Diary for NitaTravelsFar

Repressed traveler with ambitions

2008-01-28

It`s 1:30 am on a Monday. I should be asleep on a school night....after putting down my book and putting out the light...twice...I`ve finally succumbed to the inevitable- a cup of ginger tea with Sailor Jerry Rum.

I`m reading Eat, Pray, Love. I`m in trouble now.

Just Think, The Liquor Will Keep You Warm

2008-02-07

Or "I Lost My Groom in Dutch Harbor."

It`s cold. It`s effing cold, says the text message I get from Eric B on the day before I arrive in Anchorage. There`s no groom to boot- Scott`s been squirreled away in Dutch Harbor, halfway to Russia, since last week and unable to return to his frantic bride, Meghan due to unsuitable, unfair and completely thoughtless weather. Doesn`t it know that people have come from the ends of the earth to ends of the earth to see this couple married?!!!?

So, we`ve been drinking a lot- because the liquor will keep you warm when you`re cross country skiing along the Cook Inlet or ice skating in sub-zero weather on the Westchester Lagoon. Those are the sorts of things you do here in Snow City. Besides eat and wait for the groom to come home.

The Odds Are Good, But the Goods Are Odd

2008-02-08

So saith our native Alaskan friend, Kelly. She hates Alaska in phenomenal fashion and isn`t afraid to tell you that she loves the Sonoran desert and would make a  great housewife if you would just take her out of this hellhole. We must be best BFF`s in the world come so far for a wedding in the cold. We explained that we`ve been drinking our way through it. It`s the national sport up here, she said, you fit right in.

She was the best part of dinner at the bar of the Glacier Brewhouse in downtown Anchorage. We`ve got the rundown of the places to go and to never, ever go for Alaskan nightlife. Humpy`s if you want good food and fun, the Great Alaskan Bush Company if you`re looking for poonani and an STD, and the Snow Goose if you want a great view with your bad service and equally bad food.  She`s a virgo, so she was terribly mortified at the thought of spilling her margarita all over my leg. She couldn`t accept that I was really okay with it, having myself spilled hot chocolate and kahlua on the other leg just 24 hours before. We might not make it out with you and your fab friend Wally Bear later, but we`ll be with you in spirit.

It`s the Longest Day

2008-02-09

We got our groom back last night! The coast guard treats his restoration to his bride as if it were a medical emergency. Rehearsal dinners and cocktails ensue. Scott and Meghan are presented with a blow up doll by his father. We wonder what kind of family tradition this is...

We get hammered in the seediest bar in Anchorage in the wee hours of this morning.  It`s inhabited by the best Anchorage has to offer on 7 dance floors- a little something for everyone. Sand on the floor, underwear stapled on to the walls and ceilings with messages of love and other wanton advertisements. We end up on a dance floor in front of a live band playing mostly...uh, nevermind, I can`t remember.  We dance until the temperature drops below zero and then dash out into the cold in search of taxis to take us back to the Cook so we can drink more liquor to keep us warm.

Nancy, Mom, and I straggle out of the hotel by noon to discover a bit of Alaska on our own. I`m too hung over to drive. We make it to Chugach State Park for a short hike in the snow. So many warnings... watch out for moose, landslides possible, hypothermia iminnent, don`t eat the snow! giardia!, trails are waiting to collapse beneath you, etc. etc....

They get married in a sweet, sentimental ceremony that has a 2001 space odyssey/pricess bride kinda charm. She looks beautiful- he looks handsome. They both look so relieved.

We get hammered again drinking our way through the reception, dancing to Baby Got Back and other classic favorites, demolishing an untold number of bottles of champagne on the bus on the way back to the hotel rocking out to the Scorpions (!?!?), in the posh-est club in Anchorage (Platinum Jaxx) where I spent most of the time in the coat rack line, then at a local bar, then back at the hotel.... the climax of the night being the destruction of two bbq pork sandwhiches and mc donald`s type fries at 3 am after a fruitless search for teriyaki in the dead of night between Eric, Pat, Mike and myself. For two whole minutes there was nothing but the sound of slurping, groaning, and giggling....

She`s a Brick...House

2008-02-16 to 2008-02-17

or "I want to do the butt dance," says Sierra, Deirdre`s two year old as she stands on the coffee table and proceeds to moon her entire family. Meanwhile one-year old Logan is opening and closing the singing birthday card that belts out "Brickhouse" for the ump-teenth time. "Please don`t do that for anyone but your family, Sierra" says Grandma. "Better yet, let`s not do that anymore, honey- and get off the table!" "Logan, I`m about to disappear that card!"

Deirdre turned the big 3-0 amidst family, friends, and toddlers and is not be trusted anymore (since one can`t trust someone over 30). I kept the mimosas flowing- consequently I drank plenty of what I served and passed out on the Bakersfield nap couch half way through the festivities.

It`s been the typical Bakersfield vacation weekend, waking up to the cold hands of my godson Logan slapping me on the forehead, drinking copious amounts of coffee whilst managing the meals of Deirdre`s food-whore babies (they act as if they`re starved), finally eating breakfast only to pass out on the nap couch (again), before wandering off into the Bako sun to warm up until the next meal, the next nap, the long drive back home....

I love the sounds of Bakersfield: the children (yes, even the crying, screaming, and shouts), the sounds of a healthy, happy family, complete with dotting grandparents, charismatic dog, and lots of laughter.

I Don`t Dare Get Too Excited

2008-03-08

It`s a little unreal. I haven`t traveled this far for this long in ten years. As far as I can- Australia. For as long as I can- three weeks. Suddenly I`m afraid to leave the house for fear of germs, fear of over work, fear of my own klutzy nature. These are all legitimate things in a world where loved ones get scarlet fever, overtime is expected, nay encouraged, and I manage to blow out my knee cap on my own car door. I`ll even admit to having a wedding anxiety dream! But finally, after all these years it wasn`t about my own wedding. Fortunately the scarlet fever victim is in repair (but I`m still drinking Airborne everyday and shoving Zycam up my nose), I`ve only got three more days of work (and there`s only so much they`re gonna get outta me), and the knee is no longer tender (just wary). As for the dream, after witnessing and participating in so many weddings, what can go wrong will go wrong and if it doesn`t, best enjoy your fortune! Danielle, I promise to be armed with booze, unflappable perspective and a wicked sense of humor just in case.

Now it`s down to the minutiae of traveling prep...complete the itinerary, get the travelers checks, search the Lonely Planet book, obtain proper amount of underwear, make sure the wedding shoes fit, tidy the loose ends (or sweep them under the rug) at the office, and pay the bills. Oh, yeah...and pack the bag.

Aussie Land Nuptials- Week 1, Oz

2008-03-15 to 2008-03-18

I have yet to see a koala. But I hear from Danielle`s aunts that live in Brisbane: male koalas are sex maniacs. I have yet to see that the water flows down the toilet the opposite way. But I do know that they`ve got two flush settings depending on the number. I have spent an evening gazing at the Southern Cross, cockroaches scuttling underfoot, bats flying in the sky above, drinking tea with the island people come out for the wedding- aussies, brits, scots, irish. I`ve spent time bird watching in the Botanical Gardens, mesmerized by flying foxes, listened to an aborginal digeridoo get ooonsed, ooonsed, oooonsed, and hiked down to stand next to the first of the Three Sisters in the Blue Mountains. The birding opportunities are incredibly and species diversity amazing. My australian bird guide makes me feel like an amateur. Happily, in this country eucalyptus woodland is really beautiful, plants and animals thrive in its understory, and there isn`t a deadly creature waiting around every corner to put you out of your misery.But for the most part I have enjoyed Sydney through the eyes of a highly organized, extremely stressed, over caffeinated, under fed bride and groom. They are a driven, detail oriented, overstimulated, over extended, over scheduled pair. They are inspiring in their dedication to each other and their devotion to the cause. As a wedding super hero trio, operating straight out of Wedding HQ (which consists of bride and groom on bed, laptop each, two cell phones, one land line, an ipod, laser printer and task assistant-me), we are constantly striving to tick off to-do-list items with the minimal of stress. there are the standard pre-wedding dramas with friends, family and technology, which have multipled daily- testy spouses, children with sunstroke, parents that get out of hand when drinking, cousins forgotten at the airport, suits that haven`t been arranged, ever deeping pits of despair in the stomach, computers crashing, run-sheets deleted, music play list disappeared, wedding vows unfinished,shoes that don`t fit, friends that disappear drunk into the night, cellphones crapping, ceremony readings changed, irritable bowels, parents feeling neglected, children feeling overwhelmed, parents not showing up, cranes ruining views of harbour at ceremony venue, whole country shutting down due to bank holiday...ah yes, and rain forecasted for day of outdoor wedding.  But truly, it will all come off fabulously well, rain or shine, as every member of the party knows their part thanks to John`s very detailed run-sheets organizing each person`s day into 15 minute increments. Despite the bride and groom`s lack of attention to sustanance, as a pair they really do forget to eat (unnatural, I say)- I am managing to eat my way through Sydney (the whole city smells extravagantly of food). It`s mental all the choices and it`s mental what they charge for the food. It`s expensive Australia is, nearly broke I am. Meat pies, cheese and mushrooms on toast, salt and pepper squid, mussels and linguini, beers and wine, scones with jam and double cream, high tea, bangers and mash, tandoori chicken, thai delight, pastas, risottos, and an occassional vegetable.As I travel I am reminded that one is never really far from home in our world of global commerce- yes, I`ve had coffee in a pinch at Starbucks, shopped at Target and K-mart, smelled Subway wafting down the street, ogled a handbag at Nine West, cruised a Westfield mall, passed a Hanson plant (client!) and Curves for Women, and listened to the likes of 50 cent, Nelly Furtado, F to the E to the R-G-I-E, and the Foo Fighters (all on the same radio station mind you). 

All`s Well that Ends Well

2008-03-22

Or- All that has transpired has done so according to my design.- Emperor John.

John and Danielle were married in a beautiful ceremony on a sunny afternoon. It stormed the night before and we woke to clouds, drizzle, and fog. We spent the entire day watching the weather from our 270 degree of the city (Opera House) and all, from the 13th floor, in the honeymoon suite, room 1313 of the Shangri-La. Every slight change in cloud shape, wind pattern, and patch of blue sky was commented on, analyzed, and verdict pronounced. Bridezilla finally managed to calm herself as the day arrived, once the room service was cleared and all us bridesmaids were under the brush of the hair and makeup artist, she actually looked happy it was happening. She was actually resigned to the weather- we think it was lucky that she spent extra money on hiring umbrellas, if she hadn`t, the clouds wouldn`t have cleared.
 
The readings went off fabulously well, Louisa choked on hers and got the waterworks flowing. How could you not cry when the bride and groom wrote their entire ceremony explaining the importance of each of the people standing for them, waxed poetic about why they loved and were devoted to each other, had their fathers conduct the Scottish handfast ceremony with family tartans, and each had a reading about how their mother`s shaped them and made them who they are. Then came the vows! I read my lines while they were signing the marriage license, Dan`s mother kept shooting me looks because my voice was cracking and she was trying to sign without spilling tears onto the paper. It was beautiful- a testament to the quality of their relationship with each other and their families. Everything went according to design (and John`s run-sheet) and the city even threw in a few favors with wedding bells sounding after the ceremony (for another wedding down the hill) and bagpipes in the distance.
 
The reception was equally as wonderful, but with ooodles of champagne, speaches and the like, tasty food (I think my tummy has finally landed in this time zone), and drunk and happy people wandering about. They`re might`ve even been some music I could dance to on occassion. This is an indie crowd, the most danceable song on the ipod play list was "I see you baby...shaking that ass...shaking...that...ass...."

I mostly filled my time buzzing about with a polaroid camera (who knew they still had them, very retro), taking pictures of guests and having them write notes to the bride and groom. "Poor thing," they said, "a bridesmaid`s work is never done!" But really, it was a great opportunity for me to mingle and talk to everyone. I got to visit a bit with all the now grown up kids I met 15 years ago when I wore a school uniform to St. Benedict`s on my last visit to Danielle in Sydney. I`ve visited with Dan`s aging Nan, who remembered when Dan and I visited her at her home in Jarvis Bay- saucy still, she remembered what a laugh she and I had when Dan got a mosquito in her ear on a hike, lost her head, and tripped over a log. "We had such a laugh, you and I," she said!  Last I saw Dan`s brother he was an unfortunate little 10 year old, now a strapping young man of 25. He looked me up and down at our first encounter and said, "Last I saw you, you were much taller." "Last I saw you, you were much shorter!" Ah well, yet another younger brother of a friend who out does me in height (not fair) and no longer looks at me with the eyes of a boy.

While the wedding relevers wandered on the streets of Sydney looking for the next drink at midnight, trying to convince me to stay out with them and continue the party, I wanted nothing more than to go home, have some quiet time on the toilet, and crash in bed. After I washed the half a can of hairspray out of my hair, that is. Oh, and chiseled the make-up out from around my eyes. I hired a cab and got back to the house just after 12:30a and slumped onto the porch in my dress and coat, shoes tossed about, bag of wedding things to the side and had a moment. This morning I`ve got a slight headache, which I know must be from the champagne, and the tension, and the lack of sleep, etc., etc., etc. I`m off to make pasta salad now for the post wedding BBQ this afternoon. Which is good, cause I`m starving!

Melbourne Run-Sheet- Week 2, Oz

2008-03-26

6 am- Alarm goes off at the Harrigan Hotel. John rallies the girls from their slumber. Diana reluctantly rises from the cot at the foot at the newlyweds bed.7 am- Sickly bride and groom take their devoted wedding companion to the Sydney airport. Hugs, kisses, and tears ensue.7:30 am- Diana slips quietly thru security and walks straight onto the plane.8 am- Plane departs from Sydney to fly over southern Australia into Melbourne. Quantas feeds Diana a balanced brekkie on an almost one hour flight!9: 15 am- Plane lands in Melbourne. Diana disembarks and breezes through baggage claim into a shuttle car and into the city.10 am- Diana arrives at the Victoria Hotel and checks in. The Victoria Hotel looks decent and well worn from the outside.10:15 am- Diana arrives in Rm 139 to find that perhaps well worn is an understatement. Bed is saggy. Cobwebs on window sill. Smell of room is awkward. Shower is clean though.10:30 am- Diana calls friends to let them know she`s arrived in shit hole, although she is optimistic that state of room will encourage her out of her malaise and keep her on the busy streets of Melbourne to enjoy the City. It`s no problem really.11 am- Lunch at nearby coffee bar/clothing boutique??? Uh. Diana catches up on seven days of journaling. Eats large quantities of food- panini, fruit toast, coffee, half a swimming pool of water.12: 30 pm- Friends disagree with Diana`s assessment of room optimism. Danielle calls hotel while Diana happens to be standing at the front desk. They discuss it. Diana says she`s fine.1:00 pm- Diana heads down to Federation Square and on to National Gallery where she feels signage adequately announces free admission (later she learns this may not be the case).1:30 pm- Asian art room.1:45 pm- 18th and 19th century art work. Much diary work. Many photos with feet and fantastical artwork (as is her custom of foot photo documentation).2: 30 pm- 20th century art work. It`s good to stand in front of Picasso and Magritte.2:45 pm- Photography exhibit. Contemporary art room. Sculpture Garden.3:15 pm- As Diana exits building she goes for the in door. Clearly not the right one. Um...it`s raining now here too.3:30 pm- Walk through Federation Square and shops back to hotel.4:00 pm- Arrives back at hotel to fax slipped under door stating that clearly I have been booked at the wrong hotel and to please check out as there is a room waiting for me at The Prince Hotel in St. Kilda. 4:15 pm- The phone rings, "What are you still doing there," says Stephen. "Dan, John, and I have booked you in the Prince. Pack yourself and go." 5:00 pm- After a lovely taxi ride with Alex from Ethiopia, instructional guide to the culinary delights of St. Kilda and no-no-streets, the pauper arrives at posh hotel with a shit eating grin on face. It is currently pouring down rain in Melbourne. I mean dumping.5:30pm- Diana lies in bliss in her beautiful room in posh hotel only to remember that in her haste she has forgotten her things in the safe at crap hotel. She reluctantly walks back out into rain.5:45 pm- Diana crams down snack and jumps on tram to Federation Square. She has an epiphany on the tram.6:15 pm- Diana strolls into crap hotel. Things are rescued from safe. Front desk  is not sure they`re really happy to see her back- but hey, they`re still getting a full night`s rent out of it. She demands half price Internet.7:15 pm- Diana is still typing away at Internet Cafe at crap hotel.7:30 pm- Diana is going back to her GORGEOUS hotel now. Right after she sanitizes her fingers. 

Queensland Rocks- Week 3, Oz

2008-03-29 to 2008-03-31

Queensland in a nutshell...I`ve held a koala, stepped in roo poo, been shat on by lorikeets, fed an elephant, gone to Australia Zoo, taken over Ken and Amanda`s computer and home phone, gone for swim in the ocean with my Melbourne chest cold, fallen asleep on the Sunshine coast, played hours of billiards at a redneck pub, eaten North Indian curry, followed by Welsh meat pies, followed by the kitchen sink burger (patty, fried egg, bacon, lettuce, tomato, onion, cucumber...), then followed by pizza, watched a croc eat a dead chicken, marveled at  migrating bats stretching for miles across the sky, cuddled a wallaby, scratched the sweet spot on a kangaroo (his chest, thanks), watched a wombat get walked on a leash and developed a full blown head cold.I`ll be returning tomorrow to Sydney to get a handle on my upside down world with a hacking cough, runny nose, and violent sneeze hopped up on nasty tasting med-cine (chesty cough), sucking on menthol lozenges...ready to take on my life. I think....or, I`ll just spend the next few days passed out on Bondi Beach working on my tan. Remains to be seen.  

Returning to Oz

2008-04-07 to 2008-08-11

I’d like to say that I put on my little red flats with the silver buckles and tapped my heels together and said, “Take me back to Oz” and it happened. Just like that. But in reality, my little red shoes with the silver buckles are packed in one of my three generously filled suitcases and it’s taken me just over four months to get right to this very moment. Four months and five days. Packed up and on my way to the Bakersfield love fest and Long Beach familyness that mark the beginning of my Three Hour Tour to the Land Down Under.

Four months of planning (careful and not so much), consideration (of my loved ones: bipeds and girl’s best friends), details (countless pages of to-do-list items), constant and un-yielding support from my fondly considered (you know who you are), hilarity (have I really lost my ATM card again and run into another doorway?), high emotion (the Ice Queen can still cry), people drama (again, you know who you are), happy hours (a form of wellness counseling), getaways (Bakersfieldx3, Girls Run Rampant in Disney, Hawaii, Camping), acupuncture and massage (how else could I have managed?), long distance telephone marathons (we’ll not be adding up the total cost for that), text messaging (I’ve rubbed the numbers off my keypad- the phone is only three months old), dog drama (wouldn’t it be funny if Elvis died of an overdose again? No.), travel itineraries (Stephen is a master), running (between errands and for sanity), quarantine and visa applications (to prove that I really want this), home improvement (it’s not the same house), did I mention my to-do-list?, some sleep (a little sleep, no sleep), dinner/drinking/coffee get togethers (Cheryl keeps my liquor safe), camping (we just huddled together and drank), and “just leave already!” parties.

Some of the more notable moments:

-Sierra`s 3rd Birthday- It was announced back in February when Deirdre turned 30, that it was a good party, but wasn`t nearly as good as Sierra`s would be because Gail and Sal would be at her third birthday party and really make it special. And so it was, I loaded up the Parents and we were bound for the Central Valley, to party BAKO style in the park amidst children, toddlers and adults alike, as we rode down hills on blocks of ice, BBQ`d on the patio, and made it the special day SisiBoomBoom was after.

-Lovely Ladies of Disneyland- You know its trouble when you set out for Disneyland after champagne breakfast and you`re already sauced by nine am. We were missing our Prince Charming but we did almost make up the Seven Dwarfs, as Izola (The Nutter), Cheri (The Whiner), Diana (The RolyPoly), Danielle (The Brain), Erin (The Grump), and Cheryl (The Hater) spent a day running, strolling, walking...okay, dragging ass around the Happiest Place on Earth. We did enjoy ourselves despite being hungover from breakfast mimosas, exhausted by the week, and completely offended by the rest of world and their rude little children. It was a testament to our emotional fortitude that we survived the day intact and still in love with each other!

- Home Improvement 101- It`s been a challenge and most certainly a priviledge to see my house from a state of unrepair to a state of...semi-repair! John Street got a face lift this summer, from the inside out. Getting it in shape has been a labor of love, in no small part due to the efforts of Sal, Misty & Company, as they dedicated their time, their enthusiasm, and children to turning the house completely around. From the back room, to the hallway, to the living room and dining rooms, they taped every inch of floor, ceiling and window, painted every dirty and neglected nook and cranny, and re-arranged furniture countless times to create a masterpiece (that they now live in and enjoy, of course). They and the house deserve their own reality TV show I think.

- 4th of July- I changed my voicemail to say, "Hi this is Diana, I`ve left my cell phone at home today as I am riding around Coronado in a bike possee, bound for the yacht club, and some swimming in the Bay. Please leave me a message and I`ll get back to you when the fireworks are over." Or something like that. It was great national holiday, Nado and Bernsen style, in the company of the Family Dinner Crew, complete with steak and eggs breakfast, bike possee across the island, drinks at the CYC, more drinks on the Bay, cruising in the Boston Whaler...til it broke down and Sam swam it to safety, more bike possee, more BBQ, more drinks, and fireworks in all directions as far as the eye could see.

-Jimmy Loves Farewell Party- And the Evite said, "Diana has been Girl at Work lately preparing for her 2008-2009 Return to Oz tour. She`s trading home, job, adn country for life, love, and adventure in the Land Down Under. Come help her celebrate her impending voyage at Jimmy Loves in the Gaslamp- featuring fabulous 80s cover band and musical guest, the PopRox!" Or something like that. It was an awesome turnout of beloved friends and familiar faces. Eric and Alison, Mike and his camera, Izola and Jaime, Scott and Meghan (all the way from San Francisco- and I was crying before they came!), "little brother" Erik, Katie and Jared, Danielle, Chris and Stephanie, Cheri and Cheryl, Jeannine and Tom and Wendy. We rocked out on the dance floor until it was time for 2 am breakfast at Brian`s All Night Eatery. A night of a few of my favorite things- dancing, best friends, good music, and late night food.

-Family in the LBC- Nothing is funnier than watching your adult siblings bob up down in dance I`m sure they saw once on National Geographic and calling it an aboriginal wedding dance. Which is what they`re convinced I surely will be doing as I`m clearly running off into the Outback with an Aborigine (what ever happened to Crocodile Dundee?) to wrestle snakes and paint bark. That`s life with the Saucedo Nation- there`s always a reason to laugh at someone`s expense. We celebrated Dad`s and Sal`s birthday and my farewell with a Chinese Feast at Chen`s, complete with speeches and cake. The Siblings all huddled under the dragon on the wall for a picture for me to take to Oz, "So they`ll think we went to the Olympics!"

-Any Time with Mack is Good Time- Whether it be a few short hours or a whole afternoon, time with Mackenzie is memorable. Wally the Wombat, from my first tour in Oz was a hit- although now currently lost somewhere between the wall and Rageddy Ann and Andy. With Mack I can be a flower, or a pirate, or a painter, or a princess...who wouldn`t want to be all those things and more?

-Saturday Garage Sale and Girl`s Camping- They kinda start the same way, with lots of alcohol, coffee, and a general dislike of humanity. I swear the weirdo garage sale people come out before the sun comes up. Aparently sunrise is also a good time to wake up your fellow campers with the sounds of wretching (even with moving  campsites we couldn`t escape it!). All my best girls were there to share both happy and odd occassions. In both instances we just huddled together and drank. I`m forever grateful for their companionship!  Each required coordination, patience, and a heavy dose of good humor, which we all had, and which is why I love them so much.

A thousand thank you’s, mad love, and unending gratitude to the village of people who have supported and encouraged this Traveling Girl to new heights and long distances: girlfriends, best friends, boyfriend, Mom and Dad, new friends, old friends, Wise Uncle, sisters, brothers, godchildren, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, cousins, school friends, colleagues, running partners, and the family dinner crew….and the wider world deserves mention too- bank tellers, lawyers, paralegals, financial advisors, strangers, insurance salesmen, boxing instructors, contractors, handymen and handywomen, clients, garage sale supporters, Wetstone wine bar, Shakespeare’s pub, immigration officers, veterinarians, postal workers, the Starbucks guy, Carpe Diem coffee shop….I don’t want to forget anyone who has been a part of this journey with me.

Lava, Lava, Lava

2008-06-22 to 2008-06-30

SR and DS Do The BIG Island.

22-30TH JUNE 2008

FYI Sunrise is 5:50am / Sunset is 7:15pm

22 JUNE- TRAVEL FAR

12:39pm SR Arrives into Hilo on HA182 @ 1239

CAR Budget Rental, SR picks up supplies at KTA Supermarket, has pronunciation contest with butcher boy:

"Where`s the baayyyCON?"

3:29pm DS Arrives into Hilo on HA260 @ 1539, DS comes down to escalator to a waiting SR with straight hair

AGAIN. It`s like meeting your new girlfriend all over again!

Pick up some take away from Athena’s Hulihuli Chicken, 15-2579 Pahoa Highway Pahoa

Not sure what happened to Athena, maybe she turned into Adam after realizing Pahoa was an alternative

kinda town……

6:00pm Arrive at Hale Ohai “Puna Treehouse”.....paradise…..gecko on the wall...outdoor showers…

mangos falling with a thud……gay lawnmower man, um, we`ve got no window shades!….DS not

impressed with melted freezer, how will we keep the vodka cold!?...SR and DS cruise the back roads of

Kalapana, through rainforest and lava, to find Huli Huli chicken and hawaiian bread at the market and

dine in Lava Tree State Park at dusk, to the joy of their stomachs and the good fortune of mosquitos.

23 JUNE- DIANA DAY

Umm….it`s an eat, sleep, eat, sleep, enjoy the birds, look out the window, and eat, sleep, kinda day. Just the right amount of rest and relaxation to send the body into turmoil. SR gets sick….karma for telling his girlfriend not to get sick prior to the trip from her hectic lifestyle….SR has sore throat, DS is smug…..and then? DS breaks a wine glass…SR has the last laugh.

24 JUNE- AM I REALLY HIKING 11 MILES?

7:30am Kilauea’s Summit Caldera Hike – 11 Miles

Please refer to Kilauea Map & stop at Visitor Centre for detailed map

Bring; Water, Layers, FOOD snacks, Suncreen, Hat, Sunnies, Hiking shoes

2:00pm Lava Viewing into the Ocean: Hawai`i County has opened a viewing area at the end of Highway 130 (the

Kea`au - Pahoa bypass road). Visitors may enter the viewing area between 2 p.m. and 8 p.m. Visitors

may call the lava update recorded message for more information about the lava viewing area.

3:53pm Mum & Dad arrive on HA188 into Kona

6:00pm Dinner in Pahoa – Paolo’s Bistro, 333 Pahoa Village Rd.

8:00pm Punalu’u Beach - "Honu`ea", the Hawksbill turtle, whose nesting season is from May till the end of

summer. The Honu`ea come out at night and nest at Punalu`u Black Sand Beach.

Trip Day Notes:

- Okay, so quite a few changes to the itinerary, DS and SR are a flexible couple and go with the NOW….rather than dwell on yesterday or be worried about tomorrow. DS is very disappointed there was no 11 mile hike, due to unsafe air quality around the crater`s rim. Minipoly (aka, DS`s soft tummy) – very HAPPY! Instead we hiked the smaller Kilauea Iki Crater instead, still impressively 5 miles AND walking through a crater….Are we going the right way??? “Just follow the stone offerings, honey.” A quick stroll in the LAVA tube, its dark, its damp, and surrounded by rainforest- molten hot lava really did this?

- Changed the Kamokuna Plume viewing to dusk where more opportunity to see active LAVA flow and get the best images. A ten minute walk along lava in the dark, to stand around on lava and watch lava hit the ocean in spectacular fashion for hours. Its mesmerizing. This was definitely one of the highlights of the trip. The only place in the world where this occurs!

- SR and DS found the Treehouse to be so comforting that we did not dine out, and it was much better conversation, company and food than we likely would have found in Pahoa.

- Turtles had to wait until Thursday with the Parents as Pele decides to close Highway 130 and it is a 2 hour detour…..

- DS tries not be nervous as they are tailed for miles by a large, local pick-up truck with blazing lights on a deserted two lane road to the house, ocean on the right, LAVA and rainforest on the left. No where to go as they follow us into our neighborhood. SR says, "Have you watched Wolf Creek?" DS tries hard not to hate him.

25 JUNE- The Tallest Mountain in the World

4:00pm Depart Treehouse back via Hilo to the 200 and then at Mile 27 turn right to Mauna Kea

Make sure that there is a full tank of gas in the vehicle before making the trip up to the Visitor Station.

Due to the steep grade and low oxygen level, the internal combustion engine runs inefficiently. Fuel is

NOT available for purchase on Mauna Kea. The nearest gas station is about thirty miles either way from

the bottom of Saddle Road (Hwy 200) to either Hilo or Waimea.

5:45pm Mauna Kea Stargazing Program until 10pm. Summit temperatures will be near 7.5 C this afternoon, 2.5

C this evening.

Trip Day Notes:

- Two weeks too early for the Pahoa Pork Butt bake off. Damn! Very interested to hear who gets Mayor (and Hawaii only has one county we are told), SR pick is Stacy….DS likes...um...the guy with the most signs.

- It`s a sleep, eat, sleep day as DS and SR prepare for a long night on the mountain. DS is still not sure what 7.5 C means, but she`s about to find out. That`s effing cold for the rest of you Fahrenheiters. We find a Starbucks on the way to Hilo before driving the beautiful HW 200 through yet another gorgeous landscape shaped by...LAVA.

- The Visitor Center is at 9,000 feet. Air thin. Feet cold. Views amazing. We watch the education program, learn about the mountain and its local heritage and astronomical significance. Then it`s a Milky Way toast for the local elder as its his last night on the mountain as ranger.

- The large telescopes come out and the sky opens up before us, constellations and planets- we`re south enough to see the Southern Cross! Saturn looks fake through the scope, though Jupiter and her moons are amazing…Leo is rising in the sky. DS couldn`t be happier (although maybe with a hot drink, she could be). SR thinks DS is prettier than all the constellations, black holes & space junk in this universe.

26 JUNE- MUM and DAD`s Great Big Island Adventure or "Where`s the Lava?"

9:00 am Gentle YOGA @ Kalani Resort, 126860 Kalapana-Kapoho Beach Road

12:00pm Ask Mum & Dad over to the Treehouse for Lunch and then take them up to Hawaii Volcanoes National

Park. Suggest Jagger Museum, driving around Crater Rim drive and after our hike know where the good

spots are to stop!!

Trip Day Notes:

- Out of bed at 8:56am oops no yoga, though DS waking up at 7 am had plenty of opportunity to clear her thoughts…..

- An amazing Hawaiian day, DS and SR prepared lunch, The Parents arrived safely and loved the Treehouse though probably could not stay in such a remote area. Where`s the Marriott? Dad wonders. Then onto a search for…..LAVA! Dad was fascinated, nay obsessed, as he ran toward the plume, abandoning wife and daughter at the entrance. SR found it hard to keep up as they scampered over the lava to the viewing point.

- Mum jumps in with SR. DS in with Dad, and they`re off to the volcano. DS gripping the door handle all the way, making sure her father doesn`t rear end the truck in front of them to catch up to SR and mum….

- We went to Kilaeua Crater to show them the Lava tube, the crater, actively spewing steam, and the museum with Ranger Doug that kept them enthralled for a 20 minute lesson. Mum was the teacher’s pet. Then its more driving as we`re off to the other side of the island for turtles. Mum and Dad will make a full circle back to Kona.

- Thankfully after all that driving, one turtle decided to get nesting at Punu’luu. Though there were a few concerns the named turtle was dead!! “No dad, its just resting. Step back. Don`t poke it.”

- It`s been a long day. We could almost be cranky, but with an unwavering sense of adventure, the intrepid four find themselves at Hana Hou. The Southern most restaurant in the USA! What a delight, it was like a oasis in the desert. Complete with roast beast, Key Lime pie and some local brew coffee.

- Mum and Dad take off back up the coast for some grueling driving along two-lane roads, hairpin turns, rain, and crazy local drivers. They persevered and were triumphant, if not a little worse for wear. DS and SR have their own two hour trip home with some honest, some comforting and some quite emotional conversations that did end up causing some quirky anxiety dreams for DS….

27 JUNE- THE KONA WEDDING

10:00 am Depart Puna for Waikoloa Village, Kona – 2 ½ hour drive

ACCOM Waikoloa Colony Villas

WEDDING- Stewart and Veronica Hamilton

5:30 pm Kings Knoll, 69-275 Waikoloa Beach Drive, Waikoloa

7:00 pm Anna`s Ranch, 65-1480 Kawaihae Rd., Kamuela (on the way to Waimea

Trip Day Notes:

- DS definitely did not want to leave the treehouse; whether it was the natural beauty, the solitude or the company without the interruptions. No dogs, some cats that decided to come by and fight, no work, no drama…..No cell coverage….YES! (clearly an SR sentiment).

- Patience was required today, with a 5 hour drive around the island to see what SR wanted to show DS. DS passes in and out of consciousness in the passenger`s seat. Though she did struggle as every corner we drove around, something more spectacular decided to pop up.

- Akaka Falls; very pretty, massive trees, old country bakery with bear claws and dog biscuits (for Frida and Elvis, we bought cookies for the Parents).

- Waipo Canyon , majestic, large cliffs that dive right into the blue ocean. Could’nt do the 2 mile hike down into the canyon, though got some great photos (Yes, which we all know DS lost later on).

- Lovely intimate wedding and reception of Veronica and Stewart with not a dry eye in the crowd, especially not from the manic depressive sitting behind DS. Though they had time to console each other at the reception. An early night for DS and SR in their amazing two-story, two bedroom, two-bath townhome, just down the road from the Parents at the Marriott. Who needs to eat out with that amazing kitchen?

28 JUNE- BEACH DAY……Finally!!!!!!

Waialea Beach (69), Hapuna State Beach or Kauna`oa Beach – 8 miles up Hwy 19 and left on Mauna Kea Beach Drive. Between Hapuna & Puako Town there is a paved road near the 69 Pole Marker.

HAVE to have a drink at the Mauna Kea Beach Resort - Sandbar

6:30pm Dinner – Waimea Ranch House, 64-1144 Mamalahoa Highway, Kamuela, HI 96743

Trip Day Notes:

- It didn’t take long for DS to find Starbucks, and it didn’t take long for the little sparrows to find our coffee cake. Compromised breakfast for a chuck burger with soggy tomatoes. What is it with the expensive food here – maybe they are on an island in the middle of the friggin PACIFIC!!

- Found the Wailalea Beach and such a gorgeous contrast between dead trees, blue sea and acacia overhanging the sand, so we did not get burnt….or sun damaged (as Mum insists)! Hours on the beach, hours in the water. Heaven?

- Forget eating out, we had a lovely family dinner followed by a mai tai at the Marriott and some catching up with the cousins by the pool talking about dysfunctional family childhoods. Made SR want to find the manic depressive….

- Walked the mile or so home in the dark, sprinklers coming on every quarter mile, DS whining that it was only supposed to be half a mile...DS whining in Hawaii!?

29 JUNE- SUNDAY – CAN WE HAVE A BREAK? IT IS HAWAII AFTER ALL!

Trip Day Notes:

- DS and SR hit the breakfast jack pot. Kings Grille at the golf course – ample and affordable brekky!!! Yes, the Parents went there every morning for the rest of their stay.

- Back to Wailalea Beach, this time with the Parents in tow whom “would not stay more than 30 mins”….5 hours later! We slept, we swam, we laughed, we talked...the Parents wandered off after awhile and didn`t come back!? Concerned they had gone walkabout (well they had been spending a great deal of time with an abo!), instead they found food and the company of the Wedding Party. Eating and snorkeling ensued.

- Dinner with the Parents at the Hapuna Prince hotel, after getting lost on the loop road and walking through the partially renovated, mouldy foyer we got to an amazing balcony setting. Unfortunately SR and DS had one Washington oysters each…..which had a few repurcssions, you know, month not ending in Y, um, the whole Washington part. Although Macadamia Nut crusted Mahi Mahi for main was yum!

- Only 3 half hours of sleep, between chatting and trips to the bathroom.

30 JUNE- Why are we leaving Hawaii exactly?

05:00am Waikoloa Colony Villa – Kona Domestic Airport

06:00am SR Check in to HA107 @ 06:39am

09:30am DS Check out of Waikoloa Colony Villas

10:00am Drop Budget Rental Car

11:00am DS Check in to HA167 @ 11:34am

Trip Day Notes:

- Too early to say goodbye properly, SR could only leave a note and drive 90 miles an hour to get to the airport, wait for a shuttle bus getting washed, wait in line pleading with a haole at Hawaiian Airlines until a local took pity on him that he NEEDED to get on the flight in 20 minutes….Why so desperate to leave paradise?

- SR so tired at the airport….flight delayed…DS so tired at breakfast with the Parents (they are wondering if SR is like a drug she`s coming down off of, she laughs when he`s there, she`s a brat when he`s gone)...The Parents take DS to the airport and continue their Hawaiian holiday...DS tries in vain to reach SR as he waits....cell phone batteries dead, uncooperative pay phones...they fly in separate directions across the Pacific.

Aloha!

Family Weekend in Port Macquarie

2008-08-14 to 2008-08-17

I`m not but 24 hours fresh off the plane before SR whisks me 5 hours north to his hometown of Port Macquarie, New South Wales, to spend time with the family and celebrate his sister Angela’s 30^th birthday.

As we make our approach into town, SR points out three mountains named by Captain Cook as he floated off the coast of Australia during one of his many voyages of discovery….Captain Cook? Really?....Having already been two places this year traversed by said seafaring Captain (Alaska and Hawaii), I`m thinking, "Man, this guy really got around." And then I`m thinking, "Man, I really get around." Quick, I need a map! Where’s my next stop on Captain Cook’s world tour?

31 in Sydney

2008-08-19

..or...I`m phamished, where`s fish face?

I turned 21 in Paris with Deirdre and a bunch of Australians and Brits, eating curry, and getting tanked on wine.

I turned 31 in Sydney with Danielle and Australians and Brits, eating seafood, and getting tanked on wine.

I spent a marvelous day, or to quote SR`s baby, Emica, a FANTASTIC day in Sydney on my 31st. Woke up in five star Quay Grand overlooking the Harbour Bridge, Circular Quay (that`s pronounced "key" not "quuuaay" as I know you hear it in your head, cause I do), and the Rocks. It began with arriving to the hotel the night before and having my "Really?!" moment on bended knee at the window, watching the commuters arrive at the ferry terminal, the sun going down with the Bridge sparkling in the distance. It continued with room service dinner, sparkiing wine, and taxi cab ride to the Enmore Theatre to see Deathcab for Cutie. Did I mention it had rained a little and now the City and her streets were sparkling? (Catching onto the theme here?) SPARKLING 31st!

I digress...so, waking up to the Harbour is just as fun as going to sleep to it. And just so you don`t think I`m spoiled or taking on airs about my good fortune, somehow the shower did manage to flood the entire bathroom and I did manage to spill the entire contents of the coffee pot into my cup and saucer at breakfast. So if you`re worried about my humility, believe me, it`s in check.

After a lovely breakfast of watching ferrying commuters, none of whom I`m sure appreciate the view anymore as I do, we walked the Botanical Gardens, past the Opera House (really!?), and made our way to the flying foxes. Because THEY ARE MY FAVORITE. After the Garden, it was a walk down George Street, and into the Museum of Contemporary Art for a free exhibition...of art, okay? Art should always be free...especially if you don`t think its any good, then at least you have the consolation that you didn`t pay for it. Which we did, cause it wasn`t really good. Or to my tastes, let`s say.

Most meaningful birthday gift? Besides whole day which was like one GIANT gift, the Tiffany keychain with two ladybugs on them. For my house key and the car key (insert silly laugh here, since it`s not likely i`ll be using it anytime soon!). But isn`t SR a good man? He also bought me a heater- most prized electrical possession besides the computer at the moment. When I say I`m chillin` in Sydney, I mean it.

After the practical gift giving, we headed for Paddington to discover that Phamish, the intended vietnamese fare for the evening, was closed for winter break. Wait a minute, isn`t my birthday in the summer!? What alternate universe is this? Alas, but good thing we are flexible- and really, I`ll eat anywhere. Three glasses of wine later at the Green Something Hotel Pub, John and Danielle join us for more drinks, much catching up, and the search for dinner. Yes, there is a walkabout involved, and in circular fashion, we find ourselves at Fish Face, a familiar venue to DS and SR, and we`re both hoping a Daihatsu doesn`t breakdown in front of it this time. Fish entree and exhaust are not a delightful combination. To our joy, no broken down cars this time, only more wine, great food, and lots of laughs. It wasn`t the oysters that did this kid in today, just the three more glasses of Flying Fish vino, piled on top of renamed swordfish (did you know its name got changed? visit www.fish.gov.au for more information), prawn ravioli, and a lovely main course whose species I can no longer remember. Everything else I do though. Fantastic day.

The Art of Doing Nothing

2008-09-01 to 2008-09-10

Or Learning to Embrace My Lonely

Or Bondi Bliss

Bondi is a great place to be doing nothing. Il bel fare niente. But if you think getting reacquainted with yourself is doing nothing, even if surrounded by a scenic locality…I beg to differ. Now that I have a space heater I can happily lounge about the apartment, diligently managing my cyberspace personality, drinking my skim latte one sugar from the organic coffee guy, until it feels too pathetic to be inside. Bondi Beach is but a three minute walk from the doorway, and there I can sit and stare at the waves crashing on the beach for hours or less cause I`m still so damn cold, still bundled up in a hoodie and jeans whilst the rest of the world passes me by in running shorts, bikinis, and skirts. You can tell us tourists over here, you really can. We’re wearing too many clothes. If it’s not a picnic lunch with my book in some strategic corner out of the cool breeze, then its braving the wind along the Bondi to Bronte to Waverly seaside walkway, a 8.4 km roundtrip. A journey infinitely better without the aid of music, because nothing beats the sound of the waves crashing along the cliffs and into the small cove-like beaches. And anyway, my ipod is on the fritz, so I’m forced to be here alone with my thoughts. The good, the bad, and the ugly. If it’s not the walk then it’s rising to the challenge of public transportation and re-mastering my upturned sense of direction to go into the City or the boonies to meet a loved one for lunch. Yes, the public transportation newb that I am, I’m still missing buses, and getting on the wrong train, and walking the wrong direction out of the station, and getting off at the wrong stop…and, the list embarrassingly goes on.

In the days since my first whirlwind week in the land down under, I’ve had to adjust to all manner of things, material, immediate, existential, and otherwise. Life without a car, a cell phone, without a schedule, or a professional purpose, without a to-do-list, or meetings, without a summer, or gaggle of girlfriends, or motivation to exercise, or without that insistent nagging feeling that there’s something I need to, absolutely need to do… Holy crap, I’m responsible for entertaining myself for almost ten hours out of the day! I haven’t done that since I was in elementary school and could disappear into the canyon behind the house with my cat to play in the dirt all day- those were simple times! But my last worldly incarnation was far from simple, I was an uptight adult American woman who had been over scheduled, over stimulated, over emotional, over worked, and overwrought.

What a major upheaval in my world view- for now I sit alone most of the day, pondering... Where am I? Who am I? What do I like to do? Where do I want to go? Why do I have to do it alone? It’s that last question that gets me, because most of us think to ourselves, “oh yeah, I can be alone, no problem, I enjoy myself.” It’s only a few brave people who admit that they don’t like to sit around in their own messy headspace and prefer the company of people at all times, good or bad. Cheri used to tell me I didn’t like to be alone. I used to get miffed and say, “Nah, I can do it. I just don’t have the time.” SR said the same to me the first day I admitted to him and to myself that I was lonely. “No,” I said, “I was alone before, like before I went to bed, when I was in the car, when I was living alone at the house.” He kind of nodded his head, as if to say, “Uh-huh, sure honey.” And let’s face it, brushing my teeth or battling commuters for strategic lane placement or trying to keep mischievous dogs under control can hardly be construed as quality time for introspection and self-realization.

