Camping...

Not that I would actually call what I did “camping” and not that those of you who do this frequently would either, but Easter Sunday I went on a camping trip.

Dutchie (I’ll give you one guess where he’s from), Team Canada (two guesses here but only because there are two of them), and I (if you have to know, they call me ‘Jersey’) all hopped in a massive SUV and drove up to Cape Leveque. I think this was Dutchie’s brainchild of an idea and he was quite prepared. He managed to secure the truck, tent, air mattress, eksy (read cooler) and food for the trip- oh and he got us a great price on the truck without having to “take one for the team”. LUCKY! Anyway, Dutchie also managed to secure his Alpha Dog status by somehow ensuring that there were only girls on this little excursion, as it happens Team Canada is all female. VERY LUCKY!

Cape Leveque is about a two and a half hour drive from Broome, but if there is a Dutchman behind the wheel you can make it in two hours, however; if there is a girl from the States in the co-pilot seat who doesn’t pay attention to road signs then you are going to pass the 2 signs on the side of the road and you will end up at the point and part of Team Canada will have to take over, clock the kilos back and find the turn off… thanks Gita! After our “I don’t want to have to roll this truck back over” experience and of course, passing the turn off, we made it in just enough time to set-up camp and go watch the sunset.

Cape Leveque has a spectacular beach just for viewing the sunset. It is white sand, red rock backdrop and nothing but blue sea straight to the horizon. Oh, and rocks, there are rocks on this beach and in this part of the ocean- remember that for later. So, here we are, three girls and one dude sitting on the beach, enjoying delightful beverages (read alcoholic) and digging through our esky for our food. Now, had we thought things through better back at the bottle shop, we would have remembered to take the bag of food out of the eksy before dumping the bag of ice in. Unfortunately, those thoughts never made it though anyone’s consciousness, so we are down to one sandwich, one wrap, and two containers of mystery, but delicious mystery. Sunset is wonderful, dinner is wonderful, delightful beverages are wonderful… it’s time to swim. With the sun set there is only the light from the stars (which by the way, are incredible when there are no city lights to obscure them) to guide us into the great, black, rock filled ocean. I don’t know if you can, but try to image a pool with boulders, big sharp ones littering its bottom. Now imagine that pool with waves. It’s painful, very painful. Imagine with me one more time that you took a cheese grater to the bottom of your feet, that’s what they look like after you go swimming here, I don’t recommend it. But we laugh and continue to swim and laugh even more when someone loses his swim trunks (I won’t mention names but I’m sure you can figure it out by the pronoun choice) and eventually decide it’s a good idea stop being beaten by the ocean and make our way back to camp. In the mean time, Dutchie is wearing my “Panthers Swimming” shorts (good thing they were originally guy’s sweats) and the esky becomes a casualty (not giving details there, sorry).

We make our way back to camp to get the air mattress sorted out (it’s only about 10pm by now) and can’t do it, mind you there is no air pump So, we lay it down on the ground in the tent because “it’ll give us some padding” and get situated for sleep. Team Canada and I would have been cozy in that tent but when you add in a 6ft 4in guy it gets really cozy. And we sleep, not well, but we sleep. It is hot and sticky, and every time you move you end up touching someone. It is gross and uncomfortable. The air mattress, as you could imagine, is no padding at all and only a tease to the comfort that we could have had. Team Canada was wise enough to bring pillows (even though I mocked them for it before we left) and as I was on the end did not get to share in the comforts of a pillow.

Sunrise rolls around, the tent turns into even more of a hot box than it already was. As we all manage our way to our feet we take the time to read the map provided by the campsite people. “Sunset Beach- not recommended for swimming”. UNLUCKY! That would have been great to know last night before the bottoms of our feet looked like something unholy happened to them. But, there are swimming beaches, so we pack up and make our way there.

With no food left and no way to get more we started what felt like a never-ending trek for the “swimming beach”. Slowly the four of us made our way to more suitable swimming areas and by the time we decided to stop the collective appreciation for a rock-free ocean was overwhelming.

