What a silly idea, pretending like we had concrete plans.
So first of all...happy new year! We spent it on this pub-crawl thing that gave us VIP entry to 6 clubs all night, discounted drinks, and FREE PIZZA (which is really the reason we did it). We may or may not have accidentally stumbled into and participated in an onstage acrobatic marathon that left my leg bleeding (also we lost, haha). I'll leave the details vague. Wild and completely laughable. We rang in the new year on the rooftop of some club with a rousing fireworks show over the ocean. It sounds cooler than it was, since as you all know, I hate fireworks. Luckily I was with two of my favorite people in the world...and also in Australia....so it was awesome.
Second of all... Turns out we're not going to Uluru/Ayers Rock at all! Surprise! Flights were too expensive. There wasn't really any transportation out of Cairns at all, so we actually thought we were stuck here for at least a week doing nothing but cruising around the lagoon and paying 20 bucks a night for accommodation. By a stroke of good fortune, we happened to walk by a backpacker agency today that advertised Fraser Island deals. An hour later, our new friend Jenny from Canada had us booked on an overnight Greyhound (we leave in 7 hours) to Hervey Bay, where we'll get on a sailboat for 3 days to sail the Whitsundays, dock back just in time to hop back on our bus pass down to Rainbow Beach, boat to Fraser Island to pick up our 4 wheel drive vehicle, camping gear, and food to camp on the island for 2 days, then back out to Noosa and Steve Irwin's zoo. WHAT. We're going to have to lose the 20 bucks we already paid for tonight's accommodation, but it was worth it to get such a low price on the cancellation that came up for tomorrow on the Whitsundays boat...? I really have yet to figure out exactly what we're doing, I'm just regurgitating the quick rundown we got. All I know is it was mind-blowingly cheap and all our food and accommodation was included. And I will be on a boat tomorrow.
Our half hour free internet is almost up, we smell awful (what's new), and we have to pack and get our free hostel-slop dinner before our bus leaves at midnight. Yikes. America is approaching way too fast for my liking.
See you all soon!!!!!! =)
ps - Kelly's sunburn has begun to peel. Don't worry, I have pictures. (love you kelly)
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Friday, December 26, 2008
Merry Christmas, mate!
Hello from Tully, Queensland!! Merry Christmas from all of us here at the Banana Barracks, Mambalow number 5 specifically (cleverly pasted on the outside of our bungalow/shack...number 5).
It has been...SO long since I last updated this that i don't even know where to start. I will try to be brief (HA) and cover everything that's happened (HA). Internet access is hard to come by when you're a migrant worker, apparently.
Where are we now? We are a few hours outside Cairns, staying at the Banana Barracks, and working hostel in Tully attached to a backpacker bar/nightclub. Everybody who stays here (basically all between the ages of 18 and 27) works on banana farms in the area. It's a way to earn a second year visa in australia or, like us, just earn some money. We showed up two weeks ago on their doorstep, looking pretty haggard, half an hour after reception closed and short on cash. We literally got the last three beds in the place, plus a discount cause they were out of pillows. We really had no idea what our plan was aside from trying to get work. About seven days into our planned 10 day road trip, we made a few phone calls to see if we could pick fruit for a few days to cash up. Our trusty rental Corolla Lucy had seen us through thick and thin, so we planned to keep her with us while we worked then return her on time. We really lucked out, because for some reason the hostel owner and bar manager took a liking to us and found us banana work immediately (kelly and i on one farm and shana on another) in addition to letting us work in the hostel bar to earn our accommodation. It made for some rough days, up at 4:45 to do manual labor in the sun all day, back filthy and sweaty at 3:30 for a shower and a nap before working the bar from 9-2:30 or something. We all sort of felt like a young family trying to make ends meet, keeping weird hours and eating spaghetti and the 2-minute noodles and meat rations that are handed out every Monday for free at the hostel. (the first time they said we get free food on monday, we showed up expecting hamburgers and were presented with a bag of raw ground beef. yikes) Banana work is really not bad, surprisingly. Apparently it's the best fruit picking there is. Because banana bunches can be so heavy (up to 80-90 kilo), boys do the actual harvesting, or "humping," while girls mostly sort, pack, and string. The first day, Kelly and I worked in the sorting line, which is essentially a conveyor belt submerged in about 6 inches of water that brings big hands of green bananas down the line to the sorters (us). Our job is to pull apart the hands into manageable bunches, tossing the bad bananas on another conveyor belt about eye level that takes them away to be destroyed. Being wrist deep in filthy banana-sappy water filled with rinsed off pesticides for 8 hours is not the best, especially when a rush of bananas comes through and things get splashy and kelly essentially boomerangs bananas at me in a frenzy when she misses the top conveyor belt. It's funny because her OCD and competitive nature make her a really neurotic banana sorter. She gets a wild look in her eye and feverishly rips off any non-perfect bananas. I myself prefer to catch the cute little frogs that sometimes come down on the bunches and make them surf bananas with theme music. The first day, a huge rat came down sopping wet bedraggled looking on a bunch of bananas, his entourage of mice casually breast stroking along beside him. The german girls across from us screamed "A RET! A RET!", which didn't make sense to me until i almost grabbed the rat absent mindedly instead of a banana. Luckily, the boy who cuts the bunches up the line saved the day by picking them up by the tail and setting them nonchalantly on the floor. It's alright work, but we're on our feet all day, we come home sopping wet, and Kelly has some kind of rash from the water. Lucky for us, most backpackers who come through Tully leave their boots behind, so we had only to search in front of the bungalows for some unclaimed wellies to achieve dry feet. Mine turned out to be holey and also required some duct tape and a plastic bag wrapped around my foot, which looked pretty pathetic and didn't actually work. It mostly gathered the water in a little sac around my foot and held it there. Charming.
Also on the first day, I was assigned to the stringing team. Kelly was carted off to do irrigation. Stringing is essentially just using twine and a series of knots to tie the banana trees together so that they are not ripped down during cyclone season, which starts right now. You use a long stick with a notch in the top to throw the twine through the banana branches and pull it around the tree, then tie it and tighten it and pull it to the base of another two trees. I literally developed calluses after only a week of this. Pulling the twine until it's taut takes layers of skin off little by little until your fingers are too swollen to make fists at night. Coming back on day 2 was rough, but after that they toughened up a little. The weather is unbearably hot, and the combo of banana water (full of spiders that run up your arms) and banana paddocks (also full of spiders) has kelly and i covered in bites and itchy spots. Our work clothes are absolutely filthy and smell horrible, since I'm not sure I've ever sweated so much my whole life. Some days the sprinklers come on in the row we're stringing and we have to stand there with it spraying into the backs of our legs and filling up our boots. The first day this happened I had to stand for a minute and remind myself that adventures have both highs and lows. So there I stood, knee deep in banana fronds with water slowly soaking through my shorts and drippy itchily down my legs, a handful of twine and a knife around my neck, contemplating the meaning of life. No better time, really. After some thought, I concluded that at least the water kept me somewhat cool in the tropical heat and did something to rinse off the dirt and banana sap. Excellent, except that just when I came to terms with it the water shut off, leaving me damp and steamy and just right for dirt to stick to and horseflies to bite for the last 3 or 4 hours. I believe I have redefined my previous silly ideas of physical discomfort.
