Time: 1742
Brief summary of the last few days: I attended several rather boring orientation sessions at UNSW; walked the course of my classes (I have one class that ends at 1700 and is followed immediately by another class which starts at 1700—a fifteen minutes’ walk across campus! Oh, dear). I acquired a student ID, which I promptly lost—not too surprising when you consider a. that I have walked for about four hours or more every day since Wednesday, so it could be anywhere in this crazy city, and b. since I have no furniture, everything I own is tossed in ever-increasing piles on the floor…it’s probably under my dirty laundry or some bus timetables or something. I did meet a few other students, all international: Sashika from Sri Lanka, Jocelyn from Philadelphia, Anusha from Malaysia, and Rolando from Peru. The ladies and I were going to go out tonight, but plans fell through—not that I minded, because today was a fantastic day!
Actually it started last night, when I walked to the movie theatre and watched HP6. For the first time in a week and a half, I was warm, having bought several pairs of long socks and cheap long-sleeve t-shirts, which I am wearing under a regular t-shirt and a sweatshirt and a coat—the wind off the ocean just goes right through you. Anyway, Tom Felton has grown soooo attractive. And thank goodness I was not the only adult alone in the theatre; I sat near a guy my age by himself, and two other guys who were making up for what were probably feelings of insecurity by being very loud and rambunctious. Movie was great—but I don’t want to spoil anything for those of you who haven’t seen it yet. In the words of Yasmeen, GO SEE IT!
So this morning I left my apartment around 0800, planning to find an Internet café to print out several pages of pre-reading which I owe my first class. After forty-five minutes of walking, I caved and bought a bus ticket to Bondi Junction. I’m really getting to know this place: I had never ridden that particular route before, but I bought the correct ticket and got off at the right stop, no problems. Spent $18 to print 85 pages of reading, walked another forty-five minutes to lunch at a new café, and after eating my Cajun chicken sandwich (actually decently spicy) and rather pressured by the waves of people waiting for a table, I paid quickly and went to the tiny Clovelly beach, where I promptly fell asleep in the grass with my reading on my chest. Woke up way overheated from the bright sun, lorikeets cackling in the trees above me and inquisitive pigeons running in and out between my sneakers. Returning up Clovelly Street—the long street of café’s, bakeries, Blockbuster, and Laundromats right next to me—I stepped into the Green Mango and ordered a coffee and brownie. Then, feeling somewhat tired and meditative, I sat down and started to write the following:
This week has been rather strange, like being in limbo. I suppose I’ll figure this country out eventually, but for now, it’s easy to be frustrated—having no work to do and no one to talk to makes for a rather boring few days. I am writing this from a table on the street by the Green Mango, I tried to sit down inside, but was told the café is closed—it’s 1530 on a Saturday, and here I sit, waiting for my coffee. I order a different type of coffee every time because even Alice couldn’t tell me the difference between a flat white, long black, short long and the god knows how many other types of coffee they have here. I forgot to ask for a spoon, and I am stirring my flat white pathetically with a sugar wrapper. If I continue to spend money this way, I will be impoverished indeed in just few days—but the temptation to stop at the grocery store, the bus ticket seller, the cafes full of beautiful people in designer jeans is too tempting—all I want is a little human contact. This day is one of those where you sweat in the sun, but when you stop moving your fingers clench up. I suppose school will help me settle into a routine, where I will have enough work to do, but for now—
There is where I stopped my rather glum and self-pitying ramble because the waiter, who turned out to be the café owner, stepped outside, touched me gently on the shoulder and handed me a spoon (with which I sheepishly stirred my coffee) then began jabbering with the four guys next to me—who moments before had been having a spirited discussion in Italian. They were comparing the benefits of gluten-free pasta, now, and the evils of white sugar, and I guiltily hid the remains of my brownie under a napkin. I overheard the café owner, who had a strange accent (yeah, stranger than the Aussies, even) offer the men a limoncello, and I asked him, jokingly, if he was giving out free limoncellos. Suddenly I was best friends with Enzo (Vincente), Lukas (Luke), Mikaele (Michael), and Tim (an Australian). They fired rapid inquisitions at me about Connecticut, UNSW, and whether I had plans tonight (yes). They were very nice, Tim in that open Aussie way and the Italians in that slightly creepy but loveable Italian way. They left, and I gathered up my books, when Paul, the café owner, stopped me. “Don’t leave!” he cried, “stay right where you are! I do not have limoncello, but have a glass of wine with me and my friend John, he is just coming! Stay!”
