Monday, April 10, 2006
After a short hiatus, more from Oz
Hey kids, back from a short break from updating TLBR, been sorta busy and stuff.
Was at the Final Four (first one) and I had an unbelievable time - I don't think I'll ever miss another one.
Also had the chance to attend the Championship game of the WNIT and let me tell you, it was truly a career highlight. Manhattan, Kansas is a town I think I could really settle down and retire to. Just so much life there in Kansas. Man, I...I can't even keep that sarcasm going.
So without further ado, TLBR will interrupt its usual meanderings, malfeasance and nonsense, and return to several installments of the Oz Blog - the 2005 tome that got this whole thing started.
March 30
8:33 a.m. – What a delightful day to be working on a hangover! It’s not too bad, actually.
11:23 a.m. –Just finished The Great Staircase – 900 uneven, not fun steps down. Whose great idea was this? Very tired, my legs are rubber and literally shaking. I think I may have blown a meniscus or two. But hey, like Simon & Garfunkel are singing on the iPod, “I’ve got nothing to do today but smile.” Ah… Carry on.
12:52 p.m. – Done…and done. Phew! What a ramble. Jeez, I’m wrecked. The Blue Mountains National Park is just an amazing natural preserve.
6:45 p.m. – Wrapping up today…lots of walking, climbing, and sweating. The Blue Mountains are amazing, though. Simply amazing. One of the finest nature-sorta thing I’ve ever seen or experienced.
After starting by the Three Sisters and down the 900 steps of the Grand Staircase, the total walk was terrific. Lots of wonderful sights, sounds, and smells. Katoomba might seem like it’s no more than a day or day-and-a-half kind of place, but I like it a lot. Why traverse back to Sydney where it’s more expensive, you have to find a new place, etc etc etc? Just hang here, goof around, go for walks and get lost and then figure out how to ge home, etc. It’s also a safe and clean spot. Off to Brisbane on Friday, which should be nice…I think.
7:49 p.m. – I flew 12,000 miles to watch American Idol? Crap-tastic.
8:50 p.m. – Still watching the Idol. Dunno why, but I just thought of Sydney and I now have this goofy grin on my face. Uh-oh.
March 31
8:28 a.m. – No hangover this morning, so I got out to a nice early start on things. Did the scenic railway at Scenic World, which was nothing special other than the fact it goes down the hill at a 52 degree angle. Wah-hoo.
I’m doing a hike on the other side of the Blue Mountains National Park. It’s nothing terribly exciting and a bit treacherous, so I may reconsider the route. But I just did something pretty cool. I found a comfortable rock, shut the iPod off, and listened to the sounds. Are those birds? No, they’re bats.
Fuck bats. I hate bats. I’m outta here.
10:11 a.m. – I’m also done with Scenic World, but the official victory song of the World Champion Boston Red Sox baseball club just came on the iPod, bringing a big smile to my face. I hadn’t really thought about the Sox, but Monday is the season opener and I need to find a spot to watch them.
10:35 a.m. – Correction on the bat-thing earlier. They weren’t bats, they were cockatoos. But still, fuck bats.
11:07 a.m. – Just got the feeling that even though I return to the US of A and the wonderful state of New York in just over two weeks time, nothing will be the same. Sure, the same shit that drives/drove me to my wits end will remain, but the memories of Melbourne, Sydney, and the Blue Mountains will last forever. I dunno. But let’s see how long it’ll take me to get pissed off.
1:35 p.m. – Walking back from the Leura Cascades and saw the first black person of the trip. The first one. I’m not kidding.
2:10 p.m. – Back at the same place I ate at one day one in the Blue Mountains. The Chinese guys that could neither understand me nor speak English well enough for me to comprehend them were still working behind the counter. That made the transaction for lunch difficult. But I went with the cheeseburger deluxe.
I love burgers. And I’m getting excited about my first non-American foray into the consummate American foodstuff. I also got my semi-narcotic Diet Coke fix.
2:21 p.m. – That was easily one of the ten best burgers I have ever consumed. And that’s not an easy list to crack. Well done, boys.
7:48 p.m. – Wiped out from all the walking I’ve done the past two days, I’ve taken no less than three naps so far today. After the 10 kilometers of walking, I passed out in my bed. And in front of the nice roaring fire in the living room at the Fox, I knocked out, ever-so-briefly, twice. I guess I’m getting old.
Might go for a pint or two with Stu and Tracy and then off to Brisbane for a quick stop before Airlie Beach. But the way things have been going, I figure to be asleep by 9 p.m.