In any case, Wednesday (christmas eve) was our last day on the farms. We didn't even have to work the bar that night, which was amazing. Christmas itself was lovely. After our extravagant pizza dinner, the three of us trooped to the nearby Catholic church on Christmas Eve to hear some carols and the Christmas story in an Australian accent (hilarious). Everyone in the pews was dressed in their best sundresses and shorts. Flip flops seemed to be the footwear of choice. During the service this weird gecko thing kept running across the back of the pew in front of us. It was really lovely, and I shed a few tears during Silent Night, obviously thinking of our little Amherst candlelight service with my whole family every christmas eve. Luckily, I am fortunate enough to be travelling with another kind of family, and we all sat there with our arms around each other and sang along. It's so wonderful to have real friends here. We spent awhile listening to Christmas music on Kelly's ihome and cutting snowflakes out of all our old receipts to decorate the room. We bought a little crappy two foot tall fake tree, charlie brown style. Also Kelly bought antlers, Shana bought a santa hat, and I bought some cindy lou who antennae...which we donned festively to wear to the bar. Yes, we actually spent most of Christmas eve at the bar after we had our nat king cole and candlelight in the room for awhile. The whole hostel was at the bar hanging out, since it's sort of our living room, so it was nice to frolick around. This Italian guy came up and asked to take our picture because with my red shirt, shana's white, and kelly's green, we made the italian flag. =)
Christmas morning brought the usual stifling heat in the mambolow, so we put on our bathing suits to open presents. Kelly bought me a haircut, I bought Shana underwear, Shana gave us both some framed pictures. Wrapping paper was our old Sydney maps, and the stocking stuffers consisted of such luxuries as toothbrushes, a tiny bit of chocolate, and koala figurines. Our friend Dan from England came over in the morning with soap, gum, and beer goggles to add to our bounteous pile of gifts. After that, we spent all day in the pool with everybody from the hostel, drinking champagne and eating the big christmas lunch that was put on. There were party poppers all over the table, so without exception, every person at the lunch was nonchalantly wearing a paper crown. It's nice to know that paper crowns are a universal indulgence. Japan, Germany, Chile, England, France, Canada, Australia, Italy...everyone loves a good paper crown on Christmas Day.
What else to say? This two weeks has been the most rewarding leg of our journey thus far, in my opinion. Since arriving in Tully, things have just fallen into place for us. On our very first day, Nathan the bar manager ran into us on our way to a swimming hole and asked us to work the bar for him in the afternoon when a schoolies rafting trip came in. We worked in our bathings suits and gym shorts and earned ourselves some free drinks that night and bar jobs. That afternoon, the hostel owner asked us to come with him to a rafting Christmas party, where we met all the local raft guides. Yesterday was boxing day, and a few of the guides got back in touch with us and took us with them to Dunk Island on their boat and paid for our drinks all day! Dunk Island is the local boxing day tradition, so it was a really fun (and free!) day of beaching and some Australian celebrating that we couldn't have done by ourselves. It was nice to finally be able to get in the water, since there were so many boats around. The guides told us that even though it was stinger season, so much activity would have scared them off. We got back in time for the last day of work at the bar, then to crash hard in our antlers and santa hats. We escaped with some mild sunburn, some gashes from the coral, some dehydration headaches, and some great pictures. What a day, what a day.
I'd love to tell you all about hiking Mount Sorrow (just what it sounds like) and camping in Daintree and our rainforest bushwhacking, but I've already used two hours of internet and can't justify another 4 dollars. I'll try to get to it next time.
Our plan now is to head for Cairns for new years, maybe meet up with some banana friends, then fly out to Uluru (Ayers Rock) for a three day adventure. After that, we've only got a few weeks left, which will probably be spent up and down the coast.
But who knows...we have yet to actually follow through on a single plan. I'll let you know.
All my love. Go eat some bananas and appreciate how nicely separated they are.
It has been...SO long since I last updated this that i don't even know where to start. I will try to be brief (HA) and cover everything that's happened (HA). Internet access is hard to come by when you're a migrant worker, apparently.
Where are we now? We are a few hours outside Cairns, staying at the Banana Barracks, and working hostel in Tully attached to a backpacker bar/nightclub. Everybody who stays here (basically all between the ages of 18 and 27) works on banana farms in the area. It's a way to earn a second year visa in australia or, like us, just earn some money. We showed up two weeks ago on their doorstep, looking pretty haggard, half an hour after reception closed and short on cash. We literally got the last three beds in the place, plus a discount cause they were out of pillows. We really had no idea what our plan was aside from trying to get work. About seven days into our planned 10 day road trip, we made a few phone calls to see if we could pick fruit for a few days to cash up. Our trusty rental Corolla Lucy had seen us through thick and thin, so we planned to keep her with us while we worked then return her on time. We really lucked out, because for some reason the hostel owner and bar manager took a liking to us and found us banana work immediately (kelly and i on one farm and shana on another) in addition to letting us work in the hostel bar to earn our accommodation. It made for some rough days, up at 4:45 to do manual labor in the sun all day, back filthy and sweaty at 3:30 for a shower and a nap before working the bar from 9-2:30 or something. We all sort of felt like a young family trying to make ends meet, keeping weird hours and eating spaghetti and the 2-minute noodles and meat rations that are handed out every Monday for free at the hostel. (the first time they said we get free food on monday, we showed up expecting hamburgers and were presented with a bag of raw ground beef. yikes) Banana work is really not bad, surprisingly. Apparently it's the best fruit picking there is. Because banana bunches can be so heavy (up to 80-90 kilo), boys do the actual harvesting, or "humping," while girls mostly sort, pack, and string. The first day, Kelly and I worked in the sorting line, which is essentially a conveyor belt submerged in about 6 inches of water that brings big hands of green bananas down the line to the sorters (us). Our job is to pull apart the hands into manageable bunches, tossing the bad bananas on another conveyor belt about eye level that takes them away to be destroyed. Being wrist deep in filthy banana-sappy water filled with rinsed off pesticides for 8 hours is not the best, especially when a rush of bananas comes through and things get splashy and kelly essentially boomerangs bananas at me in a frenzy when she misses the top conveyor belt. It's funny because her OCD and competitive nature make her a really neurotic banana sorter. She gets a wild look in her eye and feverishly rips off any non-perfect bananas. I myself prefer to catch the cute little frogs that sometimes come down on the bunches and make them surf bananas with theme music. The first day, a huge rat came down sopping wet bedraggled looking on a bunch of bananas, his entourage of mice casually breast stroking along beside him. The german girls across from us screamed "A RET! A RET!", which didn't make sense to me until i almost grabbed the rat absent mindedly instead of a banana. Luckily, the boy who cuts the bunches up the line saved the day by picking them up by the tail and setting them nonchalantly on the floor. It's alright work, but we're on our feet all day, we come home sopping wet, and Kelly has some kind of rash from the water. Lucky for us, most backpackers who come through Tully leave their boots behind, so we had only to search in front of the bungalows for some unclaimed wellies to achieve dry feet. Mine turned out to be holey and also required some duct tape and a plastic bag wrapped around my foot, which looked pretty pathetic and didn't actually work. It mostly gathered the water in a little sac around my foot and held it there. Charming.