So I stayed. Paul knew everyone who walked by in the street; he greeted them by name and shouted out comments about their families, little inside jokes. John, an Australian, showed up presently and we all had a glass of sauvignon blanc, leaning on the counter in the open air and the last orange rays of the winter sun, and jovially redirecting the inquisitive customers who poked in around the “closed” sign. Paul is a character. He told long, long stories about how he got his restaurant, how he liked Australia, the type of wine we were drinking; John and I discussed freedom of religion. Paul eventually shooed us on our way, he had a date tonight, he said; as I was leaving, he pushed a bag into my hands which turned out to be my supper—a delicious homemade muffin, a little fruit salad, and a ham sandwich on that fabulous fresh-baked bread that is a staple here. What kindness! I walked back to my apartment in the gathering dark, a little sleepy from the wine. What a great Saturday night.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
10JUL09
Time: Friday Night
Alice, Louise, and the Perils of Public Transportation
Alice makes great meals every night and last night, in a frenzy of energy, I gave her the night off and made my infamous chicken and mushrooms (it's infamous, along with my banana bread and lemonade, because those are the only three things I can actually cook. Oh and pancakes, thanks to Dad). The portions were huge for just the three of us, so we're eating it again tomorrow night. Luckily everyone liked it. I love cooking and want to learn to do more, but it's going to be hard getting motivated when I'm cooking just for my lonesome self. Hmmm. Must...make...friends...
Alice and I had all sorts of adventures today, most of them involving missing buses, waiting for buses, reading timetables, walking back and forth between multiple bus stops, and generally just getting in the way of normal commuters. We learned a lot, though.
We took the train, first thing, into Central Station in the city. Went to Paddy's Market on Hay Street in Chinatown, where I had vivid flashbacks to Hong Kong; it's the same sort of frenzied vendors of fresh fruit and vegetables, little stuffed koalas, soapstone Buddhas, knockoff handbags and...Uggs! That's right. In celebration of my new apartment, I bought Uggs. This market, by the way, is a 20 minute bus ride from my apartment (that's an hour and a half, if you do it the way Alice and I decided to do it today. Which was wrong). So this is where I will be purchasing all my fresh groceries for the next twelve monthsish. Then we went to meet my new landlord Bruce, who handed over the keys, made me sign some things, took a good deal of my money and then skipped out the door, likely chortling to himself about what suckers Americans are. I think he broke the buzzer on the way out, too, because it worked perfectly well when he demonstrated it for us but then after he left Alice went out to the front and rang, and I tried to buzz her in, and five or six fruitless minutes later I had to walk out and physically open the front door--just in time to rescue her from a suspicious gentleman and his suspicious dog, whom she had seen walk by twice already.
Tomorrow, in (further) celebration of my new apartment, I plan to buy peanut butter, toilet paper, Tupperware, Windex, a heater, rubbish sacks, dish soap, Swiffer, notebooks, a wireless router, laundry detergent, cereal, manila envelopes, and a refrigerator. Alice and Frank are loaning me all sorts of things: pots, pans, a stool to sit on, towels, sheets. Anything to make the place livable because, obviously, I have absolutely nothing (two suitcases of clothing, a lot of paperwork, and a valiant little camera whose energy I am trying desperately to conserve so I don't have to shell out for yet another converter). In a week or two, my new landlord is going to drop by to see how I'm getting on. He will find me spread eagled on my brand new, impeccably clean tiled kitchen floor, my clawed hands (did I mention I don't have nail clippers? And I'm not gonna waste money on them either. I have a perfectly good set in the mail, dammit) convulsively clutching a plastic rubbish bag to my chest, completely naked (in this scenario, I hung all my clothes out to dry on the line like a good Aussie, but a flock of angry kangaroos stampeded through, thundering into the blue horizon with my clean unmentionables trailing forlornly from their ears) except for a pair of one hundred and fifty dollar, lamb-fur-lined Ugg boots. And an empty, well-licked jar of peanut butter in the corner, where it fell during my death throes. With not even a refrigerator to my name.
Feeling sorry for myself? Yes, yes I am, thank you for noticing.
Well Alice noticed, anyway, that I'm getting a little freaked out about school and living on my own and, you know, the whole foreign country not knowing anybody thing (must...make...friends...) so she took me out tonight and showed me Australia's best. That's right...
We went Drinking and Gambling.
He, he, he.
Now she'll kill me because I told you. But honestly it's not so bad as it sounds. Alice neither drinks nor gambles, she just encouraged me to do both, and simultaneously. Besides, Aussie pubs are a lot less skeezy than American ones. Firstly, you can hear your companions talking (especially when your companions are screaming at the widescreen because the Maroons are on this winning streak again and the Blues just traded off Derby Matsco in the Ashes against Manchester United last fortnight and then Sammy "Does It Half" MacQuarie defecated on the lawn of a hotel in Woollongong and is sitting out the next six games to think about the error of his ways) because the music is loud, but not unbearable. Second, THEY LEAVE THE LIGHTS ON. How nice is that? You can actually look people in the eye and judge instantly whether you're talking to Bill O'Reilly, Kevin Rudd, or Sammy "Does It Half" MacQuarie.
I asked the bartender, optimistically, what Aussies drink on a night out and she pointed to the menu, which advertised Beer, Wine, and Cocktails. I meekly ordered a Fruity Tingle, which sounded exotic but proved not to be, and joined Alice, who had wandered through into a quiet room off the side. Here were the "pokies," or slot machines, and a few quiet but determined old ladies slipping their pensions away, ten cents at a time. So I slid in a tenner and had a go. Within minutes I got three pyramids in a row, and the little machine sang a jaunty tune and loaded me up with 370 credits!--which proved to equal-- three dollars and seventy cents. Three Australian dollars and seventy Australian cents. Not even enough for a second Fruity Tingle.
