Life leftover

The End

2008-03-15T03:19:00.002+11:00

This post is probably a couple of weeks late in coming, but I figured I should tie all loose ends together here, for my own sake, if not for anyone else's.

I've been back in Canada for three weeks and for the most part it's great to be home. I've done lots of Canadian things, like eating dinner at a curling club and drinking bad wine, or watching a hockey game and complaining about the weather.

Truth be told, the weather isn't really bugging me much at all. Vancouver did feel awfully chilly the first few days but thankfully my friend Meika had the warmest, awesomest duvet on the bed in her spare room. Now that I'm back home in Saskatchewan I've adopted the mindset of the locals regarding weather: 0 degrees is a warm day in March. But seriously, spring is most definitely coming to Regina. The snow is melting, the sun is shining, and the sparrows are making themselves known again.

Thanks to everyone who took the time to read my blog over the past year. I've started to really enjoy this whole blogging thing and might just start up another blog now that I'm home. I'll keep you posted on that once it's all set up and ready to go.

Long live Canada!

All roads lead to Bondi

2008-02-18T17:52:00.003+11:00

Today is a pretty strange day for me. I woke up knowing it was my last full day in Australia but it still hasn't truly hit me that this amazing year is coming to an end. It won't really be real until I'm on that airplane tomorrow afternoon. How can a full year have passed?

The past few weeks have been full of mixed emotions as I get ready to go back home. There have been long, pleasant days spent at the beach and there've been cool, rainy days spent contemplating my options in Canada over a cup of coffee. As it stands, I'm heading back to Saskatchewan for at least the next six months. And I'm OK with that. It's been years since I've spent more than a few weeks at a time in my home province and I miss the place. Spring is just around the corner and it's pure magic when the snow begins to melt on the Prairies.

It was cloudy when I got up today and I spent most of the morning packing and trying to get organized. (Note: trying to put all of your personal belongings into one large duffel bag after a year abroad is not a fun task.) Then suddenly the sun came out after lunch and I knew there was something I just had to do. I grabbed my towel and my Mp3 player and jumped on the bus to Bondi Beach.

Bondi was the first beach I visited in Australia and now it's also the last (for now). As the bus rolled through various neighbourhoods I was struck once again by Sydney's diversity. Sydney is beautiful beaches, charming buildings, winding leafy streets, a gorgeous harbour, and a relaxed (yet gigantic) seaside town. It's also gleaming ugly office towers, hustle bustle, and occasionally rather ordinary. Just when you think you understand Sydney it throws another curve ball at you. And that's what makes you love the place all the more.

The bus ended up taking me to a part of Bondi that I'd never been to before. Strolling down a sidestreet to the beach, I felt as though I was in some sleepy town, not in a city of 4.5 million people. So this is why people love living in Bondi so much. Granted, Bondi does not always reflect the reality of living in Australia. But it's certainly a big part of what lures people to the island continent's shores. One dip in the waters, and you're hooked.

Before I left the beach I took my final swim in Bondi's blue waters and soaked up a few more rays. There's just no way I'm going home without that killer tan.

See ya soon, my fellow Canucks.

The countdown

2008-02-06T16:49:00.000+11:00

It's a big no-no in journalism circles to start any piece of writing with a cliche. But I've done it before and I'll do it again. Bloody rules be damned.

And so: all good things must come to an end. How's that for insight?

I'm referring, of course, to my time in the Land Down Under. In just 12 more days I'll be jumping on an airplane to Fiji. Three days after that I'll board another plane for Vancouver. Then 14 hours later I'll find myself back in the homeland: Vive le Canada.

I have very mixed feelings about leaving Australia and going back home. I have to admit I've fallen in love with Sydney. It's the most beautiful city I've ever visited, I think. I could see myself living here. Besides, I've been in Australia for almost a full year and there are still so many sights I didn't get to see.

On the other hand, I miss many things about Canada too. It'll be so great to see all the people I love back home again. Reuniting, catching up and trading tales should take at least a few weeks. And another thing, it'll be nice to be around people who talk "normal" all the time. Of course, there is nothing wrong with the way Australians speak. In fact, I've picked up dozens of great words over here. It just gets tiring being the "one with the accent" after awhile. Such is the life of the immigrant, I guess.

Speaking of, I feel this year has taught me a new appreciation for what an immigrant goes through when moving from one country to another. Immigrants deserve a lot of compassion and respect, especially those who don't speak the language of their new country.

As per usual, I'm almost out of time on this internet cafe computer. (God, will it be nice to use a computer at home for as long as I like again!)

I'll have a few more reflections on my trip in the coming days.

That's all for now.

Toodles.

In with the new

2008-01-07T17:27:00.000+11:00

Time for my first big post of 2008. I've been woefully neglectful of the blog lately and I feel slightly out of practice. But it was Christmas then New Year's and I've been doing a lot of travelling around.

Spent Christmas in Sydney . . . my first beach Christmas. It was really cool and really odd celebrating in the middle of summer. Unfortunately, Sydney's weather didn't cooperate too well for the event. It was a cool 20 degrees on Christmas Day and overcast. It made beach picnicking a little less fun, to be sure.

However, the weather has turned right around since then. It's been sunny almost every day for the last couple of weeks and the mercury even hit a scorching 42 degrees in Melbourne on New Year's Eve.

Speaking of Melbourne, I finally made it to Australia's second-most famous city. People have long been telling me how fantastic Melbourne is. Let's just say it was good to see it in person and I'm glad I went . . . but I won't be rushing back any time soon. Melbourne just didn't do it for me. Sure there are plenty of nice restaurants, some gorgeous old buildings and shopping, shopping, shopping and shopping.

But I'm a beach/sun/outdoor lover. Melbourne's few beaches are fairly small, lack surf and aren't close to the city. I could care less if a city has a Prada or Louis Vuitton or whatever outlet.
Sydney has all of those things PLUS a stunningly beautiful harbour, amazing beaches and better weather on the whole. Even Brisbane's city centre and river is prettier than Melbourne's, if you ask me. Melbournians will hate me for saying all of this (they are fiercely proud of their city) but it's just how I honestly feel (please no hate mail or at least no letter bombs).

The Great Ocean Road, an ocean highway near Melbourne, was totally beautiful. There is town after town and beach after beach. My sister (who just finished a two-week holiday in Australia from her job in Korea) and I both tried surfing for the first time. We had a blast, even if we are fairly crappy surfers. We also saw a humongous wild koala next to the highway right after the surfing lesson. Got some excellent photos of him . . . what a cute critter.

I'm now in Hobart, capital city of Tasmania (yes, Tasmania is a real place and it's part of Australia). It's very pretty here and also full of historic buildings, a beautiful harbour/port and friendly people. I dare say (cautiously) that I like it better than Melbourne.

All the best to all my friends and readers (if I still have any) for a healthy, happy 2008.

Photo voila

2007-12-10T14:49:00.000+11:00

Here we go now with some pictures. Crossing fingers that this is going to work.

A beautiful swimming hole in Litchfield National Park, two hours from Darwin. This was the perfect way to cool off on a muggy Northern Territory day.

Me after my first day on the job at the concrete factory (looks more like I was working with Avian Flu-infected birds or something like that, doesn't it?)

A humungous termite mound in Litchfield National Park. There are gazillions of termites in the NT. In one field near this spot there were hundreds of other mounds. Really amazing to see.

The best for last: a big crocodile goes in for the "kill", snapping raw pork off the line. We saw about seven other crocs on the tour as well as endangered sea eagles.

An all-too-brief hello

2007-12-06T17:05:00.001+11:00

My lack of blog posting over the last month is absolutely disgraceful. I know. But maybe you'll forgive me once you realize I've been working 55-60 hours per week and have had no internet access anywhere near home! It's been a struggle just to respond to emails, let alone getting all fancy in the blogosphere.

This is going to be short, even though I have a lot of things to tell you. I've seen dozens of lizards, eaten ridiculously fresh mangoes, swam beneath waterfalls and witnessed live crocodiles in a river. Australia's Northern Territory is sure different from the likes of Sydney or Brisbane. It's beautiful yet dangerous; civilized yet wild.

Here are a few pics. The first was from my first day on the job at the concrete factory, where I was responsible for dealing with the pigments used to die concrete blocks. Thankfully, I only had to do this for the first 3-4 days.

And now it's time for some croc action. These suckers are real, wild and will chomp your arm off. Fortunately you view them from a safe distance on the upper-deck of a riverboat. Pretty amazing to see their size and behaviour up close.

OK, and scrap the pics. I just went through the trouble of uploading a whole bunch and now Blogger won't let me post them here for some strange reason. It's always something. . . . Pics will be posted next time then, for sure!

I fly down to Sydney early Friday morning on a red-eye from Darwin. It feels neither like December or anything like Christmas with the current weather (sunny and +34 C . . . this is the lovely thing about Darwin. The weather is exactly the same every day: hot, sunny, with the chance of an afternoon or morning thunderstorm. Very predictable and such).

I must jet but another post, and the pics, coming soon.

Bright red: the colour of money

2007-11-03T13:26:00.000+11:00

Hello once again:

I've got to make this very quick but I thought I should give an update. It seems I will not, repeat N-O-T, become a jackaroo after all. Bit of a long story, but I got a bad feeling when the woman from the backpacker job centre called and said she couldn't get a hold of the ranch but she'd keep trying. Then she said if this doesn't work out she could give me a 2-week gig at a national park as a gardener. Sounds all right . . . but 2 weeks?

So I went out and found my own dang job right here in Darwin. It's at a concrete block factory very near where I'm staying. I did my first day yesterday (1o hours!). It's hot, dusty and a bit boring but both the pay and hours are great, as in 50-60 hours per week. A large part of my day yesterday consisted of manning one of the cement mixers. Every 3-10 minutes a massive vat on a pulley comes over and dumps a whole lotta sand in the mixer. This was my cue to dump a 12 kilogram bag of bright red iron oxide pigment into the mixer. As a result, we get lovely bright-red bricks. The things you never thought about when you go to your local garden centre for pavers, eh?

By the time I got home I was ABSOLUTELY covered in bright red pigment myself. My face, arms, legs, clothes and even eyelids were a scary red colour. It took a lot of scrubbing to get off. I took a few pictures (not of me scrubbing but of when I got home), which I'll have to post as soon as possible.

So, I'm staying in Darwin for the month near to email, phones, computers, pubs, comfortable beds and all that good stuff.

Phew.

Survival of the fittest

2007-11-01T11:57:00.000+11:00

I arrived in Darwin on Monday night after a three-hour flight from Cairns. As capital of Australia's Northern Territory, Darwin is the country's northernmost city. Keep in mind that north=hot and south=cold in the southern hemisphere. In other words, Darwin is a ridgy-didge stinker of a place. (That's Aussie for right effin' hot).

For example, it was +27 when I got out of bed this morning about 8 o'clock. And the humidity was somewhere around 92%. It's not so bad when you're still indoors with fans all around you and the choice of air-conditioning. It's just that as soon as you step outside you begin to sweat. Or at least I do anyway. "It's like having your own personal sauna," is how a woman I met yesterday put it.

I spent the first couple of days pounding the pavement and getting a feel for the city, as well as looking for a job. Yes, it's sadly that time again: time for Tyler to join the real world and work. My five weeks of jet-setting, sailing, scuba diving, four-wheel-driving and otherwise living as a hedonist have done a number on the bank account. Now it's time to recharge the funds, as it were.

Darwin is a pretty city. Lush flowers and gardens are practically everywhere. The water in the harbour has a beautiful teal colour to it, much like it does at the Great Barrier Reef. The city's architecture is also remarkable, for two main reasons. Number one: many of the buildings are bright and colourful with a "tropical" feel. This is a city that's not afraid to take a few risks when it comes to design. Take the parliament building, for example. Some critics have apparently dubbed it "the wedding cake." But I think it's beautiful. It's where the tropics meet British colonialism meet institutional poise. Or at least that's my take on things.

The second reason why Darwin's architecture impresses: very, very little of it dates before 1975. There is a fairly simple reason for this. On Christmas Eve 1974, a terrible cyclone gathered strength off the shores of Darwin. Then in the wee hours of Christmas Day, Cyclone Tracy hit ground and effectively destroyed Darwin. Something like 11,000 buildings were completely wiped out and 66 people killed. There are only a few buildings which survived, most of them of the stone and brick variety (which makes one question some of our "modern" building techniques, doesn't it?).

The result of this is that Darwin feels like a very young city when it is, in fact, well over 100 years old.

As for jobs: I was a bit worried when the first few places I called told me either that the position had already been filled or that they wanted to hire someone who lives permanently in Darwin (and not a backpacker who will surely run away to Sydney in a month's time . . . as I fully intend to do).

Then I found the Backpacker Job Centre in the heart of town. I was a bit skeptical about the centre, as we've all heard horror stories about employment centres that don't actually find people jobs but just take their money. Well, such was not the case this time.

Within 15 minutes of arriving and handing in my application, I was back out the door with a job. It wasn't quite what I had pictured, mind you.

That's right: I am now Australia's latest cattle station hand, also known as a "jackaroo" in these parts. This means that I have to move to a farm 150 km south of Darwin very soon. I will spend most of my time out under the harsh sun doing I don't quite know what. I will work six days per week and probably be dead tired on the seventh. But, and this is the good part, I don't have to pay anything for food or lodging and I'll be taking home a very decent rate of pay on top of that (similar to what one can earn with an arts degree back in Canada).

I'm slightly scared that this will turn out to be a horrific experience but then, hey, I've probably had worse jobs. The woman at the job centre assured me that I'll have a good time (she said she worked on cattle stations herself when she first came to Australia from New Zealand). Here's hoping she's right.

Oh, and don't expect to hear from me much until I'm back in civilzation. There will be no cell phone reception at the cattle station so no text messages or sudden calls from me. I also HIGHLY doubt that there will be an Internet connection anywhere near me. So no blogging, checking emails or (gasp) Facebook for the next while. This doesn't, of course, mean that you can't keep sending me emails. That way I'll feel extra loved and important when I finally get back online.