Also on the first day, I was assigned to the stringing team. Kelly was carted off to do irrigation. Stringing is essentially just using twine and a series of knots to tie the banana trees together so that they are not ripped down during cyclone season, which starts right now. You use a long stick with a notch in the top to throw the twine through the banana branches and pull it around the tree, then tie it and tighten it and pull it to the base of another two trees. I literally developed calluses after only a week of this. Pulling the twine until it's taut takes layers of skin off little by little until your fingers are too swollen to make fists at night. Coming back on day 2 was rough, but after that they toughened up a little. The weather is unbearably hot, and the combo of banana water (full of spiders that run up your arms) and banana paddocks (also full of spiders) has kelly and i covered in bites and itchy spots. Our work clothes are absolutely filthy and smell horrible, since I'm not sure I've ever sweated so much my whole life. Some days the sprinklers come on in the row we're stringing and we have to stand there with it spraying into the backs of our legs and filling up our boots. The first day this happened I had to stand for a minute and remind myself that adventures have both highs and lows. So there I stood, knee deep in banana fronds with water slowly soaking through my shorts and drippy itchily down my legs, a handful of twine and a knife around my neck, contemplating the meaning of life. No better time, really. After some thought, I concluded that at least the water kept me somewhat cool in the tropical heat and did something to rinse off the dirt and banana sap. Excellent, except that just when I came to terms with it the water shut off, leaving me damp and steamy and just right for dirt to stick to and horseflies to bite for the last 3 or 4 hours. I believe I have redefined my previous silly ideas of physical discomfort.
In any case, Wednesday (christmas eve) was our last day on the farms. We didn't even have to work the bar that night, which was amazing. Christmas itself was lovely. After our extravagant pizza dinner, the three of us trooped to the nearby Catholic church on Christmas Eve to hear some carols and the Christmas story in an Australian accent (hilarious). Everyone in the pews was dressed in their best sundresses and shorts. Flip flops seemed to be the footwear of choice. During the service this weird gecko thing kept running across the back of the pew in front of us. It was really lovely, and I shed a few tears during Silent Night, obviously thinking of our little Amherst candlelight service with my whole family every christmas eve. Luckily, I am fortunate enough to be travelling with another kind of family, and we all sat there with our arms around each other and sang along. It's so wonderful to have real friends here. We spent awhile listening to Christmas music on Kelly's ihome and cutting snowflakes out of all our old receipts to decorate the room. We bought a little crappy two foot tall fake tree, charlie brown style. Also Kelly bought antlers, Shana bought a santa hat, and I bought some cindy lou who antennae...which we donned festively to wear to the bar. Yes, we actually spent most of Christmas eve at the bar after we had our nat king cole and candlelight in the room for awhile. The whole hostel was at the bar hanging out, since it's sort of our living room, so it was nice to frolick around. This Italian guy came up and asked to take our picture because with my red shirt, shana's white, and kelly's green, we made the italian flag. =)
Christmas morning brought the usual stifling heat in the mambolow, so we put on our bathing suits to open presents. Kelly bought me a haircut, I bought Shana underwear, Shana gave us both some framed pictures. Wrapping paper was our old Sydney maps, and the stocking stuffers consisted of such luxuries as toothbrushes, a tiny bit of chocolate, and koala figurines. Our friend Dan from England came over in the morning with soap, gum, and beer goggles to add to our bounteous pile of gifts. After that, we spent all day in the pool with everybody from the hostel, drinking champagne and eating the big christmas lunch that was put on. There were party poppers all over the table, so without exception, every person at the lunch was nonchalantly wearing a paper crown. It's nice to know that paper crowns are a universal indulgence. Japan, Germany, Chile, England, France, Canada, Australia, Italy...everyone loves a good paper crown on Christmas Day.
What else to say? This two weeks has been the most rewarding leg of our journey thus far, in my opinion. Since arriving in Tully, things have just fallen into place for us. On our very first day, Nathan the bar manager ran into us on our way to a swimming hole and asked us to work the bar for him in the afternoon when a schoolies rafting trip came in. We worked in our bathings suits and gym shorts and earned ourselves some free drinks that night and bar jobs. That afternoon, the hostel owner asked us to come with him to a rafting Christmas party, where we met all the local raft guides. Yesterday was boxing day, and a few of the guides got back in touch with us and took us with them to Dunk Island on their boat and paid for our drinks all day! Dunk Island is the local boxing day tradition, so it was a really fun (and free!) day of beaching and some Australian celebrating that we couldn't have done by ourselves. It was nice to finally be able to get in the water, since there were so many boats around. The guides told us that even though it was stinger season, so much activity would have scared them off. We got back in time for the last day of work at the bar, then to crash hard in our antlers and santa hats. We escaped with some mild sunburn, some gashes from the coral, some dehydration headaches, and some great pictures. What a day, what a day.
I'd love to tell you all about hiking Mount Sorrow (just what it sounds like) and camping in Daintree and our rainforest bushwhacking, but I've already used two hours of internet and can't justify another 4 dollars. I'll try to get to it next time.
Our plan now is to head for Cairns for new years, maybe meet up with some banana friends, then fly out to Uluru (Ayers Rock) for a three day adventure. After that, we've only got a few weeks left, which will probably be spent up and down the coast.
But who knows...we have yet to actually follow through on a single plan. I'll let you know.
All my love. Go eat some bananas and appreciate how nicely separated they are.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Life Spectacular
Today, I scuba dived the Great Barrier Reef. I'm not sure how to tell you about it, because it was probably the coolest thing I've ever done. Imagine flying through someone else's dreams. It was...incredible. We went with Poseidon tours, which allowed us to choose either diving or snorkeling at three different reef sites on the agincourt ribbon reefs, or the outer edges. It took us about an hour and a half to get there, munching on free cookies, muffins, and coffee (free stuff is not wasted on us broke backpackers). The crew was extremely available, friendly, informative. They briefed us on scuba gear and physics, sea life, and sign language. Kelly, Shana, and I all went on the first dive. Since this is the slow season (due to the incredibly high humidity, unbearable temperatures, and fatal box jellyfish...), only about 30 people were on the entire boat besides the crew. They further split us up into groups of 4, so we basically got our very own marine expert and reef guide/dive instructor! we all put on full body stinger suits to protect from jellyfish, tanks, flippers, breather things (i forget what they're called, resuscitators or something), and goggles/snorkels. They gave me the up and down and promptly provided me with child-size everything. Really. My fins were size 2.5 and my mask even said "Scuba-Mini" on it.