So here I am, alone for most of the day in Bondi Beach, Australia, with all the time in the world for concentrated self analysis and mindscaping. There’s no escaping me now.

But I’m not alone. I’m actually finding that I might be good company dammit! I can entertain myself, get know myself again, be the master of my own days, my own thoughts, be my own motivator, and I look forward to a beautiful routine of life with a wonderful man, in a gorgeous town, with a few thoughtful and cherished friends, and a whole lot of untapped adventure. Of maybe, as I realized in my last email to the author of DEAP (Drew’s Educational Adventure Program), when you`re living (really living), it`s all an adventure.

So this is what everyday Nita adventure looks like:: bondi bliss. brilliant, vibrant colors. everyday, all the time. :: public transportation that actually works! (despite what the locals think) ::long walks on the cliffs overlooking beautiful ocean and famous beaches. almost daily. :: organic morning coffee across the street with SR :: a little wrestling with the internet. :: yoga :: fresh food :: homemade food! :: learning about giant wombats (who knew!?) with Emica :: swimming in historic North Sydney Olympic pool underneath the Harbour Bridge :: yoga! :: learning to drive on the wrong (okay, left) side of the road (I have to remember to breathe). :: the chinese laundry lady on the corner washes my clothes!? :: VIP cocktails at hotel openings (screw the hors d`ouvres, I`m eating dinner before going so I can drink more free booze!) :: doodling with Emica :: Opening night of latest play at the Opera House (um, I sat six rows behind Cate Blanchett) :: yoga! :: meditation and picnic lunches on grass overlooking Bondi Beach :: afternoon tea in historic house with best friend Danielle :: fabulous dinner with friends at North Bondi Italian :: walks in downtown Sydney (mind you, that’s CBD, if you’re down with the lingo). :: starting and finishing a book, actually wanting to curl up on the couch with some tea and a blanket. :: searching for best chai latte in Sydney :: Yoga! :: quiet evenings spent relaxing, chatting, resting (what’s this? Eight hours sleep is possible?) :: tea and scones! :: studying for dive course :: movies at Fox Studios :: friday night pizza with john and dan: 5-star hotel view or local eatery? :: kangaroo mince at the grocery store (can you imagine spaghetti with roo meat sauce?) :: going through the import process for Frida and Elvis :: realizing I don’t have enough time to go home and change so I buy a new dress, and a new bag, and a new necklace, and change in the fitting room, and then I get a makeover, and then I catch the train into CBD and show up right on time for cocktail function at the Opera House (again!) ::hot drinks with SR and ER anytime :: a rainy day “trapped” inside the apartment all day- I actually want to vacuum? :: listening to all the exotic birds return to the neighborhood since the first day of spring (never mind the rain)…cockatoos, kookaburras, lorikeets!

so good. so good! so good!

Get to Know Me?

2008-09-17

This apparently is the 2008 version of that fabu-email chain "Get to Know Your Friends" that appears everywhere from your inbox to MySpace. Which I think looks a lot like the 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007 version since the questions still vary from the same mundane (Diamonds or Pearls?) to slightly interesting (What did you have for breakfast?). My favorite is when people don`t really answer the question, but wander off in their response and give you a little glimpse of how their minds work. And really, how`s a man supposed to answer "Diamonds or Pearls?"

And who`s getting to know who here, anyway? I think I`m only starting to get to know me....

1. What time did you get up this morning?... 7:30 am

2. Diamonds or pearls?...sometimes both. mostly pearls. okay, maybe more diamonds...um....

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?...Dark Knight at Fox Studios... Private showing of Step Brothers at Sony!

4. What is your favorite TV show?...No TV! No TV! But if I was watching, I`d say Heroes...I`m missing it now, aren`t I?

5. What do you usually have for breakfast?...cereal, raisin toast, tea...was coffee, but I find that it tears me up...like most things I eat.

6. What is your middle name?... Mom`s name. Just like Nancy (who sent this to me originally killing time as she serves our country). :)

7. What food do you dislike?...the better question is What Foods Dislike You? refer to #5.

8. What is your favorite CD at the moment?....I remain without steady musical input. Favorite CD before I left home was Aussie CD Angus and Julia Stone A Book Like This

9. What kind of car do you drive?...Ha ha ha ha. You think I like driving on the wrong side of the road!? No! I forget to breathe as I see large buses trying to squeeze into the already too-small lane in front of me! But if I did drive it would be a...Holden?

10. Favorite sandwich?...Ham and tomato...very light mayo...I know this surprises you.

11. Favorite drink?.... mojito. I`m looking forward to a Prado Mojito back home...and a Bali Hai singapore sling...and a Brigantine margarita....oh, lush.

12. Favorite item of clothing?...my bellbottomy jeans from Nordies Rack. Little Em says I wear them all the time. That`s cause they`re the only ones that fit, darling.

13. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go?....Um, I am on vacation. In Australia.

14. Where would you retire to?...Um, I am retired. In Australia.

15. What was your most recent memorable birthday?..... was 21 in Paris, now 31 in Sydney.

16. Furthest place you are sending this?....Iraq. (Or all over the world, since this is GetJealous)

17. Person you expect to send it back first?...maybe Cheri? (My mother did via email!)

18. When is your birthday?...19 Aug.

19. Morning person or a night person?...Afternoon person!!! I don`t like loud noises in the morning. I used to not like going to sleep...I love it now. Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep!

20. What is your shoe size?.... 7 1/2 or 8 depending on shoe (again like Nancy)

21. Pets?....with the menagerie drastically downsized through death, divorce, and distance...I can now only claim 2 beautiful dogs- The Princess and the Adolescent, so dubbed by their Grandma. They just spent three awesome days with their Grandpa- hilarious!

22. Any new and exciting news you`d like to share with us?...I just learned to Scuba dive in Manly with SR. I still have high anxiety about barfing in my regulator.

23. What did you want to be when you were little?....A vet like Nancy...or a Doctor, cause in the Game of Life you made like $50,000 a year. Holy cow.

24. How are you today?....blissed out in Bondi. The sun`s come out and its warm. Nevermind it was pissing down rain yesterday. Spastic weather! Alas, I`m still wearing too many clothes. Everyone else is naked and I`m still wearing my fat pants.

25. What is your favorite flower?....Calla lily.

26. What is a day on the calendar you are looking forward to?....I`m losing time here, so I`m not even sure what day it is on the calendar...but it would have to be 24 Sep when we depart for Far North Queensland...sounds like a fantasy destination in a Narnia book, or perhaps someplace Shrek would go.

27. What are you listening to right now?....magpies, minahs, and the wind as it blows down Wallis Parade, whipping sand and leaves and allergens into the apartment. I`m certain this is the windiest street in Sydney- howling winds rain or shine.... :)

28. What was the last thing you ate?.... Haloumi cheese and spinach salad with pot of Earl Grey Tea at Gertrude and Alice`s bookstore/restaurant. That`s like Heaven....books + food. Danielle, you must come here with me. We must open up a shop such as this.

29. Do you wish on stars? ...No wishing. Just doing.

30. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?....dark blue, like Nancy.

31. How is the weather right now?...please refer to numbers 24 and 27.

32. Last person you spoke to on the phone?....SR!

33. Favorite soft drink?...would have to be Ginger Beer...medicinal and refreshing.

34. Favorite restaurant?... Fairouz! Again, just like Nancy...

35. Hair color?...dark brown or light brown with red ends...or...chlorine faded brown.

36. What was your favorite toy as a child? ....my stuffed dog Bernard.

37. Summer or winter?.... SUMMER.

38. Chocolate or Vanilla?...........CHOCOLATE.

39. Coffee or tea?....alas, TEA.

40. Do you want your friends to email you back?....of course. I miss them.

41. When was the last time you cried?....maybe a little today when I read something that struck me as true and poignant in the bookstore. Eat, Pray, Love...read it when you can.

42. What is under your bed?....not sure. nothing living I hope.

43. What did you do last night?....had an excellent dinner with friends T&T in their gorgeous house over a bowl of delicious pasta, fresh bread, and cool wine, after a long day with the scuba.

44. What are you afraid of?...being constipated...well, be careful what you ask.

45. Salty or sweet?...savory.

46. How many keys on your key ring?...one. the only one I need.

47. How many years at your current job? seven at last job...almost 5 weeks at the current job of being....me.

48. Favorite day of the week?...everyday is a good day.

49. Do you make friends easily?....yes, when i want to...?

50. How many people will you send this to? ....not sure. maybe I`ll just put it on my getjealous site and forgo trying to remember everyone`s email address....(which I have done, sorry to those of you I actually did send this to)

51. How many will respond?...Mom better at least! She`s retired!

52. Do you like finding out all this stuff about your friends?...it`s always nice to catch up.

Yo Ho Yo Ho, A Pirate`s Life For Me

2008-09-19

Or, Ahoy Maties! Time to Set Sail on the Pirate Ship Coleridge, Yo Ho and a bottle of...Sangria.

Sydneysiders find their inner pirate on International Talk Like A Pirate Day and celebrate with piratitude by consuming fine Mexican food in belated celebration of Mexican Independence Day (cause I think there`s cause for a new dual celebration every September- Pirate Mex 2008!) and by drinking copious flaggons of Sangria in celebration...of well, drinking!

Crew of the Pirate Ship Coleridge, mind you, no lesser pirates here, we`re all Captains! (which might have made for too many cooks in the kitchen)

- Captain Highboots, Danielle

- Captain Blood-Sword, Johno

- Captain Four-Fingers, Diana (because she nearly lost her finger tip to the righteous cause of Sangria)

- Captain Crook- Stevo

- Captain Death-Sword, Liam

- Captain Feather-Sword, Emica

* watch out for those -Sword clan members, tremendous rivalries there, unless they are united in the common goal of chasing down Captain Crook and making him WALK THE PLANK.

Captain Blood-Sword picks up abandoned cutlass and brandishes it.

Captain Crook, "Mate, you need to go through rigorous training to handle that."

Captain Blood-Sword flips the cutlass in his hands and challenges Captain Crook with a, "Yarrrr!"

Fighting ensues.

Captain Death-Sword comes running in, "Heeeey! That`s my sword! You didn`t ask me if you could use that! Did I say you could use that!?"

Other piratey activities in addition to Sword Fighting included Make Your Own Pirate Flag, Pin the Flag on the Treasure, and the beginning of Pirates of the Caribbean 1 (before the scary parts) with Captain Death-Sword begging, "Please, please, please, can I tell Captain Feather-Sword what`s going to happen next!?"

On the PirateMex2008 grog and feed menu, straight from the galley of the PS Coleridge:

- Picadillo and rice :: a yummy meat dish

- quesadillas :: chicken filled, cheesy delights!

- homemade salsa and guacamole

- Sangria :: clearly not Mexican in origin, but who cares? Pirates sail the world!

- Dessert :: for the wee pirates, creamy ice creamy thing and for the more seasoned pirates, Dark Chocolate with Chili!

Captain Death-Sword :: "Hmmmm, Mexican Hot Pirate Food!"

Captain Feather-Sword :: "My mouth is burning!"

The Great Green Way of Far North Queensland

2008-09-23

Or, SR whisks the bronchial DS to a land called Queensland, which is Far, Far Away and ruled by...okay, some regular minister who is probably embroiled in some mundane scandal, I`m sure...but sure sounds like a fairy tale land of princes and ogres, and princesses and and definitely a fairy godmother, and likely talking animals, or at least some rich and incredible biological diversity, even if the animals don`t talk...the itinerary thus:

Wednesday 24th September

DS/SR depart Sydney for Townsville

Driving Distance: 65 kms (50 minutes)

Accommodation: Rainforest Inn, Paluma

http://www.rainforestinnpaluma.com/home.htm

• After checking in, afternoon walk into Paluma Gulburu National Park “National Park in the Clouds”

Thursday 25th September

Driving Distance: Paluma to Wallaman Falls, 91kms (1hr 20mins)

Wallaman Falls to Cardwell, 104kms (1hr 20mins)

Accommodation: Hinchinbrook Island Wilderness Retreat

http://www.hinchinbrookresort.com.au/index1.html

• 5am departure (SR is cruel) for Dawn at….Wallaman Falls

• Snack break, Broadwater State Park

• 0830am - Leave car at Port Hinchinbrook Marina, Cardwell & catch ferry to Hinchinbrook (Nim’s Island) which

includes Full Island day tour.

Friday 26th September

Driving Distance: Cardwell to Mission Beach, 70kms (50 mins)

Accommodation: Mackay’s Mission Beach

www.mackaysmissionbeach.com

• 4pm Depart Hinchinbrook Island for Port Hinchinbrook Marina, Cardwell

• Edmund Kennedy National Park

Saturday 27th September

Driving Distance: Mission Beach to Tully Gorge, 62kms (1 Hour)

Tully Gorge to Eubenangee, 120kms (1 Hour 40mins)

Eubenangee to Mossman, 145kms (2 Hours)

Accommodation: Silky Oaks Lodge

www.silkyoakslodge.com.au

• Tully Gorge State Forest

• The Boulders

Sunday 28th September

Driving Distance: Cape Tribulation to Palm Cove,

Accommodation: The Sebel Reef House & Spa Palm Cove

www.reefhouse.com.au

• The Daintree Rainforest contains 30% of frog, marsupial and reptile species in Australia, and 65% of Australia`s bat and butterfly species. 20% of bird species in the country can be found in this area. And it all lives in an area that takes up 0.2% of the landmass of Australia.

0545 – Depart lodge for Daintree Village jetty for bird watching tour departure

http://www.daintreecoast.com/daintree-river-tours.html (this will definitely get DS you out of bed!)

0900 – Back to Silky Oaks for breakfast

1100 – Drive up to Cape Tribulation, 1hr 15 mins. (see map)

1230 - A beautiful long beach walk links Myall Beach and Cape Tribulation Beach. Start from the car park at Kulki and follow the signposted track over the ridge of Cape Trib which drops down onto Myall Beach. The view from this southern side of the cape is spectacular. As you walk south, you come to Mason Creek, which can be a barrier at high tide. At low tide it is possible to walk south for about 2 kms to the southern end of Myall Beach, stopping to do the Dubuji Boardwalk on the way. Follow the track back to Mason’s Shop, where you can swim, take refreshments and then retrace your steps or follow the footpath beside the road back to Kulki.

Monday 29th September- Alas, no great diving on the reef! A few changes to the itinerary finds our intrepid travelers spending three days alone in Palm Cove- chilling out. Not a bad alternative.

Wednesday 1st October-

Driving Distance: Palm Cove to Cairns

Accommodation: Sebel Harbour Lights, Cairns

www.harbourlightscairns.com.au

Thursday 2nd October- Depart Cairns and arrive in Sydney

TNQ, Part I :: Townsville to Mission Beach

2008-09-24 to 2008-09-26

-or, From Trials to Cape Tribulation- Miniature Disasters and Minor Catastrophes in the Wet Tropics-

Townsville to Mission Beach

As we have learned, Queensland, the Townsville to Cape Tribulation trek traverses the TNQ, Tropical North Queensland (as Queensland is an enormous state, nobody supersizes like Australia) where you are relatively confident of paved roads and populated towns. Far North Queensland, or the FNQ, represents the area to the north of Cooktown (where Captain Cook ran his Endeavor aground on the Great Barrier Reef) all the way to the tip of the continent at Cape York. Four-wheel drive only. And tents. Needless to say, we stayed in very nice hotels and gorgeous resorts and drove our sporty rental car for 800+ kilometers throughout the beach towns of TNQ. We`ll save FNQ for another day and possibly a stronger immune system.

For yes, it would be an understatement to say that I began our travels unwell. I headed out in the spirit of hope, expecting improvement in my condition, failing to recognize that the first round of antibiotics had absolutely no affect on the bronchitis racking my lungs. Determined to heal and to not miss more than we absolutely had to, we decided not to cancel the holiday just because the three-day diving course on the Reef was already off the books (the first big disappointment)- there was still so much to see! And so we departed for the land of sugar cane and bananas, World Heritage Rainforests, and sunny beach towns.

I`m lucky my ears popped after we landed in Townsville. I`ll not describe how long it took or how painful it actually was. But just as they had finished equalizing and I had stopped yelping, we drove 3,000 + feet into the Misty Mountains to stay in the one horse town of Paluma, nestled deep in the cloud rainforest. Okay, maybe there wasn`t even a horse, it was barely a two-lane road leading up into the mountains. The scenery and the greenery, was amazing and vast, as was the pain returning to my ears. We stopped at a small swimming hole on Little Creek, just below the town, where I sat around blowing my nose and blowing out my eardrums while SR explored the surrounds. This would remain our MO for the trip, DS straggling behind, wheezing, snotting, sneezing, bent over in fits of coughing, SR forging ahead with camera to take pictures of things in case I couldn`t reach them.

Evening found us taking a short walk through dense rainforest, strange coo-ing sounds surrounding us, random leaves and branches falling from above, brush turkeys scuttling about, mist beginning to fall. Little did we know, we would be in the company of not only those strange coo-ing sounds for the entirety of the trip, but of a small many-legged creature, as well. By the time we checked into the Rainforest Inn and settled into our room, I was done; but not before a disappointing dinner of rainforest nachos and pizza. The bandicoot hoping about the restaurant deck on our way out did make dinner worthwhile though. The next morning we awoke at dawn to head to our next destination, and that’s when I found the aforementioned many-legged creature nestled in my shoulder, legs a-wigglin’… Okay, I though to myself, I worked as a field biologist for 8 years and never let a TICK get a piece of me. Here I spend five minutes in the rainforest and I find one burrowing madly (second disappointment)!? As SR is poised over me with tweezers I naively ask, What’s the worst thing you can get from a tick here? –Paralysis, death, he replies matter of factly as he extracts THE TICK, head and all. Of course, this is Australia- land of the wild and the deadly. We squished THE TICK in toilet paper and I brought him along to cook on the dashboard.

Next stop…Splendid Isolation on Hinchinbrook Island…

We drove North along the Bruce Highway, deep into TNQ, the Great Dividing Range to our left, the Coral Sea and the Great Barrier Reef to our right, sugar cane fields lining the highway, to catch to nine a.m. ferry to Hinchinbrook Island, discovered by Captain Cook and named after his lunch. A National Park, the Island has only one small resort, requires permits for hiking and overnight backpacking, and was the location of filming for the movie Nim’s Island with Jodie Foster. The one ferry services the island in the morning and afternoon, taking visitors to various scenic points around the island and dropping off resort guests and backpackers. Scenic points included crocodile infested mangrove creeks and long, deserted, tropical beaches. Again, SR explored and as you will see, DS passed out on said tropical beach amongst the coconuts, conspicuously overdressed, but really not caring. We took two walks, one ten minute walk over a boardwalk through a mangrove forest to the napping beach, and one 5.3 km, 3 hour walk, from a ferry drop off at a cute little beach you couldn’t swim at (yes, you guessed it, crocs) through rainforest (please, no more ticks), across more gorgeous beaches, through mangroves (crabs everywhere), and more rainforest (strange coo-ing sounds) to the resort at the tip of the island, no nap for DS. Fever again settling into my body, I realize, that maybe, just maybe, I’m really, really sick and “stuck” in paradise.

This doesn’t stop me, of course, from taking a little swim on what felt like our own private beach just a few steps from our little beach cottage. No crocs here, but potential for hawksbill turtles and dugongs (a.k.a manatees!). Swimming here is as close as we’ll get to the Great Barrier Reef and all its marine wonders, for I remain so sick for the rest of the trip that snorkeling on a day trip to the Reef becomes out of the question. Luckily, the next day we do get to spot some swimming sea turtles and a dugong cresting a wave at Turtle Bay, just around the corner from the resort.

With very few other guests at the resort, meals are low key and almost private, our names are printed on menus at dinner. The food in paradise was really delicious. Or so I hear, by this time I’d completely lost my sense of smell and therefore, ability to taste (disaster!). You could’ve fed me liver and onions and I wouldn’t have known it. Luckily for me, it was a feast for my other senses. Everywhere you go in splendid isolation you are followed by the sound of crashing waves, it was the soundtrack of our walks, our meals (after DS got SR to make them to axe the Billy Joel) and of sleep, both night and day (DS is now mediating the feverish aches with Tylenol nicked from the resort bar). I could very happily live on that beach wrapped in a sarong, eating coconuts, or liver and onions, for a long time.

Next Stop….Mission Beach….

After the afternoon ferry ride back to the mainland, SR hands the ailing DS the keys, and she braves the sugar cane super-highway north to the Mission Beach towns. We checked on THE TICK, by the way, who’d been roasting on the dash for two days…yep, still alive, the little creep. The road takes us through Tully, home to sugar cane smoke stacks (1.8 tons of sugar cane crushed during harvest), the wettest town in Queensland (average 4.27 m or 14 ft of rainfall a year!), rocky creeks with Aboriginal heritage, and wild rivers through immense gorges.

DS successfully navigates the wrong side of the road, constantly admonished by roadside signage to watch her speed, for beware!, cassowaries, Queensland’s magnificent and endangered bird, inhabit these areas. Not only would you not want to be known as the eco-enemy of wild birds everywhere for hitting one, but you wouldn’t want your rental car completely destroyed in retaliation. Not to mention getting run of out of the state with all that bad karma. Be it due to the tension of a successful drive (no cassowaries sighted) or her declining condition, DS passes out upon reaching their hotel in Mission Beach, waking up only to be fed really spicy spaghetti and pizza (she could only taste the “spice” part), and doesn’t rouse until it’s time to get back on the road. SR, bless him, forged ahead to find the take-away dinner and snap a few pictures on his solo beach walk.

The next day we headed for the magnificent Tully Gorge and Babinda Boulders, SR at the wheel, DS drooling, blowing nose (working on my third box of Kleenex here), coughing, and fighting her inner feverish demons in the passengers seat. With the exception of each the Gorge and Boulders, each kilometer passed on the way to our next destination revealed another field of sugar cane, another sugar cane train crossing, another set of smoke stacks. SR says the entire drive smelled sweet. I take his word for it.

Next Stop…The Daintree….

TNQ, Part II :: From Tully to Cape Tribulation

2008-09-27 to 2008-09-28

Next Stop...Silky Oaks Lodge...

In case you can`t tell by the pictures of me at Evil Poo, sorry, I mean, Devil`s Pool at Babinda Boulders, or by the river at Tully Gorge- I am pale. I am also feverish and short, which makes it hard to keep up with SR`s long, quick, healthy legs. Consequently I am always looking behind my shoulder at things I was coming down to see, as SR is already walking back from them by the time I reach him, and we`ve turned around. Schedule to keep, kilometers of sugar cane to drive through. Lucky again, that he has the camera in hand.

Safely tucked back inside our hire car, we head again north through TNQ towards the Daintree, a beautiful river, a secluded resort, and the first World Heritage listed Rainforest. Our destination lay an hour or so beyond Cairns, the last big city in these here parts. I vaguely remember asking for another box of Kleenex and muttering something about a doctor in Cairns before passing out and waking up in the middle of the Daintree rainforest at the Silky Oaks Lodge. Here I was unceremoniously heaped into a golf cart with our belongings (iron grip on my new pink Kleenex box) and taken to our private tree house, No. 11 Kangaroo. The first thing I noticed was the beautiful white hammock hanging across the balcony. Angels began to sing or I just noticed the ringing in my ears. I crawled into that hammock and passed out again. SR was hard pressed to get me out, but seduced me with the idea of watching him swim at our private billabong in the river below. Yes, a real billabong! Not a clothing store! The Murray River runs just below our treehouse, the small billabong just 100 feet away. No crocs this far up in the river we are informed, it`s too cold, and besides the local Aborigines haven`t seen them this far up, in you know, like 2,000 years. SR swims as I lounge, photographing my feet and blowing my nose, until he decides he understands why it`s too cold for crocs. We trudge back up to No. 11 Kangaroo and I am treated to a candlelit spa bath and champagne for my troubles and then crawl blissfully into the best bed we`ve had in TNQ thus far, warm, cushy, and surrounded by rainforest sounds (still that coo-ing!).

Needless to say, we opted to sleep through our 6 pm dinner reservation on their Jungle Perch overlooking lush rainforest at the Lodge. The staff are all now aware that No. 11 Kangaroo has a very ill occupant, if they didn`t notice her drooling in the golf cart on the way down. The desk very kindly gives the name and hours of doctors in Port Douglas, some 40 mins away. SR, ever the dedicated nurse, passes out in commiseration upon hanging up the phone. True to form, even though I can`t taste, I abhor a missed meal, so after a decent sleep, SR and I find our way along the lamp lit wooden bridge to the Lodge restaurant for a late night eat. We walk into the restaurant and realize that even for the hour and the venue, we are woefully underdressed! Mind you, we`ve just walked in the dark on narrow paths surrounded by overhanging trees, over small wooden bridges, flashlight in hand, creepy crawlies everywhere, and there are people dining in suits, diamonds, and evening wear! Look at me again like that, lady, and I`ll cough on your dinner. Or throw the 10-foot long python shed hanging on the Lodge roof at you. *smile* Regardless of our attire and uptight fellow diners (you wish you were as comfortable as me!), we enjoy a lovely meal served by American waitresses?- listening to the rain and watching lighting illuminate the rainforest and river below.

Next Adventure...the Daintree River and Cape Tribulation.

As our pre-dawn birding cruise on the Daintree River had been cancelled (now this was a big disappointment, I brought my binoculars for the occasion), we suffered to sleep in, more or less, before hitting the scene of the previous night`s fashion faux paus for a tropical breakfast. Fully conscious, I could actually enjoy the windy path up to the Lodge, brush turkeys and lizards scuttled around us, butterflies floating by, various bird songs on the air, treehouses nestled here and there golf cart with maid whizzing by. I`m wondering where the snakes are, especially the one that shed on the roof of the restaurant. Breakfast was a splendid spread of tropical fruits, breads, pastries, and eggs, sausages, and baked beans, and patrons are more sensibly dressed. I eat only fruit hoping to be healed by Vitamin C overdose. No scurvy here.

It`s all over too soon, as we pack up, after a brief post-brekkie lounge in the hammock, and we`re off to the Daintree River to see if we can catch some crocs.

We arrive in time for a noontime ride on the Daintree River-train. That`s right, it`s a boat that`s a train. An eco-tastic contraption guaranteed to see you some wildlife, designed to have minimal impact on the environment and wildlife, and maximum viewing pleasure (and as we found out, amusement). The Daintree River train was piloted both by the Croc Nazi (never got his real name) at the bow and by "Thanks Jen" aft (or is it caboose?). We learned a great deal about the ecology of the river, a little to the left there, thanks Jen, a whole lot about the life history of crocodiles, if you would just look up the train, you would see that you still need to go more to the left, thanks Jen, what explorers and which royalty the surrounding rivers and mountain ranges were named for, you`re too close to the bank, move it back just a bit, thanks Jen, that it`s no good to look for wildlife on the bank if you`re wearing dark glasses, who here HASN`T seen that croc on just above the waterline? What did I say earlier about not wearing your dark glasses? Now you`ve gone and held us up and you`re ruining the tour for the other passengers one more pass by the croc, thanks Jen, you`re too close to the bank! Jen!... Luckily for us it was a beautiful day on the river, we saw three juvenile crocodiles nestled within the mangroves, a tree snake and a python resting in the trees, and kingfishers, honeyeaters, and swallows flying about, thanks Jen. Now if only I had brought my binoculars with us too bad I left them in the car.

Next we boarded the ferry to cross the Daintree and headed deep into the Daintree Rainforest National Park towards Cape Tribulation, home to more invisible cassowaries, so watch your speed, but just in case, there are speed bumps every 200m on the windy semi-two-lane roads, gorgeous beaches that aren`t for swimming (you could be attacked by jelly fish), hippies and backpackers, rainforest resorts, iridescent blue butterflies, one lane bridges over rivers and creeks, and no lunch to speak of in any direction. I may have been sick, but I was still susceptible to low blood sugar. Desperate to reach Cape Tribulation with enough time to make the two hour trip back down the coast to Palm Cove, our next destination, we forged ahead (after being thrice thwarted in our attempts to find a meal). And when we reached Cape Tribulation we actually passed it. All of a sudden the road turned to gravel and we knew we`d gone too far, that`s heading into FNQ, you know. So we back tracked to the paved road and found our turn off to Cape Trib, parked the car and got out and walked. It was small. Aptly named, the trials and tribulations of reaching it turned out to be much grander than its actual size. Thank goodness there was a sandwich to be found on the way out of the Daintree. Gastronomically satiated, but pulmonarily on the edge, SR was a sweetheart and let me take the wheel, and I drove long way back to Palm Cove on the wrong side of the road, in a vain attempt to distract myself from my declining condition.

Next...Palm Cove Luxury and Rest at the Sebel Reef House

TNQ, Part III :: Palm Cove to Port Douglas

2008-09-29 to 2008-10-05

Palm Cove… Luxury and Rest at the Sebel Reef House…

Sometimes things have to get worse before they can get better. In Palm Cove, I found a compassionate doctor, a prescription for antibiotics that promised to kill every germ in my body, and a direct order not to travel on a plane. "Ears you can clear," he said. "It`s not so easy to tell when you`ve ruptured a sinus." Come again? Rupture a sinus?! As if by suggestion, our patience and devotion to the cause was tested one more time, as the infection in my right sinus became so bad, we had to make an 3 a.m. run to the emergency room for some heavy duty painkillers. We met nothing but compassion and attentiveness, from the front desk guy who gave me a bag of ice for my face, to the cabbie who drove us the 30 miserable minutes into town and waited the hour while I was treated to then walk me out and take me back to the hotel, to the doctor who came in syringes ablazin` with temporary remedy, asking no questions, taking no prisoners. SR was wonderful, solid, supportive, and brave throughout; while I whined, thrashed, and spewed. In retrospect, it makes a good story, but at the time, it scared the crap out of us.

We spent three days in recovery lounging about in Palm Cove, sleeping every night under a mosquito net (how tropical! How romantic!), sleeping in every morning before wandering down to buffet breakfast, listening to the sound of the waves crashing on the beach, lounging by the pool reading books, walking on the beach, and playing Scrabble by the serve-yourself-honor-system-bar in the lobby. I wish I could blame the fact that I lost both games of Scrabble to SR on the snot in my head, or the drugs, or the alchohol, but I can`t. He bested me fair and square with the cunning use of double letters and triple word scores. The best response I could come up with was, "I can`t wait to get home, so my Mom can kick your ass at Scrabble." Heads up Mom, I`ll be needing you to back up the tough talk.

…Cairns to Port Douglas and back again…

After Palm Cove, we headed back to Cairns for a night to await SR`s friends and golf mates, for their four day long masters tour of Cairns and Port Douglas golf courses. This is where DS was meant to take her leave of SR and board a plane back to Sydney. But I actually had a doctor`s note that said, No travel No how. And that was that, the hire car drove back north to Port Douglas piled to the brim with people, golf clubs, bags, groceries, lots of booze, and lots of laughter. We checked into POOL, an apartment resort with a giant swimable moat in the middle of it (no crocs here, but definitely some on the golf course). Not that I had any intention of infringing on Guy`s Golf Weekend, but I have to say that in addition to recovering on holiday for just a little bit longer, I had the best time playing cards and drinking games, having all my meals home cooked, lounging about in the sun, reading books, and relaxing in club houses while they played the rounds. Thanks boys!

Since I`ve related these trials and tribulations the most frequent questions I`ve been asked was, "But did you really have a good time? Doesn`t it feel like a waste?" Yes, being sick was limiting and a disappointment, but the company was exceptional, the resorts were amazing, the scenery was exciting and beautiful beyond description, and the laughter and good humor were never absent. On the flip side, we still have to finish our dive course; it`s a shame, but I guess we`ll just have to go back!

Born in the USA, Part I :: California Dreaming

2008-10-14 to 2008-10-27

Or like the Happy Man in Pretty Woman said, "Welcome to Hollywood! What`s your dream? Everybody comes here; this is Hollywood, land of dreams. Some dreams come true, some don`t; but keep on dreamin` - this is Hollywood. Always time to dream, so keep on dreamin`."

Or, "Beverly Hills!, That`s where I wanna be! Livin` in Beverly Hills."- Weezer

Or, "Why the f*#^ are you going to Bakersfield!?"- exclaimed Los Angelenos to SR in every casual conversation

Or, "When the lights go down in the City, And the sun shines on the bay, Do I want to be there in my City, Ooh, ooh"- Journey......

SR and DS return to the States for work and play. It`s like coming home...maybe. DS gets to sample a bit of SR`s LA world, a boutique hotel in Beverly Hills (enjoyed with the Parents), strolling around Rodeo Drive (with the Parents and Deirdre and Logan), breakfast with Larry King (sort of but not really), afternoons at Universal Studios backlot (wow, i had some great salsa at the Backlot Cafe), intimate birthday dinners in West Hollywood. SR gets to sample a bit of living with the Saucedos, Chula Vista style, breakfasts on the patio, Scrabble until all hours of the night (I barely beat him with Mom`s help), dining on the spoils of Costco without ever having the experience of shopping there, family camping at the KOA on the Sweetwater River, eating pumpkin pie for the first time (and not liking it), meeting 25 family members and close friends...sleeping in my old bedroom, where stars still glow on the ceiling at night....

For a weekend getaway, DS and SR traded sunny SoCal for the untamed domain of Logan and Sierra, otherwise known as BAKO, otherwise known as Bakersfield, previously known as DS’s preferred vacation destination. In BAKO, we prepared for our upcoming fancy dress/sexy party in San Francisco, procuring racy cop outfits for DS and Deirdre, with matching sexy underwear and accoutrements, tame convict outfits for the boys, that ended up slashed and tattered when we got through with them, and scandalizing the local Loew’s hardware store lady on Aisle 13 where the chains are sold- we spent about 20 minutes binding up the boys to determine the proper length of chain with which to secure them to our bodies for the night… On more domestic fronts, whilst Deirdre and John attended a parent teacher conference, SR and DS spirited the children off to Murray Family Farms, somewhere east of BAKO, just far enough for Sierra to fall asleep, which left Logan with the responsibility of picking out everyone’s pumpkin. Which he did with authority perched on top of the wagon, with godmom DS dutifully chauffering him around. Later on, SR had his first pumpkin carving experience on the patio with the kids. Well done, I must add. Considering he wasn’t keen on the pumpkin pie my sisters served him in San Diego, [“It’s a vegetable, not a dessert. How disgusting.”], he was down with giving the vegetable a scary face.

Our weekend adventures continued with a caravan tour to San Francisco, complete with oil fields as far as the eye can see, at least one stop for In n’ Out burgers, and the monotony of the Central Valley, crops, crops, and more crops. Boring....But the City did not disappoint as we checked into The Good Hotel (it’s really good!), south of Market. Ah, the City, dodgy streets, dodgy people, dodgy liquor stores! SR, Deirdre, John and I had early dinner in Union Square before preparing for our sexy party at Treasure Island (and that’s a whole other story for another time, not likely to be recounted on these pages). But let’s just say there was plenty of need to drink and stay up late. After emerging from our stupors on Sunday morning, the four of us had a coffee breakfast at Starbucks, watching the late night sexy party people who never went to bed straggle in. Sexy at midnight is far from it by ten a.m. the next day, kind of derelict actually.

We parted company with John and Deirdre shortly after and met up with the Muckerheides (Mike, Irene, and Little Owen) for a lunch of clam chowder at Fisherman’s wharf, a walk along the pier and Fort Mason, and giant ice cream sundaes at Ghirardelli Square. Such a good visit!

And what’s a trip to the City without the Cable Car- SR and DS board the Cable Car for a ride back to Powell Street and the Good Hotel, for nap before meeting up with Scott and Meghan for Afghan dinner on Van Ness. The next day found SR and DS touring Golden Gate Park and attempting to find the Golden Gate Bridge through all that F-O-G. Patience and tenacity were rewarded for a least ten minutes, where they managed the quintessential tourist shots of bridge and smiling faces....

DS and SR part company here, DS returns to San Diego and SR spends an afternoon at Skywalker Ranch amongst Star Wars paraphernalia before returning home to Sydney….

Halloween + Rock the Vote 2008

2008-10-30 to 2008-11-07

Highlights of Diana`s Born in the USA Tour, Part I-

Hanging out with the Ladies: Happy Hours and dinners, so good to be hanging out with my mean girls! So we didn`t work out very much and maybe only went for one run (thank you, thank you, thank you), but we ate well (Thanks, Izola for that fabulous chicken dinner), and shopped a lot, and drank when we could, and partied on Halloween...sleepovers with Izola, dinners at Cheri`s house, coffee and parties with Cheryl (and her Lord), making Erin laugh in a publicly inappropriate and slightly awkward way.

Coloring with Mackenzie: It may have been a short visit, but it`s always good to be in her world, if only for a moment.

Bernsen Time: Pozole with Eric, Alison, and the Gina at the Waterfront on Kettner. Mmmm, pozole!

KOA + Pumpkin Pies in National City: Stephen meets the family and decides pumpkin pie is gross.

Halloween RECON style: No one gets into workplace decorating like RECON at Halloween. My former team area was converted into an Extra-Terrestrial Environmental Area 51, complete with space ship beaming area and outer space cantina. Evening festivities found us girls scantily clad as Strawberry Shortcake, Bad Cop, and Dead Sexy Vamp at a RECON house party (so interesting to be provocatively dressed in front of your former boss) where Braveheart, Sarah Palin, Larry Croft and a carton of milk are only some of the clever cast of characters playing beer pong, sipping vodka off the ice luge, or taking tequila shots with Braveheart`s mom. And we`re stumbling home at 3 am.

Dinners and Sleepovers with the Parents: Sorry about the wine on the ceiling, Mom. But way to back me up on Scrabble with Stephen, he only beat us by 5 points the second time. I demand a re-match! It was so lovely to have a visit with Uncle Gordon, Aunt Trish, and Uncle David- more visits are in order come January!

Dogs to Oz!: Multiple vet visits and vaccinations later, Frida and Elvis are ready for their great adventure. Physically anyway, if not spiritually. Having been cared for lovingly and diligently at 3812 John Street, their prodigal mother returns to spirit them off to Australia. If only we could "spirit" them painlessly. Our brave People of Fur survived their last vet visit in Manhattan Beach, before spending the day with International Pet Travel who got them cleared by the USDA, crated and sealed, they waited for seven hours to board their 14-hour Qantas flight to Sydney. Once in Sydney, they were transported an hour out of town into Quarantine. Obliged to do their stint in lock down, Frida and Elvis spend 30-days in Cell Block 8, under the care of Alicia the Handler, surrounded by other international dogs- absolutely the most charming and well behaved creatures in their kennel.

Another Farewell Dinner with my Siblings: No one is immune to the hilarity.

November 4th: America makes the rest of world proud. Obama wins! And I can show my face in Sydney again, phew!

Return to Oz :: Brisbane to Byron Bay

2008-11-10 to 2008-11-17

DS returns to Oz via Brisbane to meet SR for breakfast with friends, a little R&R on the Gold Coast, a weekend in Lismore, and day trip to Byron Bay. SR spends the week working in his Gold Coast office and DS spends the week in the apartment cooking, shopping, and reading The Thornbirds, dodging rain storms in a desperate attempt to spend an afternoon at the beach, and checking out Aussie critters at the local wildlife sanctuary.

I`m pretty sure I ruined my eyes by reading all 650+ pages of that great Aussie epic. It was great, but now should I feel obligated to watch the mini-series with Richard Chamberlain? I think not....and I think wombats are awesome, but my latest animal crush has got to be the Tasmanian Devil. It`s too cute for words.

SR and I got to have coffee with Ken. Ken, we really need to hang out more.

The weekend finds DS taking control of the wheel and driving down to visit SR`s brother, Luna Orbit (psychodelic trance DJ) and his dog, Chili. Luna and Chili are baby-sitting for Blossom, the one-eyed barkless dog from Port Macquarie. Blossom likes to roll in cow pats, we saw her do it in the pasture on the way to the waterfall in Lismore. I had a great time watching Luna and SR washing the green goo off the poor pooch in the creek. SR had to jump over the waterfalls edge multiple times to wash himself clean of the experience, I can only imagine. Lismore luxuries included a double feature of Death Race 2000 (the original AND the latest- what? it`s not even out yet?), bottles and bottles of Stone`s alcoholic ginger beer (heavenly), late night garlicky pizza, and delighting in the musical ministrations of Schpongle. Seriously, SR, I wanna go see them with Luna Orbit and Candy in March, okay?

A true highlight of the weekend had to be topless swimming at the beach on the easternmost point in Australia on our day trip to Byron Bay, followed by beer at the pub, and finger licking calamari strips at FishMongers. Fun and yum.

Thanksgiving In Oz- A Turkey Day Run-Sheet

2008-11-28

Sydney Morning Herald Headline: “American girl passes out while cooking for Thanksgiving dinner for Australians…and they don’t even like pumpkin pie.”

Or, Diana cooks Thanksgiving dinner for six and a half people in one day, with one oven, in one kitchen, all…by…herself…and lived to tell the tale. (This is only remarkable because for the last five years someone else has cooked the Turkey and she’s had at least four amazing girlfriends cooking too. Her specialty was exclusive to mashed potatoes and stuffing.)

5:15 am- Alarm goes off. SR gets out of bed to go to Bootcamp. DS sets her alarm for 6:15 am, thinking she’ll catch the 7am yoga class.

6:15 am- Alarm goes off. No way DS is getting up yet, she’s realizes she’s cooking an entire Thanksgiving meal today.

7:15 am- SR returns. DS realizes in a panic she’s cooking an entire Thanksgiving meal today and shoots out of bed. The shopping’s not done! I have to make pumpkin pie from scratch because my best friend specifically requested it! I couldn’t find a blinking pumpkin at the Woolworth’s yesterday when I went shopping for food (yes, at Woolworths). And they didn’t have pie crusts! And I spent a TON of money on a turkey! And the list goes on…

8:15 am- SR, DS, and The Joy of Cooking depart North Bondi for Leichhardt where DS will try for a personal best in the Harrigan’s kitchen, clad in holey jeans, Rocket Dogs, and a pink t-shirt.

8:45 am- SR drops off DS at the Cole’s grocery on Norton Street because if they don’t have pie crust and a pumpkin then she’s s*%t out of luck. And she needs cranberries…and stuffing mix. Oh wait, they don’t have stuffing mix in this country. I have to make my own breadcrumbs too!?

9:00 am- DS texts Harrigans and SR the question of the day: Is a flan case the same thing as a pie crust?

-John (text): Don’t think so!

-Dan (text): A what!? Hmm, I think yes?

-SR (text): pass.

DS opts for sweet flan case and gets two just in case. Now must track down a pumpkin.

9:30 am- DS walks back to the Harrigan house (aka Pirate Ship Coleridge) armed with remainder of groceries and half a short, squat, green-ish white pumpkin (ummmm!).

10:00 am- The Joy of Cooking, miscellaneous recipes, and little green organizer before her, DS begins to lay down plan of attack. Plugs in ears to ipod. Glances about kitchen.

10:05 am- Panic returns as DS realizes dinner is in eight hours and she must bake pies, 5.3 kilo turkey (fresh, free-range, organic, smiling, Italian butchery, never had a care in its life, possibly shat golden eggs, expensive as turkey), sweet potatoes, stuffing, and bread in one oven. I’m sure my grandmother did this, you know, like everyday, so I should be able to pull it off at least once a year. PLAN, plan, PLaN! And my God! Start chopping!

11:00 am to 1:00 pm- DS simultaneously organizes food throughout kitchen; opens every cabinet and drawer; chops fruit and veg (without any loss of fingertips); toasts bread; boils, microwaves, and purees pumpkin (yes, I got pumpkin on the walls, okay?); converts Fahrenheit into Celsius; mixes pumpkin puree and bakes pumpkin pies (I made two!); rinses, pats dry, and dresses turkey; boils sweet potatoes; toasts more bread; makes pumpkin soup for lunch; with extra pureed pumpkin (half a green-ish white pumpkin in apparently a lot of pumpkin); and almost passes out when she realizes the gas has been leaking out of the stovetop range because one of the flames went out who knows when; runs out in the garden in the rain to breathe fresh air and make panicked phone call to SR; reluctantly eats pumpkin soup (I don’t feel so good); almost burns pumpkin pies (just the crust, a little bit!); and finally shoves turkey into oven.

1:00 pm- DS sits with butter in hand staring at oven waiting to baste in turkey in 30 minutes. Feels conspicuous lack of turkey baster. Should have brought one from home. Toast more bread! Boils cranberries for sauce!

