessie Lurch. Bessie was a CamperVan—a Ford behemoth that we rented for the duration of our trip from “Easy Go” Campers. From shag-carpet seat upholstery, to her in-camper shower and bath (which we did NOT use!), to her sweet, sweet 0 to 60 in three-minute acceleration, Bessie was a truly something special. Ok, sure, she struggled with some of the steeper hills, prompting us to get the finger appx. 17 times, rolled backwards when shifting gears and possessed a battery that died-then-revived itself every time she was turned off, but, you know what? Bessie was just looking out for me. Spending so much time sitting, I needed the workout that driving a vehicle with no power steering that seemed to poll 45 degrees to the left. Thanks, Bess.
Ms. Lurch and her quirks aside, New Zealand is my favorite place on earth; it blew away everything and anything I’d seen in Australia in probably anywhere else. In six days we were able to see a huge chunk of the South Isalnd. From Christchurch (that was on Easter and was the closest I’d been to any church on Easter in years…which is abominable), to Omaru to see the penguin and seal colonies. Then onto Dunnedin to meet the locals, where after 40 minutes of ignoring Jackie and myself as we cussed, screamed, through Red Bull cans and generally flipped the frig out trying to back Bessie into a 20 foot wide plot on land from a roughly 60 degree angle in reverse, a Holiday Park neighbor offered to help, saying, “Now that I’m done taking the piss outta ya, do ya want some help?” Then about seven other locals emerged from nowhere (bushes, the sewers, I swear...) and proceeded to help him park Bessie for the next 10 minutes fun. Memories!
After Dunnedin was Queenstown—Adventure Capital of the World and my favorite place in New Zealand. I have much, much more to say about Queenstown, so my next entry will be dedicated solely to that leg of the trip. Traveling back up the west coast of NZ, we saw the Southern Alps (including incredible Mount Cook, the highest Mountain in NZ) and Lake Pukaki. Then next traveled to the natural hot springs of Tekapo—a journey that brought rainbows and renegade cows. Then we finished the loop back in Christchurch.
Oh…there were some other places visited, as well. Maybe I’ll just bullet them for some fun reading:
-Fangor Forest
-Great River Anduin (River Kararau)
-Isengard (Glenorchy)
-Lothlorien (Glenorchy / Paradise)
-Ithilien Camp (Glenorchy / Paradise)
-Amon Hen (Glenorchy)
-Pelenor Fields (Twizel)
-The White Mountains (Twizel)
Suffice it to say, I was in LOTR heaven.
Cultural Observations:
-In NZ, it was nice to not be the butt of every joke, as Americans. Instead, Aussies were! Por ejemplo…
“What’s the difference between Australia and yoghurt?”
Answer: If you leave them both in the sun for 200 years, the yoghurt will grow some culture.”
-Easter is a very popular holiday. There were men on Harleys wearing bunny suits, the airport and bunnies, and not just Sunday was a holiday—NZ was still charging a “holiday tax” on everything on Monday.
-It was autumn when we where there, and though the foliage wasn’t New England brilliant, it was still gorgeous. There were bins of fresh apples on the road, and we even saw geese flying NORTH for the winter!
-NZ takes care of their environment. It was discovered that a mining company was leaking small amounts of cyanide and arsenic into the Shotover River in Queenstown, so they were banned from gold mining for 50 years. Can you imagine the US banning an industry like that? “Umm, yeah, we’re really sorry [insert oil drilling company here], but you’re harming the environment, so we’re banning you for 50 years. I hope you take that time to think about what you’ve done and change your ways.”
-Alpacas remind me very much of a sheep/camel hybrid. Like a “shamel,” if you will.
-Gluten free food was even better in NZ. Even gluten free muffins and cookies in bakeries! I still freak out when something I don’t expect to be gluten free is. …gets me every time.
-We were informed at the Christchurch Airport upon departure that I would be responsible for paying a 25.00 “departure fee,” or I would not be allowed to leave. This was/is total horseshit. NZ was lucky their dollar was only 0.55 American.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Spotted: C, Little C, J and Little J Losing Their Cool at a Beach Volleyball Match
Two weekends ago we made it up to Cairns. It was really nice to get away from the “winter” of the Gold Coast—the chill in my bones from the 70 degree Gold Coast finally went away. Fortunately, we were able to thaw in tropical Cairns.
The closest I’ve ever been to the equator, Cairns was a small tourist town surrounded by the surprisingly sharp mountains of the rainforest. We stayed in Holloway Beach, a stones throw from “downtown” Cairns. Our hotel, though right on the beach, did NOT allow for swimming. Even with the netted-off 50 square foot area it was unsafe, for it was jellyfish season—jellyfish smaller than your thumbnail that kill you.
We met up with Jackie’s sister, mother and her friend in Cairns. After an awesome Green Curry Thai dinner, we got to bed early. The next morning we took the Skyrail Railroad up to Kuranda—a town up in the mountains of the rainforest. The railroad had a patchy past, as we were told by the tour guides, as many of the Irish workers who built it in the 1850’s died during construction. The mountaintop village of Kuranda was a bit anticlimactic, but our mode of transportation down back into Cairns was Gondola—sweeeeet! We were able to float above the upper level of the rainforest.
Back at the base of the mountain, we went to the Tjabuki Aboriginal Cultural Center. There, we were able to listen to a didgeridoo concert, learn about aboriginal creation stories, and throw boomerangs and spears (I don’t want to brag, but I SO would have been a hunter-gatherer. I’m a natural. But I am appx 1.7% Native American, so I’m sort of hardwired to excel at that…)
Continuing, the next day was our Passions of Paradise adventure into the Great Barrier Reef. Armed with our Kodak Underwater Cameras (I made $0.30 for saying that), we made our first dive into the Outer Barrier Reef, then a few hours and one tropical buffet lunch later, made our second dive into Michaelmas Cay on the Reef. Now I’m going to do my best to express this next thought in a delicate and lady-like way. Michaelmas Cay is an island on the Reef that is a National Park Bird Sanctuary. High bird concentration. One small island. Great Beard of Zeus, I inhaled water a few times rather than come up for air.
How to go about explaining the Reef… OK. So you’ve taken some (bad)acid and you’re watching Alice and Wonderland in High Definition… but really, the Reef was a trip. Electric blue and purple spiky coral, giant yellow mushroom-like coral—it’s like a CGI creation. The fish were just as fake looking. Never in my wildest kindergarten mind could I have Crayola colored these fish. Oh, and, yes, I saw Nemo fish ::fist pump::.
Then it was time to leave Cairns and return to Campus, which, with each week, seems to have gotten smaller. Our room seemed to shrink considerably, as well, as we had ourselves a visitor in room 3_40—one Caroline Perry...or from now on “Little C.” We got to work getting her addicted to Bubble Tea, and introducing her to our comrades—Lamie. Jamie and Little C particularly hit it off, though their fledgling friendship hit a snag in the form of a flat-out Battle Royale. At one point, while in a headlock, C threatened horrific things in a voice 7 decibels lower than her normal voice. Then her head spun. Then I hid in the bathroom with the door locked. Just kidding. I kept watching Gossip Girl; it soothes me. “Deroda, give me my loaf.”
Our obligatory return to campus was, tempered, however, with the news that Jackie and I had won the on-campus travel agency’s photo contest! Thus, we won a free $500.00 travel voucher. Our winning photo was taken in the water at Moreton Bay, looks like a Corona ad, and, again, was taken with a disposable Kodak Camera (I’m up to $0.60!) What do you do when you’ve already planned all of your trips and are given 500 to spend? You book one night for yourselves and Lamie in a 5-star suite in Conrad Jupiter’s casino and hotel. Because you’re lowlifes living the highlife, homeskillets.
Our week ended with the final undergraduate classes of my life. I can’t believe that the end of my college career is a mere three finals away.
Until I go back to grad school in a year.
Cultural Observations:
-Standard pack of Skittles flavors are as follows: Strawberry, Lemon, Orange, Green Apple and Blackberry. Jury’s still out on the grapalicious omission.
-Thank god I can download ‘Rock of Love Bus’ and “Gossip Girl’ on iTunes. Hulu, NBC—none of them stream outside the US. Why? Because Australian television consists mainly of American shows, but are 2-3 seasons behind. SPOLIER ALERT “Well Guess What Australia! Lauren and Heidi still aren’t friends!”
-There is still major racism in Australian society. In many ways, Aboriginal people in Australia have experienced the concentrated racism and prejudices that the States have historically divided among both Native American and African American populations. It is not good. It was only a year ago that Prime Minister Paul Rudd apologized to the ‘stolen generation,’ of Aboriginal people whose land was taken, children were taken by the state from their parents and excluded from the National census up until 1980. It is still very much a wide open wound.
Just For Fun…
“WOOOOOOO”
“WOOOOOOO”
::turn to the side::
“WOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
(ahaha still laughing)
The closest I’ve ever been to the equator, Cairns was a small tourist town surrounded by the surprisingly sharp mountains of the rainforest. We stayed in Holloway Beach, a stones throw from “downtown” Cairns. Our hotel, though right on the beach, did NOT allow for swimming. Even with the netted-off 50 square foot area it was unsafe, for it was jellyfish season—jellyfish smaller than your thumbnail that kill you.
We met up with Jackie’s sister, mother and her friend in Cairns. After an awesome Green Curry Thai dinner, we got to bed early. The next morning we took the Skyrail Railroad up to Kuranda—a town up in the mountains of the rainforest. The railroad had a patchy past, as we were told by the tour guides, as many of the Irish workers who built it in the 1850’s died during construction. The mountaintop village of Kuranda was a bit anticlimactic, but our mode of transportation down back into Cairns was Gondola—sweeeeet! We were able to float above the upper level of the rainforest.
Back at the base of the mountain, we went to the Tjabuki Aboriginal Cultural Center. There, we were able to listen to a didgeridoo concert, learn about aboriginal creation stories, and throw boomerangs and spears (I don’t want to brag, but I SO would have been a hunter-gatherer. I’m a natural. But I am appx 1.7% Native American, so I’m sort of hardwired to excel at that…)
Continuing, the next day was our Passions of Paradise adventure into the Great Barrier Reef. Armed with our Kodak Underwater Cameras (I made $0.30 for saying that), we made our first dive into the Outer Barrier Reef, then a few hours and one tropical buffet lunch later, made our second dive into Michaelmas Cay on the Reef. Now I’m going to do my best to express this next thought in a delicate and lady-like way. Michaelmas Cay is an island on the Reef that is a National Park Bird Sanctuary. High bird concentration. One small island. Great Beard of Zeus, I inhaled water a few times rather than come up for air.
How to go about explaining the Reef… OK. So you’ve taken some (bad)acid and you’re watching Alice and Wonderland in High Definition… but really, the Reef was a trip. Electric blue and purple spiky coral, giant yellow mushroom-like coral—it’s like a CGI creation. The fish were just as fake looking. Never in my wildest kindergarten mind could I have Crayola colored these fish. Oh, and, yes, I saw Nemo fish ::fist pump::.
Then it was time to leave Cairns and return to Campus, which, with each week, seems to have gotten smaller. Our room seemed to shrink considerably, as well, as we had ourselves a visitor in room 3_40—one Caroline Perry...or from now on “Little C.” We got to work getting her addicted to Bubble Tea, and introducing her to our comrades—Lamie. Jamie and Little C particularly hit it off, though their fledgling friendship hit a snag in the form of a flat-out Battle Royale. At one point, while in a headlock, C threatened horrific things in a voice 7 decibels lower than her normal voice. Then her head spun. Then I hid in the bathroom with the door locked. Just kidding. I kept watching Gossip Girl; it soothes me. “Deroda, give me my loaf.”
Our obligatory return to campus was, tempered, however, with the news that Jackie and I had won the on-campus travel agency’s photo contest! Thus, we won a free $500.00 travel voucher. Our winning photo was taken in the water at Moreton Bay, looks like a Corona ad, and, again, was taken with a disposable Kodak Camera (I’m up to $0.60!) What do you do when you’ve already planned all of your trips and are given 500 to spend? You book one night for yourselves and Lamie in a 5-star suite in Conrad Jupiter’s casino and hotel. Because you’re lowlifes living the highlife, homeskillets.
Our week ended with the final undergraduate classes of my life. I can’t believe that the end of my college career is a mere three finals away.
