Day 91: Surprise!

I'm no longer living in Melbourne! After working at the Melbourne Grand Prix, I decided to pack up my things and continue to drift aimlessly throughout Australia. As comfortable as I was living in Melbourne, during my last few weeks I started getting a travelers itch, a desire to move and see new places, so I returned to Sydney to plan the next stage of my trip.

Double surprise! I'm no longer in Sydney either.

I returned to Sydney right at the end of March, and spent a few days in the city as I had planned. I talked to some travel agents, spent some time at the offices of my job service, and was busy deciding what to do next when I experienced some good fortune. As I was surfing the internet at the Work and Travel Company offices, one of the job consultants came and asked me if I had any restaurant experience, and said the four magic words every traveler wants to hear: "Interested in resort work?"

Two days of bus and plane travel later I arrived on Fraser Island, a 75 mile long all-sand island off the coast of Queensland. The island is covered by a sub-tropical rain forest, with a small beach-side resort situated on the eastern coast. The resort is a tourism hub, serving as a base for people exploring the island's many bright blue freshwater lakes, and white sand beaches from the comfort of their SUVs.

The resort has one large restaurant area, and does buffet service at lunch and dinner, as well as some regular sit down meals in the evening. My average day starts at around 10, setting up for the lunch service. I work to just after 2, mostly busing tables, and then I have anywhere from 2 to 4 hours off before dinner starts, where I'm free to explore the island, or simply lie on the beach. After relaxing all afternoon, I work the restaurant during dinner, waiting the occasional table and acting as the host. I have my own room, including bathroom, and 3 meals a day provided by the restaurant.

Can I get a "Hell Yeah!"?

Day 79: This ain't no Mario Kart

It seems like forever ago that I packed up my bags and moved to Melbourne with promises of wonderful employment ringing in my ears. Despite the fact that those promises turned out to be false, I stuck around Melbourne because of my awesome apartment and managed to salvage the situation to a certain degree. I had a comfortable existence with food, entertainment, and at least one decent house mate. I soon forgot why I came to Melbourne in the first place, so you can imagine my surprise when the Melbourne Grand Prix rolled around, and I was contacted as a potential worker by the company that brought me to Melbourne in the first place. Not being one to turn down money and free entertainment, I reported for duty on the first day of the Melbourne Grand Prix.

I've never spent any time in the southern United States, or followed NASCAR at all, but if there are any similarities to the Formula 1 Grand Prix, then count me out. Even without the huge redneck stigma racing carries in the states, the Australian racing scene is much of the same: a very repetitive "sport" made more interesting by copious consumption of beer. The festival that surrounds the event, however, was at least mildly entertaining. The highlights:

1. Entertaining crashes: I happened to be standing around doing nothing during one of the more interesting moments of the weekend. One of several side-event races had just begun, consisting of luxury sports cars turned in to speed machines, when one of the drivers had to swerve to avoid a stalled car. He went off the road, smashed in to the wall and rebounded back on to the track directly into the middle of the pack of cars beginning the race. Nothing cures boredom like a literal 20 car pile-up of BMW's, Ferrari's, and Vipers.

2. Kangaroo Men: The festival surrounding the Grand Prix bares some resemblance to Seafair, including the bizarrely dressed performers, and without a doubt the most eye-catching of these performers were two men dressed as kangaroos, complete with spring loaded stilts. The stilts were disguised by enormous fake furry legs and feet, part of an ensemble that included tan body suits, furry kangaroo abs, a giant furry tale, and giant furry kangaroo balls... Thats right. The costumes were so detailed that they even included detachable furry balls.

I ran to get my camera as soon as I saw them, completely abandoning my work, but was crushed when I returned to find that they had moved on. Without a doubt, the most disappointing moment of the weekend.

Day 71: Important Life Lessons Halfway Through my Trip

It’s been awhile since I’ve written something up here, but in my defense not much has been happening. I’ll be doing an update more geared towards my future plans after the weekend, but for now I want to talk about an issue near and dear to my heart. Having Roommates.