Ah, the calm waters of the Indian Ocean. Perfection. We spend our afternoon sunning and swimming. With three hours left to get the rental back we get into the truck. With Dutchie back behind the wheel and the knowledge of slowing down around turns on a dirt road we make it back to Broome in one piece, the esky on the other hand never had a chance!

Dad

Picture this:

You are standing in Jones’ Hardware in Pompton Plains, NJ, trying to pick out a lock for your impending trip to Oz. You are debating weight and strength and if someone really wanted to get into your footlocker would either of these factors matter? You turn around, to ask your father his opinion, only to find that he is happily opening up one of the largest knifes sold at Jones’ and the glimmer in his eye is akin to Jack Nicholson’s in the “here’s Johnny” scene of The Shining. He then tells you, in a most matter of fact manner, that this is the knife you should get and proceeds to place it between his teeth and mock dive into the water. He then follows it up with the suggestion that you can kill fish with it (money saver) and easily hook it to your bikini bottom when not needing it to spear fish as you are deep sea diving. This is my Dad- and I love it!

This is what I thought of as I unlocked my footlocker today to get my laptop and write a little something for my blog. My dad is quite a character. Back in the day, he had a one-way ticket to Australia; he, however, did not go. Maybe that was a mistake, maybe not; all I do know is that if he had gone, I probably wouldn’t be around to write about my adventures in Oz right now. So, thanks Dad, for turning that ticket in.

In the weeks leading up to my departure I think he was more excited than I was. We went to the stores and bought a pocket knife (happily, I did not get the jumbo one from Jones’), mini mag light, sunglasses (thank you for helping me pick ones that do not make me look like a dweeb), hiking shoes, and all kinds of other crap. I have to say, his excitement definitely put a damper on my nervousness and I’m glad that we had the time to do this- together.

This is a man who is filled with infinite wisdom- like when I talked to him on Sept 12, 2001, and he told me, “If shit goes down, don’t eat all your non-perishables all at once”. Wow, I know, incredible advice in the wake of one the greatest American tragedies, but he had a point. And frankly, had “shit gone down” I would have remembered not to eat all my non-perishables at once. That’s not something I would have thought of, not in a million years. I’m a hungry girl, so I probably would have gone through my non-perishables quite quickly.

But back to the trip at hand, I wish he were able to go on that trip back in the day. Everywhere I go, I see something that I know he would love to see or experience. Even the dirty, dirty hostels would be a pleasure for him. It’s all part of the experience of a lifetime and I know that he would relish every filthy, sweat drenched moment of it. And if places here in Australia seem untouched now in 2009, what would it have been like 35 years ago? I can’t even imagine how it was here 35 years ago, it seems so desolate now.

Well, Dad, if you do get to come out; and I suggest you do everything in power to make it happen, buy two of those knives from Jones’, you know, the big ones that made your eyes glimmer and we’ll go diving for dinner together!

I love you!

Poise and Purpose

A bit about the title of my blog.

I am in a sorority. I am not telling which one, it doesn't matter. And it's not that kind of sorority, so please discard of any lesbian fantasties right now.

One of the aims, or goals, or whatever you want to call it was that my sorority was going "to build women of poise and purpose", which of course was a joke in college. Even the best of us was not filled with poise and most of the time our purpose was to get drunk or high or both or worse. However, in the almost 6 years since graduating that fine Southern Jersey institution, many of the women I knew do now have far more poise and a great amount of purpose. Maybe the objective of the sorority should be, "to eventually build women of a decent amount of poise and purpose, one day, down the road a bit, but for now they can be drunk and stupid." That would have been far more fitting, at least for the majority of girls, myself included.