Wish me luck!

P.S. I turn 29 in 10 days. I certainly never thought I'd be celebrating my birthday with a bunch of cows.

We found Nemo

2007-10-27T11:06:00.000+10:00

Yes, my friends, it's true. I have literally taken the plunge and gone scuba diving for the first time in my life.

It wasn't really planned, it just sort of happened. I found myself in Cairns on Wednesday evening and was immediately bombarded with 10,000 different ways to go and see the Great Barrier Reef.

While the Reef is about 2,000 kilometres long, Cairns is probably the most popular base for visits and day-trips in all of Australia.

At first, I thought I might just pass on the Reef. I've already snorkelled in some pretty amazing places in Oz and have seen so many great things.

Wait a second: I can't come this far and be this close to one of the seven natural wonders of the world and not go and see it. Can I?

Then I started to think I'd just go and have a snorkel out at the Reef since I have neither my diver's certification or the $500 lying around to go and get it done at the moment.

Well, somehow I found a pretty sweet deal at the hostel I'm staying at. For $115 I got boat transfers to and from the Reef (two hours each way), lunch, two snorkels AND an introductory Scuba dive. Since it was going to cost $90 just to do the snorkelling, I thought why the hell not?

I didn't think too much about the dive until we got on the boat yesterday. That's when the instructor gave us a 45-minute safety talk, putting all sorts of frightening thoughts in the brain. "Remember, guys, the most important thing is to never come up to the surface too quickly. Or your lungs will explode."

Then he told us we'd be going as deep as 10 metres (more than 30 feet). Wowza, and I thought this was just for beginners.

I began to wonder if perhaps I shouldn't have given this a practice before coming out to open water where any number of things (sharks, jellyfish, coral) could slice, dice and have you for dinner.

But there was really no turning back at this point. That would have just been a wasted opportunity. The good thing is that the instructor gave us plenty of time to float on the surface and get used to breathing. It was very strange at first but then surprisingly easy once you calm down, relax and get used to all the bubbles surrounding you.

Then he took us one by one down a rope, making sure we were breathing properly and popping our ears as the pressure got too great.

And then away we went, swimming next to massive boulders of coral, spotting giant clams and basking in the warm, blue waters.

The highlight, of course, came when we discovered not one but two clown fish right on the ocean floor. That's right, we found Nemo! I certainly never expected that.

The dive only lasted about 15 minutes and then it was time to resurface (slowly!). I've never been so happy to breathe the good old-fashioned way in my life.

To be honest, the snorkelling is just as good on the Reef, as many of the sights are just a metre or two below the surface. I spent a good hour snorkelling at two different spots. I could have stayed even longer if they hadn't called us back to the boat.

I was exhausted by the end of the day. All that sun, salt air and water can really do a number on a person. Let's just say a three-hour nap was in order but at least I earned it.

I came, I saw, I dived.

P.S. I have to share this funny little story: I was listening to a local radio station on my first day in Cairns (remember this is pronounced "Cans" by the Aussies). The radio announcer started talking about a female bartender in Western Australia who was fined for crushing beer cans between her breasts. (I have no idea what possessed her to crush the cans in this way or why she was fined for doing it. We've all got to have a party trick, don't we?)

Anyway, the female announcer said she thought maybe they should give this sort of thing a try locally.

Says she: "We'll have them crushing cans with cans in Cairns while doing the can-can."

Priceless.

The value of a good bed

2007-10-25T09:10:00.000+10:00

The value of a good bed is priceless, I have learned.

In the past eight months I have slept on everything from a bed of sandstone to a fluffy, luxurious hotel mattress. And let me tell you, when I now find a good bed, I know it.

This is why I've been so happy with the last two hostels I've stayed in: Scotty's Beach House at Mission Beach (click on the link) and The Serpent in Cairns. Both hostels have super, ultra comfy beds (for a hostel that is). And both hostels seem to actually care whether their guests are comfortable and having a good time. This is unfortunately rather rare in a hostel.

Scotty's was probably the best hostel I've stayed in on any continent or in any country. Not only were the beds good, the pool was big, deep and clean; there were plenty of couches, hammocks, and lounges to hang out on; and the kitchen and Internet rooms were open 24/7. Staff even show you to your room and make sure it's OK at check-in. I've never seen that before in a hostel. So, if you're ever in Mission Beach, Scotty's is most definitely the place to stay.

And if anyone tries to tell you that there's nothing to do in Mission Beach?

Well, they're right. That's kind of what makes lying in the hammock all day so much guilt-free fun.

I've finally made it to Cairns last night. Very nice so far! I must now get my bum off the chair in front of the computer and out onto the streets to explore.

Ciao.

Every day is Sunday here

2007-10-21T16:15:00.000+10:00

For some reason, I don't really feel like blogging today. It just seems like an awful lot of work and at the moment I feel like an awful lot of lazy. But no, I must persevere.

It's been almost a week since I stepped onto a yacht in Airlie Beach in anticipation of two days at sea in the Whitsunday Islands.

Let's see if I can sum up what it was like briefly: GORGEOUS.

The Whitsunday group of 74 islands are some of Australia's most famous and most breathtaking. Surrounded by warm teal waters, full of pristine beaches and nestled right next to the Great Barrier Reef; life doesn't get much better than it is in the Whitsundays.

The picture behind my blog title is at Whitehaven Beach, one of the most photographed locations in Oz. I'm sure I don't need to explain why.

I was a wee bit apprehensive about getting on a boat with 15 strangers (plus two crew) for such a long period of time but for the most part I had nothing to worry about. The first guy I met was a very friendly Brazilian named Mateus. This guy was a laugh from start to finish on the trip. I also had the pleasure of getting to know two lovely Swiss people (Carina and Stephane), Farquan from Scotland, and a nice Danish couple.

There was also a group of nine other travellers who were doing the sailing bit as part of an 18-day trip up Oz's east coast. It seems this group would rather have had a private boat than share with the rest of us. Let's just say "friendly" was not their strongest character trait (though a couple of them were all right). Aside from their group wanting to go to bed at 9 p.m. and the rest of us wanting to stay up and play cards/drinking games, we mostly got on OK. Anyway, we won't talk about that anymore. I will, however, warn you to think twice if you're ever contemplating booking a Let's Trek Australia tour. Unless of course you like going to bed at 9 every night on holidays.

Gripes aside, I had a beautiful time in the Whitsundays. It was the most time I've ever spent on a boat but I managed not to get seasick even once. Oddly enough, I found that drinking a beer made me feel better the couple of times I was a bit queasy. Homer Simpson would have been so proud of me.

The trip highlight had to be snorkelling in the reefs around two of the islands. It was like being suddenly part of an IMAX film. I'm now kicking myself for not shelling out the money for an underwater disposable camera. But that's OK, I have my memories.

Tonight I'm in the city of Townsville (a lovely city, by the way) before taking off to Mission Beach tomorrow, arriving finally in Cairns on Wednesday. It may have taken me six months to get this far from Sydney, but I made it!

P.S. Almost forgot my exciting news: I've seen a real koala out in the wilderness. At long last! Here's a pic of him.

Paradise found

2007-10-13T15:29:00.000+10:00

It's only 7 a.m. but I already feel sick to my stomach.

We've just finished loading up our massive Toyota jeep with camping equipment, backpacks and food for 9 people over the upcoming three days on Fraser Island.

Next we are corralled into a room and shown videos about all the horrible things that can (and will!) happen to us on the island if we don't obey all the rules. No driving on sand dunes. No using 4WD on pavement. No driving over 60 km/h. No feeding the dingoes. And on and on.

It's an awful lot of information to absorb in just 30 minutes. To make matters worse, I've been nominated as our group's first driver from the hostel to the ferry and then down the wild, sand roads of Fraser. It's my credit card that's been registered on the vehicle insurance form. This brings another rule: no speeding to and from the ferry. If we get a ticket from the police, it'll be issued directly to me.

So, I'm put behind the wheel and away we go. Keep in mind, this is only my second time ever driving in Australia and on the left-hand side of the road, and my first time ever driving a 4WD. Lucky me that I have the lives of eight passenger in my hands.

Koala's Hervey Bay, our hostel, has divided 27 backpackers into three groups of nine. Somehow, and I can only ponder why, I'm the sole male in my group. It's me, three German girls, two Irish girls, and three British girls. For some men this would be an incredible stroke of luck. For others, it is. . .not such a big deal.

Anyway, I'm the Official Boy of the group and that's the way it is. This means I not only get to do much of the driving, but also plenty of heavy lifting, packing and repacking the vehicle and. . . my favourite task. . . chasing dingoes away from the campsite at dinnertime!

Driving on Fraser doesn't seem so bad at first. The roads are more like a loose gravel than full-on sand as we leave the barge landing. But within five minutes we are bouncing all over the place on a sandy laneway through the forest. It reminds me of driving down a very snowy street in the middle of a Canadian blizzard. Who says being from the Prairies doesn't pay after all?

The next couple of days bring their fair share of stories to tell. There was the road we got stuck on deep in the middle of the forest on our way to setting up camp the first night. We managed to get ourselves unstuck quickly, only to witness another car get stuck right after us. Much digging and car-pushing ensued as we helped the middle-aged man and his wife out of a jam. Somehow we made it to the campsite just as dusk set in. Phew.

The next day we get stuck on the beach. Again it is late in the afternoon, we are on our way to the campsite and high tide is quickly approaching. Water laps against the rear wheel well as we dig and push some more. Luckily, a group of Aussie fishermen stop and offer to tow us out. Being towed is technically against the long list of rules but then so is getting salt water anywhere on the undercarriage of the vehicle! We have no choice but to do it. It's literally sink or swim.

Just as the Aussies are about to tow us out, one of them had a look at our wheels. "Hey, this thing isn't in four-wheel drive," he said. "Hehehe, oops," I said sheepishly. It seems one of the other groups from the hostel decided to have a bit of fun with us by switching the wheels from 4WD to 2WD when we were away from the jeep (this can be done from the outside).

Don't worry, we got them back later for this.

Somehow me made it through both nights and days on the island and saw so many beautiful things. . . crystal clear freshwater lakes, strange sand formations, leaping lizzards, hungry dingoes. This was roughing it in the truest sense. And I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Beautiful sand formations along the eastern beaches of Fraser.

A few of the girls and I take a dip in the Champagne Pools. They are rockpools just next to the ocean that fill up at high tide. The crashing waves look like champagne overflowing from the bottle as the cork is opened. The water even bubbles like champagne when the big waves hit.

The Wreck of the Maheno: this ship crashed into Fraser's shores in 1935 due to gale force winds and a fierce storm. It hasn't been moved since. We visited it in the early morning when the skies were overcast and there was plenty of mist on the beach. Spooky, indeed.

Lake Mackenzie: arguably Fraser's favourite beach. The waters are crystal clear and clean as can be. An amazing way to wash off the filth of camping!

Wet and wild

2007-10-03T11:47:00.000+10:00

As you can imagine, much of life in Australia revolves around sun, sand and surf. If you live in any of Australia's five largest cities on the mainland (Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Perth, Darwin) you are probably never more than 20 kilometres or so from the beach. Especially if you live in Sydney where there are something like a dozen beaches within the city limits.

As a result, many of the pictures I've taken in the last seven months involve the beach and/or water in some way or another. I think growing up in a landlocked province in Western Canada has only increased my fascination with the beach, to boot. Look at me in this picture. I'm jumping for joy. Shameless.

Here are a few more photos from recent wet-water pursuits.

A glorious sunset on Moreton Island. A couple of friends and I spent a Saturday night camping in the woods. This is the sunset we were treated to that evening. Couldn't have asked for it be much better.

Oddur holds up his big catch: a starfish we found while strolling the beaches of Moreton Island, which you'll note, span miles and miles of ground.

The resort I worked at is in the far distance, near where the land juts out further to sea.

The Tornado: one of the most "death-defying" slides at Wet 'n Wild, a waterslide park south of Brisbane that I visited last weekend.

This ride was cool! You sit three or four to a tube and come flying down a chute before being hurled into the round part of the slide (the tornado) and out the other end. It's all over very quickly but well worth the wait in line.

A couple of kids are shot out the end of the tube.

Washed out the end of tornado for the grand finale.

Whale Bone a-go-go (or How I Spent My Last Days at Tangalooma)

2007-09-30T10:31:00.000+10:00

"You went home so early last night," my co-worker Lance said to me on Friday morning, my last day at the resort. "You should have stayed out with us. We went to the Flensing Deck and hung out there until 3 or 4 in the morning."

"What is that some kind of new nightclub?" I said, bursting into a laugh.

You know you live and work somewhere really special when the hottest place to party is at a place called the Flensing Deck.

But this is how life is on Moreton Island where you've got but one bar and one pub on the entire island (Note: the two are separated by a distance of about 15 km.)

The Flensing Deck, in case you were wondering, is a hollowed-out concrete building in which, once upon a time, giant humpback whales were gutted, deboned and otherwise mangled during the height of the Australian whaling industry in the 1950s-60s. The building now serves as a badminton and basketball court for resort guests by day and a place to party for staff when the main bar shuts down. Funny that, isn't it?

Well, I never made it to the Flensing Deck on Thursday night but I sure had a good time anyway. My co-workers and I from the shop went out for dinner at the Steakhouse where we enjoyed fine slabs of cow, chicken and fish, along with a few very tasty desserts.

"It's so nice having a meal that's actually prepared especially for you and not 180 of your 'closest' friends," said Lance, referring (not-too-kindly) to our usual meals in the horrific resort staff room. He is full of witty remarks that boy.

We all had a really good time drinking down at the bar and laughing for a couple of hours after dinner. It was the first time we all went out like that and I now wish we'd have done it more. And as Lance noted, I never got too crazy. I was at home by midnight and in bed by one. I had to open the shop at 6:45 a.m. after all!

