Maccas, Miles and Melbourne

Melbourne, where have you been all my life?

Just having arrived in Melbourne on a Thursday evening at rush hour and Jackie and I are already glad to be here. It was constant travel along the South Eastern coast of Australia the past couple of days and it feels like we have finally reached our destination.

Having left Sydney several days before, we have hit up sleepy beach towns, dined at Hungry Jacks and been in a constant quest for the internet. Needless to say, our days have been full.

Rising at City Resort Hostel in Sydney on Tuesday morning I opted to take care of business and check us out, while Jackie went to the Indian Bikram School for Yoga where she and I had purchased week long passes for the bargain rate of $17 the day before and taken a class from a woman with 0% body fat. I know my sister says you can never be to skinny – but in this case I think even she would disagree.

Taking care of the logistics of our departure was not a problem. I had a lengthy FaceTime call with my father – who managed to figure out how to use the new wave technology all on his own and headed out to our Holden hatchback. Strange – the automatic lock device didn’t work. No biggie. Weird – when I turn the key in the ignition – and not R Kelly style – the engine doesn’t turn over. After a quick assessment of the vehicle it appears that the overhead light had been left on days before, resulting in a dead battery. Now, I wish I could blame this heinous act on my trusty travel mate – but I am afraid it was my infraction. A quick call to half of the Australian rental car community and a mechanic was there in a jiffy with a quick jump and foreboding words about tourists dying at Ayers Rock and dangerous Aboriginal neighborhoods. I am starting to think this whole country is racist – but in that seemingly acceptable ‘I have a black friend’ way. Offended. Moving on.

Jackie retrieved and car in working order we were on the way South.  First thing was first – we were on the hunt for Hungry Jack’s. Part of what I love about traveling is eating the shit food that particular country has to offer. Having a special guilty pleasure place in my heart for America’s Burger King – the sight of the familiar bun sandwiched around letters spelling Hungry Jack’s was calling to me. About an hour out of the city HJ’s was sampled and despite the fact that portion sizes were decidedly smaller than back in the US of Cellulite, it tasted just like home.

Making note of the now beautiful weather – of course as we were trapped within the four doors of the car – we decided that a beach break was also in order. This took place in the shape of Surf Beach at Nowra. An isolated little beach situated directly behind an elementary school and flanked with pines, resembling the beaches of Lake Tahoe in Northern California, this was the ideal siesta. After a quick stop for petrol at a station with an attendant at least 200 years old and nearly indecipherable – we hit the road, slightly more relaxed and most certainly sandier.

We knew there were a number of little towns along the way down to Melbourne in which we were bound to take respite. Hours in the car with nothing but Australian talk radio, which seems a bit redundant, as all they seem to do is talk – play a song or two – and then talk for hours more, allowed for plenty of watching of passing scenery and eating of marginally healthy snacks.

With a couple of false alarms on where to stay for the night we spotted a YHA flier for Merimbula, detailing it’s pristine beaches and water activities alongside a $24 a night price tag so we were sold. Another hour down the road and we pulled into the one street town and over the bridge to Merimbula YHA. The grandfatherly proprietor did not charge the advertised price and made us make our own beds, but the room was clean and the showers were hot. With the sun long ago set and the town fast asleep, we were as well.

The following morning we woke to clear skies and chirping birds (they never seem to shut up here) and I partook in one of my favorite foreign activities – a morning run. Around the glistening lake and up what can only be deemed main street I felt quiet and, at least for a moment, at peace. I also made note of the local Macca’s (McDonald’s to us in what I believe is every other country) which seems to be the only place with WiFi in Australia. Macca’s would be a mainstay in our trip and a great source of our frustration as the connection is so poor 99% of the time its almost wiser to commission carrier pigeon. Jackie fell in love with a little shop located just across the street called Booktique where a helpful salesmen explained some theory about a faulty infrastructure across the country being worked on to better serve the community in need of internet – meaning everyone! Unfortunately, I don’t see these improvements being made in the next couple of weeks while we are still here.