Having a roommate in college is something I am now very much prepared for. I will go so far as to say that, for whoever is stuck sharing a room with me next year, the phrase “hosing lottery” will suddenly make a great deal of sense. I’m not saying that I am some perfect, godlike human being who is both smart and fun to hang out with, but I am saying that I have learned several things that make having me as a roommate, metaphorically, a prize. All of the following lessons I have learned from my wonderful French housemate Chris:

1. For starters, I will never use another person’s toiletries, because I am not a smelly Frenchman.

2. I will never leave the scraps of an entire roast chicken sitting out over night, and then giggle like a stupid Frenchman when confronted about my mess the next morning.I won’t simply ignore the horde of tiny flies that take up residence in our kitchen after said chicken incident, simply because I am French and used to wallowing in filth.

3. I won’t simply ignore the horde of tiny flies that take up residence in our kitchen after said chicken incident, simply because I am French and used to wallowing in filth.

4. I will let you know if I happen to have a lady friend over at night, instead of letting you walk in on us, because I am courteous and not some rude French person.

5. Most importantly, I will never, ever, ever, be French.

These lessons may seem oddly specific, but I find that they are incredibly important rules to follow for anyone wishing to be a good roommate for another person

(Authors Note: I am in no way shape or form seriously disparaging the French people as a whole, merely one person who happens to be French, and somehow meets every single stereotype of the French I as an American have ever known)

Day 51: On Striking Gold

It may have taken a little longer than expected, but my luck has finally turned 12 days after finding that magical $50 lying in the street.

My new roommate Kashka may be the cleverest functional retard I have ever met. No matter how much he puts his foot in his mouth or how often he seems completely confused by simple tasks, underneath it all he is a genius. Case in point: after being taught poker by Clarke and I last week, and making some of the dumbest bets I’ve ever seen while learning, the three of us went to the casino last Friday night, but he was the only one of us who came out with more money than he entered with. So when he recommended that I go looking for work on Smith Street a few blocks from the apartment, I took his advice.

It was like finding treasure buried in my backyard.

As it turns out, I’m living within walking distance of the factory outlet of every major athletic and outdoor clothing retailer in the greater Melbourne area. Adidas, Nike, Converse, and half a dozen other major clothing retailers now have my resume, and almost all of them told me they were currently hiring in some capacity or another. Not surprising, seeing as how university students are returning to classes tomorrow, but hearing the phrase “why yes, we are hiring” so many times in the same day made my heart sing. For the first time since starting my job search, I saw a business with a help wanted sign, which was truly a sight for sore eyes.

The best part of the whole experience was when I asked Kashka if he knew that so many brand name clothing companies had clearance stores right next to each other. His eyes got all wide with interest and he said “Really? I may have to go there soon.” Priceless.

My first interview is this Thursday morning. Hopefully none of these places care that all the retail experience I told them I had is completely fictional.

Day 39: I Guess the Joke is on Me

Well shit.

As you may recall, I spoke in my last post about an event-staffing job that I had been signed up for by my friends at the Work and Travel Company. They listed the job as lasting from the end of February till the middle of April. I got an apartment in preparation for the two months of work I was about to embark on, only to find out at my job induction that the total amount of work I would be doing was only about two weeks, not two months….

As I mentioned before, plans have changed.

At first, I wasn’t worried. “I can find a job,” I said to myself, “I am living next to a street full of restaurants and I have restaurant experience.” Then my roommates informed me that Lygon street (Melbourne’s Ave) is a dodgy neighborhood, and most businesses are run by Italians who are fans of The Godfather. “Alright, well then I’ll just peace out of Melbourne and go pick fruit.” My back up plan seemed so flawless, until I was directed to the obvious flaw: minimum rent in my apartment is two months, and if I left before then there was a strong chance I would lose my $500 deposit. So there I was, stuck in the city with virtually no job, unable to leave for fear of crippling my already bleak financial situation.

Picture yourselves in that situation. Imagine every plan you concoct being foiled, and feeling trapped.

I bet none of you would be as happy as I am right now.

This is why I am here. This is my first real test at standing on my own, and being a real adult, and I’m excited. Sure, having the event-staffing job work out the way it should have would’ve been nice, and I suppose I still would have been working to earn rent like any normal adult, but this new wrinkle makes my challenge that much greater, which makes the experience far more rewarding.

I won’t say that I haven’t had help. I consulted with my parents, and I received a not-altogether-insignificant loan to assure that I didn’t become homeless, but the money isn’t free. In fact, it puts more pressure on me to find a job, because I can’t stand being in debt to my parents, and if I’m ever going to pay them off I need to sort my self out as fast as possible.