My last week at Tangalooma went by in a flash. Between doing laundry, packing my bags, cleaning my room, oh, and working 37 hours, I didn't have much time to twiddle my thumbs. Of course, I'm not complaining. I think life is often at its best during periods of change when the anticipation of future events keeps you feeling relatively carefree.

I'm now back in Brisbane for a few days before heading far, far north up the Queensland coast to the city of Cairns (pronounced Cans, as in beer cans). I figure it's going to take at least three weeks to get there with all the stops I plan on making. Queensland is truly blessed with natural beauty, beaches and a whole bunch of other good things, such as the Great Barrier Reef. I'm so excited about snorkelling up there that it isn't even funny.

Speaking of, I tried snorkelling for the first time ever with two new friends about two weeks ago. We spent a night camping on Moreton Island about 2 km from the resort, just off the beach from a landmark known as the Wrecks. The Wrecks is a group of 15 ships that were deliberately sunken in order to create a safe haven for small boats that drop anchor there when the tide is rough. The sealife like it too, making it a great spot for fishing, snorkelling and diving.

Snorkelling was one of the most relaxing experiences I've ever had. All you can hear is the sound of your breathing as you float from wreck to wreck and look at all of the amazing fish swimming right in front of your face.

I've got some great pictures of all the things I've been doing in the last month or so but they'll have to wait until the next post. I wasn't organized enough today to get dressed, find my camera AND make it to the library by 10:15 a.m.

My new friend Oddur will be joining me for the first few days as I travel northward. A native Brisbanite, Oddur has been very good about showing me around the city and taking me to places I would otherwise never know about or get the chance to see. Last weekend we visited Mt. Warning, an absolutely beautiful and ancient volcano in the middle of lush rainforest about two hours south of Brisbane.

Yesterday Oddur, his brother and I went to a waterslide park on the Gold Coast near Surfers Paradise called Wet 'n Wild. It's essentially the watersliding version of Disneyland. What a blast! I hadn't been watersliding in years since my last visit to the West Edmonton Mall. Pictures of some of the slides to come too.

Well, I'm now running out of time on computer. But rest assured, I'll be posting again a lot sooner than I have been lately.

Thanks for reading.

Daddy Roo

2007-09-09T14:27:00.001+10:00

Ahh, how the days fly past and the months roll on.

It's been weeks since I've written so much as a word on the blog. There are lots of reasons for this but I won't bore you with the details. As it stands, I've got exactly 27 minutes to finish this entry, continue checking emails and do some other miscellaneous Internet stuff. Then I've got to buy a long distance phone card, get some groceries (not to mention a bit of alcohol) and make my way to the ferry back to the island. The prices for food and booze are shocking on the island so I prefer to do a bit of stocking up when I'm in the city. The joys of living on a remote, nearly empty island are truly endless. I don't mean that in a completely sarcastic way.

I cannot believe that I never posted this picture sooner. Not sure what I was thinking. I was oh-so-pleased about making friends with this kangaroo when I visited Brisbane's wildlife sanctuary a couple of months ago. This guy here was posed so perfectly and relaxing in the sun when I found him. He wasn't scared or intimidated when I got right close to take the picture and he even let me pat him on the head a couple of times (kangaroos in the wild are not this tame, mind you).

So, I still haven't seen a roo in nature (or any koalas) but at least I got this cool photo.

I was lucky enough to visit Noosa, a resort town north of Brisbane this weekend, with a couple of new friends. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful drive to and from. We thought maybe we'd catch a glimpse of some koalas sleeping in the eucalypts near the beach but no such luck. Maybe next time.

This here is another favourite photo from the resort: It's taken underneath the jetty (i.e. wharf, pier) on a day with a very low tide but unusually rocky sea. The different shades of water happen based on how deep the ocean floor is beneath. The shallow parts reflect the sand and take on the greeny/aqua shade while the deeper parts are more of a classic ocean blue. It's beautiful!

My time is sadly running out. This wasn't much of a blog entry but it was better than nothing.

In a few more weeks I'm going to quit my job on the island and head back to the mainland for further travels north. I'm very excited about getting back on the road and there are so many things ahead of me. Rest assured, the blog will also regain a bit of vitality once I set off.

Toodles.

Aussie-isms

2007-08-19T12:30:00.000+10:00

My oh my, is it time for some new additions to my not-so-definitive guide to Australian vocab and slang, or what?

I started this part of the blog months ago with every intention to create a lengthy list for my linguistically inclined friends and confidantes. And now I've left you out in the cold.

Working with so many Australians on Moreton Island has given me the chance to pick up quite a few new words, many of them to do with the workplace itself.

So, without further ado, here are a bunch of new words you've probably never heard before and will likely never use!

The workplace:

Smoke-o: a short break given to employees for the purpose of inhaling a cigarette or two. Of course, one does not actually have to smoke during smoke-o. I first heard this term when I was working on the construction site in Brisbane. It took me a day or two to figure out what in tarnation the other guys meant when they kept saying things like, "Youze goin' on smoke-o at 10:30, mate?" In the case of the construction site, most guys did indeed have a ciggie or two during smoke-o. (I just ate an apple or orange and drank some water.) Hell, half of them smoked as they worked. It's very "en vogue" to do that in the construction industry.

In keeping with the theme of labour/trades, Aussies have a number of endearing terms to refer to the different types of tradesmen and labourers. Here are a few:

Chippy: a carpenter (as in wood chips, I guess)

Sparky: an electrician, for obvious reasons

Bricky: a bricklayer . . .( are you catching onto a trend yet?)

Yardy: a yardsman

Dishy: a dishwasher. The politically correct term for such a person is "kitchen hand," of course. That being said, no one ever actually calls them kitchen hands at the resort. They're just the dishies.

By this time, you might have begun to notice that Australians love to shorten words. This is probably the most defining characteristic of Australian English. If there is a way to shorten a word, Aussies will find it. My boss Madonna (but remember that everyone just calls her "Donsy") says it's because Aussies are just plain lazy. I don't know about that, but they do have a laidback approach to language.

Even the shortest of names gets shortened further by Aussies. Example: Adam becomes "Adsy" to his friends. Sharon or Sheila becomes "Shazza" or "Shaz." Darren becomes "Dazza." Strangely enough, most Australians call me by my full name. Perhaps that's because Tyler isn't a common name over here. I'm sure once they discover that they can just call me "Ty", they'll be onto it like vegemite on bread. (Make that peanut butter on toast for you North Americans.)

* * * * *

Food:

Tomato sauce: Us North Americans know this one better as "ketchup." If you say ketchup here, you usually get a "Pardon?" and then have to say it again. It's better to just ask for tomato sauce (and that's toe-mah-toe not toe-may-toe). And you must ask. They don't just hand it out with the fries over here.

Choc top: just about anything that is covered with a layer of chocolate on top is a "choc top" in Oz. That goes for ice-cream cones, doughnuts, pastry puffs, etc.

Meat pie: Australians have a major fascination/addiction to the "meat pie", a small, pastry-crusted pie stuffed with any combination of meat and vegetables (usually beef or chicken). I think we'd call these a "pot pie" back in Canada. Meat pies are common street food over here, akin to a slice of pizza or a donair (or gyro or whatever you want to call it). But I've also served them at swanky corporate cocktail parties and luncheons.

Sultana: this fancy name refers to that most unglamorous of fruits: the raisin.

Capsicum: another fancy name for something we Canadians simplistically call the "red pepper."

Rockmelon: I couldn't figure out what this one was for the longest time until one day I finally saw it for sale at the grocery store. It's cantaloupe!

Paw paw: another exotic fruit by a different name. Paw paw, which tastes like a combination of mango and banana, is the same fruit as the papaya. At least I think it is.

Drink:

Short black: known as an espresso in the rest of the world, a short black is what you order when you need a quick caffeine jolt. It is, after all, a short, little cup of coffee.

Long black: known as an americano to Canadians (and, presumably, Americans), this is a coffee that's half-water with a shot or two of espresso mixed in.

Lemonade: In Oz, this drink is the same as what we would call Sprite. That is, lemon-lime soda. In fact, if you ask for lemonade you'll usually get Sprite or some other brand of similar taste.

Lemon Squash: This is what Canucks call lemonade, i.e. a more pulpy, tangy version of Sprite.

Pot: a small glass of beer that is more or less equal to a half-pint.

Middy: same thing as a pot, different name. At first I thought the Aussies were calling it a "mini" so that's what I ordered the first few times.

Schooner: Fans of Boston Pizza will be disappointed. Why? Because in Canada a schooner has come to mean a huge glass of beer (about three pints worth). In Australia, it's a very average-sized beer and smaller than a pint.

To be continued. . . .

Knock, knock, who's there?

2007-08-04T12:29:00.000+10:00

Sometimes there are periods in life when nothing seems to be going right despite your best intentions.

We’ve all had those times: your car breaks down; you drop $20 on the floor in a dark nightclub and never see it again; your boyfriend/girlfriend/partner breaks up with you when you least expect it.

It’s during those times that we are least likely to appreciate the power of coincidences or even to notice life’s pleasant twists when they happen to us. This is definitely a shame.

Work and money were a struggle during most of June and July for me. My hours at the agency in Brisbane were slashed as winter settled in and the work dried up. Then, what was supposed to be a 30-40 hour per week job on Moreton Island turned out to be a 15-20 hour per week job. The reason? The managers of the resort’s food and beverage department (in their infinite wisdom and expertise) hired far more people than needed at this time of year. It was tough at times to look on the bright side. To remember that I was living on a pristine island just steps from the beach. Sometimes you can’t focus on the good when worries about money, love, and family are gnawing at the back of your mind.

Then something happened and things started looking up for me. I was placed in the resort gift/grocery shop as extra help for three days about two weeks ago. Suddenly, I heard rumours of a permanent casual position in the shop. I figured I would apply but didn’t expect to get the job, being as new to the resort as I am. Just when I had given up on getting the job and started planning to quit the resort and move further north, the shop manager came up to me one Wednesday night and said, “Hey, did you hear the news from your department?”

No, I said.

“You’ve got the job in the shop. You start next Tuesday.”

What?!

So, here I am. Still living on Moreton Island and finally getting decent hours. The shop manager, Madonna (known simply to all as “Donsy”), is a wonderful, cheerful woman who always has a tale to tell. She makes what could be a very boring job plenty of fun.

This morning I’m in Brisbane for the day. It’s time to catch up on a few errands and rid myself of a minor bout of Island Fever. Speaking of which, I no longer am sure whether I prefer life in the city to life in the country or vice versa. Lately the city seems dirty, noisy and overcrowded. What is with all these traffic signals? We don’t even have paved roads on Moreton Island, let alone crosswalks. But that is a bit of a tangent.

I decided to pay a visit to the YMCA this morning. I haven’t done a proper workout with weights in four months and was long overdue. I was disappointed that the gym was kind of small and the equipment sort of old. But the man at the front desk was very friendly and very familiar to me, for some strange reason. I told him I was going to think about it and might come back later to use the gym.

I wandered a few blocks down the street to another gym that is supposed to be larger, newer and nicer.

Then I hit another roadblock: the gym is closed on weekends. What kind of gym in the middle of a city of 1.5 million people does not open on weekends? Apparently the one I was at. Brisbane is a strange city in this way. Just after I arrived in the city at 8 p.m. last night, a few restaurants were already getting ready to close in the city’s nightclub district. The ones that were open were either half-empty or of the fast-food variety. And this on a warm, calm night. But, I digress once more.

So I went back to the Y. It would be cheaper anyway.

I started to tell the man at the front desk about my little escapade and gripe a wee bit about Brisbane’s strange business hours. That’s when he said, “Oh, I know. I’m from Canada. It’s different over there.”

I told him I was Canadian as well. And then something dawned on me. I said, “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Quan,” he said. And then we both realized it at the same moment.

“Did you used to live in Vancouver?” I broke into a smile.

Yep. He did. Right down the hall from me in the summer of 2001. We were both taking summer classes at UBC. Coincidentally, this was the same place I met my good friend Andreas, whom I later shared an apartment with in Vancouver for more than a year.

Wild!

Quan and I spent about 20 minutes catching up on where we were at in life and how the others we lived in the dorm with are doing. He’s now in his last year of medical school here in Brisbane and is dating a local girl. It was so good to see someone from home and talk about familiar people and places. To boot, Quan gave me a free entry to the gym.

I remember a story my dad told me years ago after he went on a trip to China. There he was shopping in a department store in Beijing when he ran into a woman he knew from high school in Regina, Sask. I just never thought I would have similar experience, at least not in Australia.

* * *

All right. I’ve blabbed on for long enough now. It’s time to show you more pictures from
Moreton!

A humback whale gives us a "wave". This was during a whale watching tour I did last weekend at the resort. We were lucky enough to have a calm, sunny day, which made it easier to see the whales. Too bad they were kind of shy that day. I think we only got one breech (a jump out of the water).

My fearless housemate Sam lifts a big, nasty Diamond Python out of our way as a group of us hiked across Moreton Island last week. This snake had stretched himself right across the road and was enjoying some sunbathing when we stumbled upon him. Sam said that the snake was pretty harmless and slow-moving at this time of year when food is scarce. And this was only a python, not a venomous snake. Still, I was a bit freaked out. I assume that any and all snakes can and will kill me in this country. There are some seriously lethal ones and you just never know!

The 20-km roundtrip hike wasn't as hard as we thought it would be but we were pretty much ready for bed when we got back to the resort. The snake added a bit of excitement to the tail end of the trip.

Voila, a shot of the dolphins at long last! These two guys are eagerly waiting to be fed by a staff member (top right) and a guest (in the yellow). A photographer (not me) is waiting to snap a photo of the feeding on the left.

Sand in my knickers, sand in my hair, sand everywhere

2007-07-23T17:13:00.000+10:00

As the old saying goes, you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. So is my current relationship to the Internet, marginalized as I am to pricey ten minute increments of computer usage on the island. Today I’m in the public library in Brisbane with a full three hours of computer time to use for F-R-E-E on my day off.

Ahhh, is it good to be back!