1:30 pm- DS wrestles the turkey out of the oven to pour buttery goo all over it and realizes the freaky thing is only going to get heavier as the day progresses. Damn. Why no turkey baster! Basting occurs religiously every thirty minutes with a spoon.

2:00 pm- Many toasted bread slices chopped up into many, ½ inch, cubes. Chopping relentlessly; boiled sweet potatoes are tossed into baking pot; stuffing mixed and ready; places cranberries in fridge; both dishes have to wait out the turkey…DS pauses to read incredibly interesting article on Hugh Jackman (delicious new favorite), check email, update her Facebook status, and do…laundry????

3:00pm to 5:00 pm- Moments of satisfaction, organization, and flawless culinary time keeping, punctuated by moments of sheer panic.

5:00 pm- John comes home. Reassures DS that all will be well. Table is set. Happily, DS’s first turkey emerges brown and spoon basted from oven, bleeding clear juices (did I mention the lack of thermometer too?). SR arrives and is set with the task of carving said turkey into smithereens (DS no longer wants to touch it unless she’s putting it in her mouth). John offers DS a drink- No! Not until all the food is done! Stuffing and sweet potatoes in to bake, bread rolls shoved where ever they can fit in between and around them; cranberries still too watery, into the freezer! Green beans...where are the green beans?

6:00 pm- DS scuttles away to change into descent hostess clothing. Danielle returns having survived traffic, bad weather, and her hectic week. DS admits its finally time for a drink and Harrigan homebrew is served. Various food dishes revolve in and out of the oven in attempt to stay warm. I give up, drain the cranberries.

6:45 pm- The Fox’s arrive. Pleasantries exchanged, appetites heightened, more homebrew consumed.

7:00 pm - The food flies out onto the table all at once. Like magic! Six and a half people descend upon turkey dinner feast, we exclaim GRACE!, mumble our cheesy and very loving reasons for being thankful, and eat, eat, eat, eat. The turkey is decimated. Devoured. Gone. Somewhere in this hour DS stops eating and surveys her meal and the people eating it proudly. And then has awful moment of panic- what if the turkey’s undercooked and everyone gets sick!? Yeah, time to drink some more wine, honey.

Sometime after 8:00 pm, the pumpkin pie emerges, slightly dark around the edges, but surprisingly delicious. SR grudging admits that it’s really nice. The champagne comes out. Second helpings of pie, yummy pumpkin pie from a ugly green-ish white pumpkin. More champagne. DS is all smiles as her face turns pink…sometime later she stumbles off to the car, full to the brim with food, more than just a little tipsy, exclaiming, “I’ve had three alcohols tonight! And that pumpkin pie was really good!”

We`re Not In California Anymore, Elvis

2008-12-07 to 2008-12-10

Says Frida Kahlo the Wise, “We flew all that way in the belly of that bird, to this? Dog prison?”

Elvis replies, “Woah, where did all those dogs come from? Listen to all that barking? Bark! Bark! Bark!”

And that is how the Long Hair, known for a time as The Absent One, became known as She Who Must Not Be Named (or SWMNBN for short) in the minds of her beloved dogs.

Frida begins to grumble. “After all that we’ve been through? This is it? After losing the Short Hair, the abandonment, having our house taken over by a whole new family, losing you to that chubby dog, Maxie...all those sadistic vet appointments, getting poked, and prodded, and vaccinated, and having our ears swabbed...twice! After your overdose! And all that drama with the Rash...we were so happy with the Dark Children and the College Boys, sleeping in their warm beds...but no! She has them make us sleep in separate crates for months, and then shows up out of nowhere, and takes us back to the vet! Who by the way, had the nerve to say that my teeth were bad. What’s a little plaque? I’m a dog....And then she hands us off to strangers and they locked us in those plastic boxes for seven hours, and then they put us in that rumbling bird for fourteen hours, and then we travelled two hours (getting hysterical) packed like cattle in that moving truck, only to end up here!? Doesn’t she know the doggy agony we’ve endured? If this is Oz, I want my fairy godmother and two pairs of little red shoes!”

“Hey, can you move out of the way, please (sniff, sniff)? It’s all wrong in here. I’ve got to pee in that corner. And on the bed. And by the water bowl...ah, (sniffs) that’s better,” says Elvis. “ What accent is that Labrador barking with?”

And so, while SWMNBN cavorts about on the North Coast with Chili the Wonder Dog and Blossom the One-Eyed-Bark-less-Dog, Frida and Elvis begin their 30-day stint in lock down in Eastern Creek Quarantine Facility, in Cell Block 8, Kennel  5. Almost forty-five minutes on the outskirts of Sydney, there are fears among the Sydneysiders that Frida and Elvis might succumb to the “Westie” lifestyle, and be returned to civilization with beer guts, mullets, tattoos of the Southern Cross, and a penchant for fully sick Subaru WRX’s maaaaate!  Luckily, the only local they are exposed to is their handler, the Lady Who Feeds Us. Unfortunately, she only makes a culinary appearance once a day, unless she is coming in to hose down their kennel. “If you would just stop peeing where we sleep, Elvissssss!”

In the second week of their confinement, SWMNBN appears with the Tall Guy. Overjoyed, the puppies lose their senses and welcome them eagerly, “We’re out! We’re out! We’re out!” But alas, it was not to be, two hours of cuddling later, SWMNBN and the Tall Guy  disappear behind the clang of metal doors. Just as quickly as they appeared...they’re gone.  But SWMNBN does reappear, religiously, two days a week for two hours, to bring treats, and blankets, to cuddle and read her Dog Whisperer book (fine, she read Twilight, too), with the intent of soothing anxious puppy minds. Regardless of the austerity of their surroundings, and the relentless and mental din of anxious dog voices, they are well cared for as they watch summer emerge in November through wire mesh and concrete walls.

Hope springs eternal and with every visit, the pups look forward to the day of their release. SWMNBN comes closer and closer to regaining her Long Hair status. Dining on Schmackos, Frida remains immovable, “I still hate her for what she’s done to us.”

“Nah, she’s okay, “ says Elvis, nylabone sticking out of his mouth, “except I’m not chewing the squeaky toy with the hearts on it. You better take it...or I’m going to pee on it.”

“Well, if we ever get out of here, I’m going to ignore her and everything she says and stick with the Tall Guy...and you better pee in the crate at least once a week. Just not on me again, okay? I hate taking a shower with her when she’s mad.”

Epilogue

Frida and Elvis were released from Eastern Creek, stamped with approval by the Australian Quarantine and Import Services Department, to the Long Hair and the Tall Guy the second weekend in December. On their way home to North Bondi, they have their first introduction into Aussie canine society with a stop at the Centennial Parklands doggy park. Elvis runs, and runs, and runs. “Look how fast he goes!” exclaims the Tall Guy.  Frida just marks her way across the park. Their tiny apartment is not much bigger than the cell they just left, but it’s warmer, quieter, softer, and infinitely better smelling. They are eager and enthusiastic and stake their claim along the front walk of the apartment block. Though generally obedient and mindful of their human’s desires, Frida regularly ignores the Long Hair and almost exclusively cuddles with the Tall Guy. On good days the four of them take a morning walk to Dover Heights Park, overlooking the Harbour City. Opera House in the distance, Elvis chases large, white cockatoos and ibis off the grass. And Frida marks her way across the park. Both dogs blatantly ignore the Tall Guy’s commands and go directly for the box of abandoned pizza in the grass. Half a pizza later... On bad days, they watch the Long Hair spend hours on the computer. Elvis obliges weekly and pees in the crate. They meet and fall in love with the Sweet Child, daughter of the Tall Guy, and spend hours asleep in the Puppy Hole. They ambush and chase the neighbour’s cat, Cleo (or Chloe or whatever), scaring her five feet up the wall before she falls to her almost death, and follow her into her apartment.

They stare at the Long Hair with their liquid, guilt trip eyes until she relents and puts aside the laptop to walk them on the Bondi Beach Promenade. Local celebrities, they attract more than their fair of attention. Look at those beautiful dogs! Yes, you can pat them...Are they whippets? Look at those whippets! Actually, they’re Italian greyhounds....*click* click* goes the Japanese camera. Ummm, no pictures please...No really, I said, no pictures!!..Oh, are those Italian greyhounds!? How lovely. Why, yes (she’s pleased), yes they are!....Random, foreign men  snap their fingers and whistle at the dogs to come to them. Can you not do that? It’s not like I’m trying to walk them or anything....And they’re not whippets!..ooo, whippets! If a problem comes along, you must whippet!...SERIOUSLY, Devo!? That`s the best you can do?...All three hurry home to the sanctuary of the apartment. On the way, Elvis develops a fear of metal plates in the sidewalk. Frida forgets how to walk on a lead and insists on sniffing every smelly smell....They curl up with the Long Hair in a puppy pile and wait for the Tall Guy to come home. Mostly though, they are just happy to finally be together.

My Bondi Summer....

2008-12-11 to 2008-12-31

Christmas in the Summer? The silly season, as they call it here, is not, contrary to popular belief, anything like Christmas time in Southern California. Yes, it might rain a little here in Sydney, but it’s still sunny and hot when a cloud dumps on you out of nowhere, and you are in your bikini at the beach, and you are surrounded by thousands of people, and then the shark alarm goes off, and...no, but yeah, but really, it’s a swim before breakfast, or a swim in the afternoon, and there are thousands of scantily clad people in every direction, and beach towels and swimmers (aka bathing suits) hang from every balcony and window in this town.December was dedicated to doggies, doggies, doggies!!! (as ER chanted on the phone for daddy SR), Christmassy lunches and dinners out, holiday in Port Macquarie, hours on the laptop, and wandering aimlessly around Bondi dragging around my recalcitrant and somewhat celebrity dogs.The month started off with the HOMEBAKE summer music festival in the Domain- SR and I went with his sister, AR, and John and Danielle. We started off our 11 hour day with an early morning bus ride (SR’s first in Sydney!) and breakfast sandwiches on Oxford Street (which we all realized after we’d finished that we thought they tasted kind of...ummm, fishy). They think I was bored with all the eclectic Aussie music, but I wasn’t, I swear. I was just taking it all in- the sheer magnitude of humanity baking in the sun, the fashion (or lack thereof, Roman sandals are in this year), the quintessential Aussie male (shirtless, shoeless, and tattooed with the Southern Cross), the heat (stifling), and okay, I admit it, the music was quite different than what I’m used to...thankfully, there was a hip hop tent and AR was a fan. Phew.SR’s office holiday party was “fantasy” themed...and what do you wonder, does the average working Aussie fantasize about being? We deemed the Wizard of Oz fitting and appropriate to our current circumstance and SR was the silly Scarecrow to my sexy Dorothy. Mind you, I had requested the Tin Man, but as my girlfriend’s pointed out, “Wouldn’t you rather a man without a brain than a man without a heart?” Fair enough, the Tin Man outfit was too, ummm, small anyway. At the Intercontinental we were treated to an amazing seafood buffet- who dares go for roast beast when there are fresh Sydney rock oysters, banana prawns, sushi, and crab legs to be had? This is my seafood summer- I’ve got a taste for oysters now, that’s for sure. We partied with the likes of Catwoman, Express Yourself Madonna, Little Red Riding Hood, Fairy Queens (and queens dressed as school girls), drag Dorothy (I did have competition apparently), gladiators, and pharaohs, Alice in Wonderland, and the Jolie-Pitt family (kids included). Fortunately or unfortunately we had to leave the party early and snuck out the door while the seventies music was still playing. Toto I and Toto II needed liberating from their crate after a very long day.Happy Christmas....We spent the holiday week in Port Macquarie (Port) celebrating SR’s birthday and Christmas as only you can where rainforest meets the sea...with daily walks with the dogs on the beach, twice daily swims, hikes in the rainforest, coastal drives to scenic locations, reading on the balcony, naps in front of The Cricket (okay, I napped and SR devoured every minute of it), leisurely breakfasts reading the paper, tasty seafood lunches, and tea in the afternoon. Needless to say, after breaking the head off and peeling my thousandth prawn, after Christmas week, I’d say I’ll be alright if I don’t see another one for a while. We celebrated SR’s birthday a pizza dinner and driveway birthday Lamingtons. ER brought daddy’s Lamington and candle flanked by two rudely jumping dogs. Frida and Elvis learned that in Port, if you’re cute enough and bold enough, some people will drop human food down your puppy gullet. Those people shall remain nameless, of course, but the pups will be the first to tell you that their Aussie Grandma is absolutely defenceless against their charms.Christmas Eve also had us treating Santa to treats and Lamingtons. ER made sure that we set out beer and pastry for Santa in the living room and a bucket of water and carrots outside for the reindeer before she was tucked in for bed. Since she was still eager to believe, we were eager to make it real...as soon as she fell asleep, Santa filled her stocking with gifts (ok, it was really a pillow case), chugged his beer (well done SR) and munched his Lamington (mmm, I like them), and the reindeers drank their water (ooops, splash!) and chewed their carrots (I dunno how well carrots and beer go together birthday boy). It was good fun and well worth the morning’s excitement, I hear, as I unfortunately slept through it- in my defence, I haven’t had to wake up at six in the morning for presents in a long time, I’m not about to start now! Favourite gift, besides the denim mini-skirt, was a Scrabble game, which if I’m willing, I get my arse kicked at every other night.Aside from exploiting weaknesses in the kitchen, the pups had their fair share of adventure outdoors. They patiently slept through the five hour car ride to Port (with the exception of chasing lorikeets on the grass when we stopped for a meat pies); weathered a coastal road trip through national parks (where dogs aren’t allowed) to Hat Head, South West Rocks, and Crescent Head (they both did get to run through a gorgeous wildflower field on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean here, Elvis bounding about like a bunny), runs on dog beach in Port with SR; and had a couple near misses: Elvis nearly got creamed by a 4wd truck driving the beach on Christmas Day (he had found a running mate in an Aussie sheepdog, and they were half a km away in less than a second, the Long Hair really thought he was done for) and they both survived nearly being attacked by a goanna on the balcony at the house (Elvis was found hunkered down in the crate, Frida on top of it barking herself silly while the goanna advanced unfazed by them or us).All in all it was a fantastic holiday for humans and canines alike. We faced the long ride home on New South Wales Numero Uno highway to Sydney (it’s only two lanes) like a true modern day family, man listens to 5 hours of The Cricket on the A.M. station, woman plugs herself into ipod, child watches DVDs and sings to herself, and dogs pass out and drool on the back seat.Merry Happy New Year....New Year’s Eve found myself and SR having drinks and playing pool at the Double Bay Hotel in the afternoon before heading off to Tony and Trent’s sanctuary home for dinner. Dinner at T&T’s is always a pleasure and was a perfect way for me to welcome in the New Year in Sydney. Just like my first dinner at theirs back in April, I was surrounded by beautiful art, eating T’s delicious culinary specialities, curled up on a couch with a drink, looking at T’s art book collection with SR, having deep and thoughtful conversations about the world and how we live in it. We caught the nine P.M. fireworks display from Double Bay drinking champagne on the beach after which T and I retired back to the house (where I got drunker- I had four alcohols!) while SR and T searched out the best location from which to watch the Harbour Bridge midnight extravaganza. And extravagant it was, six million dollars worth of explosions and all I have to show for it is one squiggly photograph and two mozzie (mosquito) bite ridden feet! From the backyard of some posh apartment complex, the three of us watched the arrival of the New Year with good cheer...until the burning started, oh the burning! Nothing is more sobering than having your feet devoured by insects- a midnight mozzie massacre!

Pups and Sausages

2009-01-06 to 2009-01-11

Two notable events in beginning January: Frida stepped in glass day after New Year`s and we attented my first Bronte Beach Sausage (aka snags) and Beer BBQ. For those of you who know Frida and those of you who know snags and beer, neither of these things is particularly remarkable. She`s more klutz than Kahlo and snags and beer are, well, just common. But mini-triage in the livingroom, operating on Frida`s left foot, and having my best day at the beach yet, on either side of packing up the entire contents of our Bondi Beach apartment, were just so satisfying.

Before you judge my decision to not have a trained, licensed, and patient professional attend to Frida`s malady, keep this in mind, she`d already been to the Bondi Veterinary Hospital twice. Once for goopy eye and her umpteenth derelict dew claw disaster and second to have her paw looked after initially stepping in the glass. I saw it right away when it happened, Bondi was strewn with glass from a thousand thoughtless partiers after the new year, and we`d been picking our way through it for several kilometers. She managed to lodge it in her foot two blocks from the apartment. I dutifully pulled the hunk out and carried her home (like the indulgent dog mother I am) as her limping was rather pitiful. But really, it looked like it was out and wound just needed to heal. By Day 4 the limping was getting rather old and making me look somewhat cruel for dragging her out on walks she clearly wasn`t fit for. People were starting to stare. Here`s the thing, she didn`t limp when she was running down the stairs for a poo, or chasing Elvis through the apartment. It only came on with the leash and especially so once we came upon others during the walk. Cheeky monkey.

After someone finally said, "You should really get that looked at" (Frida had actually laid down in protest at the foot of some stairs), I relented, picked her up (she looked rather self-satisfied) and took her to her favorite place (anywhere`s better than walking in this heat). To my satisfaction, the vet was thorough, after poking, proding, getting her little anal temperature, feeling up every lymph node and dark corner of her little body, she was looking more appaled than anything. My turn to be satisfied. And then the vet said, "If there is indeed more glass in there...we`ll have to knock her out, tie her down, and operate." Frida`s ears went back, I guffawed, and my wallet dove deeper into my purse. "Or you can just soak her foot repeatedly and hope it pushes itself out." And that`s how we saved hundreds of Aussie dollars and her left foot. It took a one hour soak in hot water with eucalyptus oil, my tweezers, my inverted binoculars, a flash light, two q-tips, a cotton pad, some tape, and a willing assistant (SR) to extract eight microscopic pieces of glass from her tiny little pad. I`ve saved them for prosterity.

Success! Satisfaction! Although she continued to sport the limp until she realized no one was really looking, or she abandoned it in order to keep up with SR because she could smell the sausages in his back pack as we were walking from Bondi to Bronte.

As you can see from the pictures, there were snags a plenty on the barbie, dutifully attended to by SR and mates. What was funny about this BBQ was that it was chock full of Englishmen, Colombians (or the Colombians, as they`re called), and Americans, and sported only the token Aussie. The whole area had a the flair of an international festival, Polynesians across the way, Chinese families over there, more Colombians to meet and greet, colorful Indian saris walking by, Australians playing cricket, hippies, backpackers, a smattering of French, well dressed Italians...what a feast if we`d all shared food! As it is, I`m pretty sure I ate my way through half a sausage display. Here`s hoping sausages don`t stick around in your gut like fruitcake.

I think this is the first time I`ve ever had beer in place of water and then even more beer once I realized I was still thirsty. This may sound like a "problem" to certain individuals, but I assure you, it`s just cultural assimilation. As SR was without his swimmers (silly boy) and lovingly craddling both Frida and a Cooper`s in his hands, I took leave of the party and went for a long swim. Bronte Beach has the flavor of a locals beach, smaller in size and much closer to the open ocean than Bondi. The waves were spectacular, the sun was shining, and I was tossed about, pulled around, and constantly finding myself grabbing for my bikini top before I emerged standing. It was great. I wandered back an hour later soaking wet, dehydrated (yes, I succumbed to buying a $5 liter of water), and found everyone right where I`d left them, dogs waiting for snags to fall and the beer supply seriously depleted. The rest of the afternoon was spent sipping coffee curled up under a blanket with a snoozing pup enjoying the scenery, until abruptly, someone realized all the beer was gone. And just like that, party`s over, and everyone packs up with a "See you at the pub!"

Happy Day.

Born in the USA, Part Deux: Return to Sun Diego

2009-01-12 to 2009-01-31

San Diego in Winter was more Summer than Summer in Sydney which was more like Winter in...South Carolina?

Or- The Kindness of Others, Strangers and Friends Help Us on Our Way

Or- Trains, Planes, and Automobiles

Stephen and I arrived in LA four hours late after a five hour wait in Sydney, a 12 hour plane ride squished in economy, on an apparently unwanted plane, as they clearly no longer had a gate for us. We debarked somewhere in some sand dunes and were bussed to Customs before we were spit out onto the curb. He was late for meetings and dashed off to his rental car and onto Santa Monica. A flurry of kisses and then I stood around wondering how I was going to get to the Amtrak station and with no cash but $1.50 in change.  And just like that, a lovely retired couple loaned me a twenty to take the shuttle to Union Station. The man recounted their travels to me on a photographic tour of his iPhone- Thailand and China! I can hardly complain about coming from Sydney, they were 23 hours into their return from Bangkok and still had trains and automobiles to catch. They were doing it in the way satisfied, retired folk can- in positively zen fashion. Long story short, his wife gave me the twenty cause her husband was off somewhere with the small cash (with a find me later or pay it forward), then I met her husband and gave him back the twenty in exchange for $4 (since I had some change to make up the dollar fare difference), we discovered that we were from the same neighbourhoods and chatted the whole way, then I found out the fare was actually $6 at the payment window, but I could only make $5.50, so then other awesome people in the line came to the rescue with pennies, dimes, and nickels until we made up the difference, counting slowly nine-two, ninety-three, ninety-four, until the clerk said, “Stop girl, stop. I got you covered.”  Seems like a small thing, but that manner of kindness does bring on a sense of well being.

Several days later as I was parked for mere minutes outside my former place of work, I rushed out to find one of San Diego’s finest Soulless Meter Maids ticketing my mother’s car. Mind you, I was parked in a commercial loading zone, but I engaged the Soulless Meter Maid (SMM) in a hopeless debate on what really constituted commercial  anyway (as in my own company couldn’t park in the commercial loading zone). As he’s repeatedly muttering about commercial plates, a man darts across the street, iPhone in hand, grabs my ticket off the window, and to the SMM spits, “I’ll pay this.” Then he runs back across the street and drives off in his car. I’m still in the middle of an “Are you serious?” and SMM is jumping into his little shuttle of doom screeching “commercial plates!” And that was that.

And then there was the great To Mexico or Not to Mexico debate. In which sadly, Mom, SR, me, and Mexico all lost out. But again, strangers and friends to the rescue, we turned on sights on Breckenridge and got hooked up with free gear, loaner clothes, and discount lift tickets and accommodation, all on a moment’s notice. Bonus, SR gets to spend more time with DS as a native in her hometown:  chilling with Uncle Harris, getting to know the wait staff at Panera (first name basis, love that free wireless), hanging out in Coronado, teaching DS a proper swing at Sail Ho, pavement pounding in the Gaslamp and dancing at Jimmy Loves, clothes shopping in Mission Valley, going out for lunches with the girls...All in all it was a go with the flow vacation, spending quality time with loved ones and really getting to relax in my native habitat.

Favorite moments:

Summertime in January: Landing during a Santa Ana into a clear Los Angeles basin, bright sun, hot temperatures and snow on the mountains!

Family BBQ: Mom threw me and SR a little Mexican fiesta for San Diego family that hadn’t yet met SR. I really miss a quesadilla! Bonus, Jeree, Missy, Tanya and Company come in for the weekend to party it up for Sam’s birthday in San Diego. Izola learns what shopping with the Saucedo Clan really means and we all head out for a night on the town in the Gaslamp.

Bernsen time:  Whether it’s fish tacos at the Brigantine (yum!), getting silly on wine at Wine Steals, drinks at CYC, or Muscle Madness (is it a Prince Albert or a Prince Edward?) at the E-lounge, Bernsen time is a good time.

Girlfriends: Every girl should have them, never take them for granted! It’s always wonderful to eat and drink my way through town with Erin, Izola, Cheryl , and Cindy (missed you Cheri!).

Yummy Babies:  It was wonderful , as always, to get to spend quality time with my Bakersfield peeps, testing the new bartender at the Prado in Balboa Park (really, we hate to send the mojito back, but it’s just not quite right yet), rolling around on the floor with Logan and Sierra (“I know Mom, having children isn`t easy, it`s hard work”), chilling out at La Jolla Shores, and sitting around drinking coffee. And why do kids have to grow up so fast! Logan is two, Sierra is nearly four, and Mackenzie just turned seven! There’s never enough time spent with Mack, we managed a sweet visit that consisted of chatting with mom over dinner, going to her karate class, getting ready for bed, and having her read books to me instead (!). She read me poetry by Lewis Carroll, “The Jabberwocky” being my favorite. Far out, it was awesome.

Family in the LBC: As it always does with a big family, it comes together at the last minute and is guaranteed to be a good time. SR still has some family to meet, as in my two big brothers! After an afternoon on being on the road in a rental car with Mom, stuck in LA traffic, going back and forth on cell phones about when and where to meet, back and forth to LAX, SR pulls off a later flight time for the two of us and we all manage to meet for an impromptu dinner at PFChangs in Long Beach. The wait staff has to send us back to the front and rearrange our table space twice as more of us keep showing up. “What can I say?” I told them, “this is only about a quarter of us, really.” It’s a brilliant get-to-know and visit over beer, chinese food, and tales of sharks, snakes, and travel. We end the evening with a visit to Mike and Sylvia’s place for more talk, shouting, and laughter. SR passes the test and Sylvia yells out the window, “Watch out! We’re coming to visit you!”

And then it’s back to the airport and off to Sydney...

Rocky Mountain High?

2009-01-24 to 2009-01-28

Or- It`s 3 degrees but feels like -17.

Or- I just love Breck, don`t you?

Or- Tell me again exactly what I`m doing here?

So, clearly, much to everyone’s relief but our own, we did not go to Mexico as planned.  Granted, I was ready for some cold weather in the Copper Canyon, but where we ended up was clearly pushing the boundaries of this tropical girl’s comfort zone. Breckenridge was butt cold. Or Breck, as it’s called by those in the know. I had no idea it even existed until it became a potential spot in the consolation trip lottery. I had voted for a leisurely road trip around the Southwest, the Grand Canyon (to soften the blow of suddenly no big canyon), and some desert fun. SR voted for snowboarding in the Rockies (okay, so that`s big mountains). I had the hook up for some AAA discounts and free lodging in Tucson with Cheri and he had the hook up for free gear and snowboarding lessons, discounted lift tickets, and awesome accommodations. So Breck won out and we made plans to go somewhere we’d never been before, to do something, um, I’m not quite sure I’ll ever have the guts to do again. Our friends, bless them , came through on short notice with ski clothes, goggles, and boots with the fur (okay, those were for me), complete with rides to and from the airport, and cheerful advice.

“Snowboarding is so much fun! You’ll love it.”

“Breckenridge is beautiful, such a romantic little town.”

“You’ll have a great time, just make sure to drink lots of water, you can get dehydrated easily and get bad headaches with the altitude, so stay hydrated.”

“ Be prepared to break an arm or a leg, Tia.” Um, what? Yes, advice from a sagacious seven-year old.

Day 1, Just Getting to the Next Point :: DS and SR wake in the wee hours to catch the first plane out of San Diego and wait for Izola (who apparently doesn’t sleep after 5 am) to give them a lift to the airport. They have an entire Southwest row to themselves and still managed to feel cramped (you would too if you were a Liliputian travelling with Gulliver). They arrive in Denver and manage to catch an early CMA shuttle up the mountain,  packed to the gills with people and gear, driven by a very capable and lively ex-school teacher, historian type who gave the whole geologic, historical, architectural, and transportation history of the environment, towns, their buildings, and roads (Eisenhower tunnel included)  for the whole 2 hour ride. This was infinitely more pleasant than listening to the gentlemen in the row behind us try to talk over said driver with their I’m-a-bigger-man-than-you-cause-i-run-marathons-down-mountains-in-the-snow-barefoot-well-i-did-the-appalachian-trail-twice-with-my-eyes-closed-in-summer contest. At the very beginning of the journey,  the driver helpfully directed us to Page 17 of their complimentary magazine of the ski resorts that discussed the symptoms and dangers of Altitude Sickness and how to prevent it. DS read this with great interest. Truly an adventure vacation, for DS and SR will have to survive fatigue, dehydration, headaches, treacherous weather, snowboarding, and each other...under the stress of said conditions.

And so DS and SR travel from plane... to van, two hours up a mountain...to spend one hour riding around Breck to drop off the other passengers...finally  to the reception area to drop off the bags (it’s only three blocks from the apartment, but in that cold, it could have been 1,000)... to find  the gear shop with the hook-up, to Mexican food (yum), back to the gear shop to trudge with stuff back to the reception (DS can already tell this is going to be...unwieldy)... into a resort shuttle with the bags + gear.... to the apartment to drop off the bags + gear...and back out into the snow (flurries!) to find a bus to the lift ticket office on Peak 9 (how many peaks now?)....and then back to the apartment via gondola and walkabout on Riverwalk (there’s a river here?)....through World Championship Snow Sculpture Competition grounds (who knew!?)...back to warm apartment...where they promptly fell asleep and woke up startled and hungry....only to stumble back out into the snow (we’re approaching hangry  now)...to find the bus to the City Market (which ended up involving more walking), to buy groceries and water at 9 o’clock at night, because they are determined to cook all their meals after all...and then back into a resort shuttle (DS is not messing with that bus thing again, now we’re just angry) with ten bags of stuff...to cook, eat, frantically consume water, and collapse once more into bed.

Day 2, Please Don’t Let Me Brake My Face :: DS and SR wake up early to have breakfast and suit up for what surely will be a cold, blustery day on the mountain learning to snowboard in an all day lesson. Well actually, DS will be learning to snowboard and SR will be sticking around only for the refresher and to keep her company. They dutifully report to their Adult Snowboard beginners section where they are greeted by people who are entirely too cheerful about the snow, and what they are about show us to do on it. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the intermediate group?” they ask SR when they find out he’s already done it before. Nope, he’s sticking with the stay-puff marsh mellow girl in the fuschia colored ski pants. “It’s her first time, she needs the support.”  Which I did, class whiner that I am.

Here they learn that snowboarding is one of the hardest sports to pick up, and if you fall like, only 60 times your first day, you’re like, doing really, really well. The group is comprised of us and two chicks from Florida, one of which looks pretty grim faced, but not so when compared to DS. With their young, fresh, and enthusiastic instructor, Katie, they introduce ourselves around and share their favourite thing to do. Katie loves snowboarding, SR loves surfing, the Floridians love doing FUN things, and DS lamely replies, “I like to read.”

“Okay, now that we’ve strapped in our front foot, we’re going to use our back foot to skate us down to the lifts which will take us to instruction area half way up the mountain,” says Katie. DS has only just strapped in this front foot and is thinking, “Wait what? We have to go down already?  And how far is halfway up? And how do I stop? How do I get up if I fall?” But Katie and the others are already halfway down the slope heading towards the lift and a hoard of people on skis and snowboards are coming down the mountain threatening to obscure them from her sights. “Eff.” Within five minutes of strapping in DS has fallen three times and twisted the knee of the unstrapped leg. “Are you alright?“ asks Katie, after she’s come back to find her missing pupil. “No.”  They decide that maybe it’s better if DS unstraps and walks to the lifts, because skating on the board is really, like, the hardest part of snowboarding to learn....Right.

Once they are securely on the lift, snowboards dangling from one leg, and travelling up the mountain, Katie cautions them that exiting the lift can be like, really tricky the first few times, she herself fell 5 times before she got the hang of it. Exiting the lift is about the only place DS does not fall the entire day. A small triumph which lost its significance as the day wore on. In the newbie area, the group learned to balance, and use their heels and toes to slowly move down the slope. That is of course, once they learned how to stand up right on the board for any length of time. DS found that she was unable to stand up facing forward without struggling uselessly like some beached sea creature in the snow, so she was instructed to flip over onto her stomach, twisting her bound feet around and get up on her hands and knees (now grace has never really been a friend of mine, but really, how like, embarrassing, Katie!). This turns out to be the only way she can get up on her own. If she’s given assistance the front way, she just ends up face planting within seconds. This also means that this is the only way she can actually get down the slope, snowboarding...backwards. Which may well be snowboarding, but clearly not as God has intended it. We’ll not go into the injustice of getting back up the slope on the revolving ski pole pulley thingy whilst balancing on the snowboard with said ski pole pulley thingy tucked under one armpit which is yanking relentlessly on both arms (ow, sockets). Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty. And then there was a merciful lunch break, which meant leaving the gear on the mountain and taking the lift back. “Great, that’s how they make you come back for the afternoon session.” As they ride down the mountain on the lift, they are passed by thousands of happy skiers and snowboarders, all waving, one group of especially annoying children chanting relentlessly “Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!”

Even the We-Like-Fun-Stuff-Floridian chicks were looking a little worse for wear in the afternoon. SR was just hitting his stride and DS was just, well, hitting snow. Over and over again, seven times on the same butt cheek, twice on the same shoulder. Once everyone was somewhat comfortable with the “falling leaf” scenario, zig zagging ever so slowly down the mountain using heel and toe pressure (yeah, right, just plain luck if you ask me), Katie said, “Okay, now we’re going down the mountain!” At the halfway point, halfway down, after falling over backwards, downhill, again, as she lays prone in the snow staring up at the sky DS finally realizes that in Mexico, she may or may not have been a victim of violence perpetrated by some souless narco-kidnapper, but here, on the mountain, strapped to a snowboard, she would be the only one responsible for breaking her face. This does not really sit well for a girl with no domestic health insurance, about to go international in a few days, and who really isn’t sure she asked for an extreme sports rider on her travel insurance. “Eff! That’s it, I’m done!” she yells as she unstraps herself from danger. “Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!” The skiing kids go screaming by. “Oh, shut the f*#@ up will you!?” she yells as she trudges down the mountain towards Katie and the others.

Within minutes of explaining herself to Katie, “Really, this is for the best, maybe I can do another lesson tomorrow.  I can walk the rest of the way down,” a ski patroller comes by and offers to call her a snow mobile. “We can’t have you walking down the mountain, it’s too risky.” Or is it that you can’t have me angrily yelling at children, she thinks....and so DS ends her day early, being shuttled down the mountain on the snowmobile (and yes, they did pick up the two Floridians who were also no longer having fun), looked upon by other skiers and snowboarders with a mixture of smugness and envy. Whilst awaiting SR to finish his time on the mountain with like, Katie, DS enjoyed hot chocolate by the lodge fire, congratulating herself on the preservation of her mood and person, desperately hoping she didn’t ruin her camera that one time she fell on it.

*Unco: Aussie for uncoordinated, drop more than half the word, and add an –o. As Aussies do.

Day 3, Bruised and Bummed in Breck :: Page 17 strikes with a vengeance, as DS wakes up every hour on the hour with a roaring headache, not to mention a multitude of new bruises. Altitude sickness has claimed her, she declines a second day of snowboarding lessons. In fact, she declines to continue snowboarding at all. "It’s just not safe. I could really get hurt. I don’t have proper insurance. We’re moving when we get back to Sydney, I can’t afford to be broken. The camera is broken, for Pete’s sake.” SR takes to the slopes alone, despondent DS goes back to sleep.

Despondency continues, for even though she wakes up in a minor state of repair, and wanders off to lunch with SR, she realizes it’s cold, she hurts, and moans what’s the point of Breck if you’re lying in bed all day? What will become of Days 4 and 5? Her lift ticket is returned and copious amounts of painkillers and Gatorade is procured at the grocery where a disposable camera is considered but rejected. After a late siesta and an even later dinner of spaghetti with broccoli, cheese, and apples (expertly concocted by SR, points for creativity) DS finds herself whingeing on the phone to her Mum...so cold, almost broke my face, bad headache, sleep all day, can’t be with SR! “Well, what good thing is there about the trip?” Besides the tasty dinner, um, well, it’s really pretty? “That’s great, well at least you can take some good pictures!”

“But I broke the camera when I fell!” There is silence on the other end, followed by explosive laughter.

Day 4, Cold Perspective :: And that’s what you count on your heart people to do for you when you’re having a rough time, right? Throw you a little perspective, or in my case, a little laughter, to set the world right again. After several more, similar, phone calls were made to individuals who laughed themselves silly , DS sat in the Main Street Station resort lodge, next to a warm fire, whilst SR once again took the lonely road to the slopes, and devised a plan for her self-improvement. It involved more painkillers, a disposable camera, and snowshoes. With only half the headache, a little snowshoeing wouldn’t be so bad would it?

When SR joined DS around lunch time, he found her much improved and a least willing to brave the great outdoors. After dining on yet another incarnation of chicken, potatoes and pasta (Page 17 said to eat lots of carbs to combat the altitude evil), the two set out slightly ill-prepared for showshoeing. As in, We’ll Just Go Out And See How Much It Costs and Where We Should Go...which turned into, Now That We’re Here and Have Rented Them We Should Just Go Out, Since There’s Really Not Enough Time to Go Back for More Warm Clothes. SR has ski pants but no gloves or scarf, DS had gloves and scarf, but no ski pants. The perky clerk chick at Mountain Outfitters greets them by saying, “It’s 3 degrees out there, but man, it really feels like minus 17.” DS feels the headache coming back, SR is already heading out the door towards Carson Park. On their way, they hit the same grocery store they’ve been to two other times already (this does not include the City Market debacle) for other sundry emergency items and pick up small bottles of water and the previously rejected disposable camera.

Setting out at a pace, SR is his usual long off distance from the straggling DS, and she wonders, is this where the two ill prepared hikers (nay, snowshoers) set out for a casual walk on the mountain and are never heard from again? Ew, so negative. They find Carson Park to be a lovely mix of dog park, sledding hill (now, that’s better, more my style), and mountain side with trails between residences. SR goes straight up, DS opts for a more “falling leaf” zig zag strategy, which turns into more of a “falling rock” strategy when she finally reaches the trail he’s on and falls over into the snow....at a standstill. Who, you ask, falls over standing still? Uncos, do, that’s who.  Blame it on the altitude. We find after awhile that it is really starting to feel like minus 17. DS is feeling the lack of smart fuschia ski pants (that had been attracting quite a few stares from posh Breckians dressed in all black), as her ass is covered in snow kicked up from the snowshoes, and SR is losing feeling in his fingers...and possibly his nose...and is still wondering who this chick is he’s with. An hour and 20 photos later, they return the shoes to perky clerk chick, “Wow, you went out there without gloves?” and make a beeline for the apartment. As best they can, of course, given current conditions.

Day 5, Bye, Bye Breck :: DS and SR awake to the fifth day of fresh powder on the ground, it may well be below zero today, the mountain in heavily obscured in the clouds. SR hits the slopes again, not with as much spring in his step, but admirable determination. DS musters the baggage and heads out for the cozy resort lodge, to watch snow fall from a safe and warm distance and plan out the afternoon. And nothing says nice like a hearty lunch of burger, salad, cheesy fries, and thick shake and a massage while waiting for the CMA shuttle to return them to Denver.  For the record, DS had the salad and shared the cheesy fries, the rest went to SR, which would account for his desire to hurl on his hippy masseuse during treatment. Stoned from a combination of lunch, massage, painkillers, and bodily harm, the pair stumbled back to the lodge to await their coach. They were pleased to see it arrived on time and empty. Maybe they would be the only ones? Alas, not to be, the next stop was up the mountain. Exchanging pleasantries they found their driver to be a rather green bloke all the way from Melbourne (we had heard rumor of Aussies on the mountain) who kept muttering about not having a four-wheel drive vehicle. He had told his boss, you know, but they gave him this one anyway. Say what? As they turned up the next road, it was clear there was no going up the driveway, so Oz driver parked and ran up to the door for the client. Meanwhile, the van settled into the side of the road.  And that’s how it took 8 people, two shovels, a wooden plank, and an energetic Boxer approximately 20 minutes to extract the getaway vehicle from the snow. DS got to drive. The rest, minus the Boxer (who just really wanted to eat snowballs), got to push. A huge sigh of relief and two more client pick-ups later, they were barrelling down the mountain (at now considered break neck speeds) in their 2WD van, past all the mandatory commercial vehicle snow chain stops, in icy conditions towards Denver International. DS and SR arrived with only 45 minutes to catch their plane, starving from their efforts at staying alive, and busting for a piss.

Of the many lessons learned in proper winter attire, the dangers of altitude sickness, it’s impossible to keep hydrated at 9,600 feet unless you’re hooked up to an I.V., knowing one’s personal limits, etc., clearly the most valuable lessons were that of the importance of patience, humor, and maintaining perspective. Although it may have seemed like a yet another thwarted adventure vacation while it was happening, at the end of the day, I can look back on it as fun and get a proper laugh. As several encouraging voices told me as I related anecdotes, “You know you’re living when you try new things, go new places, and learn something new about yourself in the process.”

Oh, and Cheryl, sorry about wrapping the goggles you leant me in dirty undies, we were a bit rough around the edges after all that.

The Welcome Wagon

2009-02-07 to 2009-02-08

Since we`re always on the move, nothing says Welcome Back! like jumping off an international flight and moving right into a new home.

As our apartment was completely packed and we needed to move just to find a set of fresh clothes, we got in from the airport, grabbed some snacks, yanked all the furniture into the livingroom and waited for the removalists to come. "Two Chinese Men Move You" arrived early in their battered and graffittied truck and had us moved into our "new" (as in new to me, old to the world) place in Bondi Junction within two hours. It`s a three bedroom two story terrace house, built circa 1891, that we`re renting from an acquaintance with most of his stuff still in it (as in a multitude of books, paintings, pottery, and ethnic artifacts). It was previously occupied by students (individuals who opted to live in filth and to destroy and neglect, but we won`t get in to that just yet) and was in dire need of care. As it was, some friends spent the weeks we were abroad chiseling away dirt and replacing floorboards. But I digress~ in order to move in our 21st century furniture into a 19th century house, it took two Chinese men, plus SR and Johno to haul our possessions up over the balcony and squeeze them into each room. Luckily we only had a bed, two couches, and a few dressers, but still.

And nothing says Welcome! like moving one of those dressers into place and having the largest spider you`ve EVER seen come scuttling out from the space between the floor and the wall, travel across the room to the other space in the wall, and flick a little wave at you, "Cheers!", as it squeezes in right where you were about to put your nightstand. Oh. My. GOD. "Oh that? That`s just a huntsman. Common house spider. Harmless. You usually find them behind curtains, or wedged between towels, no big deal, you can just trap them and take them outside." Cause, um, yeah, it looks like it would take a heavy, blunt object (of which there are many ethnic kinds in the house) to kill it, but only after striking it repeatedly and denting whatever surface they happen to be on. Welcome spider, check.

The next morning, after a somewhat restless sleep, as we were buzzed by mozzies and I was dreaming of mold infested walls (yes, there are a few), I sauntered into the kitchen to find A GIANT SLUG sliming its way around my water glass. Hmmm, nice. SR was kind and removed said slug into the jungle that is our backyard. Generous, I thought, I was reaching for the salt. Sluggo, as he`s affectionately known, now makes the rounds every night through the downstairs, sliming everything in his path, carpet, dog toys, thongs (flip flops, not underwear you perv), dog beds (I bet he`d even give the dogs a go if they weren`t in their crate), and kitchen cabinets (yes, I wash everything before I eat on it now). Unfortunately this is not a contained environment, between the spaces in the floorboards, holes in the doors, missing window tiles, and countless other breaches in the house`s superstructure, there`s just no telling where he gets in. Most likey he`s just taken up residence under the couch. I`ll never know. Welcome slug, check.

We bought a plug in mozzie zapper to kill the mosquitos in our bedroom by the way. It reduces their numbers down to one or two. I enjoy watching them fall from the ceiling before we turn out the lights...

I imagine that in such a colorful place as this, in a country known for it`s unique flora and fauna (I found that the garden was actually trying to encroach into the bathroom through the missing window tile), I`ll have many of similar anecdotes like the one below to report...

Last night I was alone. Boyfriend and child were gone. My my first weekend by myself with the dogs in Sydney. I wander sleepily into kitchen to put away glass before trugging up the stairs to bed. Turn on the light.

*cue slasher music*

The cabinets, the wall, the ceiling, the pottery are covered in.....HUNDREDS OF BABY SPIDERS!!!!!

Frantically I reach for the spider spray. Rats! The last tenants broke off the spray nozzle and just left it outside to taunt me. What`s a girl to do!? Windex! Windex cures everything, even spider infestations. Those little a*^holes didn`t stand a chance. I sprayed everything, cabinets, wall, stove, mid-air (as they were repelling down), bread, fruit bowl, toaster. And left them for dead.

Then I brushed my teeth, grabbed a glass of water and proceeded to walk through the dark dining room. Only to have their mother drop down right in front of me! Water went everywhere. I possibly just threw out my back.

Gaaahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

She wasn`t saying "Cheers" this time. I`m pretty sure I heard a string of profanities and satisfied laughter at having unsettled me. The two dogs raise their heads from the couch curiously, some help they are. Welcome spider hatching, check.

Fed up, I sealed myself and the dogs in my room upstairs, with the fan on, ear plugs in, wrapped tightly in a sheet with the mozzie zapper on. Did we sleep well i ask you?

No.

Welcome to Australia love. This is only the beginning.

[Fill in the Blank]...is Living Sydney

2009-03-09

Diana’s Facebook Wall:

Danielle Millar wrote at 9:31pm

Poor redback didn`t see Steven`s size 20 flip-flop coming! Methinks you should add `Deadly Australian creatures, shark training, knock-down rental properties and local vet clinics’ as your latest interests, in addition to travel, my girl! :-)

Wall-to-Wall - Write on Danielle`s Wall

Centennial Parklands...is Living Sydney.

Yes, that’s really the park’s motto. And it’s fitting. The dogs (F&E) and I live there practically, as we’re guests on a daily basis if we’re in routine mode. It’s a thriving center of wildlife, people life and domestic animal life. It’s where I dream about becoming a regular runner again, where we meet new friends at the dog park (Yoga Lee and Emma for me, Ted, Bruce, and Jelly for F&E), where Elvis can chase cockatoos and ibises off the grass, where hopefully we’ll make their screen on the green Moonlight in the Park movies series before it ends this week, where ER has a bike trail and playground, and just about everyone, from all walks of life can be found before work and just after.... mums and tots, dogs, horses, dogs as big as horses, horseback riders, cyclists (like a mad grips of them), old people, young people, picnickers, cricketers, soccer players, school kids, runners...it’s literally crawling with creatures (tho hopefully no snakes), my favourite being the bird life, so diverse and so exotic.

The dog park is especially interesting as its own little microcosm of humanity, where everyday dog and people dramas play out. It’s bad enough that I spend most of my days talking to F&E out loud and occasionally find myself doing it in public, but it’s always good to see a dog owner that’s crazier than you (or dogs that are crazier than yours). Like the guy who rolls around making high pitched noises with his three fat Staphies, or the man who named his little aggressive, dog humping terrier, Baby Jesus (and I thought calling out for Elvis was bad), or the woman who lets her OCD dog bark at a little red ball the whole time. If F&E aren’t running around with Ted and Bruce (more like puppies Elvis and Bruce run amok and whilst elders Frida and Ted watch with dismay and authority), they’re mixing with the likes of weimaraners, vizslas, shitzus, pugs, schnauzers, shepherds, and once, even dingos. That was a sight to see, Elvis running in circles with two very happy dingo puppies. F&E have only run into their kind only once, but after an almost over exuberant initial greeting quickly lost interest. It was almost snobby in a way, as if to say, “Look, we really like being the only IGs here, okay?”

As always with F&E, getting out and being active also means sometimes getting hurt, and now Elvis has caught up to Frida on trips to the vet. After a particularly rough week at the park, a mid air collision with a bishon frisee, a nipping by one of his doggy friends, and a crash and burn tangle with a staphie, he developed a nasty infection at a most inopportune time. His symptoms didn’t present themselves until he was feverish and hyperventilating under John and Danielle’s care. Worried, they rushed him to the vet. Good thing he’s no stranger to IVs and vet sleep overs! The next morning we picked him up to find that an abscess had formed in his nose and completely burst open. He emerged from the facility with his nose a swollen and bloody mess, but heaps happier, and as charming as ever. Reinforcing, that if I could just find them jobs, they could be cute and make me money....

Roaches, and Spiders, and Slugs, Oh My!...Is Living Sydney.

Since we moved in to Ruthven St, we’ve done more than our fair share of repair work, sealing gaps, patching and repainting walls, bolting window sills back into place, exacting chemical warfare on sorely neglected ovens, replacing glass, patching doors, etc. etc. All of these things are to good effect, but really, it’s more like, Living Sydney is in my house and there’s really nothing that can be done. It’s been a constant battle against the flora and fauna of suburban Sydney within the confines of our 118 year old walls. A veritable onslaught of slugs, roaches, ants, moths, spiders, creeping vines, mould, minor flooding and the like descend upon us regularly in biblical plague proportion. I really can’t be bothered with a bug bomb, I know I should, but it’s just such a blatant chemical dusting. At first it was just a few roach motels in inconspicuous places, salt in the doorway to ward of slugs, and a little Windex to repel those who hatch en mass. But since I squashed Sydney`s 2nd deadliest spider in my kitchen the other day and our bathroom was invaded by bitey ants, it’s with Moses like exuberance that I fight back. I purchased three different chemical sprays, for inside perimeter, for outside perimeter, and to spray into the air or onto the ground for instant immobilization of flying, crawling, or scuttling insects. And yes, I’ve also crammed slug bait into every wall crevice and holes in the floor from which a slug might appear. And yes, before my mom comes, I will bomb the house.

Fear and Loathing in Port Macquarie...well, is just living.

I swear, I`m becoming a total pussy in this country. I almost had a meltdown...correction, I pretty much did have a meltdown, the other day in Port Macquarie with some of SR’s old friends, doing young wild boy stuff, like bushwalking through closed down park areas to natural water slides infested with leaches and poisonous snakes...oh, you know, in flip flops and shorts. On our way in to the aptly named Slippery Rocks, much to SR’s chagrin, he turned to find me hyperventilating on the trail, looking around in a panic, screeching, "What am I doing here!? I`m so unprepared!" Who goes hiking through overgrown bush trail on a hot day without proper shoes!? Or in my case, without a bubble suit. (And my mother thinks my “drinking” is a problem.) In my defence, we`d just seen a little brown snake on the road in (#5 most poisonous snake in the world) and then his friend had been talking about death adders (#2 most poisonous snake in the world and how you don`t see them until it’s too late) for twenty minutes after that. I was primed for failure! “I can’t believe you are actually a biologist,” says SR, “when you hate nature so much.”

Once we reached the rapids at the creek, the guys were complaining about how cold the water was, but I was so overheated from my freak-out, that it felt like bliss. That is until the current, which was mega strong, started bashing me into rocks. Then I was like, "It`s sooo strong, I`m going to drown myself!"  So I went and sat in the sun on the rocks...which were, of course, treacherously slippery. And then there were slimy little wormy creatures at the water’s edge that felt kinda bitey. And then SR pulls a leach off his thigh and casually says, “Oh yeah, watch for leeches” as he tosses it back into the water. Gulp! Raise your hand if you’re ready to go back!

Needless to say I did not make it to the next day’s cliff jumping outing with the boys. But I did later watch the video of SR launching himself off a 120 foot cliff into the ocean....which is full of sharks. I`m laughing on the inside....a little...okay, not very much.

Spiders, and Sharks, and Snakes, Oh My!...is Living Sydney.

So yes, a redback (which vies for Sydney’s most deadly spider with the Sydney funnelweb) did decide to take up residence inside my house, by the fridge, where Frida often sticks her nose in search of food. Indoors for them is apparently uncommon- everyone I`ve talked to since has said, "Oh...that`s not good." SR who was on the phone with me when I spotted it said, “ Okay, be really careful. Concentrate. Make sure you really kill it.” Or what!? It’s going to chase me down and bite me in revenge!? SMACK! I killed it using one of SR’s thongs (no, you perv, it’s a flip flop, although killing a spider with the other kind of thong would take some serious skill).

I’ve heard through the grapevine that Sydney’s “man eating” sharks have made international news. Yes, Bondi Beach had its first shark attack in 80 years. A diver was chewed on in the Harbour. But the National Parks still think swimming in the Harbour is cleaner than the local pool and sponsored a swimming race (and there was thankfully no “Big Breakfast” then), Bondi is still full of surfers and swimmers, and a contributor to Australian Geographic Magazine reckons you can train a shark and beat them at their own top of the food chain game if you’re willing. I don’t know about that, but I did swim at North Bondi yesterday. Am I toughening up you ask? Nah, it’s just that I was closer to shore and there were a lot more people out farther than me. Safety in numbers, baby.

As with anything deadly and Australian accounts are always part true tragedy and part urban legend...it’s hard to really know where you stand, which is probably how the natives like it. I’ve yet to meet anyone who’s had a direct encounter with one of Australia’s nine out of the top ten deadliest snakes, but there are always those random stories, like a Sydney woman who recently met an untimely end when she was bitten by a brown snake whilst protecting her dogs (sorry F&E, you’re on your own in that case). I tried verifying the account online, but only found links to “Man Bitten on Genitals While Using the Toilet on Side of Road” and “Woman Bitten While Gardening in Her Rural Backyard.” Hmmm. I’ve also heard that red-bellied black snakes (like #3 most deadly or something) attack bicycle wheels along a bush trail near Coogee. Since SR frequents Coogee Beach for bootcamp, he reckons it’s not true, but either way...

It`s living Sydney.

Canapes and Champagne on the Scenic Rim

2009-03-20 to 2009-03-22

SR, DS, colleagues and friends are treated to a five-star resort holiday weekend surrounded by southeast Queensland`s gorgeous scenery. Star treatment, canapes and champers at every turn, degustation meals, spectacular views, fresh mountain air, some of the cushiest, spongiest grass you`ve ever stepped on, and pure relaxation.

Friday 20 March

3:00p- DS boards Virgin Blue flight with friends Lyn and Peter to join SR and the rest of their crew in Brisbane. DS promptly passes out upon take-off as she is oh, so tired from exactly what....she`s not sure.

4:30p- The trio lands in Brissy and are greated by their driver, Graham, holding a sign for Spicers Peak Lodge. DS still groggy from her high altitude nap thinks, "What`s this? A driver! Oooo, he`s my first driver with a sign at an airport!" A sign of great things to come.

5:30p- Facing the long (almost demoralizing) drive through Brisbane to find the rest of their company, DS realizes she really should have brought a snack, seeing as their final destination lay almost two hours off in outback Queensland. As this is only the Driver`s second time in the City in a long time and the GPS voice is getting a little snappish, the Tummy gets insistently grumbly. Do you want to stop for a hamburger? Peter tries to be helpful. The Tummy burps in response.

6:30p- Arriving in somewhere suburban Brisbane, DS is reunited with her traveling SR and they are joined by Barb, her sister, and Slava. And eager with anticipation and a little naivete, the merry band sets out for Spicers Peak Lodge on the Scenic Rim, somewhere...out there. But first, slam! They hit a wall of friday night game traffic around the footy stadium. They make many right turns in search of the highway, the GPS voice gets snarky, the backseat drivers multiply, the Tummy is sent into a panic. But lo, what`s this!? Slava produces potato and goat cheese canapes from some secret esky (that`s a cooler??) and the Tummy rejoices! And we were gonna stop for a burger? Puhlease.

7:30p finds our happy band stuck in wall to wall traffic on the highway towards the town of Ipswich (the scene of last year`s drunken pub experience with Ken and Amanda, a town with a conspicuous lack of dental care) sipping Bollinger champagne and slurping down oysters on the half shell (as they had already demolished all the sushi rolls). Stuck in traffic in Ipswich!? Bah! This is bliss! For the remainder of the drive, the crew discusses the finer points of: the cultural ramifications of alcohol consumption, the financial crisis in the States, whether or not Ipswich could really have been voted one of the top places to live in QLD, what there could possibly be to do out here in the boonies (oh look, another house! with the lights on! how quaint), what to do with rockstars when they want to go on vacation, and the like...

8:30p-ish finds them bouncing up a 4WD track in the pitch black bush towards their five star destination. The Tummy is wondering what it did to deserve having its champagne and oysters ruthlessly shaken about. They emerge from the tree canopy on to the mountain top to see a twinkling lodge set on an enormous pasture underneath a brilliantly starry sky. Graham delivers his road weary and tipsy flock into the foyer where jaws drop and ooo ahs are uttered as they are shown their rooms and ushered to dinner.

9:00p-11:00p- I`m going to have too many alcohols! cries the Tummy. This wasn`t dinner. This was a feast of the Gods, with wine of the Gods, and Corona and Lime Sorbet. Silly DS, she asks, What`s the Corona part? Uh...Corona? is the reply. How can the Tummy not love a place that puts beer on sorbet! I`ll eat anything you put in front of me, even if I don`t know what the fancy french words mean, I swear.

Green Pea Ravioli with Seared Scallop and Foie Noisette and Sauvignon Blanc

Rabbit Loin Roulade, Macadamia and Rouqefort Stuffing, Cherry Syrup and a Grenache Rose

Soy Stained Tuna, Citrus, Fennel, Avocado and Wasabi Mayo

Corona & Lime Sorbet

Venison Loin, Du Puy Lentil & Chantrelle Pithivier, Green Beans and Homemade Pancetta, Pigeon Demiglaze with a Shiraz

St Nectaire, Fennel Crackers, Quince Paste and a Chenin Blanc

Mango Souffle, Grilled Mango, and Biscotti

Sometime after 11:00p DS can`t possibly sit upright for another minute. She snuggles into bed and SR and Peter stay up to keep the Party going, getting messy at the open bar (my god, an open bar!) and playing pool with the Flight Center girls. DS corrals him around 2 am when he stumbles into the room and sets the lights ablazin` to find his swimmers and head to the pool. "The Bailey`s! The Bailey`s! We shouldn`t have had the Bailey`s!" he mutters before passing out in his shorts. Peter can still be heard stumbling about in the distance in an effort to reach the pool...

Saturday 21 March

8:30 a- Who could possibly eat breakfast after all that? We could, that`s who. SR wanted to sleep in for once and DS was nothing doing! Breakfast was fresh eggs, homemade bread, tea, gorgeous fruits- ordinary sounding, but divine when coupled with the breathtaking view of the pasture and mountains surrounding the lodge. The dining room doors were completely open to the outside and the beautiful light made it necessary to wear sunnies at the table. As the resort is also a working cattle station, an occassional moo could be heard across the grass. Not to worry, said Moos don`t feature on the menus (...or so they say).

10:00 a until lunchtime- This period of time finds our company in various states of relaxation or attempts at relaxation. For some its hard to put down work and Lyn can be found wandering aimlessly about waiting for her mobile to show a bit of signal interest. DS and SR discover the pool (sober and in the daylight) and decide the spa is really best. Peter and SR play bocce with Slava whilst DS and Lyn sit in the sun and read. DS wanders about the lodge oggling its original artwork collection. The group prepares emotionally and gastronomically for lunch.

Served on the patio, the meal is wine, wine, wine and mojitos, mojitos, mojitos with entree salad, choice of beef tenderloin or barramundi, and a raspberry and pannacotta with fairy floss dessert (cotton candy!) served with tea and coffee. Again, bliss. We are joined by the resort general manager and his wife, who have come up just for us and happily agree to show us a gorgeous bush sunset accessible only by hiking and 4WD. We determine who will hike and who will ride and then retire to attempt and succeed at more relaxation activities....

 3:30p- Suitably prepared for her next bushwalking experience, DS is sporting closed toed shoes, pants, and a sweater and has raided the kitchen for extra bottles of water. We shall not have a repeat of her last fear and loathing bush walk. The destination is Ryan`s Lookout, an almost 4 km walk along a steep ridgeline trail to an overlook with a view of the entire valley. They will be joined at sunset by the rest of the company who will arrive in 4WD. DS, SR, Slava, and Peter (who`s still feeling the effects of the Bailey`s) set out through the pasture to the trailhead. It`s up and down and really dodgy footing- but hurrah for concentration, everyone takes a tumble down a hillside but DS! She is redeemed...somewhat. It`s a damn good thing they`re catching a ride back!

Despite the challenges and thrills of remaining upright, the trail delivers spectacular views as promised and the lookout  is remote and breathtaking. Wedge-tailed eagles soar in the distance, butterflies fly overhead, and the silence is beautiful. Until Peter starts chucking rocks, and the water runs out, and SR says, "Wouldn`t it be funny if we hiked out the wrong look out?" To our relief, just as the sun begins to set, along comes the rest of our crew, gingerly stepping over the last 100m of trail from the trucks to the bench carrying, what do you know, champers and canapes! We are delivered! cries the Tummy. A toast!

7:00p- We return from our twilight 4WD ride for a quick dip in the spa (my, it`s gotten a bit cold) before dressing for dinner. Yes, dinner, preceeded by drinks in the lobby, and followed by passing out on my pillow.

8:00p to 10:00p- The nine of us are served in the private dining room, wine and conversation flowing...eyelids drooping...glasses clinking...game animals taking on their last incarnation as art. Oh, and yes, we can`t forget the sorbet. Bacardi and Sorbet! This vies for favorite next to the cheese and cracker course...raw kanga was not so much DS`s deal.

Caprese Salad and Tomato Jelly with a Riesling

Kangaroo Carpaccio, Beetroot Syrup, Tomarillo Salsa with Pinot Blanc

Roasted Black Fig Stuffed with Gorgonzola. Rocket Leaves, and Bresola

Barcardi and Lemon Sorbet

Masterstock Poached Gamebird, Hot & Sour Salad with a Shiraz Cabernet

Fromart Dalpago, Oat Biscuit, Raspberry Paste

Citrus Tart. Chocolate Sauce, Vanilla Bean Ice Cream, Fruit Mince with Campbells Muscat

Excuse Self From Table, Thank Hosts for Everything, Pass Out On Pillow

Sunday 22 March

DS wakes up wondering if that`s her kidneys hurting or if she`s just imagining things. Nothing brekky,a coffee, and a good view won`t fix. DS and SR digest over a paper before SR joins Peter for some mountain biking, a little last bit of adventure. An hour later SR can be seen careening with joyous abandon down a trail in the distance....where`s Peter?someone wonders outloud...

Relunctant to leave such luxury, amazing food, and personalized service, the happy group is collected by Graham before lunchtime to return to Brisbane. (Honestly though, what mere mortal can really survive more than two nights of eating as the gods must? It`s not healthy, it`s delicious and amazing, but keep that up and DS really does have to wake up before dawn and go to bootcamp. And we all know how she feels about that.) They bounce back down the road, soaking in the gorgeous Queensland scenery, marvelling at their good fortune, satisfied tummies, and lack of tension.

As they reach civilization, or at least decent cell phone coverage, DS`s mobile jumps. The text message from Ken, awaiting us in Brisbane reads, "Are you against burgers for lunch and a meat smoke for dinner?" Clearly, the culinary adventures are far from over!

iToad, iSmoke, iGarlic, iTouch

2009-03-23

DS texts: That sounds great! What`s a meat smoke?

KL texts: Meat smoke = using a smoker to smoke pork and lamb.

DS texts: Beauty.

And so DS and SR land in outer Brisbane suburbia for afternoon of chilling out drinkng beer and listening to musical selections from Ken`s iTouch, discussing the wonders of Macs and the iLife (which spawned a diatribe of bad iJokes). This was followed by an evening of pigging out on smoked meat and garlicky guacamole whilst lounging about on their great comfy sofa watching TV. Why stop relaxing now!?

Complete with a screening of "The Cane Toad: An Unnatural History" (a true 80s doco gem) and an hour of So You Think You Can Dance: Australia, I felt Queenslander and Aussie as. Sadly, no cane toads emerged from the nearby swamp to fascinate and disgust me in person- but I strongly encourage everyone to see the documentary! http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0130529/

Not even a whole head of garlic in the guacamole, visions of ampiplexing toads, or the judges on So You Think You Can Dance could keep us off the culinary delights, we ate like suburban kings, complete with Amanda`s homemade key lime pie. Thanks Ken and Amanda, it was delish!

Roadtrips, Oysters, and The Cappuccino Question

2009-04-10 to 2009-04-14

After what seems like months of home improvement, weeks of planning, and long days of cleaning, SR and DS pick up "The Mothers" GS and CO. They begin their Oz journey with the long Easter Weekend on the South Coast. Narooma, Here We Come!

After a long day of travel, a primary school Easter Hat parade, and their first afternoon at a true Aussie Westfield, "The Mothers" wearily accept that they'll be off again for their first taste of Australian roads on a long holiday weekend. It's a full car, packed with bags, likely six different cameras, two mothers, one child, and the DS/SR wandering duo. They will be joined by their Harrigan mates on Friday for extra fun and vehicular sitting room. GS becomes the Human GPS reciting road signs and traffic speeds, providing general commentary on road conditions (my this is a small lane, oh! that's sharp turn ahead!) and driver habits, and generally requesting potty stops on behalf of all the car's occupants. They reach Narooma late in the evening and tired (though not of each other), but full of promise. Their destination, the family Coastal Comfort Motel, complete with ocean views and cousins for ER to play away the weekend with.

Good Friday. DS wakes up early!!!! Booo!!!! But then proceeds to lounge around on a picnic bench with SR and the Mothers in the courtyard of the motel, listening to the ocean and drinking tea, but refusing to move until the Harrigans arrive. And they do arrive on-time, earning DS a massage from the bet she made with SR (funny, she never go it...poor sport!). They spend the afternoon checking out the coastal views, searching out lunch, girls relax and read, boys hit the pub, and then its a lovely dinnertime discovery of fish and chips and oysters for $9 a dozen on the Wagonga Inlet. Needless to say they consume many oysters being that they come from the land of $4/oyster and vow to return again and again until they leave. DS, SR, DM, and JH return to their shared suite for a long night of wine and chocolate consumption and a fiery game of Scattegories. Friendships and alliances are made and lost as they battle their way through the alphabet and their favorite letter/word associations. The most amusing and damaging debate would be The Letter C, Category: Dessert, which DS labels as Cappuccino and is almost voted off the island for her troubles. "Just ask my mom what she has for dessert! A cappuccino is a dessert!" Luckily the Mothers were buffered from this drunken debacle by one very thick wall. This simple culinary choice launches a weekend (if not weeks) long inquiry of friends, waitresses, menus and complete strangers as to just how they would answer the Cappuccino Question.

Purple Possum Saturday. DS sleeps in!!! Yay for SR playing golf! She discovers the treasure of the Purple Possum (book store/art gallery/cafe with a view) with the Mothers and the joy of thick raisin toast with tea. There's some walking around, but not much happens until of course, lunch. After lunch is another rest for DS and GS, whilst CO wanders about with her energy and camera, Harrigans having spent the morning on an island National Park tour. Then it's off to the Tilba Festival in the mountain town of Tilba Tilba with CO and the girly cousins for kerb-side sausages and ice cream, a show and tell of Australia's most venomous, homemade cheese tasting, and marketey type purchases of chili sauces from a place called Disaster Bay. Not to be confused with Mystery Bay, their destination after the festival, for a sunset walk on the beach and mega-photo opportunity for CO and her many cameras.

They dine at the Top Pub, having decided they couldn't be bothered to walk down to the Bottom Pub, and watch amusedly as Narooma's nightlife parades past in their finery on their way down to the Bottom. Yummy pub food, and yes, oysters, all get their moment in the camera flash light. Probably for the best, it's not quite their crowd down there anyway. Finding that the issue is turning into more like the "Cappuccino Inquisition," the couples' opt for a lively game of Battle of the Sexes. Of course, girls rule and boys drool, but they universally agree that the boys questions were way hard, but man, do they learn alot about sperm count percentages.

Easter Sunday. The Mothers hit the church around the corner and DS hits her Church of Brekky at the Purple Possum. After brekky, cameras and people go in search of beautiful cliff side views described by SR...at the local golf course. They dodge golf courses and manage not to fall off the cliffs or piss off golfers (your ball is over here!), DS bird watching and DM and CO click, click, clicking, snap, snap, snapping. Around lunch time they notice ER and the Cousins running fiendishly around with Easter chocolate streaks on their faces, seems they've been at it for hours now, high as kites...SR stays behind to play with the under 7s and DS, The Mothers, and the Harrigans enjoy a three-hour cruise on the Wagonga Princess, the inlet's only historic, yet electric boat, which might only cost 30 cents a day to run. Evidently it's all the skippers charm, the billy tea, and bush walk that you pay for. Their three hour cruise was lovely, although slightly marred by an inept parent and her whinging toddler, his demands and tantrums holding us all hostage. We give the skipper mad credit for putting up with said child, but would have been equally delighted if he had decided to maroon the pair on the beach of some deserted cove. As it was, everyone survived and they ran from the boat straight into the arms of three dozen oysters and beer on the deck.

They topped off the evening with an 8pm reservation at Malibu Mex ten minutes up the road in the next town, leaving them to wonder as they sat in the Pub waiting for their seat, just how good can this Mexican food possibly be, out the in the middle of nowhere coastal Australia? The decor was wonderful Malibu surfer kitsch with Beach Boys playing in the background and generous helpings of enchiladas, tacos, and guacamole. Leaving DS wondering if they might actually be hiding Mexican cooks in the kitchen. SR indulged on the mega meal #13, if you can finish off a meal equivalent to the size of a small Mexican buffet then you're welcome to another on the house. He declined the second round, but did make it into the Piggy Hall of Fame, or some thing like. Worth the wait it was!

Long Road Monday. The Americans get their first taste of what an Aussie knows to be true on a long, holiday weekend...it's a parking lot. They get an early start, making several stops in Mogo for breakfast, Ulladulla for ER, Kangaroo Valley for the Best Pies in the World, and Fitzroy Falls for the sounds of water falling in the mist. But what would have been a five hour drive becomes ten in our little fishbowl car of Mothers, drivers, and multiple renditions of Old MacDonald Had A Farm. They stumble back into Sydney, exhausted, hungry (although suffering from the Worst Indigestion In the World), and still tickled that they ate so many oysters for practically free.

Magnificent, Melbourne, Mothers

2009-04-16 to 2009-04-20

Or DS embarks on an epic 5 day journey involving penguins, driving long distances with three mothers in the same car, kangaroos, Billy Elliot, cheesecake, rainforests, tea, Great Ocean Roads, universities, birds, Apostles, museums, country back roads, and waterfalls.

16 April, Let's Eat. DS, GS, and CO land in Melbourne. They are picked up by the weekend's hostess and tour guide LD who immediately gives them a little taste of Oz by showing them wild kangaroos at the wildlife sanctuary just minutes from the airport. After settling in at International House in Parkville, near Melbourne University, they wander through the neighborhood to the local yummy Greek buffett, where there are too many delicious choices and DS ends up feeling overfed. But does that stop us from having a coffee and lamington at the coffeeshop around the corner? No, it doesn't. Afterwards they take a walking tour of the University and DS gets that warm, squishy I-Wanna-Be-Student-Again feeling that fades the minute she steps off campus and remembers that she needs to find a job, bad. They drive to Richmond, even though they want to be in Alfington for dinner to see that DS has met up with her hosts at their house and to basically Mom-approve her accomodation before leaving her there (DS likes a bed and Richmond is the only place in Melbourne where she'll find one this weekend). Then it's a walk to the train station, walk back to get the car, screw the train kind of adventure as they make their way to luscious five star Thai food, where again, DS comes away feeling over fed, but divine!

17 April, Penguin Encounter. DS gets to sleep in and lazily makes her way back to Parkville on the tram. Love the Melbourne tram, by the way. Good thoughts, delightful life changing ephiphanies happen on these trams....roused from her reverie, she finds herself Navigator in Friday morning traffic out of Melbourne. All the way south DS drifts in and out to the sounds of The Mothers remiscing Peace Corps: Cameroon, 1965-1967. She thinks she really might have missed out by not going into the Peace Corps. She also thinks she really likes hearing about when Mom was young and crazy (said with all respect). Did I mention they stop and eat breakfast at a servo? They arrive to Churchill Island National Park around lunchtime where they do the most natural of things, eat a big lunch, shop for souvenirs (or in DS's case, buy a a big purse, logical thing to procure in a National Park),and take lots of pictures. Then it's off to Phillip Island to the Koala Park for real, wild-like koalas; a totally wild ride down unknown rutted, dirt roads stopping abruptly to ID birds or let CO jump out of the car to photograph wallabies on the prowl; catching sunset at the Knobbies (where DS almost impales herself on a low-pole, she won't blame that on Mother fatigue, she won't); and finally the final goal, the Penguin Parade.

The Penguin Parade is the only spot left on Phillip Island that still boasts of a nightly migration of penguins from the sea, um, into...the hills? (The concept of the Little Penguin is a hard one for a girl raised on Emperor penguins in the freezing Penguin Encounter at Sea World).  Sadly, the Island had many such beaches at one time, but in the name of real estate, tourism, and just plain ignorance, the cuteness of waddling land penguins did not win out. But an evening of watching precious Little Penguins wade ashore, ascertain their safety in numbers, wait for the all clear, and begin their group hike up into the sandy hillsides is a spectucular experience. We were lucky enough to be in the premium seats with the opportunity to walk along side them on the board walk from the bleachers up into the hills, until they popped into their little holes for the night, and we popped into the cafe for a hot chocolate and um, dinner. DS and the Mothers then waerily migrate to their little motel room, which boasts of truly Aussie family style arrangement, four single beds!

18 April, Double Drinks and Dinner. DS and the Mothers return to Melbourne after a bakery breakfast in San Remo. DS takes the morning to compose herself and meets the Mothers in the city for the matinee showing of Billy Elliot, a book/musical/movie she's somehow completely missed until now. It just so happens to be the theatre staffs favorite cast and we luck out with a great performance and a lot of zeal which inspires in DS the need for a drink. She meets Lauren outside the theatre afterwards and agrees to meet the Mothers at six for dinner.

Sydney Yachties on a Mystic Voyage

2009-04-22

SR and DS take "The Mothers" for a day on the water. They meet John, the skipper of the 36-foot Mystic Voyage, for a tour of Sydney Harbour commencing at the Longueville Wharf. It takes awhile for them to find their sea legs, but once they do, it`s utter bliss!

Our host John, is an interesting fellow yachtie/Jesuit/golfer/historian, gives us a full historical tour of the Harbour`s landmarks and sights. It`s a landscape of a young country, first fleet landings and first jails and first industries (whaling, yuck) and everyone has a convict ancestor. He navigates while SR is at the rudder (hahahaha, which SR skippers gallantly the whole day through) and teaches DS to operate the anchor (which she waits in eager anticipation to operate). CO takes constant pictures (until the wine comes out) and GS smiles and takes it all in (as well she should, someone has to relax). After a cruise along the northern bays, underneath the mega Harbour Bridge, past the Opera House, with a pass by the Taronga Zoo, they pick up friend Lyn (and the wine) at the dock at Rose Bay and cruise on towards Watsons Bay.

In the spirit of living well, they all share wine and cheese, delighting in each other`s company and the lovely day it`s turned out to be (no rain!). DS has a zen moment alone at the bow, realizing as she looks at Sydney in the distance, listening to the sounds of friends and loved ones behind her, she`s exactly where she needs to be. Especially so after John hands her another glass of wine through the hatch. They pull up to the dock at Watson`s Bay, eager to get at the best Fish and Chips in Sydney, offered by Doyles, but first DS must use her new anchors away! skills and there`s much backing in and pulling out and readjusting before the young people can scramble up the dock ladder and make a mad dash for the fish and chip line.

Twenty minutes later they are gorging themselves on salt and pepper squid and more fish and chips than is humanely possible for a group already stuffed on wine and cheese to eat (but they make a valiant effort). After lunch they hoist the sails and make their way back across of the Bay. More wine, more cheese, more breeze! They dock back at Longueville just in time...as they all step off the boat, down comes the rain!

Living Sydney, with Mummy, In-Style

2009-04-24 to 2009-05-08

Or Mom and Diana eat, drink, and casually stroll their way through Sydney museums, art galleries, plazas, corsos, and major sighty sights, seeing Sydney from land, water, and air, whilst still managing to be uber domestic as they cook, clean, shop, eat, drink, and launder their way into home making bliss.

As I look at my daily diary I wonder, did we ever stop? Ah, yes, there`s a sheepish entry about sleeping in one day, maybe one or two naps (okay, just one), several mornings spent on Facebook (and doing other important internety things too), and a couple of hours trapped inside by the rain (which caused a meltdown), but mostly it`s a laundry list of everyday outings and everyday chores. After the frenetic pace of Narooma and Melbourne, the household settled more or less into a routine of sightseeing and eating, and after Mother 2 left, even more settling took place. Mom and I filled our days with a leisurely pace of breakfast and taking tea with the Earls (Lady and Grey), galleries and lunches in a suburb-a-day kind of way, afternoons shopping at Bondi Junction, and cooking fresh and healthy (ew, diet!) meals for family and friends. This was a really good time for a girl used to spending her days alone talking to dogs whilst waiting for loved ones and friends to come home from work.

23 Apr, Sydney from the Air- To complement the fabulous day spent getting to know Sydney landmarks on the water, DS and the Mothers headed to the Sydney Tower to get a 360 degree view of the city.  Lucky for them the price of the ticket included a small hologram tour of Australia and a teaser virtual reality ride, OzTrek, which quickly whisked (and jostled) them around major sights in Oz in a sort of insubstantial, but you get the point kinda way. The outing also included, of course, tea and coffee on the Observation deck, as it was getting to be that time. The view was spectacular and the weather accommodating, one could see north all the way to Palm Beach, south past Botany Bay and the airport and the Shire (I say, is that a Hobbit?) and west into the Blue Mountains...

24 Apr, Into the Blue Mountains- And west into the Blue Mountains, DS dragged a travel weary GS and always eager CO, for a two hour train ride and afternoon spent wandering the villages of Katoomba and Leura, snapping pictures (click, click, click, click), having coffee (sip, sip, sip, sip!), and stopping for Devonshire Tea (yum, yum, yum, yum, yum).  They took in the Three Sisters, DS and GS took a small bush walk whilst CO clicked, clicked around the rocks, rode the double decker Blue Mountains Explorer bus around all the sights, hiked to Gordon Falls (without GS as she parked herself on a bench and refused to move), and happily ended up at the tantalizing teapot haven known as Bygone Beautys in Leura. The establishment boasted of a collection of over 3,000 tea pots balanced on an even larger collection of antiques and collectibles and the best Devonshire Tea in the region. Let me just say, it`s an awful lot of tea pots and no matter how good the tea is (and it was delightful), you`d never, ever want to be stuck in that place during an earthquake. It would put you off tea forever.

25 Apr, ANZAC DAY- Finally! A Saturday! The Mother`s had showed considerable interest in joining the thousands of Sydneysiders commemorating ANZAC day, but promptly changed their minds when they learned activities began at 4:30 a.m. DS was of the same opinion until the last minute, when she set her alarm for ten to 3 in a show of solidarity with Yoga Lee and friends (forget the City service we`re going to the Bondi Beach service!). Four fifteen in the morning found DS (and yay, SR!) wandering deserted and still sleeping Bondi Beach with Lee and her two friends, wondering, `Could we be a touch early for the service?" It wasn`t until they met other people near the RSL muttering about dawn services and free beer that they realized they were way ahead of schedule. So as to not waste their early morning wake up they screamed into the City, illegally parked, and made a mad dash for Martin Place, joining the already 30,000 people that had quietly amassed in their suits and business attire. DS feels massively under dressed in her baggy jeans and Chargers hoodie, and worries she`s still got sleep around her eyes. "But it`s only four thirty a.m!" she whines. The solemn service eclipses all fashion concerns and she`s just happy she was there to witness it. Satisfied, the group wanders back (still in the dark!) to Bondi where they participate in the dawn service watching the light change over the water and listening to the sound of crashing waves (and DS`s rumbling tummy).

There`s a well deserved nap fit in after breakfast and before tea. yes, DS and Danielle take the Mother`s for High Tea at the Victoria Room in Darlinghurst. How best to describe it? Danielle says, "It`s like a 1940s exotic Singapore tea room slash brothel slash opium den." Or as the website says, British raj-style tea room that exudes bon-vivant chic. Or something. To cap off a very Oz culture day, they dine on homemade curry and papadans at Lyn`s flat in Bellevue Hill , amongst her cats, exotic decor, lingering Huntsman spider watching over them as they eat.

26 Apr, Diets Aren`t Easy- Did I mention by this time that SR and DS have gone on the South Beach Diet and DS is already deep into carb-craving self-loathing? While the Mothers entertain themselves for a day on the Sydney and Bondi Explorer buses to get a feel for Sydney by land, SR and DS eat pistachios at the cast and crew screening of Wolverine and then attend Mick`s surprise birthday celebration at the 3 Weeds Hotel. A lovely occasion for Mick, it`s downright depressing for DS and SR as they politely decline the tasty wine, say no to the beer, shake their heads at the chips, grit their teeth in resistance to the rosemary and olive oil potatoes, shun the fried calamari, wave their hands at the egg and potato casserole, sigh at the pizza, and finally say farewell, they can`t take it anymore. Thank goodness for Mum`s that cook tasty vegetables or all would be lost!

27 Apr to 1 May, Elvissssssssssssssssssss-  While DS and SR dieted, Elvis went on his own food limitation program- a week`s worth of puking an unhappy puppy, mommy, and wallet makes. The back story to a full week in a full house, there`s a daily diary entry recording type, size, and consistency of puppy up-chuck. Several kilos and an "oh, that`s not good!" episode later, Elvis lands himself emaciated and dehydrated in hospital...Again. Be it that he ingested a foreign body since he`s such a garbage gut (affectionately put by his new vet) or that he`s just forever cursed as a result of his drug habitat, our boy seems to have a real problem. Not to mention a severe lack of understanding what`s good for him, he spends the first night wiggling out of his v-collar and chewing up his IV cord. Two nights in hospital and crap-I-really-need-a-job later, he`s returned to the fold a lesser pooch and dubbed "Skeletor" for his troubles.

In the meantime...

Monday finds DS and GS spending their first "lazy" day finishing off DS`s resume, napping, walking dogs, playing on Internet, washing clothes, cleaning house, etc, etc, whilst CO entertains herself at the Taronga Zoo. The company descends upon the Harrigan household in Leichhardt for dinner with Danielle`s mom, Ann, who hasn`t seen GS since the day of their daughters tearful farewell 17 years previous at the tender age of 14. GS is sure she`s coming down with something, but we push her along anyway, since it`s not like it`s the swine flu.

Tuesday is spent wandering the Archibald Prize at the Art Gallery NSW and an afternoon at the dog park before they take CO to the airport. And then there were three.

Wednesday, DS wakes for early appointments in the City and then meets up with Mom for lunch in Bondi Junction, shopping, a massage from Lee, and mass cleaning and cooking hysteria before they host the Loukes family for dinner (no please, we made the rice for you, we can`t eat it).

Thursday DS`s best intentions for fitness are thwarted by rain, she has a spectacular tantrum in front of her mother, and then resolves to stuff it and get on with her day. They spend the downpour in Paddington, looking over inspiring Japanese prints from the first half of the 20th century and then indulge in cappuccinos whilst waiting for the bus. Elvis finally manages to convince DS that he indeed merits a trip to the vet , she cancels Fish Taco night (can`t eat the damn tortillas anyway), and reluctantly walks away from a most concerned pooch face that seems to say, "But I didn`t intend for you to leave me here!"

Ah Friday, DS goes to sunrise yoga and has brekky in Bondi with yoga ladies, runs errands and then she and GS set out to discover Aboriginal art at the Australian Art Print Gallery and land for lunch at Cafe Hernandez in Darlinghurst. GS indulges in Spanish chocolate and churros and DS looks the other way (or she might have helped, we can`t remember). As they have the evening to themselves, they sack out on the couch after dinner and watch the Tudors. Now this is living.

2 and 3 May, Big Weekend- On Saturday, GS and DS discover the Curious Cafe on Bronte Road, whose entrance is guarded by the world`s largest domestic attack cat, confirmed brute and dog hater (curious does not extend to other species apparently). They sequester Frida behind the chairs while they enjoy a leisurely brekky with the paper, keep an eye of the cat`s movements, and wait to collect Elvis from his torment. They are joined by SR and ER, collect their re-hydrated pooch (just soak in water!), and spend the afternoon shopping, sorting, cleaning, and chilling. GS and ER have a quiet evening together while SR and DS attend a hotel dinner in Circular Quay and deftly pick through the courses, earning the admiration and ridicule of their fellow diners (do you want to suck on my mint leaf?).

And then they were five, Sunday morning they picked up Alex from Coggee for her first trip out of Sydney and headed for Wollongong. Chosen route, through the Royal National Park to the Grand Pacific Drive, which passes through sub-tropical rainforests and along beaches, across the Sea Bridge (a 665 meter bridge out over the ocean), into Wollongong where they spend an afternoon at the Nan Tien Temple, the largest Buddhist temple in the Southern Hemisphere. Of course, there are no pictures to prove this, DS forgot, as always, to charge her camera and in solidarity, Alex`s camera also suffered the same juiceless fate. They enjoy a lovely sense of well-being, happiness, and goodwill towards their fellow man, a generous and salty vegetarian lunch, a stroll about the grounds, and make an attempt to count all the little Buddhas in the Temple before Mom says, "I heard it was 15,000 from that Lady over there." On the way home, the see hang gliders along the cliffs, stop for coffee and a rainbow, go for a short bush walk in the Royal National Park (yes, even Mom) to a gorgeous cove at sunset, stop for fresh fish at Tom Ugly`s Bridge, drop off ER in Brighton, and make haste for Bondi Junction where they are joined by Yoga Lee and the Harrigans for YAY, FISH TACO NIGHT!!!! And yes, DS does indulge in tortillas and SR sits determined and without as everyone devours their tacos and moans their delight.

3-8 May, Don't Wanna Give Her Back...But I guess I will if I have to, is what DS tells her Dad on the phone. Mom and DS settle into a lovely, calm, and satisfying routine of doing lots of nothing while staying busy at the same time.

And it goes something like this: breakfast, internet, lunch, walk to Bondi Junction, tea, dinner, and a movie!

Sleep in, breakfast, um...nothing, grab the bus, meet SR at the Danks Street Depot (where we'll never go again cause they have an open kitchen and really dodgy cooking habits), art galleries, shopping, dinner, yoga..

DS goes on a run? Breakfast, internet, tea, lunch, osteopath, tea at the QVB, window shopping, meet Harrigans in Leichhardt for italian food.

Breakfast, internet, DS hates on Chase, bus to Manly, lunch on the Corso, afternoon stroll on the beach, sunset cruise, visit with Danielle, pack up Mom (boo hiss spit).

Yoga, brekky with Mom and SR, take Mom to printmaking class, wander around North Bondi in search of food and decent atmosphere, chow down at the Beach Burrito Company, meet SR and drop off Mom at the airport (nooooooooo!). SR and DS head to the SwissOtel for dinner and an overnight, doggies have a slumber party with Lee and the Boys, GS flies home.

Kakadu Burning: An Outback Adventure

2009-05-23 to 2009-05-27

SR and DS flee work/life concerns, doggy drama, and rainy, cold weather in Sydney for nine days of adventurous 4WD and camping in the Northern Territory with SR's school mates, Ben and Bianca.

Day 1, Ditching it All. DS and SR traipse all around Bondi Junction with DM and dogs, running last minute errands, after crate-cleaning-poo-smearing incident #5 and vet visit #102. Cheeky dogs are dumped onto willing surrogate parents with a quick kiss on the forehead and a plea for good behavior and gastro-intestinal fortitude. SR and DS JetStar their way to the frontier-land city of Darwin...A city that still harbours an eclectic populace, dangerous elements, an electric edge...heat. They check into the Mantra Pandanas, for their last taste of civilization for the week. They meet up for dinner with Ben and Bianca, their friend Jess, and Ben's parents at Hanuman's for a large meal of rich, exotic fusion food. Grossly overstuffed (surely that will make for a long night), they stumble into the happening streets of Darwin to shop for the weeks camping. Slowly, I mean slowly (in the heat), the reality of their impending adventure dawns on DS as she catches a glimpse of B&B's V8, 4WD, diesel, snorkeled Nissan driving machine at the curb. It appears to have come right off the Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome set...they buy as much food as they can carry back to the hotel and tuck into a night of rich, exotic fusion food digestion....

Day 2, Beginning Kakadu.  DS and SR rise before the sun and grudgingly partake of the overpriced continental breakfast fare before catching their taxi to pick up their very own 4WD machine the next suburb over. The also arrive well before the place opens, but hey, that's being eager and first in line to buy all the extra insurance, sign the of course we won't drive on that road waiver, and watch intently (but evidently without much capacity for recall) the DVD highlighting the Toyota Land cruiser's abilities and limitations. They are then handed the keys to the kingdom and are off to pack their gear and head to meet Ben and Bianca in Kakadu National Park. In contrast to the Mad Max vehicle sported by their friends, the Toyota is plastered with the company logo all over it, advertising that not only are we "not from around these parts"but possibly are also idiot tourists. Which will appear to be true, as minutes after leaving Darwin proper, a heinous beeping alarm sound erupts from the cab, causing them to pull over and manically check over the car. Make it stop! How does it stop? What's wrong! Call somebody!!! Locals drive by, honk loudly, give them the bird and shout, "Go home tourists!" After a call to the front desk they'd just left, turns out it was only the stove and kitchen sink unhinged, mentioned but for a moment in minute five of the instructional DVD.