April 1
7:47 a.m. Early to bed, early to rise…I just needed my rest. Onto Brisbane today. Coming to Katoomba was a terrific change of pace. Melbourne was a nice, moderate to larger sized city to catch my breath and get my bearings. Sydney was huge. Up here – the first stretch that I was solo since I got here – did me a lot of good. Some fresh mountain air; the scenery; good, long, and challenging walks, hostelling and new people. Three different spots, three different disciplines, three different accommodations. That’s what I was looking for.
The trip is still exciting by the minute, although the laid-back attitude was a nice chance to stop the whirlwind and settle in a bit. I’ve also got to thinking about home a little more. Not in a bad or unhealthy way – and certainly not in the way I promised myself. Dunno about Brisbane yet, but I’m not there long enough to be concerned with it. Get there today, go to the zoo all day tomorrow, get outta there and head to the beach. Oh yeah, and the World Champs are playing.
This is the heart of the trip. Eight days down, 13 to go. It’s been great – beyond even my wildest expectations – let’s see what the next five days bring. I think my head is back in order; I could go home tomorrow and be good.
It’s been amazing meeting all the different, young travelers. Stu and Tracy, for instance, have seen more of the world and, by the end of their 11-month trip, will have seen more than most Americans will read about in their lives. It’s remarkable and as much as I’ve seen, proportionately, in my travels and for work…it doesn’t even scratch the surface of what they have seen.
It’s too bad most Americans don’t – and can’t – travel as much. Youth is definitely wasted on the young. It’s also the root of many of our problems. Heck, people at work were aghast that I would just leave and go away for three straight weeks. That is nothing to the travelers I’ve encountered…it’s a short port of call. When these guys get back to their homes, they will have become worthy members of society and the world. They’ll have perspective – something many of my countrymen lack. Ok, enough soap box. I have a window, a hell of a view, and quite some time before Sydney Central.
8:45 a.m. – You know one word I have yet to see out here? “Express.” Nothing is fast for fast’s sake and I do not mean that in a pejorative way. The trains plod along, the people move along. There isn’t any sense of breakneck rush. Things get done. It’s what I crave.
11:36 a.m. – Watching Seinfeld in the Blue Room at Sydney airport, waiting for my Virgin Blue flight to Brisbane. It is my first foray into the mysterious and sordid world of airline lounges and special rooms. I’m impressed. It’s relaxing, comfortable, a clean loo, and I’m watching television.
It is great, actually. And Seinfeld is pretty funny. I’ve realized a bunch of stuff on this trip, but none more obscure than my newfound appreciation for this show. Never much of a fan when it was on, but love Larry David and “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” so I’m warming up to this.
12:38 p.m. – Richard Branson has it right. Virgin Blue flight attendants are hot. God bless you, Richard Branson. God bless you.
12:51 p.m. – I’ve got a kicking, screaming, annoying little kid behind me. But I have an iPod. God bless you, Steve Jobs. God bless you.
12:56 p.m. – The iPod isn’t drowning the kid behind me out completely and it’s doing nothing for the kicking of my seat. The kid keeps saying “a duck!” And “a bus!” Making matters worse are the kid’s parents, who are quacking and further encouraging the little shit to keep with the “a duck!” thing. It’s the closest I’ve been in eight days to getting pissed. A duck! A duck!
1:14 p.m. – Not to be the Audubon Society, but it’s not “a duck!” It’s “a seagull!” Not duck…seagull. Get it right.
2:05 p.m. – Selina the flight attendant is bizarro Morgan Young. It’s been a thoroughly unenjoyable flight, as the duck kid is still quacking and kicking.
5:51 p.m. – Been in Brisbane for three whole hours. And those three hours have been the three most tedious, nerve-wracking, and painful of the trip.
The airport was fine, it was a major airport and all, but not like Melbourne or Sydney. Took the AirTrain to Brisbane CBD, which was clean and quick, and got off at the stop prescribed by the print-out from the hostel.
Once out of the train, I walk up the stairs into the station, which is a sort-of mall/food court thing. The alarm bells should have sounded when the highest-end store was a McDonald’s. And then I got to the street.
A few seedy strip clubs. In the middle of Chinatown. A St. Vincent de Paul’s thrift store next door. Can you hear the alarm bells-a-ringing?