It’s hard even to know where to begin or what to tell you first about life on Moreton Island. I come up with dozens of little anecdotes when I’m sitting in my room at night far away from any computer. Now I’m struggling to come up with just one. It figures, I suppose.

For starters, here you have a shot of a wee slice of the resort. On the left is the Tangalooma massage hut where guests can work out the kinks in their backs while on holiday. I haven't tried this yet but lord knows I'd like to.

I would be terribly neglectful if I didn’t tell you about all the fantastic wildlife one gets to see and hear on the island. Every morning begins with the jarring calls of the kookaburra in the wee hours before dawn breaks. If you’ve never heard a kookaburra’s call – and chances are that you haven’t since the bird is only native to Oz – imagine what sort of sound a wild banshee would make. That’s more or less it. The kookaburra is loud, proud and he’s going to let everyone know about it. Still, they are pretty cute and cuddly as far as birds go. You couldn’t hate one if you tried.

Later in the morning the pelicans gather on the beach for a feeding by one of the resort’s marine biologists (that’s them in the photo at the top of my blog). These winged giants are good fun to watch as they try to beat out the other birds in a quest for who-can-catch-the-most-fish. Often there are as many as 14 pelicans and scores of pied cormorants (a smaller, goose-like bird) playing the game.

A short stroll down the beach toward what’s known as the Wrecks (pictured at left), a group of deliberately sunken ships just off the shore of the island, and you are likely to see giant turtles, more fish and maybe even a dolphin swimming around. The Wrecks have created an artificial reef and are now a popular spot for snorkelling, diving, fishing and kayaking.

On my second day on Moreton I went for a short run down the beach. I spotted a small mound in the distance but didn’t think much of it until I was about 50 feet away when something told me to have a closer look. It turned out the “mound” was a massive sea turtle beached on the sand. Unfortunately, I think he might have been dead. There were no signs of breathing or movement and his eyes were closed. A shame, but my first time seeing such a creature in person.

Every afternoon about an hour before sunset is when hundreds of screeching lorikeets make their way to the tops of the palm trees and settle in for the night. These birds are fast, colourful and shockingly loud. Did I mention loud?

The highlight of the day for most guests happens every night at 6 p.m. That’s right, it’s dolphin-feeding time. A pod of 8-10 dolphins turns up with amazing accuracy, frolicking and waiting patiently before the dinner bell rings. Five “feeders” form five lanes and then make their way into the water to say hello and give the dolphins a bite before the guests enter. The dolphins even team up in the same pairings and at the same lanes each night. I’ve even heard stories of dolphins bringing “gifts”, such as a half-eaten tuna fish, for the feeders as a way of saying thank you for the food the dolphins get in return. When the feeders have tried to return the tuna fish to the dolphins, they won’t accept or eat it. It’s unbelievable how smart they are.

For the first week I only caught a few short glimpses of the dolphins, usually while rushing off to a shift in the restaurant. Then I had a stroke of luck while talking to one of the staff photographers. She mentioned that they needed another casual photographer to help with the dolphin photos on Sunday and Monday nights. I went down to the photo shop the next day and was soon in business!

I’ve now done photos three times. This involves treading right into the water and standing behind the dolphins as they’re fed. Often the dolphins swim right past my legs as they’re waiting for the fish and you’d just swear they have little smiles on their faces.

On my first night we had a total of 14 dolphins: 10 regulars and four party-crashers. The four intruders were males from another pod and one of them was apparently looking to mate with Tinkerbell, one of the regular females. Poor Tinkerbell couldn’t get a moment to herself as the intruder male swam back and forth behind her for the entire feeding. He even swam up and tried to put distance between me and Tinkerbell when he thought I was getting too close at one point. It was incredible!

Another highlight was the trip I took to the Tangalooma Desert two weeks ago. Moreton Island is the world’s third largest sand island (the other two are also in Oz). The island is made of about 98% sand and 2% rock. Most of that sand is covered in trees; however, a few areas, like the desert, have no trees at all. Instead there is literally nothing but soft, white sand on about 10 acres.

The resort takes guests on “safaris” to the desert (staff can go for free if space permits) to try their hand at sand tobogganing.

The premise is simple: grab a piece of smooth board, add a bit of surfboard wax to one side, climb up a 150-foot sand dune, and slide right on back down. Being Canadian, I like to think of myself as a bit of a tobogganing aficionado. Sand tobogganing was certainly a new one for the repertoire.

Of course, there is much more that I could tell you but this entry is getting very long and I don’t want to put anyone to sleep. I’ll save a few more stories for the next round.

P.S. I miss you.

Five days in

2007-07-06T22:54:00.001+10:00

Ahoy, mates, I write to the world from Moreton Island, that isle in the sea stumbled upon by Captain Cook way back in 1770.

It was he, after all, that gave the island its name, calling it Morton Island after some rich fancy-pants back in England. Everything was going along swimmingly until some yokel got the name wrong on an official document and Moreton Island it has been ever since.

Life at the resort is pretty sweet. The weather was Superb with a captial S for the first three days. Sunshine, not a cloud in the sky and highs of 22 degrees. Not bad for the middle of "winter" (even if winter is a total sham in Australia).

I've been very busy training at all of the resort's restaurants and bars: there are six in total. It's slightly hectic but I'm happy to be busy. Life here resembles living in a small town in many ways. There are about 100-150 staff so it doesn't take too long to get to know all the faces. Life is also a bit like high school here. We eat all our meals in a cafeteria. As one of the "new guys" I have been stared at and quizzed multiple times. I think I should just start wearing a stamp that says "Made in Canada" on my forehead. That being said, most everyone has been very friendly and tried to make me feel at home.

Anyhow, I must run as the clock on this public computer is ticking with a hunger.

More to come as I get the chance.

To the dolphins

2007-06-28T15:35:00.000+10:00

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned an interview at a resort near Brisbane where I was attempting to get a waiter gig. After waiting for a week or so (and thinking that I wasn't going to get the job), the resort came through in the end. And so, I'm moving to Moreton Island on Monday to start the new job. I'm sincerely hoping that it goes well as the resort is more or less the only show on the island. It's not as though I'll have tons of other work options. But there are lots of cool things to do on Moreton: snorkelling, ocean kayaking, ATV-riding, feeding wild dolphins, and -- most enigmatically -- sand tobogganing. That last one will be a blast.

I don't expect to have frequent access to the Internet on the island, unless I somehow luck out and get a roommate with a laptop and a wireless connection. There are Internet kiosks at the resort but they charge something like $2 for 10 minutes. As if. So, if you don't hear from me for awhile you'll know why.

To the dolphins I go. . . .

Memories

2007-06-27T14:06:00.000+10:00

June 27 is special for me.

It's a day I've been thinking about for years. And because I came to Oz this year, it's now twice as significant.

For one: today marks four months that I've been in Australia, having arrived on Feb. 27. It's amazing how quickly the time passes. I think most travellers can relate to the way your conception of time changes when you're away from home. In some ways, it's all one, big blur that has come and gone in a flash. In other ways, I feel it has been years since I last saw my family and friends in Canada. And since I ate poutine. (I just had to throw that in.)

For two: I graduated from high school on June 27, 1997 -- exactly 10 years ago today.

I can remember the day so clearly. It was only partly sunny. Not the perfect weather one would hope for on such a day, but at least it wasn't raining. I remember so many small details: the ceremony of going to pick up the rental car (a brand-new, hot-red Pontiac Sunfire coupe) from the dealer; the extra time I took showering, shaving, and getting dressed; driving to my best friend Kim's house to pick her up, as well as a couple of other friends; the way we drove down Albert Street and then around the block a couple of extra times before parking the rental car at the hotel.

Later on after the dinner and ceremony, we boarded yellow school buses and set off for the after-grad party at a local nightclub (it was terribly exciting for a bunch of underage kids to be partying in a nightclub, although we weren't allowed to drink alcohol. It was an event organized by the school, after all). We danced, we ate, we talked until dawn. A big group of us went for breakfast at an all-night diner. Everyone was in a terrific mood, despite the lack of sleep.

And then we went our separate ways, not knowing exactly what the future would bring or what we would make of our lives.

Some of us have moved to far-flung parts of the world. Some of us still live in Regina, Saskatchewan. Some of us went to university. Some of us didn't. Some of us are married with children. Some of us are single. One of us is sitting in a public library in Brisbane, Australia, typing a new entry for his blog (a word that didn't even exist on June 27, 1997).

Did I think this was what I would be doing 10 years from graduation day? Of course not. Although I had always dreamed of travel and had been to Europe my first time just a few months before grad, I had no ambition to live in Australia back then.

I think what strikes me most today is that I don't fundamentally feel any different than I did when I was 18. Sure, I'm a bit wiser to the world. I've gained confidence and life experience. I can be proud of several achievements while I try not to think about the failures.

Otherwise, I'm still that same kid who loves to have a laugh with friends; who loves food from all corners of the Earth; who sometimes takes life too seriously; who is more shy than he would like to be.

Just one question remains: where will I be on June 27, 2017?

A picture of my friend Tana Cameron and I on graduation day, June 27, 1997. Thanks for sending this to me recently as a surprise, Tana!

Still kickin'

2007-06-17T17:12:00.000+10:00

I figure it is time to let all of you know that I am indeed alive and well on the other side of the world (or the same side of the world, depending on where you're sitting).

I have neither abandoned my dedication to the blog or forgotten to do updates. Basically, I have no good reason for the lack of posts, except I've been working an awful lot at all sorts of hours and any day of the week, I've no access to a computer at home, and usually have insufficient energy to get all creative.

But that will change soon. Tomorrow I have an interview at a place called Tangalooma Wild Dolphin Resort on Moreton Island, not far from Brisbane. Sounds exciting, doesn't it? If I get the job it is full-time, and I move to the island. So, I'm kind of hoping the interview goes well.

Coming soon: posts on Aussie-isms (I'm making a mental list) and the quirks and quarks of Queensland.

By the way, this picture -- from when Matt and I were camping in the absolute middle of nowhere one night and had little but hot dogs and bread to eat -- has nothing to do with what I'm writing about in this post. I just thought it had been far too long since I posted anything visual on the site.

Toodles.

Old man winter

2007-06-01T19:05:00.000+10:00

It is 7 p.m. on the first day of winter in Australia.

And I am wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

The patio door to the balcony is wide open and other guests at the hostel are outside eating their dinner on picnic tables. This, my fellow Canadians, is simply not fair, is it?

At least it's almost summer in the northern hemisphere. That ought to be some consolation.

It's been good fun listening to certain Aussies chatter about the "cold" lately. Last week a girl I worked with told me she has been just freezing at night and always wears two jumpers (sweaters) at home. I told her I've still been sleeping with just a bedsheet and the window partly open.

Even funnier, the other day a radio announcer expressed concern when he saw a young woman walking down the street in the early morning with long, wet hair. She was sure to catch a terrible cold, he said. It was +15 degrees outside.

Everything, including what constitutes hot and cold weather, is truly relative.

Why the Aussies even bother with following traditional European seasons is a bit of a mystery to me. There are really only two seasons Down Under as far as I can tell: warm and hot. You'll notice that seasons don't start and end on the same day as they do in North America. The first day of autumn was on March 1. Winter (as mentioned) started today. I can only guess that spring will come on Sept. 1 and summer on Dec. 1. I haven't yet figured out why this is.

* * *
I've happily finished a string of five shifts at the Brisbane Convention and Exhibition Centre today. It's not the worst place I've ever worked, but it's surely the most humongous. The centre's entire floor area is equal to the size of 462 full-sized tennis courts, according to its website.

This week's massive convention was the Australian Tourism Exchange, where tourism industry professionals from around the country and overseas descended on Brisbane to explore all manners of tourist activities in Oz. On Monday we did a cocktail party for 2,300 guests. On Tuesday and Wednesday we did sit-down lunches for 1,500-1,700 people. Yesterday and today we did buffet lunches for 1,200-1,400. If you think setting 170 tables of 10 with silverware, plates, glassware, wine and soft drinks is a good time, think again.

The sheer size of events at the convention centre makes it an impersonal, factory-like place to work (this despite the centre's motto: "Making Events Personal"). You are issued a uniform when you sign-in for work (amazing they don't also issue you a computer chip for tracking your identity and location). After you've changed, you are corralled into gigantic service elevators and taken up to the function rooms when work is to begin. You are "briefed" on the day's function and a roll-call is taken. Supervisors are called "captains" and they frequently shout out orders for the remainder of the shift. The best (only?) course of action is to submit obediently to their wishes and prepare to roll with the punches. It is the closest I've come to being in the military yet.

Perhaps that isn't a fair thing to say. The people in charge at the convention centre are actually quite nice, given the circumstances. Still, I simply cannot imagine working at these sort of massive functions for the rest of my life. It just isn't for me.

* * *

News bulletin: I am soon to see real live koalas, kangaroos and platypuses. Brisbane's Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary is not too far from where I'm staying and it does seem worth a visit. I had hoped to see some cuddly critters in the wild (this is why I avoided going to Sydney's zoos). But the koala sanctuary is wilderness-like and lets you see all sorts of animals in one place. Plus, I simply can't wait any longer! Will take plenty of pics, to be sure.

Foiled again

2007-05-27T11:59:00.000+10:00

Today I've yet again been thwarted by technology in my neverending quest to upload pictures to Picasa (Google's photo manager) and use them on my blog. This is an ongoing issue for me. Either I can't find a suitable Internet cafe with the right computers and software, or my own laptop gives up the ghost, or my camera software acts up, or I forget one crucial element at the hostel, or. . . . Sometimes you just have to long for the days when you took a roll of 24 pictures to Superstore, popped it in an envelope, and picked your fully developed pictures up after lunch (doubles, of course!).

Griping aside, I've had a very active week in Brisbane, mostly spent working all over the place. I got a call from a hospitality agency Monday morning, asking me to come in for an interview on Tuesday. I jumped at the chance given that money matters have been at the forefront of my mind lately. Australia has turned out to be slightly more expensive than I'd hoped and the money always leaves the wallet faster than expected when travelling. Mix that in with "little" concerns like student loan and credit card payments to worry about back in Canada, and you've got one willing worker on your hands.