Anyway, eventually I broke even and made my way back to the unimaginative bartender, who gave me most of my money back. Not bad for a night out on the town. Alice and I, exhausted by singing along with the jaunty tune, retreated to bed in preparation for another adventure in the city tomorrow.
Good morning, America, good night, Oz.
Alice, Louise, and the Perils of Public Transportation
Alice makes great meals every night and last night, in a frenzy of energy, I gave her the night off and made my infamous chicken and mushrooms (it's infamous, along with my banana bread and lemonade, because those are the only three things I can actually cook. Oh and pancakes, thanks to Dad). The portions were huge for just the three of us, so we're eating it again tomorrow night. Luckily everyone liked it. I love cooking and want to learn to do more, but it's going to be hard getting motivated when I'm cooking just for my lonesome self. Hmmm. Must...make...friends...
Alice and I had all sorts of adventures today, most of them involving missing buses, waiting for buses, reading timetables, walking back and forth between multiple bus stops, and generally just getting in the way of normal commuters. We learned a lot, though.
We took the train, first thing, into Central Station in the city. Went to Paddy's Market on Hay Street in Chinatown, where I had vivid flashbacks to Hong Kong; it's the same sort of frenzied vendors of fresh fruit and vegetables, little stuffed koalas, soapstone Buddhas, knockoff handbags and...Uggs! That's right. In celebration of my new apartment, I bought Uggs. This market, by the way, is a 20 minute bus ride from my apartment (that's an hour and a half, if you do it the way Alice and I decided to do it today. Which was wrong). So this is where I will be purchasing all my fresh groceries for the next twelve monthsish. Then we went to meet my new landlord Bruce, who handed over the keys, made me sign some things, took a good deal of my money and then skipped out the door, likely chortling to himself about what suckers Americans are. I think he broke the buzzer on the way out, too, because it worked perfectly well when he demonstrated it for us but then after he left Alice went out to the front and rang, and I tried to buzz her in, and five or six fruitless minutes later I had to walk out and physically open the front door--just in time to rescue her from a suspicious gentleman and his suspicious dog, whom she had seen walk by twice already.
Tomorrow, in (further) celebration of my new apartment, I plan to buy peanut butter, toilet paper, Tupperware, Windex, a heater, rubbish sacks, dish soap, Swiffer, notebooks, a wireless router, laundry detergent, cereal, manila envelopes, and a refrigerator. Alice and Frank are loaning me all sorts of things: pots, pans, a stool to sit on, towels, sheets. Anything to make the place livable because, obviously, I have absolutely nothing (two suitcases of clothing, a lot of paperwork, and a valiant little camera whose energy I am trying desperately to conserve so I don't have to shell out for yet another converter). In a week or two, my new landlord is going to drop by to see how I'm getting on. He will find me spread eagled on my brand new, impeccably clean tiled kitchen floor, my clawed hands (did I mention I don't have nail clippers? And I'm not gonna waste money on them either. I have a perfectly good set in the mail, dammit) convulsively clutching a plastic rubbish bag to my chest, completely naked (in this scenario, I hung all my clothes out to dry on the line like a good Aussie, but a flock of angry kangaroos stampeded through, thundering into the blue horizon with my clean unmentionables trailing forlornly from their ears) except for a pair of one hundred and fifty dollar, lamb-fur-lined Ugg boots. And an empty, well-licked jar of peanut butter in the corner, where it fell during my death throes. With not even a refrigerator to my name.
Feeling sorry for myself? Yes, yes I am, thank you for noticing.
Well Alice noticed, anyway, that I'm getting a little freaked out about school and living on my own and, you know, the whole foreign country not knowing anybody thing (must...make...friends...) so she took me out tonight and showed me Australia's best. That's right...
We went Drinking and Gambling.
He, he, he.
Now she'll kill me because I told you. But honestly it's not so bad as it sounds. Alice neither drinks nor gambles, she just encouraged me to do both, and simultaneously. Besides, Aussie pubs are a lot less skeezy than American ones. Firstly, you can hear your companions talking (especially when your companions are screaming at the widescreen because the Maroons are on this winning streak again and the Blues just traded off Derby Matsco in the Ashes against Manchester United last fortnight and then Sammy "Does It Half" MacQuarie defecated on the lawn of a hotel in Woollongong and is sitting out the next six games to think about the error of his ways) because the music is loud, but not unbearable. Second, THEY LEAVE THE LIGHTS ON. How nice is that? You can actually look people in the eye and judge instantly whether you're talking to Bill O'Reilly, Kevin Rudd, or Sammy "Does It Half" MacQuarie.
I asked the bartender, optimistically, what Aussies drink on a night out and she pointed to the menu, which advertised Beer, Wine, and Cocktails. I meekly ordered a Fruity Tingle, which sounded exotic but proved not to be, and joined Alice, who had wandered through into a quiet room off the side. Here were the "pokies," or slot machines, and a few quiet but determined old ladies slipping their pensions away, ten cents at a time. So I slid in a tenner and had a go. Within minutes I got three pyramids in a row, and the little machine sang a jaunty tune and loaded me up with 370 credits!--which proved to equal-- three dollars and seventy cents. Three Australian dollars and seventy Australian cents. Not even enough for a second Fruity Tingle.
