Lesbian Lovers in Paradise

Jackie and I calculated that we have spent 11 nights on this trip in some sort of compromised position for the sake of free lodging. Our last night in Australia was no exception, as we spread out on two benches in the international terminal and awoke to our luggage cart having been pinched, and our flight about to board. Our Qantas flight was once again pleasant and I was entertained by 'The Session' for this leg of the journey. A film that garnered some Oscar buzz that was, in my humble opinion, well deserved. I was only slightly disappointed that TSA edited the much talked about full frontal scenes featuring Helen Hunt (who looks fantastic) but somehow I got over it by the time we arrived in the land of Hobbits.

We quickly became aware that we had made even less of a plan for New Zealand than we had for Australia and with nowhere to stay and no idea where to go we quickly put a plan into action. Jackie got a SIM card for her phone and I purchased snacks ... everyone has their strengths. We hopped on the public bus for the bargain basement deal of $16 to take us into city center Auckland where we knew some hostels were sure to be located. After chatting with a USC alum on the bus we parted ways and headed to Nomad's Backpackers where we roomed with a sweet Norwegian girl studying in Wellington but on holiday in the North. In need of a real meal after nearly 2 days of flying we opted for some Thai Cafeteria that had large portions and an abundance of unidentifiable fried foods. We opted for fried balls (after being reassured they were sweet potatoes) and some spicy chicken dish to split before heading out in search of internet. A couple of minutes at a bar close by with free WiFi and I got my fix before heading off to bed.

We had set the alarm for 5am the next morning in the hopes of getting to a 6am Bikram Yoga class. Having tossed and turned all night the alarm seemed to go off exceptionally early and it was quickly decided that the 9am class would be much more suitable. A 30 minute class across town was required to make it to East West Yoga and after a satisfying practice with an Oregonian instructor Jacks and I both entered a world neither of us had ever entered before - the world of group showering. Somehow I managed to make it through all of my formal education and days as an athlete without having had to bathe in front of another woman, let alone a group of them, but at this particular establishment it was our only option. For those of you who have not taken Bikram before you may not understand just how filthy you are after your 90 minute class, but when drenched in your own sweat having rolled around on the floor no doubt permeated by many other's, showering is really your only option so we went for it. Making sure to take turns as to not have to be naked together, it actually wasn't so bad. At 15 I think I would have chosen the guillotine over communal showers, but at 31 perhaps I am slightly more comfortable with my body - or maybe I have just reached a place in life where I simply can't care about such irritations. Either way - not the new experience I anticipated experiencing down here - but a new one nonetheless...

Side note: have you ever noticed that the largest, most repugnant locker room attendees are the most comfortable being buck naked in a room full of people? Like the possibly pregnant, possibly obese woman who dropped trow not 2 feet in front of me? Strange. Moving on...

We went back to the hostel to retrieve our bags and made our way to Quay Street to pick up the 12:50 pm Naked Bus to Rotarua, a town that had been suggested to us repeatedly and a town that is evidently the cultural center of the North Island of New Zealand. We immediately located a hostel and procured a private room, although I private coffin may be more fitting as it is just enough to house narrow bunk bed and has no windows. We then went to the front desk where a very cute, but very young man was able to help us find out activity for the evening. We opted for a 'cultural experience' and one I would usually turn my nose up at but with such limited options for authentic cultural interaction down here I was thirsty for something other than a poor man's version of America so we bought 2 tickets to the 6:30 pm show at the Maori Cultural Center for a performance and dinner.

Along with a slew of tourists - including the most Americans we have seen in one place since actually being there - we loaded up several bus fulls of people where the driver gave us some insight into the culture before arriving at the village where you are entertained by a traditional tribe greeting and move along to a series of locations where things such as traditional Maori war craft or game playing are explained by some natives. A little contrived for my taste, but to Jackie's point it is a way to keep the culture alive and share it with others - so I did my best to move through the experience with an open mind. Dinner was a Hangi - and after some song and dance it was served. Having paid $88 a head to be there I did what any red-blooded American does at a buffet - I dug in, consuming my fair share of calories and making sure I ate my money's worth. I am disgusting, I know. The steamed vegetables, prepared much like a Luau and bread were fantastic and I went so far as to sample the customary New Zealand dish of Pavolova, which I was told is similar to Merengue in the US, but never having had it domestically before it was all very exotic.

The tattooed warriors were perhaps the most attractive men I have seen thus far leading me to believe I either love an extraordinarily outdoorsy and rugged men, or I am in such a daze of depression and disdain that I don't know which way is up. Perhaps it is a little of both.