After replacing a forgotten adaptor and purchasing what can be my only trip regalo, we were out of town looking and en route to Lake’s Entrance, located about 4 hours south and, according to the same book salesman, the last real stop for civilization before Melbourne. Thickly wooded curvy roads carried us past a plethora of road kill and through small, sparsely populated towns. According to our faithful servant, the Lonely Planet: Australia, Lake’s Entrance is a happening little holiday destination. Here, I would like to make an amendment. It does have cute little stores and coffee shops and you can find signs of life – between the hours of 11 and 4. Having taken another beach break - we arrived as the sun hung low in the sky and closed signs lined the esplanade. Luckily Ferryman’s – the local hot spot located on a floating dock stayed open ‘until people left’ and we were able to dine on truffles and cake while enjoying our pots of tea as the sun turned the sky all of the colors found in a bag of Skittles.

It was just a short hop, skip and a jump to our accommodations for the night – the car parked directly in front of the restaurant. I had a Skype meeting the next morning and the fancy hotel across the street provided a decent signal – so we located ourselves adjacent to it and curled up for the night. Jackie cloaked in her sleep sack and me in my contraband Qantas blanket. The longshoreman setting out for the day woke us, followed by those damn chirping birds and I headed into the hotel for business in a button down and bootie shorts, as Jackie wandered the waking streets. We had scoped out the town the day prior and deemed,Miriam’s charming antique shops and Target Country as must-dos. We also revisited the long strip of beach just outside of the town’s center that looks like Long Island but feels a million miles away, with few people and blue waters as far as the eye can see. A couple of hours in the sun listening to waves and searching for the perfect seashell were thoroughly enjoyed before once again bidding adieu to a town, we were heading to a city: Melbourne.

Everyone seems to think this is the best city in Australia and at first glance, I have to say I agree. Granted, the weather was perfect (unlike the overcast Sydney introduction or the stormy Brisbane entree) when we rolled into town to the warm glow of late afternoon and a cool breeze in the air – but the architecture was interesting, the parks were inviting and the art was abundant. With the smell of San Francisco and the sounds of Western Europe I think I am going to like this place…

Superbowl Monday in Sydney

We began out second day in Sydney with yet another coastal hike. This time we took the meandering path from famous Bondi Beach all the way along the ocean to Coogee. It was a breezy morning but the rain had subsided and the water was a beautiful vibrant aquamarine so the nearly 2 hours spent in silence, listening to the waves was welcomed. 

According to our freebie map, currently functioning as our bible, all of the locals stop for fish and chips at the end of this morning ritual and despite the fact that I was pretty sure that tidbit was complete bullshit - fried food tastes good - so I was down. Jackie utilized her googling prowess and within minutes we were seated outside of A Fish Called Coogee for a plate of fried fantasticness. I don't typically eat seafood but anything tastes better with ketchup, or tomato sauce as it is called here, so my plate was cleaned.

A quick stop for some Fro Yo to balance out the diet of fat and sugar and we were back on the bus into town. 

Jackie and I have discussed the absurdity of asking whether or not a culture is 'nice' or not as, between the two of us we've covered a large portion of the globe and it would seem that no matter where you are, some people are good and some people suck ass.

We were beginning to think perhaps most Australians fell into the latter community but two incredibly helpful bus drivers restored our faith in Aussie kind and directed us to the Australian Center for Photography. The Museum was small, but interesting... and free.

With continuing clear skies we took the opportunity to walk down Oxford street, stopping at book shops, boutiques and cafes along the way until we ended up at Kawa in Surry Hills where we were served some sort of beet juice cocktail, soaked up some late afternoon rays, and inhaled some second hand smoke from the young French girls seated next to us. Being American, and a California native at that, I am always surprised how prevalent smoking is in other countries and how no one seems to care if they are blowing it in your smoke free face.

The evening was uneventful, with a brief discussion about going to see a movie on George Street and then thinking better of it.  When we awoke the following morning to blue skies and elevated temperatures it was as if god himself were smiling down upon us. We felt a sense of urgency to take care of some life logistics and get out in the vitamin D immediately.