The road to Kakadu NP is long, but mercifully given over to a 130 kph speed limit. They enter the park and the first thing DS notices is, um, hey, it's on fire. "No worries," she's later told, "Over half of the Territory is on fire this time of year." Right. They head into the East Alligator River region of the park, home to Ubirr, a magnificent rock art site overlooking the Nadab floodplain and Arnhem Land escarpment (also featured in Crocodile Dundee!) and the East Alligator River. So named because the guy who mapped the river system in the area thought those lovely lizards he was seeing were alligators, the crocs didn't seem to mind really and the names just stuck.

Ubirr: http://www.environment.gov.au/parks/kakadu/visitor-activities/rock-art-ubirr.html

After their first rock art/bush walk/bird watching exploration, they board the Guluyambi boat cruise. While motoring them down river, their guide, Tasha, explained various aspects of local Aboriginal culture, including the many uses of pandanas (MVP of plants), basket making, spears and their many uses (including punishment for bad behavior, ouch), and where the best bush tucker could be found ("After the Wet, that forest is the equivalent to your produce section at the local Coles"). They dock for a short time on the Arnhem Land side, a special treat, since it's likely the only footsteps most Balanda (whitefellas) will take on that ground.

Afterwards, SR and DS make again for Ubirr, which promises to have a lovely sunset, despite the smoke. Unfortunately, but true to form, acclimation is yet to be realized by DS and she's got a raging headache from the heat. Project Sunset is abandoned, but not before really marveling again in the Croc Dundee moment, and they speed in the smoky twilight to Jabiru hoping they find the right caravan park and their waiting friends.

Day 3. Art, Rocks, Roads, Fire and Falls. After finding their B&B in the Kakadu Lodge unpowered area, the first park they pull into, lucky ducks, SR and DS fitfully sleep their first night at the top of the Land Cruiser. I mean, Land Bruiser, 1/2 mats on plywood base does not a good night's sleep make. They have a leisurely brekky of Mexican scrambled eggs on toast (yum!), do a last minute shop for ear plugs (because DS is a precious girl finding the sounds of party campers, barking owls, yipping dingos, and crackling bush fires an impediment to sleep), and stop off at the Bowali Visitor Center and Marruwaddi Art Gallery. After much ado about art and getting to see some really splendid pieces by really well established artists, they score some beautiful paintings.

It's a long day ahead of them, as they are heading to Nourlangie, home to the Burrunggui and the Anbangbang rock art galleries, and then to the Jim Jim Falls and Twin Falls Gorge region. At Nourlangie they are dazzled by expansive scenic views and by rock art galleries that have been in use for over 20,000 years showing the Creation Ancestors Namodjok and Namarrjon, the Lightning Man. Also making an appearance and worth a mention is Nabulwinjbulwinj, a bad spirit known for eating women after striking them with a yam.

http://www.environment.gov.au/parks/kakadu/visitor-activities/rock-art-nourlangie.html

From there it's a 60 km two hour (one-way!) drive on a corrugated and dusty dirt road to Jim Jim and Twin Falls including deep water (croc infested) crossings and driving through the most effective, peaceful, and slow burning bushfire on the continent (although a little disconcerting with the branch at your eye level is burning brightly as you pass). It is literally and figuratively SR's trial by fire, his first 4WD experience, which he passes with flying colors and only one broken side mirror. I'm not sure I have the words to describe those bone jarring, teeth rattling, vehicle shaking, fire crackling, plywood slamming (we really should have secured that better), creek crossing hours, but at least some where in the Northern Territory there's a video of us white knuckled in low gear crossing a river succesfully without washing away or being eaten by crocs fully illustrating our triumph.  SR does an admirable job of keeping up...after watching Ben driving in the bush for a day, DS dubs him "Mad Benny Beyond Jim Jim Falls."

The sandy, burning road into Twin Falls is the most exciting, it's B&B's first time there (in the eight other times they've been to the park, its been closed) and involves a boat ride up a spectacular gorge, a short hike, and a walk along a floating boardwalk (that's been flown in by helicopter) before ending up at a magnificent pool...that you can't swim in cause there might be a saltie. Damn.

Saltie= Estuarine (saltwater) crocodile. Big bad, mean lizards.

Freshie= Freshwater crocodile. Shy lizards and good to have around, "canaries in the coalmine," if you will.

The travel back towards Jim Jim in a rush to hike to the plunge pool, where evidently you can swim, cause salties don't rock climb, but's that's only if you can survive the rock climb to the pool yourself. SR and the intrepid B&B forge ahead over the supposed "900m walk to the falls", which is more like a 1.5 km hike over boulders larger than our car. DS falls pathetically behind, punks out somewhere in the middle, and then pushes on not wanting to be dehydrated and alone in the bush, only to end up at "The Beach" (where yes, there could be croc), when everyone else is at the "The Pool" swimming underneath idyllic Jim Jim Falls. Nevermind, we're all turning around now anyway to get out before it's too dark. Urg. Bianca says, 'They say the Spirits can make your journey feel fast or slow depending on their mood." Hmmm. Hmmm. They take the long 60 kms back to the highway in white knuckled silence, dodging smoke and dust and swooping owls to make for camp in Cooinda.

Day 4, Yellow Waters, Dangerous Headspace. Another pre-dawn wake-up finds SR and DS boarding the sunrise  cruise in the world famous Yellow Waters wetlands in the South Alligator River floodplain. It's a breakfast buffet of wetland species: massive salties, gorgeous night herons, soaring sea eagles, four out of five kingfisher species, egrets, ducks with ducklings, dancing brolgas, nesting jabirus, grazing brumbys (though clearly, wild horses are everywhere), terns, Jesus birds (they walk on water, okay?), water pythons (DS spies one in the lilies), file snakes (good tucker!), whistling kites, crimson finches, cormorants, and on and on...SR click clicks the camera, DS alternates between her binoculars and ticking off birds in the field guide. "Hey," DS says to the very knowledgable and portly skipper Michael, "what snake would I have just seen here in the water?" It had poked out its head from behind a water lily for just that brief second it took for her to comprehend what she was seeing...

"Well, Australia is home to 9 of 10 of the world's deadliest snakes..." -"Yes, well, what snake is here in the water?" Believe me dude, I am highly sensitized to the fact that nine of the world's ten deadliest snakes reside in my new host country.

"Any one of Australia's deadliest snakes....."-"But...it..was...in...the..water..."

"It could have fallen in."-Yep, but it looked like a water snake, like a python...."..crickey!

"Oh, what color was it?" - "Olive."

"...could've been an olive python or a water python then..."- "Yeah, thanks for that."

They end up the experience with a less than delectable buffet brekky at the Cooinda Lodge before re-joining B&B and heading out for another day's exploring. They mosey through the Warradjan Aboriginal Cultural Center, DS verifies that she did indeed get winked at by an aquatic snake and that they really did score at the last art gallery. 

Then it's off for two nights camping at Gunlom in the Mary River region and start of very powerful country. The Jawowyn people believe the area is home to powerful Creation Ancestors that should not be disturbed, if anyone should bother the land, it would be at great peril. Sickness country. Geologists reckon its loaded with uranium. Who are we to argue with more than 20,000 years of good sense? They off-road almost 40 km to the campsite at the base of picturesque escarpment, once again into Crocodile Dundee country (it's the billabong that saved his life, you know). By then it's thirsty, tired, and cranky time, fits with tarp zippers and "where the eff are the poles?" and major meltdown time culminates in a crack!  DS hits her head inside the Maui Spirit for what feels like the six and most  effective spine rattling time. Nothing like injury and tears to return the cosmic balance and satisfy the Spirits, lunch is served while the party takes turns placing cold towels on the sniveling DS. Afterwards they retire to the plunge pool , a little quiet meditation for the girls (which mainly involves DS holding on to her head) and a swim out to check the croc bouy for the boys. No signs of life, but maybe the shadow of a giant catfish... they do find out later there was a 3 meter freshie cruising around below.             

Dinner is gourmet, camp kabobs all around. They happily settle in front of the fire built by Bianca to enjoy the warmth and night sky when DS realizes the Spirits aren't done with her yet.  Sinister rumblings in her belly (did I swallow too much pond water!), she goes crook. Two hours later she's still hanging around the camp bathroom, half-asleep on the bench, turning down and finally accepting offers of drugs. "Yes please, I'll take the Imodium. After this I don't mind not pooing for five days." She tries to go to bed twice and always ends up back at the bathroom. The lights go off just before 10 pm, left in utter darkness she crams more pills in her mouth and trudges back to the Maui. Stars twinkle above...

Day 5, Day of Rest. We're exactly where we need to be today. And DS's tummy is shrouded in silence (and remains so for the next four days). Nothing to do but enjoy camp and explore. Which we set out to do just after another delicious brekky, on the billabong track to the South Alligator River. Which yes, does have crocs, but safe to say, we all didn't quite make it there. Half way, the track went trackless through some tall, tall grass and DS and Bianca were not about to keep on going. Well enough for the fearless tall men, but ominous to short, short wearing women. Ben and Stephen made the journey though, and told of lovely views and communion with a rainbow bee-eater. DS and Bianca can tell you about waiting for them in the midday heat on a burned patch of ground, scraping in the dirt and calling out, "oy!" to unhearing ears. Is it time for lunch yet? We return to camp for lunch, which I can't remember, but was probably decidedly gourmet for camping and prepared for an afternoon hike to the top of Gunlom Falls.

The track went straight up and DS's companions went straight up too. Two experienced bushwalkers and a Bootcamp guy reached the top looking non-plussed. DS reaches top gasping and wondering if her heart will jump out of her chest before or after she goes into cardiac arrest. The plunge pools overlooking the beautiful river valley are clean and clear, policed by an actual pool monitor and are a calming salve to the heart and soul. They relax at the top swimming and enjoying the sun and the view, Big Bad Benny kills cane toads, and stay to watch the sunset descend over sickness country. The descend in record time, seconds from the bottom DS is roused from her dinner reveries by someone shouting, "Hey, you just stepped right over a snake!"...Who, me?! (squeek, panic)

"Do you want to see it?"..."Umm, no. Okay, yes." DS and Bianca walk gingerly towards it, Bianca is excited and fascinated, DS is withholding judgement until Bianca proclaims, "Oh, most definately a brown snake!" Gah!! It's only the size of a ruler and about as wide as a pencil, but still, like really menacing, you know?

Living to tell the tale, DS and Bianca regale the boys back at camp, "Look at the size of this thing! Diana stepped right over it!" showing them the zoomed in version on the camera. Ben looks properly horrified until it's true dimensions were given and then he just laughs. DS's sense of having survived impending doom is still acute. And  despite a lovely dinner and fire under the stars, she transfers her angst and sense of worry onto the lone camper across the way, sitting in the dark next to his hatchback car full of cardboard boxes?, smoking cigarettes, eating packaged food, crinkling his wrappers, speaking to no one, tentless...she lies awake and watches him suspiciously until sleep takes over. She's teased in the morning for her paranoia, "what a terrible waste of sleep time."

Regions of Kakadu National Park:

www.environment.gov.au/parks/kakadu/visitor-information/regions.html#seven

Outback! Arnhem Skies and Litchfield Waterfalls

2009-05-28 to 2009-06-01

Mobbing mozzies, bitey fishes, screeching cockies, howling dingos, barking owls, chuckling geckos, fleeing freshies, lurking salties, laughing kookaburras, chirping bats, slithering snakes, rushing waterfalls, babbling brooks, burning bush, rushing creeks, jarring roads, idling engines, broken axles, dancing children...and the list goes on....

Day 6, You Never Know When You Need Somebody. When we pulled onto the Gunlom track the day we arrived, we stopped to lock the tires of our vehicles. A lovely older couple stopped to check that we were okay before they continued on. We camped near them, watched them wandering around in the bush (wearing considerably less clothing than we thought prudent, but nevertheless undaunted by the tall grass), and found them on the road out, stranded in the middle of the bush with a broken caravan axle and their entire lives piled up on the side of the road. Lucky Benny is a handy fellow and our two cars made enough men for an episode of Bush Mechanics.

Whilst the ladies found a patch of shade and looked on in amusement and awe, the axle was rebent on eucalyptus and ironwood trees, nuts and bolts procured and secured, and voila! Humpty was put back together again, or at least decently enough for the caravan to make it to the Mary River Roadhouse and call for a tow. Our samaritans then continued down aways to an off the beaten path little nugget of a swimming hole at "ferney gully" where they enjoyed a private swim and delicious lunch of homemade carrot fritters and biscuits (the clever and concerted morning effort of four cooks in a camp kitchen trying to use up all those carrots).

Refreshed, we bid farewell to Kakadu and headed towards Katherine, but not before stopping at Mary River and having an ice cream with our stranded friends waiting for their tow. In Katherine we made a food run in at the Woolies and procured our permit at the local Aboriginal Authority, to be carried at all times, while we were in Arnhem Land. We headed into Barunga on a one lane road (as in straddle the edge with on-coming traffic, or jump for your life if it's a road-train), the Aboriginal community where Bianca serves as a remote area nurse and Ben finds out he's in charge of spear making for next week's cultural festival (which SR and DS are sadly going to miss).

They have a lovely evening cooking dinner, watching Crocodile Dundee (Hey, we went there!), whittling spears, walking through the neighborhood, marvelling at all the dogs, side-stepping cane toads, and watching the local children dancing at the gym to all your hip hop favorites, from yesterday and today! Salt n' Pepa, Jump Around, shorty got low, and... Zorba the Greek? Those babies have mad moves: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-MucVWo-Pw

Day 7, Barunga and Beswick and on to Litchfield...Well Almost. Getting just a small taste of living on an Aborignal community DS lies awake during the night listening to dogs barking and the sounds of the party mob (last night was pay night) meet and greet just outside the house before dawn.

After their tasty porridge brekky on the patio, DS, SR, and Bianca set out for Beswick Falls for their most adventuresome 4WD Outback experience yet, while Ben stays back and lavishes some tender love on his off-roading machine. Quickly dubbed the Rutter Outback Tour, it immediately features a tree python (sadly in the throes of vehicular manslaughter), two massive wedgetail eagles (one of which was almost a victim of vehicular manslaughter as it takes off in front of the Maui, jaws dropped, knuckles white), bouncing wallabies (what is this with coming out in front of our car!), jabirus taking wing, gorgeous darters, ker-plunking freshwater crocodiles, red-tailed black cockatoos, and um, local, wild cow?

Beswick Falls, beautiful and far by DS's favorite, is home to the Walking with the Spirits Festival (www.djilpinarts.org.au/spirits/index.html) a community experience of Outback, Shakespeare, and Aboriginal culture. But today they have it all to themselves, as they sit above the falls, cross the creek barefoot, and walk the sandy beach listening as the freshies dive into the pool and out of sight, truly fortunate as they're walking someplace very few whitefellas are allowed.

In the spirit of fitting in all they can in one day, they pack up and head back north to Katherine, with the final destination of Litchfield National Park in mind. But, you're on Aboriginal time now, baby! (which I find is kinda of like Mexican time), and we'll go when we go, which leaves lots of time to sit in the car in the front yard and watch groups of locals pass by. It's a long drive from Katherine, under high clouds, fires burning in the distance.

They make it to the borders of Litchfield NP, desperately wanting the Butterfly Farm accomodation and some Death By Chocolate for dessert (at least the girls do) and up getting "Pandanas at Litchfield" just outside the Rum Jungle, a dodgy, start-up camp area with no camp kitchen, plenty of mozzies, and one really hungry horse. The new shower/toilet are pretty spanking though. And so is that bush fire, that um, does not appear to be... controlled? Flames can be heard crackling in the distance, the fire illuminates the evening sky, sirens reach their ears as they crunch on their dinner on the tarp. Slapping at relentless mozzies, telling "Snacks" the Horse to stop staring, they decide to call it an early night in case they have to evacuate half way through it.

Day 8, The German Efficiency in All of Us. Achtung, schnell, danach!? There are a lot of bilingual German/English signs in the Territory, mostly stating Achtung! and showing the image of a crocodile and usually in the middle of nowehere. Do Germans have a tendency to become stranded in croc infested waters? Or are they so intrepid, so adventurous, and so inspired that they will go to great lengths to see it all, do it all, and experience it all, no matter the cost? DS will on ocassion complain that SR's German efficiency exhausts her. But she has to admit, that she's seen an awful lot with him, gone far distances, and seen remote places. And it's the very thing that gets them through Litchfield on Day 8. On today's list:Wake-up, eat gourmet porridge brekky, slaughter cane toad just rescued from camp pool by Germans.

• Drive into Litchfield NP:www.nt.gov.au/nreta/parks/find/litchfield.html
• Stop at the Magnetic Mounds to learn about four species of termites: Magnetic (they build their tall, flat "mounds" on a N/S axis, all you other directions be damned), Cathedral (they build super tall long lasting, weather insulating, flood resistant mounds), Floodplain (seasonal mounds, that look like what you think a big mound on the dirt would look like), and Tree-Stump-esque (I forgot their real name, they just can't be bothered to make a free-standing thing happen, they cozy up to tree stumps). The field of Magnetic mounds is pretty impressive, 'It's like Moundhenge."
• Refreshing swim at Buley Rock Pools. Don't take off the swimmers!
• A 1.7 km hike and blissful swim at Florence Falls.
• Deposit Bianca back at Buley and climb into the Beyond Thunderdome 4wd with Ben to go to The Lost City, the only place we said we wouldn't go in our rental, cause why? we're not sure, it's a cake walk of a road! SR, DS, and Ben wander around the eery rick formations of the Lost City, remiscent to Bianca of an Australian classic about a group of girls that have a picnic on some rocks and then are like, um, never heard from again....alright, we're done here.
• Pick up Bianca and head to Green Ant Creek for a picnic, which is the scene of where four campers are devoured by mozzies in the broad daylight while trying to eat lunch and are never heard from again.
• Drive back to Tolmer Falls lookout (which they passed in their zeal to eat lunch and consequent become lunch) where they enjoy from afar the view of the Falls and the first pool they probably can't swim in.
• Then it's off to the Shady Creek area, first stop the Blythe Homestead, but not before crossing two 0.6 m croc infested creeks. Mesmerized by accounts of how Blythe family consisting of 14 children and two adults lived in one tiny tin shack, surrounded by bush. As I woman I cannot imagine having 12 children with only the aid of my husband/mid-wife. There was a great family album recounting stories of children performing bush first aid on each other, Japanese planes crashing in WWII, life as miners...hot tin roof!
• At the Shady Creek  we get our smallest and most remote camp site yet. It has an honest box and...flushing toilets? Unpack and head for the hills...
• It's a 30 minute rainforest-esque hike to Tyjanera Falls for a blissful and idyllic swim in an expansive pool with cliff edges tall enough for SR to jump off (and give DS the shits), DS manages to hurt her eyeballs diving with her eyes open into the clean, clear water, luscious floating about with odd moments of croc fear and momentary concern over what kind of people camp at such a remote place. Favorite moment, DS and SR sitting on a boulder at the far side of the pool, just taking it all in.
• Hike back to camp gathering firewood (shhh).Make dinner!
• Early to bed as mozzie hoards are again unrelenting despite the bats and geckos.
• Ben relieves two more cane toads of their dreary existence, standing silently in the dark, machete dripping with blood...he tells that story about the German backpacker who went postal on campers in the Kimberley. Why!? moans DS.
• They fall asleep to the persistent and anxious buzz of mosquitos just outside.

Around midnight they are jarred from sleep (as in DS hits the roof) by the loudest BANG! ever. Is it lighting? No. Gun fire!? Hunting?! Crazy people?! They lie in worry for thirty  minutes until BANG! again. Why did Ben bring up the Kimberley Killer before bed? Loud, angry voices follow (and also all sorts of mad thoughts about escape for DS), and they turn out to be fellow campers completely on the piss and setting off fireworks. Their drunk and disorderly keeps DS awake for hours...dickheads. The mozzie swarm relentless.

Day 9, Back to the Civilized... DS awakes feeling completely uncivilized towards the bogans from last night with an swollen right eye. A zombie through brekky, SR handles her with kid-gloves and they pack up to leave, resisting the urge to blare horns and yell insults at the still sleeping dickheads as they drive off. They make for Wangi Falls, which promises to be great swimming, but alas, it's closed due to a giant lizard. It's a brief stop for overpriced coffee and souvenirs before they take the 4WD track back to Darwin via Berry Springs. A local market has frozen organic mango delight, yum, and there's a last swim at the Berry Springs pools, full of locals and with less fizz than what they've been accostumed to.

SR and DS return to Darwin to check into their suite at the STARCity casino. DS sits on the balcony and stares at a perfectly good beach that no one can swim in, while SR returns the Maui Spirit of their Northern Territory adventure. It's deathly jellies this time, no crocs. DS enjoys her luxury room and then braves a walk on the beach before meeting up with Ben, Bianca, their friends, and SR for the Miniyl Beach markets. It's beer and biscuits on a blanket watching her first Aussie sunset over water. They eat market food, swap Kakadu stories, the band plays Cole Porter (?), whitefellas and blackfellas mingle. Big territory, small world.

Day 10, JetStar. We go home.

Roundabout Canberra

2009-06-06 to 2009-06-08

DS, SR, and ER set out for a birthday weekend (for Queen, for Emica!) in chilly Canberra, the only place where shooting off fireworks on the Queen's birthday is a legal activity. They set out on Saturday, stopping only to join the masses of traveling Sydneysiders at Mackers (oy, MacDonalds) for some not-so-bad McCafe flat-whites and the quintessential roadtrip toilet break.

This is DS and ER's first trip to Canberra, land of SR's youth, the eternal roundabout, and some really good art. Upon arrival, they dump the limping DS off at the National Gallery of Art where she drags herself around oggling the national collection and takes notes. ER and SR head to Questacon where they take the world of science by storm-on seven levels! ER's favorites include the indoor rollercoaster and the vertical slide (five times, says SR, she couldn't get enough). When they re-join DS at the National Gallery to push her around in a wheelchair (yay!), she breathlessly recounts the joys and somewhat ooogy tummy squelching fear of the vertical slide. They finish up their day driving 'round about the City, taking in the vastness that is Australia's capital and wondering exactly how their meant to get to the other side of the largest roundabout that DS has ever seen and into their hotel. Did I mention that the largest roundabout DS has ever seen is located right next to Lake Burly Griffin? Which also strikes DS as the oddest name for a capital city lake that she's ever seen. Any amusing anecdotes that DS could provide regarding the quirks and charms of Canberra are probably more eloquently and comically explained in Bill Bryson's In a Sunburned Country.

They spend the weekend discovering little cafes and restaurants, some that are open and some that are not (causing them to eat overpriced and really substandard thai food at a Thai/Portugese chicken restaurant or to drive into one-horse towns for dodgy burgers), exploring the National Portrait Gallery (which is just too cool for words), and wandering past embassies and war memorials, seemingly over and over again cause they're stuck on that massive, two story roundabout!

But more importantly that the Queen's birthday weekend, it's ER's 7th birthday! After opening her presents (YAY! A Nintendo DS!) and a tasty pancake cafe brekky, they search out famous faces at the Portrait Gallery. After a brief stop at the flower shop, they're off to meet Great Nan, Aunty Sue and Uncle Peter for a lovely afternoon lunch. Which to their delight turns out to be a wildly tasty cornucopia of breads, and dips, and soups, and casseroles, and champagne (but not for Em), and wine (again, she had water and we toasted her), and chocolate birthday cake, and coffee, and chocolate crackles (which are like the Aussie version of a rice crispy treat but more delicious, much sweeter, inherently more evil), and wow, they are soooo full. Aunty Sue and Uncle Peter went all out with a balloon bouquet for the birthday girl and enough fun presents to give her finger cramps. Em was happy and we were all happy to see her so.

The next day found them on a tour of outer Canberra, which was also kind of like going in a circle...all roads lead to the Capital. It was a blustery and dampish day, but they still managed to see a multitude of kangaroos and even the backside of a koala hunkered down in the crook of a branch at the Tidbindilla Nature Reserve, part of, go figure, The Australian Alps. A happy accident, they stumbled upon [cue deep narrator voice]... the Canberra Deep Space Communication Complex, a...complex...of massive satellite dishes poking their little noses into space amidst grazing sheep and lazy kangaroos. The interpretative center had an excellent display of the Space Program, including a description of pooping in space (which DS found revoltingly fascinating) and a small monitor transmitting sounds....frooooommmm....spppppaaaaaccce, somewhere in the vicinity of Saturn (which sounded really creepy and not at all friendly, so they kinda walked away from that quickly covering ER's ears).

They finished off the day with a walk down memory lane for SR, doing drive bys of the old house, the primary school, the Adventure Playground, and the hospital where he was born...then it was the long road back to Sydney, with a stop at the Bushranger Hotel, est. 1860, in historic Collector, NSW, for the only edibles to be found besides Mackers (although thinking that Mackers might have had a better burger). As expected, the NSW countryside delivered up spectacular views and a gorgeous winter sunset for the leisurely and relaxed drive home...with minor Bushranger burger burping episodes.

The Token American 4th of July

2009-07-04

And the Monday email went something like this: "4th of July for the Token American? Greetings All- Thinking ahead towards the weekend already! Saturday is meant to be 19 degrees and sunny...almost perfect for a 4th of July picnic in the park. :) Am thinking hot dogs, macaroni salad, good beer (so really, not classic American), tasty wine, and apple pie! About 11:30-ish in Centennial Park, in the event of rain, we'll do a change of venue. Who's game?"

And bless them, they answered the call! And to my relief, the weather was perfect. So the BBQ at the York Roads Gates at Centennial Park don't work. No big deal, SR went home to cook the dogs and was back in a flash. But the Dogs (not the cute ones, but the ones that taste good in buns) were another story.

Thursday night found SR and I in the processed food aisle at Coles manhandling packages of Australia's best efforts at a hot dog. Fourty-eight percent pork or seventy-two? That's an awfully wide margin of pork error...Skin or no skin? Wait... "what? Skinless!?" I squeak.  Americans, don't dog your dogs ever again, in this country the skin is a different color, as in a fancy shade of bright pink, and the meat is, um, uh, almost white. Oh for a Nathan's or just the old fashioned ones sold at the ball park, for these are not quite so...and some are aparently skinless. It's a comical shopping moment, we're laughing madly as we decide.... 

Saturday noon-time finds us eating and I quote "some messed up looking hot dogs," but damn, if it didn't taste the same with a healthy helping of onions, mild American mustard and ketchup (yes, I know the picture shows tomato sauce, but it's the same!...only, less sweet). I went a little crazy with the onions, I'll admit, they featured in the homemade macaroni salad too, so it was a bit of a hot dog/onion/apple pie/wine repeating afternoon. I won't get into why we didn't have any American beer...drinking Bud is bad enough at home...but to buy Bud in a country where a case costs more than one weeks food shopping....I can live without the nostalgia.

We were joined by DM and JH, the Loukes and precious Sophia (Elvis's first baby and an object of his obsessive curiosity, nearly a cause for spontaneous combustion), ER (Frida's BFF) and her mum, Keiko, and my fellow American, Alex and Aussie beau, Anthony. Lots of sun, lots of food, and good company. I almost forgot it that its winter.

Is this Heaven?...No Honey, It's Mexico.

2009-10-20 to 2009-10-24

Stephen and Diana embark on a much needed mini-getaway to Guadalajara and the artisan town of Tlaquepaque (which is really entertaining to hear Stephen pronounce). To their credit, they undertake this journey sans itinerary and leave their days to the Fates. Lucky for them, Stephen chose the perfect destination, the perfect boutique hotel, and the perfect neighborhood for them to spend the hours wandering, eating, shopping, drinking, eating, shopping...oh wait, I mentioned that...enjoying art work, buying art work, discovering the land of Tequila, and eating, drinking, and shopping. I mean how wonderful can a vacation for Diana be? Art standing, hanging, living and breathing everywhere, Tequila in all its splendor, Mexican food, colorful villas, and ornate buildings! Did I mention the Tequila?

33 in Sydney

2010-08-14

There are many good things about having one's birthday in the Southern Hemisphere...first, people from the Northern Hemisphere come visit you. Second, the Facebook posts wishing you a Happy Birthday start coming in because no one wants their confusion about the International Dateline to make them look slack. And may I say, that no one could possibly feel unloved on their birthday thanks to Facebook- it's a true public service to have all your friends and family reminded of the day you graced the planet with your presence. Third, you get to have an extended birthday celebration, cause damn, the next day, it's still your birthday at home so more reason to keep the party going. Which is really the day my Dad was going to call me- not before. Fair enough, I had his cook and his friend- Mom and Jennifer both were able to make my birthday a special one.

The two of them and Stephen put on a wonderful Mexican fiesta in honor of my 33rd in the heart of Sydney. We pulled out all the loot we hauled back from Guadalajara last year and we shared the love with 40 of our closest friends and family- cases and cases of Mexican beer, homemade salsas, mole, beans, rice, quesadillas, empanadas, and the most beautiful three birthday cakes courtesy of my favorite Masterchefs, Emica and Keiko....oh, and let's not forget the gorgeous Aussie wine and hard to find, but righteously found, Tequila Herradura.

I don't really think I care how old I get, I love a birthday party and in the tradition of recording for prosterity, I try and click my grateful mug with everyone who makes it to the celebration. And I was very lucky this birthday to have a cast of many loved ones from all around Sydney and BEYOND...I am grateful to be so well loved.

From the Northern Hemisphere:

Mom and Jennifer from San Diego.

The Mexican Menu.

Pete Coogan, in Sydney from the UK to produce "Me and My Monsters," a first degree of separation from the Muppets and my childhood!

From Far Wide Oz:

Angela, Stephen's sister and her boyfriend Michael, my birthday surprise all the way from Adelaide- a well kept secret by everyone and a real treat for me.

Michael and Pierre all the way from Melbourne, okay, they like moved to Sydney the day before, but still.

Simon of the Brookmans, thanks for taking that train from Newie, mate.

Sydneysiders:

The Foxes, Brian, Patrina, Veronica, and Dom- Brian used to live and work in National City, he knows Mexican!

Danielle, John, and an afro reminiscent of glorious days gone by.

Adrian and Cristina, the best housemates I HAVE EVER HAD.

The Harrigans, I will never say wine and plastic cup in the same sentence to you ever again.

The Loukes, Richard and Maria, first night out after the new baby!

Tony and Trent and Tequila, special for so many reasons!

Stephen aka Bro, all the way from Bronte (shhh, it's like two suburbs away, but he really wants you to know he came all the way from Bronte).

Miss Lovely Lee Wood, who brings me wisdom, chocolate, and yoga.

Lyn and Lily- our fairy godmother and one of Elvis and Frida's favorite people.

Leah, otherwise known as No. 1

Keiko and Emica, who spoiled me with numerous cakes of a homemade nature.

Kerrie and James and friends....

If He Wants Cheesecake, He Gets Cheesecake!

2010-09-11

The front of the card says, “I love you.” The inside reads, “Like a fat kid loves cake. - Happy Birthday!”

I found this card after 10 minutes of card reading in the Hallmark aisle in Target with Deirdre. As we browsed cards looking for the perfect 90th birthday card for my Uncle Harris and her Nana, she quoted her mother, “If you are ever depressed, read cards in the drugstore. Something is always bound to make you laugh.”

Two aisles of giggles, exclamations, and embarrassing snorts later, I settled on the above mentioned birthday card. Before you judge the choice, it’s important to understand the humor and matter-of-fact disposition of the intended recipient. Wise Uncle Harris has always called a spade a spade- he delights in telling the ugly truth and watching you squirm. He has been a great Uncle, mentor, supporter, and most of all, friend.

When I mentioned to Danielle over wine one night that Wise Uncle was turning 90 in a week, she decided hands down it would be a travesty to miss it.

“You must go! You only live once- what a gesture!”

No better reason for a three day visit to the United States than to party. Inspiration and enthusiasm are contagious when someone does a crazy thing for love: Stephen produced a cheap flight, Cheryl picked me up from LA, Deirdre drove down from Bakersfield, Izola made party hats, and Dad pulled out the credit card at Nordstrom Rack.

Mom said, “Uncle, you are going to get a package from Diana for your birthday.” And Uncle dutifully shook down the mail carrier for his package every time he delivered the mail. On 10:00 pm on Thursday night, as he foraged around for his pills in the dark, I delivered two packages of double chocolate Tim Tams.

“Oh no,” he said, “I couldn’t possibly at this hour, they look too rich.”

Stephen and I were concerned I'd give him a shock if I showed up in the middle of the night. Happily his reaction was one of delight- for being half asleep and surprised in his undergarments.

He graciously accepted the surprise and its consequences- a house full of gorgeous girls overtaking the kitchen every night, china and crystal place settings for every meal, and a steady line of well wishers at the door, presents in hand. There is pleasure in seeing an lonely and often cranky old man reanimated by good company and good food.

He ate his leftover birthday cheesecake for breakfast the next day. As you do when you’re 90!

It's My First Time.

2010-09-28

I say this when I tell people I am going to Vietnam on holiday. 'It's my first time...in Asia." And being that Australia is actually considered part of Asia-Pacific, the typical response has been with eyebrow raised, "Oh! Really?" At this point I am about to say, "And I'm a little nervous." But most people have already gone on to say how wonderful, how chill, what a great time, how long they spent...that I feel kind of silly thinking it. If they do pick up on my hesitation, it's then that they remember I'm American, and if they're Aussie and well traveled, sort of look at me with pity. Nice.

My favorite response was Peru Carol, who says with her charming and comic South American accent, 'Oh, but you are American! You must flash your Aussie-ness, you know, Vietnam, it's still all very [insert sound of machine gun fire here] for you!" Thanks Carol, you totally crack me up. 'You be okay, everyone loves Australians."

Soooo, anyway. Flying to Hong Kong Thursday, fingers crossed in style! Part of my trepidation is all my flights, though they be business class, are standby on Cathay. Except for one, which happens to be the only flight I'm actually on with the Australian. The other, oh, I don't know, four are by myself and fingers crossed, not all full at flight time, so my story doesn't become, "Right, sorry I couldn't make it back for that meeting. I'm now stuck in Asia." But at least I'm not flying back and forth to Bangkok before he gets to go anywhere else like the Australian. The joys of frequent flyer point travel, economical if you've got the time!

Back to our old ways, though with lots of flexibility the itinerary takes us from Hong Kong to Hanoi traveling south to Saigon and back again.

30 September - 2 October, Hong Kong

Will the quiet American sequester herself in her hotel or go shopping? Night markets? Crazy clubs? Sleep? She meets up with the Australian fresh off a 4 day golfing trip in Schenzen.

2 October - 5 October, Hanoi and Halong Bay

First I have to fly to Saigon and then back to Hanoi, but maybe not...I'm not sure yet.  See the Old Quarter in Hanoi and perhaps do a water puppet show... but I'm not really sure about that yet either. What is a water puppet show?

And then then we depart Hanoi to Ha Long Bay... by road through the rich farmlands of the Red River Delta with the scenery of rice fields water buffaloes and everyday Vietnamese village life! We board a  traditional wooden junk boat, Huong Hai Junk, for an overnight journey! Sip on a refreshing welcome drink upon check in before beginning the cruise through the bay! Feast on a delicious lunch as you cruise among hundreds of islets (Dinh Huong islet, Ga Choi – Fighting Cock islet, Dog islet, Finger islet, etc.) to discover unspoilt pockets of Halong Bay and visit Sung Sot cave, one of the most imposing grottoes of the Bay! Swim at Soi Sim beach or Titov beach or a short trek to the top of Titov mountain for a magnificent panorama scenery!  After visiting Amazing cave, kayaking from Soi Sim beach to Luon Cave to enjoy the quiet atmosphere of the bay (or from Bo Nau cave, to Soi Sim beach to TiTov)! Um, excuse me, but kayaking kinda sounds like hard work. I did it once, when I was like 16. Hard work...Enjoy your dinner with fresh seafood on board! Squid fishing or relax and chatting with your partner, friends, family! How about sleep? 

Woo hoo, next day!  For early risers complimentary tea, coffee, fruit and cake are served. Visit Luon cave on small bamboo boat paddled by crew staff and enjoy the quiet atmosphere enclosed by high islets and mountains. Be back to our Huong Hai Junk. Sail past rock formations such as Man’s Head islet, Tortoise islet, Butterfly cave, Lion islet, Bai Tho mountain, enjoy the tranquil scenery as the boat meanders its way through the bay on the way back to Ha Long city, etc. Arrange your luggage and do the check out onboard at around 9.00 am. Enjoy a wholesome brunch as your boat weaves through strange-shaped limestone rock formations. Arrive back at Ha Long city for disembarkation where your driver waits to take you back to your Hanoi. Trip ends. Alas, I haven't even done it yet and I kinda wanna do it all over again!


Next! THE REUNIFICATION EXPRESS. An evening departure and arrival on 6th October into Danang.

6th October, Hoi An

We transfer from Danang Train Station to Hoi An Accommodation. Let's get some clothes made!

7th October, Hoi An

Notes from friends say, "Bike rides, bars and restaurants, EAT YUM! Get up early (pardon?)and go around the markets, bike out to the beach...Have the wonton down by the river - there are benches with different cooks - Mr Than.. Mrs Lim .. Mr Son etc etc all are yum and cheap.... it is an open wonton - kind of a Mexican prawn tostada - it is the best and a local specialty. It's a photographer's dream, take lots of pictures!"

8th October to 11 October, Ho Chi Minh City
Saigon, a great itinerary mystery. Will we see Uncle Ho? Will I brave the Cuchi tunnels? Will we dodge mosquitoes in the Mekong? Will we just sit around and EAT MORE YUM?

And then it's back to life, or for the Australian back to Bangkok before Sydney and I'm back to Hong Kong before Sydney and fingers crossed, I'm nestled into business class.

Have a coke and a smile...

2010-09-30

"And shut the f*&k up."

Words of wisdom from my Sense of Adventure to my Survival Instinct with regards to my first culinary exploit in Hong Kong.

I arrived this afternoon into Kowloon under cloudy skies and muggy heat with a screaming headache (left over from a 5 am allergy attack) and a hungry belly. I had an excellent flight on Cathay Pacific, two delicious meals and a couple of cat naps. I may have escaped traveling child mayhem in business class, but did not escape mealtime mayhem. I was actually roused from sleep by my neighbor who angrily banged and clinked his business class silverware throughout lunch. If you can't beat em, join em- I gave up trying to catch up on sleep and clanked my silverware in return. I felt sorry for all those poor guys in economy who had to wrestle their beef with useless plastic cutlery...

Lunch began to seem very far away after I trekked the gorgeous HKIA to a leisurely Airport express train ride, and then boarded an airport shuttle transfer to the hotel in peak hour traffic. I checked into my hotel room- magnificent and new, with king bed, flat screen TV with Sony Vaio PC and wireless keyboard, Ipod player, a deep and lovely bathtub, and a rain shower....and thought, "why go back outside?" Ah yes, because I am hungry with a headache and I have friends to meet if I can swing it. But then I was distracted by the technology and logged into email and again the voice said, "But why go back outside into that sea of human beings and honking horns?"And then Stephen sent a text from Schenzen, "have you reached Daniela yet?

To hell with technology and a headache, I endeavored to contact Daniela, colleague of Stephen's, who has been traveling in China with her mother. Hurray for Nokia and 3G, we connected and I had one hour to figure out how to meet them at the Star Ferry for the Symphony of Lights Harbor cruise.

This is how I found myself standing at McDonald's, ferry ticket in hand, having survived the gauntlet of humanity, vehicles, and consumer sirens, famished with little time to spare. I felt silly immediately as I walked out the door thinking that''d I'd just pop into a little Chinese restaurant and grab a bite to eat before boarding. All I could find was The Spaghetti House and Pizza Hut and Starbucks and then lots of restaurants with names I couldn't read....and before the panic could well up inside me...I walked down the stairs into Mackas and ordered a cheeseburger and a coke. I'm pretty sure I've avoided this very thing in the States for the last 15 years and here I am, first night in China wondering if I'll get food poisoning from the Golden Arches. "Precious," I hissed to myself, "have a coke and a smile and get on with it."

It's now 5 hours later and I can happily report that I've added another Coke (yes, Zero tastes okay), a funky sweet bread, a Perrier from 7-Eleven, and a proper bowl of won ton soup to the mix and I'm still feeling alright. Precious has a gastro medical kit from the travel doctor anyway, so she's equipped with the stoppers if things get out of hand.

So first night in Hong Kong- culinary adventures, a great harbor cruise in the rain with Daniela, her mum, and a young New Zealander named Mike, a ride on the subway, a tour of the night markets, and some late night won tons at "Relax for a While" (I think I will, thanks) noodle shop. Now I'm relaxing for a while after a gorgeous rain shower in my cushy bed playing with my complimentary technology and waiting for the stomach cramps to come on....

Welcome to Hong Kong! Enjoy Your Life!

2010-10-01

The first day in a trip of national holidays, I spent China’s National Holiday wandering around Hong Kong while Stephen played his last game of golf in Shenzhen. My day began at 11 am as the only white girl looking for Dim Sum in a local Chinese restaurant recommended by the sly smiling concierge at the Mira. I was lucky to find it, as I mistook his third floor directions for the first floor and when I came upon the fancy Pizza Hut I thought, “Surely not. His English wasn’t that bad.” Clearly, my comprehension of heavily accented English must improve. I found the restaurant on the third floor (mental note made) and was seated after a bit of confusion from the wait staff, towards the back of the restaurant, at a table with an older Chinese gentleman. Evidently very rare on the third floor- a white party of one.

How to order Dim Sum alone? Where were the picture menus? Where were the carts I’m used to? Where was my interpreter? My table mate hardly noticed me until he was served his first course and I smiled broadly and made, “Hmmm” noises at him. I finally gave a passing waitress a look that said, “I can’t read the menu and I do not belong to this man, he’s not feeding me.” She finally produced a picture menu after she was given the Cantonese what-for by my table mate- “it’s okay!” he said to me.

I managed to order some mango pudding and finally some steamed pork rolls and other dim sum delights. By this time my esteemed table mate had whipped out his new ipad and produces a bilingual dim sum menu for me, from which I manage to order a bit more- which is even more puzzling to the wait staff (they then try and bill him for my food). “It’s okay! Wrong orders!” as he berates them again. After much confusion and many smiles that seem to go a long way, he says, ‘Relax, enjoy your dim sum.”

As I tuck into my hard earned breakfast, the ipad is handed over once more with a tourist guide to Hong Kong, the Best of the World Heritage Sites website (woo hoo I’m going to Ha Long Bay!), and a lovely slide show of his first grandson set to Nat King Cole’s “L-O-V-E.” I’m so in to it all that I hardly notice I’ve been eating the paper off the bottom of my pork dumplings. With my new friend’s assistance I learn all about the National Holiday, the fireworks, and devise a plan for my afternoon. “Very lucky!” he says, “good technology!” I couldn’t agree more. It seems he was very happy to have the day off from babysitting the slide show angel to enjoy his multiple gadgets: ipad, iphone, and SLR camera. As he packed up to leave and I waited for my final steaming basket of goodness, I thanked him profusely.

‘You are welcome! Welcome to Hong Kong! Enjoy your life!”

Well nourished and all smiles I made my way to the Sik Sik Yuen Wong Tai Sin Temple where I witnessed the devout make offerings of incense and …can rattling? I’m sure there’s more to that practice than I could tell…I strolled through the Good Wishing Garden full of blow-up animals and princesses floating in pools, checked out a pond of lovely psycho turtles, and took refuge from the heat. The juxtaposition of high rise tenements of Kowloon over the multi-tiered façade of the temple made the experience all a bit surreal. On my way out to the train station I got stuck in underground temple passage way of 79 palm readers or something like- they must do a smashing business to need so many!

From Kowloon it was all heat, and trains, and lines, and more heat as I waited in more lines for the Peak Tram to overlook the city. After an hour long standing wait, a mere 20 minutes from boarding the tram I succumbed to the dire need to use the potty and had to get out of line. Past an accident (probably the third one I’d seen) to a random toilet under an overpass next to conspiracy theorist propaganda against the nearby US embassy, and then back in line for another 30 minutes. It was worth the relief of knowing that I wasn’t going to wet myself anymore or punch the woman that had been next to me singing Twinkle twinkle to her whining kid at a high pitch.

