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!
Monday, March 30, 2009
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?”
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