Until I go back to grad school in a year.
Cultural Observations:
-Standard pack of Skittles flavors are as follows: Strawberry, Lemon, Orange, Green Apple and Blackberry. Jury’s still out on the grapalicious omission.
-Thank god I can download ‘Rock of Love Bus’ and “Gossip Girl’ on iTunes. Hulu, NBC—none of them stream outside the US. Why? Because Australian television consists mainly of American shows, but are 2-3 seasons behind. SPOLIER ALERT “Well Guess What Australia! Lauren and Heidi still aren’t friends!”
-There is still major racism in Australian society. In many ways, Aboriginal people in Australia have experienced the concentrated racism and prejudices that the States have historically divided among both Native American and African American populations. It is not good. It was only a year ago that Prime Minister Paul Rudd apologized to the ‘stolen generation,’ of Aboriginal people whose land was taken, children were taken by the state from their parents and excluded from the National census up until 1980. It is still very much a wide open wound.
Just For Fun…
“WOOOOOOO”
“WOOOOOOO”
::turn to the side::
“WOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
(ahaha still laughing)
Monday, March 30, 2009
"Wanna Get Away?"
There is no better medicine for stress than to spend a few solid days doing nothing but hiking. It required planes, trains, and automobiles, but Jackie and I made it. There was only one initial blip—the ‘Lake Jindabyne Hotel.’ Upon arriving at our booked accommodation, we immediately detected a few minor incongruences between what the website presented and the actual room. For example, the website did not have pictures of our room, a day-glo 1970’s porno set, online. It happens. Also, I didn’t list that flies would come included in our room. So it took appx. 4.2 seconds for us to turn around and check out.
But if you recall from previous entries, this terrible twosome learned a valuable lesson while in Sydney—“throw money at the problem, and it will go away.” So we threw money at the problem and rebooked on the spot at the 4-star Quality Inn Resort. I mean, no bugs or shag carpet, but we did have a porch overlooking the lake, a fully stocked kitchen and living room.
Which brings me to another lesson. When life gives you an oven, what do you do? You cook yourself a huge corned beef dinner! “Yahtzee!”
The reason we were in Jindabyne, however, was not the culinary opportunities. We were there to hike around Mount Kosciusko National Park, and, specifically Mount Kosciusko—the highest peak in continental Australia.
The National Park was stunning. Part of the Great Dividing Range of Australia, the mountains had a purple hue and looked almost prehistoric. There were boulders and rock formations everywhere (the geological term in “glacial erratic,” big thanks to AP earth science and mom’s computer!). The mountains are fairly old, so they were more Appalachian than Rocky, but none-the-less I expected the dinosaurs from the Land Before Time to come out from behind a rock.
The summit as Mount Kosciusko was pretty, though not as overwhelmingly impressive as other (higher) peaks I’ve climbed, but it is still very cool to be able to say that for a moment in time, I was the tallest person on the continent. Something for the grandkids.
Cultural Observations:
We drove by the “Australian National Library,” while in Canberra. I’m going to be honest. It was the size of your average ranch. I mean, I went to St. Patrick’s Catholic School for years, and the library there was more impressive. And that library didn’t include books about evolution /books that mentioned sex in any capacity/ or any recreational reading …or science in any capacity. …or math in any capacity. Actually it focused almost exclusively on History, ‘Family Values,’ and Bibles.
Our rental car was a sweet Holden! Holden cars are the quintessential “Australian” car. It was made during the 1950’s and became a part of the Australian Dream, if you will, comparable to the American Fords. Oh, and the Holden is manufactured by GM. “Dude. Australia. Let it go, broski. Call a spade a spade—you’re trying to live the American Dream, too. There’s no shame in that.”
Finally, in Honor of the 1st Anniversary of her 21st birthday, I’d like to dedicate a portion of this blog to some stellar one-liners from the one, the only, Miss. Jackie Perry:
“Well Caitlin, I mean, If you think about it, this is really your fault.”
(Jackie to Caitlin, as I fumed with steam shooting out of my ears when my stupid pink computer refused to log-on to the internet.)
“Wow. You actually have more days to do nothing than you do days to do something.”
(Jackie succinctly summarizing Caitlin’s class schedule.)
“All I’m askin for is someone who didn’t let the ‘looks decent’ wagon pass them by.”
(Jackie describing what she requires in a guy. Hilarity ensued.)
“It’s getting to the point where, if it’s not a 4-5 star hotel, I can’t sleep at night. If we walk into hotels ranked lower than that in New Zealand, I’m going to flip out. Like, ‘3 stars? Are you kidding me? That’s it; we’re leaving. Get back in the camper van.’ ”
(Jackie expressing the socialite tendencies she and Caitlin are beginning to develop as a result of the ridiculously cheap prices of hotels in Australia.)
“I’m going to be honest. I said a few Hail Mary’s. But then I thought, “OMG, I’m going to be ‘forever 21!”
(Jackie revelation while aboard Virgin Blue flight DJ212 the day before her birthday, after recovering from 15 minutes of full-body-clenching turbulence.)
So raise your glasses (but only if it's magners, baileys, jack or jim) to our priceless friend, Jackie. And say it with me, "To Jackie, You've Never Met a Motherfu*ker Quite Like Her." Cheers!
But if you recall from previous entries, this terrible twosome learned a valuable lesson while in Sydney—“throw money at the problem, and it will go away.” So we threw money at the problem and rebooked on the spot at the 4-star Quality Inn Resort. I mean, no bugs or shag carpet, but we did have a porch overlooking the lake, a fully stocked kitchen and living room.
Which brings me to another lesson. When life gives you an oven, what do you do? You cook yourself a huge corned beef dinner! “Yahtzee!”
The reason we were in Jindabyne, however, was not the culinary opportunities. We were there to hike around Mount Kosciusko National Park, and, specifically Mount Kosciusko—the highest peak in continental Australia.
The National Park was stunning. Part of the Great Dividing Range of Australia, the mountains had a purple hue and looked almost prehistoric. There were boulders and rock formations everywhere (the geological term in “glacial erratic,” big thanks to AP earth science and mom’s computer!). The mountains are fairly old, so they were more Appalachian than Rocky, but none-the-less I expected the dinosaurs from the Land Before Time to come out from behind a rock.
The summit as Mount Kosciusko was pretty, though not as overwhelmingly impressive as other (higher) peaks I’ve climbed, but it is still very cool to be able to say that for a moment in time, I was the tallest person on the continent. Something for the grandkids.
Cultural Observations:
We drove by the “Australian National Library,” while in Canberra. I’m going to be honest. It was the size of your average ranch. I mean, I went to St. Patrick’s Catholic School for years, and the library there was more impressive. And that library didn’t include books about evolution /books that mentioned sex in any capacity/ or any recreational reading …or science in any capacity. …or math in any capacity. Actually it focused almost exclusively on History, ‘Family Values,’ and Bibles.
Our rental car was a sweet Holden! Holden cars are the quintessential “Australian” car. It was made during the 1950’s and became a part of the Australian Dream, if you will, comparable to the American Fords. Oh, and the Holden is manufactured by GM. “Dude. Australia. Let it go, broski. Call a spade a spade—you’re trying to live the American Dream, too. There’s no shame in that.”
Finally, in Honor of the 1st Anniversary of her 21st birthday, I’d like to dedicate a portion of this blog to some stellar one-liners from the one, the only, Miss. Jackie Perry:
“Well Caitlin, I mean, If you think about it, this is really your fault.”
(Jackie to Caitlin, as I fumed with steam shooting out of my ears when my stupid pink computer refused to log-on to the internet.)
“Wow. You actually have more days to do nothing than you do days to do something.”
(Jackie succinctly summarizing Caitlin’s class schedule.)
“All I’m askin for is someone who didn’t let the ‘looks decent’ wagon pass them by.”
(Jackie describing what she requires in a guy. Hilarity ensued.)
“It’s getting to the point where, if it’s not a 4-5 star hotel, I can’t sleep at night. If we walk into hotels ranked lower than that in New Zealand, I’m going to flip out. Like, ‘3 stars? Are you kidding me? That’s it; we’re leaving. Get back in the camper van.’ ”
(Jackie expressing the socialite tendencies she and Caitlin are beginning to develop as a result of the ridiculously cheap prices of hotels in Australia.)
“I’m going to be honest. I said a few Hail Mary’s. But then I thought, “OMG, I’m going to be ‘forever 21!”
(Jackie revelation while aboard Virgin Blue flight DJ212 the day before her birthday, after recovering from 15 minutes of full-body-clenching turbulence.)
So raise your glasses (but only if it's magners, baileys, jack or jim) to our priceless friend, Jackie. And say it with me, "To Jackie, You've Never Met a Motherfu*ker Quite Like Her." Cheers!
Sunday, March 22, 2009
"Ra Ra Rass...Kick Em in the Other Knee!"
Finally. The week started with the opening day of a real sport: rugby. Thank friggen God. Imagine your Sportscenter back home consisting of cricket, soccer and swimming, and… have I already lost you? You’ve hung yourself, haven’t you. But put away your suicidal thoughts, for American sports fans studying abroad have something to live for again! Tis now the season of the terrifically terrifying Gooooold Cooooooast Tiiii-Tans!!!
Armed with our newly purchased, sweet Titans’ merch—they have UCLA’s colors, which fortunately goes well with my coloring—a large group of us arrived to ‘Skilled Stadium,’ positively overflowing with pent-up fandom that had seen no release since the showing of the Superbowl. Lee bought the first round of drinks, and it was ON. We cheered, screamed, clapped, booed, gestured (both appropriate and not), trash-talked and drank our way through two blissful halves of rugby. When the dust settled, appx. 70% of the people originally sitting near us had moved, our team had won, and we were all adequately drunk.
Some Highlights from the Match:
-Trying to get the wave to catch on.
-Jamie and her giant, inflatable Titans hand. It was like a giant foam finger on crack. It was like a pool toy. If you were dropped into the ocean, this giant hand could keep at least 2 people afloat until the Coast Guard showed up.
-Jamie using said hand to mime inappropriate and hilarious ‘ass-slapping’ on the elderly, awkward teenage boys and other unsuspecting bystanders.
-Jamie pointing the giant hand at any opposing team fans and yelling, “BOOOOOOO!”
-Your author overhearing the gentleman next to us whispering, “Dude, I think she’s [Jamie] getting arrested,” when the cop made some rounds through our section.
All in all, the rugby game was one of the single most fun experiences of the trip thus far…but they still ain’t got nothing on the NFL down here!
After we had sobered up (by 6 pm), Jamie, Lee, Jackie and Myself decided it was time for some “us” time. Jamie and Lee started by chatting Jackie and myself up about this sea scrub salt—‘just a dime sized amount and you have it all year!’ But the proof was in the pudding. In a moment of true bonding, the four of us gave each other foot scrubs. And when we were finished, the soles of my feet could easily be mistaken as a baby’s bottom by a blind man.
This week, I actually had quite the workload—funny how that happens when you miss a month of school. But one of my classes proved particularly enjoyable despite the work—Australian History. During our tutorial, we discussed the relevancy of the AUNZUS treaty. This was an agreement formed during WWII between Australia, New Zealand and the States that stipulated an attack on any one of these nations would result in retaliation from all three. Later NZ backed out, but honestly who gives a shit? (“Oh no! the kiwis won’t protect me from Middle Eastern conflict?!?! Why? WHY?) However, the AU US connection was recently acted upon after 9/11, when Australia was the first nation to support us. This brings us to a point in the class discussion that I will relay verbatim:
Prof. Robinson- ::looking at me and Jackie:: “Well girls, what do you think? If Australia was ever in trouble would the U.S be there for us?”
Me: “Oh, definitely. We’ll get into it with anybody.”
Jackie: ::whispers:: “America, fu*k yeah.”
Yippee! Just know that Jackie and I are over here acting as the finest of ambassadors for the U.S, doing our best to refute the stereotypes many nations harbor about us. You can count on us ;)
After a grueling 3 days of classes, it was finally weekend again. And Jackie and I made our trip to Australia official. We did what every person who visits here is required to do before returning to home.
We petted koalas and kangaroos. At the Currumbin Wildlife Sactuary.