The printout said the hostel was three blocks from here, so the only logical thing to do was ask someone directions. But who? The drunks and winos outside? The folks who looked like they just shot up? A Chinese woman who looked like she may not have the best grasp on the English language? I headed toward the St. Vincent de Paul’s. They help people, maybe they can help me.
Nope. Not good. Weird. Strange. Icky. Gross. Perverse. I was met by a man – not that his long blonde hair, dress, earrings, and nametag that read “Erica” would lead me to believe that on any sane or normal planet that he was an Erica. I’ve met Erica’s. I even made out with an Erica once. This, Senator, was no fucking Erica.
It was April Fool’s Day, so maybe the ha-ha joke was on me, but for crying out loud… The first time I ask for help and directions in Melbourne, I thought the guy was gonna slip me 20 bucks for the trouble. This guy looked like his previous employment before St. Vincent de Paul’s was the ferris wheel operator - or maybe the petting zoo - at the Neverland Ranch.
He (Erica) had no idea where the hostel was, which was both a good thing and a bad thing. Bad news in that I had two heavy backpacks weighing me down, getting heavier by the minute. But good news in the sense that once I got to my hostel, I probably would not see much of Erica ever, ever again.
He (Erica) asked his co-worker, who looked like the spawn between Iggy Pop and Siouxsie Sioux, and she was as much help as a hammer in a gun fight. I venture on. Queensland so far? Grade: F. Brisbane? F.
I find the place and they have my reservation wrong and then charge me an extra five bucks. Bunk, the hostel? F.
I get to the room with Sammy from Finland. Seems nice enough. I didn’t really want company, I just wanted to go for a stroll and get something to eat, but Sammy invited himself along for the walk. I can’t really kill the guy on day one, especially if I don’t want my shit stolen. So me and my Finnish shadow head to Brisbane proper.
So to recap: Melbourne was quite like Boston. Sydney was similar to NYC. Katoomba was similar to Burlington. And Brisbane? Well, with apologies to capital of Connecticut, Brisbane had all the qualities of, well, Hartford.
There is a city here, and you know this because there are buildings and streets and people – some in business suits – walking around. There are stores like Foot Locker and restaurants, including a McDonald’s and a Subway.
The good thing about Hartford, though, is that two hours away, you’re near Boston and/or New York. I’m thinking the only thing that is two hours away from Brisbane is a place that mercifully puts you two hours outside of Brisbane.
So I roll back to Bunk and head straight to the bar. Yeah, there’s a bar here. And in keeping with the Nutmeg State theme, it looked like a place that crossed Hartford with Cancun. Ought to be high comedy later on.
7:11 p.m. – Entered a bar competition, won, and was given the valuable prize of a pitcher of beer. Yay! This place bites.
7:23 p.m. – Drink till I sleep, go to the zoo tomorrow, then bolt for the beach.
7:41 p.m. – They’re playing this god-awful remake of “Hungry Eyes,” by Eric Carmen. If Eric is dead, he is probably rolling over in his grave. If he is alive, this may well be his downfall.
April 2
7:42 a.m. – This morning began early – at 6:15 a.m. That’s not terribly unusual, considering the fact I was asleep by 9:30 p.m. the night before. Brisbane’s finest – the unsavories – greeted me at the Brunswick Street train station once again. This place can’t get in my rear view mirror quick enough.
9:15 a.m. – Bizarro Jeff Spicoli from “Fast Times at Ridgemont High.”
10:45 a.m. – Pretty routine day so far: fed a bunch of kangaroos, fed a few apples to a giant African elephant, pet a few koalas, and even hung with a croc. Pretty run-of-the-mill stuff. I’m also going to watch the Croc Hunter, except not on the Discovery Channel. Nope, that crazy m-f is gonna be 10 feet in front of me at the crocatorium.
3:34 p.m. – On the train back from the Australia Zoo – unreal. I think I’m partially responsible for at least 25% of the kangaroo shit produced tomorrow. I spent about an hour feeding my favorite marsupials and it was so much fun. At one point, when this little Chinese kid pulled its tail, the roo looked a little disturbed…but for the most part, they were very calm.
The Croc Hunter is a crazy m-f. There’s nothing sane or logical about jumping around with a hungry, 17-foot saltwater crocodile. It is entertaining, though. At one point during the show, when the croc was mashing a possum around, Steve fell in the water. You’ve never seen people jump to action faster. If was like if President Bush was giving a speech and someone yelled “gun!” Steve was a bit thrown off by the whole thing and Teri had to take over for a bit, telling corny jokes until he caught his breath.
