I promised I would write about Australia day in my previous post, but because I don’t fully remember how I spent my first Australia day, I’ll give a rundown of the highlights that stuck in my mind:
1. Australia makes it so easy to buy alcohol; they practically give it to you. The pub near Surf Camp had, I kid you not, a drive-through window. Only in America is alcoholism considered a disease apparently.
2. The Surf Camp instructors were not about to let their jobs get in the way of their Australia Day celebration. One instructor even encouraged students to partake in the celebration by bringing out Snorkie, a common plastic snorkel that he had creatively taped a funnel to the top of. Somewhere, buried deep in the bowels of facebook, there are pictures of me chugging beer out of a snorkel. I hope these pictures never see the light of day.
3. Because it was a celebration, there were plenty of games to be played. I learned several new drinking games from all over Europe and Australia, but my proudest moment of the night was when I taught 50 complete strangers the joys of Beer Pong. Earlier in the day, one of the chefs had produced a pack of ping-pong balls from his bag. Later that night I somehow managed to remember this fact, and quickly put together a ramshackle set-up. With the help of, no joke, my own surf instructor, I defended America’s beer pong honor against the British.
4. At some point in the night the party moved down to the beach, and since bonfires were not allowed, the next logical course of action was obviously to go skinny-dipping. Once again, the instructors were not shy about celebrating, and in fact led the plunge into the ocean.
If only there were more camps like this in the States.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Day 16: Duuuuuuuuuude...
On my third day in Sydney, I was still feeling very lost when it came to my plans for my stay in Australia. I craved a sense of stability, or any sort of plan or event that I could base my first few weeks around, and so in an impulse move, I dropped $470 on a four-day learn-to-surf-camp, departing from Sydney on the 25th and returning on the 28th. I now had a set time when I would be leaving Sydney, which helped me plan what I wanted to do with the interim before my departure.
As far as my goals and desires for my time in Oz went, learning to surf was never really on my list, but in my typical ‘Why not?” fashion, when I was presented with a screaming deal ($75 off the normal price), I couldn’t resist asking myself “why not learn to surf?” Yet another instance in my life where that simple, two-word question has been incredibly rewarding.
Picture paradise, then add surfboards, and you’ll roughly know where I have been the last four days. Located about 3 hours south of Sydney, Seven Mile Beach is Australia’s premier learn-to-surf spot, and located only 10 minutes walk from said incredibly long beach is the Rip Curl surf camp, a collection of small cabins grouped around an outdoor common area. The food was plentiful, the company was new and exciting, and of course, the surfing was excellent…braah.
The regiment was simple: two, 2 hours lessons every day, with a lunch break in between. Wetsuits and boards were assigned on the first day, and the fifty-person group was divided into three teams, each with two instructors. New skills were taught in the morning lessons, and practiced in the arvo (Aussie slang for afternoon). Our first day was spent learning the basics of positioning, standing, and riding the wave, and I am happy to say that I was riding with some consistency by the end of the first day.
Our second day happened to fall on Australia day, a holiday akin to July 4th in spirit and method of celebration. After a day of learning speed control, a massive barbeque was held at our site, and was followed by a night that I promise to go more in to depth about in another post. I will say, however, that getting up the next morning for our first lesson was almost impossible, and that riding a unicycle after getting a lobotomy would be easier than surfing with a hangover.
The third day’s lessons were devoted to learning to turn our boards in the water, and to catching larger, more difficult waves, all so that we would be prepared for the surf sessions on our last day. After a beautiful 7 am surf which was well worth the early wake up, our final outing was a free-for-all surf where our instructors finally joined us on boards and showed us how it was done. While I couldn’t manage any of the fancy tricks that they were doing, I still felt like a pretty accomplished surfer, considering the duration of my surfing career.
It may not be a skill I get the chance to show off very often, but learning to surf sets the standard for my future Australian adventured high in terms of enjoyment.
As far as my goals and desires for my time in Oz went, learning to surf was never really on my list, but in my typical ‘Why not?” fashion, when I was presented with a screaming deal ($75 off the normal price), I couldn’t resist asking myself “why not learn to surf?” Yet another instance in my life where that simple, two-word question has been incredibly rewarding.