Anyway, eventually I broke even and made my way back to the unimaginative bartender, who gave me most of my money back. Not bad for a night out on the town. Alice and I, exhausted by singing along with the jaunty tune, retreated to bed in preparation for another adventure in the city tomorrow.
Good morning, America, good night, Oz.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Thursday 09 July 2009
Time: 2319
Yes, I Sold Out…to Ugg.
He he. If you’re reading this from EST, you are probably wayyyy confused about the time right now. Like my bank. I tried to arrange a payment to happen instantaneously, and I got this little error message that demanded “You cannot arrange a payment for a date that has already passed!” Yeah…okay, silly bankers. More importantly, though, you know what this means? That’s right. I’M GOING TO SEE THE NEW HARRY POTTER MOVIE AT LEAST 14 HOURS BEFORE YOU.
MWA HA HA
…in other news, I got an apartment! Yup…as you can imagine, the last several days have been ra’r nutso. Monday and Tuesday, I spent between 7 and 10 hours!!!! per day on the phone with the University and the “The Scholarship” people and the telephone company, until one of them denied me service, one sent me a bank account card, and the other accepted me as a student, possibly not in that order. I think by the end of the day I was calling people, and then asking them their names (“I’m sorry, yes I know I called you, but can you just remind me who you are and why I called you?”)
Wednesday, Frank took me round the University (they say Uni here. It’s a lot easier) and from about 9 in the morning til 6 in the evening we looked at apartments. We poked our noses into leafy backyards, plucked at clotheslines, shook dust from curtains, knocked and knocked and knocked on doors, rang reluctant landlords, peered into kitchen sinks, removed our shoes for someone’s shag carpet, watched a little girl in pink tights demonstrate the loo (“this is how you flush it”), stared in horror at the overflowing bucket jury-rigged under a dripping pipe, and again and again drove the routes (“ok, this one is 1.6 kilometres to the Laundromat, but the left front window is broken and there’s a smoker living in the flat below and the bus only runs every half hour once a week on Sundays and public holidays…”) During a two-hour break in the middle of the day, we ate lunch and met some really fantastic people at the Uni …and I think I’m enrolled…so that’s all right.
So today I called back the owner of the 3rd flat I looked at yesterday, and applied. Tomorrow (Friday) Alice and I are going to make a journey into town. We’ll explore the bus routes, so I have something of a clue once I’m on my own…seriously, instead of big blue and white signs with a B for Bus, here it’s this complicated yellow sign with a picture that may be a bus or may be a train or may actually just say something like “Traffic Calming, Drive Slowly” but you can’t tell until you get within two centimeters and push your nose up against it. We’ll hit the markets, because I need a pair of boots like every other gal in this city wears with her miniskirts(did I mention Ugg is Australian? Oh and did I mention it’s COLD?) Then it’s off to 47 MOIRA CRESCENT, RANDWICK, my new flat…(doesn’t it just roll off your tongue?) My new landlord Bruce is handing over the keys and I’m handing over a coupla large bank checks (that was another hassle today because apparently the student account set up for me at an Aussie bank DOES NOT entitle me to my own Personal Checks…yeeeeeah).
The important thing is, as of tomorrow, I will have an apartment. AND…my very own pair of Uggs.
Yes, I Sold Out…to Ugg.
He he. If you’re reading this from EST, you are probably wayyyy confused about the time right now. Like my bank. I tried to arrange a payment to happen instantaneously, and I got this little error message that demanded “You cannot arrange a payment for a date that has already passed!” Yeah…okay, silly bankers. More importantly, though, you know what this means? That’s right. I’M GOING TO SEE THE NEW HARRY POTTER MOVIE AT LEAST 14 HOURS BEFORE YOU.
MWA HA HA
…in other news, I got an apartment! Yup…as you can imagine, the last several days have been ra’r nutso. Monday and Tuesday, I spent between 7 and 10 hours!!!! per day on the phone with the University and the “The Scholarship” people and the telephone company, until one of them denied me service, one sent me a bank account card, and the other accepted me as a student, possibly not in that order. I think by the end of the day I was calling people, and then asking them their names (“I’m sorry, yes I know I called you, but can you just remind me who you are and why I called you?”)
Wednesday, Frank took me round the University (they say Uni here. It’s a lot easier) and from about 9 in the morning til 6 in the evening we looked at apartments. We poked our noses into leafy backyards, plucked at clotheslines, shook dust from curtains, knocked and knocked and knocked on doors, rang reluctant landlords, peered into kitchen sinks, removed our shoes for someone’s shag carpet, watched a little girl in pink tights demonstrate the loo (“this is how you flush it”), stared in horror at the overflowing bucket jury-rigged under a dripping pipe, and again and again drove the routes (“ok, this one is 1.6 kilometres to the Laundromat, but the left front window is broken and there’s a smoker living in the flat below and the bus only runs every half hour once a week on Sundays and public holidays…”) During a two-hour break in the middle of the day, we ate lunch and met some really fantastic people at the Uni …and I think I’m enrolled…so that’s all right.