Jackie had been recycling dirty clothes for a while and I had a few unmentionables that needed cleaning, so laundry was dropped off at a local mat, and a makeshift work station was sourced so I could edit the film I had shot for the hostel before skipping town. The proprietor had expressed interest in getting the images sooner rather than later so we walked up to Kings Cross and found a cute little cafe called 5 Bouroughs where the banana bread was delicious (although my Mom's is still far superior) and the barista was cute and just charming enough to make fun of my American accent without being offensive. He was also a wealth of knowledge, informing us that minimum wage in Sydney is nearly $20 an hour- making the unreal pricing structure slightly more understandable.

A couple hours of wifi were purchased from the Internet connection across the street and the ability to sit at a sidewalk cafe, write postcards, edit film and watch the local burnouts was thourougly enjoyed.

Jackie and I had been discussing for days watching the Monday morning Superbowl here, going so far as to having been invited to a Superbowl party. Sadly, work won out over the game, but we were able to stop into a seemingly rowdy old man only pub to catch the last several minutes so I could witness my beloved 49ers come so close, yet fail in their valiant pursuit for victory. A heartbreak felt by many of my loved ones at home for sure.

Laundry was picked up and feeling so fresh and so clean but working on what is becoming a rapidly shrinking budget we did what any tourist does on a lazy Summer afternoon in February - we wandered. Feeling like we had hit most POIs in Sydney we ended up down by Darling Harbour - which has a distinct Yerba Buena Gardens feel - and then back to Hyde Park to lay in the grass, watch the interesting foul that occupies said park, and consume large ice cream bars that have been scientifically proven to contain no calories when consumed out of your country of origin. At least that is how I understood it.

With the sun getting low in the sky I grew cold and restless and headed back to the hostel to read and capitalize on our last night of unlimited internet access while Jackie roamed the streets of Surry Hills looking for establishments that stayed open after dark and yet more ice cream.

Our days in Sydney were mellow but the city was beautiful and strangely enough, our most affordable stop yet. 

Often times when I travel I become distinctly aware, in the moment, that this will likely be the only time I am ever here in my life- and I felt this way when packing up my bag for a departure from Sydney the following morning.

Sydney, Storms and Sleeping Aids

After arriving in Australia's capitol city Jackie and I found ourselves weary from travel.

I had secured a room byin the City Resort Hostel is Woolloomooloo by shooting for them in exchange for room and board, as I have at several points in this trip and as arduous a journey as it was to find the place, the additional savings were too good to pass up. The building is high and narrow and despite the fact that no smoking signs are posted on nearly every door, the place smelled of my grandfather's den, but the room was private and the WiFi was free - so I was a happy camper. Or backpacker, as the case may be.

After dropping our bags in our own private Idaho, ie room 30 on the 2nd floor of the walk up hostel, Jackie and I went in search of sustenance, and with a map of freebies and deals at reception, we were able to source some tasty Thai at The Strand Hotel, just a block away. The food was good, a fair price, and the bartender took it upon himself to talk us through our trip to Australia. I think he had a thing for tall blondes, but when information about trekking into the outback can be ascertained, I am fine being the chubby, dark-haired sidekick any day! Aussie bartender was insistent that we make the drive out to Uluru (Ayer's Rock for those of us old enough to remember Saved by the Bell when it first aired) and it re-sparked our desire to take our dinky hatchback into the vast openness of central Australia.

Back in our bunk I slept restlessly, which has become a trend, and awoke with the morning songs of the birds yet again. However, this did not lead to an early start to the day. We went in search of the post office, which I do in every country I visit. This often leads to a stronger love for my country, as we Americans believe in convenience and believe in things being open all the time. Our dreams of stamps were crushed as a nice native in Darlinghurst pointed out the offices are closed on weekends so we instead chose to eat. At the top of William Street is a cute little art cafe called Awkward where a lone waitress runs around frantically in the attempt to service the breakfast crowd - but does so with a smile. They had wifi, line drawings on the walls, eclectic mismatched furniture and served their breakfast beans in little tins so I was good to go. I unfortunately, did not get to enjoy the atmosphere for long as I had to run back to the hostel and shoot the location while Jackie was benefited the luxury of a lazy Saturday morning perched atop a hill on a rainy morning in Sydney.