The interview went well and I was given orientation and a shift right afterwards. I do think it helps that the manager who interviewed me and does much of the scheduling is a Canadian woman from Ontario who seems to have taken a liking to me, in a patriotic sort of way.

On Wednesday morning I was sleeping soundly in bed when the guy who runs the job club at the hostel came into my room and asked if anyone wanted to work today . . . like, now (this seems fairly typical of him). I didn't exactly want to work. But hey, I got's bills to pay, don't I? So I uprooted myself from the bed and made my way to reception. The job in question was unloading a shipping container for 6 hours at $18/hour, or so we were told.

A man picked myself and two other chaps from the hostel up close to 9 a.m. and away we went deep into the suburbs. It turns out we were actually headed to a home construction site where unloading a container would be just one of the things we did. Most of the morning was passed in the following manner: moving pieces of lumber from one side of the yard to another; moving pallets of bricks (one brick at a time) from one pile to another; picking up garbage all over the site; moving bits of scaffolding from in front of the house to the rear. Not the most exciting stuff but at least it was good for the physique and a warm, sunny day to be outside. Later in the afternoon we were required to unload blocks of sandstone tile from the shipping container, which wasn't as bad or heavy as I'd imagined.

All of this would have been just fine, except that the agency also called me on Wednesday morning to inform me that I had to report for work at Brisbane's Suncorp Stadium that evening at 4:30 p.m. It was, after all, the day of the huge State of Origin rugby match, an annual competition between the states of Queensland and New South Wales. Think Labour Day Classic (a match between the Saskatchewan Roughriders and the Winnipeg Blue Bombers every September) for those familiar with the Canadian Football League. This was serious business.

Miraculously, I made it to the stadium at about 4:35, having only finished the construction gig at 3:30, and showering and changing in between. It was great to see the Aussies all riled up about the big game and helped abate my football homesickness a wee bit. However, serving 330 people pre-game dinner and post-game cocktails was not exactly a thrill a minute. The shift finished at midnight and I literally crashed into bed a few minutes later (thanks be to God that the stadium is only a five-minute walk from where I'm staying).

Lo and behold, Thursday morning rolled around quickly and guess what? I had to be at the construction site again at 7 a.m. Getting out of bed wasn't as tough as I'd imagined somehow. Probably because I was still on an adrenalin high from the previous day. The morning's work was deceptively easy as me and my two Italian coworkers, Mario and Alexandro, simply shuffled rubbish and lumber around the yard once again.

It was the afternoon that nearly killed us.

Out came giant slabs of granite tile from the shipping container. Each one required two men to carry them across the construction site, through the house, and up to the second-story master bedroom. Rinse and repeat. About 40 times. We made it through but not without a good amount of discomfort and some sore muscles.

Then the real challenge for the day came: two absolutely massive granite slabs the size of kitchen tabletops had to go the same route. This time six men were required to move each slab slowly up the stairs. One of the guys started calling us the Egyptian construction crew, so pyramid-esque was the fruit of our labour. I guess each slab must have weighed 700-800 pounds.

Thursday night I felt like the walking dead, as I shuffled about making dinner and trying to relax. I actually felt more tired after a two-hour nap than beforehand. Go figure.

Friday and Saturday were relatively normal days by comparison. Friday night's job was at the convention centre for the Brisbane Architecture Awards (another 570 people to wait on!). Finally, last night I was at The Gabba, Brisbane's cricket/Australian Rules Football ground. What a dream job in comparison. All that was required of me was to pour beer and the occassional spirit for four hours. It reminded me of my days as a popcorn jockey back at Cineplex Odeon Coronet Cinemas during high school.

Today is Sunday and, suitably, I have the day off. It's time for me to grab some groceries and lie in the sun a bit, ya think?

These are the things that I miss

2007-05-20T19:43:00.000+10:00

I've been away from Canada almost three months now. They say this is about the time that you really begin to miss the comforts of home. I think they're right. Make no mistake, I'm having the time of my life in Australia. The weather in Brisbane has been astonishingly good since I arrived, reaching on average 26 0r 27 above each day. You can't help but go lay by the pool in this kind of weather. Brisbane's deep blue sky beckons you as soon as you lay eyes on it in the morning, and I'm developing a tan that shows just how weak I am against the sky's calls.

Still, these are some of the things that I miss from home, in no particular order:

- Barbecues with family and friends on May long weekend.
- big trays of veggies with homemade dip at said barbecues
- nachos from 7-11. They don't have them here. I've checked. Numerous times.
- good Ukrainian/Polish sausage. Australian sausage is crap. It's like giant, greasy, breakfast sausage, even at dinnertime. Ick.
- Going to Mosaic (Regina's big, three-day multicultural festival in June, which I've missed for years in a row now but anyway).
- POUTINE. Oh my God, I seriously don't know if I can go without poutine for nine more months. Please bring me a giant plate to the airport when I get back home!

There is a lot of food on that list, isn't there? Well, they say the way to a man's heart. . . .

A study in contrasts

2007-05-16T21:46:00.000+10:00

This is a tale of two cities.

Byron Bay and Surfers Paradise are cities that sit not so far apart from each other on Australia's east coast. The first is a small, seaside resort town, perhaps not large enough to be called a city at all (in fact, many of Byron Bay's residents would likely shudder at the thought). Surfers Paradise, contrarily, is a small city made of big-city dreams.

For most backpackers and tourists, both cities are mandatory stops on the Australian tour. From the moment you arrive in Sydney, you encounter other travellers who've just come back from "Byron" or "Surfers", or who are heading there next week. Most of them will rave about the splendours of Byron in one sentence, turning their noses up at Surfers in the next. "Byron Bay is magic, it's so cool," they say, a dreamlike smile appearing on their faces. "Surfers? What a place. Full of nothing but highrises and noise."

It's true that Byron and Surfers couldn't be more different from each other, at least on the surface. Byron Bay found its way onto the world stage as a mecca for surfers back in the 1960s, its crashing waves some of the best in Australia (Yes, those are surfers swimming around near the rocks in the pic above). In the 70s, free-lovin' hippies found their way to Byron, bringing incense, chakra therapy, tie-dye and, of course, marijuana in their wake. In the '80s, backpackers discovered the town and scores of hostels were built as a result. Finally, the yuppies came to town in the 1990s, tearing down unsightly buildings and erecting villas, fine wine stores, and expensive clothing boutiques. At present, Byron is a slightly bizarre combination of all of these things, and then some.

Surfers Paradise, on the other hand, started its life as a sleepy, country town named Elston. Elston had little else going for it besides the fact that it's situated on a narrow peninsula of land and you are never more than two blocks from a beach almost anywhere you go. In 1925 the Surfers Paradise hotel opened as the area was becoming renowned as a tourist destination. In 1933, the town of Elston changed its name to match that of the hotel. And the rest, more or less, is history. A huge development boom in the '50s and '60s started the highrise craze, which continues to this day. Surfers is now home to the tallest residential tower in the world (the Q1), opened in 2005.

You might guess, based on these brief and probably vastly incomplete descriptions of each city, why some people would love Byron and hate Surfers. Byron, after all, is not marked by a single skyscraper or building over, say, five stories tall.

However, if you're more like me, you might wonder if perhaps there is something wrong with you. The problem, you see, is that I think there is really nothing special at all about Byron Bay.

Gasp! Allow me to explain, if you haven't fainted from shock. But where do I begin? Perhaps the first mark against Byron came when we checked in at our hostel, the Arts Factory Lodge, a sort-of hostel meets campground meets hippie commune. It is the most popular hostel in Byron and I have no idea why.

My friend Matt and I were camping at the Arts Factory campground. Great. Except that they demanded we pay $15 each per night for the pleasure of camping there in our one, puny tent. We stayed for three nights and even after 72 hours we couldn't figure out what we were paying for. Was it for the sprawling, rocky, dirt yard they call a campground? Was it for the inadequate and unclean toilets and showers? Perhaps the messy, unsightly kitchen and the spider webs that decorated the ceiling above the eating area? Oh wait, surely it was for the $5 beer available in the hostel's bar (the same beer is normally found for about $3.50 in Oz). Oh, and get this. The Arts Factory charges $30/night for one of their dorms. And here I thought this was a place run by hippies. Shouldn't they be charging more like $3 per night. Anyway, the hostel was a total dud.

The next problem? The damn prices in Byron Bay. Everywhere we went food, clothing and, as mentioned, housing were priced remarkably close to what you'd pay in Sydney. Heck, most of the eateries had a pretentious big-city air about them. Wasn't this supposed to be an idyllic seaside town?

I suppose much of Byron's charm comes from its beaches (they are beautiful, I concede) and the town's lax attitude toward recreational drug use. To be sure, the easy access to pot excites the 18- to 21-year-old set like little else. Maybe if I were a few years younger and hadn't just spent four years in too-cool-for-school-have-a-toke-man Vancouver, I too would have been more pumped. But I wasn't.

All I really wanted was a cheap beer and a decent shower.

So it was with happy hearts that Matt and I left Byron Bay last Saturday and headed for Surfers.

We located a hostel that was not only cheap ($20 per night with a coupon we found PLUS free drinks at the in-house bar) but had a pool, hot tub, arcade, free body boards (see photo for proof I used one) and cheap eats. I nearly thought we were in heaven for a few minutes.

Sure, Surfers verges on the tacky in many ways, with its neon shopping malls and souvenir shops lining the streets. However, the city is also home to spotlessly clean streets, some impressive architecture and miles and miles of golden beach.

It may not exactly be paradise, but take me to Surfers any day.

Viva, BrisVegas

2007-05-15T18:47:00.000+10:00

G'day everyone:

I landed in Brisbane, capital city of the state of Queensland, this afternoon after a few days spent in Surfers Paradise. So far, I am pleasantly surprised with how much I like the city. I was slightly worried that I wouldn't enjoy things much here, given Brisbane's nickname, BrisVegas, earned through the city's fondness for highrises and a dash of glitz (including a man-made beach in the city centre). But there is much more to Brisbane than all of that, including some gorgeous colonial buildings, a lovely river that snakes its way through the city and some excellent parks. I'll write more about Brisie, another of its nicknames, once I have seen the city a bit more.

But first, I have plans to tell you about Byron Bay and Surfers Paradise. That entry (and, God willing, pictures if I can find an Internet cafe that will let me upload them) are to make their appearance in the blogosphere tomorrow. Ciao!

Is it nice outside?

2007-05-11T11:10:00.000+10:00

After two hours on a train, eight hours on the bus and a heck of a lot of waiting in between, Matt and I pull into Coffs Harbour in the wee morning hours on May 4, groggy and disoriented. The seats on the bus were a lot more cushy than the sandstone we slept on the night before, but it still wasn't like curling up in bed, you know?

Thankfully, we luck out at the hostel yet again and get our own eight-man dorm to the two of us. We crash into our beds like two tonnes of bricks and sleep straight until noon. We awake to a stunningly beautiful day -- 27 degrees and not a cloud in the sky. What else is there to do but head to the beach on a day like this?

Coffs Harbour is home to four beaches that stretch the entire length of the city for miles and miles. We make our way to Jetty Beach on the marina and are surprised to find ourselves practically alone except for a couple of families and some swimmers in the bay. Something about Coffs Harbour is magically relaxing and we settle in for an afternoon of lazing about and walking by the water.

Just a few hundred feet from Jetty Beach lies Muttonbird Island, a small nature sanctuary where one particular species of bird (the Muttonbird) comes to mate in the thousands each May. We approach Muttonbird Island to see if we can do some exploring on the trails but are deterred by fences and warning signs all around the entrance. It seems a sly group of foxes has been wreaking havoc on the island, killing muttonbirds for prey. The city has decided to shut down the island completely for 10 days to poison all the foxes and there's no way we can enter. We're out of luck this time.

But our efforts to get out and see the wildlife don't go unrewarded. Coffs Harbour is home to an amazing array of plants and animals. Over the next three days we see giant pelicans, thousands of sand crabs, two stingrays, schools of tropical fish, a jellyfish and plenty of birds.

Friday night is "punch night" at the hostel. Guests pay $7 for all-you-can-drink "punch", which is really just a slightly foul mix of cheap wine, vodka, and orange juice. But damn, two glasses of the stuff and you've got the giggles. Three or four (or more) glasses of it plus the addition of a drinking game, and you've got the perfect recipe for a hangover. Yes, Saturday morning is a little bit rough.

Still, I wake up eager to get outside and make the best of the day. I rush to the window and wonder aloud, "Is it nice outside?" Matt just laughs and says, "Yeah, of course it is. It's gorgeous."

I realize afterward what a silly question it was. We're in Coffs Harbour. There's no need to ask such questions here.

We borrow a free canoe from the hostel and head up Coffs Creek after breakfast. Once again, we are practically the only ones on the water. Where is everyone? For a town of 65,000 people, Coffs Harbour feels a good deal smaller. Three or four hours go by as we paddle our way up the creek toward the city centre and then all the way back down again right to the ocean.

We opt out of a night on the town and stay at the hostel for a few card games before heading to bed. It's our last night in a proper bed before it's back out to camp for the next week and we had best enjoy it. That Australian ground out there can be awfully hard.

A-camping we will go

2007-05-07T14:27:00.000+10:00

Wow, what a busy couple of weeks it has been.

I left Sydney in a flurry of activity a week ago, working almost every day the week before I left. I only finished my last shift on May 1 a couple of hours before jumping on a train to the Blue Mountains.

Faithful readers among you will recall that I've already been to the Blue Mountains back in March but I decided to go again with my new travelling buddy Matt who ended up in the same dorm as me for a few days back in Sydney. Matt has a tent and really wanted to camp in the mountains for a night or two before heading back north and he asked me to join in. Why not? Travelling is all about going with the flow, or so I'm learning.