The koalas were my favorite. I melted into a puddle of goo upon seeing the baby koala, and my voice was 3-4 octaves higher than usually for a good 2-2.5 hours afterwards. Also I named the baby koala, “Pancho.” Don’t ask. Just know it fit.
My infatuation with koalas was made official when I was able to hold a 2 year old koala named Ginger. Upon cuddling Ginger, I had a strange and inexplicable compulsion to sing a certain song… it goes like,
"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that's an Irish lullaby."
Weird.
So that was the week. Super stressful, so the beach day at Burleigh Heads was completely necessary. Obviously.
Cultural Observations:
-So St. Paddy’s was a let down. No corned beef and cabbage!!! No one has ever heard of it. So we had a “Nacho Crawl,” instead. And because I ate Mexican food on St. Paddy’s, I will be going to Church for the first time since I was confirmed when I get back. I am ashamed.
-My brother made up for my actions, however. Back home, he ran in the St. Paddy’s Day Road Race 10 K in a green shirt that read, “These colors don’t run…fast,” and with a cigar in his mouth the WHOLE WAY. What a champ. Cheers to you broski!
-The cafeteria here is run by communists!!! Jackie asks for an iced latte. They say no; they’ll only make hot. Jackie says, “Couldn’t you put the shot of expresso in the cold milk that you take out of the fridge and then proceed to heat up afterwards?” No. Of course not. Because they are commies.
-Evidence #2 that the cafeteria is run by commies. I buy my dinner and pay for a side salad. I go to the salad bar to get a side salad, and the lady asks me for my plate. I look down at my plate (covered 99% in tilapia and jasmine rice) and say, “Um, actually can I just have it on one of those plates (of which there are a stack of appx. 23)? Or even a small bowl?” I am then snapped at, “NO! You can only have one plate.” Screw you too, lady. “POCKETSAND!” Commie Pinko.
Armed with our newly purchased, sweet Titans’ merch—they have UCLA’s colors, which fortunately goes well with my coloring—a large group of us arrived to ‘Skilled Stadium,’ positively overflowing with pent-up fandom that had seen no release since the showing of the Superbowl. Lee bought the first round of drinks, and it was ON. We cheered, screamed, clapped, booed, gestured (both appropriate and not), trash-talked and drank our way through two blissful halves of rugby. When the dust settled, appx. 70% of the people originally sitting near us had moved, our team had won, and we were all adequately drunk.
Some Highlights from the Match:
-Trying to get the wave to catch on.
-Jamie and her giant, inflatable Titans hand. It was like a giant foam finger on crack. It was like a pool toy. If you were dropped into the ocean, this giant hand could keep at least 2 people afloat until the Coast Guard showed up.
-Jamie using said hand to mime inappropriate and hilarious ‘ass-slapping’ on the elderly, awkward teenage boys and other unsuspecting bystanders.
-Jamie pointing the giant hand at any opposing team fans and yelling, “BOOOOOOO!”
-Your author overhearing the gentleman next to us whispering, “Dude, I think she’s [Jamie] getting arrested,” when the cop made some rounds through our section.
All in all, the rugby game was one of the single most fun experiences of the trip thus far…but they still ain’t got nothing on the NFL down here!
After we had sobered up (by 6 pm), Jamie, Lee, Jackie and Myself decided it was time for some “us” time. Jamie and Lee started by chatting Jackie and myself up about this sea scrub salt—‘just a dime sized amount and you have it all year!’ But the proof was in the pudding. In a moment of true bonding, the four of us gave each other foot scrubs. And when we were finished, the soles of my feet could easily be mistaken as a baby’s bottom by a blind man.
This week, I actually had quite the workload—funny how that happens when you miss a month of school. But one of my classes proved particularly enjoyable despite the work—Australian History. During our tutorial, we discussed the relevancy of the AUNZUS treaty. This was an agreement formed during WWII between Australia, New Zealand and the States that stipulated an attack on any one of these nations would result in retaliation from all three. Later NZ backed out, but honestly who gives a shit? (“Oh no! the kiwis won’t protect me from Middle Eastern conflict?!?! Why? WHY?) However, the AU US connection was recently acted upon after 9/11, when Australia was the first nation to support us. This brings us to a point in the class discussion that I will relay verbatim:
Prof. Robinson- ::looking at me and Jackie:: “Well girls, what do you think? If Australia was ever in trouble would the U.S be there for us?”
Me: “Oh, definitely. We’ll get into it with anybody.”
Jackie: ::whispers:: “America, fu*k yeah.”
Yippee! Just know that Jackie and I are over here acting as the finest of ambassadors for the U.S, doing our best to refute the stereotypes many nations harbor about us. You can count on us ;)
After a grueling 3 days of classes, it was finally weekend again. And Jackie and I made our trip to Australia official. We did what every person who visits here is required to do before returning to home.
We petted koalas and kangaroos. At the Currumbin Wildlife Sactuary.
The koalas were my favorite. I melted into a puddle of goo upon seeing the baby koala, and my voice was 3-4 octaves higher than usually for a good 2-2.5 hours afterwards. Also I named the baby koala, “Pancho.” Don’t ask. Just know it fit.
My infatuation with koalas was made official when I was able to hold a 2 year old koala named Ginger. Upon cuddling Ginger, I had a strange and inexplicable compulsion to sing a certain song… it goes like,
"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that's an Irish lullaby."
Weird.
So that was the week. Super stressful, so the beach day at Burleigh Heads was completely necessary. Obviously.
Cultural Observations:
-So St. Paddy’s was a let down. No corned beef and cabbage!!! No one has ever heard of it. So we had a “Nacho Crawl,” instead. And because I ate Mexican food on St. Paddy’s, I will be going to Church for the first time since I was confirmed when I get back. I am ashamed.
-My brother made up for my actions, however. Back home, he ran in the St. Paddy’s Day Road Race 10 K in a green shirt that read, “These colors don’t run…fast,” and with a cigar in his mouth the WHOLE WAY. What a champ. Cheers to you broski!
-The cafeteria here is run by communists!!! Jackie asks for an iced latte. They say no; they’ll only make hot. Jackie says, “Couldn’t you put the shot of expresso in the cold milk that you take out of the fridge and then proceed to heat up afterwards?” No. Of course not. Because they are commies.
-Evidence #2 that the cafeteria is run by commies. I buy my dinner and pay for a side salad. I go to the salad bar to get a side salad, and the lady asks me for my plate. I look down at my plate (covered 99% in tilapia and jasmine rice) and say, “Um, actually can I just have it on one of those plates (of which there are a stack of appx. 23)? Or even a small bowl?” I am then snapped at, “NO! You can only have one plate.” Screw you too, lady. “POCKETSAND!” Commie Pinko.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
EXTRA! EXTRA! Read All About It!
So, in lieu of my absence, I am doubling the fun of my last post with a guest blog from ::drumroll::
The One...
The Only...
The Amazon...
JESSICA NICHOLAS! Enjoy!
(Jess Writes...)
In essence, Jackie, Caitlin, and I are a package deal, hence the reason that 1) I spent approx $1500 on plane tickets for 7 days, 2) I get the privilege of being asked to write this “guest blog entry”.
Let me start out by saying that travel, in general, sucks. The exception to this rule, you ask? When you are going to freakin AUSTRALIA! As I strode into Logan well hydrated wearing my comfy stretch pants, representing the NY Giants on the top, and sporting a huge shit-eating grin, I was positively gleeful! This may or may not have led to some INNOCENT flirting with Fernando, the Latin lover airline guy. Sweetheart that he was, issued me a free (illegal) visa, waved my 63lb mongo bag through, and promised me orchids on my 21 and 24 month birthday. Who says Americans aren’t friendly?
One of my friends wished me uneventful travels before I left. Looking back uneventful is not quite the word I’d use. We managed to enrage a grand total of two middle aged women. I don’t know what we did! It could have been the seat change; or my us describing one said angry woman as the mousy brunette that needs a facelift; or maybe it was me eagerly showing Cait how my new iPod changes songs with a simple flick of the wrist, which led to me accidently slamming my fist on the armrest, crying in pain, and bursting into hysterical laughter for the next seven minutes; or maybe it was the endless fits of giggles that followed one of us saying I feel like a _____in a China shop. Well, it’s all fun and games until you get shushed and yelled at librarian-style by an irate crazy woman sitting in front of you. Unfortunately, this inspired me enlisting some backup from one of the Holy Cross second baseman (?) sitting in front of us, which caused even more childish fits of laughter.
After sprinting to my connection in LA, an uneventful 14-hour flight without Cait, three DELICIOUS Quantas meals, and a short flight to the gold coast later I was literally tackled by Jackie in Coolangata airport. Of course, my luggage got lost so after about 12 minutes of three-way hugs we arranged for my bags to be delivered. After about 28 “no worries” I began to realize how incredibly agreeable, laid back and nice, or as an Aussie would say, lovely, Australian people are.
My first few days in Australia were spent at Bond Uni and surrounding areas drinking every flavor of bubble tea and eating wonderfully tasty gluten-free treats called Bondi Balls (imagine a baseball sized craisin and macademaia nut cookie dough mound). On day one we took the grueling ten minute bus ride to Surfer’s Paradise. Well, what they should call it is Jess’ Paradise. Let me see if I can paint you a picture. As we stepped off the bus we were immediately in front of Hard Rock: points. At this time some (southern rock junkies) might be distracted by the techno blaring everywhere, but I say just pump your fist and go with it. Immediately to the left is Tiffany’s, then Fendi, Gucci, Prada, and Louis Vuitton: double points. After 100 yards of walking this isle of retail heaven we encountered true paradise, the beach. I immediately marveled at the softness of the sand and the huge waves: the game-ender. Now I got my lifesaving done when I was 16 years old and I was not about to venture past my waist for fear that I would get my scrawny American ass pummeled. Now add some surfers to the mix…sure why not?!
Another of my highlights was our chill day at the campus pool. I was staggered that unlike at NEU they didn’t card you, scan it to make sure, then hold your ID captive until you left. After about 20 minutes of soaking up the rays, I just happened to open my eyes to a speedo-clad, tanned body that put David Beckham’s to shame. Welcome to Bond Uni, Jess!!! Jackie joined us after class and proceeded to show all the Australians how America kicked their butts in Olympic swimming. While cheering on our fellow triathlete, Cait and I learned a valuable lesson. Black ants bite too; I still have the red welt on my booty to prove it. Don’t worry we showed that bastard who was boss.
After so many tough culture shocks (think surfers, speedos, bondi balls, and killer ants) I needed a little bit of America. More than happy to indulge my every wish, my wingwomen took me to the mall where we purchased Cadbury cream eggs, got manicures and pedicures by Asian women, ate some delicious fro-yo, and went to see He’s Just Not That Into You. When we got home we transformed into Australian’s Next Hot Shits within 17 minutes in order to make our dinner reservation. When we got to Riverview “all dolled up” we promptly ordered champagne and were asked approximately six times if we were waiting for someone or celebrating, to which we decided that we were celebrating how unbelievably fabulous we are. As always, dinner conversation was engaging and deep with talk of who had the best “he’s just not that into you” situation. Although the competition was steep (trust me, I’m attempting a reunion with my oldest brother’s college roommate), Caitlin won, hands down, with the trunk story.
Onward to Brisbane where I proceeded to be staggered by our anger management skills. Between the deaf/dumb/blind/Sarah Palin-opinionated cabbie taking us to Taylor Swift and the mean tweens and moms, we not only held onto our dignity without knocking someone out, we didn’t even POCKETSAND any young girls. BTW Cait’s posting a vid of Taylah singing “Shoulda Said No,” check it out…phenomenal!
I can’t compare to Cait’s literary genius in her artful description of Sydney (“It has the grandeur of New York, the history and personality of Boston, and the beaches of California”). Therefore I’ll jump in with our second day in Syd, spent at Bondi Beach. With its fantastic nachos, gorgeous cliff walk, and yet more surfer guys, Bondi was the perfect spot to pass out after a couple of mediocre night’s sleep in a row. Laden with sand and sunscreen, me and the two most amazing friends a girl could ask for grabbed my too heavy bag and went to the airport. After a sobbing, tearful send off, stumbling my way to the gate, I was on my way back to the States. Now here I am missing the girls, weather, culture, kind stranger, bondi balls, bubble tea, inside jokes, surfers, Lee and Jamie, and I’m jetlagged, and yet it was the absolute best vacation I’ve ever had…and I went to Bora Bora for my 21st birthday!