The water was a glorious 80 degrees, cooler toward the bottom, and absolutely glassy clear. The crew said it was the perfect day for diving, and the sun literally sparkled down on the top reefs like Finding Nemo. The reef is HUGE. You'd be swimming along beside 20 foot walls of life. Everything was alive down there. Fish of every single color, coral, unidentifiable floaty things. Honestly we didn't see much during the first half hour dive. Our guide was vigilant about keeping us together, floating at the same level (we were wearing these sort of floaty vests that also had weights), and making sure we didn't hold our breath, which is a big no no. It takes a surprising amount of concentration to remember to breathe underwater, and even more to try to swim horizontally. Add all of this with a spectacular seascape and trying not to kick anything alive (including kelly in the face, oops) and it's really difficult to do much besides try not to freak out. Poor Gus, our supervisor. He alternately called us his tadpoles or "sharkbait," to which kelly and I always responded "hoo haha" (finding nemo...anyone? anyone?). The second dive, however, was a different story. Since breathing was old news at this point, we had the presence of mind to concentrate on everything around us. Gus led us to the ocean floor to kneel in the sand and hold a huge red sea cucumber, he showed us coral caves and giant clams, clown fish and zebra fish, parrot fish and barracuda, a SHARK, and the very territorial and pretty big trigger fish, which charged me and attacked my foot with its beak when I drifted haphazardly over its nest. Gus found this very amusing and shot bubbles out of his mask a lot laughing. Kelly was happy no blood attracted sharks. I flipped off the fish and tried to paddle away with dignity.
Kelly dived the third time and saw a turtle and a manta ray, but Shana and I opted to snorkle the top of the reef instead of exploring the bottom again. It was much brighter and more colorful at the top because there was more sunshine, and without the scuba gear we could swim closer and explore more on our own time. We made friends with the photographer, who took a ton of pictures of us and cut us a deal to put them all on a cd. We also duck dived a lot (basically holding your breath and flippering straight down) to look closer, to try to poke kelly while she scuba'd, and just to feel like mermaids.
After that, telling you about skydiving sounds almost anticlimactic. We went SKYDIVING! Two days ago found the three of us hurtling out of a plane 14000 feet in the air strapped to one australian each. It was AWESOME. I honestly expected to be scared, but I'm not even sure my heart rate changed. It was exhilarating, it was beautiful, it was like being able to fly. I told the guy I felt like Peter Pan and he laughed at me then made our parachute do spirals and twirls as we drifted over the ocean to land on the beach. I laughed so hard and smiled so much during the freefall I am positive I drooled all over Andre's face because it was shooting backwards, but he was kind enough to not mention it while we spent the last 5-10 minutes drifting through the air with me pretty much strapped to his crotch. I loved every second of it. Flying, not being strapped to Andre's crotch.
In other news, I'm missing the free sausage cook downstairs, which completes our day of not paying for food. Remind me later to tell you about how we're camping in the rainforest. Yikes.
The water was a glorious 80 degrees, cooler toward the bottom, and absolutely glassy clear. The crew said it was the perfect day for diving, and the sun literally sparkled down on the top reefs like Finding Nemo. The reef is HUGE. You'd be swimming along beside 20 foot walls of life. Everything was alive down there. Fish of every single color, coral, unidentifiable floaty things. Honestly we didn't see much during the first half hour dive. Our guide was vigilant about keeping us together, floating at the same level (we were wearing these sort of floaty vests that also had weights), and making sure we didn't hold our breath, which is a big no no. It takes a surprising amount of concentration to remember to breathe underwater, and even more to try to swim horizontally. Add all of this with a spectacular seascape and trying not to kick anything alive (including kelly in the face, oops) and it's really difficult to do much besides try not to freak out. Poor Gus, our supervisor. He alternately called us his tadpoles or "sharkbait," to which kelly and I always responded "hoo haha" (finding nemo...anyone? anyone?). The second dive, however, was a different story. Since breathing was old news at this point, we had the presence of mind to concentrate on everything around us. Gus led us to the ocean floor to kneel in the sand and hold a huge red sea cucumber, he showed us coral caves and giant clams, clown fish and zebra fish, parrot fish and barracuda, a SHARK, and the very territorial and pretty big trigger fish, which charged me and attacked my foot with its beak when I drifted haphazardly over its nest. Gus found this very amusing and shot bubbles out of his mask a lot laughing. Kelly was happy no blood attracted sharks. I flipped off the fish and tried to paddle away with dignity.
Kelly dived the third time and saw a turtle and a manta ray, but Shana and I opted to snorkle the top of the reef instead of exploring the bottom again. It was much brighter and more colorful at the top because there was more sunshine, and without the scuba gear we could swim closer and explore more on our own time. We made friends with the photographer, who took a ton of pictures of us and cut us a deal to put them all on a cd. We also duck dived a lot (basically holding your breath and flippering straight down) to look closer, to try to poke kelly while she scuba'd, and just to feel like mermaids.
After that, telling you about skydiving sounds almost anticlimactic. We went SKYDIVING! Two days ago found the three of us hurtling out of a plane 14000 feet in the air strapped to one australian each. It was AWESOME. I honestly expected to be scared, but I'm not even sure my heart rate changed. It was exhilarating, it was beautiful, it was like being able to fly. I told the guy I felt like Peter Pan and he laughed at me then made our parachute do spirals and twirls as we drifted over the ocean to land on the beach. I laughed so hard and smiled so much during the freefall I am positive I drooled all over Andre's face because it was shooting backwards, but he was kind enough to not mention it while we spent the last 5-10 minutes drifting through the air with me pretty much strapped to his crotch. I loved every second of it. Flying, not being strapped to Andre's crotch.
In other news, I'm missing the free sausage cook downstairs, which completes our day of not paying for food. Remind me later to tell you about how we're camping in the rainforest. Yikes.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Civilization!
HOORAY!!!!! =) I am reunited with my dear dear friends and traveling family, Kelly and Shana. I have never been so happy to see two people. It really felt like getting a family back. To add to my general excitement, we're back in Brisbane, city of dreams and bustling with people AND we're on the cusp of stage 4 of our adventure (the wildest yet). We've done Sydney, beautiful and sprawling and a hangover waiting to happen...we've done Brisbane, full of friendly people and our would-be home base...we've done the outback, giving us more stories than we could possibly tell each other in one night.... Next on the list? We had no idea until yesterday, when we shut ourselves into the state library of queensland for three hours and booked a flight to Cairns.
We fly out of Brisbane at 7 am on Saturday (day after tomorrow) to land in Cairns around 9:30. We'll spend the day exploring, beaching, and souveniers-ing, go out on the town at night, then at 7:20 the next morning we're being picked up at our hostel to go SKYDIVING over Mission Beach. We're jumping from 14000 feet to freefall over the Great Barrier Reef and surrounding islands to land on the beach, where we'll spend the rest of the day. We haven't worked out the exact particulars after that, but I think the current plans are snorkeling/scuba diving the reef on Tuesday and leaving on a week long campervan roadtrip soon after to Atherton, Cape Tribulation, Port Douglas, Daintree, and maybe fruit picking in Mareeba. We're doing some hard budgeting, to say the least.
Some of our friends from the Brisbane Palace Embassy hostel are still in town, so we're meeting up with them tonight for drinks and probably the 24 hour casino, knowing them. It'll be nice to see "old" friends again, it makes me feel established and local. Daniel (a friend I met in Tambo when he came through for work) actually lives in Brisbane as well, and has offered to get me a new phone for FREE! and drive us to the airport on Saturday morning, saving us a total of over 100 dollars easily. Australian generosity is not lost on us, we're feeling pretty lucky.