So today I called back the owner of the 3rd flat I looked at yesterday, and applied. Tomorrow (Friday) Alice and I are going to make a journey into town. We’ll explore the bus routes, so I have something of a clue once I’m on my own…seriously, instead of big blue and white signs with a B for Bus, here it’s this complicated yellow sign with a picture that may be a bus or may be a train or may actually just say something like “Traffic Calming, Drive Slowly” but you can’t tell until you get within two centimeters and push your nose up against it. We’ll hit the markets, because I need a pair of boots like every other gal in this city wears with her miniskirts(did I mention Ugg is Australian? Oh and did I mention it’s COLD?) Then it’s off to 47 MOIRA CRESCENT, RANDWICK, my new flat…(doesn’t it just roll off your tongue?) My new landlord Bruce is handing over the keys and I’m handing over a coupla large bank checks (that was another hassle today because apparently the student account set up for me at an Aussie bank DOES NOT entitle me to my own Personal Checks…yeeeeeah).
The important thing is, as of tomorrow, I will have an apartment. AND…my very own pair of Uggs.
Monday 06 July 2009
Coldest Day of the Year (no, seriously, they say it only gets better from here.)
Today’s low was 8 degrees, and you can multiply that number by 9 and divide by 5 and add 32 if you want to know what it was in Fahrenheit. I’m getting quite good at doing it in my head. Anyway, all I brought are shorts and optimistically thin socks. I am currently huddled in a blanket typing on the computer and enduring a cold headache with a little heater going full blast next to me. Apparently, apartments in Sydney do NOT come equipped with “air conditioning.” That means no a/c, but listen to this, you Americans; it ALSO means no heating. Yeeeeah…
Today I will try to get a cell phone (a "mobile", pronounced with an i like “ice") and get some things straightened out with the university. Haven't seen any snakes or sharks yet thank god(or wallabies, or kangaroos, flying foxes, dingos, echidnas, koalas, or Mel Gibson, who is in disgrace anyway (aren’t you glad I didn’t say Hugh?)). HAVE seen the Australian zoo’s new baby elephant, who is all over the telly, they are very proud of him; also have seen large signs advertising "don't run over the bandicoots."
WARNING FASHION SNIPING AHEAD all the women here seem to wear short skirts, lots of makeup, and shiny leather boots (we have a word for this in America, “trampy.” I mean that in the kindest possible sense because it’s true). All the young men are either very European or very 80's, or maybe both, wearing high top sneakers and skinny jeans and little puffy jackets. Perhaps it is the jet lag, but I find it hard to respect anyone who wears skinny jeans and a purple shirt with the collar popped.
You know what, if every single person wore a uniform, I think we would all look much better.
The birds here don’t “sing.” They make noises like chainsaws. Flocks of huge white cockatiels divebomb innocent tourists, snatching toast from their very fingers, rapping on windows with their beaks to demand food. Mynah birds, lorikeets, and another of those dying-man-crows compete to see who can wake up the humans the earliest. I, of course, am already awake thanks to the miracles of crossing the International Date Line. Cheers for now!
Today’s low was 8 degrees, and you can multiply that number by 9 and divide by 5 and add 32 if you want to know what it was in Fahrenheit. I’m getting quite good at doing it in my head. Anyway, all I brought are shorts and optimistically thin socks. I am currently huddled in a blanket typing on the computer and enduring a cold headache with a little heater going full blast next to me. Apparently, apartments in Sydney do NOT come equipped with “air conditioning.” That means no a/c, but listen to this, you Americans; it ALSO means no heating. Yeeeeah…
Today I will try to get a cell phone (a "mobile", pronounced with an i like “ice") and get some things straightened out with the university. Haven't seen any snakes or sharks yet thank god(or wallabies, or kangaroos, flying foxes, dingos, echidnas, koalas, or Mel Gibson, who is in disgrace anyway (aren’t you glad I didn’t say Hugh?)). HAVE seen the Australian zoo’s new baby elephant, who is all over the telly, they are very proud of him; also have seen large signs advertising "don't run over the bandicoots."
WARNING FASHION SNIPING AHEAD all the women here seem to wear short skirts, lots of makeup, and shiny leather boots (we have a word for this in America, “trampy.” I mean that in the kindest possible sense because it’s true). All the young men are either very European or very 80's, or maybe both, wearing high top sneakers and skinny jeans and little puffy jackets. Perhaps it is the jet lag, but I find it hard to respect anyone who wears skinny jeans and a purple shirt with the collar popped.
You know what, if every single person wore a uniform, I think we would all look much better.
The birds here don’t “sing.” They make noises like chainsaws. Flocks of huge white cockatiels divebomb innocent tourists, snatching toast from their very fingers, rapping on windows with their beaks to demand food. Mynah birds, lorikeets, and another of those dying-man-crows compete to see who can wake up the humans the earliest. I, of course, am already awake thanks to the miracles of crossing the International Date Line. Cheers for now!
