Guess what? Today, I finished my last class of law school. Can you believe it? The reality of it hasn’t set in yet…in a few weeks, I will officially be finished of this crazy little degree. Given that it is end of semester, I’ve been spending a lot of time in the library. It has been occasionally painful to spend a sunny, 29-degree Saturday in the library but my hard work will all pay off very soon.
Spring brings many delights in Melbourne, including visitors. It seems that all the people I met in Byron Bay have shown up on my doorstep in the past little while. Suzanne and Almuth, the German girls who taught me that a mullet is a vokuhila in German, were in Melbourne for a few days and we spent a giggly afternoon together. I showed them around campus, including the fancy modern law school and the older buildings of upper campus. In particular, the quad near south lawn is interesting because it sparked the movement for the 8-hour-day. The story goes that the stonemasons who worked on that building would get tired after eight hours of work. After all, cutting and lifting stone is a hard work! So the masons demanded an eight-hour workday. In downtown Melbourne, there is a statue with 888 written on it to commemorate this trend: eight hours of work, eight hours and leisure and eight hours of rest. Suzanne and Almuth were on their way to New Zealand but before they left we shared ice cream, looked at each other’s photos, talked about boys and just giggled a lot.
My next visitor was Duke, whom I also met in Byron Bay: he had the top bunk and I had the bottom in our four-bed dorm. Duke was also in Melbs on his way to New Zealand and showed up on a borrowed bike. He has this amazing ability to float through his travels without paying for anything: free places to stay, free food, borrowed bikes and surf boards, etc. It doesn’t hurt that he looks like a classic California surfer dude: tall with long blond hair and model looks. During Duke’s visit, I took some much-needed time off from studying in the library and we wandered around Victoria Market before going to Brighton Beach with Channie and Matt. While Matt and I lounged on our beach blankets, Duke took it upon himself to teach Channie some basic rugby skills: throwing, passing, and tackling.
Channie, my Korean girlfriend, is such a nice friend. We’ve been running into each other on campus by accident a lot lately. She’s the kind of friend that I can text to say, “Meet me at our spot on South Lawn in 15 minutes,” and she’ll be there. Sometimes we just have a few minutes between classes but we’ll eat an apple together, hug and go off in our separate directions. I feel very lucky to have found her! Last week, Channie planned a little outing for us to Fitzroy Gardens, where James Cook’s cottage has been reconstructed (FYI: Cook is that dude who “discovered” Australia and planted the flag to claim this massive island for Britain). All the world maps of Cook’s adventures have Australia at the center of them instead of Europe, which I found interesting. People here don’t think of Oz as a strange land at the bottom of the world: this is the center of the world. After touring the tiny house, we wandered through the lovely herb gardens and then out into Fitzroy Gardens proper, which reminds me of a mini-Central Park: a lush oasis in the middle of downtown with skyscrapers in the distance.
I celebrated the last week of school by going to see Xavier Rudd in concert last night (he’s a Melbourne native, after all) and popping into the beer festival at Federation Square this evening. Good times. Now that classes are over, we have a week off before exams begin and I’ve decided to use my time wisely: I’m flying to Hervey Bay tomorrow to spend the night sailing around Fraser Island with the Sydney crew, Eva, Rachel, Nathan and two of his mates. Then I’m headed to Tasmania for the rest of the week. I’m sure it will all be very “educational.”
This week, I felt my first pang of homesickness since I’ve been in Australia. I’m sure it is stress-related - too much time studying! But I just want y’all to know that I’m thinking of you. You are in my heart and I’m hoping that you’re keeping the homefires burning for me too. Lots of love and more news to come from the road!
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Back to basics in Melbs
Well, I finally made it back to Melbourne. It has been nice to come “home” to the familiar faces, sights and sounds. On my first day back, I took pleasure in wandering my neighbourhood to admire the spring foliage and sweet smell of blossoms. It comforted me to go to crowded Victoria Market and hear the stall-keepers shouting their wares, “Mushrooms! Six dollars! Fresh mushrooms only six dollars a kilo! Get your mushrooms here!” Back at school, my community in law, around campus and at Graduate House greeted me with a hero’s welcome – I felt like an old friend who was dearly missed.
Ever since I arrived in July, people kept telling me, “Oh, just wait until the summer – it is amazing.” Back then, it was hard to imagine what they were talking about. Just as in Canada, it is hard to imagine the lushness of summer when the weather is cold and dreary and all the trees are naked of leaves, looking like gnarled claws reaching for the sky. But then, unexpectedly, comes the vigour and promise of spring. On campus, stately rows of trees have burst forth with fresh green leaves, creating a canopy over walkways to shield us from the hot sun. On a warm Saturday night, Swanston Street downtown is full of crowds, all in skimpy dresses and short sleeves, wandering ever so much more slowly, languidly, enjoying the night. Then, the first Sunday at the beach in Brighton: it was so hot that the water felt refreshing even though it was the temperature of freshly melted icebergs. The Melbournians were right: this new season is amazing and you have to actually experience it to understand how lovely it is.
I’ve spent more time recently with real Australians, as opposed to other exchange students. Ramiz, a Melbournian who I met through a co-worker in Montreal, took me to Prahran for an afternoon of sangria and people-watching from a terrace in Chapel Street. Prahran is despised in some circles as being too fancy-schmancy but I thought it was interesting: the people all have interesting outfits, from grunge to fashionista, and the window shopping is to die for. You could spend a lot of money in Prahran but I wisely kept my wallet tucked away in my bag and enjoyed the pleasures of the neighbourhood without actually consuming them. Mid-way through our sangria, some mates of Ramiz’s passed by after their 9-to-5. They are a secret couple by office romance: co-workers by day and lovers by night. We all went for lovely evening of Thai food with BYO white wine.
At the dinner, I was reminded that Australian humour is very much based on “piss-taking” or teasing of other people. It seems the Aussies like to show that they care by “taking the piss” out of their mates or family. In particular, I’ve noticed this between couples when the boyfriend mercilessly teases the girlfriend, perhaps taking the jokes a bit too far but then saying that it is all in the name of fun. It amazes me that these women put up with it! I wrote in an earlier blog about Nick, the Australian sailor who loved Canadian women. He admired the Canuck ladies for their ability to be feminine feminists, that is, asserting their rights and not taking shit while still being lovely attractive women. I like to think that Nick’s description suits us Canadian women. And I guess my father can rest assured that I won’t be getting married to some piss-taking Aussie bloke and settling down here. I prefer my men a little sweeter!