But as far as my travels are concerned, I thought it would be funny. Most of the experiences I end up having during the course of the day are void of poise and probably the opposite of purpose-filled. Like when I went to Tennessee just after high school with one of my best friends, her boyfriend at the time, and one of his friends. I lost one Birkenstock on the side of the road in the middle of Virginia, needless to say I was upset, very upset. One perfectly good Birkenstock lost forever in Virginia- but no, my best friend, the angel she is, remembered that we had pulled over by southbound mile marker 83 so on the way back we stopped, and TAH-DAH!, my Birkenstock!!!! No poise involved when trying to hunt down a sandal in the middle of the night on a major interstate highway. No purpose to stoping- it's just a sandal, I probably could have easily gotten another pair when I got home, but no. Instead four 18 year olds were scavanging the side of a busy highway in the middle of the night looking for a stupid sandal, but a comfortable one at that.

So, as for poise, I'm sure there will be little of it involved in many of my travel stories. And as for purpose, well the funniest things in life usually don't have a purpose, but they are awfully entertaining!

The Parade, written 3/11/2009

So, the Sydney Mardi Gras Parade is sponsored by the Gay/Lesbian Associations here in New South Wales. It started as a unifying event and has now taken over a decent part of the city for the entire day. It is incredible, and of course, FABULOUS!!!

Becky, Mu, and I took up post at Oxford and Crown Streets a good 3 hours before the parade was set to start. Good thinking. It gets crowded fast. "People watching" at a G/L-Mardi Gras is an event in itself. Bunnies, fairies, angels, brides, bikers, and slightly questionables are out and about, loud and proud. I love it! A day where you can be you with rainbow banners stating "Nations United" flying overhead.

The parade kicked off with Dikes on Bikes, followed leather-clad men on bikes, followed by some of the most gorgeous legs in the tallest stilletos complete with feathers, sequins, and crowns. One float was more colorful than the next, and the Drag Queens have legs and butts even the most confident woman would admire.

About 35 minutes into the parade I felt someone behind me, or should I say somethings- as the woman who was trying fervently to make her way to the fence was a good foot shorter than I and I could only feel a certain part of her. Her breasts to be exact, her very large pillowy breasts had taken up residence on my hips, one of eash side. I was enveloped in DD asain softness. As Becky complained of being chilly I had the warming comfort of a strangers bust wrapped around me. As the parade strutted on (I'm so jealous of the legs) my woman got increasingly closer. Now my butt is pressed up against her belly, not as soft as her chest, but hey, what can a girl do?! She is now so comfortable with our level of intimacy that she has taken it upon herself to gently move my ponytail to the side so as not to obstruct her view. With her small, slightly sausage-esque, left hand resting on my left shoulder I am now becoming irrate.
WHO STANDS THIS CLOSE?!?!!
WHO TOUCHES A STRANGER????
WHAT IS SHE THINKING?!?!?!??!
Becky and Mu are laughing, Mu is taking pictures- of the parade and of me and my woman. This goes on for about an hour and my lady walks away. I feel used, abused, love 'em and leave 'em, that's her moto. OK, not really, I'm glad to have my personal space back and continuing watching one of the most colorful and stilletto laden parades I have ever seen.As the parade wraps up a young man passes out face-down on the sidewalk behind us. Event medical staff and firefighters to the rescue. Hooked up to oxygen, the yound man is making his way back from his alcohol induced coma. As he is recovering, a rainbow haired, sparkling angel emerges from the crowd, "I'm with him, is he ok? Can I come across the barrier?" "NO" is the response. I think, if you were with him, then where were you when he was ingesting enough booze to kill a horse? Or did you not realize that his all of 125lb body, when soaking wet in a denim suit, could not handle that much to drink?? He is now drunkenly pumping his fist in the air along with the everchanging beats of the floats going by. Strapped into a gurney, he feels more secure in moving more body parts along to the rhythm of the music. The firefighters are laughing and shaking their heads as if to say, "you stupid drunk fool". I am also laughing and shaking my head and saying out loud, "what a stupid drunk ass".

With the parade over, and the party to end all parties comencing at the other end of town, we walk back to the train stop. Metallic confetti, rainbow flags, trash and glass bottles line the streets. Pink Australian flags hanging off the shoulders of everyone is town ushers you back to a transit stop.