Sunday 05 July 2009
Day 4? No, wait, Day 5. No…okay, I give up. No more naming my days. (I’ve got about 361 left anyway…this would get tedious).
Frank and Alice are fantastic. They picked me (and my twelve gazillion suitcases, none of which, I might add, contained the adapters/converters I so painstakingly selected before departing) up from the airport, let me drop my stuff off at their cute little house in Oyster Bay, and instead of putting me directly to bed as my poor body wanted (which was a smart move on their part), they took me on a
whirlwind tour of Sydney. We ate lunch at the famous Doyle's fish and chips! It was good if, you know, you like fish and chips. Which I don't. But don't tell them that. We sat on a blanket on the beach and had a picnic. I took about a zillion videos with my little camera (thanks Aunt Laila and Uncle Rudy!), including a flock of lorikeets, a crow that made noises like a dying man, a hundred different angles of the Harbour Bridge (we actually drove over it!!!! For the supremely affordable cost of A4$!) I spent ten minutes zoomed in on two little flecks on the ocean which were whales' tails slapping the water, and then I realized I had the camera turned off. O well as Yossarian would say. What the hell. Watch the videos! (And bear in mind that I was rather jetlagged when I took them.)
Sydney deserves a little explanation, by the way. It’s HUGE. “The City” is the part you always see on television, with the opera house, Harbour, Luna Park, etc. But the whole area actually consists of a thousand thousand suburbs. Oyster Bay, for example, is a forty-minute drive from The City, but still part of Sydney. Some suburbs are expensive, like the ones where the stars like Hugh and Nicole and Mel and Russell live—Bondi (the famous beach), Vaucluse, Double Bay. Others are more like, ummm, Manchester. I think Maroubra is New London. You get the idea.
Frank and Alice are fantastic. They picked me (and my twelve gazillion suitcases, none of which, I might add, contained the adapters/converters I so painstakingly selected before departing) up from the airport, let me drop my stuff off at their cute little house in Oyster Bay, and instead of putting me directly to bed as my poor body wanted (which was a smart move on their part), they took me on a
whirlwind tour of Sydney. We ate lunch at the famous Doyle's fish and chips! It was good if, you know, you like fish and chips. Which I don't. But don't tell them that. We sat on a blanket on the beach and had a picnic. I took about a zillion videos with my little camera (thanks Aunt Laila and Uncle Rudy!), including a flock of lorikeets, a crow that made noises like a dying man, a hundred different angles of the Harbour Bridge (we actually drove over it!!!! For the supremely affordable cost of A4$!) I spent ten minutes zoomed in on two little flecks on the ocean which were whales' tails slapping the water, and then I realized I had the camera turned off. O well as Yossarian would say. What the hell. Watch the videos! (And bear in mind that I was rather jetlagged when I took them.)
Sydney deserves a little explanation, by the way. It’s HUGE. “The City” is the part you always see on television, with the opera house, Harbour, Luna Park, etc. But the whole area actually consists of a thousand thousand suburbs. Oyster Bay, for example, is a forty-minute drive from The City, but still part of Sydney. Some suburbs are expensive, like the ones where the stars like Hugh and Nicole and Mel and Russell live—Bondi (the famous beach), Vaucluse, Double Bay. Others are more like, ummm, Manchester. I think Maroubra is New London. You get the idea.
03 July 2009
1500 Hawaii/1100 04Jul Australia/2100EST
Day 3: “Qantas Travelers in Distress”
Man, am I getting speedy at those time conversions. I arrived at the airport this morning circa 0800, joyously two hours early and looking forward to something unhealthy from the terminal fast food, to be met with a regretful smile from the ticket agent. “Your flight has been delayed…(darn) until one o’clock…(darn!)…tomorrow morning. (WHATTTT?)”
She was so friendly that I wasn’t really upset, anyway (I mean, there are worse places to be stuck for a day than Hawaii in summer). They stuck me and 225 Aussies and Americans and New Zealanders in the Waikiki Marriot…two blocks from the beach. Gee! Life is hard.
I didn’t have any clothes except the (already-sweaty) jeans I wanted to wear on the plane, so I went to the convenience store (ABC—they have at least one per city block in Honolulu) and bought a sundress, flip flops, sunscreen, and a t-shirt (more practical for swimming than a bikini). Went straight to the beach and walked for an hour or so. At one pier near the hotel, I watched groups of kids walk out to the end of the pier, toss their boards in the water and dive the 15 feet or so down into the waves. I didn’t quite get up my courage to try it, but I rented a body board and flippers and got beat up by waves for a couple hours. The t-shirt rolled up in the back, creating an interesting effect of a dark tan on the lower half of my back, and the bottom part of my arms, and that's it, well except for a little burn line around one strap of my bikini top where I missed suntan lotion. A sandy red sort of gentleman with a Georgia accent, body boarding near me, turned out to be in the Army, stationed in HI with his family as of four months ago. That was as far as our conversation got before some big breakers went up my nose, effectively killing my desire to speak. All day I have been meeting the 225 other Aus-bound travelers (on our little hotel tickets, we’re called “Qantas Travelers in Distress”), all wandering within 4 or 5 blocks of the hotel, buying ourselves little snacks and exchanging knowing nods and asking each other if we really know Hugh Jackman (ok, I admit it, I’m trying to see if I can fit his name into every single blog entry). The fireworks are tonight at sunset—sun sets surprisingly early here, a little after 1900—and I plan to take a nap before dinner. The plan is to board the plane from Hawaii around midnight on July 3, arriving in Sydney at 0820 on July 5. Thus completely skipping over the 4th of July. How unpatriotic.