It was a different experience this time around out in the wild. We got to Katoomba about 8 p.m. so decided just to check into a hostel for the night as it was likely not too brilliant to try pitching a tent in the dark. We settled on a hostel near the train station. My guess is they don't do much business there in these months. The woman at the front desk seemed literally surprised to see us. Oh, and she put is in a 12-bed dorm out back behind the main building. Matt and I were amused to find out we were the only guys staying in the room when we opened the door. We laughed and began to think of it as "the servants' quarters." The foam mattresses on the beds were only about 2 inches thick so we weren't too far off in our estimation of the place. Thank God we were able to stack two mattresses together from the empty beds.

Early on the next morning we got up, showered, ate our breakfast of leftover pizza and headed for the grocery store. I guess we'd become a bit too accustomed to leisurely mornings in Sydney as by the time we were actually ready to start our hike it was almost 11 a.m. Would we make it to Mount Solitary, our destination, by nightfall? Gulp.

We made it, but not without a pretty massive amount of effort. About four hours later we found ourselves on the mountain but nowhere near a good campsite. Let's just say the Blue Mountains are a very rocky place. After climbing nearly straight upwards over rocks and with heavy packs attached to our backs we decided to head back down for some level ground.

It was a good call. A perfect campsite was waiting for us where we quickly set up the tent and got all organized before the sun went down. We scavenged for twigs, bark, and sticks to help make a fire and (miraculously) got one going as we dined on a "gourmet" meal of salami, day old bread, peanut butter and apples. I wasn't acting food editor at the North Shore News for nothing, baby.

The next day was just as killer in terms of exercise as the first one, and maybe more so. A full five hours lapsed as we snaked through valleys, over the site of a landslide and past waterfalls. It was a bit of a cruel joke to learn that we had to climb the Giant Stairway to get back to our starting point. More than 500 stairs awaited us as we climbed to the top, sweating and muttering under our breath most of the way.

A two-hour train ride took us back to Sydney where we picked up the rest of our luggage at the hostel, showered, and readied for the eight-hour bus ride ahead that night. It wasn't the most comfortable way of travel after a long hard day like that but those bus seats felt a good deal more cushy than the bed of solid rock back on Mount Solitary.

On Friday morning at 6:20 a.m. we pulled into beautiful Coffs Harbour, 500 km to the north of Sydney, from where I'm typing this blog entry now. But I'll save those details for the next time. Plus, some great photos to come!

So much to say, so little time

2007-05-05T11:33:00.000+10:00

Hi everyone:

My apologies for being a bit absent in cyberspace the last while. It's been a very busy week or so. I've so so much to tell you but haven't yet had a chance. Internet in the hostel costs $2/30 mins. at the moment. Was camping in the Blue Mountains earlier this week. . . now am in Coffs Harbour with new-found friend Matt from Minnesota. We're going to travel together for a few weeks before he goes back to the USA. Coffs Harbour is really beautiful! Pics and all the details are to come soon. Now am off for a bit of canoeing down the creek! Cheers.

A taste of local culture -- part 2

2007-04-26T11:17:00.000+10:00

So, Tuesday brought kangaroo on a plate and Wednesday brought Anzac Day, a unique Aussie/Kiwi memorial to veterans, fallen soldiers and military combat.

I had absolutley no idea what Anzac meant when I arrived in Australia. It sounds a bit like the name of an insurance firm. However, in my first week in Sydney I discovered the Anzac Memorial in Hyde Park, a small but beautiful stone structure that is the perfect spot for a moment or two of quiet reflection. Anzac -- the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps --is what they call soldiers down here.

Anzac Day happens each year on April 25 to mark the anniversary of the first major military action seen by the Aussie/Kiwi troops in the First World War. There are Anzac Day parades, dinners, luncheons and the like. I have to say that for a day that marks many awful, sombre events, Anzac Day was fairly fun and festive, in a tempered sort of way. This is due largely to the afore-mentioned parades but also to a wonderful game called Two-up.

I was vaguely aware of a form of gambling that is only legal to play on Anzac Day between certain hours, having seen something about it on the news a couple of days ago. Yesterday, while strolling down the street in Kings Cross, I came across a circle of people gathered on a street corner. A pile of gravel was scattered on the ground and a few different men were taking turns tossing two coins into the air. "Heads!" and "A head and a tail!" would yell the man in the centre of the circle. After each coin toss, more and more bets were placed. Guys would throw down $20, $40 or even $100 while declaring their intention to back heads or tails and calling on others to match their bets.

It's really the simplest of games. If you bet heads and two heads are thrown, you win. If two tails land on the ground, you lose. That's it. But the energy these guys brought to game was pretty fun to watch. Eventually people just walking by on the street would stop and throw down a bit of cash to try their chance. A couple of the guys, who had clearly played this game before, made a small fortune. I was tempted to play but not being much of a gambler (read: I be po') I held back and let the other guys lose their money.

Last but not least, I made more travel plans yesterday. I am now the proud owner of a bus pass from Sydney to Cairns, a city at the far northeastern end of Australia. I have six months to use the pass and can hop on and off the bus as many times as I like en route. The first leg of the journey begins next week when I leave Sydney on May 1 for Coffs Harbour, a coastal resort town about 500 kilometres to the north. Can't wait!

A taste of local culture

2007-04-25T14:20:00.000+10:00

Boy, do I feel Australian these last couple of days.

After a fairly uninteresting and uninspiring couple of weeks spent mostly working and saving money (you'll notice I haven't written much lately on the blog), I turned up to weekly Tuesday job at the Wine and Food Society of New South Wales. The society is a bit like a secret society in that you'd never know it existed unless you were a member or, as the case may be, a waiter who serves its members. It's definitely been one of my most interesting jobs so far. The club has been around since 1939, meeting every Tuesday for a celebration of food and drink in a heritage house just next to Sydney's Harbour Bridge. Membership is only open to men so it's a bit of an "old boys' club" and I mean that literally as the average age of the members must be 60.

Perhaps the best part of the job is that I, as a waiter, get to sample a bit of the wine and eat the same meal as the members once I'm done serving. This is a huge bonus on a backpacker's budget. So far the food has been very tasty but mostly predictable (roasts, stews and the like). Well, yesterday I was in for a surprise as the day's featured entree was none other than kangaroo. At first I thought the chefs were pulling my leg when I asked what the meat was. Oh, how gullible they think we travellers are! But, in fact, they were quite serious about the matter.

So how did it taste? A lot like beef, to tell the truth. So much so that if they had told me it was roast beef I would have believed them. Still, it was an experience and I felt slightly squeamish the first couple of bites. Is it wrong that I've now eaten kangaroo but have not yet seen one in Australia? The ironies of life.

I have more to say on Anzac Day (a public holiday held today) but have run out of time. I'll save that for tomorrow's entry.

Just a few pictures

2007-04-16T14:33:00.000+10:00

I'm short on words today so I've opted to just post a few pics of things I've seen in the past few weeks or so. Enjoy.

One of the big trees that line the street in front of my hostel. If you look closely you'll see that the bark is patchy and two different colours, kind of like camoflouge. Hence, I call these army trees. It's a technical term.

A parrot flew into the kitchen at the hostel this morning! At first I thought he was someone's pet but I guess he just came on inside. The kitchen has large doors opening onto a courtyard so it musn't have been too hard for him to get in.

Couldn't believe the wild colours on him.

A gigantic, old fig tree I discovered next to an old church in a a part of Sydney called Newtown. Newtown is actually quite an old town, most of the buildings dating from the 1850s or so. The tree is about the same age. Amazing root structure, isn't it?

A view toward downtown Sydney from Watson's Bay. I spent a day at the beach out there last week. Very nice and relaxing place.

An interesting angle of the roof at Sydney's Opera House. As you can see, the roof is actually made up of hundreds of thousands of tiles that were shipped from Sweden when they were constructing the building.

More wild birds! These huge cockatoos just roam the park, not too far from where the bats hang out in the trees. They are pretty tame and will even let you get nice and close for a picture.

Da-na-na-na-na-na-BATMAN!

2007-04-11T17:00:00.000+10:00

OK. Here they are. The bat pics. You can stop pressuring me to upload them now. God.

I'm just kidding. In fact, no one (except me, myself and Irene) has pressured me to put them up on the blog. I'm just excited about these pics. My mom reminded me the other day that there were a few bats in our neighbour's house in Lumsden (a small town outside Regina) when I was a little kid. I'd totally forgotten about that. But seeing the bats in Sydney still seems so exotic. I've never seen so many at once, especially not hanging in the trees of a public park. So have a look for yourself here:

As if that's not creepy! Especially with the grey cloud behind the bare branches of that tree. (The bats are the black things hanging off the trees that look a bit like big leaves themselves, FYI)

And here is a close-up I took with the zoom lens. You'll notice that they have reddish fur on them. Some people say they're not bats at all, as they're called "Flying Foxes." But my friend Wikipedia says that Flying Foxes are indeed bats, the largest bats in the world, in fact. They also eat only fruit so I don't think I need to cover my neck up when they're around.

And here is a lonely bat sailing through the sunny skies on Monday. I thought bats only came to life at night but they were making all kinds of noise when I visited on Monday morning. When I walked through the same park on Tuesday afternoon they were all sleeping and very, very quiet.

That's all he wrote for today.

Going batty

2007-04-09T14:08:00.000+10:00

This entry to my blog was meant to be much more interesting than it is actually going to be. I'm just saying that as a warning. That's all.

First off, a Happy Easter to all. Hope the bunny was good to you.

I went to the Royal Botanic Gardens this morning, camera in hand, to take some pictures of the bats, as I promised that I would. I had no trouble finding them today. They were making lots of noise high in the treetops and a few of them would even get up and fly from tree to tree every once in awhile. It was so fun to watch.

Next I made my way to a nearby cafe where I've discovered they have free wireless internet (if you buy a coffee or something). What should follow is that I then uploaded pictures of the bats to the blog and we all get to ooh and ahh a bit.

But with technology being the great and terrible thing it is, that isn't going to happen today. It seems my new digital camera memory card is fussy and only likes pictures to be downloaded from the camera to my laptop, not from the card directly to the laptop itself. To do this, I need an extra connector cable, which is now resting quietly in the drawer next to my bed at the hostel. It figures, doesn't it? And so, more on bats is still to come!

So then, what else is there to talk about? Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban arrived in Sydney yesterday for a couple of days. Kidman is probably Australia's biggest international star and so she causes quite a stir when in town. Her arrival even made yesterday's nightly news.

The big gossip at the moment seems to be that Kidman is actually pregnant with her first child. This was reported yesterday in British tabloid News of the World, surely the most reputable name in news (ha!). Kidman's "people" have apparently denied the rumour ("As if she would confirm a pregnancy to News of the World," is what her publicist came back with, so says The New Zealand Herald). Ahh, such scandal. Eventually the truth will come out.

What Kidman is really here for anyway is to make a new movie. She will be the star of a movie called Australia, an epic drama set in (you guessed it) Australia. This film by director Baz Luhrmann has great promise, I think. Luhrmann directed Kidman in Moulin Rouge back in 2001 and didn't that turn out just fabulously? Besides the movie also stars another big Aussie star: Hugh Jackman. Set in the 1930s and 40s on the Outback, Australia promises plenty of glorious sunsets, dusty desert towns and "G'day mates" shouted by locals. With a big budget of AUD $130 million (about the same in Canadian dollars) it ought to be at least half decent. Shame that the same can't be said of John Travolta's Battlefield Earth, isn't it?

I had a friend of mine in Vancouver (Hi, Steven!) ask me in email the other day where on earth I find the time to write all the words for this blog. Well, let me just say that working for a newspaper teaches you a trick or two. It may not be glamorous and it may not pay well, but being a reporter teaches you this: a) to type as fast as hell, b) to churn the words out no matter how boring the subject matter or even how little you actually know about it, c) to make it seem like you know a lot and like in fact what you're writing about is really very interesting after all, now isn't that nice?

Next time there will be real pictures of real, creepy, live bats on this blog. You have my word on it.

Up to bat

2007-04-06T16:40:00.000+10:00

Have I told you about the bats yet?

Oh, I must! Sydney is full of bats . . . big, black ones that swoop over your head at sunset on their way to . . . well, wherever it is that bats go to play.

I'm going to get some pictures and post them here and then you'll see what I mean. It's quite something to take in when you first see the bats coming. It's like Transylvania but hotter. Maybe it's the Romanian blood in me that finds this so fascinating (Transylvania is a region of Romania. You can put that in your useless trivia file.)

Anyway, more on bats to come.

Is it but a dream?

2007-04-03T13:47:00.000+10:00

It's time I devoted a few words to my newfound employment here in Sydney.

About two weeks ago I got a call from an agency that specializes in the hospitality industry. I'd submitted a resume to them via internet, not quite knowing what the agency was or what exactly I'd be doing. Within about three days I was interviewed, had my uniform and went through the "induction" process where they show you a workplace safety video and have you fill in all sorts of mumbo-jumbo legally required forms.

And then I was off to work a few days later.

There are some wonderful things about working for an agency, as I have discovered. First of all, you are completely entitled to set your own hours and days of work. I just have to tell them which days I'm available and between which hours. If, for example, I decide to take off to north eastern Australia for several weeks or months (something I fully intend on doing), I just have to tell the agency and they'll mark me as away for that time. If I decide I just need a few days of R&R and really can't be bothered to go to work, again, I just have to let them know. And if I should end up back in Sydney at some point down the road, another phone call to the agency will put me back on the roster. Now how great is that?

There are also some risks involved in agency work. For one, you really don't know where you're working until you get there most of the time. It could be a business function. It could be a hotel. It could be a wedding. It could be a regular old restaurant. So far, in just 12 days, these have been my gigs: the in-house restaurant for a local theatre company on opening night; a wedding reception held at a small restaurant on the harbour; a goodbye dinner and recital for Japanese homestay students; a private luncheon and several cocktail parties on the 25th floor of an office building downtown; a VIP luncheon at the National Art School (which, by the way, is in an amazing old building that started its life as a jail); and last, but certainly not least, a Jewish bar mitzvah. That last one pretty much takes the cake as far as surprises go. As I said, you really never quite know what you're getting into until you report for work.