In other news, I found a $50 bill in the street today. Clearly my luck is turning.

Day 33: There's Been a Change of Plans

When I first spoke to the representatives of the Work and Travel Company, the people organizing this grand endeavor of mine, their pitch was very much like what I head read in their literature back in the states. “Be flexible, your plans will change, be open to new things blah blah blah blah.” Being a willful and stubborn (read: stupid) person, I thought to myself before coming to Australia that once I had set myself on a path that it would just magically work out for me, and that I would have no need to change my plans.

False.

When I signed myself up for Surf Camp in an attempt to gather some stability, a ramshackle plan quickly fell into place behind it. I would return from Surf Camp, ready to buckle down and be a serious adult, and begin heading up the eastern coast of Australia, where the majority of their major cities are kept, looking for work. My first stop was Collaroy, a place that apparently spent all of their advertising dollars painting themselves as a workers’ paradise.

False.

When my first attempt at finding a permanent job yielded no results, I began to wonder if simply changing my location would make the tedious process of blitzing all the businesses in one area with resumes any more fruitful. So I changed my mind, changed my direction, and high-tailed it back down the eastern coast to Sydney, and then kept moving down on to Melbourne. Work and Travel Company had a job posting for a company in Melbourne that required several dozen event staff, and since many of the friends I made in my first week in Australia were already down in Melbourne waiting for the job to start, heading towards guaranteed work was a no brainer.

In a short 24 hours from my arrival, I managed to find a place that was renting out a bedroom thanks to the help of my friend Clarke Miller. My new apartment (it feels pretty cool to be able to say that) is in a north of downtown Melbourne, just of few blocks away from Melbourne University. The most direct route to the city involves traveling down Lygon St., where there are an abundance of cheap restaurants and stores etc. I realized this morning that I’m basically living next to Melbourne’s equivalent of The Ave, which is ironic but also very cool.

Day 23: Let's Get Down to Business

Having spent the better part of the last three weeks in Sydney screwing around and being a tourist, I decided that it was time to exercise the “work” part of my “working holiday visa.” On Monday I left the city and moved to a suburb about an hour away called Collaroy, a very small town located on a beach favored by the locals. The hostel in the area advertised as being a great place to find work, ranging from full time jobs to cash-in-hand one day work, and considering the fact that I’ve blown through over 50% of my life savings already, I was ready for any job I could find.

My first two days in Collaroy were spent distributing resumes. In those two days, I visited two major malls, three separate towns, and inquired at close to 50 stores, and by the end of the day, I had only three good leads (good in that they had made vague comments about looking for new hires in the near future). I returned to my hostel after the second day, finally understanding the meaning of the word “recession,” to find a posting asking for one laborer for the next day. I immediately jumped on the phone, and spoke with Michael, a man with his own landscaping business. He was looking for someone to put in one full days work, and was offering $120 in cash. Despite a pick up time of 6:30 am, I was more than happy to accept.

When Michael first rolled up in his truck, I began having second thoughts. He was a fairly serious, quiet guy upon first appraisal, with a shaved head, several tattoos, and an ear piercing. The 45 minute car ride to the rural house he was landscaping for passed almost in silence as I wondered what I had gotten myself in to. Despite my fear of skinheads however, I was still willing to do gardening work for $15 an hour, and in retrospect, it was the right choice. Mike was quiet, but generally friendly, and didn’t seem too interested in Hitler or white power based on my brief conversations with him. I spent half of the day weeding a tediously large section of his client’s garden, and the other half un-potting and planting new plants.

The highlight of the day came in the middle of the mourning, as we were digging holes for the new plants. Mike, being the quiet man that he is, nearly neglected to tell me that he had accidentally dug into the burrow of a funnel web spider. As a self-admitted arachnophobe, being two feet from the worlds most lethal spider was slightly uncomfortable, especially when Mike decided to simply release the spider on the other side of the street instead of killing it.

At the end of the day, I returned to my hostel covered in dirt, smelling like manure, and feeling $120 richer. My introduction to working life in Australia had been about as unglamorous as it gets, but on the bright side, I had a new skill to add to my resume.