Day 3: “Qantas Travelers in Distress”
Man, am I getting speedy at those time conversions. I arrived at the airport this morning circa 0800, joyously two hours early and looking forward to something unhealthy from the terminal fast food, to be met with a regretful smile from the ticket agent. “Your flight has been delayed…(darn) until one o’clock…(darn!)…tomorrow morning. (WHATTTT?)”
She was so friendly that I wasn’t really upset, anyway (I mean, there are worse places to be stuck for a day than Hawaii in summer). They stuck me and 225 Aussies and Americans and New Zealanders in the Waikiki Marriot…two blocks from the beach. Gee! Life is hard.
I didn’t have any clothes except the (already-sweaty) jeans I wanted to wear on the plane, so I went to the convenience store (ABC—they have at least one per city block in Honolulu) and bought a sundress, flip flops, sunscreen, and a t-shirt (more practical for swimming than a bikini). Went straight to the beach and walked for an hour or so. At one pier near the hotel, I watched groups of kids walk out to the end of the pier, toss their boards in the water and dive the 15 feet or so down into the waves. I didn’t quite get up my courage to try it, but I rented a body board and flippers and got beat up by waves for a couple hours. The t-shirt rolled up in the back, creating an interesting effect of a dark tan on the lower half of my back, and the bottom part of my arms, and that's it, well except for a little burn line around one strap of my bikini top where I missed suntan lotion. A sandy red sort of gentleman with a Georgia accent, body boarding near me, turned out to be in the Army, stationed in HI with his family as of four months ago. That was as far as our conversation got before some big breakers went up my nose, effectively killing my desire to speak. All day I have been meeting the 225 other Aus-bound travelers (on our little hotel tickets, we’re called “Qantas Travelers in Distress”), all wandering within 4 or 5 blocks of the hotel, buying ourselves little snacks and exchanging knowing nods and asking each other if we really know Hugh Jackman (ok, I admit it, I’m trying to see if I can fit his name into every single blog entry). The fireworks are tonight at sunset—sun sets surprisingly early here, a little after 1900—and I plan to take a nap before dinner. The plan is to board the plane from Hawaii around midnight on July 3, arriving in Sydney at 0820 on July 5. Thus completely skipping over the 4th of July. How unpatriotic.
OH NOOOO
Well my Norton antivirus is being evil and I cannot post any videos. So yall will just have to do like Laura Ingalls Wilder and use your "imagination" until I figure this out. Sorry!
02 July 2009
Time: Rather Meaningless
Day 2 At Last!
Arrived in Honolulu last night. Am beating jet lag, I think: stayed up ‘til 2130 (yup that’s 0300, EST), went for a nice swim, and forced myself to stay in bed til 0700. Rental car, thankfully, was NOT lava orange (holla EKehrt). Traffic in Hawaii is like death. Would love to write about all my official meetings/briefs, but OpSec…if I told you, I’d have to kill you. Ha, ha. Highlights of the day: meeting awesome D-14 and Australian peeps; analyzing a map of Sydney over drinks; learning why NOT to say “I am rooting for this team” or “fanny pack” to an Aussie; eating famous Australian cookie (“biccie”) known as Timtams. Angelfish in the harbor. Ooooh. Okay, maybe jet lag is winning, after all.
Day 2 At Last!
Arrived in Honolulu last night. Am beating jet lag, I think: stayed up ‘til 2130 (yup that’s 0300, EST), went for a nice swim, and forced myself to stay in bed til 0700. Rental car, thankfully, was NOT lava orange (holla EKehrt). Traffic in Hawaii is like death. Would love to write about all my official meetings/briefs, but OpSec…if I told you, I’d have to kill you. Ha, ha. Highlights of the day: meeting awesome D-14 and Australian peeps; analyzing a map of Sydney over drinks; learning why NOT to say “I am rooting for this team” or “fanny pack” to an Aussie; eating famous Australian cookie (“biccie”) known as Timtams. Angelfish in the harbor. Ooooh. Okay, maybe jet lag is winning, after all.
Still 01 July 2009
Time: Unknown
Still Day 1: I Wish the Bloody Sun Would Set
I caved. I’m having Vodka. Secretly and shamefully in cranberry juice cocktail so the nice young parents across the aisle won’t have to shield their kids’ eyes.
Still Day 1: I Wish the Bloody Sun Would Set
I caved. I’m having Vodka. Secretly and shamefully in cranberry juice cocktail so the nice young parents across the aisle won’t have to shield their kids’ eyes.