Well, one hour on the train back to bangin’ Brisbane. I have an early enough flight tomorrow, so I think I might just get out, get to the Blue Room, and check out some more Seinfeld re-runs.
6:25 p.m. – For a dead town like Brisbane, the restaurants sure are a bit pricey.
9:16 p.m. - Gotta love this one girl in the bar. She’s very pretty, bleached blonde hair to her shoulders, blue eyes, short skirt, and a t-shirt that reads “Sweden.” Nooooo, I was gonna guess Kenya. Zambia, even.
9:32 p.m. – Still haven’t grasped the Australian fashion, although I tend to forget that I am probably close to a decade older than these blokes.
But even when I was a younger clubgoer, I never really gave shit about getting primped and foofed up like these guys. At 3 a.m., if the determining factor as to whether or not you close the deal is the amount of gel in your hair or the graffiti on your tee-shirt, then your game is weak.
9:47 p.m. – I’m fascinated by the “woo-woo” girl. I call her such because everytime she and her friends do a shot, which has been every 45 seconds or so, she yelps “woo-woo!” Lame. But, considering the locale, lame is a pretty good attribute.
And by the way, do techno songs have subliminal messages in them like, “dance like a bell-end” or “act like an idiot?”
April 3
9:08 a.m. – Blue Room again. Seinfeld again. Diet Coke again. I am a creature of habit. But that’s OK. I could also use a nap.
9:53 a.m. – Memo to self – buy Seinfeld boxset. Or at least borrow it from Danny.
10:26 a.m. – Does God hate me? On this particular Virgin Blue flight, instead of a small child behind me, kicking and screaming, I have one next to me. Another bizarro - Lauren Simeson on the flight to Proserpine.
10:33 a.m. – Oh glorious glory. Fan-tas-tic-o… Twelve kids just got paraded onto the plane and they’re occupying the three rows directly behind me. A duck! A duck! Fuck.
11:32 a.m. – Here’s the Brisbane wrap-up, in three words: it fucking blew. Maybe I didn’t give it the proper time to, nah, screw that…I gave it plenty of time. There just wasn’t much there there. I bet Brisbane has some redeeming qualities, but I just didn’t see them.
The Australia Zoo kicked ass. All the interaction with the animals, plus seeing the Croc Hunter in action, was well worth it all.
But other than that, Brisbane was merely day four of the solo swing. I’m suffering the ill effects of me-being-overtired syndrome. There’s an easy cure for that.
11:49 a.m. – An orchestra of screaming, yelling, crying, howling, and totally unsupervised children is drowning out my iPod right now. It is the sound of chaos. So much for damned budget travel.
Memo to self – if you’d like to retire on that beach at age 35, invent a useful and humane muzzle for little kids. Call it SpongeBob STFU or something. One little girl just screamed and I think it may have cracked the crystal in the plane’s altimeter, thus affecting the navigational systems more than the illegal use of my portable electronic device.
11:54 a.m. – This airport, if you must call it such, is a singular strip of asphalt in the middle of nowhere.
Oh for fuck’s sake, open the pod bay door, Hal, and throw the screaming kid outside. (I just got pissed. Damn.)
12:34 p.m. – Proserpine was a one-room airport, just about the size of my office back at Iona. It was mostly an outside airport, like one you’d see in the movies or in Haiti. And the baggage claim? They just drive the tractor up and you fetch it yourself. But, in keeping with the good luck I’ve had fetching my stuff, my bag was last. Ah, it’s the consistency I’m after.
Dying for a Final Four result. Whitsundays seem very nice.
12:44 p.m. – Steve the bus driver is quite entertaining, giving us the rundown all about Proserpine and the Whitsundays. This is what the Cape and South County must have been like way, way back.
4:45 p.m. – Holy shit, this place is unreal. The beach is gorgeous, not necessarily ready-to-swim in thanks to the box jellyfish, but the view! The sun is also very strong, and the hostel is actually a nice setup. If I play it right, I could look like Ricky Soliver in a day and a half.
The bar across the way has ESPN and beer, so life is very, very good. Got to watch the second half of the UNC/Michigan State game. Fuck UNC and Roy Williams. But good on the Whitsundays. And Shorty the barkeep.
4:58 p.m. – Addicted to text messaging. Add that to the list.
7:06 p.m. – It’s amazing…when you don’t have TV, you watch whatever is on. I’m watching “The Santa Clause” with Tim Allen and Judge Reinhold. What an absolutely terrible movie.