Cultural observations and other anecdotes:
-After telling seven different Aussies that I am in college, a good friend kindly clued me in that college = high school, no wonder I kept getting carded despite the 18+ drinking age
-Having had taken mostly family-funded vacations in the past, I assumed that hostels were essentially the same as hotels with different spelling. CLOSE, the main difference is that the bathrooms are communal, bunk beds and bed bugs happen, there aren’t only men in your room, but they are creepy old dudes, and, gasp, there aren’t always mirrors!
-If you do something scandalous, namely walk up to random guy and start making out with him with *NSYNC karaoke in the background, simply preface the action by saying “I’m on holiday”. Excuses everything.
-I mentioned how friendly Aussies are, however if a male flight attendant slips an extra dark chocolate in your hand, you may or may not be in for some random play. ENJOY!
The One...
The Only...
The Amazon...
JESSICA NICHOLAS! Enjoy!
(Jess Writes...)
In essence, Jackie, Caitlin, and I are a package deal, hence the reason that 1) I spent approx $1500 on plane tickets for 7 days, 2) I get the privilege of being asked to write this “guest blog entry”.
Let me start out by saying that travel, in general, sucks. The exception to this rule, you ask? When you are going to freakin AUSTRALIA! As I strode into Logan well hydrated wearing my comfy stretch pants, representing the NY Giants on the top, and sporting a huge shit-eating grin, I was positively gleeful! This may or may not have led to some INNOCENT flirting with Fernando, the Latin lover airline guy. Sweetheart that he was, issued me a free (illegal) visa, waved my 63lb mongo bag through, and promised me orchids on my 21 and 24 month birthday. Who says Americans aren’t friendly?
One of my friends wished me uneventful travels before I left. Looking back uneventful is not quite the word I’d use. We managed to enrage a grand total of two middle aged women. I don’t know what we did! It could have been the seat change; or my us describing one said angry woman as the mousy brunette that needs a facelift; or maybe it was me eagerly showing Cait how my new iPod changes songs with a simple flick of the wrist, which led to me accidently slamming my fist on the armrest, crying in pain, and bursting into hysterical laughter for the next seven minutes; or maybe it was the endless fits of giggles that followed one of us saying I feel like a _____in a China shop. Well, it’s all fun and games until you get shushed and yelled at librarian-style by an irate crazy woman sitting in front of you. Unfortunately, this inspired me enlisting some backup from one of the Holy Cross second baseman (?) sitting in front of us, which caused even more childish fits of laughter.
After sprinting to my connection in LA, an uneventful 14-hour flight without Cait, three DELICIOUS Quantas meals, and a short flight to the gold coast later I was literally tackled by Jackie in Coolangata airport. Of course, my luggage got lost so after about 12 minutes of three-way hugs we arranged for my bags to be delivered. After about 28 “no worries” I began to realize how incredibly agreeable, laid back and nice, or as an Aussie would say, lovely, Australian people are.
My first few days in Australia were spent at Bond Uni and surrounding areas drinking every flavor of bubble tea and eating wonderfully tasty gluten-free treats called Bondi Balls (imagine a baseball sized craisin and macademaia nut cookie dough mound). On day one we took the grueling ten minute bus ride to Surfer’s Paradise. Well, what they should call it is Jess’ Paradise. Let me see if I can paint you a picture. As we stepped off the bus we were immediately in front of Hard Rock: points. At this time some (southern rock junkies) might be distracted by the techno blaring everywhere, but I say just pump your fist and go with it. Immediately to the left is Tiffany’s, then Fendi, Gucci, Prada, and Louis Vuitton: double points. After 100 yards of walking this isle of retail heaven we encountered true paradise, the beach. I immediately marveled at the softness of the sand and the huge waves: the game-ender. Now I got my lifesaving done when I was 16 years old and I was not about to venture past my waist for fear that I would get my scrawny American ass pummeled. Now add some surfers to the mix…sure why not?!
Another of my highlights was our chill day at the campus pool. I was staggered that unlike at NEU they didn’t card you, scan it to make sure, then hold your ID captive until you left. After about 20 minutes of soaking up the rays, I just happened to open my eyes to a speedo-clad, tanned body that put David Beckham’s to shame. Welcome to Bond Uni, Jess!!! Jackie joined us after class and proceeded to show all the Australians how America kicked their butts in Olympic swimming. While cheering on our fellow triathlete, Cait and I learned a valuable lesson. Black ants bite too; I still have the red welt on my booty to prove it. Don’t worry we showed that bastard who was boss.
After so many tough culture shocks (think surfers, speedos, bondi balls, and killer ants) I needed a little bit of America. More than happy to indulge my every wish, my wingwomen took me to the mall where we purchased Cadbury cream eggs, got manicures and pedicures by Asian women, ate some delicious fro-yo, and went to see He’s Just Not That Into You. When we got home we transformed into Australian’s Next Hot Shits within 17 minutes in order to make our dinner reservation. When we got to Riverview “all dolled up” we promptly ordered champagne and were asked approximately six times if we were waiting for someone or celebrating, to which we decided that we were celebrating how unbelievably fabulous we are. As always, dinner conversation was engaging and deep with talk of who had the best “he’s just not that into you” situation. Although the competition was steep (trust me, I’m attempting a reunion with my oldest brother’s college roommate), Caitlin won, hands down, with the trunk story.
Onward to Brisbane where I proceeded to be staggered by our anger management skills. Between the deaf/dumb/blind/Sarah Palin-opinionated cabbie taking us to Taylor Swift and the mean tweens and moms, we not only held onto our dignity without knocking someone out, we didn’t even POCKETSAND any young girls. BTW Cait’s posting a vid of Taylah singing “Shoulda Said No,” check it out…phenomenal!
I can’t compare to Cait’s literary genius in her artful description of Sydney (“It has the grandeur of New York, the history and personality of Boston, and the beaches of California”). Therefore I’ll jump in with our second day in Syd, spent at Bondi Beach. With its fantastic nachos, gorgeous cliff walk, and yet more surfer guys, Bondi was the perfect spot to pass out after a couple of mediocre night’s sleep in a row. Laden with sand and sunscreen, me and the two most amazing friends a girl could ask for grabbed my too heavy bag and went to the airport. After a sobbing, tearful send off, stumbling my way to the gate, I was on my way back to the States. Now here I am missing the girls, weather, culture, kind stranger, bondi balls, bubble tea, inside jokes, surfers, Lee and Jamie, and I’m jetlagged, and yet it was the absolute best vacation I’ve ever had…and I went to Bora Bora for my 21st birthday!
Cultural observations and other anecdotes:
-After telling seven different Aussies that I am in college, a good friend kindly clued me in that college = high school, no wonder I kept getting carded despite the 18+ drinking age
-Having had taken mostly family-funded vacations in the past, I assumed that hostels were essentially the same as hotels with different spelling. CLOSE, the main difference is that the bathrooms are communal, bunk beds and bed bugs happen, there aren’t only men in your room, but they are creepy old dudes, and, gasp, there aren’t always mirrors!
-If you do something scandalous, namely walk up to random guy and start making out with him with *NSYNC karaoke in the background, simply preface the action by saying “I’m on holiday”. Excuses everything.
-I mentioned how friendly Aussies are, however if a male flight attendant slips an extra dark chocolate in your hand, you may or may not be in for some random play. ENJOY!
Friday, March 13, 2009
...Like a Bedbug in a China Shop
And so the prodigal daughter has returned. Home means more to me than I thought, people I didn’t realize cared about me sincerely did, my friends are the truest and bluest, and my family is MY pride and joy.
Accompanying me on my journey back to Oz was Jess, who was going on her planned visit to see us! We got off the ground without a hitch… ok—a snag. So Jess didn’t get a Visa. Oopsie Daisy! Fortunately, her ‘pretty face’ got her not only a free, illegal, on-the-spot Visa, but a promise of flowers on her next birthday. Three cheers for eyeliner and tight pants! We made it on the plane and had a rousing game of “Guess the Position” with the Holy Cross Baseball Team that was seated all around us. Granted, there was the issue of combining my broken ass (aka fractured tailbone—yaaaaay snowboarding) with a 13 hour flight. But I ain’t no stinking pansy. Little free Quantas wine, little Tylenol PM and I was super.
And then it happened. The unbeatable trio, the three musketeers, Caitlin, Jackie and Jess were reunited. And it felt SO good. We wasted no time making Australia our bitch…as well as soaking up the culture, and stuff. The next four days consisted virtually of a three person honeymoon. From champagne toasts and 3-way split crème brulees, to “He’s Just Not that Into You” movie dates and chocolate sharing, to dressing in matching outfits (fair enough—the latter is probably more “odd” than “honeymoon”), we made anyone and everyone in our vicinity nauseas with our adorability, rapport and obsession with both ourselves and each other.
There was one lovers spat, however, and I would like to share…
Caitlin: “Guys! I got a Tom Brady jersey when I was home!”
Jackie: “Was it on sale? You know, because his career is over?”
::Jess cackles gleefully::
Caitlin: “Screw you guys! He will rise from the ashes of injury like a golden phoenix!” (::Caitlin sulks for 6.3 minutes…then forgives her companions when a Bubble Tea run is suggested::)
Soon it was time to leave the Gold Coast and trek to Brisbane. We packed Jess’ 63lb bag, and it was off to a Taylor, sorry, “Taylah” Swift concert. Now country fans in the U.S.A are from all walks of life: men and women, young and old, mullet-rocking and not mullet-rocking. Funny story though. Here in Australia, Taylor Swift’s fans consist exclusively of 11-13 year old girls…and their moms.
So our awesome threesome exit the cab in front of the concert venue, and before fares can even be paid, they are met with, “HEY! The line starts back there!” The air then erupts with the screeching laughter of tweenage mean girls.
I’m like, “Holy Shit. I think I just got heckled by a real life Bratz Doll. ???”
Regardless, we made the most of it. With your author measuring in at 5’ 7”, Perry at 5’ 8” and Nicholas 5’ 9”(and that is NOT including the 3-4 inch heels we all wore), we firmly planted ourselves in front of whatever preteen we wanted and enjoyed the view from above. A few obnoxious moms even tried pushing us so that their vertically challenged daughters could take our spot.
“Uh, sorry, but is it my fault your daughter is short?” No. You can consider us the Great Wall of America. And I am not moving. These colors don’t run.
After a sweet night in Brisbane, it was Sydney time! So I play this game whenever I go anywhere. No matter what I see or where I am, I like to find a U.S comparison to explain this foreign place/object/thing. I could not do that for Sydney. It has the grandeur of New York, the history and personality of Boston, and the beaches of California, thus making it my favorite city.
Unfortunately, Sydney did have one glaring and particularly nasty blemish—a hostel called, “Nomad’s Maize.” I’m no princess. I have no problem with hostels. However, I do have a problem with a homeless man with a crack problem sleeping next to me and on the bunk below Jess. Also, I have a problem with an inch of dank, still water covering the entire bathroom floor, and, I know I’m high-maintenance, but when we’re all sleeping on 3 layers of sheets, and the top layer is bedding we’ve brought from home and one of us STILL gets eaten alive by bedbugs…I am not ok.
After an unrestful nights sleep spent clutching our valuables and our Mase while we slept, we resolved to fix the situation by throwing money at it. After a tearful good-bye to Jess (COME BAAAAACK! PLEEEEEAAAASE!), Jackie and myself prudently booked ourselves a 5 Star hotel—the ‘Amora.’ Danged if we didn’t feel as out of place as whores in church rolling into the Amora! Did you know they have “Pillow Menus” at hotels of this caliber? Fun Fact: Based on my preferred sleeping position and body size, the Amora recommends a ‘Double Down Goosefeather Pillow.” My, my. So this is how the other half live…
Sydney did proffer an olive branch of sorts to make up for the abysmal hostel, however, and that olive branch came in the form of “dare—a gluten free restaurant and café.”
To put it eloquently, I flipped my shit when I found this place. Wandering around as I usually do in cities, I discovered this gem, and immediately set to work consuming every gluten free goodness, delectable delight and tasty treat on the menu. Carmel fudge brownies? Check. Orange and Lemon Lime Bar Cookies? Got Em. Coconut Pancakes and Banana Bread? Got Em Twice. ‘Dare’ underscored what I’ve already noted about Australia; they are so far ahead of the U.S in terms of celiac friendly living.