Not all of the jobs have been a blast. The wedding and the bar mitzvah both involved a lot of running around, sit-down meal service for nearly 100 people, and plenty of cleaning up afterward late at night. There is nothing quite so unpleasant as polishing silverware at 1 a.m. on a Saturday night. On the other hand, the office building functions and the luncheon at the art school were incredibly easy. So easy that you can't really believe you're being paid quite well to do it.

That brings me to another great thing about Australia: really, truly fair wages for all. Minimum wage here starts somewhere around $12/hour. This is what you'd be paid at a fast food outlet or if you were doing general labour-type work. A French guy I met at the hostel is working in a downtown department store as a clerk, and he is being paid $14 or $15 per hour.

Now, let's talk about those hard-working waiters and waitresses for a minute. First of all, it must be said that people do not generally tip in Australia, unless perhaps they're in a fancy restaurant and the service is quite good.

In Canada, the lack of tips would be a terrifying prospect for any server as tips are the only way you can survive. I've worked for at least five restaurants in Canada, sometimes for as long as two years in one place, and never once was I paid more than minimum wage by an employer. Never once did I get a raise for being a good employee. It just isn't done.

By contrast, servers in Australia make about $18/hour. And their wage can often be as high as $20/hour, from what I can gather. All employees are automatically paid more for working on Saturdays or Sundays, meaning a Sunday wage can be as high as $26/hour (Saturdays is more like $22). I just have to say that this totally blows my mind. Can it be real??

Even after I went to university for six years (!) and earned two degrees, and moved to one of the most expensive cities in Canada (actually in the world, for that matter), and got a "real" job at a newspaper, I made slightly less than your average waiter in Sydney, Australia. Put that in your pipe and smoke it for a good long while.

I don't want you to think I'm bashing Canada. I'm just awfully fond of Australia at the moment.

Eternal sunshine on my mind

2007-03-29T15:24:00.000+10:00

Today, Australia, I am slightly disappointed in you.

Allow me to explain. I woke up this morning at 8 a.m. with every intention to plant my butt firmly on the beach before 10. It is often hard to tell what the weather is like from inside my room with the blinds drawn. I've found myself thinking it must be cloudy when in fact it's sunny and vice versa. Today it seemed cloudy from inside, which I thought was a good sign until I opened the door . . . and it really was cloudy in every direction.

Not one to lose hope easily, I ate breakfast, showered and read a book for awhile. It was still cloudy.

Time for Plan B: I grabbed my Sydney visitor guide and decided to see the Australian Museum, just a 15-minute walk from where I'm staying. I figured that if I did some hiding out deep inside a museum for a couple of hours that I would emerge back into a world of sunshine by lunch. And so here I sit in an Internet cafe at 3:35 p.m. and it still just as cloudy out there. It even rained around lunchtime, to add insult to injury.

You might think I'm making too big a deal out of the weather. It is just one day after all. It's not like there'll never be sunshine again. It just seems worse because all of yesterday was so incredibly bright and sunny . . . and I spent the whole day working inside. Each time I glanced out the window at the sunshine I comforted myself with the knowledge that I'd spend tomorrow on the beach. I even announced my intention to do so to several coworkers, several times over the course of the day.

My aversion toward rain and clouds runs deeper than just one day of beach-dreaming, of course. Having spent most of the last four years in Vancouver, Canada, rain and clouds were a big part of my life, particularly over the last two years when the weather has been even wetter than normal. And that is really saying something in Vancouver. It wasn't uncommon to face two-week periods of non-stop rain and cloud in winter. For that matter, it's not even that uncommon in spring or fall.

I now truly believe that every Vancouverite is entitled -- yes, entitled -- to a minimum of four weeks of solid sunshine for every year spent in the drizzle. The B.C. government should be mailing vouchers to every household advertising rock-bottom prices in Fort Lauderdale, Palm Springs, and Puerto Vallarta. Gordon Campbell should be handing out free sunlamps and Vitamin D to the common-folk. This would work miracles in improving the frame of mind and overall temperament of the average Vancouverite, which as it stands, is one of the frostiest, most reserved, and least enjoyable in all of Canada. (Sorry but it's true. Spend a week in sunny Saskatchewan and you'll soon agree.)

I spent a lot of my spare time in Vancouver wishing for sunshine and dreaming of sun-filled countries, like Australia, Mexico and the Bahamas. Perhaps foolishly, I thought that every day would be full of sun here in Sydney. Of course that isn't so (though I've heard that in other parts of the country it is nearly true).

On the bright side (pun intended), I got to see various stuffed marsupials at the Australian Museum, including kangaroos and wombats, and one hell of a gigantic saltwater crocodile, which by the way, is a creature you never, ever want to meet in the wild Down Under. It may be your last memory. Ever.

The museum also allowed me to memorize the sizes, shapes and colours of snakes and spiders that might seriously injure me if I should meet them on the forest floor. And did you know that there is something like 100 different types of cockroaches in Australia? I've already seen at least two or three in some of the hostels. Oh, and I saw a dead rat floating down in Woolloomooloo Bay last week while I was eating a hot dog. That was yummy.

OK, I have vented about the weather now and I feel better. I'm off to eat some watermelon. At least it will be a sunny summer day inside my mouth.

It's that time again!

2007-03-23T11:50:00.000+11:00

Time for a bunch of pictures to be put on this page. I'm just going to make this short on words and long on pictures today as it gets complicated to do lots of both. Blogger is a wonderful site but it still has a ways to go, I guess.

The pictures are mostly from the Blue Mountains. However, the first few are from Manly Beach, Coogee Beach (near Bondi), and a lunch I had with newfound friends from Portland, Oregon (and one guy from Spain).

I went to Coogee last week for a morning. Big waves! I thought I was going to be crushed. The waves do not come in this size at Regina Beach, or in Vancouver for that matter. Anyway, very cool and lots of fun.

Enjoy and wish you were here! (Really, I do.)

Blue, blue mountains

2007-03-22T17:56:00.000+11:00

Ahhh, all that fresh country air sure does a body good.

I spent the first part of this week on a little getaway to a part of Australia known as the Blue Mountains. Just two hours by train from Sydney, the area is actually made up of about a dozen small towns and a huge national park. The Blue Mountains are not, as the name would lead you to believe, actually a range of mountains. Instead they are a series of sandstone cliffs and tree-lined valleys. It's more like a lush Grand Canyon than the Rockies, just to give you an idea.

I took this picture while doing a big hike on Tuesday called the National Pass.

The hike took three hours and led me through valleys, alongside the cliffs and past 5 or 6 amazing waterfalls. Parts of the Blue Mountains, like the area around the town of Katoomba, are very touristy with cutesy signs and shops everywhere and busloads of Japanese tourists rumbling from site to site. It's nice but can be a bit much after awhile. By contrast, the trails around Wentworth Falls (where I hiked) were almost empty. I think I passed 10 people in 3 hours of hiking. It was fantastic.

Here's a snapshot of Wentworth Falls themselves:

The Aussies didn't call these hills blue for nothing either. As you can see, the hills do indeed have a bluish tinge to them from afar. Why? Because the main tree in the region is the eucalyptus and the oils that it releases somehow appear to be blue. When you get up close, mind you, the trees are as green as any other. Still, it's a nice visual effect. I was half expecting the air to smell of eucalyptus too. It didn't. And this, I have to say, was a trifle disappointing. Imagine entire valleys filled with a scent like fancy hotel spas? I think I would have never left such a place. So, perhaps it's for the best after all.

But back to Wentworth Falls for a moment.

Unlike neighbouring towns Katoomba and Leura, Wentworth Falls is hardly touristy at all. You would think that a town named after a spectacular natural attraction in the midst of a national park might be interested in helping curious newcomers in discovering the town or at least finding the trails/waterfalls. Such is not the case.

I took the train from Katoomba to Wentworth Falls around 10:30 a.m. on Tuesday. Within 10 minutes I had reached my destination. I didn't have much in the way of a map of the town, but since it is no bigger than Lumsden (for those of you in Sask.) or Gibsons in B.C., I really didn't think it would be a problem. You can see where this is going, can't you?

There was an itsy bitsy tourist map outside the train station. I had a gander at it and figured out the way to the falls. It seemed quite straightforward. Well, off I started walking.

I passed the first street on the left but it wasn't named Falls Street, as the map had led me to believe it would be. I kept walking, thinking that it would surely be the next one. You know how crappy these small town maps can be, right? About two blocks later I was still no closer to Falls Street and started to think I should turn back.

Just then a middle-aged couple came strolling down the hill toward me. Perfect! My chance to ask for a bit of direction. The only problem? The couple was from Germany, had obviously never been to Wentworth Falls before either, and didn't speak great English. They let me have a gander at their Blue Mountains guidebook. Again, the book told me to hang a left on Falls Street and continue straight on down. Can't miss it.

I backtracked a little bit and still did not see a Falls Street. I did find a Sinclair Crescent.

Perhaps that's what they meant. You know how crappy street naming/signage can be in small towns, right?

So down Sinclair Crescent I went, past a number of picture perfect bungalows and green, green lawns. Within 10 minutes I stumbled upon Wentworth Falls Lake. This must be a good sign, surely. Round the bend in the road I went. This was a crescent after all.

Ten or so minutes later, that lake was a distant memory and I began to wonder why there were no roads intersecting with Sinclair Crescent. There was nothing but bush on my right and a long, 8-foot-tall fence on my left. I could hear traffic. I could see cars rushing by. I could sense buildings and people nearby. I just could not get to them. This was the bloody longest crescent I had ever been on in my life!

Well, imagine my total shock when about 40 minutes later I found myself on the Great Western Highway, no longer in Wentworth Falls at all but back in Leura, which I had actually passed through on the train on the way to Wentworth Falls. There was no sidewalk anywhere in sight and no way in hell I was walking back down Sinclair Crescent to the station. So, I waited for a sufficient break in traffic and skedaddled across the road. There really wasn't that much traffic so it's not as dangerous as it sounds.

Down another long road toward Leura Town Centre I went. This, depressingly, was not nearly as short of a walk as I hoped. At least another 30 minutes passed when FINALLY I saw Leura train station and its main street up ahead. There was a visitor info centre next to the station where I promptly made an appearance. The kind woman behind the desk had not only maps of Leura and Wentworth Falls but a bus timetable (where she clearly underlined both my stop and destination) and hiking maps for the area. Loaded with information, I happily went to the bus stop and waited patiently.

At 12:50 p.m. I made it to the start of the trailhead and began my hike, a mere 140 minutes after I started in the first place.

Ahh, the value of a good map and a bit of advance planning. Lesson learned!

I start my job as a server tomorrow. They have given me shifts for Friday and Saturday night so far with the promise of more to come. It's a temp agency so I'll be working in hotels, theatres, bars, restaurants and cafes all over Sydney. More to say about all of that (including Australia's fantastic wages for servers -- I'm not being sarcastic about that) soon.

Ta-ta.

My two cents

2007-03-17T17:34:00.000+11:00

The Australians, I have to confess, could teach us Canadians a thing or two when it comes to money.

First of all, they have rather ingeniously made the choice to include the GST right into all prices that you see. Your BLT sandwich says $13 on the menu? Then $13 is what you'll pay.

Bananas at the grocery store going for $3/kilogram? Then $3 it is. No more, no less.

A night at the hostel comes to $26.50? Then all you have to do is hand over the cash.

It takes all that irritating guesswork out of the process that we're so familiar with in Canada. There is no need for mental calculations. No reason to stand in line and think, "$149 plus 6% GST, oh and 5% PST . . . should make it roughly . . . " and then be totally wrong when you get to the till anyway. Math was never my strongest subject in school so I greatly appreciate the help.

Taxes aren't the only area of Australian innovation. They have also done away with the penny! That's right, no jingling copper coins rolling around uselessly in your pocket or piling up in the piggy bank. This means that you'll never pay $1.99 for anything in stores. Let's just make that $2 instead. If your bill total comes to say, $16.22 for groceries, then you just round it down to an even $16.20.

It's nice and straightforward. Kind of like Australians themselves. And I like that.

On the other hand, there is one area of Australian coin-dom that I find a bit puzzling, and that's the sizes of the coins themselves.

To begin with, the 50 cent piece is gigantic. We're talking huge here. And it's got like 13 sides to it, like a crazy stop sign.

Next down the food chain is the 20 cent piece, about the size of a Canadian or American quarter. Nothing wrong with that.

The 10 cent piece is somewhere between the size of a dime and a quarter. Again, not a trouble. Lastly, the 5 cent piece is the smallest, more like the size of a penny back home.

Here's where things get confusing: the Australians also have $1 and $2 coins. For some reason, I can't quite figure out why, the $1 coin is larger than the $2 coin, which is almost exactly the same size as the 5 cent coin, except that it is gold instead of silver.

This has meant I've almost paid as much as $1.95 too much a couple of times recently when I mistook a $2 coin for a 5 center.

Well, at least they don't call their coins "loonies" and "toonies." I mean really. That's just lame.

On the Rocks

2007-03-12T22:20:00.000+11:00

Note: I am in an Internet cafe as I type this and I may get cut off at any moment. This could be short.

* * * * * *

I spent most of yesterday touring around a part of Sydney known as "The Rocks."

Funny name, you say? Well, they call it The Rocks because it is . . . rocky. How bizarre, no?

The Rocks is the site of the first permanent European settlement in Australia. It's where shiploads of convicts banished from England set up shop. It is from this area that Sydney grew and expanded. This is nothing short of remarkable if you stand on Sydney's Harbour Bridge and look at the sheer size and beauty of the city today (population 4 million). See picture below:

I find The Rocks very quaint and intriguing. It is as though you've stepped back in time 150 years to a small village. Heck, you could be in England for all the Victorian architecture, pubs, and fish 'n chips shops. It is only Sydney's palm trees (and remarkably sunny weather) that gives things away.