The end of Tambo was bittersweet. I had really just begun to feel like I knew everyone, and just as I became a fixture it was time to leave. Deano and Trish put $20 in the tip jar as a parting gift, Rick almost cried when we said goodbye, and Peter let me off early my last night so I could be with Kelly. Yes, Kelly was actually there for my last night in Tambo! She rode the Greyhound from Aramac to spend the night, then we continued on the next day to Brisbane on the bus together. She got to see where I've been and party up the last night with me, which was fun. Saturday was supposed to be the Tambo races, but sadly they were cancelled for rain, leaving only the live entertainment and mechanical bull booked for the night. =) It was a fond farewell, but I'm not going to lie and say I wasn't happy to leave.
Saying goodbye takes on a whole new meaning when you know for a fact that you'll never see people again. I will literally not ever talk to these people ever again. Few of them know how to use computers, even fewer have email addresses. I will never be back to Tambo, they will never come to the states. I don't have their cell phone numbers. Goodbye was really, truly, deeply goodbye. Kelly and I talked about it while we sat at the post office awaiting the greyhound in the dusky silence. These little towns seem like they existed just to be a memory. Even sitting by the deserted main road of Tambo, when we were STILL there, it felt like a memory. It felt like a movie set. The air was balmy, there were a few stars coming out on the early night sky, there was not a soul around...music drifted down the street from the pub, but other than that the air was so still. There is no silence like an outback silence. It made me think of the 4 am truck ride with Jeff. He stopped the road train in the middle of the outback and turned off the engine. Viola and I climbed down the side of the cab in our pajamas to the pavement below, still warm from the day before. The door of the truck a few feet over our heads was still open, casting the lone light from the cab across the desert. I really couldn't help but think of the Polar Express. He had pulled up with a hissing of breaks in the middle of the night to the front of our bedrooms. We climbed in wearing our pajamas on an untold adventure. Here we were on a huge train of a truck, in the middle of nowhere...desert versus ice caps. The further down the road we walked, the more insignificant and tiny that cab light became, the quieter the air, the thicker the silence. A mere hundred feet away and the wind whistling across the scrub had whipped up any familiarity between us and the truck and blown it toward Blackall. We two barmaids were the only thing standing higher than two feet for miles on either side. We literally grabbed each other in the dark, clinging to each others' hands and staring breathlesssly and wildly around us, exhilarated for the sheer vastness of it. "We could scream and no one would hear us" ...and so we did, yelling across the desert to whatever dingoes and night creatures might go scurrying back in their holes to escape our joy. The wind grabbed our voices and whipped them away anyway, the silence out there is that untouchable. So many memories like that were swimming through my head as I sat with Kelly on the bench outside the post office, beside the only phone booth, surrounded by all our crap, feeling dirty already in anticipation of the 14 hour bus ride. Being a backpacker is both extremely glamourous and soooo unglamourous at the same time.
There are more things to write about, and to tell the truth I could never get to all of them. I will try, but so much of it has already spun away into subconscious memory. Just know that Tambo was exactly what I needed it to be, and that it became a story before I even left. I'm back with my travelling family and we're about to have the whirlwind tour we came here for. I hope you're all well. I promise I'm being safe (mostly). I promise I'm enjoying every second. Stay warm!
We fly out of Brisbane at 7 am on Saturday (day after tomorrow) to land in Cairns around 9:30. We'll spend the day exploring, beaching, and souveniers-ing, go out on the town at night, then at 7:20 the next morning we're being picked up at our hostel to go SKYDIVING over Mission Beach. We're jumping from 14000 feet to freefall over the Great Barrier Reef and surrounding islands to land on the beach, where we'll spend the rest of the day. We haven't worked out the exact particulars after that, but I think the current plans are snorkeling/scuba diving the reef on Tuesday and leaving on a week long campervan roadtrip soon after to Atherton, Cape Tribulation, Port Douglas, Daintree, and maybe fruit picking in Mareeba. We're doing some hard budgeting, to say the least.
Some of our friends from the Brisbane Palace Embassy hostel are still in town, so we're meeting up with them tonight for drinks and probably the 24 hour casino, knowing them. It'll be nice to see "old" friends again, it makes me feel established and local. Daniel (a friend I met in Tambo when he came through for work) actually lives in Brisbane as well, and has offered to get me a new phone for FREE! and drive us to the airport on Saturday morning, saving us a total of over 100 dollars easily. Australian generosity is not lost on us, we're feeling pretty lucky.
The end of Tambo was bittersweet. I had really just begun to feel like I knew everyone, and just as I became a fixture it was time to leave. Deano and Trish put $20 in the tip jar as a parting gift, Rick almost cried when we said goodbye, and Peter let me off early my last night so I could be with Kelly. Yes, Kelly was actually there for my last night in Tambo! She rode the Greyhound from Aramac to spend the night, then we continued on the next day to Brisbane on the bus together. She got to see where I've been and party up the last night with me, which was fun. Saturday was supposed to be the Tambo races, but sadly they were cancelled for rain, leaving only the live entertainment and mechanical bull booked for the night. =) It was a fond farewell, but I'm not going to lie and say I wasn't happy to leave.
Saying goodbye takes on a whole new meaning when you know for a fact that you'll never see people again. I will literally not ever talk to these people ever again. Few of them know how to use computers, even fewer have email addresses. I will never be back to Tambo, they will never come to the states. I don't have their cell phone numbers. Goodbye was really, truly, deeply goodbye. Kelly and I talked about it while we sat at the post office awaiting the greyhound in the dusky silence. These little towns seem like they existed just to be a memory. Even sitting by the deserted main road of Tambo, when we were STILL there, it felt like a memory. It felt like a movie set. The air was balmy, there were a few stars coming out on the early night sky, there was not a soul around...music drifted down the street from the pub, but other than that the air was so still. There is no silence like an outback silence. It made me think of the 4 am truck ride with Jeff. He stopped the road train in the middle of the outback and turned off the engine. Viola and I climbed down the side of the cab in our pajamas to the pavement below, still warm from the day before. The door of the truck a few feet over our heads was still open, casting the lone light from the cab across the desert. I really couldn't help but think of the Polar Express. He had pulled up with a hissing of breaks in the middle of the night to the front of our bedrooms. We climbed in wearing our pajamas on an untold adventure. Here we were on a huge train of a truck, in the middle of nowhere...desert versus ice caps. The further down the road we walked, the more insignificant and tiny that cab light became, the quieter the air, the thicker the silence. A mere hundred feet away and the wind whistling across the scrub had whipped up any familiarity between us and the truck and blown it toward Blackall. We two barmaids were the only thing standing higher than two feet for miles on either side. We literally grabbed each other in the dark, clinging to each others' hands and staring breathlesssly and wildly around us, exhilarated for the sheer vastness of it. "We could scream and no one would hear us" ...and so we did, yelling across the desert to whatever dingoes and night creatures might go scurrying back in their holes to escape our joy. The wind grabbed our voices and whipped them away anyway, the silence out there is that untouchable. So many memories like that were swimming through my head as I sat with Kelly on the bench outside the post office, beside the only phone booth, surrounded by all our crap, feeling dirty already in anticipation of the 14 hour bus ride. Being a backpacker is both extremely glamourous and soooo unglamourous at the same time.
There are more things to write about, and to tell the truth I could never get to all of them. I will try, but so much of it has already spun away into subconscious memory. Just know that Tambo was exactly what I needed it to be, and that it became a story before I even left. I'm back with my travelling family and we're about to have the whirlwind tour we came here for. I hope you're all well. I promise I'm being safe (mostly). I promise I'm enjoying every second. Stay warm!