Picture paradise, then add surfboards, and you’ll roughly know where I have been the last four days. Located about 3 hours south of Sydney, Seven Mile Beach is Australia’s premier learn-to-surf spot, and located only 10 minutes walk from said incredibly long beach is the Rip Curl surf camp, a collection of small cabins grouped around an outdoor common area. The food was plentiful, the company was new and exciting, and of course, the surfing was excellent…braah.
The regiment was simple: two, 2 hours lessons every day, with a lunch break in between. Wetsuits and boards were assigned on the first day, and the fifty-person group was divided into three teams, each with two instructors. New skills were taught in the morning lessons, and practiced in the arvo (Aussie slang for afternoon). Our first day was spent learning the basics of positioning, standing, and riding the wave, and I am happy to say that I was riding with some consistency by the end of the first day.
Our second day happened to fall on Australia day, a holiday akin to July 4th in spirit and method of celebration. After a day of learning speed control, a massive barbeque was held at our site, and was followed by a night that I promise to go more in to depth about in another post. I will say, however, that getting up the next morning for our first lesson was almost impossible, and that riding a unicycle after getting a lobotomy would be easier than surfing with a hangover.
The third day’s lessons were devoted to learning to turn our boards in the water, and to catching larger, more difficult waves, all so that we would be prepared for the surf sessions on our last day. After a beautiful 7 am surf which was well worth the early wake up, our final outing was a free-for-all surf where our instructors finally joined us on boards and showed us how it was done. While I couldn’t manage any of the fancy tricks that they were doing, I still felt like a pretty accomplished surfer, considering the duration of my surfing career.
It may not be a skill I get the chance to show off very often, but learning to surf sets the standard for my future Australian adventured high in terms of enjoyment.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Day 7: Raising the Bar
Contrary to what some of you may think, the lowered drinking age of Australia was not a factor in my decision to come here. It was, however, the definition of “added bonus.” To commemorate my first night out drinking legally, I’ll summarize the night, in the style of my favorite author, to the best of my ability. I had met a 23-year-old guy from Portland before the weekend named Clarke, a fellow member of the Work and Travel Company, who has been my first good friend while in Australia. We decided to go out Monday night and see what the bar scene was like.
7:00 pm: I meet Clarke on the roof of the hostel where they are having a barbeque. For $5 I get a burger (a kangaroo burger) and a beer.
7:03 pm: I have finished my “roo” burger. It was delicious. I consider the possibility of importing kangaroo meat back to the states.
7:10 pm: Clarke and I have struck up a conversation with a British guy who has been in Sydney for 4 hours. He is too jetlagged to pick up on the fact that he has mustard on his chin, and that Clarke is making fun of him for his poor hygiene.
7:30 pm: We are sitting in an establishment called the “Side Bar,” drinking beers and talking with the one decent looking bartender. She is from Vancouver, a fact I exploit by asking her if she has ever been to Seattle.
8:05 pm: There is little happening in the Side Bar. A private party somehow managed to get free wine, but I am told that it isn’t for me. Frustrated with the lack of people and unfair distribution of free alcohol, Clarke and I leave.
8:15 pm: We end up at “Scubar”. The place is packed and incredibly loud, but they are having “World Famous Crab Races” tonight and I insist that we stay.
8:20 pm: In an attempt to get a table, we start up a conversation with two British girls. They are drinking some bright red drink from a pitcher, which they refer to as “snake bite.” Fascinated, Clarke and I decide to split a pitcher.
8:30 pm: It turns out snake bite is just a mix of beer and grenadine syrup, and that the bartenders at Scubar are very slow. Not even the heart shaped foam pattern made by the grenadine amuses me, probably because of the level of attractiveness of the bartender (tiger-mauling-victim level).
8:45 pm: I elbow my way through the crowd to sign up for the next crab race. For a dollar, I register crab #17, dubbing him “Dinner” on the sign up sheet.
8:49 pm: Dinner crawls inside his shell and refuses to move at the start of the race. I curse my horrible luck and vow never to return to Scubar.