Then, last Friday, I introduced the Texans to Steve, another Melbournian that I met through friends in Montreal. We sipped iced green tea and dined on Indian food in the early evening. When Matt and Kelly retired early (they had a camping trip the next day), Steve and I ventured to Brunswick Street and had a few excellent drinks at Polly, a cocktail bar. The place was opulently decorated with red velvet walls, chandeliers and low lighting. Steve observed that it was like being inside a vulva…whatever that means. The drinks list was enormous – about 50 specialty cocktails alongside all the other sundry beers, wines and mixed drinks. First, a round of mojitos: mine was pomegranate and Steve’s was mandarin orange. Later, I had a cocktail of gin, grapefruit and cherries while Steve indulgence in a Freudian Sip: absinthe and green apple with lemon and sugar. We continued down Brunswick and came upon an improptu gathering: a five-piece band was set up on the corner and jamming out some very groovy music. A crowd of mostly young men had assembled, spilling out onto the street, and they were all dancing like mad. I’ve never seen men, especially 20-somethings, dance like they do in Melbourne: this was no cool-duded swaying back and forth. It was all-out, footloose, hands-in-the-air, eyes-closed dancing. I like to call it the Melbourne Shuffle (although that is actually a dance – and not the one I’m describing here). To me, the Melbourne Shuffle is when a hot guy just goes wild on the dancefloor, not caring what anyone else thinks. Unfortunately, people did care when the cops turned up to break up the unauthorized street party. Steve and I moved on and soon called it a night, parting to go our separate ways.
I have many more Melbourne stories so stay tuned. In the meantime, I have to get to the library…final exams are coming up!
Ever since I arrived in July, people kept telling me, “Oh, just wait until the summer – it is amazing.” Back then, it was hard to imagine what they were talking about. Just as in Canada, it is hard to imagine the lushness of summer when the weather is cold and dreary and all the trees are naked of leaves, looking like gnarled claws reaching for the sky. But then, unexpectedly, comes the vigour and promise of spring. On campus, stately rows of trees have burst forth with fresh green leaves, creating a canopy over walkways to shield us from the hot sun. On a warm Saturday night, Swanston Street downtown is full of crowds, all in skimpy dresses and short sleeves, wandering ever so much more slowly, languidly, enjoying the night. Then, the first Sunday at the beach in Brighton: it was so hot that the water felt refreshing even though it was the temperature of freshly melted icebergs. The Melbournians were right: this new season is amazing and you have to actually experience it to understand how lovely it is.
I’ve spent more time recently with real Australians, as opposed to other exchange students. Ramiz, a Melbournian who I met through a co-worker in Montreal, took me to Prahran for an afternoon of sangria and people-watching from a terrace in Chapel Street. Prahran is despised in some circles as being too fancy-schmancy but I thought it was interesting: the people all have interesting outfits, from grunge to fashionista, and the window shopping is to die for. You could spend a lot of money in Prahran but I wisely kept my wallet tucked away in my bag and enjoyed the pleasures of the neighbourhood without actually consuming them. Mid-way through our sangria, some mates of Ramiz’s passed by after their 9-to-5. They are a secret couple by office romance: co-workers by day and lovers by night. We all went for lovely evening of Thai food with BYO white wine.
At the dinner, I was reminded that Australian humour is very much based on “piss-taking” or teasing of other people. It seems the Aussies like to show that they care by “taking the piss” out of their mates or family. In particular, I’ve noticed this between couples when the boyfriend mercilessly teases the girlfriend, perhaps taking the jokes a bit too far but then saying that it is all in the name of fun. It amazes me that these women put up with it! I wrote in an earlier blog about Nick, the Australian sailor who loved Canadian women. He admired the Canuck ladies for their ability to be feminine feminists, that is, asserting their rights and not taking shit while still being lovely attractive women. I like to think that Nick’s description suits us Canadian women. And I guess my father can rest assured that I won’t be getting married to some piss-taking Aussie bloke and settling down here. I prefer my men a little sweeter!
Then, last Friday, I introduced the Texans to Steve, another Melbournian that I met through friends in Montreal. We sipped iced green tea and dined on Indian food in the early evening. When Matt and Kelly retired early (they had a camping trip the next day), Steve and I ventured to Brunswick Street and had a few excellent drinks at Polly, a cocktail bar. The place was opulently decorated with red velvet walls, chandeliers and low lighting. Steve observed that it was like being inside a vulva…whatever that means. The drinks list was enormous – about 50 specialty cocktails alongside all the other sundry beers, wines and mixed drinks. First, a round of mojitos: mine was pomegranate and Steve’s was mandarin orange. Later, I had a cocktail of gin, grapefruit and cherries while Steve indulgence in a Freudian Sip: absinthe and green apple with lemon and sugar. We continued down Brunswick and came upon an improptu gathering: a five-piece band was set up on the corner and jamming out some very groovy music. A crowd of mostly young men had assembled, spilling out onto the street, and they were all dancing like mad. I’ve never seen men, especially 20-somethings, dance like they do in Melbourne: this was no cool-duded swaying back and forth. It was all-out, footloose, hands-in-the-air, eyes-closed dancing. I like to call it the Melbourne Shuffle (although that is actually a dance – and not the one I’m describing here). To me, the Melbourne Shuffle is when a hot guy just goes wild on the dancefloor, not caring what anyone else thinks. Unfortunately, people did care when the cops turned up to break up the unauthorized street party. Steve and I moved on and soon called it a night, parting to go our separate ways.
I have many more Melbourne stories so stay tuned. In the meantime, I have to get to the library…final exams are coming up!
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Enjoy Coogee – it’s the real thing
The last stop on my east coast odyssey was, of course, Sydney. I cruised into Coogee on a Saturday afternoon…and I didn’t leave the neighborhood for about five days. I guess I just needed to sit down and rest someplace after two weeks of being on the road. My inability to move from Coogee turned my two-week spring break into a three-week vacation. I figured I wouldn’t have done any schoolwork in Melbourne anyway. So I followed a strict regime: sleeping in, puttering around the house, beaching in the afternoon and then socializing in the evening.