Will jump ahead another few days tomorrow.
Thanks for stopping by. To the next step...
One.
Was at the Final Four (first one) and I had an unbelievable time - I don't think I'll ever miss another one.
Also had the chance to attend the Championship game of the WNIT and let me tell you, it was truly a career highlight. Manhattan, Kansas is a town I think I could really settle down and retire to. Just so much life there in Kansas. Man, I...I can't even keep that sarcasm going.
So without further ado, TLBR will interrupt its usual meanderings, malfeasance and nonsense, and return to several installments of the Oz Blog - the 2005 tome that got this whole thing started.
March 30
8:33 a.m. – What a delightful day to be working on a hangover! It’s not too bad, actually.
11:23 a.m. –Just finished The Great Staircase – 900 uneven, not fun steps down. Whose great idea was this? Very tired, my legs are rubber and literally shaking. I think I may have blown a meniscus or two. But hey, like Simon & Garfunkel are singing on the iPod, “I’ve got nothing to do today but smile.” Ah… Carry on.
12:52 p.m. – Done…and done. Phew! What a ramble. Jeez, I’m wrecked. The Blue Mountains National Park is just an amazing natural preserve.
6:45 p.m. – Wrapping up today…lots of walking, climbing, and sweating. The Blue Mountains are amazing, though. Simply amazing. One of the finest nature-sorta thing I’ve ever seen or experienced.
After starting by the Three Sisters and down the 900 steps of the Grand Staircase, the total walk was terrific. Lots of wonderful sights, sounds, and smells. Katoomba might seem like it’s no more than a day or day-and-a-half kind of place, but I like it a lot. Why traverse back to Sydney where it’s more expensive, you have to find a new place, etc etc etc? Just hang here, goof around, go for walks and get lost and then figure out how to ge home, etc. It’s also a safe and clean spot. Off to Brisbane on Friday, which should be nice…I think.
7:49 p.m. – I flew 12,000 miles to watch American Idol? Crap-tastic.
8:50 p.m. – Still watching the Idol. Dunno why, but I just thought of Sydney and I now have this goofy grin on my face. Uh-oh.
March 31
8:28 a.m. – No hangover this morning, so I got out to a nice early start on things. Did the scenic railway at Scenic World, which was nothing special other than the fact it goes down the hill at a 52 degree angle. Wah-hoo.
I’m doing a hike on the other side of the Blue Mountains National Park. It’s nothing terribly exciting and a bit treacherous, so I may reconsider the route. But I just did something pretty cool. I found a comfortable rock, shut the iPod off, and listened to the sounds. Are those birds? No, they’re bats.
Fuck bats. I hate bats. I’m outta here.
10:11 a.m. – I’m also done with Scenic World, but the official victory song of the World Champion Boston Red Sox baseball club just came on the iPod, bringing a big smile to my face. I hadn’t really thought about the Sox, but Monday is the season opener and I need to find a spot to watch them.
10:35 a.m. – Correction on the bat-thing earlier. They weren’t bats, they were cockatoos. But still, fuck bats.
11:07 a.m. – Just got the feeling that even though I return to the US of A and the wonderful state of New York in just over two weeks time, nothing will be the same. Sure, the same shit that drives/drove me to my wits end will remain, but the memories of Melbourne, Sydney, and the Blue Mountains will last forever. I dunno. But let’s see how long it’ll take me to get pissed off.
1:35 p.m. – Walking back from the Leura Cascades and saw the first black person of the trip. The first one. I’m not kidding.
2:10 p.m. – Back at the same place I ate at one day one in the Blue Mountains. The Chinese guys that could neither understand me nor speak English well enough for me to comprehend them were still working behind the counter. That made the transaction for lunch difficult. But I went with the cheeseburger deluxe.
I love burgers. And I’m getting excited about my first non-American foray into the consummate American foodstuff. I also got my semi-narcotic Diet Coke fix.
2:21 p.m. – That was easily one of the ten best burgers I have ever consumed. And that’s not an easy list to crack. Well done, boys.
7:48 p.m. – Wiped out from all the walking I’ve done the past two days, I’ve taken no less than three naps so far today. After the 10 kilometers of walking, I passed out in my bed. And in front of the nice roaring fire in the living room at the Fox, I knocked out, ever-so-briefly, twice. I guess I’m getting old.
Might go for a pint or two with Stu and Tracy and then off to Brisbane for a quick stop before Airlie Beach. But the way things have been going, I figure to be asleep by 9 p.m.