To segue, I may develop diabetes in addition to celiac disease by the time I return home.
Having relocated to the Park Regis (ugh, a 3 star hotel… I hate slumming it), Jackie and I were met by more friends! First JP, and later Monya. Celebrating another reunion, we cruised the Irish pubs of Sydney with much success. When us girls called it a night at 11—hey! We had an 8 am wakeup call for a wine tasting—JP decided to hit the town solo for “…half an hour or so.” This is what resulted:
Jackie: “Psssst! Cait! Monya! It’s 2:30 in the morning and JP isn’t home and hasn’t called!”
Now, I am not a mother. However, I believe I now know the all-consuming panic a mother feels when they lose sight of their kid at the playground and convinces herself she just saw a white van drive away.
Sitting bolt upright, convinced that JP was dead, facedown, in a ditch, I dialed JP’s phone.
“Hey Cait, what’s up?”
“JP!?!?! Where are you? Are you ok?”
“Yeah. I found a poker room. I’m playing poker! ::giggles::
We fell back asleep, and apparently JP made it home by 5 am. He brought with him 400$ in poker winnings, which he then generously used to fund some excellent wine purchases at the next day’s Hunter Valley Wine Tour. I am drinking some of the Porter Dessert Wine as I type, actually. And now I am using it to toast to a wonderful week full of friends, fun and adventure. Cheers. And now I am drinking more wine…
Cultural Observations and Other Anecdotes:
-Personal Advice. Should you find yourself in the desert, cram some sand into your pocket and leave it there. Next time a particular irksome someone is invading your space, reach in, grab hold of some sand, and quickly whip that sand into the irritants face and mouth. Simultaneously yell, “POCKETSAND!”
-Bed configurations in hotels make no fricken sense. The options have been: a Queen and a Twin, a King and a Twin, 2 Twins, and a Queen and a bunkbed. If traveling to Australia, prep for some interesting sleep situations.
-It's hard to get angry in certain situations in Australia, where back home I'd be pitching a fit. For example, airports. When your bag is too heavy in Australia, they are so nice about telling you that you will be paying a fee, that you almost don't mind paying it. Similarly, say you have finished going through airport security and are waiting with your friend Jackie for your friend Jess, and you are taken aside and publicly screened for explosives. I didn't get mad at all. On the contrary, I giggled profusely.
-Bridget, Hef’s ex-GF visited Surfers and Moreton Island for her new travel show (thanks Michaela). Relatedly, there was an oil spill on Moreton Island (thanks Jamie). Methinks the crew of the ship should have been paying less attention to the playmate…
-Starbucks even had 2 gluten free cookie bars and a gluten free cookie. Which is great. But if only they sold real coffee at Starbucks. Then we’d be cooking with gas.
-If you are in Australia and you hear someone shout, “I need 7 kilos of White Russian,” don’t panic. Think about where you are—likely in a coffee shop. And you likely didn’t hear an order for cocaine. Likely it was for a powdered drink mix.
-Alex, “Live Your Life” would be excellent sung Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin style, no?”
Accompanying me on my journey back to Oz was Jess, who was going on her planned visit to see us! We got off the ground without a hitch… ok—a snag. So Jess didn’t get a Visa. Oopsie Daisy! Fortunately, her ‘pretty face’ got her not only a free, illegal, on-the-spot Visa, but a promise of flowers on her next birthday. Three cheers for eyeliner and tight pants! We made it on the plane and had a rousing game of “Guess the Position” with the Holy Cross Baseball Team that was seated all around us. Granted, there was the issue of combining my broken ass (aka fractured tailbone—yaaaaay snowboarding) with a 13 hour flight. But I ain’t no stinking pansy. Little free Quantas wine, little Tylenol PM and I was super.
And then it happened. The unbeatable trio, the three musketeers, Caitlin, Jackie and Jess were reunited. And it felt SO good. We wasted no time making Australia our bitch…as well as soaking up the culture, and stuff. The next four days consisted virtually of a three person honeymoon. From champagne toasts and 3-way split crème brulees, to “He’s Just Not that Into You” movie dates and chocolate sharing, to dressing in matching outfits (fair enough—the latter is probably more “odd” than “honeymoon”), we made anyone and everyone in our vicinity nauseas with our adorability, rapport and obsession with both ourselves and each other.
There was one lovers spat, however, and I would like to share…
Caitlin: “Guys! I got a Tom Brady jersey when I was home!”
Jackie: “Was it on sale? You know, because his career is over?”
::Jess cackles gleefully::
Caitlin: “Screw you guys! He will rise from the ashes of injury like a golden phoenix!” (::Caitlin sulks for 6.3 minutes…then forgives her companions when a Bubble Tea run is suggested::)
Soon it was time to leave the Gold Coast and trek to Brisbane. We packed Jess’ 63lb bag, and it was off to a Taylor, sorry, “Taylah” Swift concert. Now country fans in the U.S.A are from all walks of life: men and women, young and old, mullet-rocking and not mullet-rocking. Funny story though. Here in Australia, Taylor Swift’s fans consist exclusively of 11-13 year old girls…and their moms.
So our awesome threesome exit the cab in front of the concert venue, and before fares can even be paid, they are met with, “HEY! The line starts back there!” The air then erupts with the screeching laughter of tweenage mean girls.
I’m like, “Holy Shit. I think I just got heckled by a real life Bratz Doll. ???”
Regardless, we made the most of it. With your author measuring in at 5’ 7”, Perry at 5’ 8” and Nicholas 5’ 9”(and that is NOT including the 3-4 inch heels we all wore), we firmly planted ourselves in front of whatever preteen we wanted and enjoyed the view from above. A few obnoxious moms even tried pushing us so that their vertically challenged daughters could take our spot.
“Uh, sorry, but is it my fault your daughter is short?” No. You can consider us the Great Wall of America. And I am not moving. These colors don’t run.
After a sweet night in Brisbane, it was Sydney time! So I play this game whenever I go anywhere. No matter what I see or where I am, I like to find a U.S comparison to explain this foreign place/object/thing. I could not do that for Sydney. It has the grandeur of New York, the history and personality of Boston, and the beaches of California, thus making it my favorite city.
Unfortunately, Sydney did have one glaring and particularly nasty blemish—a hostel called, “Nomad’s Maize.” I’m no princess. I have no problem with hostels. However, I do have a problem with a homeless man with a crack problem sleeping next to me and on the bunk below Jess. Also, I have a problem with an inch of dank, still water covering the entire bathroom floor, and, I know I’m high-maintenance, but when we’re all sleeping on 3 layers of sheets, and the top layer is bedding we’ve brought from home and one of us STILL gets eaten alive by bedbugs…I am not ok.
After an unrestful nights sleep spent clutching our valuables and our Mase while we slept, we resolved to fix the situation by throwing money at it. After a tearful good-bye to Jess (COME BAAAAACK! PLEEEEEAAAASE!), Jackie and myself prudently booked ourselves a 5 Star hotel—the ‘Amora.’ Danged if we didn’t feel as out of place as whores in church rolling into the Amora! Did you know they have “Pillow Menus” at hotels of this caliber? Fun Fact: Based on my preferred sleeping position and body size, the Amora recommends a ‘Double Down Goosefeather Pillow.” My, my. So this is how the other half live…
Sydney did proffer an olive branch of sorts to make up for the abysmal hostel, however, and that olive branch came in the form of “dare—a gluten free restaurant and café.”
To put it eloquently, I flipped my shit when I found this place. Wandering around as I usually do in cities, I discovered this gem, and immediately set to work consuming every gluten free goodness, delectable delight and tasty treat on the menu. Carmel fudge brownies? Check. Orange and Lemon Lime Bar Cookies? Got Em. Coconut Pancakes and Banana Bread? Got Em Twice. ‘Dare’ underscored what I’ve already noted about Australia; they are so far ahead of the U.S in terms of celiac friendly living.
To segue, I may develop diabetes in addition to celiac disease by the time I return home.
Having relocated to the Park Regis (ugh, a 3 star hotel… I hate slumming it), Jackie and I were met by more friends! First JP, and later Monya. Celebrating another reunion, we cruised the Irish pubs of Sydney with much success. When us girls called it a night at 11—hey! We had an 8 am wakeup call for a wine tasting—JP decided to hit the town solo for “…half an hour or so.” This is what resulted:
Jackie: “Psssst! Cait! Monya! It’s 2:30 in the morning and JP isn’t home and hasn’t called!”
Now, I am not a mother. However, I believe I now know the all-consuming panic a mother feels when they lose sight of their kid at the playground and convinces herself she just saw a white van drive away.
Sitting bolt upright, convinced that JP was dead, facedown, in a ditch, I dialed JP’s phone.
“Hey Cait, what’s up?”
“JP!?!?! Where are you? Are you ok?”
“Yeah. I found a poker room. I’m playing poker! ::giggles::
We fell back asleep, and apparently JP made it home by 5 am. He brought with him 400$ in poker winnings, which he then generously used to fund some excellent wine purchases at the next day’s Hunter Valley Wine Tour. I am drinking some of the Porter Dessert Wine as I type, actually. And now I am using it to toast to a wonderful week full of friends, fun and adventure. Cheers. And now I am drinking more wine…
Cultural Observations and Other Anecdotes:
-Personal Advice. Should you find yourself in the desert, cram some sand into your pocket and leave it there. Next time a particular irksome someone is invading your space, reach in, grab hold of some sand, and quickly whip that sand into the irritants face and mouth. Simultaneously yell, “POCKETSAND!”
-Bed configurations in hotels make no fricken sense. The options have been: a Queen and a Twin, a King and a Twin, 2 Twins, and a Queen and a bunkbed. If traveling to Australia, prep for some interesting sleep situations.
-It's hard to get angry in certain situations in Australia, where back home I'd be pitching a fit. For example, airports. When your bag is too heavy in Australia, they are so nice about telling you that you will be paying a fee, that you almost don't mind paying it. Similarly, say you have finished going through airport security and are waiting with your friend Jackie for your friend Jess, and you are taken aside and publicly screened for explosives. I didn't get mad at all. On the contrary, I giggled profusely.
-Bridget, Hef’s ex-GF visited Surfers and Moreton Island for her new travel show (thanks Michaela). Relatedly, there was an oil spill on Moreton Island (thanks Jamie). Methinks the crew of the ship should have been paying less attention to the playmate…
-Starbucks even had 2 gluten free cookie bars and a gluten free cookie. Which is great. But if only they sold real coffee at Starbucks. Then we’d be cooking with gas.
-If you are in Australia and you hear someone shout, “I need 7 kilos of White Russian,” don’t panic. Think about where you are—likely in a coffee shop. And you likely didn’t hear an order for cocaine. Likely it was for a powdered drink mix.
-Alex, “Live Your Life” would be excellent sung Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin style, no?”
Monday, February 9, 2009
Suncreen Smackdown
Moreton Island was amazing. It is the third largest sand island in the world, and despite spiders the size of softballs, horse flies the size of golf balls and lingering mild whiplash, Moreton was my favorite trip thus far. The pros far outweighed the cons, with snorkeling through shipwrecks (saw a Wollygong Shark!), sea kayaking, sand boarding and exploring lagoons as highlights from the weekend.
Now, before I continue, I want to make it clear that I, Caitlin O’Connor, am not a racist. Pinkie Promise. Back to your scheduled blog.
So there were 20 of us on this trip: Jackie and myself, an older couple from the Gold Coast, and 16 Korean students from the Language Institute. Now, of these Korean students, ½ could not swim and another ¼ had never been in the ocean before. Did this deter them from snorkeling? Nope. In fact, in addition to insisting on swimming, they categorically refused to listen our guide, Hayden, as he tried to teach them not only how to snorkel, but to swim. Having lost his patience, Hayden finally accepted defeat, yelling, “Enough! Just go snorkel!” Jackie and I quickly learned to distance ourselves from the Korean Krew, lest we be pulled under water with them. When the sand settled from the haphazard flailing of limbs trying to swim, a severely irked Hayden had to drag 8 of them from the water as they nearly drowned. Later, while kayaking, 5 Koreans piled onto a one person kayak, capsized and then screamed for help. The water was appx. 4 feet deep. Jackie and I calmly paddled far away and feigned deafness. …stop judging me.