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Thanksgiving
Previous post was written Thanksgiving day on my laptop. I wasn't really going to post it, but it captured more than anything what it felt like here. Add 100 degrees of dry heat, of course.
I started work at 2, after gorging myself on freshly-made macaroni with Viola. The whole morning was oppressively hot: 38 degrees in the air-conditioned kitchen. Luckily the air started to get damp and heavy around three oclock, the sky darkening the hopeful color of rain. From two oclock onward, not a soul came into the pub. Rain scares these outback Aussies back into their dry homes, thankful as they are for the water. Viola and I spent the day honing our pool skillz and listening to music on my laptop. We ate half the macaroni pan for lunch, then another plate each for an afternoon snack. Four pathetic pool games and a few lemon-lime and bitters later, we were still alone in the bar...finally cool with the lights off and the fans going full blast. We had a bit of a crowd for dinner, so I took Thanksgiving pictures before knocking off and leaving them to Viola.
I made fresh-squeezed lemonade a few days ago! No one here knows what it is! Aussies think that Sprite is lemonade. Isn't that horrifying? People walk up and order a lemonade from me expecting to be rewarded with a CAN of SPRITE. Unbelievable. Peter, accommodating and determined to make the most of our time here as always, somehow scrounged up a brand new juicer. We spent 15 minutes sticking the random parts together before we figured out how to work it, a steady stream of curse words grumbling from Peter the whole time (haha). Luckily there are approximately a billion lemons in the cold room, so once we fixed it I had no limit. (do you have ANY idea how much water you have to dilute with in order to make lemon juice drinkable? TONS. and so much sugar.) Viola, ever the appreciative audience, loved the lemonade and has vowed to take it back to Germany where they ALSO think lemonade means Sprite. I shared tiny sips with some bar regulars who were curious about "Lemonade Stands Five Cents" that they see on the movies. They were fascinated. I felt like a movie star.
I have begun to take pictures of the bar regulars so that you guys aren't disappointed. To set that up, I'm going to take a page out of Kelly's book and give you a cast of characters. It's long, because it's six weeks worth. Get over it.
Peter: Owns the pub. Gruff and down-to-business, but extremely good natured. Every Christmas he takes the people who end up at the pub with no place to go into his own home for dinner. He told me if I ever got into trouble in Australia to call him, whether I needed money or just help ("What's a hundred dollars, love? To me, nothing. To you, a week of food. I'd give it to any of you girls in a heartbeat, you been good to us"). He told us if anyone gave us any problems to come straight to him and he'd kill them. =) Apparently used to be a champion boxer, I just found out. Favorite sayings include "Drink up and fuck off," "give yourself an uppercut," and "How bout a cock sandwich?" when people order meals after he's stopped cooking. Peter's great.
Chrissy: Peter's partner in crime. I'm not sure if they're married, but they live behind the pub. Very sweet, accommodating. Will rearrange our work schedules to allow fun things like golf tournaments and shooting. Has a cat named Boxy who likes to eat geckos.
Passo: Old man who has been coming to the Club Hotel every single day for the last 30 odd years. Always sits in the same seat in the corner, always drinks a seven of Four X Bitter ("heavy"), then a seven of port wine, then repeats for an hour or so. Very quiet, very sweet.
Bill: Another old man who comes in every day, drinks a pot o' gold pretty fast and likes to be handed another one immediately without having to ask. Always wears a tank top (to show off his chest/back hair?), tries to be sneaky about suggesting that I'm probably not just a "ballet" dancer.
Skeeter: Again, every day. Pot o' Gold. Has a mean, not-bright wife named Patsy and a son named Scotty who has some kind of mental problem and talks in a very high, very loud, impossible to understand squeaky voice. He is only allowed to drink diet coke. Skeeter holds his ears when Scotty talks and scolds him for cursing. Skeeter is always wearing either an outback cowboy hat or a Bundaberg Rum baseball hat.
Deano and Mel: Husband and wife, very nice to me but very mean to Viola. Deano has a bright blonde mullet and always wears really short shorts. Mel always orders the drinks (pot o' gold and a West Coast cooler) and obviously wears the pants in the relationship. Did I mention she doesn't like Viola?
Rick Kennedy: One armed man who takes us on adventures and comments on how much we eat. Very sweet, extremely capable for only having one arm...has won drag races and numerous riflery/shotgun titles. Owns his own garage and can fix anything mechanical. Changes a tire with one arm faster than I can with two.
Corey: Young guy, 30, ponytail and lots of tattoos. Has a huuuuge black dog named Sooty who is definitely his soul mate. Always drinks Jim Beam and cola in a can. Heavy Australian accent, very sweet to us...brings us fresh rainwater every week to drink and lets us use his internet, lends us movies and shows us pictures of his kids. Has six little puppies at his house that he is trying to get rid of. they love to lick your feet.
A.J. Johnson: Such a sweet guy, one of the Johnson brothers that run the trucking company up the road. Old, but everyone seems old out here. Calls me "doll" and loves to ask questions about America. His real name is Ashley (I only know that because of his work shirt that has it embroidered), and his son Kevin (big kevvy) has two beautiful little girls, inherited his general big-hearted demeanor, and I suspect lets me win in pool a lot.
Graham: Probably 55, has the most intense grey scraggly mustache that continues down his chin on both sides. Always orders a shandy (beer with a dash of lemonade), loves to talk to me about books and authors. Loves fantasy books, has a new title for me every time I see him. One of my favorites.
Brendan: One of the Johnson brothers, always orders either a cascade light (the worst tap ever, we hate it) or a "naked blonde," which honestly I just think he likes saying. Pure Blonde is the beer, Naked is the light version. Hi-larious, old guy.
Randall: Sweet, quiet, owns the Foodworks. At around 40, one of the youngest people to come in regularly. Almost became a priest before becoming Tambo Foodworks owner instead. Hangs out with Clint, other "young" guy. Both very sweet to me.
Coop: only about 40, so young. likes to put chips on his shoulders and talk about how he has a chip on his shoulder. Looks like he used to be hot, before all the sun, tattoos, and missing teeth.
Callum: Only in on the weekends. Just turned 21, friendliest little Australian you'll ever meet. Always almost too drunk to stand up, but not hard to pick up off the floor because he's probably only 130 pounds and pretty short. Drinks scotch, or anything else that is put in front of him (jager and tomato juice...). Tough as nails (will get on a bull that drunk), likes to start fights, but very good natured. Hard worker. I just found out he apparently owns millions of dollars in cattle? Thick thick country australian accent. Favorite sayings include "Woteva Treva" and "He's alright...when he's asleep". I get a huge kick out of him, and it's nice to have a friend.
Rachel and Jess and Samantha: Girls that work at the other pub (the royal carrangarra), always open later than us. Very sweet, fun to be around. Like Callum, it's nice to have friends.
That wraps up my favorites. I'll leave off the undesirables. Things I will write about next time:
Truck driving to load cattle
Shooting guns
Swimming pool adventure
Corey and his puppies!
Miss you all. Brisbane and civilization awaits me in T-2 days.