The neighbourhood of Coogee is mostly quiet residential streets with a few bustling main boulevards. Coogee Bay Road has everything you could want: lots of great restaurants, groceries stores and bottle shops, as well as the requisite beachwear stores. The road runs down a hill and finishes gloriously at the beach. Eva, Rachel and Noah all live within a five-block radius of each other in Coogee so I beat a well-worn path between their doors. Noah hosted a dinner party for the Fraser Island group and we dined on his excellent chili con carne while enjoying a slideshow of our photos from the trip. In addition to this, Noah spent most of the week as I did – I would come upon him napping on the beach or working on his tan.
I spent much of the week in the company of Nathan, Eva’s roommate and your stereotypical Australian male: he is a firefighter by profession, a volunteer lifeguard and a sports-mad jock. He would always be scooting out for a quick game of footy or a run around the neighborhood. The Rugby League Grand Final was on one day and Nathan invited me to the neighbor’s footy party. It was the Aussie equivalent of the Super Bowl or the Grey Cup: friends gathered around the television with copious amounts of beer and fabulous munchies. After Manly, a suburb of Sydney, killed the Melbourne team 40-0, our host Glen fired up the barbie and we had an epic feast. I felt lucky to get this glimpse into Aussie culture.
I also enjoyed the opportunity to nest a little at Eva’s place. While I have enjoyed my lack of domestic responsibilities in Melbourne, I do sometimes miss getting cozy at home with cooking and cleaning. Yes, I realize that that sounds kind of pathetic – just blame my Ukrainian heritage! The urge to clean is almost as strong as the urge to shop. And once you start, you just can’t stop. So Eva declared me the best houseguest ever after I washed the dishes, swept the floor, did four loads of her laundry and cooked everyone a lovely supper: chickpea curry wraps, roast chicken and red cabbage coleslaw with tomatoes and fresh mozarella.
It was Rachel’s birthday on Thursday and we celebrated Sydney-style by buying a bottle of pink bubbly at the Coogee Bay Hotel and proceeding to the beach to drink it in our bikinis. Rachel said that it was her most memorable birthday yet. Usually, she spends it eating pumpkin pie or driving across Southern Ontario for the family Thanksgiving party. I was becoming a serious beach bum and was thrilled to help get her birthday started properly. After some disco naps, we all got dolled up and went to a Mexican restaurant in Darlinghurst followed by salsa dancing in King’s Wharf of Darling Harbour. Yes, that was the only time that I left Coogee during my visit.
Many Melbournites hate Sydney, just as Montrealers hate Toronto. I’ve always enjoyed my visits to Toronto because I stay with family or friends and live like a local. I must say that I love Sydney, perhaps because of my neighborhood experience just hanging around Coogee. One shop on the Coogee Bay Road has a tee-shirt with what looks like the Coca-cola logo on it…except it says Enjoy Coogee – it’s the real thing. And there ain’t nothing like the real thing, baby.
The neighbourhood of Coogee is mostly quiet residential streets with a few bustling main boulevards. Coogee Bay Road has everything you could want: lots of great restaurants, groceries stores and bottle shops, as well as the requisite beachwear stores. The road runs down a hill and finishes gloriously at the beach. Eva, Rachel and Noah all live within a five-block radius of each other in Coogee so I beat a well-worn path between their doors. Noah hosted a dinner party for the Fraser Island group and we dined on his excellent chili con carne while enjoying a slideshow of our photos from the trip. In addition to this, Noah spent most of the week as I did – I would come upon him napping on the beach or working on his tan.
I spent much of the week in the company of Nathan, Eva’s roommate and your stereotypical Australian male: he is a firefighter by profession, a volunteer lifeguard and a sports-mad jock. He would always be scooting out for a quick game of footy or a run around the neighborhood. The Rugby League Grand Final was on one day and Nathan invited me to the neighbor’s footy party. It was the Aussie equivalent of the Super Bowl or the Grey Cup: friends gathered around the television with copious amounts of beer and fabulous munchies. After Manly, a suburb of Sydney, killed the Melbourne team 40-0, our host Glen fired up the barbie and we had an epic feast. I felt lucky to get this glimpse into Aussie culture.
I also enjoyed the opportunity to nest a little at Eva’s place. While I have enjoyed my lack of domestic responsibilities in Melbourne, I do sometimes miss getting cozy at home with cooking and cleaning. Yes, I realize that that sounds kind of pathetic – just blame my Ukrainian heritage! The urge to clean is almost as strong as the urge to shop. And once you start, you just can’t stop. So Eva declared me the best houseguest ever after I washed the dishes, swept the floor, did four loads of her laundry and cooked everyone a lovely supper: chickpea curry wraps, roast chicken and red cabbage coleslaw with tomatoes and fresh mozarella.
It was Rachel’s birthday on Thursday and we celebrated Sydney-style by buying a bottle of pink bubbly at the Coogee Bay Hotel and proceeding to the beach to drink it in our bikinis. Rachel said that it was her most memorable birthday yet. Usually, she spends it eating pumpkin pie or driving across Southern Ontario for the family Thanksgiving party. I was becoming a serious beach bum and was thrilled to help get her birthday started properly. After some disco naps, we all got dolled up and went to a Mexican restaurant in Darlinghurst followed by salsa dancing in King’s Wharf of Darling Harbour. Yes, that was the only time that I left Coogee during my visit.
Many Melbournites hate Sydney, just as Montrealers hate Toronto. I’ve always enjoyed my visits to Toronto because I stay with family or friends and live like a local. I must say that I love Sydney, perhaps because of my neighborhood experience just hanging around Coogee. One shop on the Coogee Bay Road has a tee-shirt with what looks like the Coca-cola logo on it…except it says Enjoy Coogee – it’s the real thing. And there ain’t nothing like the real thing, baby.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The bounty of Byron Shire
The Lonely Planet guide refers to Byron Bay as “the promised land – God’s own earth.” I have to say that those travel writers are correct! I took the Greyhound by day from Hervey Bay to Byron, stopping briefly in Brisbane. It was likely my nicest experience riding the dog; while at previous meal break stops we could only buy fried foods and cola, the stops on the way to Byron provided us with chicken caesar wraps, gourmet coffee and a strawberry stand in the parking lot. Having spent most of my last night in Hervey Bay in the company of a blond Brit and a bottle of gin, I napped for most of the journey but miraculously woke at the perfect moment to see the sign that read, “Welcome to Byron Shire.” I had arrived in God’s country, full of lush countryside and ocean views.