Dinner ran late and after an embarrassing round of 'You Are My Sunshine' while holding hands with our table-mates - German Laura Hahn, her Swedish BF and the oldest and most confused woman on he face of the planet - we were asked to touch noses, a tradition of the Maori people, when disembarking the bus. Not my finest moment - but a great experience as a whole.

Jackie is hard-headed, perhaps even more than me and despite the fact that we had been told most Rotarua activities are not actually available within the city limits but had to be accessed after commissioning expensive private trasport, we slept in and then put on our best lesbian lovers on holiday costumes and went in search of hiking. It didn't seem promising so I chose to go to Fat Dog for breakfast instead where I spent $30 on not fresh fresh juice and eggs that most certainly were in powder form at some stage of their existence. Yum! My father keeps asking me how the food is - and think that there may be my review in a nutshell. Like sex with an ex boyfriend, not worth the cost and more often than not disappointing.

We headed to the lake which was beautiful and splurged on a paddle boat rental we kept out much longer than was advised while cruising through packs of ducks and a pair of beautiful black swans. The walk around the lake leads you to the natural hot sulpher springs which are as beautiful as they are odipherous. I am just at that stage of Summer where tanorexia sets in and now, all I can think about is my ability to brown my skin to the color I believe it should naturally be. Women do some ridiculous things to convert their given form into that with which they would have preferred to be naturally blessed. I have not touched mascara in over a month and as much as I think boob jobs look great, I doubt I will ever cough up the cash for such a frivolous and vein expense. That being said, what do you do when  you think you've been born the wrong culture? Is there such a thing as cultural reassignment surgery? Looks like I have some research to do, as soon as I can locate some more Wifi ...

Diving to New Heights in the Great Barrier Reef

 

If heaven exists – it looks like an Australian sunset. I have been witness to the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen on this trip, and taking off from Cairns airport at 6:45pm this evening was no exception. Not usually having the window, I got a front row seat to the painted colors glowing and melting into one another, masked only by the most delicate scattering of white fluffy clouds precariously placed on the ever changing canvas. When you see something this naturally mesmerizing it makes you think that there must still be beauty in the world, despite all of the hate, malice and broken dreams.

I will admit that my departure from Cairns was bittersweet, as it has by far been the best part of my journey so far. Arriving just a few days ago it seemed like a nice enough town and I knew that the reason for being here was to have my virgin run as a scuba diver in the famous Great Barrier Reef. It seemed almost perfunctory to have booked the extra ticket up here and I saw myself fulfilling a responsibility to my time in Australia and, most importantly, to myself. What I got instead was the opportunity to meet some great people, experience some authentic culture and pet a sea turtle – which I only later found out is illegal – so don’t tell.

I spent the majority of Saturday night in my bottom bunk, pant less. This sounds like I must have had a rousing good time, but the true reason is that Jackie was washing my pants as they had been worn to bed every night for a month with her load and instead of throwing on some haphazard evening ensemble and spending $7 on a jug of beer at the local Irish pub, I read in my bed and chatted with my roommates – who I fell a little bit in love with individually as well as a whole.

Logan is a 19 year old ginger from Boston, at that stage in life where you’re so desperate to grow up yet not at a place where you fully understand what that means (perhaps you never fully do) was located across the room from me. We talked about music and being away from home for the first time. I felt a big sisterly affection for him and marveled at his craftsmanship when fashioning a bong out of a Coke bottle and a pen. He was reading On The Road for the first time, which made me feel ancient in the most endearing way.

Chris is a 28 year old from Liverpool who's Liverpuddlian accent is so thick and energy so frantic it can be difficult to keep up. He quit his job in finance to travel for a bit, scuba dive and perhaps change his direction in life. He cooked some incredible meals, none of which I sampled but all of which I salivated over, while we were here and he casually mentioned maybe pursuing something in the culinary arts. I certainly hope if our paths cross again he will have done so. Last night he identified himself as a nice guy, and I have every reason to believe he truly is.

James, also from England is 26 and loveable in a Dick Van Dyke sort of way. For anyone who knows me, they understand what an immense compliment this is. He broke off his engagement and quit his job to do laundry at a hotel by night in Cairns and romance a local by day. I have heard her voice behind the curtain he hangs to create an adult fort on his bunk – but her identity is still a mystery. You could feel the warmth held within him almost ooze out of his pores.