I started work at 2, after gorging myself on freshly-made macaroni with Viola. The whole morning was oppressively hot: 38 degrees in the air-conditioned kitchen. Luckily the air started to get damp and heavy around three oclock, the sky darkening the hopeful color of rain. From two oclock onward, not a soul came into the pub. Rain scares these outback Aussies back into their dry homes, thankful as they are for the water. Viola and I spent the day honing our pool skillz and listening to music on my laptop. We ate half the macaroni pan for lunch, then another plate each for an afternoon snack. Four pathetic pool games and a few lemon-lime and bitters later, we were still alone in the bar...finally cool with the lights off and the fans going full blast. We had a bit of a crowd for dinner, so I took Thanksgiving pictures before knocking off and leaving them to Viola.
I made fresh-squeezed lemonade a few days ago! No one here knows what it is! Aussies think that Sprite is lemonade. Isn't that horrifying? People walk up and order a lemonade from me expecting to be rewarded with a CAN of SPRITE. Unbelievable. Peter, accommodating and determined to make the most of our time here as always, somehow scrounged up a brand new juicer. We spent 15 minutes sticking the random parts together before we figured out how to work it, a steady stream of curse words grumbling from Peter the whole time (haha). Luckily there are approximately a billion lemons in the cold room, so once we fixed it I had no limit. (do you have ANY idea how much water you have to dilute with in order to make lemon juice drinkable? TONS. and so much sugar.) Viola, ever the appreciative audience, loved the lemonade and has vowed to take it back to Germany where they ALSO think lemonade means Sprite. I shared tiny sips with some bar regulars who were curious about "Lemonade Stands Five Cents" that they see on the movies. They were fascinated. I felt like a movie star.
I have begun to take pictures of the bar regulars so that you guys aren't disappointed. To set that up, I'm going to take a page out of Kelly's book and give you a cast of characters. It's long, because it's six weeks worth. Get over it.
Peter: Owns the pub. Gruff and down-to-business, but extremely good natured. Every Christmas he takes the people who end up at the pub with no place to go into his own home for dinner. He told me if I ever got into trouble in Australia to call him, whether I needed money or just help ("What's a hundred dollars, love? To me, nothing. To you, a week of food. I'd give it to any of you girls in a heartbeat, you been good to us"). He told us if anyone gave us any problems to come straight to him and he'd kill them. =) Apparently used to be a champion boxer, I just found out. Favorite sayings include "Drink up and fuck off," "give yourself an uppercut," and "How bout a cock sandwich?" when people order meals after he's stopped cooking. Peter's great.
Chrissy: Peter's partner in crime. I'm not sure if they're married, but they live behind the pub. Very sweet, accommodating. Will rearrange our work schedules to allow fun things like golf tournaments and shooting. Has a cat named Boxy who likes to eat geckos.
Passo: Old man who has been coming to the Club Hotel every single day for the last 30 odd years. Always sits in the same seat in the corner, always drinks a seven of Four X Bitter ("heavy"), then a seven of port wine, then repeats for an hour or so. Very quiet, very sweet.
Bill: Another old man who comes in every day, drinks a pot o' gold pretty fast and likes to be handed another one immediately without having to ask. Always wears a tank top (to show off his chest/back hair?), tries to be sneaky about suggesting that I'm probably not just a "ballet" dancer.
Skeeter: Again, every day. Pot o' Gold. Has a mean, not-bright wife named Patsy and a son named Scotty who has some kind of mental problem and talks in a very high, very loud, impossible to understand squeaky voice. He is only allowed to drink diet coke. Skeeter holds his ears when Scotty talks and scolds him for cursing. Skeeter is always wearing either an outback cowboy hat or a Bundaberg Rum baseball hat.
Deano and Mel: Husband and wife, very nice to me but very mean to Viola. Deano has a bright blonde mullet and always wears really short shorts. Mel always orders the drinks (pot o' gold and a West Coast cooler) and obviously wears the pants in the relationship. Did I mention she doesn't like Viola?
Rick Kennedy: One armed man who takes us on adventures and comments on how much we eat. Very sweet, extremely capable for only having one arm...has won drag races and numerous riflery/shotgun titles. Owns his own garage and can fix anything mechanical. Changes a tire with one arm faster than I can with two.
Corey: Young guy, 30, ponytail and lots of tattoos. Has a huuuuge black dog named Sooty who is definitely his soul mate. Always drinks Jim Beam and cola in a can. Heavy Australian accent, very sweet to us...brings us fresh rainwater every week to drink and lets us use his internet, lends us movies and shows us pictures of his kids. Has six little puppies at his house that he is trying to get rid of. they love to lick your feet.
A.J. Johnson: Such a sweet guy, one of the Johnson brothers that run the trucking company up the road. Old, but everyone seems old out here. Calls me "doll" and loves to ask questions about America. His real name is Ashley (I only know that because of his work shirt that has it embroidered), and his son Kevin (big kevvy) has two beautiful little girls, inherited his general big-hearted demeanor, and I suspect lets me win in pool a lot.
Graham: Probably 55, has the most intense grey scraggly mustache that continues down his chin on both sides. Always orders a shandy (beer with a dash of lemonade), loves to talk to me about books and authors. Loves fantasy books, has a new title for me every time I see him. One of my favorites.
Brendan: One of the Johnson brothers, always orders either a cascade light (the worst tap ever, we hate it) or a "naked blonde," which honestly I just think he likes saying. Pure Blonde is the beer, Naked is the light version. Hi-larious, old guy.
Randall: Sweet, quiet, owns the Foodworks. At around 40, one of the youngest people to come in regularly. Almost became a priest before becoming Tambo Foodworks owner instead. Hangs out with Clint, other "young" guy. Both very sweet to me.
Coop: only about 40, so young. likes to put chips on his shoulders and talk about how he has a chip on his shoulder. Looks like he used to be hot, before all the sun, tattoos, and missing teeth.
Callum: Only in on the weekends. Just turned 21, friendliest little Australian you'll ever meet. Always almost too drunk to stand up, but not hard to pick up off the floor because he's probably only 130 pounds and pretty short. Drinks scotch, or anything else that is put in front of him (jager and tomato juice...). Tough as nails (will get on a bull that drunk), likes to start fights, but very good natured. Hard worker. I just found out he apparently owns millions of dollars in cattle? Thick thick country australian accent. Favorite sayings include "Woteva Treva" and "He's alright...when he's asleep". I get a huge kick out of him, and it's nice to have a friend.
Rachel and Jess and Samantha: Girls that work at the other pub (the royal carrangarra), always open later than us. Very sweet, fun to be around. Like Callum, it's nice to have friends.
That wraps up my favorites. I'll leave off the undesirables. Things I will write about next time:
Truck driving to load cattle
Shooting guns
Swimming pool adventure
Corey and his puppies!
Miss you all. Brisbane and civilization awaits me in T-2 days.
blonde barmaid
I’ve decided to celebrate Thanksgiving this year, which seems natural but really just feels like I’m setting myself up to be homesick. After waking up this morning I walked across to the Foodworks to check macaroni prices and make the call based on how cheap I am. Eleven something seems like a fair price for Too’s macaroni. I'll get a catch in my throat purchasing the items and knowing I won’t have to fight Eleanor and Margot for it.