Once in Byron Bay, I stepped off the bus to find Jordan, my brother’s best mate from PEI, waiting for me with a big smile on his face. He looked tanned and relaxed. Jordan works at a very nice hostel called Holiday Village and he took me under his wing, driving me around town on a little welcome tour and then ensconcing me in a lovely four-bed apartment dorm with nice roommates. In the opposite bunk were Paz and Multhi, two beautiful and groovy Spanish women who work in Brisbane and Sydney, respectively, but were in Byron for a week’s holiday. My bunk-mate was Duke, a blond Californian surfer dude with model looks and an easy-going attitude.
Since our apartment dorm had a kitchen, I decided that I should get some groceries and cook instead of eating out. Browsing through Woolworth’s grocery at six o’clock on a Wednesday evening, I got excellent introduction to the population of Byron. If the mullet was the hairstyle in Hervey Bay then dreadlocks were definitely it in Byron. I could barely concentrate on what kind of tea to buy because all these barefoot and shirtless hippie surfer dudes kept walking by, picking up green tea and other organic infusions. After only a few days in Byron Shire, I would be contemplating replacing all the black in my wardrobe with flowered skirts and tie-dyed shirts.
That night, I met up with Kelly again and met her mother, who was visiting from Texas. We went for vegetarian indian food and Kelly’s mum, after asking what pakoras and paneer were, said, “How do y’all know about this foreign food?” I guess Australia just expands a person’s culinary horizons! After dinner, we joined Jordan and his boys at another hostel to catch the end of a didjeridoo rock show. I always love hanging out with my brother’s friends because they inevitably introduce me to scores of other men. The courtyard of the hostel was full of surfers, hippies and backpackers, either sitting at picnic tables or standing around drinking. Jordan was carrying a man-purse, which we all thought was strange until he pulled a bag of goon (cheap wine) and several plastic cups out of it. The goon tasted pretty bad at first…but we soon got used to it. I was a bit concerned that Kelly’s mother would be traumatized by this frat-party of a scene but apparently she loved it! Duke, my bunk-mate, was thrilled to meet two Texan ladies (he told me earlier that he has a soft spot for a woman with a drawl) and entertained Kelly and her mom with colourful stories for quite a long time. Apparently he said “fuck” every second word and Kelly’s mom was delighted to get an unedited glimpse into the backpacker lifestyle.
Later on, the night turned international for me. On the way to Cheeky Monkeys, a popular nightclub in Byron, I discussed the concept of the mullet with two German girls called Susanne and Almuth. They informed me that a mullet is a called a “vokuhila” in German (that’s short for vorn kurz hintern lang – or short in the front, long in the back). Once Jordan swept us into Cheeky’s, skipping the queue and the cover charge because he knows the doormen, I spent much of the night speaking French to a handsome man from Bordeaux who couldn’t speak English and was therefore thrilled to find another French-speaking person. In between such international exchanges, I did the requisite Cheeky’s activity: dancing on the tables. In actual fact, they aren’t so much tables as bleachers or fortified picnic benches. Either way, if you go to Cheeky’s, you simply can’t leave until you have danced on the tables. Late that night, I crept back into the hostel and was the last person in bed.
The next day I decided to take a tour to Nimbin, the pot capital of Australia. On Jim’s Alternative Tour, we were treated to fabulous music in the bus and lots of nice stories from our friendly driver/tour guide. The drive to Nimbin took about an hour during which we passed vast rows of macadamia nut trees, funky houses and lush pasture full of happy cows. Halfway to Nimbin, Jim stopped the bus at the country pub in Eltham. “There is a law,” he said, “which says that you can drink on a bus if the bus driver says it alright. And I say you can drink in the bus.” It was only 11:00am but I thought, why not? This tendency to drink before midday would come back to haunt me later in Byron but on that clear Thursday morning it was just lovely to drink a beer in the sunshine outside the pub and crack a few macadamia nuts that the barman had graciously laid out for us. Some people were serious about their drinking and they got six-packs for the road.
The town of Nimbin is kind of a weird place. Don’t get me wrong – I love hippies and hippiedom (after all, I grew up in Hippieville, PEI). But this place just took it to a crazy level. It reeked of incense everywhere I went and all available surfaces had been painted with flowers or some groovy quote, like “Follow Your Bliss.” Marijuana isn’t actually legal in Nimbin but the police overlook the selling and smoking of pot in the town. Perhaps it was this glimpse into the world of drug deals that gave me a weird feeling about Nimbin. However, the “industry” of Nimbin did mean that the consumer economy was strong. I stocked up on tea tree shampoo and journals, had an excellent strawberry smoothie and toured some lovely art galleries. For the rest of the day, Jim took us on a magical bus tour through the Nightcap National Park. He has been doing the same tour for 15 years and knows the roads really well. He combined his DJing skills with his knowledge of the landscape and roads to create an amazing sensory rollercoaster experience for the group. The highlight of the day was a stop at the breathtaking Minyon Falls. I scanned the bus on the drive back to Byron and it seemed that most of the other travelers had succumbed to the effects of their pot cookies.
Back in town, my Fraser Island posse showed up and we spent the next days eating, shopping and beaching. When it was too windy on the beach, I lounged with Jordan and his endless parade of handsome friends poolside. We had afternoon drinks at the Rails, a lovely pub in Byron, and were treated to a groovy reggae show at sunset. A couple of Texans fired up the barbecue at the hostel and I almost burned my face off with too many grilled jalapenos peppers, which were filled with sour cream and wrapped in bacon. Unfailingly, every night I ended up at Cheeky Monkeys, inevitably dancing on a table. Jordan tried to go to bed early two nights in a row but once I came round with Rachel, Eva and Georgia, he could never resist just a short visit to Cheeky’s, whisking us all past the bouncers yet again.
