...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?”