(SIDEBAR: While snorkeling, Jackie and I barely escaped being run over by a boat. We heard screams and surfaced just in time to avoid a boat that was making its way through the docked boats—anchor down and slicing through every other boats' anchor rope. It was being captained by four Koreans.)
Also, say you’ve never seen sun block before. Maybe you’ve never even seen lotion before. How do you put it on? Now, I would like to think that I would rub the lotion into my skin. Perhaps not with the small-circle technique I have mastered over the years, but certainly I would rub. I would not slap.
Our Korean Krew, however, did slap on their sunscreen. Yep. Sunscreen in one palm, opposite arm out in front, aaaaaand slap, as if attempting to kill a mosquito or other irritating bug. I was and am still speechless.
They meant well, though, particularly our friend, Pak. Pak was adorable. Pak told me I was a very good swimmer. Pak was the first to ask to take a picture with me and Jackie, setting off the ensuing party game, “Take a Picture with the Americans.”
Cultural Observations:
-The ice creams here are suggestively named. From, “Magnums (uh, delicicious),” to, “Golden Gaytimes,” these are not your Grandma’s ice cream truck selections!
-Ok, so everyone smells AMAZING here. Honestly, we walked past a 14 year old boy at the beach, and I wafted. Even he smelled good, and I have figured out why—AEROSOL DEODORANT! They don’t use stick deodorant, but almost exclusively spray. However, this is a give and take. Yes, spray aerosol deodorant smells yummy and I am hooked, but Australia has a diminished ozone layer. Coincidence? I think not!
-Similarly, perhaps due to the strong sun, I am no joke the blondest I have been since age 8.
-Customs stole my trailmix. My mom sent me a five lb BJ's bag of trailmix and 3 weeks later the box arrived. Empty. With a note saying, "Quarantined due to ALMONDS." Almonds, Australia? Bullshit. Enjoy eating the most delicious, most well-proportioned trail mix ever made, customs officers. Dirty commie pinkos.
-I got to watch the superbowl! Granted, I've never watched the superbowl at 9 am, but it was nice to watch a real sport, regardless. Cricket does NOT do it for me. Apparantly it was shown on regular cable here because the kicker from the Cardinals is from Australia--the first Aussie in the superbowl ever. However, they did not broadcast the superbowl commercials. Thank you, though, for those of you who told me and Jackie that the commercial depicting a koala getting punched in the face made them think of us. Cheers, that was really touching, guys.
-Wildfires are currently ravaging much of Australia, with the death toll at 126 as of yesterday. This is not a disaster commonly experienced here, and they are having much trouble handling the severity of the situation. However, Jackie and I are fine where we are. Thanks everyone for their concern; the fires are appx 1700 km or 19 hours away from us (thanks Michaela! You journalist you!)
Now, before I continue, I want to make it clear that I, Caitlin O’Connor, am not a racist. Pinkie Promise. Back to your scheduled blog.
So there were 20 of us on this trip: Jackie and myself, an older couple from the Gold Coast, and 16 Korean students from the Language Institute. Now, of these Korean students, ½ could not swim and another ¼ had never been in the ocean before. Did this deter them from snorkeling? Nope. In fact, in addition to insisting on swimming, they categorically refused to listen our guide, Hayden, as he tried to teach them not only how to snorkel, but to swim. Having lost his patience, Hayden finally accepted defeat, yelling, “Enough! Just go snorkel!” Jackie and I quickly learned to distance ourselves from the Korean Krew, lest we be pulled under water with them. When the sand settled from the haphazard flailing of limbs trying to swim, a severely irked Hayden had to drag 8 of them from the water as they nearly drowned. Later, while kayaking, 5 Koreans piled onto a one person kayak, capsized and then screamed for help. The water was appx. 4 feet deep. Jackie and I calmly paddled far away and feigned deafness. …stop judging me.
(SIDEBAR: While snorkeling, Jackie and I barely escaped being run over by a boat. We heard screams and surfaced just in time to avoid a boat that was making its way through the docked boats—anchor down and slicing through every other boats' anchor rope. It was being captained by four Koreans.)
Also, say you’ve never seen sun block before. Maybe you’ve never even seen lotion before. How do you put it on? Now, I would like to think that I would rub the lotion into my skin. Perhaps not with the small-circle technique I have mastered over the years, but certainly I would rub. I would not slap.
Our Korean Krew, however, did slap on their sunscreen. Yep. Sunscreen in one palm, opposite arm out in front, aaaaaand slap, as if attempting to kill a mosquito or other irritating bug. I was and am still speechless.
They meant well, though, particularly our friend, Pak. Pak was adorable. Pak told me I was a very good swimmer. Pak was the first to ask to take a picture with me and Jackie, setting off the ensuing party game, “Take a Picture with the Americans.”
Cultural Observations:
-The ice creams here are suggestively named. From, “Magnums (uh, delicicious),” to, “Golden Gaytimes,” these are not your Grandma’s ice cream truck selections!
-Ok, so everyone smells AMAZING here. Honestly, we walked past a 14 year old boy at the beach, and I wafted. Even he smelled good, and I have figured out why—AEROSOL DEODORANT! They don’t use stick deodorant, but almost exclusively spray. However, this is a give and take. Yes, spray aerosol deodorant smells yummy and I am hooked, but Australia has a diminished ozone layer. Coincidence? I think not!
-Similarly, perhaps due to the strong sun, I am no joke the blondest I have been since age 8.
-Customs stole my trailmix. My mom sent me a five lb BJ's bag of trailmix and 3 weeks later the box arrived. Empty. With a note saying, "Quarantined due to ALMONDS." Almonds, Australia? Bullshit. Enjoy eating the most delicious, most well-proportioned trail mix ever made, customs officers. Dirty commie pinkos.
-I got to watch the superbowl! Granted, I've never watched the superbowl at 9 am, but it was nice to watch a real sport, regardless. Cricket does NOT do it for me. Apparantly it was shown on regular cable here because the kicker from the Cardinals is from Australia--the first Aussie in the superbowl ever. However, they did not broadcast the superbowl commercials. Thank you, though, for those of you who told me and Jackie that the commercial depicting a koala getting punched in the face made them think of us. Cheers, that was really touching, guys.
-Wildfires are currently ravaging much of Australia, with the death toll at 126 as of yesterday. This is not a disaster commonly experienced here, and they are having much trouble handling the severity of the situation. However, Jackie and I are fine where we are. Thanks everyone for their concern; the fires are appx 1700 km or 19 hours away from us (thanks Michaela! You journalist you!)
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Wet, Hot Australia
So it has been a wet, hot Australian Weekend. On Friday, Jackie and some other Bondees were picked up and brought to, “Spot X” for a surfing extravaganza. A ‘super secret surf location’ in just north of Coff’s Harbor in New South Wales, Spot X was the base camp for Mojo Surf Company, and it was unbelievable. We stayed in four person cabins in a National Park, and we were the only people on this private, pristine beach. The whole setting was surreal. So between the surf, the bonfires at night and the nachos we ate for every other meal, the whole weekend was incredible. We even got to experience our bus driver slamming on his brakes, throwing the bus in park and running out into the road to wrangle a 2.5 meter snake from the road with his bare hands, thus providing me with the excuse I needed to say variations of, "Crickey! He's irritating the creature in it's natural habitat!" 119 times.
And then the time came to drive back.
Apparently, the luxury bus that drove us to Spot X, driven by our buddy, Dan, was full. So, Jackie, myself and a few other lucky souls got to drive for 3 hours back to Byron Bay with Kevvie and some other guy, both of whom were Mojo surf employees, in a large van. I say, ‘some other guy’ because this chap, as well as Kevvie, were British with Australian accents and were completely impossible to understand. Kevvie, especially, because he was missing a front tooth (he got punched by an angry girl) and did “Borat impressions” every other 10 seconds.
If I ruled the world, Kevvie would not do Borat impressions. That is because he would have no teeth. Because I would finish what that other girl started and knock all of his teeth out.
Kevvie has what I’m sure experts would call, “Acute Napoleon Syndrome.” He blasted the worst techno obnoxiously loud because he knew everyone in the car hated it, but also to compensate for his lack of conversational know-how, and he drove madly fast and erratic so to prove his masculinity... and compensate for his 5’ 4” stature.
After an hour of my brain rattling in my head from techno so loud my cranked iPod was drowned out, I stood up and screamed ever so politely to turn the techno down. He lowered the techno slightly, but balanced out the request by swerving into pedestrians, and slamming the breaks of the Van on and off to ‘make the Van dance!’
Long story short, the ride climax of the trip occurred when, having nearly struck a young girl with the Van and laughing about it, I muttered, “What the f___ is your problem.” Having fired myself up by that question, I stood up, and, screaming as loud as I could, said to Kevvie, “YOU’RE A F___ING TOOL!” And then I ground my gum into the carpet of that God Forsaken Van. THE END.
And Now Cultural Lessons:
-In my previous post I mentioned that Aussies look down upon the Greek System. Well guess what Australia!? You have “drinking clubs!” You “rush” a drinking club (whether BASIC, Cathedral, or Volume, for example), pay dues, and go to parties and drinking events hosted by your club. Umm… isn’t that a fraternity without any pretense of philanthropy or community involvement?
-Mini Van cabs are SO easy to get here. It’s amazing.
-In Australia, if you are collecting unemployment (welfare equivalent) you must perform community service to continue to receive assistance. If Massachusetts did this, even Springfield could look like Montreal within the year, fo sho!
-Australia is exactly like the 4th of July. Only minus the really good potato and pasta salads. And the Jello molds. And 9/10ths of the fireworks. And the part where people actually know why the hell they’re celebrating. But other than that… carbon copy.
-Absinthe in not illegal in Australia, which terrifies me. Also you can buy every type of mixed drink in canned, 6-pack form.
-Surf rash is no joke. I screamed like a little girl when the saltwater hit it the next day.
-We drove down a road yesterday and passed, in a row, a KFC, a Red Rooster, a Subway, a Target and a K-Mart. God Bless America—bringing democracy, saturated fat and eco-unfriendly chain stores to a nation near you.
Finally, Some Memorable Moments I’d Just Like to Share:
-“If you drink like a girl, you hang out with girls. You drink like a guy (gestures to our quickly disappearing bottle of Jack Daniels), you get the guys.” -Miss Jackie Perry
-(Looking at me) “I’m killing you right now. Hahaha. My foot is on your throat. Hahahaha. You’re dead. AHAHAHAHAH!”
and
-“SMOKEY!!! NOOOOOOOO!” -Jamie
-Dickinson Cider
-Good friends make you laugh hysterically on skype by asking, “So, Cait, how is the toga class going?” Because they are the shit. Then they ask for a shout out in the blog. Then they try to record you singing and post it to Youtube.
-JP, we miss you so much! Can’t wait for you to visit! ESKIMO KISSES! :)
And then the time came to drive back.
Apparently, the luxury bus that drove us to Spot X, driven by our buddy, Dan, was full. So, Jackie, myself and a few other lucky souls got to drive for 3 hours back to Byron Bay with Kevvie and some other guy, both of whom were Mojo surf employees, in a large van. I say, ‘some other guy’ because this chap, as well as Kevvie, were British with Australian accents and were completely impossible to understand. Kevvie, especially, because he was missing a front tooth (he got punched by an angry girl) and did “Borat impressions” every other 10 seconds.
If I ruled the world, Kevvie would not do Borat impressions. That is because he would have no teeth. Because I would finish what that other girl started and knock all of his teeth out.
Kevvie has what I’m sure experts would call, “Acute Napoleon Syndrome.” He blasted the worst techno obnoxiously loud because he knew everyone in the car hated it, but also to compensate for his lack of conversational know-how, and he drove madly fast and erratic so to prove his masculinity... and compensate for his 5’ 4” stature.
After an hour of my brain rattling in my head from techno so loud my cranked iPod was drowned out, I stood up and screamed ever so politely to turn the techno down. He lowered the techno slightly, but balanced out the request by swerving into pedestrians, and slamming the breaks of the Van on and off to ‘make the Van dance!’