8:51 pm: There is a line to get into Scubar that goes around the street corner. I loudly inform everyone in the line that it is not worth it, and that the crab races are rigged.
8:55 pm: A group of British people who Clarke knows decides to leave the line and join us instead. We head back to Side Bar in hopes that it has gotten more interesting.
Unfortunately, it didn’t get more interesting. Except for a random trip to KFC, which happened lord knows when, the rest of the night was a bore. I was back in my room by midnight and asleep not much later. All in all, my first bar hoping experience was a bit of a let down, but thankfully I’ll be here for another 4 months.
7:00 pm: I meet Clarke on the roof of the hostel where they are having a barbeque. For $5 I get a burger (a kangaroo burger) and a beer.
7:03 pm: I have finished my “roo” burger. It was delicious. I consider the possibility of importing kangaroo meat back to the states.
7:10 pm: Clarke and I have struck up a conversation with a British guy who has been in Sydney for 4 hours. He is too jetlagged to pick up on the fact that he has mustard on his chin, and that Clarke is making fun of him for his poor hygiene.
7:30 pm: We are sitting in an establishment called the “Side Bar,” drinking beers and talking with the one decent looking bartender. She is from Vancouver, a fact I exploit by asking her if she has ever been to Seattle.
8:05 pm: There is little happening in the Side Bar. A private party somehow managed to get free wine, but I am told that it isn’t for me. Frustrated with the lack of people and unfair distribution of free alcohol, Clarke and I leave.
8:15 pm: We end up at “Scubar”. The place is packed and incredibly loud, but they are having “World Famous Crab Races” tonight and I insist that we stay.
8:20 pm: In an attempt to get a table, we start up a conversation with two British girls. They are drinking some bright red drink from a pitcher, which they refer to as “snake bite.” Fascinated, Clarke and I decide to split a pitcher.
8:30 pm: It turns out snake bite is just a mix of beer and grenadine syrup, and that the bartenders at Scubar are very slow. Not even the heart shaped foam pattern made by the grenadine amuses me, probably because of the level of attractiveness of the bartender (tiger-mauling-victim level).
8:45 pm: I elbow my way through the crowd to sign up for the next crab race. For a dollar, I register crab #17, dubbing him “Dinner” on the sign up sheet.
8:49 pm: Dinner crawls inside his shell and refuses to move at the start of the race. I curse my horrible luck and vow never to return to Scubar.
8:51 pm: There is a line to get into Scubar that goes around the street corner. I loudly inform everyone in the line that it is not worth it, and that the crab races are rigged.
8:55 pm: A group of British people who Clarke knows decides to leave the line and join us instead. We head back to Side Bar in hopes that it has gotten more interesting.
Unfortunately, it didn’t get more interesting. Except for a random trip to KFC, which happened lord knows when, the rest of the night was a bore. I was back in my room by midnight and asleep not much later. All in all, my first bar hoping experience was a bit of a let down, but thankfully I’ll be here for another 4 months.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Day 5: One big happy family
Family is a peculiar thing. When my dad first started his genealogy research, the whole subject bored me to tears. If he began talking about it at dinner, I’d start snoring after about a sentence, and rub my eyes and yawn when he finished talking. His obsession didn’t wane over the years, and neither did my boredom with the subject, but my methods of ignoring him became subtler and less rude. It wasn’t until the last few days, however, when I began to appreciate just how much work he put into his research.
As I write this, I am lying in a queen-sized bed in my own room. I had fresh cooked waffles for breakfast, and delicious meatballs for dinner last night. I may have been gone less than a week, but I know that this is practically paradise for a backpacker who is used to shard rooms and cereal every morning, and as much as I hate to admit it, I owe it all to my fathers genealogy research.
I spent my first weekend in Australia staying in the home of Mark and Lisa Paterson, who live on a river not far from the town of Nowra. I met their daughter Georgia in Sydney, and took the train with her out to the countryside on Friday. I was fortunate enough to spend Saturday with them in their boat on the river, learning how to water-ski (side note: being dragged along the water on your ass before standing is MURDER on your balls). As it turns out, Mark’s mother Isobel has been in contact with my father for the past two years, as they are both interested in family history, and happen to share a common ancestor. Before I left Seattle, my dad gave me her contact information and urged me to look her up once I arrived. I was hesitant at first, but all in all it wasn’t a half bad way to spend my first weekend abroad.