Byron was perhaps the hardest place to leave. I wanted to find some gorgeous surfer dude, knight him as Earl of Byron and crown myself as Countess of the Shire, in a costume of flowered skirt, tie-dyed shirt and long flowing hair. Alas, I had to move on…but I know I’ll go back someday soon.
Once in Byron Bay, I stepped off the bus to find Jordan, my brother’s best mate from PEI, waiting for me with a big smile on his face. He looked tanned and relaxed. Jordan works at a very nice hostel called Holiday Village and he took me under his wing, driving me around town on a little welcome tour and then ensconcing me in a lovely four-bed apartment dorm with nice roommates. In the opposite bunk were Paz and Multhi, two beautiful and groovy Spanish women who work in Brisbane and Sydney, respectively, but were in Byron for a week’s holiday. My bunk-mate was Duke, a blond Californian surfer dude with model looks and an easy-going attitude.
Since our apartment dorm had a kitchen, I decided that I should get some groceries and cook instead of eating out. Browsing through Woolworth’s grocery at six o’clock on a Wednesday evening, I got excellent introduction to the population of Byron. If the mullet was the hairstyle in Hervey Bay then dreadlocks were definitely it in Byron. I could barely concentrate on what kind of tea to buy because all these barefoot and shirtless hippie surfer dudes kept walking by, picking up green tea and other organic infusions. After only a few days in Byron Shire, I would be contemplating replacing all the black in my wardrobe with flowered skirts and tie-dyed shirts.
That night, I met up with Kelly again and met her mother, who was visiting from Texas. We went for vegetarian indian food and Kelly’s mum, after asking what pakoras and paneer were, said, “How do y’all know about this foreign food?” I guess Australia just expands a person’s culinary horizons! After dinner, we joined Jordan and his boys at another hostel to catch the end of a didjeridoo rock show. I always love hanging out with my brother’s friends because they inevitably introduce me to scores of other men. The courtyard of the hostel was full of surfers, hippies and backpackers, either sitting at picnic tables or standing around drinking. Jordan was carrying a man-purse, which we all thought was strange until he pulled a bag of goon (cheap wine) and several plastic cups out of it. The goon tasted pretty bad at first…but we soon got used to it. I was a bit concerned that Kelly’s mother would be traumatized by this frat-party of a scene but apparently she loved it! Duke, my bunk-mate, was thrilled to meet two Texan ladies (he told me earlier that he has a soft spot for a woman with a drawl) and entertained Kelly and her mom with colourful stories for quite a long time. Apparently he said “fuck” every second word and Kelly’s mom was delighted to get an unedited glimpse into the backpacker lifestyle.
Later on, the night turned international for me. On the way to Cheeky Monkeys, a popular nightclub in Byron, I discussed the concept of the mullet with two German girls called Susanne and Almuth. They informed me that a mullet is a called a “vokuhila” in German (that’s short for vorn kurz hintern lang – or short in the front, long in the back). Once Jordan swept us into Cheeky’s, skipping the queue and the cover charge because he knows the doormen, I spent much of the night speaking French to a handsome man from Bordeaux who couldn’t speak English and was therefore thrilled to find another French-speaking person. In between such international exchanges, I did the requisite Cheeky’s activity: dancing on the tables. In actual fact, they aren’t so much tables as bleachers or fortified picnic benches. Either way, if you go to Cheeky’s, you simply can’t leave until you have danced on the tables. Late that night, I crept back into the hostel and was the last person in bed.
The next day I decided to take a tour to Nimbin, the pot capital of Australia. On Jim’s Alternative Tour, we were treated to fabulous music in the bus and lots of nice stories from our friendly driver/tour guide. The drive to Nimbin took about an hour during which we passed vast rows of macadamia nut trees, funky houses and lush pasture full of happy cows. Halfway to Nimbin, Jim stopped the bus at the country pub in Eltham. “There is a law,” he said, “which says that you can drink on a bus if the bus driver says it alright. And I say you can drink in the bus.” It was only 11:00am but I thought, why not? This tendency to drink before midday would come back to haunt me later in Byron but on that clear Thursday morning it was just lovely to drink a beer in the sunshine outside the pub and crack a few macadamia nuts that the barman had graciously laid out for us. Some people were serious about their drinking and they got six-packs for the road.
The town of Nimbin is kind of a weird place. Don’t get me wrong – I love hippies and hippiedom (after all, I grew up in Hippieville, PEI). But this place just took it to a crazy level. It reeked of incense everywhere I went and all available surfaces had been painted with flowers or some groovy quote, like “Follow Your Bliss.” Marijuana isn’t actually legal in Nimbin but the police overlook the selling and smoking of pot in the town. Perhaps it was this glimpse into the world of drug deals that gave me a weird feeling about Nimbin. However, the “industry” of Nimbin did mean that the consumer economy was strong. I stocked up on tea tree shampoo and journals, had an excellent strawberry smoothie and toured some lovely art galleries. For the rest of the day, Jim took us on a magical bus tour through the Nightcap National Park. He has been doing the same tour for 15 years and knows the roads really well. He combined his DJing skills with his knowledge of the landscape and roads to create an amazing sensory rollercoaster experience for the group. The highlight of the day was a stop at the breathtaking Minyon Falls. I scanned the bus on the drive back to Byron and it seemed that most of the other travelers had succumbed to the effects of their pot cookies.
Back in town, my Fraser Island posse showed up and we spent the next days eating, shopping and beaching. When it was too windy on the beach, I lounged with Jordan and his endless parade of handsome friends poolside. We had afternoon drinks at the Rails, a lovely pub in Byron, and were treated to a groovy reggae show at sunset. A couple of Texans fired up the barbecue at the hostel and I almost burned my face off with too many grilled jalapenos peppers, which were filled with sour cream and wrapped in bacon. Unfailingly, every night I ended up at Cheeky Monkeys, inevitably dancing on a table. Jordan tried to go to bed early two nights in a row but once I came round with Rachel, Eva and Georgia, he could never resist just a short visit to Cheeky’s, whisking us all past the bouncers yet again.
Byron was perhaps the hardest place to leave. I wanted to find some gorgeous surfer dude, knight him as Earl of Byron and crown myself as Countess of the Shire, in a costume of flowered skirt, tie-dyed shirt and long flowing hair. Alas, I had to move on…but I know I’ll go back someday soon.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Into the land of sand...