Halfway down the aisle, an older Foodworks woman says something in a snyde voice that may have been directed at me, I wasn’t paying attention. All I heard was the word “bar” and “come here casually.” Either way, it was met with a “Be nice” hissed down from the ladder of the woman she worked with, followed by forced “normal” activity. I stood in the aisle in my short grey cotton skirt and white tank top, facing the macaroni, feeling hurt and uncomfortable but not willing to let them win by abandoning ship. In my head I was both thinking about Thanksgiving and trying to reconstruct the snippet of what I thought she said…and thinking maybe my skirt was too short. I guess it’s only natural for the women-folk of this town to dislike us. We are bused in every six weeks for the sole purpose of looking pretty while we serve their husbands beer when they should be at home. Do they think we like being flirted with relentlessly by their old alcoholic husbands? I have never made an inappropriate comment or gesture toward anyone in this town, male or female. Most of the women haven’t even set foot in the pub, they just resent me on principle.
At this point I have definitely been staring blankly at the macaroni package for too long. The conversation beside me has become strained…reduced to making jokes about stocking shelves. I toss a shy smile in their direction and place the macaroni carefully back on the shelf, making sure to line it up correctly in the right pile. I hate not being liked. Especially when I can’t figure out why.
The walk from the Foodworks back to my pub room across the road is blinding from the midday sun. The dry heat feels good on my skin after the cool discomfort of the macaroni shelf. Thanksgiving is starting to feel like some kind of invented holiday that only happens when your family is around. My family is not around, and the families here seem closed and disjointed. Something about the smallness of the town eliminates the need for “family” within “community.” Maybe I’m just the silly blonde barmaid and I see them as a general public, but I’ve only seen one family that brings to mind the centrality that I was brought up with. But they don’t come to town much, and are always exceedingly drunk as a whole. I duck back down the macaroni aisle, armed with a fistful of blue tens this time, grab the items I’ve already scoped out, and head to the cash register. Condensed milk, sharp cheese, macaroni. 11.something. The lady is smiling at me huge as she gives me back the change. Maybe she’s trying to make up for her mean colleague? I gesture at my pathetic three item bag, “Thanksgiving.” Her smile turns a little more normal…”Ah, bet it’s hard when no one out here celebrates it” …I laugh mildly, then take the bag and my change. “Enjoy it!” she calls kindly. I toss my hair back and spin around to give her the smile she deserves over my shoulder as I wave the bag at her “Oh, I will!” with my best barmaid charm. Who cares if I’m that blonde American girl, at least I'm good at it.
Halfway down the aisle, an older Foodworks woman says something in a snyde voice that may have been directed at me, I wasn’t paying attention. All I heard was the word “bar” and “come here casually.” Either way, it was met with a “Be nice” hissed down from the ladder of the woman she worked with, followed by forced “normal” activity. I stood in the aisle in my short grey cotton skirt and white tank top, facing the macaroni, feeling hurt and uncomfortable but not willing to let them win by abandoning ship. In my head I was both thinking about Thanksgiving and trying to reconstruct the snippet of what I thought she said…and thinking maybe my skirt was too short. I guess it’s only natural for the women-folk of this town to dislike us. We are bused in every six weeks for the sole purpose of looking pretty while we serve their husbands beer when they should be at home. Do they think we like being flirted with relentlessly by their old alcoholic husbands? I have never made an inappropriate comment or gesture toward anyone in this town, male or female. Most of the women haven’t even set foot in the pub, they just resent me on principle.
At this point I have definitely been staring blankly at the macaroni package for too long. The conversation beside me has become strained…reduced to making jokes about stocking shelves. I toss a shy smile in their direction and place the macaroni carefully back on the shelf, making sure to line it up correctly in the right pile. I hate not being liked. Especially when I can’t figure out why.
The walk from the Foodworks back to my pub room across the road is blinding from the midday sun. The dry heat feels good on my skin after the cool discomfort of the macaroni shelf. Thanksgiving is starting to feel like some kind of invented holiday that only happens when your family is around. My family is not around, and the families here seem closed and disjointed. Something about the smallness of the town eliminates the need for “family” within “community.” Maybe I’m just the silly blonde barmaid and I see them as a general public, but I’ve only seen one family that brings to mind the centrality that I was brought up with. But they don’t come to town much, and are always exceedingly drunk as a whole. I duck back down the macaroni aisle, armed with a fistful of blue tens this time, grab the items I’ve already scoped out, and head to the cash register. Condensed milk, sharp cheese, macaroni. 11.something. The lady is smiling at me huge as she gives me back the change. Maybe she’s trying to make up for her mean colleague? I gesture at my pathetic three item bag, “Thanksgiving.” Her smile turns a little more normal…”Ah, bet it’s hard when no one out here celebrates it” …I laugh mildly, then take the bag and my change. “Enjoy it!” she calls kindly. I toss my hair back and spin around to give her the smile she deserves over my shoulder as I wave the bag at her “Oh, I will!” with my best barmaid charm. Who cares if I’m that blonde American girl, at least I'm good at it.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Critters
I decided to make my bed this morning so that my stall looks less like...a stall. I pretty much had to pull the sheets off the bed to straighten and re-tuck them since they were hopelessly tangled (would YOU use sheets in 100 degree weather?). Mid-flip, I felt something heavy in the sheet hanging from my hand...MOVING. I screamed and dropped the sheet as a TWO POUND FROG went flailing out and landed floppily on my bed. He looked like Fredrick except times a billion. He was bright green, really fat (about the size of my fist), and covered in fluff, so had apparently been in there for awhile. Who knows how long I have been sleeping with him. I proceeded to scramble around the room in my underwear squawking and flapping and trying to catch him, causing a ruckus. He hopped deftly between my fingers to land squarely on my pillow, across my clean laundry, and onto the wall, where I finally grabbed him in a squelchy handful and he peed all over me. With much cursing and swearing and berating the frog, I escorted him out past the maid, who said "Eh Oi was wanderin when yed foind eem! ee was in thay wen you checked een!" ...what.
A three inch long cockroach scuttled behind my mirror yesterday. In Aussie-speak, I could "put a saddle on 'er and roide." I find this comforting because it means he's neither in my bed nor in my suitcase.
Viola and I did our laundry on Tuesday, which was awesome except that a bird pooped on two of my shirts while they were on the line. While waiting for the laundry to finish we amused ourselves by observing a 5 inch monster of a grasshopper saunter along the railing. I am not exaggerating. I will post pictures. This guy could have eaten me no problem.
Last but not least, I had to face a praying mantis the size of my hand in a battle for the dinner napkins the other night. I took a picture with my awesome new camera of his evil alien eyes as he perched atop them and challenged me with his pincers.
Where AM I.
A three inch long cockroach scuttled behind my mirror yesterday. In Aussie-speak, I could "put a saddle on 'er and roide." I find this comforting because it means he's neither in my bed nor in my suitcase.
Viola and I did our laundry on Tuesday, which was awesome except that a bird pooped on two of my shirts while they were on the line. While waiting for the laundry to finish we amused ourselves by observing a 5 inch monster of a grasshopper saunter along the railing. I am not exaggerating. I will post pictures. This guy could have eaten me no problem.
Last but not least, I had to face a praying mantis the size of my hand in a battle for the dinner napkins the other night. I took a picture with my awesome new camera of his evil alien eyes as he perched atop them and challenged me with his pincers.
Where AM I.
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