Long story short, the ride climax of the trip occurred when, having nearly struck a young girl with the Van and laughing about it, I muttered, “What the f___ is your problem.” Having fired myself up by that question, I stood up, and, screaming as loud as I could, said to Kevvie, “YOU’RE A F___ING TOOL!” And then I ground my gum into the carpet of that God Forsaken Van. THE END.
And Now Cultural Lessons:
-In my previous post I mentioned that Aussies look down upon the Greek System. Well guess what Australia!? You have “drinking clubs!” You “rush” a drinking club (whether BASIC, Cathedral, or Volume, for example), pay dues, and go to parties and drinking events hosted by your club. Umm… isn’t that a fraternity without any pretense of philanthropy or community involvement?
-Mini Van cabs are SO easy to get here. It’s amazing.
-In Australia, if you are collecting unemployment (welfare equivalent) you must perform community service to continue to receive assistance. If Massachusetts did this, even Springfield could look like Montreal within the year, fo sho!
-Australia is exactly like the 4th of July. Only minus the really good potato and pasta salads. And the Jello molds. And 9/10ths of the fireworks. And the part where people actually know why the hell they’re celebrating. But other than that… carbon copy.
-Absinthe in not illegal in Australia, which terrifies me. Also you can buy every type of mixed drink in canned, 6-pack form.
-Surf rash is no joke. I screamed like a little girl when the saltwater hit it the next day.
-We drove down a road yesterday and passed, in a row, a KFC, a Red Rooster, a Subway, a Target and a K-Mart. God Bless America—bringing democracy, saturated fat and eco-unfriendly chain stores to a nation near you.
Finally, Some Memorable Moments I’d Just Like to Share:
-“If you drink like a girl, you hang out with girls. You drink like a guy (gestures to our quickly disappearing bottle of Jack Daniels), you get the guys.” -Miss Jackie Perry
-(Looking at me) “I’m killing you right now. Hahaha. My foot is on your throat. Hahahaha. You’re dead. AHAHAHAHAH!”
and
-“SMOKEY!!! NOOOOOOOO!” -Jamie
-Dickinson Cider
-Good friends make you laugh hysterically on skype by asking, “So, Cait, how is the toga class going?” Because they are the shit. Then they ask for a shout out in the blog. Then they try to record you singing and post it to Youtube.
-JP, we miss you so much! Can’t wait for you to visit! ESKIMO KISSES! :)
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Please, Mother Nature, May I have Some More?
I’ve also noticed that many Aussie’s have a none-to-positive view of the Greek system in America; they do not have frats or sororities here.
Pete, our tour guide in Byron Bay made cracks about the Greek letters worn by sorority girls at bond, saying he doesn’t care what letter they represent, because they mean one thing to Aussie guys: “F ME.” He also referred to them as, “sorostitutes.” Clever, Pete, clever.
Also, our spin class instructor treated a group of us to a vivid conversation of his perspective of Greek members. He unleashed some rather vulgar comments in reference to their behavior behind closed doors, which I will not repeat here, as they even made ME blush. And this author is a girl whose new years resolution was to cuss less.* Whew, lewd indeed. He was also puzzled at the eagerness of many girls and guys to “pay for friends,” and his assistant joined him in Greek bashing, alluding to the over-the-top machismo of many American frat guys at Bond as overcompensation for something else. The entire pre-class conversation was enlightening, and generally uncomfortable.
Now, the Greek system may not be for me, but I have no problem with it. HOWEVER. I will say the Panhellenic girls at Bond representing a certain school in Boston may or may not fit… oh nevermind.
Onto Spin Class itself. There were 30 bikes in a room the size of my parent’s kitchen, a DJ’s sound board pumping some sweet techno beats and not a single window. But, oh, was there a discoball. A sweet, multicolored discoball. So. The lights get turned off. The discoball gets turned on, and we commence spinning to a techno song. I will not describe the song because it is common knowledge that, especially to someone who has a ear for Southern Rock, every techno song is exactly the same… ::gooshgooshgoosh::. Needless to say, I was sweating like a ‘Slore in Church’ 5 minutes in, and by class end was legitimately lightheaded. So sum up the experience, all I was missing was a little hit of something and, BAM, I would have experienced Studio 54 in its heyday.
Well, I the first anniversary of my 21st birthday occurred yesterday. I am 21 and twelve months, and thank you all for your well wishes. Now while I was not particularly excited for this birthday, I was excited by the prospect of not having sleet/snow/wintry mix on my birthday. However, Mother Nature had other plans and released a deluge of rain—the first rain since we arrived. Why thank you Mother Nature, and a one fingered salute to yourself, as well. Luckily, I had my Notorious PIC (Partner In Crime), Jackie, to take me to O’Malley’s in Surfers with Jodi, Jake, and Beau, buy me some Magners (joy of joys, they have it here!!!), and get the band there to play Kid Rock. Thus, she succeeded in pulling me out of my funk.
*FYI- When deciding whether or not to make cussing less your resolution, might I advise you to take into considering relocation to another country prior to. Airport travel, customs, idiot members of your travel group and being phoneless, internetless and bank accountless in a strange land do NOT bode well for those trying to clean a potty mouth.
Cultural Lessons: (not my best edition)
-Aussie guys wear fitted shorts. Like fitted.
-Rather than the public speaking class I would have take at NEU, the public speaking class here consists of projects like dressing in a toga, standing in the middle of campus midday and delivering a speech that begins with, “My fellow Roman, lend me your ears…” ::sigh:: that’s just great…
-Australia Day is this Monday. It appears to be like the 4th of July. Jackie and I have already bought some Australia flag temporary tattoos: 1.) because we’re super cool. 2.) the only permanent tattoo I’d ever get would be the American flag. Land of the free, Home of the brave. Uh.
-One of the on-campus eateries has recently begun serving a delicious selection of Bubble Tea. So get excited, Jess, get real excited.
-Shout out to my six foot tall little brother! "Miss you, broski!"
Pete, our tour guide in Byron Bay made cracks about the Greek letters worn by sorority girls at bond, saying he doesn’t care what letter they represent, because they mean one thing to Aussie guys: “F ME.” He also referred to them as, “sorostitutes.” Clever, Pete, clever.
Also, our spin class instructor treated a group of us to a vivid conversation of his perspective of Greek members. He unleashed some rather vulgar comments in reference to their behavior behind closed doors, which I will not repeat here, as they even made ME blush. And this author is a girl whose new years resolution was to cuss less.* Whew, lewd indeed. He was also puzzled at the eagerness of many girls and guys to “pay for friends,” and his assistant joined him in Greek bashing, alluding to the over-the-top machismo of many American frat guys at Bond as overcompensation for something else. The entire pre-class conversation was enlightening, and generally uncomfortable.
Now, the Greek system may not be for me, but I have no problem with it. HOWEVER. I will say the Panhellenic girls at Bond representing a certain school in Boston may or may not fit… oh nevermind.
Onto Spin Class itself. There were 30 bikes in a room the size of my parent’s kitchen, a DJ’s sound board pumping some sweet techno beats and not a single window. But, oh, was there a discoball. A sweet, multicolored discoball. So. The lights get turned off. The discoball gets turned on, and we commence spinning to a techno song. I will not describe the song because it is common knowledge that, especially to someone who has a ear for Southern Rock, every techno song is exactly the same… ::gooshgooshgoosh::. Needless to say, I was sweating like a ‘Slore in Church’ 5 minutes in, and by class end was legitimately lightheaded. So sum up the experience, all I was missing was a little hit of something and, BAM, I would have experienced Studio 54 in its heyday.
Well, I the first anniversary of my 21st birthday occurred yesterday. I am 21 and twelve months, and thank you all for your well wishes. Now while I was not particularly excited for this birthday, I was excited by the prospect of not having sleet/snow/wintry mix on my birthday. However, Mother Nature had other plans and released a deluge of rain—the first rain since we arrived. Why thank you Mother Nature, and a one fingered salute to yourself, as well. Luckily, I had my Notorious PIC (Partner In Crime), Jackie, to take me to O’Malley’s in Surfers with Jodi, Jake, and Beau, buy me some Magners (joy of joys, they have it here!!!), and get the band there to play Kid Rock. Thus, she succeeded in pulling me out of my funk.
*FYI- When deciding whether or not to make cussing less your resolution, might I advise you to take into considering relocation to another country prior to. Airport travel, customs, idiot members of your travel group and being phoneless, internetless and bank accountless in a strange land do NOT bode well for those trying to clean a potty mouth.
Cultural Lessons: (not my best edition)
-Aussie guys wear fitted shorts. Like fitted.
-Rather than the public speaking class I would have take at NEU, the public speaking class here consists of projects like dressing in a toga, standing in the middle of campus midday and delivering a speech that begins with, “My fellow Roman, lend me your ears…” ::sigh:: that’s just great…
-Australia Day is this Monday. It appears to be like the 4th of July. Jackie and I have already bought some Australia flag temporary tattoos: 1.) because we’re super cool. 2.) the only permanent tattoo I’d ever get would be the American flag. Land of the free, Home of the brave. Uh.
-One of the on-campus eateries has recently begun serving a delicious selection of Bubble Tea. So get excited, Jess, get real excited.
-Shout out to my six foot tall little brother! "Miss you, broski!"
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Always Consensual in Byron Bay
So Byron Bay was awesome. About 45 minutes from campus, it is in New South Wales, not Queensland, and is in a different time zone. It was a bit bizarre to drive for 45 minutes and have to set your watch ahead an hour. But how to best describe Byron? Picture Seattle circa 1990. Now picture a hippie commune. Finally add a dash of a expensive resort masquerading as a simple, quaint beach town. Voila—Byron Bay.
We took surfing lessons there, and the guys running our lesson (Sean and Kyle) fulfilled every surfer stereotype I could drum up. After being driven to the beach in the company VW van, pumping reggae the whole time, we commenced learning to surf. I will spare you the details of my not-so-exciting triumphant 0.8 second stand on my board, but will explain the man, nay, the legend, that is Kyle.
Kyle our surf instructor is hard to describe. With hair that has never met scissors or a brush it liked and a manner that suggests he has never met a marijuana plant he DIDN’T like, Kyle seemed to struggle with retaining information for more that 2.8 seconds. For example, after meeting Jackie and me and teaching us how to surf, he, at three other points in the day asked Jackie and me if we were interested in learning how to surf. “Well, Kyle, that’s very generous, but for the umpteenthmillion time, YOU’VE ALREADY TAUGHT US TO SURF!” Man is a walking, “This is your brain on drugs,” ad. However, in a redeeming moment, 32 year old Kyle confirmed that when he picks up 17 and 18 year old girls at the pub, it is always consensual. That’s wonderful Kyle. You are not a raper.
But, really, I’m being a bit too hard on Kyle. He did provide us with some helpful information. For example, the park in the center of town is the best place to buy weed, and if we are looking for an “easy lay,” we should peruse the pub called “The Cheeky Monkey.” Thanks Kyle; you’re true blue.
More Cultural Moments Down Under:
-DO NOT ORDER DIET COKE. Unless you enjoy the flavo(u)r of coke and dark rum minus the taste-bud numbing effects of the rum. However, the Coke Zero is normal (God Bless America)
-An Aussie is insulted if they are called a “POM” or a “POMMIE” (a Brit). Aussies will insult any rude Canadians by asking them if they are American. I investigated this, and there is speculation the term began as, "POHM," for "Prisoner of Her Majesty," as in the criminals sent to Australia from England.
-There is a place called, “Fruit World,” about 30 minutes from campus. It sounds like Willy Wonka World minus the risk of adult onset diabetes. Like, “A Fun and Fibrous Adventureland!”
We took surfing lessons there, and the guys running our lesson (Sean and Kyle) fulfilled every surfer stereotype I could drum up. After being driven to the beach in the company VW van, pumping reggae the whole time, we commenced learning to surf. I will spare you the details of my not-so-exciting triumphant 0.8 second stand on my board, but will explain the man, nay, the legend, that is Kyle.
Kyle our surf instructor is hard to describe. With hair that has never met scissors or a brush it liked and a manner that suggests he has never met a marijuana plant he DIDN’T like, Kyle seemed to struggle with retaining information for more that 2.8 seconds. For example, after meeting Jackie and me and teaching us how to surf, he, at three other points in the day asked Jackie and me if we were interested in learning how to surf. “Well, Kyle, that’s very generous, but for the umpteenthmillion time, YOU’VE ALREADY TAUGHT US TO SURF!” Man is a walking, “This is your brain on drugs,” ad. However, in a redeeming moment, 32 year old Kyle confirmed that when he picks up 17 and 18 year old girls at the pub, it is always consensual. That’s wonderful Kyle. You are not a raper.