April 1
7:47 a.m. Early to bed, early to rise…I just needed my rest. Onto Brisbane today. Coming to Katoomba was a terrific change of pace. Melbourne was a nice, moderate to larger sized city to catch my breath and get my bearings. Sydney was huge. Up here – the first stretch that I was solo since I got here – did me a lot of good. Some fresh mountain air; the scenery; good, long, and challenging walks, hostelling and new people. Three different spots, three different disciplines, three different accommodations. That’s what I was looking for.
The trip is still exciting by the minute, although the laid-back attitude was a nice chance to stop the whirlwind and settle in a bit. I’ve also got to thinking about home a little more. Not in a bad or unhealthy way – and certainly not in the way I promised myself. Dunno about Brisbane yet, but I’m not there long enough to be concerned with it. Get there today, go to the zoo all day tomorrow, get outta there and head to the beach. Oh yeah, and the World Champs are playing.
This is the heart of the trip. Eight days down, 13 to go. It’s been great – beyond even my wildest expectations – let’s see what the next five days bring. I think my head is back in order; I could go home tomorrow and be good.
It’s been amazing meeting all the different, young travelers. Stu and Tracy, for instance, have seen more of the world and, by the end of their 11-month trip, will have seen more than most Americans will read about in their lives. It’s remarkable and as much as I’ve seen, proportionately, in my travels and for work…it doesn’t even scratch the surface of what they have seen.
It’s too bad most Americans don’t – and can’t – travel as much. Youth is definitely wasted on the young. It’s also the root of many of our problems. Heck, people at work were aghast that I would just leave and go away for three straight weeks. That is nothing to the travelers I’ve encountered…it’s a short port of call. When these guys get back to their homes, they will have become worthy members of society and the world. They’ll have perspective – something many of my countrymen lack. Ok, enough soap box. I have a window, a hell of a view, and quite some time before Sydney Central.
8:45 a.m. – You know one word I have yet to see out here? “Express.” Nothing is fast for fast’s sake and I do not mean that in a pejorative way. The trains plod along, the people move along. There isn’t any sense of breakneck rush. Things get done. It’s what I crave.
11:36 a.m. – Watching Seinfeld in the Blue Room at Sydney airport, waiting for my Virgin Blue flight to Brisbane. It is my first foray into the mysterious and sordid world of airline lounges and special rooms. I’m impressed. It’s relaxing, comfortable, a clean loo, and I’m watching television.
It is great, actually. And Seinfeld is pretty funny. I’ve realized a bunch of stuff on this trip, but none more obscure than my newfound appreciation for this show. Never much of a fan when it was on, but love Larry David and “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” so I’m warming up to this.
12:38 p.m. – Richard Branson has it right. Virgin Blue flight attendants are hot. God bless you, Richard Branson. God bless you.
12:51 p.m. – I’ve got a kicking, screaming, annoying little kid behind me. But I have an iPod. God bless you, Steve Jobs. God bless you.
12:56 p.m. – The iPod isn’t drowning the kid behind me out completely and it’s doing nothing for the kicking of my seat. The kid keeps saying “a duck!” And “a bus!” Making matters worse are the kid’s parents, who are quacking and further encouraging the little shit to keep with the “a duck!” thing. It’s the closest I’ve been in eight days to getting pissed. A duck! A duck!
1:14 p.m. – Not to be the Audubon Society, but it’s not “a duck!” It’s “a seagull!” Not duck…seagull. Get it right.
2:05 p.m. – Selina the flight attendant is bizarro Morgan Young. It’s been a thoroughly unenjoyable flight, as the duck kid is still quacking and kicking.
5:51 p.m. – Been in Brisbane for three whole hours. And those three hours have been the three most tedious, nerve-wracking, and painful of the trip.
The airport was fine, it was a major airport and all, but not like Melbourne or Sydney. Took the AirTrain to Brisbane CBD, which was clean and quick, and got off at the stop prescribed by the print-out from the hostel.
Once out of the train, I walk up the stairs into the station, which is a sort-of mall/food court thing. The alarm bells should have sounded when the highest-end store was a McDonald’s. And then I got to the street.
A few seedy strip clubs. In the middle of Chinatown. A St. Vincent de Paul’s thrift store next door. Can you hear the alarm bells-a-ringing?
The printout said the hostel was three blocks from here, so the only logical thing to do was ask someone directions. But who? The drunks and winos outside? The folks who looked like they just shot up? A Chinese woman who looked like she may not have the best grasp on the English language? I headed toward the St. Vincent de Paul’s. They help people, maybe they can help me.