After a quick shoot I headed back to the cafe, only to pass American actor and rapper Donald Glover/Childish Gambino on the street. In the hopes he would in turn ask me to carry his children I gave a quick 'big fan' mid-motion. I'd like to think he is still wondering who that bewitching beauty in the lesbian flannel and moccasins was.

With the clouds temporarily giving way to bits of blue skies, we made our way out to the Botanic Gardens where I insisted that we walk around the Wish Tree 3 times forwards and 3 times backwards for good luck, as Jackie insisted we looked like assholes.

The gardens give way to the bay and to the Sydney Opera House. I'll admit that overcast and rainy is not the environment in which you want the SOH to be revealed, but alas this trip - and life - is a lesson is making the best of it - so I took a long moment to gaze upon the white structure nonetheless. We walked around the house, went inside the house, sat on the steps of the house and took some photos in front of the house before we decided that we had exhausted the tourist opportunity and moved on to the Harbour Bridge, the Museum of Contemporary Art and some postcard shopping. The Museum had an interesting exhibit entitled 'Taboo' that spoke, at least to some degree, about Aboriginals. I make note only because in this sea of vanilla and bronze I have not really seen any note of indigenous culture or spirit and it was nice to see someone acknowledge it - if only to comment on the raping and pillaging of it.

Located behind the museum is the section of town known as The Rocks. For anyone from Sacramento, California, this is the equivalent of Old Sac with antiquated architecture and the opportunity to spend loads of money on things you never really need at every turn. Luckily for us our freebie map also made note of free music night at the Hero of Waterloo, the oldest pub in Sydney, but before being able to drink we had to eat.

I will say here only that while in Australia, so not eat Italian food. I have been spoiled by my mother's homemade pasta sauce, but even if I had been raised on Ragu, I would know something was not right here. After having to explain to the waiter that spaghetti marinara does not mean with seafood, I ordered what turned out to be their noodles with a splash of tomato juice and gristle from the chicken parts. Needless to say I was underwhelmed and added copious amounts of salt to my food to make it palatable while receiving a heart to heart/pep talk/lecture from Jackie about pulling myself together.

It is likely clear that on this trip I have not been thrilled with life - often vacillating between long stretches of silence where I am so inside my own head that I am totally unaware of my physical surroundings and tears. Lots and lots of tears. The lack of sleep has not been good for my emotional state and, understandably my travel mate would like me to get my shit together. I assume mostly for my own benefit - but given our current circumstances - for her's as well - and rightfully so.

After our disappointing Italian dining experience seated next to the cast of 'Hocus Pocus' we headed back to Hero where a cute young barkeep suggested Tooheys when I asked what beer I should sample while in Australia. Now here is my question, if a foreigner asked you while in the US what they should drink - would you actually recommend Budweiser? Because the Bud from down under is for sure what I got in my pint glass. With both Jackie and myself being lightweights we nursed our one beer each while listening to folk music and watching the locals chatter amongst themselves. While staring at some poor dentisty in disbelief we accidentally gave the green light to some old timers, but with my friendly flirt game nearly dead and gone - and so were they.

Tipsy and exhausted, yet feeling satisfied with our day of touring the town, we began our meandering walk back the way we came, past the harbour at night and through the city to our hostel. Having not slept well, Jackie insisted I take some meds to get me to bed early in hopes I would feel better both physically and emotionally the following day. She took her role of caretaker so seriously that she got all mental patient on me and made me lift my tongue after shoving 2 Tylenol PM in my face just to make sure I wasn't trying to pull a fast one on her. I suppose that is what friends are for - pushing drugs.

Another restless night of sleep due to the excessively noisy neighbors and a morning of bird chatter. Here we go again...