Still 01 July 2009
Time: erm…
Still Day 1: Still Journeying
This third flight is so boring that I actually pulled out the “The Scholarship” Preparation Book—you know, the one I was supposed to read before departing—only to learn about all the important things I should have done and didn’t (apparently I was supposed to bring a birth certificate, obtain an international student ID, and equip my parents with emergency phone numbers…sorry, Mom). At least I can check off “Learn the native language.” Over the last few weeks we have Netflixed so many Aussie movies that I can now name at least two of Hugh Jackman’s four adopted children, recite the lyrics of at least one Keith Urban song and describe three movies his wife’s been in (it’s not hard, his wife is Nicole Kidman) and pronounce with confidence words such as Brisbane, Canberra, and Cairns. That last one is thanks to Ian, who just returned from his two weeks of fun in Oz (along with Jeff, Phil, and Happy)..hey did you guys carve your names in every bar like you said you would? I’ll be checking. The Book does not mention something I’ll discover in a few days, namely that I am covered for healthcare in at least three directions—military Tricare, something called Overseas Student Healthcare, and Australian Medicare. Oh yeah, and I’m paying good money for the last two. Anyway, after reading all this, my heart sinking lower and lower (or maybe the plane is descending at last), here’s my favorite line in The Book: “You should be equally as concerned about creating international ties as you are with your Research Project.” Hmmm. No worries!
Still Day 1: Still Journeying
This third flight is so boring that I actually pulled out the “The Scholarship” Preparation Book—you know, the one I was supposed to read before departing—only to learn about all the important things I should have done and didn’t (apparently I was supposed to bring a birth certificate, obtain an international student ID, and equip my parents with emergency phone numbers…sorry, Mom). At least I can check off “Learn the native language.” Over the last few weeks we have Netflixed so many Aussie movies that I can now name at least two of Hugh Jackman’s four adopted children, recite the lyrics of at least one Keith Urban song and describe three movies his wife’s been in (it’s not hard, his wife is Nicole Kidman) and pronounce with confidence words such as Brisbane, Canberra, and Cairns. That last one is thanks to Ian, who just returned from his two weeks of fun in Oz (along with Jeff, Phil, and Happy)..hey did you guys carve your names in every bar like you said you would? I’ll be checking. The Book does not mention something I’ll discover in a few days, namely that I am covered for healthcare in at least three directions—military Tricare, something called Overseas Student Healthcare, and Australian Medicare. Oh yeah, and I’m paying good money for the last two. Anyway, after reading all this, my heart sinking lower and lower (or maybe the plane is descending at last), here’s my favorite line in The Book: “You should be equally as concerned about creating international ties as you are with your Research Project.” Hmmm. No worries!
01 July 2009
Time: ummm, Central?
Day 1: Hawaii Detour/Journey to the Other Side, Part I
Well here I am on my second plane of the day, I may as well start writing now because Lord knows when I’ll have time again. Ohand because Yasmeen told me to. That’s right, you all get to read about…Louise’s Adventures in Airports!
Shout out to the fantastic Muirheads, seven of whom I encountered in the airport this morning on their way to the Southwest for an RV trip. Sure enough, Ellie was on my first flight and we totally rocked the crossword in Sky magazine (we only peeked 7 times). We separated to make our quick connections in the chilly airport. The next four hour flight, to San Francisco, isn’t worth writing much about either. Somehow, sadly, quietly, the battery leaked out of my laptop. So the two dvd’s I brought to while the flagging hours will just have to wait, while the hours flag.
Day 1: Hawaii Detour/Journey to the Other Side, Part I
Well here I am on my second plane of the day, I may as well start writing now because Lord knows when I’ll have time again. Ohand because Yasmeen told me to. That’s right, you all get to read about…Louise’s Adventures in Airports!
Shout out to the fantastic Muirheads, seven of whom I encountered in the airport this morning on their way to the Southwest for an RV trip. Sure enough, Ellie was on my first flight and we totally rocked the crossword in Sky magazine (we only peeked 7 times). We separated to make our quick connections in the chilly airport. The next four hour flight, to San Francisco, isn’t worth writing much about either. Somehow, sadly, quietly, the battery leaked out of my laptop. So the two dvd’s I brought to while the flagging hours will just have to wait, while the hours flag.
Monday, July 6, 2009
G'Day, And Welcome
All right, you said you wanted to know what I was up to, so I'm recording it here in probably more detail than you ever wanted to know. HOWEVER, due to incidents with my last blog (Hong Kong summer 2008), this time I'm putting up a warning:
DISCLAIMER
Any and all views expressed in this blog are solely the observations and opinions of the author, however untutored, uncensored, and uncouth they might be. This blog is not meant to be offensive in any way to Australians, Americans, Alaskans, civilians, servicemen, kangaroos, wallabies, or Hugh Jackman. If you are lucky enough to be reading this (ha!) then it is because I trust you not to be hurt, angry, incensed, or unduly influenced by any of the nonsense herein contained.
That said, please ASK ME before providing this blog to anyone who has not been invited.
Enjoy!
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