My second night bus experience from Airlie Beach to Hervey Bay was better than the first because Kelly was with me. We chatted and reminisced about our Whitsunday adventure until we fell asleep. At 6am, I got off in Hervey Bay and Kelly continued on to Noosa Heads and then to Brisbane to meet her mother. Once in Hervey Bay, I was pretty bewildered for the rest of the day: I took about 4 naps, waking only to eat and go to the beach. Late in the day, the Sydney posse joined me at the hostel and the fun began!
Hervey Bay is a bit of a bogan town (that's what they call hicks or country people in Australia) where the predominant hairstyle is the mullet. Not much happens around town; apart from the mullet-bearing locals, many backpackers wander the main streets provisioning themselves for their next adventure. Hervey Bay is the jumping-off point for Fraser Island, the largest sand island in the world. After I met up with my group, we got groceries, checked the tents, sampled the local pub food and mullet-filled dance floor. We left for Fraser Island early the next morning, piling into the back of a big 4x4 jeep. A pleasant 30-minute barge ride got us onto the Island. We quickly learned that driving on Fraser is not for the faint of heart - on our first day on the inland tracks we had to push the jeep out of the sand three or four times. At one point, we got stuck in a rut at a very precarious angle and someone yelled "Everybody out before we tip over!" Panicked, we all jumped out and some of us were literally holding up the jeep while others dug us out of the sand and conferred over how to save us from our calamity. Luckily, we got out unscathed and were able to laugh about it later.
Now, I'd like to take the time to describe our crew. Eva was the unofficial glue of the group: she got everyone on board and organized the travel bookings, etc. She's the kind of girl who wakes you at 6am by dancing and singing show tunes outside your tent...and yet, you still love her. Rachel, a feisty girl from Ontario, was our head chef and the second driver. Noah is a fellow Montrealer and the most laid-back and tanned surfer dude you'll ever meet. He was the darling of Montreal recruitment this past winter and after seeing him in Australia it is hard to imagine him suited up and kicking ass in the corporate law world. Then there were Tobias and Dennis, two tall blonde Germans with enough sweetness and humour between them to charm any woman in the world. Georgia is a stylish Italian with a quick wit, sharp tongue and soft heart. She was a sharp flower: beautiful and occasionally prickly. Then there were two French girls, Elodie and Pauline. They didn't say much but they were lovely nonetheless. And last but not least there was Maria, a gorgeous and spritely Colombian who would emerge every morning from her tent looking perfectly groomed, a vision in white, and who would manage to keep her immaculate clothes clean all day. Maria insisted on doing the dishes every night...and no one protested.
Our group worked remarkably well together. We all loved each other's company and could make or break camp in what felt like moments. We'd arrive at our camp site and suddenly a city of tents would pop up while amazing cooking smells began to emerge from near the picnic tables. On the first night, we camped in a proper campsite with a dingo-proof fence. Rachel and I rustled up some hearty fare: steaks, sausages, roast potatoes and carrots, stir-fried veggies and couscous salad. Hmmm...not bad for a camping trip. We plowed through most of our alcohol on the first night and the other camping groups joined us at our picnic table. The next morning, our group was first up and busy, thanks to Eva's song-and-dance routine. We overheard the other 4x4 groups, who dined on sandwiches and cereal, saying, "They're having scrambled eggs with feta cheese for breakfast?! How do they get up so early?"
On Day 2 of Fraser, we made our way to the East Beach, which is a highway at low tide, full of 4x4 vehicles and even some planes landing. Up at Indian Head, we saw dolphins, whales and sea turtles all within 20 minutes. Later, at Eli Creek, we waded to the head of the spring where the island's filtered fresh water begins to make its way to the sea. From there, you can just float on the current of cool water until you get to the salt. The water was a perfect oasis on that hot day: you can't swim in the ocean on the east side of Fraser Island because of the tiger sharks and deadly jellyfish. I thought our group looked so gorgeous wading through the creek - I made all the ladies pose with me for a hot bikini shot. That night, we camped on the beach, taking care not to get sand in our gourmet burritos and being careful not to wander off alone lest we encounter a dingo. The other two groups in Koala vans gathered at our cooking spot after dinner. We force-fed them leftover burritos, the goon flowed (boxed wine in Australia), and a German girl pulled out her guitar for a wonderful sing-a-long. We slept well in our tents, cradled by the sand and soothed by the wind and waves crashing on the shore. In the morning, someone spotted dingo tracks around our tent city.
Before leaving Fraser, we had to stop at Lake Wabby, which may be the most beautiful spot in the entire world. We hiked about 15 minutes through rainforest and emerged on an immense dune with a clear fresh water lake at the bottom. Everyone ran down the dune, splashing into the lovely water, and then ran up the dune to do it again and again. With regret, we had to pile back into the jeep and head to the barge landing. Our final meal on Fraser was a gourmet one, of course. We laid out a tarp in the parking lot and Rachel, looking amazing in a cowboy hat, barbecued sausages with fried onions and chicken burgers while I chopped fresh pineapple. Another jeep pulled up and a blond American girl got out whining, "I'm hungry. Do we have any food?" One of her companions paused to look at their supplies and said, "We've got cereal."
Back on the mainland, we all took much-needed showers (I don't know if I've ever been so dirty) and sadly put our shoes back on. I felt so healthy and relaxed. My memories of Fraser will be of a lovely group of friends, all tanned and in the prime of their lives, grooving together. Speaking of groovy...my road trip wasn't over yet. After few hours of sleep, I packed my bag and tiptoed out of the hostel to catch yet another bus. This time, I was bound for Byron Bay. Lots of love to everyone back home!
Hervey Bay is a bit of a bogan town (that's what they call hicks or country people in Australia) where the predominant hairstyle is the mullet. Not much happens around town; apart from the mullet-bearing locals, many backpackers wander the main streets provisioning themselves for their next adventure. Hervey Bay is the jumping-off point for Fraser Island, the largest sand island in the world. After I met up with my group, we got groceries, checked the tents, sampled the local pub food and mullet-filled dance floor. We left for Fraser Island early the next morning, piling into the back of a big 4x4 jeep. A pleasant 30-minute barge ride got us onto the Island. We quickly learned that driving on Fraser is not for the faint of heart - on our first day on the inland tracks we had to push the jeep out of the sand three or four times. At one point, we got stuck in a rut at a very precarious angle and someone yelled "Everybody out before we tip over!" Panicked, we all jumped out and some of us were literally holding up the jeep while others dug us out of the sand and conferred over how to save us from our calamity. Luckily, we got out unscathed and were able to laugh about it later.