At the top of the Peak I was greeting by cooler temperatures, but more of the gross consumerism and fast food that Hong Kong has to offer, a smoggy city skyline, and massively long lines to…get back down the Peak tram. Well worth the trip, it’s a fabulous vista and gives an amazing perspective of the city; giant high rises are reduced to children’s toys at such heights.

I met Stephen fresh from Shenzhen back at the hotel and famished, we made our way back to the same restaurant from my morning adventure. The wait staff looked at me perplexed as if to say, “You’re back?” and I returned the look as if to say, “You’re still here?” They tucked us away in the back room alone, this time with giant picture menus, off of which Stephen ordered giant delectable dishes that I wish I’d had four stomachs to consume: fried rice with almonds and currants, prawns in chilli paste, seafood hot pot, and pork. Well beyond satiated, we stumbled out into the streets that had been closed off hours before in anticipation of the holiday fireworks and joined the throngs of people milling about, shopping, talking, partying, and otherwise getting in your way because there’s no method to the way people move and there be no such thing as personal space.

A day much enjoyed and very well spent.

Happy in Hanoi

2010-10-02 to 2010-10-03

2 October 2010

He was saying, “Have a good time.” And I was repeating it back to him, but really I was making it up. The Bellhop, Trang, of the Quoc Hoa Hotel, thought it sounded like English and I thought it sounded like…Vietnamese? He’d done a much better job of telling me that I had a peaceful face and a beautiful smile. This is my first conversation in Vietnam after arriving successfully to my hotel.

I arrived 5 hours ahead of Stephen and had the pleasure of finding my way to the hotel and around the Old Quarter until he arrived. My first impression as I jumped in the cab at Hanoi Airport was: Thank God I know Mexico or I’d be deep in culture shock right now. I arrived in Hanoi, formally known as Thang Long, on the 2nd day of celebrations of the 1,000th Birthday of the City of the Soaring Dragon - it was teaming with people, mopeds, the air was thick with excitement and…for argument’s sake, let’s call it…smoke.

Evidently I arrived looking happy and peaceful, according to Trang, even though my cab left me off in the middle of my tiny street with no hope of safely crossing the sea of motos, bicycles, and cars. I recalled Danielle’s wise words, “Just commit yourself and don’t waver. They’ll go right around you.” I smiled as if I didn’t mind dying in the street and crossed….into the Bellhop’s attentive care.

Feeling confident in my noble traveller’s abilities, I asked for a recommendation to a good local Vietnamese restaurant (since I’d had such good luck in Hong Kong). This time it was a case of his right is not my right, or perhaps I had the map upside down, or perhaps Hanoi’s Old Quarter is a maze where the streets shift on you…after 15 minutes of disoriented circles and asking directions once, I found the “Green Mango” ….and was instantly disappointed. I had landed myself in a restaurant catering to western tourists and had the displeasure of sitting next to an American family, parents desperate to engage disinterested daughters plugged into their iPhones. I was just getting used to the foreign menus and fast foreign tongues and all of a sudden I’m not being offered chopsticks with my meal, there’s bread in a basket on the table, and the whole family next to me is in imania: Do you have skype? Did you know so-and-so is going to private school? Oh, my God, look at CNN! Is there Wi-Fi here? I order my expensive spring rolls and bun bo at $13 USD (highway robbery, I tell ya, VND160,000) and scram.

Back out on the streets that change names every two blocks, I somehow made my way to Hoan Kiem Lake and the center of all festivities. I had hoped to get a seat at the nearby Water Puppet Theatre and thereby spare Stephen the experience, but alas, they were sold out for the night- Stephen would have to attend with me tomorrow. It probably took me about an hour an a half make it back the 10 minute walk to the hotel- due mostly to disorientation, but also to distraction and having nowhere I had to be. The people! The shops! The artwork! The mopeds! The music! The incense, the altars! All in all a completely absorbing experience, relished with a Tiger beer on the balcony of the hotel shortly after Stephen arrived knackered after a long journey from Hong Kong via Bangkok.

3 October 2010

No watch, no time! We were to spend our entire holiday with no concept of time, which on our first morning in Hanoi meant that I had breakfast at the top floor of our hotel and an early morning stroll around Hoan Kiem Lake (Lake of the Restored Sword) all before 8 am! Vietnam rises early, so we were late by local standards, as the masses were already out doing early morning exercise and Tai Chi, a timed race was already well underway, and most people were indulging in ice cream treats by the time we’d made a full circuit around the lake. Some of the only westerners about (with the exception of those actually running in the race) we felt almost like a local curiosity as we sat by the water trying to get a decent self-portrait and capture the Thap Rua (or Tortoise Tower). As the story goes, in the 15th century Heaven gave the Emperor a magical sword to chase the Chinese out of Vietnam. A day after that Heaven reclaimed it by sending a giant tortoise up from the depths to pluck the sword from the Emperor’s boat and returned it to its divine owners- how's that!

After reaching the far side, we doubled back around the lake because I’m not arguing with a policeman in a communist state when he holds his hand out to me and says, “STOP!” in his futile effort at crowd control. Never mind that grandma and her two grandkids and a basket of flowers just completely ignored him and made him look all silly with his big, bad baton…I’m not doing it.

By the time we made our way back to the hotel through the quirky streets of the Old Quarter (Stephen took over all navigation at this point), it was time for second breakfast- Pho bo! I wasn’t about to be put off again, I asked Trang to redeem himself with a proper recommendation. He sent us down the block to 49 Bat Dan, “very famous for Pho!” where we stood in line like the rest of Hanoi, watching as trays of pho left the little hole in the wall to fill orders at nearby hotels and restaurants. While we stood patiently on the sidewalk waiting our turn, we watched a goose get gutted in the very water we ended up standing in 10 minutes later. Oh dear, is she now washing the soup greens in the same plastic tub as that poor goose?...with the water straight from the street tap?! Why yes, she is, but Lonely Planet said we’d be fine as long as we see the pot boiling…and the flames are licking!

After second breakfast, Trang organised a rickshaw ride for us to visit the Ho Chi Minh complex. Since Stephen was now at my side he had to spread the complimentary love around- he reckoned Stevo looked like a famous actor in his sunnies. Nice one, but he specifically named Britney Spears when referring to my almost famous look. Aw, yeah.

Alas, no tour of the Mausoleum, Uncle Ho wasn’t in Russia for a touch up as originally thought, there were just too many people in town for the celebrations so they closed up shop (they are a practical people). We did manage a tour of the concrete monolith ‘lotus’ shaped museum, to learn about Ho Chi Minh’s emphasis on learning and education and about the country’s noble struggle for independence….before we were kicked out for a 3:00pm close? Nix on the One Pillar Pagoda and Ho Chi Minh’s Stilt House, it was a mad rush for a taxi to get back to the hotel…don’t worry, it wasn’t the pho, we’ll blame it on the Thai airways pork dinner Stevo ate the night before.

After a lovely afternoon siesta, we ventured out on the culinary prowl again in search of the authentic, armed with one hotel recommendation and the Lonely Planet favourite. Yep, the clerk sent us back to the ‘Green Mango’ and so we wandered helplessly to “Little Hanoi” (Hotel 0, Lonely Planet 1) - as we entered the family barely looked up from their card game and cigarettes. Their game made a very homey backdrop to our delightful dinner of spring rolls, noodles, and pork- all for the gorgeous price of 190,000 dong (or $10 USD).

By this time the streets were filling up again and the mega phones were blaring classical music across the lake. As we waited for the water puppet show, we parked ourselves on the third floor of a café for cool drinks and a fresh donut and listened to Fur Elise as we watched the steady weaving of celebrating bodies and mopeds below. All very surreal.

Who knew a water puppet show could be so cool? We were booked for the last show of the night at the Municipal Water Puppet Theatre- a puppetry tradition well over a thousand years old with origins in the amusement of farmers in flooded fields of the Red River Delta. Hidden puppeteers, a watery stage, quirky puppets, a bit of splashing, and a live band made for a very entertaining hour, even Stevo liked it!

Ha Long, Bay of the Descending Dragon

2010-10-04 to 2010-10-05

Monday- Destination of the Masses

7:30am: As we waited for our private car outside of the hotel, our lovely friend Trang handed us two postcards. Stephen’s postcard depicting a tranquil street in the Old Quarter read, “I wish you strong happy.” My postcard, with a bustling street, a Tiger beer advertisement, and a western dude in a communist t-shirt read, ‘I wish you strong happy and more beautiful. You look very attractive.” Take that Britney.

Now when the Houng Hai Junk itinerary listed a private transfer to Ha Long City, they neglected to say, “Hold on for your life! You’re really driving in Vietnam now baby!” They merely said, “Depart Hanoi to Ha Long Bay by road through the rich farmlands of the Red River Delta and the scenery of rice fields, water buffalos and everyday Vietnamese village life on both side of the Highway No.18.” No mention of hazardous road conditions or erratic driving or incessant honking or ambitious passing on the left or riding in the back of a van on top of the wheel well, whilst all this is happening….lucky we had the survival instinct to nap and all that strong happy with us.

12.15 pm: After four hours, three major road accidents, and one pit stop later we arrived in Ha Long city to board our traditional wooden junk boat, Huong Hai Junk, for our overnight journey. Seeing as Ha Long Bay is a World Heritage Listed, UNESCO site of the highest order we were expecting…tranquillity. Instead we arrived to a parking lot 500 junks strong with a steady stream of tourists from backpacker to 2 suitcase traveller shuttling to and fro. We we’re welcomed by very warm Mr. Man (yes, that’s right) who made all the normal inquiries. Where are you from? How long are you here? Where will you go? Honeymoon or holiday? Are you married? To the latter question it’s polite to answer, “Not yet” if you aren’t.

1:00pm: By now we are sipping on our refreshing welcome drink and rejoicing in the queen size bed in our room as the cruise begins through the bay. Stephen is already itching to get away from the city and giant suspension bridge in the distance (two features that never really seem to fade during the trip). Our companions for the voyage are a group of unsmiling German tourists who manage to ruin every moment with a cigarette and a small Australian family with curious but charming kids. Yes, we did feast on a delicious lunch (of many fried sea creatures) as we cruised among hundreds of islets to discover not quite unspoilt pockets of Ha Long Bay (oh dear, that is a tanker parked over there, alas, that’s trash floating by).

2:30 pm: Mr. Man proves to be the best company as he leads us with humour through Sung Sot cave, one of the most imposing grottos of the Bay. A truly amazing cave that opens from one cavern to another to amaze and delight with stalagmites and stalactites and even one suspiciously shaped erectile rock illuminated by a pink light. A Spanish woman said next to me, Mira, el Dedo de Dios! “You could call it the Finger of God, I suppose,” said Mr. Man, having seen the same rock 26 days in a row.

4:00 pm: We declined a swim at Titop beach or take a short trek to the top of Titop Mountain despite the promised magnificent panorama scenery- too many tourists and far too much weather. We preferred to stay on the junk and watch the crew nonchalantly manoeuvre the junk (or not, as it well seemed) as it got blown straight into the pier in the heavy winds. We had hoped for an hour of kayaking, but opted instead for an early morning trip, since clearly the inclement weather would preclude this small lady from having any fun.

7.30pm: Dinner was lovely, with fresh seafood (not fried!) and quiet conversation, as the junk strained against the wind alongside sister junks in the not-so-private inlet.

9.00pm: No squid fishing as suggested, instead a long and beautiful visit with Mr. Man learning Vietnamese, talking about loving dogs and loosing them to the local restaurants, listening to stories of his family, refugee life, and the atonement of war veterans. Mr. Man spends 26 days a month on Ha Long Bay and 4 days at home with his wife. The seriousness of our conversation was broken every now and then by the sound a little female voice on the water yelling, “You buy water? You buy soda?” Most impressive, those fisherman’s wives, paddling a boat full of plastic and aluminium among the junks all day and all night. “Very strong ladies,” said Mr. Man. All in all a very personal and very generous evening.

Tuesday- Junks, Vans, Trains, Taxis and Airplanes, Oh My!

7.00am: For early risers complimentary tea, coffee, fruit and cake are served. For even earlier risers, a personal guided kayak tour of Luon cave and inlet, surrounded by high islets and mountains assessable by only one small entrance. Yes, for Diana, it’s totally worth it to wake up this early to see pissed off forest spider monkeys. “What do you mean you didn’t bring us any treats?” I don’t feed the wildlife, but the throng of tourists coming in at 8:00 am will. This is our intrepid couple’s first go at kayaking together…they settled on a happy enough arrangement of Stephen steering and Diana paddling madly. I won’t take full responsibility for always rocking the boat- how can I compete with a man who’s twice my size!?

8.00am: While the masses descended upon the inlet and monkeys with fruit, bread, and cigarettes, we enjoyed a quiet breakfast back on the junk.

9:00 am: The winds abated, but the cloudy weather never really let up, so we used our imaginations as we sailed past fantastic rock formations with names such as Man’s Head islet, Tortoise islet, Butterfly cave, Lion islet, Bai Tho mountain, and Fighting Cock islet (pointed out by Mr. Man with a wry smile) as we meandered back to Ha Long City. Stephen got a chance to steer the junk with Mr. Man as all captains do, with feet!

11:00 am: Nothing like amazing views and relaxing on a boat to make you hungry, our last meal on board was most welcome as we faced a long afternoon and night of travel to Danang. Stephen is now coming down with something wicked, he blames the air conditioning I made him sleep under last night (never mind that I was suffocating), but it remains to be seen. Something terrible is going around (besides the air quality), everyone in Vietnam seems to have a cough, or a sneeze, or is wearing a fashionable face mask!

11.45am: We arrived back at Ha Long city and then waited in the crowd of arriving tourists and overpriced vendors for 45 minutes for our driver to return us the four hours to Hanoi. Stephen remarked as he watched Mr. Man jump on to the next boat of tourists, “Just another day, and another dollar. I hope this is Day 25 for Mr. Man and not Day 4.” We claim the seat behind the driver and watch the strange roadside landscape unfold around us.

4:30 pm: Its’ Day Five of the Hanoi celebrations and it feels like another million people have just poured into the city on the moped artery. We are the last passengers to be dropped off, so we get another hair raising driving tour of the Old Quarter before we arrive at the Ga Hang Go train station. Our train is due to leave at 7:00 pm so we ask for and find (with the help of many a random train station lackey) the lockers to store our bags. We thought we’d do a little shop to provision our 15 hour train ride to Danang.

No such luck! The cost of the locker and a glance at our tickets cause a commotion, clearly in a language we don’t understand, and we come find out that there are no trains going South due to bad weather. This news is delivered to me in broken English via the mobile phone of the girl behind the ticket counter. She looked on slightly apologetic, but it was more of a “See, we were trying to tell you,” look. Strong happy is trying to sneak out the back door, is it?

The thought of diving back into the crush of the Old Quarter seemed like too much work as we contemplated the relaxation we thought awaited us in Hoi An. Stephen’s condition was worsening and time was running short. But thanks to easy access we were at a travel agent within minutes haggling for two plane tickets, an extra night at the hotel in Hoi An, and a taxi to the airport. The taxi ride out of Hanoi was a surreal combination of thick gray haze, thousands of families on mopeds, horns, and eerie lights. 

By the time we reached the airport, Strong Happy was dwindling to Too Much Effort and we were loosing our grip. We had descended into the silent treatment as we ate our airport com ga and bun hue until I noticed a small mouse running underneath the table. As I looked up with a smile, Stephen practically jumps out of his skin as the mouse comes running up the chair next to him and over the counter by our table. I was in hysterics. The silent treatment was over with memory that would provide days of comic relief. It wasn't until days later that he confessed the mouse actually ran up his leg to get on that chair!

Strong Happy In Hoi An

2010-10-06 to 2010-10-07

Strong Happy and Too Much Effort steal into Hoi An in the dead of night...sfter arriving into Danang and spirting off through what feel like much too deserted streets to the Hoi An Riverside Resort. In the morning they awake to a view of rice paddies and water buffalo and enjoy a fantatic buffet breakfast by the river......their first day is spent interviewing tailors, choosing clothes, and immersing themselves in the local cultural heritage. The second starts very, very early....

Most commonly asked questions in Hoi An:

-Where you from?
- When did you get here?
- When you leave?
- Are you from Spain?
- Australia?! G’day Mate!
- You buy? You buy from me? Madam- you buy!
- Are you married? On honeymoon or holiday?

But my favourite is…
- Motorbike? Moto?
- No, no moto.
- Come on- good price, you moto!
- No, I don’t like moto!
- You don’t like!? Free! I give you free!
- Ha!


04.30 The alarm goes off. We wander with heavy feet towards the gate of the resort; the night man jumps up from sleeping on the bench and swings open the gate seemingly before he even opens his eyes. He’s not surprised we’re up like I am, only chagrined we caught him asleep.

05.00 We are the first tourists to climb aboard the sunrise tour bus bound for the My Son temples; pronounced mi so we learn quickly from our guide, not to be confused with being offered Japanese soup (it’s early, okay?). The bus winds its way through the dark streets of Hoi An to gather other tourists, dark maybe, each corner reveals a town already bustling- people exercising, eating, setting up shop….

05.30 The bus is now full of Frenchies and other groggy tourists as we enter some back alley and pull up in front of an open courtyard. Much to everyone’s surprise (and to the Frenchies dismay) we are offered a breakfast of omelettes, French bread, and proper coffee with condescend milk. As the Frenchies whine about the sunrise, we lead the charge as we tuck right into the caffeine and gratefully acknowledge the hospitality. To our dismay, we’re given five minutes to gulp before herding back onto the bus.

07.00 Good Morning, Vietnam! As everyone else sleeps off their omelettes, I watch the morning unfold before me on our drive to the temples. Villagers taking their water buffalo for a walk, chasing geese back into ponds, feeding pigs, laying out meat on blocks of wood for selling, feeding the masses from boiling pots of pho, occasionally looking up at the bus and smiling…sometimes a wave….At the temple complex I am aware that even though we did miss the sunrise, we are also missing the crowds of tour buses and motorbikes, and still waking up the guards. Our guided walk begins with a little history on the Cham people- You know Champa people? As we wander down the path to the Group A ruins, we are reminded not to stray- You know bombs?- as we take in the melancholy quiet of bullet riddled and bombed out structures, jungle dripping around us, Cat’s Tooth mountain still covered in mist. While we examine each temple we are quizzed about the iconography- You know Shiva? Ganesha? Sacred cow? Siddhartha the Guatama? and reminded of long ago splendour- What a pity, beautiful structure, destroyed by bombs. What a pity!

What a pity, it’s now SR’s turn to rap his noggin’ on a low hanging ceiling as my admonishment to “watch your head” goes unheard. He’s sick and cranky and it’s early, so we spend the rest of the tour exploring separately. He takes pictures, I smile at butterflies. Then it’s back on the bus for the ride back to Hoi An, everyone asleep (SR hopefully not in a concussed coma), but I’m still wide-eyed absorbing a landscape, vibrant, but still recovering from that damn war.

09.30 The first to board and the last to be dropped off, we make it just in time to have second breakfast at the resort’s riverside restaurant along the Hoai River. I’m in heaven with my Vietnamese pancake, noodle soup, and fresh fruit. Heaven is followed by a delicious morning power nap.

11.00 We’ve got a date with the tailor. We’re eager to have our first fitting for the long list of suits, pants, dresses, and shirts we meticulously picked out fabric for the day before. We’re getting a lot of clothes; we were relentlessly pursued around the shop to buy one more suit, one more suit! But it ain’t cheap and we’re compelled to bargain for extra pants, just to make ourselves feel like we’re not being taken for a ride. The clothes look good…although I can already see the folly of being measured in my ratty travel bra; it’s not going to be an accurate measure of reality and I’m going to end up with a few chest minimising numbers. For all the ass slapping I endure, I’m hoping they at least take into account my latin booty when they make my dresses!

12.00 It’s definitely time to consider eating again after all that effort. We wander the historic town in search of a good cooking class and settle on the small school down by the river that we’d spied the day before. Nothing sells better than smiles, for each time we passed, through the doorway of the Goian cooking school, we could see customers grinning and laughing as they worked their way through the recipes and then happily consumed the fruit of their labor. Four dishes for $12 and an extra buck for a market tour ain’t bad either.

13.00 SR sips his coffee while I take a tour of the market with our cooking teacher, Han, and two girls from Austria (who miraculously are after the same dishes we are). Han sings her instructions and laughs a lot. Especially when I ask her how long the school is open for…Every day for last 10 years…until we close! I get to know tumeric in its tuber form (Pick small and thick, like babies finger!); limes and pineapples (Only green and shiny, smell sweet with leaves that pull out…what, you no get leaves on your pineapple?); eels (see, still alive!); and fresh crabs (Okay, not so fresh, it’s the afternoon). Han wakes up a few sleeping ladies from under their conical hats to haggle for onions before we head back to class.

The class is delightful, the food is delicious, we chop, chop, chop, and stir, stir, stir, through possibly one meal too many (as if) and we are now doing the selling, as the next hour’s customers poke their head in to see what it’s all about.

15.30 SR bargains for a motorbike back to the resort and I stay to wander the town until our last fitting at the tailors. I stress wander…it’s all photos, and walking, and more photos, and now I’m tired, but have no watch, so I wander more, and spend my last dong on a painting of a water buffalo (and yes, I managed to bargain). Even with a brief encounter with the banana grandma across the river on the Anhoi Islet side, I’m still not killing time fast enough and in my dong free state I’m not making any friends either. You want picture? No money! Okay, no money. She hands me her basket load and poses me. You want banana? No thank you, I’m not hungry. Smile. Then her banana selling friend comes over and gets in the picture and then it’s…You buy banana! But no, I’m not hungry. But I hungry! Madam, you buy! Then eat your banana and gimme my camera, sheesh! And I rush back to the other side of the river.

17.20 After a brief wander into a local neighbourhood and feeling conspicuously out of place, I find myself sitting on a bench watching the world go by as I wait for SR. I have convinced the wooden motorcycle selling lady that indeed, I have no more dong. I am dong-less and only worth chatting to. What you do now? I wait for husband with dong. I’d write stories, but no pen! You wait, I find you pen. And she wanders off, returning with a pen and a wry smile for the girl with no money.

18.30 SR returns on the same motorbike he disappeared on hours before (now that’s service!) and we claim our new attire- suits, pants, shirts, copied clothes, dinner jackets, and skirts make their way into multiple bags to be delivered to our hotel. I’m again famished by all that shopping (and aimless wandering) and it’s back to the river for a dinner of local specialities, cao lau (doughy noodles with croutons, bean sprouts, green, and pork slices), a few white roses (shrimp wrapped in rice paper) and some ginger tea, all for under $10!

19.30 On a seemingly endless culinary escapade, we’re back at the resort and unable to resist the call of dessert. We indulge once again by the river, homemade ice cream and fried plantains in chocolate while we listen to the musical stylings of Double Down, a trio from Manila with a real handle on AC/DC, Pat Benetar, and Abba, to name a few….

Next stop…bed.
Next stop after that…China Beach and the Marble Mountains.

Danang to Saigon :: The Grand Tour (Complete)

2010-10-08 to 2010-10-11

8 October

Morning finds us with our bags packed and a cardboard box full of new clothes waiting for a taxi to tour us back to Danang.

How much you spend at Bebe? asks the concierge who recommended us there. What you get? She leans forward as if to spy our receipt.

A lot¸ I reply, moving the receipt from her sight with a look that says, Yeah, I know, some lady on the street told me you get a 4 percent commission. She pouts. I smile. Since we are leaving them with said sweet commission, we remorselessly bargain down our taxi to 22 USD for a tour of the Marble Mountains and a trip to China Beach before our flight to Ho Chi Minh.

After so many good natured interrogations, we find our silent taxi driver almost refreshing as we head towards the Marble Mountains. We are amazed at the immensity of construction along the beach, one half-finished resort after another, hidden from us on our first dark drive into Hoi An. The silence is made up for by the proprietor of the marble shop where the taxi pulls in to wait for us to tour Thuy Son, the largest and most famous of the five marble mountains. You need marble Buddha! No! She tries to sell us on the benefits of marble as she escorts us to the entrance to the complex. I’m just in awe that I’m actually seeing where marble comes from. In addition to being made of marble, Thuy Son is home to a number of caves that over the centuries have supported Hindu and Buddhist sanctuaries as well as the odd VC hospital. It’s only 10 am, but already pushing 32 degrees as we begin our climb. For the next hour we wind up insane marble staircases; down into damp and dripping caves smoky with incense, where altars are actively tended by the devout; smile at Buddhist monks as they pass next to Hindu relics; and sweat. I’m sweating so much, the final ascent up craggly marble outcrops to Vong Hai Da outlook in chucks does me in and loosing my grip I tumble backwards wrenching my arm and slicing up fingers. As I am now bleeding my own blood in addition to sweating my own sweat; strong happy definitely is being replaced by much consternation. To make it all worth it, as SR comes down from the outlook, he says, You wouldn’t have liked it anyway. All that construction is depressing.

Back at the shop as we wait for our driver to finish his happy lunch we politely feign interest in marble of every shape and form while insisting that we really aren’t ready to splurge on that 2 ton Buddha for our backyard just yet. Someday, yes, but not now, thank you.

We make a quick and underwhelming stop at China Beach, run some sand through our toes, and have a cold drink at a beachside eatery. Arriving at Danang airport, I bemoan the lack of a plastic wrap machine, as I watch our precious cardboard box of 4 percent commission take it’s first of four flights. We are fading fast now; I tend my wounds and Stephen coughs, reminding us of how little we slept the night before. We order some proper coffee and spring rolls across the street as we wait to board. Psst, you want moto? No, I want airplane.

We arrive in Ho Chi Minh City, that crazy town formerly known as Saigon, and I breathe a sigh of relief as our precious 4 percent commission comes trundling down the cargo belt intact. Stephen trumps my taxi wrangling skills (as we argue over what Lonely Planet says we should do versus what the taxi rank dude just quoted) and the price shrinks from 15 USD to 8 to 5...my hero, he always knows he can get something cheaper. At the Oscar Saigon hotel we similarly must bargain our way into the same room, as there seems to be some confusion over our different last names. Different surnames, different rooms. Singles! No, same booking, same room. Though in hindsight, I might've avoided coming down with Stevo's flu if we'd stuck to the Oscar Saigon plan. 

We enjoy our first meal in Saigon out of coconuts. Curry in coconut around the corner at Lemongrass, where the Stephen gets shortchanged (Must've been the bogan singlet you were wearing honey) and ice cream & candied fruit in a baby coconut at Kem Bach Dang, surrounded by families eating the "best ice cream in Vietnam." On our first night Saigon gives off a Main Street Disney Festival of Lights kind of propaganda feeling. Surrounded by revelry (Thang Long's birthday celebration reaches far south) and smiling families of four astride mopeds, this communism thing kinda looks like fun.

9 Oct 10

Oh, it’s no fun sleeping next to a sick man in a room next to the elevator shaft. I tossed and turned all night to an ensemble of coughing, freight lift, and weird elevator music. Stephen woke for breakfast and I tried in vain achieve one and a half hours of uninterrupted sleep, missing an apparently delightful buffet breakfast and my morning bowl of Pho.

I started my first day in HCMC without breakfast or coffee, not a promising way to start a communist induction. We began our tour of the old District by staring at last night’s People’s Committee Building (You Shall Not Pass)- check, before entering the Museum of Ho Chi Minh City (formerly the Revolutionary Museum, which was formerly the Gia Long Palace), check. The Museum is a gorgeous, neoclassical structure, which was made only more interesting by the 5 weddings being photographed on it’s steps (real, or staged we had to wonder), all next to the Soviet tank, US Huey helicopter, and anti-aircraft gun in the garden. I got my first dose of Vietnamese history in a nutshell, my first glance at Thich Quang Duc on fire, a good introduction to Saigon’s many incarnations as a thriving commercial and artisan centre, and a good sense that no matter how many name changes the City will have, in its heart it’s always Saigon.

By 11.30 we are waiting in line to get into the Reunification Palace (formerly known as Independence Palace or the Presidential Palace, once upon a time, Norodom Palace, destroyed by bombs)- check. It’s a fascinating building, modern (or 1960’s modern) architecture surrounded by greenery and the communist tank that smashed through its wrought iron gates in April 1975. Despite the tanks, the bombings, and the deposed presidents, we got a real sense of the glory of it all on the information English only tour. We saw formal rooms loaded with artistic symbolism, toured the private suites, the James Bond-esque casino and dance hall, luxury car collection, and the war rooms and private bunkers (psst! All secret doors above lead down below). It culminated in a 20 minute video on the 20th century Vietnamese struggle for independence against the imperial devils, praising the courageous and formidable Vietnamese spirit, with more burning monk photos, and a healthy infusion of communist propaganda. May I never find myself in a re-education camp.

All this education makes a girl really hungry and my strong happy is in desperate need of lunch. Finally by 2.30 I’m sitting down to my requisite bowl of pho bo at Pho 24 (many locations in Sydney!) before Stevo whisks us off to Ben Thanh markets to haggle with merchants for souvenirs- check and check. A true bargain hunter experience, Stephen manages to piss off a group of women selling shirts.You wrong, that wrong price! Followed by, I’m wrong!? No, you’re wrong, we’re out of here! Then I get manhandled “Madam, you buy! You buy!” Really lady, you can’t yell at my husband and then appeal to me, but thanks anyway. The experience only get’s better, as I have only one bargaining bone in my body (used to buy my $20 painting) and I catch hell from the master for botching the bargain on a wallet purchase. That is it! New policy, Diana chooses merchandise and Stephen haggles mercilessly as she walks off innocently looking for the next buy. We may well have worn out our welcome by closing time when it started to feel like word gets around and the deals got harder to find. We still made a killing, watch for wonderful souvenirs under a Christmas tree near you.

Though our delicious back-alley dinner of more pho, spring rolls, and pork noodles with Tiger beer was ruined by flared tempers, we did enjoy a rather interesting experience at the Hotel “massage parlour.” In keeping with that parlour feel, my tiny little masseuse said, “Take off all your clothes,” which I proceeded to do…as she stood there and watched. She then jumped up on the table after me and sat on me for the back massage….I had to stifle a laugh as I realised her bony backside was getting comfortable on mine. It was a good enough massage, bringing out all the toxins, enabling my body to succumb to Stephen’s raunchy dog flu, the trifecta of sinus infection, fever, and sore throat came right on in as I walked out the door.

 10 Oct  10 Monsoon Fever in the Mekong! Stevo narrates the final entry for Diana…

Repeated negotiations with one Mr Vinh to give us a private day tour to the Mekong Delta in exchange for our cancelled Reunification Express tickets got us a forgettable, but charming guide and driver (whose names escape me) for our last day in HCMC. They were waiting patiently in the hotel foyer by 7:30 am as alas, DIana had woken up suffering from full blown Shenzhen Shitzu….and could not even make it to the 13th floor for the buffet breakfast. On the 1 ½ hour drive into the Delta, our guide taught us about local culture, farming techniques, the lack of bird life, how to read food signs, and all about how infant moped helmet laws affected the growth of the cranium so consequently they’re the only moped riders without helmets (Mum, did you make me wear a helmet as a baby?). Today marked the last day of celebrations in honour of Thang Long and although we were 1800 kilometres away there were still echoes of marching bands and much singing and joy wafting through the city as we left. 

It’s a pretty drive on the new Delta expressway that is moped-free, though again as throughout much of Vietnam, the development is far from sustainable.We realised that as we drove on, more and more farmland is being replaced by buildings and as land tax is determined by the width of your house, dwellings are only 9 feet wide with steeper staircases than Ruthven Street (gasp!). It was, however, fun to see the family farms with the long departed ancestors lying in their mausoleums- ensuring that the next rice crop is better than the last. An important task, as the Delta is the largest exporter of all things made of rice in the world- see sequence of poprice photos, amazing!

After two hours our driver leaves us at the port of Cau Long to take a local boat across the Mekong River- or around these parts, the Nine Dragons, for the number of tributaries that dive into the South China Sea. We take the boat out into the working river, as busy as most roads with just as much diversity: cranes, canoes, boats, paddle steamers, swimmers, and barges….We are in the middle of the Mekong for the next 3 hours touring the canals and islands where the general population farms salmon, rambutan and river sand.

One highlight of this part of the Mekong is the floating markets, where all the farmers park in their boats/houses/shopfronts, for the daily bazaar in the middle of the river, advertise their wares for potential buyers by hoisting their delicacies up mast (as if it were a flag). Like most markets, the vendors are asleep or playing some card game, therefore interrupting them is a must if you want some produce. After the markets we took a sharp turn into a canal and pulled rather rudely up at the dock of a Poprice factory.

Poprice? Yes, you all know popcorn, but why make popcorn when you have millions of tonnes of rice….(Note: when hearing of this tour from Mr. Vinh, SR was dead set against being some tourist escorted into a factory to buy things made from rice. He asked Mr Vinh specifically not to go there and instead take his darling to a bird sanctuary- though evidently they have all “sustainably” disappeared into rice paddies). But the factory- what a very cool and unexpected treat! Rice is the perfect staple of many uses, the factory produces candy, wine, rice squares (move over rice crispy treats), snake wine (not cool but we get told the snakes are “farmed” for this purpose, so that makes it okay?). After the guided tour we sat down for a pot of tea, sampled delicious ricey products and left without buying things we could not possibly fit in between the stash of tailored clothing. We then motored off to an 8 generation family owned home for our island lunch of local specialities including soup, fried elephant fish, spring rolls, pork, rice (ga!), and fruit salad. Not bad, although the waitress did not like Diana trying to roll her own spring rolls and hip checked her back into her seat. Be patient! After lunch, a quick stroll through the gardens for a glimpse at our first ever, green… oranges.

Lastly, a very long and windy (not windy) motor boat trip back to the main city on the Southern Mekong, Vin Long, and relief in a public toilet. Once we left Vin Long for our even longer trip back to HCMC, the heavens decided to relieve themselves as well. Within an hour the torrential rains left puddles as deep as our calves, which we had to wade through to get to the rest stop toilet. And as Diana’s shitzu fever really began to set in, the traffic congestion began in earnest. We got back after an 11 hour tour, said goodbye to Miss and Mr. What’s Their Nuts and Diana collapsed in the room while SR went searching the wet streets for a fever reducer- 20 ibuprofen for only 20,000 dong (1 USD)! Easy... he then went down to the comfort food restaurant, Pho 24….for takeaway that Diana said in her feverish state she didn’t want, but then dutifully slurped it all down. Yum!

11 Oct10

It was a wicked night of sweat and coughing fits and Diana awoke wondering how to rally and tackle 20 hours of flying- provided she was even to get on a flight from Hong Kong to Australia. Overnight, Keiko (our lovely provider of 10% standby airfares) advised that the flights to Sydney were completely full, so then the travel anxiety really set in. As always, Stephen remains ever calm and organises Diana’s flights: HCMC to Hong Kong, Hong Kong to Melbourne, Melbourne to Sydney, now 3 flights instead of 2, 24 hours instead of 20, and more blocked eardrums than a girl can handle. To add insult to injury the trip to the airport took 10 minutes instead of the hour predicted. As Diana’s flight was two hours earlier than Stephen’s, it left time to find a plastic wrap machine for the half broken box of tailored clothing ,check in, navigate customs, and sit calmly together with precious time to spare at the boarding gate.

And just like that, there goes Vietnam….10 days…..2 illnesses……a few clumsy moments…….a couple of tantrums due to dodgy stomachs …..Millions and millions in dong…lots of strong happy……and eyeful of communist propaganda. A fantastic adventure vacation not for the faint hearted.

Bundjalung or Bust

2011-04-21 to 2011-04-25

 A five day Easter camping adventure or a show of sheer stubbornness resulting in emotional suicide.

The weather is not looking good....forecast as of Tuesday 19 April is rain, cats, dogs, more rain. DS becomes a NSW Campground Host volunteer for the Easter Holidays and drags her small family with her.

“Black Rocks Rest Area within Bundjalung National Park which was named after the Bundjalung Aborigines who once occupied this land, leaving a number of middens to attest to that fact. The rest area has picnic and simple camping facilities, pit toilets, tables, barbecues, garbage pits but no fresh water. Those with a 4WD can continue south along Ten Mile Beach. Bundjalung covers 17 000 hectares, including 38 km of beaches, and its ecosystems range from rainforest through heathland, coastal cypress stands, lagoons and wetlands to coastal plains. It is home to 205 bird, 30 mammal, 38 reptile and 13 amphibian species. All beach recreation such as surfing, fishing and boating can be enjoyed. The National Parks and Wildlife Service publish a single-sheet brochure which provides a detailed map of the roads, fire trails and access points to this particularly beautiful and extensive coastal reserve.”

DAY 1: Thursday April 21
Travel: Drive from Port Macquarie to Blackrocks Campground at Bundjalung National Park. Access road to NP is a link road from new highway to old for about 40 m.  Shopping: pick up supplies and water at Coles: Grafton or Yamba

Don't forget firewood! Sales on The Gap Road, first property 600m down the road on the LEFT, selling $6 a bag.

2:00 PM: Meet with Andrew Fay, Ranger at Blackrocks campground for induction. Pick up Campground Host a-frame and supplies.

Meals. Breakfast: Port Macquarie (not the town, but in the town). Lunch: On the road if we get hungry...What actually happens: yes, we're hungry, but too bad, we’re late. DS rushes SR and ER through their servo steak sangers and chips. Meanie. But she’s mad cause they’re an hour late to meet the Ranger and she peed on her leg in the nasty roadside toilet. Dinner: Fajitas on the electric BBQ. 

Activities: explore Bundjalung and surrounds.

What actually happens: 3:00 PM is when they finally pull into the first campsite that the Ranger saved for them....DS backs the RAV4 in and then says to ER,

"Wait before you get out, I just want to have a look to make sure we are clear."

Both girls are sporting thongs....and 'lo and behold, six inches from the car and right under their would-be exiting feet, sits a very scary looking snake, with a very scary looking viper head (a death adder the Rangers would later claim as they do a jig of celebration), completely unphased by the large car and loud voices. DS just can't imagine what it would have been like if ER were the kind of kid that sprung out of a car with abandon- luckily she’d been too engrossed with her Nintendo DS, the snake's head was right near her door.

SR set-up tents and lights, so he can study. Ordinary. DS helps SR set-up tents and wishes for a flawless camping experience. What she gets is a human one. She catalogues what she forgot after impeccable planning....her work mobile, her ultimate camping list (ironic), her shopping list, camp soap, scissors, firewood, candles...dark chocolate....firewood, marshmellow hangers...scooby snacks!

ER is constantly admonished “remember that if you don’t zip up your tent, that Death Adder will crawl in for a cuddle.”

Rule #1 of Camping? Relax. ER says, “If you don’t, it will only get...worse.”

First night under a starry, cloudless sky.
ER: It’s just so awesome.
SR: What’s the white bit?
DS: I think it’s the Milky Way.
SR: Yes!
ER: It’s like...fuzzy! Conversation on meteors ensues.
ER: All you can say is W-O-W.
Girls retire to their tent and boy retires to his. DS sleeps fitfully and wakes to a midnight slap in the face by small dreaming hands....

DAY 2: Friday April 22
Travel: Explore Ten Mile Beach at Bundjalung, the weather might be good enough for a swim or two.

Meals: Breakfast: Orange Pancakes! What actually happens: Just pancakes. DS realises she’s also forgotten mugs, the oranges, and a rubber spatula. The coffee pot is too small for the burner. Two days of caffeine withdrawl and headaches ensue before a wire grate is fashioned by the Rescue Ranger team. Lunch: Fajita left overs and tuna sandwiches.
Dinner: Yummy meaty BBQ. Nah, they meet Ricardo, The Diamond, and Chili in Woodburn instead for...takeaway on Good Friday. DS drives on the wrong side of the road in a moment of blind fatigue, rosellas flock by the thousands to the tree over their picnic table, and everybody enjoys an ice cream but DS, who is incurably cranky.

Activities: Swimming, relaxing, reading. Exploring the campgrounds and surrounds.

What actually happens:  ER: "It’s like the toilets are lazy...(voice increases in pitch)...because there’s no flush!” She finally masters the toilet seat hover and the fine art of zipping-up-your-tent-after-leaving-it, after threats of death adders or worse yet, sleep deprivation by mozzies, hit home.

DS and ER take on their Campground Host duties in earnest, touring the campground and greeting all the campers.ER enjoys a talk by a local Aboriginal girl who tells the campground kids all about tools, weapons, and their uses. As there is no running water, the family takes a swim in freshwater Jerusalem Creek, stained golden brown by the organic matter and tanins, and then carry home buckets of it to wash their dishes in. It's okay, it's clean. Really!

DAY 3: Saturday April 23


Travel: Explore Evans Head

Shopping: pick up more firewood? Do we need more ice? Have a coffee!

Meals: Breakfast: eggs, bacon, and toast. Lunch: Whatever’s clever. Dinner: BBQ steak and veggies on the grill. what actually happened: Chili in a Billy. Dessert: Baked Apples or Pears. what actually happened: Baked Bananas with Marshmellows, oh-so-gooey-yummy.

Activities: bushwalking, drive to The New Italy Museum, cause Italians immigrated to the middle of nowhere, and go for a swim.  What actually happened: DS and ER spend most of the day cooking, washing dishes, and touring the campground to let everyone know that last night there were Pirates! in the campground- stealing wine, and scotch, and fishing rods, and mobile phones...so, lock your doors and zip your tents and watch your women. SR studied. They spend another delightful afternoon swimming in Jerusalem Creek....DS had moment of irrational panic that she would be eaten by a shark.

DAY 4: Easter Sunday April 24 
Travel: Iluka Nature Reserve, World Heritage Rainforest (it will be raining anyway!) or drive to Clunes to spend Easter with the family?

Meals: Breakfast: Eggs and pancakes. Lunch: Tuna or salad sandwhiches and fruit. what actually happened: nothing says Easter Brunch like stuffed zucchini baked in the fire with quesadillas? That's what happens when a Mexican-Italian goes camping. Dinner: Tacos with leftovers from last night! Or vegetable tacos. what actually happened: lentils and potato curry in a Billy, thanks Cheryl, recipe = delicious!!! Dessert: Chocolate Bananas,what actually happened is that we ate them already. So we had hot chocolate instead.

What actually happened: DS had one Easter wish. That SR would stop studying and they would all take a walk on the beach together. It pissed down rain all day, leading them all to believe that DS was aiming too high. But fortune smiled upon her and she got a one hour window of dry oppurtunity. ER and SR frolicked on the sand dunes, DS captured the memories.

DAY 5: Easter Monday April 25
Activities: Packing Up Camp!!: Pack up camp and drive back to Port Macquarie for the night. Dispose of all rubbish. Take down tents. Pack car. Meals: Breakfast: Cereal and fruit. What actually happened:  Everything according to plan and with a helpful Willy Wagtail throw in to eat all the bugs and ants off thetents, the car, and all the gear as a departing gift.

ER's first camping trip a resounding success: "I wish we could stay here forever."

Forever?

"Well, maybe another week."

Suddenly Señorita in Sydney

2011-06-30 to 2011-12-11

One mañana in June I awoke to find myself suddenly soltera.

Just like that, three years of cultivated Aussie family life is over and a single life begins. And it's mine, all mine, cabrón. I’m across the world from familia, all my chicas and thinking, "ay, wey, y ahora que? Y a donde?"

Is it California calling or Sydney persuading? Particularly poignant is my favourite Marquez wisdom, "human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but...life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.” What then, Mexican-Italian American immigrant in Australia?

Si se puede, que viva la Mexicana en Sydney! The winning theme- Mexican. Sauce. New Australian. it begins with a Mexican Austronaut pachanga for a friend of a friend who can't decide on a theme so settles for both. A comal and jamaica mix arrive on my doorstep after I find an online Mexican food supplier- armed with a cookbook from home, I'll never have to have disappointing Mexican food in this town again. Fresh tomatillo salsa and quesadillas for Lee's birthday. La pelona (better than La Llorona, no?) unleashed for the Soul Ball with Adrian and Cristina. Cheryl's smiling face in Sydney, a bag of fresh tortillas and a gorgeous bottle of Patron in hand, to celebrate my cumpleaños.