Nope. Not good. Weird. Strange. Icky. Gross. Perverse. I was met by a man – not that his long blonde hair, dress, earrings, and nametag that read “Erica” would lead me to believe that on any sane or normal planet that he was an Erica. I’ve met Erica’s. I even made out with an Erica once. This, Senator, was no fucking Erica.
It was April Fool’s Day, so maybe the ha-ha joke was on me, but for crying out loud… The first time I ask for help and directions in Melbourne, I thought the guy was gonna slip me 20 bucks for the trouble. This guy looked like his previous employment before St. Vincent de Paul’s was the ferris wheel operator - or maybe the petting zoo - at the Neverland Ranch.
He (Erica) had no idea where the hostel was, which was both a good thing and a bad thing. Bad news in that I had two heavy backpacks weighing me down, getting heavier by the minute. But good news in the sense that once I got to my hostel, I probably would not see much of Erica ever, ever again.
He (Erica) asked his co-worker, who looked like the spawn between Iggy Pop and Siouxsie Sioux, and she was as much help as a hammer in a gun fight. I venture on. Queensland so far? Grade: F. Brisbane? F.
I find the place and they have my reservation wrong and then charge me an extra five bucks. Bunk, the hostel? F.
I get to the room with Sammy from Finland. Seems nice enough. I didn’t really want company, I just wanted to go for a stroll and get something to eat, but Sammy invited himself along for the walk. I can’t really kill the guy on day one, especially if I don’t want my shit stolen. So me and my Finnish shadow head to Brisbane proper.
So to recap: Melbourne was quite like Boston. Sydney was similar to NYC. Katoomba was similar to Burlington. And Brisbane? Well, with apologies to capital of Connecticut, Brisbane had all the qualities of, well, Hartford.
There is a city here, and you know this because there are buildings and streets and people – some in business suits – walking around. There are stores like Foot Locker and restaurants, including a McDonald’s and a Subway.
The good thing about Hartford, though, is that two hours away, you’re near Boston and/or New York. I’m thinking the only thing that is two hours away from Brisbane is a place that mercifully puts you two hours outside of Brisbane.
So I roll back to Bunk and head straight to the bar. Yeah, there’s a bar here. And in keeping with the Nutmeg State theme, it looked like a place that crossed Hartford with Cancun. Ought to be high comedy later on.
7:11 p.m. – Entered a bar competition, won, and was given the valuable prize of a pitcher of beer. Yay! This place bites.
7:23 p.m. – Drink till I sleep, go to the zoo tomorrow, then bolt for the beach.
7:41 p.m. – They’re playing this god-awful remake of “Hungry Eyes,” by Eric Carmen. If Eric is dead, he is probably rolling over in his grave. If he is alive, this may well be his downfall.
April 2
7:42 a.m. – This morning began early – at 6:15 a.m. That’s not terribly unusual, considering the fact I was asleep by 9:30 p.m. the night before. Brisbane’s finest – the unsavories – greeted me at the Brunswick Street train station once again. This place can’t get in my rear view mirror quick enough.
9:15 a.m. – Bizarro Jeff Spicoli from “Fast Times at Ridgemont High.”
10:45 a.m. – Pretty routine day so far: fed a bunch of kangaroos, fed a few apples to a giant African elephant, pet a few koalas, and even hung with a croc. Pretty run-of-the-mill stuff. I’m also going to watch the Croc Hunter, except not on the Discovery Channel. Nope, that crazy m-f is gonna be 10 feet in front of me at the crocatorium.
3:34 p.m. – On the train back from the Australia Zoo – unreal. I think I’m partially responsible for at least 25% of the kangaroo shit produced tomorrow. I spent about an hour feeding my favorite marsupials and it was so much fun. At one point, when this little Chinese kid pulled its tail, the roo looked a little disturbed…but for the most part, they were very calm.
The Croc Hunter is a crazy m-f. There’s nothing sane or logical about jumping around with a hungry, 17-foot saltwater crocodile. It is entertaining, though. At one point during the show, when the croc was mashing a possum around, Steve fell in the water. You’ve never seen people jump to action faster. If was like if President Bush was giving a speech and someone yelled “gun!” Steve was a bit thrown off by the whole thing and Teri had to take over for a bit, telling corny jokes until he caught his breath.