Now, I'd like to take the time to describe our crew. Eva was the unofficial glue of the group: she got everyone on board and organized the travel bookings, etc. She's the kind of girl who wakes you at 6am by dancing and singing show tunes outside your tent...and yet, you still love her. Rachel, a feisty girl from Ontario, was our head chef and the second driver. Noah is a fellow Montrealer and the most laid-back and tanned surfer dude you'll ever meet. He was the darling of Montreal recruitment this past winter and after seeing him in Australia it is hard to imagine him suited up and kicking ass in the corporate law world. Then there were Tobias and Dennis, two tall blonde Germans with enough sweetness and humour between them to charm any woman in the world. Georgia is a stylish Italian with a quick wit, sharp tongue and soft heart. She was a sharp flower: beautiful and occasionally prickly. Then there were two French girls, Elodie and Pauline. They didn't say much but they were lovely nonetheless. And last but not least there was Maria, a gorgeous and spritely Colombian who would emerge every morning from her tent looking perfectly groomed, a vision in white, and who would manage to keep her immaculate clothes clean all day. Maria insisted on doing the dishes every night...and no one protested.
Our group worked remarkably well together. We all loved each other's company and could make or break camp in what felt like moments. We'd arrive at our camp site and suddenly a city of tents would pop up while amazing cooking smells began to emerge from near the picnic tables. On the first night, we camped in a proper campsite with a dingo-proof fence. Rachel and I rustled up some hearty fare: steaks, sausages, roast potatoes and carrots, stir-fried veggies and couscous salad. Hmmm...not bad for a camping trip. We plowed through most of our alcohol on the first night and the other camping groups joined us at our picnic table. The next morning, our group was first up and busy, thanks to Eva's song-and-dance routine. We overheard the other 4x4 groups, who dined on sandwiches and cereal, saying, "They're having scrambled eggs with feta cheese for breakfast?! How do they get up so early?"
On Day 2 of Fraser, we made our way to the East Beach, which is a highway at low tide, full of 4x4 vehicles and even some planes landing. Up at Indian Head, we saw dolphins, whales and sea turtles all within 20 minutes. Later, at Eli Creek, we waded to the head of the spring where the island's filtered fresh water begins to make its way to the sea. From there, you can just float on the current of cool water until you get to the salt. The water was a perfect oasis on that hot day: you can't swim in the ocean on the east side of Fraser Island because of the tiger sharks and deadly jellyfish. I thought our group looked so gorgeous wading through the creek - I made all the ladies pose with me for a hot bikini shot. That night, we camped on the beach, taking care not to get sand in our gourmet burritos and being careful not to wander off alone lest we encounter a dingo. The other two groups in Koala vans gathered at our cooking spot after dinner. We force-fed them leftover burritos, the goon flowed (boxed wine in Australia), and a German girl pulled out her guitar for a wonderful sing-a-long. We slept well in our tents, cradled by the sand and soothed by the wind and waves crashing on the shore. In the morning, someone spotted dingo tracks around our tent city.
Before leaving Fraser, we had to stop at Lake Wabby, which may be the most beautiful spot in the entire world. We hiked about 15 minutes through rainforest and emerged on an immense dune with a clear fresh water lake at the bottom. Everyone ran down the dune, splashing into the lovely water, and then ran up the dune to do it again and again. With regret, we had to pile back into the jeep and head to the barge landing. Our final meal on Fraser was a gourmet one, of course. We laid out a tarp in the parking lot and Rachel, looking amazing in a cowboy hat, barbecued sausages with fried onions and chicken burgers while I chopped fresh pineapple. Another jeep pulled up and a blond American girl got out whining, "I'm hungry. Do we have any food?" One of her companions paused to look at their supplies and said, "We've got cereal."
Back on the mainland, we all took much-needed showers (I don't know if I've ever been so dirty) and sadly put our shoes back on. I felt so healthy and relaxed. My memories of Fraser will be of a lovely group of friends, all tanned and in the prime of their lives, grooving together. Speaking of groovy...my road trip wasn't over yet. After few hours of sleep, I packed my bag and tiptoed out of the hostel to catch yet another bus. This time, I was bound for Byron Bay. Lots of love to everyone back home!
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Monday, October 6, 2008
On the road
Leaving Cairns by bus was my first experience on the Greyhound, or “riding the dog,” as the Aussies call it. This Italian dude next to me felt it necessary to take up part my seat with his lolling legs. I was polite at first, but soon was leaned right back into his territory and fell asleep. The night bus is a weird vortex of broken sleep, 3am meal breaks at truck stops and various fumbled attempts to call home. But then, just when I thought the trip would never end, the sun peaked over the horizon and I was gloriously released into a new time and place.
That new place was Airlie Beach, the small town gateway to the Whitsunday Islands. Airlie seems to be just one busy street, with the bus station at one end and my hostel at the other. I quickly saw all the things in between, including many obliging beer gardens, countless shops selling hats, sunnies and beachwear, and (most importantly) the best seafood experience of my life, so far. After spending the day baking and swimming at the Airlie lagoon, I met up with Kelly, one of the Texans, and Andrew from Sydney, who had his dad with him visiting from PEI. We sat outside at the seafood resto: the night was warm, the mojitos flowed and the fish was fresh. Andrew tackled a huge mud crab while the rest of us ate less messy fare like seared tuna steaks, chili-encrusted mackerel and garlic prawn linguine. After dinner and a few pitchers at the beer garden, we walked home late in the hot night comfortable in shorts and tees.
Then, an adventure on the high seas! We joined 16 other people boarding Wings II, a catamaran touring the Whitsundays for three days. What heaven did follow…the first afternoon we spent snorkelling in Blue Pearl Bay at the top end of Hayman Island. When we headed to our anchorage at sunset, we passed the luxury resort on Hayman where the rich and famous play. Watching the light fade over blue ocean and green mountain, I felt just as rich and blessed as Brad and Angie or Tommy Lee.