Hawaii makes a great half way point to meet mis padres and enjoy island Mexican and margaritas with beautiful friends in Makawao. Okay, so my new, kick-ass roommate isn't Mexican foreign exchange student (I'm not mensa, no way I'm entering into desmadre), but French Canadian Jo is all inappropriate laughs and North American traditions. Not to mention there’s a mutual love of cream cheese happening here. And maybe my professional persona isn't a biologa traipsing through the venomous wilds of Australia, but I'm paid to love National Parks, support volunteers, and go camping (a lot), no quejas here…

I refuse to let another year pass by without dressing up for Halloween or celebrating Dia de los Muertos- just because I don't think I have enough calavera paraphernalia doesn't mean I can't call on los espiritus. There's no better way to show gratitude for all your blessings than to give gracias twice- Canadian Thanksgiving in October with French Guy and proper American Thanksgiving in November, sitting around a bountiful table with my favorite Aussies while we contemplate gratitude and the concept of a holiday with no presents!

Por supuesto, I have so much to be grateful for…the Friday Night Drink Club, regular beers with the boys; the Friday Lunch Club, Vietnamese food, Keno, and the ponies with my outrageous work compadres; yoga, with Lee and lots of strong, beautiful mujeres; the milagro gym, finding that "origin of energy" surrounded by good vibes and handsome men; long weekends away, wine tasting in South Australia with Jasmine (and contracting giardia) and hanging with Ken and Amanda in Brissie padres nuevos of a crying niño; the Sunday Drive Club, wandering the National Parks around Sydney in search of animales and rock art; and especially the relief of permanent residency.

A bevy of wonderful Aussie cultural traditions to adopt, I yearn to come out on top when it's time for a "Pinch and a Punch for the FIrst of the Month." And last but not least, mil gracias Facebook dude, for giving me the Saucedo Nation secret society on tap- it's easier to be worlds away when the pensamientos and pendejadas of the Nation are at my fingertips.

And so the year ends with my first ever Christmas tree in Sydney (never mind it's my fourth Christmas in country), which is, in the words of mi Mama, a "cultural hybrid gone berserk." Inspired by Lee: "Our tree is a branch we stole from Sydney Park." Found by Jo on Church Street, pointing to a dead tree on sidewalk: "Look, there's your Christmas tree." Dragged home and decorated by Diana: "Why yes, yes it is." All ornaments are handmade, objects from a past life or souvenirs of Sydney living. Knowing I didn't pay a single gold coin for it makes it priceless.

The Ohana Make the Place

2011-08-30 to 2011-09-02

“Not now Mom, I can’t be civilised, my head hurts.”

I am clinging to the hotel couch- jetlagged with a neck ache, bum foot, and left over stomach flu on my first morning in Waikiki. I travel, not a lot, but enough. I get sick, not a lot, but enough. When travel and malaise collide, chronicling misadventure helps reveals the humour in it....I swear.

This was not meant to be an adventure holiday, regardless of what the action-packed, SR inspired itinerary suggested. This was a people-holiday from the very beginning- an agreeable half-way meeting point for the parents and I. Dad won’t cross the entire Pacific for his Baby keiki (how can he, 82 and without a passport?), Mom is Hawaiiana at heart, and I need every excuse to use all my annual leave, flex, and evidently, sick time.

In Oahu, we don’t leave Honolulu. In fact, we barely leave Waikiki. After two solid days of couch clinging, I manage to enjoy evening drinks on the beach at the Sheraton with Mom, honor at Pearl Harbour with Dad, and have a late night shopping spree at Forever 21. We eat at Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville and watch bemused as people on the dance floor try to channel that twenty-something feeling.

Mornings are spent by the pool, Dad enjoying his Maccas, Mom her coffee, me my mango smoothie. I swim, Dad shops, Mom plays on her Blackberry, I sleep, they discover food courts and shopping malls. The jetlag subsides, the headaches disappear, but the limp remains.

“You getting old mija,” Dad says as he smacks my forehead. “Nice hat- where’d you get that?”

“Forever 21.”

Despite the disappointing call to not take a tour to the Polynesian Cultural Centre- Mom was not about to spend 8 hours on a bus with a crabby, sleep deprived daughter, we did manage to enjoy a little Hawaiian culture for free! We spent an afternoon at the Hilton and Royal Hawaiian Gardens where we were treated to the solemn crowning of the 2011 Aloha Festival royal family, hula dancing, ukelele music, and the Royal Hawaiian Band (the oldest municipal band in the US- a “true priviledge” as we were often reminded).

The morning of our flight to Maui we found ourselves in the capable hands of Mary, a former colleague of Mom’s, happily just returned to the islands. We lunched at Pearl Harbour and the parents made a date with Mary to tour the North Shore and eat garlic shrimp in a week’s time. Unhappily for Forever 21, it's the very day she boards the plane for Sydney.

"A very over-40s way to enjoy the North Shore,” said Mary.

Far out, a very Diana way to enjoy anywhere! Another something added to the list of reasons to ‘hurry up and come back’ to Hawaii.

Maui: Margarita, Mexican, Makawao, Molokini, Marvelous

2011-09-02 to 2011-09-09

"Not now Mommy, I can't answer you. My head hurts."

Not me this time, but Lilinoe, Corrine's famous "Overheard in Maui" three-year old, as she clung to the side of the pool. It goes to show that some things with daughters don't ever change.

We were welcomed to Maui with leis and beautiful smiles from Corinne and her bubs, Meleana and Lilinoe. I parted from my parents at the Kahalui Enterprise-rent-a-car, missing a chance for a shopping spree at Costco and a hairy sunset drive to West Maui, but gaining two lovely days with Corinne and her little laughter merchants in upcountry Makawao. We spent them well catching up on ten years over margaritas, Mexican food, and chocolate cake.

Mom and Dad enjoyed their breather from their high maintenance, sickly, TV hating, too-good-for-Maccas-breakfast, not-another-night-on-a–sofa-bed whinger of a daughter on their lanai at the Royal Kahana and I spent two blissful nights in Corinne’s guest bedroom with a view of rolling hills to the ocean.

We joined my parents for a morning poolside at the condo in Kahana and for a tour of Paia and Makawao- both days pushing the darling girls’ limits with late lunches and lots of activity. It’s a joy watching my father entertain little ones. There’s a double benefit for Mum- continuous laughter soundtrack followed by long nap.

While my parents wandered down Front Street in Lahaina, I geeked out in Corinne and Bard’s large library of culture, natural history and extinction. I paged hungrily through books on native birds- I had noticed the conspicuous absence of bird chatter in the mornings. At least we can’t blame it all on Captain Cook, Hawaiians did have a thing for decorous bird feather. Discovering the pockets of native flora and fauna farther up the mountain will have to wait for another trip- when I am the driver of my own rental car!

And speaking of discovery, because my parents and I drove down the mountain and missed the turn-off for sunset on the Haleakala crater- I decided we should try a backwards dinner of shave ice with ice cream (oh yes, ice cream) instead of wallowing in disappointment. Psshhaw craters! This is a roadside indulgence not to be missed.

A crater hike and long drive to Hana still remain on the bucket list but I did tick off a day of snorkelling at the Molokini crater and Shark Fin Bay in Lana'i. Clearly I missed my calling as a marine biologist/catamaran riding/snorkel tour guide- those gorgeous tanned people have it made.

In West Maui we caught up with the Thangaraj family, Mom’s former colleague Vijay (my 7th grade history teacher), wife Anita, and 13-year-old Suniva. We spent a lovely time on their lanai with a view to Molokai; toured the upper reaches of West Maui stopping at the Nakele Point blowhole, Honolua Bay, and the Ritz Carlton Kapalua (For the Hawaiian burial site that moved the Ritz and quality service from the Ritz security staff, of course. Our battery died, we needed a jump); and enjoyed a happy hour afternoon at Whaler’s Village that lead to a half-off and free black pearl at Maui Dive company for me (thanks to Suniva’s good luck and persistence) AND a free stand up paddle board lesson from Armadillo (the man, not the New World placental mammal), local surf instructor/singer-entertainer/ping pong buddy.

Armadillo took me on a whirlwind private lesson in Lahaina just hours before our plane back to Honolulu. I think I did all right. I certainly stopped falling off the board after mention of reef sharks- especially since I was coerced into paddling out to see them. I got a certificate- stoked.

New Sydney hobby in the making? We’ll see.

All in all, a holiday filled with lots of ohana love and sprinkled with chocolate and a smattering of adventure.

Public link to Hipstamatic Facebook photos here:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150303179544628.363648.654859627

Once upon a time in the Barossa

2011-11-03 to 2011-11-07

Jasmine and Diana rise early on a Thursday, meet half asleep at the gate and fly off for a 5 day adventure in South Australia. Arrival in Adelaide finds us ready to be naughty…indulging in beautiful coffee, chocolate truffles, and strawberries within a hour of landing. The sign that derails Diana in front of chocolatier on KIng William Road reads: "Forget falling in love, I'd rather fall into chocolate"…. Forget it Haights, you've got nothing on those little chocolate balls.

Ditching a plan to go the Clare Valley, really? Jusr Reislings?- they make a bold call to head straight to the Barossa Valley.

How two single girls pick a winery:

1. Recommendations of others- Sure.

2. Cute guys the advertisement- Yes.

3. Dogs lounging out the front- Absolutely.

At Charles Melton, our first delicious meal, we decide the rules, wink at the table of single men, and pet the dogs while we eat. Cabernet Sauvignon and steak pie!

Jasmine: We must go to Rockfort. Diana: Okay, but anything with "chateau" in the label can bite me. This is a mainly red tour we're on. Jasmine: But I keep being told I need to develop a palate for chardonnay. Diana: Who tells you that? Slap them.

St. Hallet has yummy Grenache. Diana has found a new love.

Every movement is played out on Facebook, from morning coffee, to desgustation, to a cellar door cycling marathon. Our gorgeous room at the Novotel overlooks the vines, the pool is icy cold, and they are lucky last girls at the evening wine tasting. Moorooroo has stunning Shiraz of the normal and organic variety. The vintner chases them out the door with two unfinished bottles as they head to dinner: Why don't you take these ladies, since you liked them so much. Don't mind if we do.

No need to order the tasting menu at Appellation, because even the a la carte menu is almost too much delight to stomach all at once: sparkling rain water. Jas: rose. Diana: sparkling shiraz. Oysters with carrot lime sauce. Cauliflower soup. Rye bread with carroway seed. Wagyu beef, watercress dumplings, salad & plum sauce. Mocha mousse with sorbet. And then dessert! Diana: some other chocolate thing. Jas: peanut butter & jelly terraine with almond praline.

Jas on men: Shit just comes out of their mouth until they are old....it's probably more like until they die. Diana nods enthusiastically, but can't speak through the chocolate.

In the morning, Jas hits up the organic markets and Diana sleeps in. And now for the calorie burning- they suck down a coffee, hop on bikes and hit the wineries as they open for business. On the Para Wine trail, Diana geeks out at the Peter Lehmann gallery, glass of Shiraz in hand, and photographs the original paintings of her favourite wine labels. At Langmeil it's the star treatment for cycling in 30 degree heat that seals their fate- the refreshing sparkling sends them over the edge. They leave vowing up and down to order a box of grenache and shiraz, bewailing their inadequate bike baskets, wallets breathing a sigh of relief.

Somewhere on a lonely dirt road surrounded by vineyards, sweating vino in the dry heat, and seeing Jasmine cruising like a pro half a kilometre up the road, Diana decides the truth is she does not like bikes. In the settling dust of yet another passing car, Veritas comes into view. The winery’s punch line: En vino veritas. Reward for clarity.

Culinary decisions are Jasmine's call and though Diana's never heard of Maggie Beer or developed a taste for pate, she’s game to refuel and relax with a rich plate of chicken moulded into a lump and watch the peacocks preen at Maggie Beer's Farm. Looking down at her chicken rillete and bread, Diana has the nerve to say: I need butter. Jasmine: There's duck fat at the bottom of your chicken, just use that. Diana: Whaaa-at?

But maybe duck fat was just the brain food Diana was missing, because after lunch she's inspired to try more than just third gear (of 21 mind you) and bam! Eat my dust Jas! She's smoking on the dirt roads to Whistler (cool iron sculptures in the garden, but uninspiring wines) and Two Hands (a recckie, but the hot guys on the brochure aren't there!).

From the Barrossa, it's back to Adelaide to kick it with Angela and Michael, for more food, more wine, and the McLaren Vale- no bikes this time, but certainly a swim in first.

Go ducks! At Woodstock winery, it's duck egg over a mushroom tart and a Grenache Rose for lunch.

To DogRidge. Where Diana falls in love with Fred, the vintner; his mother, the artist; the gallery, full of too much to chose from; a painting, the 'very splendid fairy wren'; fresh olive oil, with homemade bread; and the curly haired dog, enough said. Two and a half hours later….after becoming part of the furniture, making a round of coffee, and the tenth "But wait, you can't leave yet, you haven't tried…" from Fred, Diana skips out with a painting and two bottles of wine, alas, no single brothers to get her into the family. I have a naughty brother, can you keep a secret? Yes!…I mean, No!

Diana: Tell your mother I'll gesso her canvases for her.

Fred: Is that like code for something?

Diana: *sigh*

Michael, hopped up on DogRidge coffee, now chauffeurs three very saucy ladies: one who can't give directions, one that keeps paying him out for his very-Adelaide accent, and one who thinks she's developing gout but can't stop laughing.

Ange: Do I remember the way? We were here in May!

Michael: Yeah. It wasn't very long ago.

Diana: Don't listen to the drunk girl.

Ange: I'm a Rutter, I can read a map.

Diana: What's happening? Where are we?

Ange: We're turning around. I gave the wrong directions.

Five minutes later…

Ange: I don't know where we are! Is that okay?

Diana: Oh God, every thing you say is hilarious.

Abge: I don't want to let the team down.

Five minutes later…

Ange: Oh my God! I'm a failure! You haven't gone to Primo! I've failed, I'm sorry. I can't read the map anymore.

Michael: Primo's the prize.

Diana: Michael, you deserve a medal for this.

Michael: Hang on! I got it!….Wait, this is a subdivision. WTF.

Two other wineries (that were definitely not Primo) pass through their lips and under the wheels…no recollection and no souvenirs, so either we were blind by then or they weren't that good. There's no asking Michael.

Jasmine: Say really.

Michael: Rally.

Jas: That's so Adelaide.

Michael: Really?

Diana: Ooo, i think I'm gonna be sick.

Michael: What? Are you unwell? Is your gout flaring up?

Diana: bah ha haha!

Michael: What's in the box?

Diana: Bah ha ha ha!

And so ends a five day tour of South Australia, excellent company, delicious food, addictive wine, and the glory of duck fat.

Ange: Thank you for visiting the McLaren Vale….

Diana: I can't feel my lips.

Monkey Town, Malaysia

2013-04-10 to 2013-04-23

They asked me if I was excited. They asked me what I was looking forward to the most. The answers were: No...and...Sleep. Ok, so not the most auspicious way to start Six- Months-Free but I had just busted my butt for three months straight to make it all happen. And before I go any further I must again express my undying gratitude and love for You-That-Made-It-Possible, You-Know-Who-You-Are.


MONKEY FEAR. I have it. Perhaps because the words of the Travel Doctor echo in my conscientious ears: If you're not getting vaccinated then do not touch mammals. Or let them touch you. So on my second day in KL, the Ampang hood rat monkeys thought I reeked of unvaccinated fear and wouldn't give me the time of day. Amanda got all the good shots and I got chased down the street.

AMANDA. Nothing says friendship like picking up where you left off, two years later. She welcomed me to KL as if it were my second home and not a day had gone by since our last girlie catch -up. In her swish Ukay Heights apartment, I not only found a better shower than I've ever had in Sydney and the sweetest view of KL city lights, but a place to lay my head to decompress, debrief, download, unwind, go comatose, catch a cold, sleep in, and spend my days with my face buried in puppy fur. Ulu, her dumpster mutt rescue, has the kindest soul and eyes that swallow you whole.

LOVE. Food is love. Sharing good food with good friends is like being in love. Fine, I exaggerate, but you know what I mean. If we weren't eating love (market stall Thai, Mexican enchiladas [oh yes], Vietnamese pancake, Malaysian mall food, or Chinese dumplings), we were talking about it. Not just about boys people, come now, we're more complex creatures - but love of art, travel, culture, friends (shout out to Leslie and Bridgette)...all the things that make this time of our lives so amazing...and so blessed. Ok, and lots about boys too.

ADVENTURE. "I'm adventurous -I walk down the unbeaten path!" Amanda is yelling as she tears down a thankfully well-worn path at FRIM (the Forest Research Institute of Malaysia) towards what promises to be the area's claim to fame - a restored rain forest canopy that doesn't touch. After already surviving a dodgy canopy walkway made of rope and oddly placed ladders, I was glad we weren't going down the previous overgrown snake infested path the map had shown of the Denai Sellah trail. But it's a reminder on an already epic journey to do something everyday that scares me a little - like waking up before 10 am sometimes....

Y - Yikes. I packed too much crap and yes, I have too many tubes of stuff, Lee, and you were right John, I didn't need that pair of jeans. Mad props to the Bestie who carried 18 kilos around on her One-Year-Free, but no amount of dead lifts and squats prepares me to lug around 15. Eagerly I await the day of depleted toiletries, clothes left in the rubbish bin, and a bag full of art work.

SOLO. "You single? You come alone? You so brave!" No. Just tired of waiting for my turn, so here I am. Checking the solo traveler reviews on TripAdvisor, smiling a little, frowning when required, remembering not to wear spaghetti straps and to cover my shoulders, because if I don't....the Lonely Planet says people will think I want local boyfreen, look for good time. It's true. The resort chef hit me up the other night when I was in my singlet dress, to tell me how much the women love him, but how all he's really ever wanted in life was babies....mmmm.

ISLAND. And nothing says romance like whisking one-self away to a 5D/4N luxury resort getaway on an island in the South China Sea. The flight to Pulau Tioman met the day's criteria for scary thing, as it did nothing but ascend, rise, and fly straight up into the sky before dropping down, plop, onto a most gorgeous, glittery isle. I didn't know I had small plane fear either. Promptly cured by sleep, sun, sea, swim, eat, sleep, massage, hike, sleep, read, swim, and water bubbles.

ANNA KARENINA. Speaking of love - it's impossible. And so is reading Tolstoy when you're sick, shattered, adjusting to tropical heat and a new culture, let alone remembering not to drink water from the tap. I'll take the lesson on the perils of passionate love and our inevitable metaphysical solitude and save it for another day....and walk away with this - the meaning of it all... "to live for God, to live for the soul."

48 Hours: Singapore

2013-04-24 to 2013-04-26

It's not nearly long enough. For all the great advice and trip notes I collected, 48 hours means exploring only a small corner of the Lion City...I maintain there should always be something to come back to anyway.

SHOTS. Escaping the hot, hot heat with an iced coffee in ‘shots’ coffeehouse on Ann Siang Hill; it’s somewhere like home - head nodding hip hop tunes, iphonography on the wall, buzzing on sweet iced coffee, hipsters on laptops, tourists asking if this is my local....barista says “street party tonight, you coming?” I’m leaving tonight. Dammit.

INTERNETS. wifi connected, I’ve got the passwords to every corner of Chinatown. It’s sweet salve to the sleep deprived, when every hotel I walk into has bugs on the wall or worse yet crawling in the bed. Two nights, two hotels; I traded creepy crawlies at a hostel for an all night street hawker music jam at a proper hotel, with respite from the hours of 2:30 to 5:30 am. Hey, that’s a decent nap, right?

NOT....in my 20s anymore. Hostels are definitely out - paper thin walls, showers over the toilets (oh, wait, nevermind, this is common everywhere), plastic on the mattresses (don’t stop the crawlers), and hordes of people waiting in the lobby, on the stairs, or surrounding the water machine in the kitchen. Going from a four star resort on Tioman to 5footprints in Chinatown was clearly a rookie mistake. I’m sure I’ll toughen up sooner or later, but for the time being, flashpack.

GO. [adjective] being in a state of fitness for some experience or action. Sleep deprivation rots the will, we know this. And it will be a common theme of my trip, I know. I arrived in Singapore hot, tired, and missing the luxury of Malaysia. An entire city nation of must-do things is a daunting prospect when there’s no cheerleader standing next to you. Thirty minutes stuck in a plastic tube on the Singapore Flyer with two maniacal children is tough going- especially without someone to whine to - I lose! But solo wandering happily around the city after the dark- I win!

ART. It’s a good thing that I was on one meal a day at hawker stalls, since I busted my SGD budget on artwork. “But Singapore is so expensive!” was the common cry when I mentioned my next destination. It’s too hot to eat anyway. If the mad money is spent on artwork that someday hangs on the wall of the mythical house I may, or may not, eventually settle in(*cough*) , then it’s worth it to me.

PANTS. Weeks later I will be stopped at midnight on the street in Seoul after a parade and asked, “where did you get your pants!?” Retail therapy takes strange forms and splurging $20 on two pairs of Nepalese balloon pants proves to be one of the best purchases of 2013. I can find myself when photographed in a crowd, keep cool in obscenely hot heat, and they double as a jumper suit! Fancy that, fancy pants.

ONDEH ONDEH. Best dessert ever made by my own hand- sweet potato dumplings with gula melaka covered in fresh coconut. “Oh, yours are jumbo size!” says the cooking teacher. Um, American? Simon, they are filled with hot palm sugar and if you eat them still warm, it oozes out into your mouth and the angels sing.

RALLY. At the end of the day I am a night owl, mornings are nice, afternoons are for naps...and the nights, the nights are for Singapore Slings. One mustn't leave Singapore without having at least one at the Raffles Hotel Long Bar (and just one, they are $26!). Win! I made sweet eye love with the band, trip journaled at the bar, and sang along with them to Barry White, Cole Porter, Neil Diamond, Tina Turner, the Temptations, Louis Armstrong...and INXS. “You writing a book?” says Eddie, the lead singer....only about myself, Eddie, only about me. 

EAT. A morning at the Food Playground cooking school is time well spent, no matter how long you have in town. Daniel’s business is less than 2 years old, but it’s flourishing. His inspiration, besides a love of damn fine food, is to ‘provide meaningful employment opportunities for seniors and stay-home mothers as cooking instructors and helpers.’ And it works. Daniel, Helen and Auntie are wonderful hosts. They welcomed us in, told great food stories, and had us sharing our experiences and love of food like old friends. Carrot cake isn’t cake or made from carrots, but well worth chowing down on at the Singapore Food Trail or the Maxwell Street markets. And yes, it is common for entire families make trips to Malaysia for durian...(why?!).

It's part history lesson and part cooking class, followed by delightful three course lunch. Four Aussies and one almost Aussie, we got our hands dirty making our own satay sauce, eyes watering from sizzling chili, tossed our own char kway teow, and indulged in play-do-like fun making ondeh ondeh and devoured it all in minutes....except for 3 ondeh ondeh, which tasted amazing as I stood in the middle of Pagoda St as a crowd of shoppers swirled around me(*smacking lips, licking fingers*).

Welcome to Saigon!!

2013-04-27

Should Woulda Coulda. Picked up that entry visa in Australia. But no, waited until a late night arrival with every other foreigner getting off three planes. Friday night lights at Vietnamese immigration is the great equalizer. Lucky first in line, subsequent tourists were most entertaining to watch. Serious Man at the window doesn’t care who you are or if you already paid someone else something for your entry. Pony up the $45, you look silly arguing through glass.

And shoulda woulda coulda changed my money before leaving the airport, but instead hand the taxi driver a $10 bill for the airport exit fee, only to watch him try and pocket thousands of Vietnamese Dong in change on the sly. I’ve only been here five minutes! Give this girl a chance to just try and not look like a sucker. I got all my Dong back by the way, precious as they are.

Acceptance. I am that traveler...you know the one you tell to make a left out of the hotel and she takes a right and gets lost within 2 minutes? That’s me. But luckily in Ho Chi Minh, that means finding strong, yet sweet coffee, a French bakery with warm croissants, wandering aimless eating said warm croissants and happening upon a $2 bowl of pho. Bliss. 

Independence Palace. All I really did was sleep and eat - early to bed and late to rise at the Hotel Thien Loc...2...and wander a bit around town with new roomie, Jo . As we stood at the gates to the palace and ventured a peek in, we were offered the first of a thousand proffered rides. “Welcome to Saigon! Not Ho Chi Minh!" screeched the moto driver. “Where you from!?”

"Shhh, I’m American" I reply. "They might be listening!" We scoot safely across the street laughing as he flies his fist in protest, "I'm not afraid of the Viet Cong!" You're not maybe.

Gone. Just like that. Thirty-six hours - it was long enough to learn a few lessons about my internal compass and the cost of hotel snacks, eat my favorite food (Banh xeo!!), make some new friends, and death march my bag across town in stinking hot heat to grab the bus to Cambodia.

Oh Really...the beginning of the trip long catchphrase craze. The start of something wonderful. Sixteen Intrepid travelers unite for the unknown and the unexpected. Sareth So, our Cambodian guide, starts us off with a bit of humor, a bit of delightful sarcasm, and a few tips about not patting people on the head. 

Noise. The sooooound! Never mind the sights and smells, I’d forgotten the Saigon sound. It won’t happen again. From the taxi driver that prefers his seatbelt safety alert to actual safety, to the roaming motorcycle hoardes, the cranky automobile honking, and the grumbling aircons, to the running toilets, the market heckling, and the whirring, whining 1960s era fans...the din makes an indelible mark on your psyche.

Somehow it was rest. Physical and mental preparation for the next thirteen days....because it was about to get.... itinerant, ambulatory, errant, gallivanting, nomadic, peripatetic, ranging, roaming, roving, vagrant (vagabundo!), wandering, wayfaring - ‘Cambodia trekkers’ ready to move.

Intrepid Kampuchea

2013-04-28 to 2013-05-06

Sixteen Trekkers and one Cambodian guide march off one stinking hot morning, to have various and sundry adventures, as a brilliant humour unit from Ho Chi Minh to Bangkok.

COFFEE. Lesson #1. Acceptance of addiction is the first step to recovery. Lesson #2. Better to drink shitty coffee regardless, because migraines suck a lot. I am the Girl-Who-Needs-Morning-Fix. Never mind the Smokers Club, I need my personality in a cup. After what becomes known as the “Ho­Chi­Minh forced march” from our hotel to the public bus stop with all our gear, I steadily succumb to a blinding headache on our 7 plus hour journey to Phnom Penh (pronounced (yell it) Nom Peinguh!) as a result of coffee snobbery. Lucky Cambodian coffee with sweet milk is not shitty and I don't suffer the effects of caffeine withdrawal again until 'shitty regardless' becomes a different kind of story. Just be careful, Cambodians will sweeten your morning coffee beyond reason just to please you, resulting to 'holy cow, I can't drink this' face and the pity of the Smokers. Alas, my first arvo in Phnom Penh is spent sleeping off the halos and I miss the Adventure Eaters consuming baby duck things at the market. Happily, I do join the Trekkers later by the river for my first taste of Amok!, arriving by moto…one eye peeking through my fingers as we weave in and out of crazy Asia road dance.

ATROCITY. The systematic genocide of Cambodians by Cambodians is as young and fresh as our tour group. The Trekkers moved as a collective decision making unit sharing almost every tour experience together (with the exception of exclusion by Toilet Hugging). The morning spent at Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum (Security Prison, S21) and the Killing Fields were the most sobering hours of our surreal tour landscape. Unfathomable to the masses and hard to reconcile…as you stand in a high school classroom turned Khmer Rouge torture chamber…that people died from 1975-1979 in the most cruelest ways in this quiet room. Under a beautiful sun, like the very one shining down on the blooming frangipani outside. If it's not real enough, then maybe walking through the Killing Fields and looking down to see that you are standing on the bone fragments of entire generations…or looking up at a towering monument to victims filled with their weathered skulls…drives home the brutal loss of 'thousand thousand thousand.' I have one memory of meeting the Cambodian refugees my mother taught English in the 1980's. I now understand it is a picture of incomprehensible grief.

MUNCHY. Beetles, tarantula, water bugs, ants, creatures in various stages of eggy development, and countless other bizarre and pseudo-hygienic foods were consumed by the Adventure Eaters. Soft on culinary curiosity, I only tried beetle thingys and winged ants and spider wine. What's novel to us is the way it is for a poor populace far too familiar with starvation. And adventurous or playing it safe, we nearly all succumbed at some point to uncontrollable MOTIONS. And then only questionably controlled, somewhat better living through chemistry. The Chemists were kept busy dolling out the remedies from their well equipped travel pharmacies. For every other ailment, there was booze.

BUGS. For breakfast. Ok yeah, they're pretty tasty. When at Chambok Homestay, eat as the locals do. After a short night of giggle sleepover under mosquito net and waking at 5am to the sound of forest, farm, and human, I spent the morning taking Cambodia lessons. I couldn't bare the thought of a morning hike to picturesque waterfall in blistering heat and opted for a sweaty game of soccer kite (pronounced…oh, never mind) with the Commune Teacher, Skinny (the Best Driver Ever) and Sareth. Chambok commune is home to 9 villages with a population of 3,500 people. They've been in the ecotourism business since 2003, previously refugees from the politics of government vs Khmer Rouge. 'I think maybe some are Khmer Rouge, no longer cruel,' says Sareth, 'but kind.' After breakfast the Teacher and I get deep, discussing community development and illiteracy and the politics of ignorance and jealousy. He's an outsider looking in, doing the best he can while he earns enough money to someday marry his sweetheart, who he sees once a month in Phnom Penh to hold hands with because she lives half a country away…

...BUS. Public, private, air con, broken air con, toilets, broken toilets, only a toilet at the rest stop…which might have a revered statue of Mrs. Mao, Patron of Safe Passage and curiously enough, Linga…yes, she keeps her hidden stash of giant stone penises behind the shed. Just make sure you get baptised and a choose-your-own-bracelet-blessing before you move on to Sianoukville.

-Smells funny in the bus. 'Someone stepped in the bull shit!'
-Now there are bugs on the bus. 'We've got a screamer!'
-Mozzie spray gasses us all. 'Now we're spaying on the bus?!'
-Oh wow, they love their emo-relationship-music-video-epics. Fun to narrate when theres no sound, worse when there is. What the hell is happening on that TV, Sareth? 'In Cambodia there is no friendship between boys and girls. Only hidden love,' he sagely replies. Lesson #3?

BEER. I have my first public threading on the beach in Sianoukville as the Brazilians struggle to get a cold beer. 'Is the beer cold?' becomes a country-wide catch phrase, a frustrated lament, a continuous joke, and an epic triumph when it really, really does come out cold. I end up with more pictures of Angkor-my-country-my-beer in my hand as the days go by…when it's cheaper than water and the Brazilians are calling, when in Cambodia….just make sure you also ask for a bucket of ice!

(Ok, you're wondering why on earth I'm getting my legs threaded on a beach in public? Why not? Outdoor grooming is contagious…and when in Sianoukville, do as the tourists do.)

...BIKES. Kampong Cham, most rewarding day. Sareth says be ready at 3 for a ride across a bamboo bridge. A bamboo what now? A Bike Posse assembles for an incredible afternoon, riding across the latest version of said bamboo bridge spanning the mighty Mekong river, a gateway to another world. It washes away every year when the flood waters rise…cutting off the island village on the other side. Bike Posse screams 'hello!' to waving children, explores the Buddhist temple, and has a privileged moment to sneak into the local classroom. The monk motions to us to sit, learn the lesson and then…teach it! No better way to confuse all those smiling, eager faces than to add Scottish, American, Brazilian, Australian, and German accents to their English lesson. I can still hear a little voice chorus of One, Two, Three, Four, Five! (As well as the sound of a kitten screaming while the monk stood on its tail). Hands down one of the most beautiful moments in my time.

We watch the sunset set in the distance as we ride back across the river, just in time to catch the locals line dancing to Brazilian music on the promenade. Day most excellent topped off with a tuk tuk ride to home stay dinner with a local family, food from the (uh) local market, cold beer and spider hooch, watching the Little Kid and Adventure Eaters hang dead spiders out of their mouths, playtime on the floor, taking selfies with gorgeous children that make you want to steal a baby. In fact, I think the Brazilians did 'steal' the Little Kid…

OH (W)REALLY? Every holiday has its verbal soundtrack. Ours sounded a little something like this: OhWowAmazingIncredibleFuckingShitScungeyStingyWhoIsTheManagerHere? IsTheBeerCold?IsItStrong?VeryStrongWhatIsThisPlace?AngkorW(h)atSunset!
ONE DOLLAH!

DANCE. Anywhere, anytime. In my seat in the bus, on the street, in my head as I lay with a fever in bed…which sadly meant I missed dancing by grope at HipHop in Siem Riep. But did have a good moment or two at the Temple Bar, complete with my own video version of 'Call Me Maybe.' No, I'm not posting it.

ISLAND. First best day on tour, second day in Sianoukville. Trekkers vote for the boat-swim-snorkel-fish-picnic option. An idyllic day spent motoring around islands on a Cambodian fishing boat, swimming, snorkelling, and more swimming (swimmy swim swim), taking ridiculous my-holiday-is-awesome photographs, lunching on grilled fish and beer (is it cold?) on the beach, hiking across the island for more…swim! and browning up in the sun (or burning up as the case may be) with beautiful people.

David: Diana, so, you know what I want you to do?
Diana: What?
David: So, I need you to lay down in the water and then jump out, throwing your hair back over your head. I want that picture.
Diana: ….like from the movie Ten?!
David: Yes! Holly get ready.
Diana: Shit, you're serious (a first)…..You're lucky I like you David, I wouldn't do this for just anybody.

ANKGOR W(H)AT. Despite anything I’ve said before, diarrhoea is the great equalizer. No one is spared the horror, everyone suffers same same but different. Doesn’t matter if you never drank the water from the tap, used only hygienic ice, avoided all insect meals, and ate only rice - your days are numbered. I didn’t fall as quickly as some, or as late as others, but when I fell, it was most untimely. On the eve of our arrival at Angkor Wat, great expectation's highlight- I had to plead with the Poop Gods to let me see just one sunset over the temples….they grudgingly obliged. I gritted my teeth and held my belly to the top of…I don't know which temple. No sunset to speak of, unless you count the moment an orange orb poked through clouds and everybody screamed, “Oh wow! Oh look!” and then it was gone. More fun to yell “Oh wow, oh look!” and make tourists run cameras first towards disappointment. While the Trekkers spent the evening lounging by pools and arguing with insulting tuk tuk drivers, I thrashed in the sheets with a fever, chills, and body aches.

I rallied big time for the day tour. 'Oh wow! Amazing! It's incredible.' More so that we all survived 35 plus degree heat and I made it through with only a few mad dashes to the luxury tourist toilets. Favourite moment after our last temple (oh God, another temple?!): the little girl trying to sell me temple stuff points to my hand on my belly. ‘You pregnant lady?’ No, just my tummy hurts. “Oh, you want toilet? Go? (makes face and pretends to bare down) Toilet over there!” she points and laughs. Ha…ha.

Roomies: Special shout out to Joanne, Holly, Tessa, Tall David & Luke. Indebted to other Tall David for letting me crash in his Bangkok room while he suffered at the River Kwai. Served you right for making me google the theme song.

Photo credit: Accidental strategy is traveling with Camera People. Gratitude for many of the snappy pics goes to Gayle, Holly, Roberto, Luana, Hannah, Jeremy, David and Luke.

Bangkok Baby!

2013-05-07 to 2013-05-09

Reader Beware: If you are a teetotaller or take offense to tales of nether regions with super powers, then read no further. Skip to the photos...or read other entries. Or something.

BANG. Going out with...more BUCKET! Reasonable people have to get seriously liquored up to consider braving the wilds of Bangkok after midnight in search of a ping-pong show. After hours of traveling from Cambodia and a farewell dinner on Khao San Road, we assembled for the inevitable. Under the direction of the Bangkok Bucket List Master (aka ‘I did my homework’), we started ticking the boxes with hookahs and large quantities of liquid delight. Imagine then, this pack of silly foreigners wandering the streets demanding bemused Thai taxi drivers take them to Patpong and bar ‘Super (Insert Slang for Nether Region Here) only!' It was quite the chorus. Judge us not, this is no Hangover sequel. We're just curious and we didn't start any bar fights.

ATTACHMENT. Don’t have it in general, but definitely not in Bangkok. Not to a place, an idea, a person, a taxi fare, free wifi, a time to meet, a direction, timely service of a meal, to your money, or the hour, or what you think private parts may or may not be capable of.... If you let go and realise it’s all about the journey and enjoying the moment for what it is, then almost anything is survivable and nothing is worth getting your back up...if you are lucky, you’ll laugh about it later.

NAUGHTY. We witnessed the Ping-pong Mistress of Doom take the Scottish Sensei’s chin in her hands and say something to the effect of ‘Baby, you don’t know the power you have in your (Insert Slang for Nether Region Here).’ I’d like to say we all rushed her face with alcohol sanitizer in hands outstretched...but I can’t remember...all I know is that we cheered on the Bucket List Master as he smacked down three out of five airborne ping pongs...that we beheld projectile darts massacre balloons from afar and observed blowing of smoke amongst other weirdness. I am sure a menu somewhere said something about peeling bananas, but I draw the line at playing with food. And yes...there are menus for this kind of madness. Read about it on Wikipedia if you want.

KHAO SAN ROAD. Reasonable people must continue imbibing the bucket, play drinking games and dance with hippies and lady boys into the wee hours of the morning... in the hopes that what has been seen in Wrongtown can be unseen...or dulled, at the very least. Beforehand us Lucky Ladies, the only ones properly attired to be allowed in the Sky Bar before closing, got to wash our exposed skin unceremoniously in the bar’s fancy bathroom sinks. Yes, I think I will pinch that orchid to adorn my hair. It makes me feel clean inside. The Khao San Road clearly never closes, even when you think it is, they are just getting the furniture out of the way and shutting off the music so the po-po can do their obligatory late night cruise down the street....once out of sight, it’s back to business baby.

OASIS. After days of little to no sleep I needed... Sanctuary Esmeralda! A bungled booking at our original hotel gave one of the Brazilians my last name and left no room for me. Happily, Holly and Barnsey were to the rescue. While Barnsey ditched us for some historically important elsewhere, I kept his luxurious hotel room company and joined Holly for refreshment by the pool. As Hannah so sagely remarked, ‘everyone needs a Holly in their life’...and I am infinitely grateful for the restorative time spent swimming, philosophizing, drinking, and shopping with her and marauding through the Royal Palace and Wat Po the next day with the Aussie Laughter Merchants.

KNIT. (v. to cause to grow together, to become drawn together.) We didn’t have to, but we did, knit and bind with enthusiasm and good humor...experiencing each Cambodian and Bangkok moment together and apart, as individuals and a collective. I was sorry to move on, since some of the Trekkers still had a few more days to carry on in the city (and carry on they did, God love ‘em). But something tells me I might have ruined myself further if I’d stayed. It was amazeballs and now we all have fab friends to visit around the world.

Karma Korea: Seoul for the Soul

2013-05-10 to 2013-05-24

SOUL. The path to happiness is a world with the Buddha. The message throughout Karma Korea, a country bedazzled with lotus lanterns in celebration of the Buddha’s birthday. A fortuitous arrival atmosphere for reinforcement of the lesson of 'non-attachment'. As we head down the mountain from Bemeosa Temple, outside of Busan, where Nancy and I spent 48 hours in the 'Resting Rest' templestay program and enjoy our very own solo tea party with a buddhist monk, I ask...

"Why am I so tired Nancy?"
"You woke up at 5 am. You slept on the floor of a temple. You did 108 prostrations. You dropped an iPad on your toe. You traveled all the way across the country on 3 hours of sleep. You had a monk's breakfast and then twenty cups of green, yellow and Ginseng tea, a latte, and an Earl Grey...so, yeah...don't really know," she replies.
"Oh..."

Tired but also grieving. At home my mother grapples with the inevitable loss of our Wise Uncle Harris and I am thousands of miles away. I should be there...yet am right where I'm supposed to be. I honour family by ringing Confucian bells of filial piety atop the Hwaseong fortress walls and vow 108 times on the Bemeosa temple floor to be happy and enjoy the life I've been given. I promised him that in our last conversation so many months ago...Returning from Busan, I watch a cultivated country pass by and count my prayer beads, the second greatest treasure in my home, I am told, after myself. I am grateful to be with family at this time. Nancy's strong presence and companionship keeps me centered and present...and as always, in good humour.

EAT. Kimchi, it makes my world new. This is fitting, as I child I hated kimchi on my Nonna's behalf, because her wayward husband brought it to the table every day, ruining her otherwise perfect Italian meals. Now while I wouldn't dare pair it up with spaghetti (sorry Nonno), I am a convert to both the taste and the power of kimchi. Whatever gastrointestinal malaise I acquired in SE Asia is cured after two days in Seoul. And I want to eat it with everything, well, maybe not my morning coffee and croissant (so Korean, I tell you), but definitely with every bowl of bibimbap, sizzling plate of BBQ, pot of ginseng chicken soup and french fries (oh yes, fries) that I can shovel down!

With Nancy and Bekah, I discover the joy of Mexican food made new at Vatos Tacos in Itaewon...margaritas and kimchi fries make a very balanced breakfast. Good for any meal, really. Nancy and I storm the bar one night to wage war against hanger, bombarding our bellies with kimchi carnita fries, fish tacos, quesadillas and margaritas. It's Nancy’s first fish taco, sold to her by a Korean from Torrance, CA, in his fusion restaurant in Seoul. Massive margaritas mean big laughs. "It’s ok, it’s nice to see people happy," says the sullen Zambian diplomat sitting next to us, after I apologise for possibly hitting him with ringlets thrown back in hysterics.

I’m a fortunate girl to know awesome people that show me the best local eats no matter where I land. Friends Jade and Heidi generously treat me to an evening of adventure eating and lively conversation. I meet them at Jongo­5­ga to wander the night market, revel at street food and partake of First Dinner as the locals do: mung bean pancake, blood sausage, lung and liver bits, washed down with cloudy sake...followed by a cup of deep fried silk worm for the road. Treats in hand, we head up Namman Hill to view of the city lights and take a cynical moment to survey the thousands of hearts locked down in love at the base of Seoul Tower. Then quick! Back down the hill through a series of alleyways for Second Dinner....a most fascinating chicken soup ritual...move over caldo de pollo, I'm all for Korean chicken soup for the soul mixed with kimchi, ginseng, garlic, and noodles, boiled up at the table. Complimented with soju, it’s my kind of medicine!

OUTDOORS. Recreation! Korea is all about being neon clad for a bit of mountaineering. A splendidly equipped people, they dominate the great outdoors with the cunning use of hiking sticks. Which are necessary, because they also don’t believe in using switchbacks. Go straight up the mountain or stay home. I earn many an awry look from the hiking masses the afternoon I spend in Bukhansan National Park. She has no sticks, no neon, no face mask and ducks in and out of temples?!...in reality I am just the only foreigner for miles. After awhile I am used to it...often the only white girl, or girls, on the mountain, in the restaurant, on the train, in the temple, in the village!Always grateful for more outdoors, I enjoy my first zip line experience at Yongsin Mountain Recreational Park, after a rather long detour due to testy GPS units and ever changing signage. "That's how we get around this country," says Bekah, "On dumb luck. The sign never says 'hey the mountain you want to climb is that way! ' It's all hangul squiggle!"

UNWIND. In Korea I do. My first morning in Seoul is spent at Icheon International Airport in a private sleeping room of the spa wearing a pair of baggy pajamas. Yes, thanks, I will help myself to the sauna and go for a swim, consamida! Then I shower and eat bibimbap. The Korean rail company, Korail, advertises 'refresh your life with a train!' And I do. Traveling back and forth, to Seoul from Nancy’s apartment in suburban Pyeongtaek, back and forth from Seoul to Busan, back and forth to somewhere out there to Bukhansan National Park, I discover the power of train ride refreshment. No dangerous roads to watch, potholes, claustrophobic traffic, or long lights....just last minute platform changes that mess with a girl wearing an 18 kilo pack, the crush of pushy humanity, and turnstyles that impale you and your 18 kilo pack. Kidding, it was all really nice when it wasn’t peak hour on the metro and signs were in English....unlike the roads, which when navigated by my Travel Buddies, is all squiggly line, squiggly line....squiggle.