As I write this, I am lying in a queen-sized bed in my own room. I had fresh cooked waffles for breakfast, and delicious meatballs for dinner last night. I may have been gone less than a week, but I know that this is practically paradise for a backpacker who is used to shard rooms and cereal every morning, and as much as I hate to admit it, I owe it all to my fathers genealogy research.
I spent my first weekend in Australia staying in the home of Mark and Lisa Paterson, who live on a river not far from the town of Nowra. I met their daughter Georgia in Sydney, and took the train with her out to the countryside on Friday. I was fortunate enough to spend Saturday with them in their boat on the river, learning how to water-ski (side note: being dragged along the water on your ass before standing is MURDER on your balls). As it turns out, Mark’s mother Isobel has been in contact with my father for the past two years, as they are both interested in family history, and happen to share a common ancestor. Before I left Seattle, my dad gave me her contact information and urged me to look her up once I arrived. I was hesitant at first, but all in all it wasn’t a half bad way to spend my first weekend abroad.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Day 1: Here fishy fishy fishy
I wish I had more fucking money.
At the end of my first day in Australia, I feel as though I have accomplished nothing, yet want to do everything and cannot make up my mind. I have been bombarded with choices ever since I landed, and every time a decision is made, more choices arise for me to ponder over. There are thousands of tours, hundreds of day trips, and dozens of multi-day sight seeing adventures at my finger tips, thanks to the travel desk at the hostel where I am staying, and as much as I want to tackle every single excursion, I cannot.
Because I don’t have enough fucking money.
Would you like to join a four wheel drive tour of the outback? Yes. Go to a five day surfing camp? You bet. Learn to scuba dive in the great barrier reef? Hell yes! Well than, fork over your entire life savings and we’ll have you back in Sydney next week! Screw the fact that you’ll be broke for the last four months of your trip and have a good time!
I expect most of these quandaries will pass once I get more settled and adjusted to my new life. Finding a job will provide some much needed stability, not to mention the income to make these grand adventures possible, but even finding a job is tricky. Do I find a place to settle in and then hit the job search, or do I prioritize shelter before income? What if I have to leave Sydney to find work? Imagine being a goldfish, living in a tiny bowl swimming in circles all day. Now imagine being that goldfish, and being dropped in the ocean one day. You’re stuck in your circle swimming mindset, but there’s a shark with dollar signs in his eyes who is watching you swim in circles, waiting nearby so he can eat your bitch ass.
At the end of my first day in Australia, I feel as though I have accomplished nothing, yet want to do everything and cannot make up my mind. I have been bombarded with choices ever since I landed, and every time a decision is made, more choices arise for me to ponder over. There are thousands of tours, hundreds of day trips, and dozens of multi-day sight seeing adventures at my finger tips, thanks to the travel desk at the hostel where I am staying, and as much as I want to tackle every single excursion, I cannot.
Because I don’t have enough fucking money.
Would you like to join a four wheel drive tour of the outback? Yes. Go to a five day surfing camp? You bet. Learn to scuba dive in the great barrier reef? Hell yes! Well than, fork over your entire life savings and we’ll have you back in Sydney next week! Screw the fact that you’ll be broke for the last four months of your trip and have a good time!
I expect most of these quandaries will pass once I get more settled and adjusted to my new life. Finding a job will provide some much needed stability, not to mention the income to make these grand adventures possible, but even finding a job is tricky. Do I find a place to settle in and then hit the job search, or do I prioritize shelter before income? What if I have to leave Sydney to find work? Imagine being a goldfish, living in a tiny bowl swimming in circles all day. Now imagine being that goldfish, and being dropped in the ocean one day. You’re stuck in your circle swimming mindset, but there’s a shark with dollar signs in his eyes who is watching you swim in circles, waiting nearby so he can eat your bitch ass.
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