At the front of the boat, there were big nets to laze in and a large deck to stretch out on. Inside, the cook spoiled us at every meal with hearty stuff like barbecue chicken and steak, lovely salads and garlic bread. We slept in cozy little berths, rocked by the waves. There was a hum of happiness and group affection on the vessel. Our mixed company included a big group of exchange students from University of the Sunshine Coast with lots of crazy Germans guys and gorgeous Danish girls. The rest were Americans, Brits and a few Frenchmen. Our crew of five included a beautiful blonde Swede called Anna, two energetic dive masters Stu and Alicia, Chris the big warm cook, and Nick the hot Aussie skipper. I took a turn steering the boat and Nick confessed his love of Canadian women to me as I directed us toward our destination on the horizon. Remembering my father’s advice to me, I kept my eyes fixed on the horizon and didn’t let myself fall for a sailor man.
On the second day, I rose to watch the sunset as Nick and Stu hauled anchor. After a brisk wake-up sail (or throw-up sail, for some people), we anchored again in a calm bay for breakfast and a glimpse of sea turtles coming up next to the side of the boat for their first breath of the day. More snorkelling and diving was in store for us, as well as a visit to Whitehaven Beach, allegedly one of the top five beaches in the world. Now, you may not believe it but I was the only one to swim at Whitehaven. Do I sense a pattern? Actually, I was the only one who thought to bring a wetsuit. Marine stingers can be a threat in Queensland - they are the kind of jellyfish whose stings can land you in the hospital so you have to have proper protection. As I waded into the water, I saw a small shark, about two feet long, swimming away. Later, I saw rocks in the water….but the rocks seemed to move. Stingrays! They skimmed along the bottom of the water away from me. You would think that all this marine danger would have put me off Whitehaven. But no! I was joyous. Channelling a mermaid/siren, I ran on the beach, bodysurfed the crashing waves and sang the chorus of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah over and again at the top of my lungs.
Too soon, the Whitsundays cruise came to a close and we ended up back in Airlie. It would be three more days until I regained my land legs and the world stopped rocking when I sat still. But I felt gloriously well: healthy, strong, fit and tanned. But also calm and cleansed. The trip was good for me, both body and soul. That last afternoon in Airlie, Kelly and I had just enough time to bake and swim by the lagoon again, devour more mud crabs and mojitos with our boat mates, take a much-needed shower and hop back on the Greyhound. More stories from the road to follow - lots of love to everyone back home.
That new place was Airlie Beach, the small town gateway to the Whitsunday Islands. Airlie seems to be just one busy street, with the bus station at one end and my hostel at the other. I quickly saw all the things in between, including many obliging beer gardens, countless shops selling hats, sunnies and beachwear, and (most importantly) the best seafood experience of my life, so far. After spending the day baking and swimming at the Airlie lagoon, I met up with Kelly, one of the Texans, and Andrew from Sydney, who had his dad with him visiting from PEI. We sat outside at the seafood resto: the night was warm, the mojitos flowed and the fish was fresh. Andrew tackled a huge mud crab while the rest of us ate less messy fare like seared tuna steaks, chili-encrusted mackerel and garlic prawn linguine. After dinner and a few pitchers at the beer garden, we walked home late in the hot night comfortable in shorts and tees.
Then, an adventure on the high seas! We joined 16 other people boarding Wings II, a catamaran touring the Whitsundays for three days. What heaven did follow…the first afternoon we spent snorkelling in Blue Pearl Bay at the top end of Hayman Island. When we headed to our anchorage at sunset, we passed the luxury resort on Hayman where the rich and famous play. Watching the light fade over blue ocean and green mountain, I felt just as rich and blessed as Brad and Angie or Tommy Lee.
At the front of the boat, there were big nets to laze in and a large deck to stretch out on. Inside, the cook spoiled us at every meal with hearty stuff like barbecue chicken and steak, lovely salads and garlic bread. We slept in cozy little berths, rocked by the waves. There was a hum of happiness and group affection on the vessel. Our mixed company included a big group of exchange students from University of the Sunshine Coast with lots of crazy Germans guys and gorgeous Danish girls. The rest were Americans, Brits and a few Frenchmen. Our crew of five included a beautiful blonde Swede called Anna, two energetic dive masters Stu and Alicia, Chris the big warm cook, and Nick the hot Aussie skipper. I took a turn steering the boat and Nick confessed his love of Canadian women to me as I directed us toward our destination on the horizon. Remembering my father’s advice to me, I kept my eyes fixed on the horizon and didn’t let myself fall for a sailor man.
On the second day, I rose to watch the sunset as Nick and Stu hauled anchor. After a brisk wake-up sail (or throw-up sail, for some people), we anchored again in a calm bay for breakfast and a glimpse of sea turtles coming up next to the side of the boat for their first breath of the day. More snorkelling and diving was in store for us, as well as a visit to Whitehaven Beach, allegedly one of the top five beaches in the world. Now, you may not believe it but I was the only one to swim at Whitehaven. Do I sense a pattern? Actually, I was the only one who thought to bring a wetsuit. Marine stingers can be a threat in Queensland - they are the kind of jellyfish whose stings can land you in the hospital so you have to have proper protection. As I waded into the water, I saw a small shark, about two feet long, swimming away. Later, I saw rocks in the water….but the rocks seemed to move. Stingrays! They skimmed along the bottom of the water away from me. You would think that all this marine danger would have put me off Whitehaven. But no! I was joyous. Channelling a mermaid/siren, I ran on the beach, bodysurfed the crashing waves and sang the chorus of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah over and again at the top of my lungs.
Too soon, the Whitsundays cruise came to a close and we ended up back in Airlie. It would be three more days until I regained my land legs and the world stopped rocking when I sat still. But I felt gloriously well: healthy, strong, fit and tanned. But also calm and cleansed. The trip was good for me, both body and soul. That last afternoon in Airlie, Kelly and I had just enough time to bake and swim by the lagoon again, devour more mud crabs and mojitos with our boat mates, take a much-needed shower and hop back on the Greyhound. More stories from the road to follow - lots of love to everyone back home.
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