The kindness and generosity these three boys shared with me over our brief time living together will not soon be forgotten. Now onto the good stuff…

We had booked a tour with Silver Swift for a Sunday adventure into the Great Barrier Reef. The boat took off at 8:30am and, being the punctuality freak I am, we were on the dock and ready to go by 7:45. With some ill given advice I had opted not to bring my land camera on the trip with me and instead just stuck to the underwater device I had rented from a local shop that comes replete with first aid kit inspired carrying case. We spent the first hour of the boat ride inside, watching an informational video and listening to fun facts about diving for the first timers and generally inexperienced. Being in a moving boat for that long was making me a little queasy, but I took deep breaths and attempted to focus on the task at hand – a task and it’s inherent dangers that were described so throughoughly and with such great detail that I thought it faily certain I would pop a lung or blow an ear drum or better yet – die on the ocean floor in Queensland. At least it would make a pretty grave.

Our first dive site had arrived in no time and we were given small groups and instructors – very much like a field trip for adults. A very expensive field trip for adults. Jackie and I had signed up for 2 dives and we were designated the first two sites with the third being our opportunity for snorkeling. Our group was comprised of the two of us and a married couple from Utah who had left 2 kids at home for a couple of weeks down under. The wife was visibly nervous and the husband visibaly attentive – it was actually sweet to watch. Our instructor options were between a seemingly smart ass man rocking a gold chain across his chest or an adorable blonde who looks as though she stepped directly out of a Roxy ad. Gold Chain it was – score!

Marcos was our instructor for the day and despite his lackluster dental work, I could not help but be at least partially intoxicated by his charm. The last time I had encountered a scuba instructor – on a boat in Hawaii when I was 17 – I felt similarly smitten and I believe it may be a mix of the personality types attractied to such professions coupled with the personality types needed for the tourism industry. Silly foreigner I may be – but it was fun to flirt with a man for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

On the first dive we were instructed to all link arms, mine being with my covert ops travel mate decked out in full regalia, having opted for the hood attached to our warm water wetsuits, creating a mess of flippers and tanks clinking together. My assumption would be that this is to see if we can in fact swim and gauge our comfort in the water. Luckily we all seemed to pass that test because once we arrived at the second location we were unleashed – if only slightly – and navigation became considerably easier. It was at the second location that we met with a fish as large as a lab who evidently likes the tourists and essentially poses for photos with them. It was also the first location I was able to bring my camera out on and tried by best to manage a leaking mask, a mouth piece that was taking all of my strength to hold onto with my teeth, and a camera constantly getting caught up in my gear. Luckily Marcos, my instructor/boyfriend for the day had made me take off my hoops that I so desperately wanted to dive with because that may have been just too much going on.

We had been told at the start of the day that there was the potential for a third dive (and a third charge) and when it became apparent that there was in fact that opportunity I couldn’t have possibly said no. We signed up for a third dive and dug into the lunch buffet, drying off and warming up before our next adventure under the sea. And I say under the sea because you can almost hear Sebastian singing ''The Little Mermaid' soundtrack when looking at this whole other world that exists deep in the ocean. And lets face it, everything is better with a soundtrack. My father had told me this would be the most exotic place I had ever seen and although I may not agree with that statement, when you see schools of fish flitting about and coral stacked up like natural hotels for sea critters you do think you’re someplace unlike home. The third location was by far the coolest and Kubrick-like with deeper drop offs and more vibrant neon colors splattered about in the form of fish, coral and unidentifiable gooey creatures. We met with a friendly sea turtle, a big black sea dildo (or cucumber for those of you over the age of 14) and a pretty chilled out jellyfish – a nickname my pretend boyfriend had given to me for some unknown reason that very day. I would like to think it is because I am beautiful, graceful and can sting the hell out of you. But I may be romanticizing a bit there. It was during the third dive that I felt I finally got the rhytum of my breathing down and the pace at which to flip my flippers and just as I was feeling the ease of the groove – it was time to go up.

Back on the boat we were presented with certificates of completion for our first dive and the sun finally came out to warm us as we headed back to Cairns. This was also yet another opportunity for me to tell my sob story to yet another unsuspecting bloke as Marcos and I had a lively debate about how Australians are assholes and for what seemed like out of the blue to me, he asked if I had had my heart broken. I of course answered yes only to discover he was asking about some sort of Danny Zucco summer romance down here. I explained in succinct language that I was not 11, and therefore incapable of having my heart broken by some foolish fling – of which I had not even partaken in – and then he asked some questions about my ‘partner.’ Only later did I realize – did he think I was a lesbian? Lets hope not, or I may have lost my game entirely.