LOTUS LANTERN. Recipe for a Strong Happy day: make new friends at royal palace, crash lantern making party and march in festival parade. The spirit of the trip really begins here. We meet Charlie outside of Changdeokgung Palace of an afternoon and commandeer him into our merry band. We walk into Bukchon to see the old hanok, shops and guest houses. Nancy's good plan to witness the Lotus Lantern Festival comes together as we stroll into square outside of Jogyesa temple, my first glimpse of lantern majesty. As we storm the Korean Tourist Organisation lantern making party (we are tourists after all) we are invited to sit down and create our own light-up lotus lantern, complete only with our ultimate prayer for life taped to the bottom.

The KTO group then gets premier seating along the wide Jongro parkway where we join thousands of locals to cheer on mile after mile of brightly lit floats depicting animals and moments of the Buddhas life, followed by dancers, acrobats, monks and city folk carrying every possible lantern imaginable. The highlight (after a tasty roadside snack of beers and egg bread, a new favourite) is joining said wonderful parade, lantern alight, and waving to the masses as we walk down Jongro-­go in celebration. We later keep the party going by diving down a random restaurant staircase, emboldened by menus with pictures, to enjoy the random and generous meal that appears before us as we sit cross legged on the floor with locals.

Rome to Pompei: Joy and Gelato.

2013-05-25 to 2013-05-28

ROMA.

'Te cambia la cara, Roma, eh,' says the woman to her companion, whose arms are flung out beside her, face to the sun, as they walk down Via Veneto. I smile wide as I pass them. No truer scene, of many wonderful scenes, on my Roman holiday.

ROAM. Rome all afternoon, forget the map. Two days in a row I am impromptu tour guide for friends, Andrea and Mark. I love it every time I 'stumble' into the piazza and look up at the Pantheon. I relish the anticipation of knowing that around the corner the Trevi fountain waits. Or that the city will lie before me as I stand on top of the de Medici gardens. I don't mind that I can spend 50€ on street art every time I wander into the Piazza Navona. It's delightful laughter as an Italian artist tells us he paints Pinocchio because 'all men are liars.' Or that it's still a case of 'Where's Waldo' even when taking a selfie on the Spanish Steps. Or that a street peddler pushes a bracelet and a free rose on me for 2€ in the Piazza del Popolo. I can pass the rose on to the guitarist playing 'Stairway to Heaven.'

The Eternal City is a gift that keeps on giving: a free glimpse of a Caravaggio in Chiesa San Luigi di Francesi, the 'oh wow' moment when you look up to the frescoed ceiling of Sant'Ignazio di Loyola, that knowing moment of 'yes, we really did just walk past Raffaele's tomb.' Heart beats of joy, when a casual walk home nets epic views of the Forum, the Colosseum, the city wall, and the Appian Way.

OESPEDALE. Miniature disasters and minor catastrophes befall us all. My first day in Rome, I march past the Vatican City over six times, without ever seeing beyond the walls. What has been seen cannot be unseen: it will a long time before I can forget the sight of my flatmate seizing in the pedestrian crossing or the terrified look on her best friend's face as they pulled away in the ambulance. But I do see the best Rome has to offer, from helpful pedestrians, to fast acting Vatican police, efficient first responders, empathetic taxi drivers, compassionate emergency room nurses, eager hospital volunteers, and helpful neighbours. Even with my survival Italian skills, it would have been impossible to get through the weekend criss-crossing the city between hospitals without the graciousness of Romans. And I am happy to report that after a little surgery for a fractured skull and sub-dural hematoma the patient is making a recovery.

Mantra: no matter what I wake up to in this city, I'm in Rome and I'm going for coffee.

MANGIA BENE. It's not just a feast for the eyes, constant pavement pounding earns me caprese salad and gelato on Via Veneto, pizza in front of the Vatican, more gelato near Il Vittoriano, a cappuccino a day before boarding the metro in Re di Roma, a pannini in deMedici gardens, delightful platters of cheese and prosciutto with Andrea in our San Giovanni apartment, penne arrabiatta and steak near the Pantheon, and another gelato as I wander…somewhere…I am covered in my daily brioche near a mountain side monastery as my bus hurtles towards San Benedetto del Tronto from Naples towards the waiting arms (and kitchen) of my family….woot, woot! This is only the beginning.

ANDIAMO. Let's go! An extended stay in the city means I'll overlap with old friend and colleague Mark, who's been chasing volcanos in the south. We meet up by Termini Station for dinner and a midnight roam before heading out the next day to brave the Naples train station and wander the cobbled lanes of Pompei Scavi. A cloudy day turns blue as we catch up on years, snap photos of the sleeping unfortunates, meander ruin upon ruin, and ponder the naughty Vesuvius over (cold) Peronis and yes, gelato. In search of i canni de scavi, we are deeply disappointed that the petrified dog is housed not before us, but at the British Museum, and that there's not many live ruin dogs wandering about. But this plants a seed, that's watered by many other good reasons, for me to take a detour to London Town. And Mark does get at least one good photo of the only happy dog in the village.

Amore Italiano

2013-05-29 to 2013-06-07

San Benedetto del Tronto.

The original blog about my love affair with this town was irretrievably lost to an errant cut and paste manoeuvre on the fast train from Madrid to Barcelona. I must thank Ashy, the first witness to my surprise and horror, for his commiseration and compassion. Anything I recall and re-record from the original is only a tribute.

I arrived in San Bennedetto, flicking brioche off my pant legs, to rest. I clarify…to eat, sleep, and be generously cared for, but maybe not to rest.In this town of my maternal grandmother's extended family…I eat beautiful food. I share many an afternoon or evening in deep philosophical conversations with The Cousins…late dinners turn into early mornings.

I learn that the vincisgrassi, which to me sounds like 'fat victory', is better than lasagna and can feed an army. It is and I eat like one. I also learn that one of Rome's most financially successful popes hails from Le Marche. 'It's better to have a dead man in your house,' I hear, 'than a Marchegianne at your door.'

I am reunited with my beloved cousin, 'Il Bello Cugino', after 24 years. We get on like a house on fire.I visit picturesque medieval towns. 'I am in love with my home,' Bello Cugino says. Beautiful in the afternoon light, each hill has a church, citadel, local sweet, worth visiting, exploring, sampling…Ascoli Piceno, Offida, Aqua Viva, Fermo, Torre di Palma. I, too, am in love with his home.

I meet a real Italian stallion. I watch eight young, fashionable, and good looking Italians comically debate for half an hour before deciding on a satisfactory restaurant, having exhausted every option in their iPhones.

I hotbox in a car with five Italians on a road trip over the Appenines to Assisi, fuelled by espresso and mille foglie. I don't understand a word when they all speak at once, but I don't care. I am hopped up on caffeine and cream filled pastry. Did I mention I am in love with it all?

I attend Sunday mass at the Basilica of St Francis of Assisi. I drool over the Giotto frescoes that adorn the walls.

I drink espresso with nocciola. I make myself espresso every morning. I take three to four a day. I demand a coffee over the phone and am handed one upon arrival in Centobuchi, with laughter and welcome, by The Stonemason. 'Suffering' from a mutual love of gelato, we discuss what constitutes optimal gelato consumption. I like him immediately.

I visit marble and fashion showrooms. 'Let me take you to MY show-room,' they say. Oh wow, incredible. Amazing! I ride on the back of Bello Cugino's Ducati through the hills to Aqua Viva. This is a wonderful moment in time.

I wander the streets until the wee hours of the morning, arm and arm with The Beloved Cousin and The Stonemason, knocking on doors hoping for croissants, laughing about the Spanish name for peanuts, drinking beers with fruiti di bosca, taking pictures with public art, taking pictures on public art, deciding who will do what when we open a stuffed olive shop in San Diego, or Sydney, it doesn't matter, after shots of Grey Goose at the Italian Stallion's brother's bar...

I consistently forget the Italian word for word. It's parola.

I journey over the snow peaked Appenines four times. On the final journey back to Rome, after a stop at the tomb of the family patron saint St. Guiseppe da Copertino, for a blessing of safe travel and more gelato, I listen with admiration as my teenage cousin recites the poem 'L'infinito' in not one, or two, but four languages. I am happy I can contribute the final reading in Spanish.

There is simply not enough time…Clearly, I should stay, to be Il Bello Cugino's English teacher and improve my Italian. He and I become experts in each other's language (or the most important words of it) after 36 hours and the cunning use of iPhone dictionaries…imagine what we could do with a whole summer?!

I plan, among other things, my return.

L'Infinito di Giacomo Leopardi


Sempre caro mi fu quest'ermo colle,

E questa siepe, che da tanta parte

Dell'ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude.

Ma sedendo e mirando, interminati

Spazi di là da quella, e sovrumani

Silenzi, e profondissima quieteIo nel pensier mi fingo; ove per poco

Il cor non si spaura.

E come il vento

Odo stormir tra queste piante, io quello

Infinito silenzio a questa voce

Vo comparando: e mi sovvien l'eterno,

E le morte stagioni, e la presente

E viva, e il suon di lei.

Cosi tra questaImmensita s'annega il pensier mio:

E il naufragar m'è dolce in questo mare.

The Infinite by Giacomo Leopardi


Always dear to me was this lonely hill

And this hedge, which from me so great a part

Of the farthest horizon excludes the gaze.

But as I sit and watch, I invent in my mind

endless spaces beyond, and super human silences, and profoundest quiet;

wherefore my heart almost loses itself in fear.

And as I hear the wind rustle through these plants, I compare

that infinite silence to this voice:

and I recall to mind eternity,

And the dead seasons, and the one present

And alive, and the sound of it. So in this

Immensity my thinking drowns:

And to shipwreck is sweet for me in this sea.

Tagine to Tapas, Maroc!

2013-06-08 to 2013-06-14

The only thing that could take me away from Italy.... another tour, another continent, more food... This time the token American in the company of all Aussies, health professionals mostly...and one surfer/tax dude. We laughed loud, shopped long, and over-ate tagine in major cities from Marrakesh to Tangier.

Moulay Idriss Zerhoun. Hands down best day in Maroc - a perfect ancient and historical combination, starting with Roman ruins at Volubilis (I freaking love ruuuuins) and ending with homemade tagine in Morocco's holiest city. In between there was refreshing mint tea on the roof of our homestay, a walking tour of the city's five pillars (mosque, baths, bakery, fountain, and medina), a hike through the hills, and one of the most beautiful, most complete sunsets I've seen. We waited on the rooftops for over an hour, mesmerized by the light, and Volubilis on the horizon. Doubtful the photographs do it justice, but the moment was sublime. 

Africa. It may not be the land of safari, but my feet take their first steps on the continent in Marrakesh. While I'm not yet sure I'm game for the wild south, North Africa, and Morocco especially, have always been on this little girl's life list. To my great amusement (until I could get it to go away), Toto's Africa took hold early on in the trip, thanks to the Doctor's insistence on singing it, playing it, or reminding us of our geographical position at every turn. 

it's gonna take a lot to keep me away from you/there's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do

Funniest moment, Tangier: watching the good Doctor deejay a set feat. Africa and Call me Maybe on our last night on the Continent, whilst Generous Bartender did his utmost to slaughter our dry spell with booze aplenty. I snuck out early, muttering something about 'nothing good happens after 1 am', but the Red Nurse and the Doc bravely soldiered on. I missed an epic tour of the Tangier nightlife, I know, but I didn't want to be the Hangover Kid crossing the Straits of Gibraltar.

Rapport. Sometimes you build it, sometimes you don't. In Morocco it's touch and go. A week of being commandeered by clever and cunning medina locals is exhausting - the astute people of the souks know a sucker when they see one. No matter how hard you try, to speak the language in common greeting, bargain for a souvenir, ask for directions, or answer emphatically Non merci, it's hard to shake the feeling of easy pickings. As a dark featured, uncovered and sometimes unescorted woman, I wasn't always equal to the challenge.

What's it to you, you're on holiday; spend your money with me. Bargaining skills may improve by the day, but there's no cure for being a tourist. And no love for a tourist that says, No thank you, I already bought one of those.

Vous êtes marocaine? I'm amused my dark hair and long nose initially trump my poor French and total lack of Arabic. Mostly only hassled when "lost" alone in the crowds, or met with disdain as the dark caboose of an all-blonde troupe; it was the interest and hospitality by individuals that won me over.

Inevitable interrogation and small talk: Where are you from?  I could be...from here, there and everywhere. Where are your children? In boarding school? You aren't married? No. You are an international girl of mystery! Um, no, not really...this is just my life, I hear I'm lucky. (After a few more personal particulars) You are most welcome, come to my house and we'll feed you. Thank you. Definitely - next time! I'll bring a man...and the kids.

Since casual conversation in the medina ancienne turns expensive, if you go with it, best to commit to having a bit of fun. In Casablanca Omar shared that he'd taught his brothers English before they abandoned him for the Americas and Australia as he fitted me with new All-Stars. Geez, family, can't trust them, can you? He negotiated me a price I was willing to pay (But I swear that girl just paid half as much as me!), and led me by the hand on a tour of the medina, all for the chance to continue to practice his English...as Lester whispers in my ear: you're gonna have to pay him later smarty pants.

He fashioned me a headscarf photo opportunity, tickled our noses at the spice souk, set me straight about the baskets that are really poufs (you stuff them!) and though he failed to impress Lester with a metal teapot (the Lester's expressions caught on camera are gold), Omar won our hearts with free samples at the patisserie. The Mayor of the Medina continued on showing us the old Belgian consulate turned primary school, his name written on the wall, introduced us around...still all a bit hard to follow when my awareness is focused the fact that I am the only woman in the street, or alley...or moment in the universe.

Overboard. Bargaining simply does not make it a bargain. I find the medinas at once mesmerizing and dangerous, always due to mine own traitorous hand...reaching in to buy whatever the dazzling medina thinks I need! From Marrakesh, Casablanca, to Rabat, and Fes I bargained - most successfully with myself over a price I was willing to pay. Costume jewelry for my wrists, new shoes for my feet, a poster print of a camel, a tiny camel made of...camel, a hand painted ceramic plate that won an impressive yet all too easy battle of head v. heart, a magic carpet bag to carry said plate over continents, and yes, please throw in a pouf with that deal, the plate needs company.

Trinkets for a home that I don't yet have, in a country...I'm not really sure which. In Tangier I even sprung for a massage at the hamam and ended up with a funny story about my breasts getting oiled. Again, we would say, this was not a need.

Couscous. I didn't really eat it. I asked for it to be left off my plate. What a jerk. But my favorites were: tagine - beloved and sampled everywhere, in all manner of lead-free pot (we hope), sans couscous, of course; selou - made of almonds and cacao, a staple during Ramadan, is novel and *ohwowamazing* to us. As a result, Lester and I left with the medina with a box full of delicacies - a nifty tradition we continued throughout the tour; the du menthe and pastries - the best at a laneway cafe in Rabat overlooking the sea; Pan du semolina, baked fresh every morning and kebabs - washed down with a bottle of fat coke in the square in Moulay Idriss; tangia - citron with meat, every meal I had in Marrakech; rafisa - "Google it," says my seatmate on the train from Casablanca to Rabat, again, practicing his English; and pastilla - cinnamon and chicken goodness in the maze of the Fes medina.

Tagine to Tapas, Spain!

2013-06-14 to 2013-06-23

The Straits of Gibraltar…haven’t you always wanted to cross?

Having triumphantly dodged a nasty Tangier hangover, I cruise the Straits on the top deck of the ferry until the staff ushered us below for fear of losing someone to the wind. Alas, no view of the real rock from our vantage point, but the long fade of The Continent signals the last of Toto’s hold on my brain. Tapas and tank tops await. In Tarifa, breathing the fresh air of immodest freedom, I strip down to bare arms, and once again smile, as I look people, men rather, in the eye.

SEVILLA: City of Carmen, flamenco and the final resting place of everyone’s favorite guy, Christopher Columbus. The first order of business – a delicious meal of tapas and bottled sangria (danger, purple juice!) and a late night search for amateur flamenco. Protocol states observers must fall silent when the signing begins...a challenge in a room where passionate people meet $2 sangria and mojitos, but the effect is the same –a powerful moment of joy in my world- Flamenco! Sevilla! Sangria! If the amateurs can do it, imagine the feeling when the professionals perform – the goose bumps stick around for days.

On a sweltering morning, we bike tour the city –Cathedral, Real Alcazar, gypsy district, La Giralda, and Royal Louisa Park. I’m delighted I’m the only one who knows when we’re in front of Carmen’s tobacco factory…and offended when accused of cheating by guidebook, far worse than accusations of actually liking Opera. Later Lester and I are thwarted by a religious festival at the Cathedral, preventing me from peering and possibly sneering at the tomb of Columbus – instead we stumble through the halls of the Real Alcazar with Hols and Ashy in search of cool Moorish tiled rooms…and then eat gelato so refreshing I nealry weep.

PORK: Granada, city of jamón – pig legs hang from every ceiling! Tapas – free with every drink! Organic wine shops sparkle around the corner and pastries sold by secretive nuns! Lanky tattooed and dreadlocked boys smoke weed in front of churches. Spanish men sing passionately at sunset overlooking the Alhambra. Moroccan souvenirs… sell cheaper here. Oh Andalucía! Magic it is. Stuff of dreams. The soundtrack switches to the Pixies: I am un chien Andalucía/i got a movie/i want you to know/girlie so groovie/i want you to know.

Here the Lester and I team up for another day of living the dream – musing over divine light in gothic cathedrals, tap dancing in royal tombs, tea drinking at cafes by the river, dodging gypsies and their rosemary scented tricks, flirting with nuns for pastries, stuffing ourselves silly on organic tapas and wine…jamón! The icing on the cake –the afternoon spent marveling at the cultural mixed bag of the Alhambra and the General Life. The cherry on top – a body scrub at the hamam and more free tapas at the best? – oldest? – who can remember, bar in around…

Sweets from the Saints – best kept secret in town.

Lester: So what do you do here? 

Diana: You ring the bell…. and when the nun answers you say you’d like to buy her pastries…pretty please.

Lester (rings bell)

Nun (slides open peek hole): Si?

Lester (demanding in best Aussie/Spanish accent): Yo quiero dulces!

Nun (giggling, yes giggling): Hee hee hehe, 10 euro!

Money goes in the wooden turnstile, a box of the best ever bite sized pastries comes out!

ARTE: “Nothing much to see in Madrid,” they said. “It’s just a city,” they said. It’s a feast for the eyes, what’s wrong with you people! 

Custom dictates we arrive late to dine –over luxurious wine-cheese-jamón-main course-more wine-dessert combinations –before passing out. The next morning, early alarm ignored, I eventually venture out solo before my first coffee (bad), onto the metro to the Centre of the city (brave), with no map (stupid). In Puerta del Sol, I am greeted by a plethora of dodgy characters: Sponge Bob, Mickey Mouse, Tigger, Winnie the Pooh, the Incredibles, the Hulk and…a matador. Disoriented, I spot café relief just as Minnie Mouse rushes past without her head on straight, sporting a hangover and five o’clock shadow...what now, is this hell?

(I later pose for a number of photos with Sponge Bob - you wish I would tell you the dastardly things he said to me in high-pitched Spanish)

With the cunning use of bad coffee, Starbucks wifi, and then a cup of tea, I find what I am looking for – the Museo de arte Thyssen- Bornemisza which begins my three-course art history degustation. If art bores you, you're in luck. I have mercifully reduced my geek-out ramblings, sparing you the laundry list of artist crushes, grand epiphanies inspired by the Masters, and shit eating grin moments that only an art history nerd could appreciate. On this day, as I wander the Museo del Prado, I feel every emotion known to man in three-second bursts. Especially greed...if I wasn’t already feeling the lack of regular access to Roman ruins in my life, the thought of having the breadbasket of art at my fingertips causes blind ambition to rage like wildfire. EU passport now required.

My day ends in the free line to the Reina Sofia, nervously anticipating the Dalí exhibition and Picasso’s Guernica. I hunger, my toes are numb. I make it in, less than 10 people shy, with hundreds yet outside the door. Amazaballs that Dali...

I leave profoundly solitary after 10+ hours of oggling art. Perhaps influenced by all the clinging couples next to me pondering death and Dali's subconscious sexual landscape....I feel intensely there no subject to lavish my depth of feeling upon. Oh Henry Cavill as Superman poster, you will have to do. As I order tapas at a bar named Fried Green Tomatoes, I realize I am also geographically lost. Dazed and confused after a decadent day in Madrid!

INQUISITION: the Inquisition/let’s begin/the Inquisition/look out sin! Did I mention I did a little song and dance for one irreverent Granada moment as I stood in front of the tomb of Ferdinand and Isabella in the Capilla Real? It’s wrong, I know, but I can’t help myself. I snapped a cheeky pic and texted it to Lester – also wrong, but so is religious persecution – hey!

NOCHE: Four days in Barcelona run together like one long foggy night. I imagine pockets of sun, but I remember a nighttime landscape: alley cockroach graffiti, Italian meals in busy plazas, Roman ruins adjacent to cocktail bars, indoor forested bars, Quentin Tarantino flavored bars, cooking school paella with a hot tweeter chef, my local bar until 3 in the morning, festivals and fireworks until dawn. Perhaps here good things do happen after 1 am, but as the nights linger on I am happy to just watch it unfold from the comfort my hammock in El Born.

Daylight moments include: a market breakfast, a tourist’s urban triathlon – long walk down Las Ramblas to Port Olímpic, a Gaudi-rific adventure bike tour, and a swim at Barceloneta beach – ending with gelato for afternoon tea and our last group dinner at an Argentinian restaurant playing More than Words by Extreme…more than once.

My last day in the city (and Spain) I wander Mont Jucq, art dose at the Fundació Joan Miró; watch the Festival of Sant Joan – marking the summer solstice – unfold throughout the city; shelter from the rain in a gelateria; get my Catholic on at evening mass in truly gothic Santa Maria del Mar; and listen with delight to the all-night party in the streets below my apartment as I pack for London-town.


 

Sweet Home Alabama

2013-07-02 to 2013-07-31

From London Town to Sweet Home Alabama – I threw myself into the Heart of ‘Merica for the month of July. Land of Starbucks coffees, southern BBQ, pirate parties, blue skies, classic rock, my Heart Family and Lake Martin. Where every day is a good day…and best enjoyed covered in Hawaiian Tropics sunscreen.

Lake Martin, where I:

• Lived in my bikini.
• Slept in a bunk bed surrounded by slumbering children.
• Kayaked. Paddled. Swam. Flinked. Daily!
• Ran shrieking off the dock, out of joy and/or madness, into the water. Water sometimes warm, sometimes surprisingly cold; body sometimes clothed, sometimes unsurprinsingly not.
• Played Hide & Seek and read comics.
• Mauraded, as pirates do.
• Rocked a 1,000 piece puzzle in the company of the Cousins with the aid of wine, chocolate, and Pandora.
• Waged an epic battle of Peek-A-Boo with the Younger Sweden Gill.
• Was chased without mercy by children with water guns. Refusing to give into the pleas of the Younger Sweden Gill: Can I shoot you!? Please let me shoot you! 
• Relished trips to the BBQ joint, as much for the taxidermy as for the pulled pork.
• Enjoyed 5 pm booze cruises with the Cousins.
• Marveled at the birthday party planning prowess of my Soul Cousin. She is a master.
• Wondered, how did I get here..excatly? as I wandered down the aisles of The Alex City Walmart...searching out ice cream and my very own ‘People of Walmart’ moment:
  • Me: 'we have a situation in the frozen food aisle.'
  • The Cousin: horrified silence...(Apparently not a funny thing to say when you're in charge of the Medically Vegan Cousin...)
  • Me: 'Oh, sorry! But, there appears to be a lack of Moo Millennium Crunch!'
• Often saw midnight…and then 3 am, as I contemplated the loud pounding of my heart and the magnitude of its forever situation in my Auntie's art studio. Thank you Chazon Art, for your amazing company and French Wisdom.
• Intermittently won and lost the War of Pizza vs Pretzel with the Godson, who then conscripted the Sister and the Younger Cousins into battle with his enthusiasm for besting me at the game of Culinary Wit. I'm for pretzels...it's hard to be on the losing side of an argument, isn't it?
• Delighted in the wisdom of the Godson. I lament the distance between us in the worst way.

On Being a Kid.

• The Dad: You have to listen to Diana, she's your godmother and an adult.
• The Godson: But she acts like a kid. And she's sleeping in a bunk bed.

On The Truth of Things.

• The Godson: What does a bull sleep under?
• The Woman-Child: What?
• The Godson: Bull sheet!
• The Woman-Child: Bahahaha
• The Godson: Get it?
• The Woman-Child: *snort*

On Love (A boy after every girls heart).

• The Godson: Do you know how I'm going to kiss you?
• His Biggest Fan: How?
• The Godson: Not on this cheek, or that cheek, or on your forehead.
• His Biggest Fan: Oh?
• The Godson: I'm going to give you a kiss on your eyes, but with butterflies! And then I'm going to kiss you on your nose!
• His Biggest Fan: Far out, I love you.
• The Godson: Muah haha hahaha haha. 

On the Perfect Kiss: I'm gonna kiss you so big. You're gonna die. ‘Cause I kissed you.

Fathers of America, hide your daughters!

At the Lake...where I hugged, smiled, laughed, drank coffee, spoke my truths, listened to the truths of others, breathed deeply, and ate up a month of life living in my head, in company of some of the most beautiful people in my world. Sweet Home! X

Boom, Beijing!

2014-03-21 to 2014-03-30

Six girls descend on Beijing and Xi’an to eat, shop, and laugh their way from the Temple of Earth to the Temple of Heaven, climbing Great Walls, cycling old walls, tobogganing down mountains, and eyeballing splendid warriors along the way.

We shared tour dates in our six days, seven nights in Beijing and two days and one night in Xi’an with the First Lady and family. Out of sight, out of mind…admittedly I was perplexed when I read Beijing L’s text message in Xi’an: “congrats it's going to be a beautiful day, Michelle is starting at the warriors and will be at the wall around the same time as you.” ...Wait, what. Another girl friend is coming? Who's Michelle again? Oh, right. We are sure they cleared the air in the First Family’s honor, as we enjoyed several blue sky days in the Great Northern City. They certainly closed down sections of Xi’an City Wall for them to jump rope and dance on, resulting in our cycling a grueling 16 km under hot polluted sun with nothing but Vines, a litte water and Snickers to sustain us…

In addition to gratitude to the First Lady, for ensuring my fitness abroad, a grateful shout out goes to my travel companions:

• Beijing L for the gift of cash and an itinerary better than Michelle's
• KL B for mastery of the petty cash
• KL A for sharing the soul sister selfie love
• Tokyo K for the gift of Vines
• Tokyo E for the gift of street snacks
• And last, but not least, to Beijing Sugar Daddy for the art of patience amongst many women

If this gaggle of girls wasn’t talking about boys, then we were talking about food. And if it wasn't about our next meal, then it was listing every country we've ever been to…but if it wasn't about travel, then it was about going to the market… or where the next coffee was coming from, but then it was back to boys and what we were eating for dinner...Beijing hot pot, Jianbing pancake, dim sum, spit roasted leg of lamb, sour and spicy glass noodles, fried dumplings, cold beers, Beijing roast duck, Sichuan hot pot, lamb satay, egg tarts, gelato, plum juice and countless other delicious authentic Chinese delights whose names I'll never be able to pronounce. I never want to eat Chinese food outside of China again. I miss that smoky flavored plum juice already.

And if we weren't taking selfies, or arranging ourselves artfully in groupsies, then we were photobombing each other's selfies, or submitting to Tokyo K's artistic direction and staring in our own six second movies...from sipping coffee at Costa's, to star jumps on the Xi'an city wall, to air squats in Tiananmen Square, to disappearing and reappearing in turrets on the Mu tian yu Great Wall, we were always on the lookout for the next collaborative effort.

Despite the frivolity and feeding, fear not, we did get a healthy dose of vibrant culture and ancient history, mingling mysterious emperor megalomania with preserved Chairman, sagacious Confucius with peaceful Buddha, mahjong and line dancing with a bit of jianx and...badminton, and my personal favorite, ski lifts and toboggan runs with walls great enough to keep out the Huns.

PS – I got the same toboggan they gave Michelle. 'Merica!

And last but not least, special thanks the geniuses at AirAsiaX for making a ridiculous travel schedule affordable: next up, Beijing to KL to Borneo – Flights 4 and 5 of 9!

Bang, Borneo!

2014-03-31 to 2014-04-03

"This is just like the jungle cruise at Disneyland."

"Oh yeah, you keep saying this. You can go have that one if you want."

Asmudi, aka D, my guide is staring straight ahead looking unimpressed by repeated Disney commentary. But his eye are twinkling. After three bird-watching geekout river cruises, we are buddies.

"Hahaha, no, this is better," I reply, "no headhunters."

Four solo days, three solo nights at Bilit Rainforest Lodge, I get to experience a little bit of Borneo. Emphasis on solo since my tendency to travel Malaysia alone unnerves the locals. My other guide, the rambunctious Jum giggles as she takes me to my jungle tree house, "Oh, Diana! The honeymoon suite, special for you." I paid double to the tour company for the privilege of going it alone, so I am going to pretend the fact they gave me the honeymoon suite was a hopeful gesture. Jum's face changes with concern,  "Are you sure you're ok? Will you be lonely? You call me if you want company."

Luckily I am adopted by the village dogs, who though flea ridden, are good company and keep watch on my porch in exchange for quiet words, ear rubs, and filtered water.

If you're going to see things on the Kinabatangan River, made famous to the world by American adventurers Martin and Osa Johnson...wake up early. When I was told my first morning started at 6:30 am, I admit to cringing a little, but my inner amateur birder jumped for joy. Lucky for me, I have D, who knows his birds so well he's often consulted by the writer of one of the Birds of Borneo field guides.

What is it?! Tern, egret...pigeon.

"Common, Diana! C'mon."

Raptor! Swift, Martin!

"Are you sure?"

Ok, hornbill!

"Better."

"I want five species of hornbill, D. Can you deliver for me?"

As five of eight hornbill species wouldn't be bad for a blow in visit to jungle and I've already spied the Asian black hornbill, the pied hornbill, the wrinkled hornbill, and to D's envy, nabbed a photo of the white crested hornbill when he wasn't around.

'There! Diana, rhinoceros hornbill! Special for you, very rare. I complete your trip."

When on the Kinabatangan also make sure you also get the best local boatman...in my first morning hour he delivers me an adult orangutan perched in a fig tree having a feed. Closely followed by proboscis monkeys and long tailed macaques and one very sinister crocodile. I think we all three were feeling pretty smug before 9 am.

My tour also included a visit to Gomantong Cave, the second largest cave in Sabah and home to 3 m of bat shit and a roaring yet sustainable trade in edible swift nests. If I ever had curiosity about palatability of bird nest soup, it was eradicated by the conditions under which they are cleverly fabricated by nature. Soup from a cave loaded with heaps of bird spit & feathers and guano droppings alive with roaches of unusual size? Nom nom...or, no thanks? Three Sydneysiders have a giggle as cockroaches scuttled along the boardwalk and crunched under foot, "it's kinda like walking in the Eastern Suburbs."

Harvesting the nests is achieved under much the same conditions as 100 years ago, via a complex system of palm rope pulleys and baskets 60 meters above the cave floor...Jum points to the ceiling and waves nonchalantly...

"If the man falls on the guano (3m of squelch), splat, he's ok. Onto the sticks (1 m tall and piled bonfire style), maybe he go to hospital. On the rocks (splendidly jagged), sorry, bye bye."

My tour ends at Sepilok orangutan sanctuary and Rainforest Discovery Centre, within the 4,294 hectare Kabili- Sepilok Forest Reserve, virgin equatorial rainforest...surrounded by a country of palm oil fields.The work here is completed by the Sabah Wildlife Department, with support of the UK Orangutan appeal. For just 200 ringgit you can adopt a baby man of the forest and follows it's yearly progress towards reintroduction into the wild. I feel suitably heartless for not adopting on the spot after watching a video with 8 rehabilitated babies in a wheelbarrow. There's yet time for me, I'm sure.

The 10 am orangutan feeding attracts 5 youngsters, which is pretty lucky, according to Lisa (my third attentive guide), "usually only three, two or...one"; and a heap of long tailed and pig-tailed macaques (or the Bornean gangster, if you like). I have Simian luck.

And guide luck too apparently, as I am passed to my fourth and final guide for the Rainforest Discovery Centre, a tour add-on I begged into to avoid five hours of stinking hot wait at the airport. Two hour mosquito ridden march through hilly botanical garden and up canopy walkway turrets in noonday heat is good trade.

Next...Flight Six of Nine to KL. Then...Flight Seven of Nine to Penang! Pow!

Ostia Antic(a)

2014-10-04 to 2014-10-05

"You're not taking the dinosaur with you?! exclaims Miss A.

My Fuimicino AirBnb hostess is watching me repack my bags in the boot of her car. We are standing around in the dark at Rome's Leonardo da Vinci airport, probably to her relief. 

I've been traveling over 28 hours with a toy T-rex hanging out of my bag, from Sydney to Dubai, Dubai to Rome...and we're knackered.  Miss A has suggested I leave my backpack at the airport, since lugging around a T-rex to Roman ruins tomorrow will be clearly job enough.  I spend a lovely evening with her and her delightful canine companion, Lapo, and wake up to the best-breakfast-ever, pastries and espresso! 

Why a Tyrannosaurus rex in tow, you ask? How to get through customs with that? Easy. He sang and I smiled. Pure charm. Though, I do admit to leaving him in Row 82 for Row 76 from Sydney to Dubai, just to avoid the embarrassment of a lyrical outburst from overhead baggage.

I am transporting this small thrift store treasure to my family hometown in support of an irreverent late night joke with my favorite local boys. It spawned an obsession of selfies with T-rex around the world. The stuff of life...and besides, what else do you get your Fashionable Italian Cousin for his birthday?

I return to Italy, simply because I said I would. And because Mother asked. Who I am to refuse spontaneity, especially when the non-spontaneous Mother requests it?

I am not running away to Italy...but maybe I am. 

This "another holiday, Diana!" escape comes on the back of a new job, a new house, a new suburb, a new boss...a new landscape for both heart and mind...so timely, yeah? Change might be as good as a holiday, but we all know what's preferable. 

So give me a day spent idly amongst Roman ruins, nibbling on my first stracciatella gelato (of what will be many in the weeks to come), as I meander down Via Della Casa di Diana, posing with T-rex as he discovers an antiquity so different to his own. I'm looking forward to sitting in a Roman traffic jam later, before a late night drive across the Apennines to my family's dinner table, where culinary delights and my Mother's company awaits. 

Thanks for all the tacos!

2014-11-27

Thankful for traditions that elicit...well, thanks! Fusion Thanksgiving merges Mexican immigrant heritage with Australian lifestyle. Gratitude to the many who attempted a little something new, made amazeballs salsas and guacamole, prepared tasty dishes, brought their smiles (and sombreros) and a willingness to open up about a little (or big) something they're thankful for.

Lovely people of my Thankful Firmament, hailing from Italy, New Zealand, England, Canada, Spain, 'Merica, and the land of Oz, expressed their gratitude for happiness, good health, supportive partners, the perspective surviving only hard times can bring, quality friendship, family, good fortune, excellent girlfriends, dogs that don't shed, smashing exams, successful immigration, overcoming heartache, becoming better for it, redundancies, mortgages, car loans, new spouses, old besties, tequila and tacos!

Grateful, too, that the tortillas showed up, even if delivered to the door at the very last minute!

Special mention to Amy for keeping me company from Blacktown to Tortillatown and styling my house up, all proper like.

Thanksgiving 2014 - A delightful and entertaining evening spent with beautiful people.
Someone, anyone, please come back tomorrow and help finish the leftovers!
Xx

Oh yeah! The menu - slow cooked chipotle beans, picadillo a la Mexicana, Spanish rice, salsa verde, salsa pipil, mango salsa, guacamole, tostadas, fresh tortillas, veggie fajitas, fresh oysters and prawns, tequila, wine, and fruta! So healthy. So yum. 

The Ohana, the Tub, and the Vana

2015-01-30 to 2015-02-15

As a rule, I never look forward to a holiday. I prefer to expect nothing and be pleasantly surprised. But who wouldn't look forward to Hawaii?! Oops. 

Naturally, a holiday begets expectation of The Good. Naturally, one expects The Bad and The Ugly to stay home, along with Work, Responsibilities and Stress. One expects to return from a holiday...Refreshed and perhaps, Tan. I admit it, I had visions of Island Fun, Adventures and Exploring with The Parents, on an epic last family holiday. Oops. 

Curiously, I returned from Hawaii...Relieved and sadly, with Less of a Tan. However, the right attitude is gratitude. I'm just glad I got home in one piece. 

THE (GOOD) OHANA

Ohana, is the Hawaiian word for all those you consider friend, family, and part of your community. When I travel, it's the people not the places. 

Ohana scoop me up on short notice in Oahu, hosting me at their table and sheltering me in their tiki hut for a night, cruising me to the beach in a golf cart so I can enjoy a side of the island I haven't seen before. (Mahalo Mary, for hospitality and airport curb side pick up of The Parents.)

Ohana gives cuddles and gleeful playtime and sings about joyful hearts as best medicine (Mahalo Meleana, for your wisdom) and makes valentines telling you they love you as long as that star shines in the sky (Mahalo Lilinoe, for your sweetness), and mothers you and laughs when you wreck yourself (Mahalo Corinne). 

Ohana feeds you and plies you with ice packs and arnica when you arrive concussed and bruised at their door, hand you a drink, and tease you for staying on the wrong side of the island. Many lovely meals spent with Anita, Vijay, and Bob. Mahalo for singing my favourite song, Suniva! 

Ohana teaches you tough lessons. No matter how old and smart I think I am, I can still be a helpless kid in need of parenting. In Oahu, I'm lucky enough to watch the sunset on Waikiki with El Papá and search out 100% Kona coffee in obscure little coffee shops La Madre. I cater El Papá's hotel room Super Bowl party. La Madre and I learn to play the ukulele. In Maui, Los Padres sit around all day wondering if I'm going to get out of bed (Mahalo, for still wanting to hang out with your silly daughter).

THE (BAD) TUB

When we arrive in Maui, we  fall in love with our Paia Bay rental house. A last minute find after hours (or weeks) of laborious online searching, La Madre bagged what I coined ' Heaven'. And with room to spare, I invite Facebook friends everywhere to join us. With the ocean as our backyard, we have endless surfer and sea turtle TV. For El Papá, a source of constant fascination. For me, a taunt and torment. 

Heaven, as it turns out, has tubs fashioned in the depths of hell. Devilishly slick, it's as if Satan's minions spit shined them themselves. After lecturing my elders about the danger, “please take extra care when you step in and out and wot not until we get bath mats”...I collected myself at the end of my own shower. 'Get out now," said The Voice. "Just one more thing, " I replied. "AT YOUR PERIL," said The Tub.

BOOM. Without a sound, except for the clattering of my teeth, I went down, bashing my thigh, my back, whiplashing my neck and whacking my head. Instant hematoma the size of Lanai on my thigh, inflamed back, aching neck, pounding head, full body shock. 

This does not stop me from heading to the Slack Key Guitar show to see Jeff Peterson, Grammy winning guitarist. But I would let La Madre drive, for fear of passing out behind the wheel. Only a concussed girl lets La Madre drive in the dark. Only a concussed girl introduces herself to said guitarist, saying "Hi, I just got off the phone with your sister-in-law and I have a photo of you playing guitar ...see? I've been wanting to see you play for years." He was gracious...and his music was well worth skipping a trip to urgent care. 

THE (UGLY) VANA 

Ok, so giant hematoma - forget hiking Haleakala, but why not stand up paddleboard on the reef? Determined to be active, I head out with ohana to Olowalu for some beach time. "If you come off the board, fall flat, ok? Don't stand," The Friend says.

"Ok!" I reply. Long enough for everyone to get settled in the sand and for me to get knocked off the board a few times in the surf, I hear The Voice say, "Get out now." Serious? Dude, I just got here. I'm. Not. Giving. Up. 

The colony of vana (sea urchin) I subsequntly eradicate (a momentary lapse in judgement) makes no sound, whereas I cry a big, fat.... "Nooooooooooo!" I pull up my left foot to yank out a spine the size of my middle finger, as a spine the size of a small nail burrows to the bone of my right big toe. 

Hawaiians say "Pee on it, brah. Kidding, use vinegar. All you can do is soak your feet, they'll come out." Uh nah. Time we go to urgent care. In shock twice in one weekend, The Girl is now impaled and bleeding.

The Urgent Care in Wailea Makena is 12 steps from a bar and open 7 days a week, 12 hours a day. Their motto is "Don't pee on it, brah! Go to urgent care!" If you are ever injured or sick in Maui, this is the place to go, regardless of your location. You could not find better hands, hearts, or humor to get you through. 

I am the worst vana case of the year and surely one of Dr. Boss's top five cases - hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of spines are pulled out, cut out, cursed at, yelled at, flushed out and otherwise surgically removed from my poor feet, amidst laughter, yelps, hissing, snacks, cups of tea, Popsicles, and shots (of Jack and lidocaine) over 12 hours and four visits.

Who knew sea urchin spine removal could be as hilarious as it is exquisitely painful. Dr. Boss is an extraction master and a comedienne in her über special sea urchin goggles. "When you make the noise, it comes out. So make the noise and then distract yourself, ok?" She simultaneously orders my feet soaked in meat tenderiser, procures me liquid courage, tells my mom to stop holding her breath, and treats a child with conjunctivitis. We are equally fascinated by the diversity of vana I collected, as I munch a Popsicle and hold back skin while she digs spines out. What does it say about me when the trauma is more fun than the recovery? 

It takes four people over two hours to excise a fat spine from my toe of a Sunday night. “She's a bleeder!” says Nurse Scotty, my Feeder, as he holds my leg down for lidocaine. My body's natural reaction being to recoil from Dr. Boss and her syringe. The Team flush the gaping hole in my toe. "Flush, flush, like you've never flushed before!" Dr. Boss cries. I reply, "Ah, flush it. Flush it real good!" The room laughs and somewhere on the mainland, Salt n' Pepa are proud. 

At suture time everyone is ready for a drink. “How many stitches?” I ask. 

“I don't know yet, geez, you're bleeding like a wild woman.…Ok, I need a suture,” says Dr. Boss.

“What size?”

“5-0”

“Hawaii...Five –Oh?” I ask.

My resulting stitches appear a touch like a little black sea urchin looking for a fight. 

"Please listen to your instincts next time, yeah," requests Dr. Boss. 

When the gods say rest, you rest. To ignore them is stupid. Unfortunately, rest becomes a black hole that last for days on end. Vana, the gift of stinging. Concussions and whiplash, the gift of migraines. I lay in bed, listening to crashing waves and the triumphant yells of surfers, feeling ruinous. Humor and holiday retreat with each new pain, bruise, and stingy spine. Insult to injury, I spit out a piece of glass as I eat rice one night; I battle a scorpion in my bedroom the next. 

A scorpion.

"Oh scorpions, they're very rare. I haven't seen one in 23 years..." 

"Oh I haven't seen one since I moved here 15 years ago."

Yes, rare. I see rare things. This cosmic joke…not funny.

The Friends say, we are sorry this happened to you, but we are not surprised it happened to you. My sense of humour, just mostly dead, is gently revived only through love, magic and the art of healers. 

Mahalo from the heart also goes to:

• Angel, Makawao Dragon's Den Acupuncturist. She brings me out of the hole and sets me limping upright with Chinese medicine. 
• Chris, art gallery owner. She gives me crystal singing bowl medicine –  let’s unblock that negativity, shall we?
• The staff at Polli's Mexican. They give smiles and Wednesday fajita night medicine. 
• Margit, German property manager. She chants a Hawaiian blessing to clear the path before me of spiteful spirits and to protect against slick surfaces, angry invertebrates and sharp objects. “It is not the places you went but the people you meet!” she reminds me.
• Every Hawaiian that nods compassionately and sucks air between their teeth when I say “vana.” 
• The TSA Guy. “I hear you had a series of unfortunate events.”
• Sayid, flirty ground staff. He manages our baggage at arrival with finesse and pushes my wheelchair at departure. “Wow, you’re so light…and you smell good.”
• Ryan, gentleman steward. He keeps the cocktails flwoing and escorts me to the loo on his arm on the flight home. 
• The Airport Porters – those guys and gals who push sad travelers in wheelchairs through security and customs and baggage claim and beyond with a smile and a few good jokes. Gold.

Fourth time will be a charm, Maui. I'll be back to surf reefs, hike volcanos, and take showers...sporting a fancy bubble suit. 

PS- Two weeks later...I'm still picking the little buggers out.