But, really, I’m being a bit too hard on Kyle. He did provide us with some helpful information. For example, the park in the center of town is the best place to buy weed, and if we are looking for an “easy lay,” we should peruse the pub called “The Cheeky Monkey.” Thanks Kyle; you’re true blue.
More Cultural Moments Down Under:
-DO NOT ORDER DIET COKE. Unless you enjoy the flavo(u)r of coke and dark rum minus the taste-bud numbing effects of the rum. However, the Coke Zero is normal (God Bless America)
-An Aussie is insulted if they are called a “POM” or a “POMMIE” (a Brit). Aussies will insult any rude Canadians by asking them if they are American. I investigated this, and there is speculation the term began as, "POHM," for "Prisoner of Her Majesty," as in the criminals sent to Australia from England.
-There is a place called, “Fruit World,” about 30 minutes from campus. It sounds like Willy Wonka World minus the risk of adult onset diabetes. Like, “A Fun and Fibrous Adventureland!”
Friday, January 16, 2009
Republicans! Sportsmanship! Books!
Apparently “Team America: World Police” is not universally funny. Who knew? Upon being caught rocking out to the Team America theme song in the privacy of their own room, one Aussie tartly questioned why that was a funny song (at which point the song, of course, extended a shout-out to “The Internet” and “Slavery”). We did our best to explain the ridiculousness of the song as responsible for humor—that we’re just laughing at ourselves—but she was clearly miffed. Whatever. …”BAND AIDS!”
Also, I am puzzled by the current state of the Australian dollar. While it is the weakest it has been in a long time (.71 cents equals 1 American dollar), there is no mention of economic hardship or depression in Australian newspapers, television, etc., other than to say that the AU dollar is floated lower than the US or euro. Methinks that’s curious. Perhaps I simply think or have been convinced that the world’s prosperity is contingent upon the US’s, but I seemed to think that the rest of the World was as depressed as we were. However, I’ve also noticed when I am running around Robina, I am constantly detoured by construction (ok, FINE. I jog towards construction like a moth to a flame because Aussie construction workers are truly bangin). This indicates to me that Australia is pumping money into infrastructure; while back home I can’t go running without breaking my ankle on a myriad of concrete hazards. But, tehehe, these are but the observations of a blonde :)
OK, Cultural Lessons.
-Aussies are, per capita, fatter than Americans. How the hell did a nation with amazing weather and huge outdoor potential manage to be handed defeat by the Paula Dean Deep South!!! America, consider me boggled, flabbergasted and gobsmacked.
-Australia will give you $21,000 to buy your first house, $5,000 to have a kid, and a Christmas bonus, again, if you have a young child.
…
…
…
Having weighed the pro’s and con’s (chiefly losing her figure forever… “You know, you can’t come back from that”), the author has decided that the best way expedite student loan payments is pregnancy. So sit and spin Northeastern. Sit and spin.
-Rock Band and Guitar Hero are not popular here, however “Singstar” for PS2 is HUGE. We played it for appx 5 hours yesterday, and, consequently sound like Juliette Lewis today.
-Australia does not sell Crystal Light, Wyler’s Delight, or any comparable powders. Seriously??? Seriously Australia??? Really??? WHAT THE ____?! STUPID_______!?!
Also, I am puzzled by the current state of the Australian dollar. While it is the weakest it has been in a long time (.71 cents equals 1 American dollar), there is no mention of economic hardship or depression in Australian newspapers, television, etc., other than to say that the AU dollar is floated lower than the US or euro. Methinks that’s curious. Perhaps I simply think or have been convinced that the world’s prosperity is contingent upon the US’s, but I seemed to think that the rest of the World was as depressed as we were. However, I’ve also noticed when I am running around Robina, I am constantly detoured by construction (ok, FINE. I jog towards construction like a moth to a flame because Aussie construction workers are truly bangin). This indicates to me that Australia is pumping money into infrastructure; while back home I can’t go running without breaking my ankle on a myriad of concrete hazards. But, tehehe, these are but the observations of a blonde :)
OK, Cultural Lessons.
-Aussies are, per capita, fatter than Americans. How the hell did a nation with amazing weather and huge outdoor potential manage to be handed defeat by the Paula Dean Deep South!!! America, consider me boggled, flabbergasted and gobsmacked.
-Australia will give you $21,000 to buy your first house, $5,000 to have a kid, and a Christmas bonus, again, if you have a young child.
…
…
…
Having weighed the pro’s and con’s (chiefly losing her figure forever… “You know, you can’t come back from that”), the author has decided that the best way expedite student loan payments is pregnancy. So sit and spin Northeastern. Sit and spin.
-Rock Band and Guitar Hero are not popular here, however “Singstar” for PS2 is HUGE. We played it for appx 5 hours yesterday, and, consequently sound like Juliette Lewis today.
-Australia does not sell Crystal Light, Wyler’s Delight, or any comparable powders. Seriously??? Seriously Australia??? Really??? WHAT THE ____?! STUPID_______!?!
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Can You Hear, Can You Hear the Thunder?
I would like to take a time out to underscore the characteristic aussie friendliness mentioned in the previous post. Finding ourselves woefully lacking in cute, flirty sundresses, Jackie and I braved the bus system to Robina Town Centre. There we found ourselves some good and playful dresses and prepared for purchase from the store owner, a mid-fourties woman named Erin. The following events will be relayed as actual dialogue. The names, the locations and actions are all true.
Erin: "Hello girls! You find what you were looking for?"
J and C chorus: "Yes."
E: "How old are you girls?"
J: "We're both 21."
E: "Really?! My son is 21. He's at home not doing anything right now. Would you mind if I called him right now to make sure it's ok if I give you his number?"
Cue awkward, "Errrrrs..." as the phone call is made.
E: "Alright, here's his number."
At this point, you, like jackie and my cynical self are likely thinking this guy is appx a 4-5 on the hottie charts. But wait...
E: "Yeah, he just back from a show he was in where he toured the world. He left the show, but one of his best mates took his spot."
...Great. Some kind of artsy theatre wierdo.
E: "You know, one of those shows like... Chippendales, yeah? It's the aussie version: Thunder from Down Under."
So to summarize. Jackie and I were given the number of Cameron, 21 year old son on Erin and retired performer for the Chippendales All Male Revue. Stay tuned as to whether or not Cameron's number is rung this Friday, perhaps after a few Strongbows.
And now for what is to become a blogpost staple, a few cultural lessons I've learned:
-be aware of the conversion between calories and kilo Joules, unless you want to gain the freshman 15 all over again.
-FACT: when agreeing to play pool with the guys at the local tavern, do not ask, "Are we stripes or solids?" an uncomfortable pause in conversation will occur and you will be stared blankly at. instead, they are called "littles" and "bigs."
and finally,
-target is to australia what walmart is to the states. do not squeal, "TARGET," every time you see one. you will be seen as white trash.*
*the author of this post will always squeal, "TARGET." she will also always listen to skynyrd, fix anything with duct tape and see and above-ground pool as the pinnacle of status and wealth. Thank you and Goodnight.
Erin: "Hello girls! You find what you were looking for?"
J and C chorus: "Yes."
E: "How old are you girls?"
J: "We're both 21."
E: "Really?! My son is 21. He's at home not doing anything right now. Would you mind if I called him right now to make sure it's ok if I give you his number?"
Cue awkward, "Errrrrs..." as the phone call is made.
E: "Alright, here's his number."
At this point, you, like jackie and my cynical self are likely thinking this guy is appx a 4-5 on the hottie charts. But wait...
E: "Yeah, he just back from a show he was in where he toured the world. He left the show, but one of his best mates took his spot."
...Great. Some kind of artsy theatre wierdo.
E: "You know, one of those shows like... Chippendales, yeah? It's the aussie version: Thunder from Down Under."
So to summarize. Jackie and I were given the number of Cameron, 21 year old son on Erin and retired performer for the Chippendales All Male Revue. Stay tuned as to whether or not Cameron's number is rung this Friday, perhaps after a few Strongbows.
And now for what is to become a blogpost staple, a few cultural lessons I've learned:
-be aware of the conversion between calories and kilo Joules, unless you want to gain the freshman 15 all over again.
-FACT: when agreeing to play pool with the guys at the local tavern, do not ask, "Are we stripes or solids?" an uncomfortable pause in conversation will occur and you will be stared blankly at. instead, they are called "littles" and "bigs."
and finally,
-target is to australia what walmart is to the states. do not squeal, "TARGET," every time you see one. you will be seen as white trash.*
*the author of this post will always squeal, "TARGET." she will also always listen to skynyrd, fix anything with duct tape and see and above-ground pool as the pinnacle of status and wealth. Thank you and Goodnight.
Monday, January 12, 2009
No Worries!
Twas the third day of Australia and all through the dorm there were spiders and roaches and ... incredibleness.
While the flights here were not the easiest, a little LAX barhopping and some sudafed flu PM more than did the trick. We even had some good airport karma (those of us who know mine and jackie's airport luck understand we had this coming), as my 3 lb too heavy bag was allowed on the plane without my being raped by airport fees...yaaaaaay! It's hard to stay below the weight limit, though, since I tend to tote around a few extra pounds of AWESOME wherever I go.
So, the Jackie and Caitlin traveling curse almost hit when we finally got to bond; we weren't roomates even after requesting to be so. While I mentally prepared myself for a Level 9 (though ready for 10 should the situation call for it) BITCH FIT, the lovely Robyn of Accomodations replied, "No Worries!" She switched my keys with another girls' and, presto, roomate situation resolved. Unreal. I was almost disappointed with how easy it was; I didn't have to work for it. This, perhaps, is the most significant and fovo(u)red difference I've noticed thusfar between Australia and the States (besides the charming aussie penchant for occasional olde english spelling)--the relaxed culture and patience of employees of all sorts (bank tellers, admins, coffee barristas, travel agents, etc.)
I will also now ennumerate a few other cultural lessons I've learned:
-asking for "cream" in your coffee will get you whipped cream
-the cream you put in your coffee is "brewing cream" and it is thick like condensed milk
-iced coffee does not exist. there are frappes. "iced coffe" means a milkshake with a smidgen of coffee mixed in
-Tim Tams are a sacred Australian cookies. AND GLUTEN FREE TIMTAMS EXIST!
-saltanas are greenish raisins
-all of the trashy magazines have American celebrities on them (f.y.i: Jessica and Ashley Simpson are apparantly in a fight)
While the flights here were not the easiest, a little LAX barhopping and some sudafed flu PM more than did the trick. We even had some good airport karma (those of us who know mine and jackie's airport luck understand we had this coming), as my 3 lb too heavy bag was allowed on the plane without my being raped by airport fees...yaaaaaay! It's hard to stay below the weight limit, though, since I tend to tote around a few extra pounds of AWESOME wherever I go.
So, the Jackie and Caitlin traveling curse almost hit when we finally got to bond; we weren't roomates even after requesting to be so. While I mentally prepared myself for a Level 9 (though ready for 10 should the situation call for it) BITCH FIT, the lovely Robyn of Accomodations replied, "No Worries!" She switched my keys with another girls' and, presto, roomate situation resolved. Unreal. I was almost disappointed with how easy it was; I didn't have to work for it. This, perhaps, is the most significant and fovo(u)red difference I've noticed thusfar between Australia and the States (besides the charming aussie penchant for occasional olde english spelling)--the relaxed culture and patience of employees of all sorts (bank tellers, admins, coffee barristas, travel agents, etc.)
I will also now ennumerate a few other cultural lessons I've learned:
-asking for "cream" in your coffee will get you whipped cream
-the cream you put in your coffee is "brewing cream" and it is thick like condensed milk
-iced coffee does not exist. there are frappes. "iced coffe" means a milkshake with a smidgen of coffee mixed in
-Tim Tams are a sacred Australian cookies. AND GLUTEN FREE TIMTAMS EXIST!
-saltanas are greenish raisins
-all of the trashy magazines have American celebrities on them (f.y.i: Jessica and Ashley Simpson are apparantly in a fight)
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