I love to run in humid climates and I wanted to take advantage of the evening so after deboarding and bidding adieu to my latest paramour (in my head) I went home, changed and went for a run on the promenade. I have no music on my iphone without internet so I have had to go silent these past weeks and just yesterday I realize why professional runners do so. You really find your own natural pace when not paying attention to those of Rihanna or Ke$ha – two girls I hate to look at but love to listen to. I was gone for the twilight hour and got to watch the silvery blue mountains disappear into the black night as the fog rolled in was quieting - even while running.

When I was a little girl my mother had told me a story about how when she was young, she would look out at a valley in the night sky and imagine a jewelry box, lined with black velvet and housing sparkling gold and jewels of every tone. I think about this from time to time when I see a line of red lights or twinkling solitaire in the darkness. Last night the sky was velvet and the jewels were alive.

A long day of limited oxygen, sun and a run resulting in so much sweat I may as well have gone swimming and I was exhausted. I ate crackers in my bed as Jacks dug into our roommate’s Burn-Flavored Doritos and hummus and it was off to a sound sleep.

The next morning I was, of course, up and at ‘em first for the free breakfast and free WiFi in Hostel Melrose Place, with a large pool and sitting area in the center of the room and a scene for sure. I was waiting for Amanda to be thrown into the pool at any moment. We had to decide between rainforest and beach for our last day and thinking perhaps New Zealand provided more of the former, we caught the 110 bus to Palm Cove or what I like to call Highway to Hades bus.  Cairns is hot – and humid – and when you’re on a bus with no air conditioning for an hour and poorly bathed people are flanking you on each side, and  the sun is beating down on you, the results can be deadly. Just about to take what I thought would be my last breath, the amiable driver dropped us off at the long stretch of beach lined with palm trees and rich hippie eateries.

Never having dried off since my shower I figured a dip in the tepid waves would do me good. I was having lovely moments of solitude with the ocean until a man came running out to Jackie, sitting erectly along the shore, to inform her that the bay there is infested with deadly jellyfish the size of your fingernail and that her stupid American accomplice should get the F out of the water. Australia had been so welcoming thus far, why would I have been surprised.

I got out.

We laid in the shade and read for a while longer before heading back into the city to catch our bus to the airport and, in turn a Tiger flight to Melbourne. The flight was full of crying babies and smelly Europeans so it is pretty awesome. Tonight will be another restful night in the Hostel Melbourne Airport where temperatures reach sub zero late at night and tomorrow – New Zealand.

Bye Bye 'Bourne, G'Day Great Barrier Reef

Being the free spirit I so convincingly pretend to be, I very rarely make plans while traveling. Much like life, this can make for good stories as well as missed opportunities. The lack of planning not only makes Jackie and myself such great travel mates, but it also left us in a position to book a flight up to Cairnes 36 hours prior to boarding, causing a rise in anxiety for her and an unwanted depletion in the bank for me.

The last night in Melbourne began with a failed attempt to make it to Philip Island and see the adorable baby penguins in what is known as the Penguin Parade at sunset and ended with us sleeping upright under fluorescent lights at the airport. We made a quick stop in between in search of a lamington, which is some sort of Australian-specific dessert and looks tolerable so for our Valentine's date we had planned on trying it out together. No such luck after the sun dips below the horizon, as we were repeatedly told to try a bakery - during the day. After returning our trusty vehicle to Red Spot days early we set up shop on the top floor of the airport where I had maybe my best sleep yet this trip and Jackie wrapped herself in her lime green sleep sack in such a ridiculous manner that at one point in the evening I was actually awoken by the flash of a fellow flyer snapping a photo of the asinine American seated in the massage chair, surrounding my bags, and wrapped up like a Christmas present.

We made our early flight into Cairnes and as soon as we de-boarded we could tell we had entered a different world. It had been hot in Australia, but this is a sticky heat that only exists in truly tropical climates, where your hair never quite dries and your face, no matter how much Covergirl pressed powder you apply, will never become matte. I was happy to be here, as it felt different - for perhaps the first time since we landed on this godforsaken continent. We quickly located a Northern Greenhouse in the Lonely Planet that offered free breakfast and having stayed in their sister location in Melbourne we felt like this was a good bet. It was. We immediately signed up for the free tour of the Botanic Gardens and after unloading our bags into mixed dorm room #27 we raced back out into the sun where, after the guide asked if I was Brazilian - just wanted to throw that out there - we walked leisurely through the gardens until there was not a leaf left unturned and befriended two Israeli girls for a lunch of $13 toast and juice. Soon there after yet another snackwas greedily consumed when we finally located a lamington - a white sponge cake with a chocolate and coconut covering - in other words - heaven. An incredibly nice lady provided us with the confection and 2 spoons with which to share our midday dessert - proving that perhaps there are at least a few nice Aussies.