Ah, Mardi Gras, it's spectacular, even when it's not even close to Fat Tuesday.

2 Sides to Every City, written 3/6/2009

It’s true. All cities and their surroundings are the same. Once you’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all. Maybe not the cities of old, like Paris, Florence, Prague, and the like; but new cities are grotesquely cookie-cutter. Other than being flanked on one side by magnificent coastline and the buff beach-goers, Sydney is like any other non-descript city in the United States. There is of course its business district, with its tall shiny buildings and small efficient eateries. There is the “old” section, “The Rock” as it’s called, complete with cobblestone and little stairways. The tourist traps: zoo, aquarium, Opera House, Harbour Bridge, Darling Harbour, and anything else lights and a sign will attach to. There are carefully planned parks and, of course, Chinatown- no modern city would be complete without its very own Chinatown. There are men and women in business attire bustling through the streets with a determination that always baffles (your job isn’t that important, something tells me that if you didn’t get back right away or ever, everyone would still find something to do). There are students rushing through traffic thinking, “please don’t fail me if I’m late again,” a feeling I’m sure is very valid. There are moms and dads doing head counts and potty checks. People smiling, chatting, hugging, coming, going, and crying. The air is slightly dirty and there is a bar or coffee place on every corner. ATMs, buses and trains stations abound. Citizens, non-citizens, legals and illegals, it is NYC but with a different accent and a more laid-back attitude. This is not the Australia I came to see. But it’s ok, for now.

Sydney does have beaches, oh does it have beaches.

Walk east. Salt water breezing up the street. Closer. Over the houses a glimpse of blue, deep blue ocean. Closer still. Turn again. Waves smashing wind blown rocks. Chatter from the sand. And… arrival. The Pacific stretches out in front of you like a canvas of ever changing blue; the painter not able to mix her blues consistently, making what would be considered a failure in the museum. Here though, it is embraced by everyone who passes. It beckons. Sit. Swim. Play. Gaze. Be. Suddenly, and serenely, you forget the city that lies just beyond the hills behind you and you are calm. The emails and errands from this morning are a distant memory. The water engulfs your thoughts as you nestle into the warm comfort of the sand beneath you. Welcome to Australia. Welcome to the Australia you’ve come to see.

Crossing the street in the Land Down Under, written 2/27/2009

As if jetlag weren't enough to throw you off in a new country, the Aussies drive on the left side of the road, yes you heard right, THE LEFT!!!! So there is no looking left, right, left- it's all right, left, right. And at an intersection it's even worse because you forget which way the turning traffic is coming from!! But, in the past three days I've managed to cross the street multiple times, even without a crosswalk, and have yet to get hit or even clipped by oncoming traffic.

I have found a delightful little cafe, Curious Cafe, in Bondi Junction, that makes delicious lattes, cappuccinos, and food. Bonus, they have free internet access. The cafe sits in a building that is the equivilent of an NYC brownstone. Two steps down from the sidewalk is an outdoor sitting area (where I am today, enjoying my latte and raspberry muffin), then through the door to two seperate rooms, counter all the way in back, stairwell running up the left. Curious Cafe has a resident cat. Black and white and mostly sleepy, his name is Elvis. He perches himself on a chair or at the steps on the sidewalk. Today, he has taken up residence directly in the middle of the steps on the sidewalk, forcing anyone who wishes to gain access to Curious to either step over him or walk clearly around him, squeezing themselves between him and the wrought iron fence posts. Curiously enough, no one seems to mind. Elvis, I presume, has been the gate keeper here for quite some time. Many of the people who pass by know him by name, or very tenderly bend down to give him a pat on the head as they go about their day.Well, I'm off to explore some more. I'd like to make my way to the beach today, and as it's a bit overcast it'll make for some good strolling.

Hannah
ps- Elvis is now curled up on my purse on the chair next to me. I would take a picture but I'm afraid my camera is directly under his butt.