Well, one hour on the train back to bangin’ Brisbane. I have an early enough flight tomorrow, so I think I might just get out, get to the Blue Room, and check out some more Seinfeld re-runs.
6:25 p.m. – For a dead town like Brisbane, the restaurants sure are a bit pricey.
9:16 p.m. - Gotta love this one girl in the bar. She’s very pretty, bleached blonde hair to her shoulders, blue eyes, short skirt, and a t-shirt that reads “Sweden.” Nooooo, I was gonna guess Kenya. Zambia, even.
9:32 p.m. – Still haven’t grasped the Australian fashion, although I tend to forget that I am probably close to a decade older than these blokes.
But even when I was a younger clubgoer, I never really gave shit about getting primped and foofed up like these guys. At 3 a.m., if the determining factor as to whether or not you close the deal is the amount of gel in your hair or the graffiti on your tee-shirt, then your game is weak.
9:47 p.m. – I’m fascinated by the “woo-woo” girl. I call her such because everytime she and her friends do a shot, which has been every 45 seconds or so, she yelps “woo-woo!” Lame. But, considering the locale, lame is a pretty good attribute.
And by the way, do techno songs have subliminal messages in them like, “dance like a bell-end” or “act like an idiot?”
April 3
9:08 a.m. – Blue Room again. Seinfeld again. Diet Coke again. I am a creature of habit. But that’s OK. I could also use a nap.
9:53 a.m. – Memo to self – buy Seinfeld boxset. Or at least borrow it from Danny.
10:26 a.m. – Does God hate me? On this particular Virgin Blue flight, instead of a small child behind me, kicking and screaming, I have one next to me. Another bizarro - Lauren Simeson on the flight to Proserpine.
10:33 a.m. – Oh glorious glory. Fan-tas-tic-o… Twelve kids just got paraded onto the plane and they’re occupying the three rows directly behind me. A duck! A duck! Fuck.
11:32 a.m. – Here’s the Brisbane wrap-up, in three words: it fucking blew. Maybe I didn’t give it the proper time to, nah, screw that…I gave it plenty of time. There just wasn’t much there there. I bet Brisbane has some redeeming qualities, but I just didn’t see them.
The Australia Zoo kicked ass. All the interaction with the animals, plus seeing the Croc Hunter in action, was well worth it all.
But other than that, Brisbane was merely day four of the solo swing. I’m suffering the ill effects of me-being-overtired syndrome. There’s an easy cure for that.
11:49 a.m. – An orchestra of screaming, yelling, crying, howling, and totally unsupervised children is drowning out my iPod right now. It is the sound of chaos. So much for damned budget travel.
Memo to self – if you’d like to retire on that beach at age 35, invent a useful and humane muzzle for little kids. Call it SpongeBob STFU or something. One little girl just screamed and I think it may have cracked the crystal in the plane’s altimeter, thus affecting the navigational systems more than the illegal use of my portable electronic device.
11:54 a.m. – This airport, if you must call it such, is a singular strip of asphalt in the middle of nowhere.
Oh for fuck’s sake, open the pod bay door, Hal, and throw the screaming kid outside. (I just got pissed. Damn.)
12:34 p.m. – Proserpine was a one-room airport, just about the size of my office back at Iona. It was mostly an outside airport, like one you’d see in the movies or in Haiti. And the baggage claim? They just drive the tractor up and you fetch it yourself. But, in keeping with the good luck I’ve had fetching my stuff, my bag was last. Ah, it’s the consistency I’m after.
Dying for a Final Four result. Whitsundays seem very nice.
12:44 p.m. – Steve the bus driver is quite entertaining, giving us the rundown all about Proserpine and the Whitsundays. This is what the Cape and South County must have been like way, way back.
4:45 p.m. – Holy shit, this place is unreal. The beach is gorgeous, not necessarily ready-to-swim in thanks to the box jellyfish, but the view! The sun is also very strong, and the hostel is actually a nice setup. If I play it right, I could look like Ricky Soliver in a day and a half.
The bar across the way has ESPN and beer, so life is very, very good. Got to watch the second half of the UNC/Michigan State game. Fuck UNC and Roy Williams. But good on the Whitsundays. And Shorty the barkeep.
4:58 p.m. – Addicted to text messaging. Add that to the list.
7:06 p.m. – It’s amazing…when you don’t have TV, you watch whatever is on. I’m watching “The Santa Clause” with Tim Allen and Judge Reinhold. What an absolutely terrible movie.
Will jump ahead another few days tomorrow.
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