Catching the public bus back to the hostel and heading straight to the Cairnes Art Museum proved discouraging as it smelled like dirty penny but after a quick rain shower we were back out to wander on the Esplanade and check out the endless souvenir shops where I was on a mad quest to find some requested authentic Aboriginal art. As I may have mentioned, not much about this journey had provided the opportunity for interaction with authentic culture, so as I sifted through piles of penguin magnets and wallaby wallets I was not feeling super in touch with the native people of this land.

With too much pure sugar in my blood stream the past few days I made the call for a real, grown up dinner for the evening entertainment so we dined at Vue on the Esplanade, where Jackie had the fisherman's basket and I had the saltiest mashed potatoes I have ever laid tongue upon. For anyone who knows me, hypertension is not a concern of mine and I heavily salt many of my meals, so when I make note that something was so salty I felt myself bloat almost instantly - I mean it. A quick ice cream cone and yoga session by the Lagoon, which seems to be the only accessible, if man made, body of water available in the city, and we were back 'home' and off to bed.

I was up early the next morning for yet another New York meeting that was Friday night for NYC and Saturday morning for me and a tearful phone call with my big sister - because I no longer know how to have any other kind. After Jackie rose we chose to go to the Aboriginal Cultural Park for the day. I had been dying to get some sort of Aboriginal experience and it is very difficult to do so on the coast so I almost didn't mind the $40 entrance fee to the park. My mind may have shifted slightly as we witnessed a series of performances in a series of lackluster buildings and sets. It is not that I didn't appreciate the playing of the Didgeridoo or information about the creation myth the Tjapukai tribe is based on, but I could not help but be saddened by a culture that has been reduced to body painting themselves for Korean tour groups who's flashing cameras blind them if they do so much as scratch their head. Of course, the Aboriginal guide was pretty much the first man I have found to be attractive since arriving here - so my father was pretty much on the money when assuming where my interests would lie. The highlight for me, however - and possibly of the entire trip so far- was an older man who's nametag read Ernest and hairstyle read Gheri Curl who was literally a fountain of information about history and cultural ceremonies and didn't seem at all bothered to talk with me for nearly an hour after the tour had ended. He even went so far as to talk me through my spear throwing lesson - and although Jackie may have been a better boomaranger - I got her spear technique beat for sure!

Hailing the bus on the side of the highway to make our way back to the city it was almost a mirage when, pulled up in front of the Center for Contemporary Art in Cairns, there were was an installation of Starbust Babies candy - Jackie's latest obsession and a sugary treat available in any 7/11 or Woolworths worth its weight. Nothing says come on in like life-sized gummy candy so we took a quick spin before heading back to the hostel to bond with two of our English roommates and dining on peanut butter and crackers in the top bunk.

I took a quick break to go access some internet where I had a semi-surreal experience as I had my first Aussie romance. I walked over to the lounge when I saw a man immediately head over, sit close by and ask where I was from. We ended up chatting and at one point  he explained that he didn't like thin women and that he liked me because I was natural - the same way people described Mamma Cass if my memory serves me correctly. He is a butcher by trade - one I have most certainly never had before and not long after he asked if I would want to meet up for a chat or a drink later. When I agreed he pointed out that we had yet to introduce ourselves. I said my name is Briana - and he said I am Danny. Seriously? Out of all the names in the whole world you must possess the name of 2 men who have actually broken my heart - one much more recently than the other? Absurd. He said - your name is nice. I said - yours in common. Not really a compliment by any means. Good lord, I have said this before and I will say this again - my life would be a comedy of errors if it were at all funny.

Feeling ill prepared for my first dive tomorrow, we made our way back out into the streets of Cairnes to purchase towels for the adventure the following morning. Instead, we bought candy and sampled the local flavor of Nando's - some Australian chicken chain that I may have to add to my list of affordable faves here. A long chat and a longer walk home left me with a half packed bags, a rented underwater camera and a stomach of nerves for my first underwater experience in the morning - diving the Great Barrier Reef.




Wish me luck...