I can't find a toilet bowl that swirls!
I've been in Australia for over a month now.
My flip-flops have given me callused lines between my toes and a cool, beachy
flip-flop tan line. I'm just getting used to looking the correct way when crossing
the street. And my favorite pair of zip-off pants have decided that they would
be happier as cut-off shorts.
After a long full flight that used every inch
of runway getting off the ground in LA (an hour late), I was grateful to see
the faces of my two American friends Renee and Alyssa (who I met in Riomaggiore,
Italy) waiting for me at the airport in Brisbane. In the midst of their own
6-month trip, they were gracious enough to tread water for a few days in Brisbane
waiting for me so that I wouldn't have to worry too much about making my own
decisions while under the influence of trans-hemisphere jetlag. And after being
in the bubble of the working-man lifestyle for two years, I knew I would need
a gentle easing-in to the world of the traveller before I was ready to swim
on my own again. I mentioned it was a gracious gesture, but that's not saying
enough. They actually changed their plans and threw off their own itinerary
to meet me at the airport. And they did it all for a bag of peanut butter M&M's,
and a package of AAA batteries. And for that, I am grateful.
But before I could get to my friends, I had to
get past immigration. And, since this is me we're talking about, it wasn't smooth.
I had apparently left my middle name off of my online visa application, and
suddenly my passport was walking away from me in the hands of a uniformed officer
as I was told to go find my bags and follow him. By the time I found my luggage
(which had come down to the wrong turnstile) and tracked down the officer who
had taken my passport, I was mentally prepared to spend the day in a holding
cell being grilled with all sorts of questions about my travel history and desire
to work overseas. Instead, he handed my passport back to me with a smile and
turned away to find something more important to do. The whole business had been
handled before I had even found my bags.
Yet, there was another hurdle between me and Down-Under-Freedom.
Customs and Agriculture. A man actually said "G'Day" to me as he picked
up my bag and fed it into the x-ray machine. That gave me a little smile...which
soon vanished.
"Got any food?" he asked
"No" I said.
"No sweets? Lollies? Candies?"
"No. No. No."
"What's this then?" he asked, pointing at the x-ray monitor that only
he could see.
"I don't know", I said, looking at him because I couldn't see what
he was pointing at.
"You don't know?" His trust in me was fading as he pulled my bag through
and pointed to the bottom of the main compartment. "Right here, in the
center. What's this?"
"Oh! The M&M's! Yeah, they're M&M's." Damn those girls and
their M&M's.
"Alright, go ahead. If you couldn't tell me what they were, I'd have to
search your luggage." And so I was through.
Since Renee and Alyssa had been in Brisbane for
nearly a week, they were ready to move on. So we booked ourselves onto the Oz
Experience bus heading north the very next day. The "Oz Bus," as it's
called, is one of the more popular methods of travel for backpackers doing the
circuit in Australia. It's a full-sized Coach bus driven by a young, smart-mouthed
tourguide that allows you to hop off the bus at any point along the way and
stay for as long as you like before hopping back on again. And since everyone
on it is a backpacker, it's a great way to meet people with similar interests.
One of our first stops the first day was at the
Australian Zoo. Home of Steve Irwin, "The Crocodile Hunter" (Crikey!
G'Day and welcome to Australia, Mate!). Unfortunately, Steve wasn't there that
day, but I did make use of the opportunity to feed and pet the Kangaroos (one
who had a baby, or "Joey" in her pouch), and Koalas (who spend all
day sitting in the sun eating Eucalyptus leaves, which makes them drunk, or
stoned, or something). Not bad for my second day in the country.
Our first overnight stop was in the beachtown
of Mooloolaba. And I only take the time to mention that because it's called
Mooloolaba. Say it with me...Moo-loo-la-ba.
The next morning, we were up early and passing
through towns with more fun to say names. Maroochydore, Noosa, and Gympie (pronounced
GIMpee, with a hard G sound). And all the while, I thought to myself that the
landscape, with it's miles and miles of Eucalyptus trees gave me the feeling
of driving around and around the LA zoo. At least the part I drove through that
day in Southern Queensland.
By the end of that second day on the bus, it bacame
clear that the girls were moving at a pace that was much too fast for me. Ironically,
the reason they were moving so fast to begin with was because they sat in Brisbane
waiting for me to arrive due to a...misinterpretation of some misguided email
sarcasm. In other words, it was all my fault. And they had to race up the coast
to meet another friend.
So, after spending a night in Hervey Bay, I said
goodbye to their pretty, sleeping faces at 6:30 AM (and that turned out to be
my next mistake, as I forgot that I was supposed to wake them up when I left)
and found my way down to the hostel lounge for a briefing of my next adventure.
But that's the next update...
But until I get that next letter written, just
imagine that I'm heading north along the eastern coast of Queensland trying
to find a toilet bowl that actually makes that swirly motion when it is flushed
so that I can see if it does in fact go down the other way. So far, they've
all gone straight down the center in a great splashy mess of chaotic non-direction.
But I will find one. And I will photograph it. And I will share it with you
all!
And along the way, I'm getting re-acquainted with
the lifestyle of a backpacker. The good parts and the bad. But for each, there
is the other. For every bed bug that bites me in the night, there is a new person
to meet. For every quarter mile walked with a 23 kilo pack on my back, there
is an air-conditioned dorm and a swimming pool to cool off in. For every day
that finds me missing someone back home more and more, there is the knowledge
that the feeling is directly proportional to how great it will be to wrap my
arms around her when I come home again. For every meal I eat out of a can by
myself to save a few bucks, there's an equally inexpensive group meal cooked
with love and pride, and usually plenty of pasta, and enjoyed around a table
with new friends. And for every time I feel lonely, there's a time when I can
look around the table and realize, like a firefly to the back of the head, that
I'm sitting in Australia with an English guy I met early on in this trip, a
guy from New Zeland who I met three years ago in Finland, a guy and a girl from
Holland who I met seperately in the past few weeks, and who only met each other
a few days later, and myself, whom I've known for quite some time now, but who
I am still trying to really get to know. And it's these times that I sit back
and smile. Beacuse for me, that's as good a reason to travel as any.
"The use of traveling is to regulate imagination by reality, and instead
of thinking how things may be, to see them as they are."
--Samuel Johnson
Props to My Peeps, and Peace on the Mothership.
Chris