After climbing part way over the harbour bridge for photos, I set back about The Rocks for a stroll. This is when I noticed a fenced-off area that looked like an archeological dig. Lo and behold, it was an archeological dig. None other than the site of the very first European settlement, started in the 1790s. To my amazement, there were posters announcing a special day of tours on the site for the general public. And it was today!

I hurried over to the other side of the fence and managed to get a spot with a tour group that was just leaving. This was the first time in eight years that the site was open to the public.

While it was the hottest part of the day and a bit exhausting to stand out in the sun, the tour was possibly the most interesting 3o minutes I've had in Sydney. . . yet. There I was standing on the spot where modern Australia literally began. Remnants of the settlers' houses, water wells, and cobbled lanes were beneath our feet. Here's an example:

Most of the site was excavated years ago and something like 150,000 (?) artifacts were dug up. These can be seen in a nearby museum in The Rocks, a place I must check out another day.

* * * * *

On another note: I had the job interview today. It was such an easy interview. No tough questions, it was over quickly and the editor was fairly nice. She told me she'd prefer to hire someone who could work for her for longer than six months (not a surprise to me) but that she may have casual work/vacation relief in the coming months. It's like she read my mind!

Right now I'm trying to decide if I want to stay in Sydney much longer or head off to other parts. Sydney is so expensive that I really can't stay here for too much longer without working (maybe a couple of weeks).

There was a woman from a recruitment agency at my hostel when I got back from the interview. She asked me to send her a resume. She said they may have office/marketing work. I sent her an email tonight so let's see what comes. Could handle doing something for a couple of weeks before leaving Sydney.

I might take off this weekend to the Blue Mountains, a range close to Sydney that (supposedly) is full of great hiking, wildlife, waterfalls, etc. Sounds like a good time to me!

It's very early on Monday morning for those of you in North America (11 p.m. Monday night for me). Time for me to hit the bed and you to get up out of it. Have a super-duper week.

One more pic for fun (a beach towel I picked up the other day):

A nice surprise

2007-03-09T16:16:00.000+11:00

Had a bit of good news this afternoon when I checked my email:

I applied for a job with a local newspaper last week, just a few days after I got here (a medium sized weekly paper). I was flipping through the paper and saw that they were looking for a journalist. I thought what the hell, why not go ahead and apply. Really didn't think that I'd hear from them as I figured they were looking for a local, someone who knows the city better and probably has more than a working holiday visa.

Much to my surprise, the editor emailed my yesterday and wants me to come in for an interview!

I'm not even sure that I want the job as I plan to leave Sydney soon and travel to other parts of the country. But I called her back and set up an interview for Monday. Who knows if this will even go anywhere or maybe just lead to casual/part-time work. I could live with that!

Bondi beautiful

2007-03-07T11:20:00.000+11:00

This, my friends, is Bondi Beach.

Rather impressive, isn't it?

And it's just eight kilometres from downtown Sydney (a 30-minute bus ride).

I made it out to Bondi last Friday for my first taste of the South Pacific (it's just as salty as in Vancouver in case you were wondering).

As you can see, there are some huge waves on Bondi. This makes for a lot of fun jumping into the waves and having them crash over your head. The water is a bit colder than I expected but nothing you can't get used to in 30 seconds or so.

A lot of people also surf at Bondi. I think they offer group lessons so I might just have to take one. I think I'll go stay at Bondi for a week just so I can really work on my tan.

Of course, many people just want to soak up some sun on the beach. Can't really blame them, can ya?

Later on today I am off to Sydney's harbour to take an adventure tour. You get into bright red speedboats and they whisk you around the harbour to look at the sights, all while jumping over waves, making wild turns, and sudden stops. It costs about $45 but I can't resist. It just looks too fun.

Check it out: www.ozjetboating.com

That's all for today. Have a good one wherever you are!

From 0-100 km/h in a day or two

2007-03-06T11:47:00.000+11:00

My feet hurt.

Seriously.

This surprises me for several reasons.

i) I am relatively young
ii) I am in good shape
iii) I have not owned a car for four years and got used to walking everywhere when I lived in Vancouver, sometimes as much as 60 minutes per day and biking up to 20 km per day in summer.

Let's just say the last few days have been busy. On Saturday morning I woke up to a beautiful, sunny day and decided I had to go for a run.

The man at the hostel's front desk told me about a shortcut nearby to get to Sydney's Royal Botanic Gardens (kinda like Stanley Park) and the harbour. Just a couple of minutes down the street there is a long stone staircase (about 100 steps) that takes you from Potts Point, where I am staying, into neighbouring suburb Woolloomooloo. What a name, eh? Australia is full of quirky names but I'll save more on those for another day.

Woolloomooloo is one of Sydney's oldest area's and the architecture is great. To me, the houses are a cross between London (in style) and Tokyo (because they're crammed tight next to one another and have tiled roofs like you see in Japan).

So I had my run through the Royal Botanic Gardens and enjoyed a good workout, topped off by climbing back up that long staircase.

Next I decided it was time for a haircut so I went downtown to the one barbershop I had seen that I thought wouldn't charge me an arm and a leg for a cut. Surprise! They are closed on weekends. What a waste of time.

But since I was already very near Hyde Park I decided to pull up a piece of grass and wait for the night's Mardi Gras parade to begin.

Mardi Gras is what they call Sydney's gay pride parade. It is a huge event that draws all kinds of people. Tourists, locals, young, old, etc. By the time I got to the parade route at about 2:30 p.m. there were already several hundred people lining the streets and the parade didn't start until 7:30 p.m.!

So there I sat for a couple of hours, snacking, reading and chatting on my cellphone for a few minutes to my sister, who is currently teaching English in Korea.

Around 5 p.m. I started to wonder if I really had a good spot for parade viewing or if I shouldn't try wandering down the street to Taylor's Square to see if the views were better.

Big mistake! It was a total madhouse everywhere I went, especially at Taylor's Square. The street was barricaded and I could only cross at a couple of locations. As a result I spent more than an hour trying to get back to a decent spot AND had to walk at least 3-4 km through big crowds.

By the time I got to Taylor's Square the crowd was lined up 5 deep. I ended up standing on a railing about 50 feet from the street but the views were just so-so. I didn't even get to see Rupert Everett, the parade marshall. Damn. Oh well, at least I met a cool girl from New Zealand, a teacher from San Francisco and a university professor from Simon Fraser University in Vancouver who were all next to me.

So by 9 p.m. I had been on the go for about 12 hours and had walked/run at least 10 km. It was time to head back to the hostel to shower, change and then head to a big Mardi Gras party that was happening. This involved another 45 minutes of walking and probably 4-5 more kilometres.

I could NOT believe the amount of garbage on the streets as I walked to the party after the parade. There were piles of bottles, paper, food all over the place. The Australians do not seem to have any laws against drinking on the streets, meaning at least 50% of the garbage was beer bottles and cans (it was a strange experience asking a policeman for directions earlier in the day while holding a can of beer in my hand, by the way. Couldn't get away with that one in Canada). It's amazing that the city supports something that causes such a big mess, not to mention major disturbances to traffic for the entire day. But think of all the tourist dollars spent. Businesses must be very happy indeed at this time of year.

I made it to the Mardi Gras party at about 11 p.m. What a total blast! There were 17,000 people and seven different venues. The party went from 10 p.m. to 10 a.m. DJs from Australia and all over the world were on hand, including Boy George. My energy was fading but I did my best to pull through and have fun despite tired legs. I managed to meet a few people: one from Atlanta, one from Sydney and one from Fiji. That made the night more interesting as we all danced together. By 4 a.m. I was ready for bed but faced with the daunting prospect of walking 5 km back to the hostel. Dear God!

I bought a hot dog and sat down for about half an hour to gather some strength.

It was a long, slow walk home, spiced up by a few encounters with interesting people. I started chatting with a young Aussie guy on the way out of the party venue. He was a bit of an oddball. I said "Hi, how's it going?" and he said "I walk alone because I choose to."

OK then. I was prepared to just keep walking when he started telling me about what a crappy night he had, how much his life sucked, etc. All I could say was I was just happy to be wearing shorts and a tank top at 5 a.m. on March 4th and that there was 3 feet of snow on the ground where I grew up right now. That kind of shut him up for a moment.

Eventually we parted ways and I was getting closer to the hostel. As I passed a group of 4-5 people, a fight between two guys (friends, I think) spontaneously broke out, for no apparent reason. Here's how it went down:

Guy 1: "So you had a good night then?"
Guy 2: "Are you trying to start a fight?"
Guy 1: "What?"
Guy 2: "Stop trying to start f*ing fights!"
Guy 1: (stunned silence)
Guy 2: (swings a milk crate in the direction of Guy 1.)
"F*** off!!"
Girl: "Tom! Stop it. Tom! Come on. Tom! Don't fight.

Just when it was about to become a bloody mess, Guy 3 stepped in and told them to stop. I was only about 10 feet ahead of them and decided it was best just to keep walking, thinking the fight was settled.

About a minute later I hear screams and yelling 100 feet behind me and see Guy 1 chasing Guy 2 down the street, swinging the milk crate in the air. The girl just kept screaming "Tom!" over and over again. It was all kind of comical and ridiculous. I'll just assume no one got seriously injured.

Finally, at almost 6 a.m., I was just steps from the youth hostel. Three young guys (maybe from New Zealand) walked past me and said something I couldn't understand in a heavy accent.

Me: "What?"
Kiwi dude: "Where's the rub and tug at?"

I just laughed and shrugged my shoulders, and they simply carried on. Thank god. I really didn't think I could take another fight.

Pack of pics

2007-03-02T12:28:00.000+11:00

Today is officially photo day on my blog. Wheee!

I had to get up early today in order to check out of one hostel and into another across the street, so I don't feel like typing much. Besides, you're really here to see fabulous pics of gorgeous Sydney, right?

Above, the airplane that delivered me from Vancouver right through to Fiji. The pic was taken during refuelling in Honolulu at about midnight. At first I was a bit worried that the aircraft was only the size of a WestJet plane. Is that thing gonna make it? Then I remembered that Brad and Angelina must jet to and from Africa in far smaller private planes and they seem to be just fine.

I was totally delighted to find a sunken outdoor garden in Honolulu airport that anyone just bumming around can go outside and check out. It's a bit hard to see in the pic but there's palm trees a-swaying in the breeze.

As for Sydney, I'll just upload a mish-mash of pictures so you can get a sense of what the city looks like.

First off: my room at the hostel. Ain't it grand? I have no clue why there were two TVs. Only one of them worked.

A lovely fountain in the middle of Kings Cross. I wanted to dive right in.

First glimpses of the famous Opera House. I have always wanted to see this building since Blaire, Tootie, Natalie and the gang went to Australia on a special edition of The Facts of Life TV show back in the 80s. (You can stop laughing now).

Inside the Opera House. There is a lot more concrete than I expected and the decor is definitely modern/abstract from the 70s. The building is an engineering marvel and it's a miracle it was ever built. According to my tour guide, if the Opera House were built today it would cost more than $150 million.

View of Sydney's Central Business District from my room.

This is a very busy weekend in Sydney with the huge Mardi Gras parade happening on Saturday night not far from here. There will definitely be some pictures posted of that.

That's all for today folks!

Here goes nothing

2007-03-01T16:29:00.001+11:00

At long last, the moment you have been waiting for: my blog is officially up and running!

OK, so perhaps you haven't been waiting that long for this moment after all. But I sure have.

It's been a little over 48 hours since I got to Sydney, Australia, and more than four days since I left home. In some ways it feels like it's been weeks, such are the joys of jetlag. I feel like I've done so much since I got here. Every little outing is a wee bit of an adventure, from buying bread at the store (which damn coin is which?) to finding a payphone to call home (how do these things work?)

The first day was the hardest in terms of dealing with jet lag. By the time I got to Sydney it was 1 p.m. local time. That's 8 p.m. the previous day in Saskatchewan. I was ready for bed.

Instead, I was thrown into a tiny airport shuttle "bus" (it was actually a van) and driven into the city. The driver drove very quickly down the "wrong" side of the road and there was so much traffic. Around the time that he swung out behind a stopped bus and into the parking lane, cutting back into traffic just a few feet from the rear bumper of a truck, I decided it might be best to put a seatbelt on.

Ha! There were no seatbelts.

Just a few minutes later I was at my youth hostel in Kings Cross. The hostel is on an amazingly pretty sidestreet lined with trees, Victorian-style buildings, coffee shops, restaurants and, of course, about 8 other hostels. Checking in was a breeze and I felt once-again blessed to have gotten a private room for the first couple of nights. No snoring strangers to contend with. The room is out back and even offers views of Sydney's Central Business District (that's the "downtown" as we say in North America).

By 5 p.m. I felt dizzy with jetlag, dehydration and hunger. I tried a bit of food and juice but that only holds for a short while. By 6:30 I passed out on my bed, totally unable to stay awake any longer (remember that I started the day at an airport in Fiji at 5 a.m.) Three hours later I woke up, slightly refreshed. Not having a cellphone or Internet connection really does me over in terms of keeping track of time. I ventured outdoors after watching some TV for a bit longer. It was already midnight somehow!

I ambled down the streets of Kings Cross for awhile. There were some bars and clubs open as well as a surprisingly high number of strip clubs (this is historically Sydney's red light district after all. Thank you Lonely Planet for filling me in.) I bought a popsicle as the night air still felt warm on my Canadian skin. Lucky me, there was an Internet cafe open until 1 a.m.

By 1 a.m. I was more than ready to crawl back into bed. I popped a couple of melatonin pills and pray for a good night's sleep. Those pills really do work, in case you were wondering.

Eight hours later I woke to a bright and sunny day. As I poked my head out the door and looked down the street I saw schoolgirls in their funny (to me) uniforms hurrying down the street to get to class.

Yup, I am really in Oz now.

More to post soon. . . .