Outline Part Four - Friends and the Holidays

Since my international co-workers and I were all orphans over the holidays, we decided to head to Bondi Beach for the classic Aussie Christmas.  It was a beautiful day.  Looking down across the beach you could see crowds of people in red and white Santa hats eating, drinking, and laughing together.  I sat for a moment and observed how the sun lit up the sand and reflected off the ocean, providing a new definition for the phrase: "white Christmas" -- making me stop and wonder: what is the holiday season?  Because here in Australia the season is most certainly Summer.      

I spent the better part of my day lying around the beach in a Santa hat and bright greet souvenir sunglasses drinking cider and white wine.  Most of my friends here are English so the, once unfathomable, idea of being warm on Christmas became a euphoric experience and everyone was overjoyed.  

Since Christmas I have been hanging out non-stop with my fellow orphaned co-workers.  Since none of us are working this week, we are like high schoolers during Summer vacation.  We make dinner, watch movies and and have sleepovers for nights and nights in a row.  The people that I hang out with the most are Keyon and Charlotte.  Both of them are from England but they have very different accents.  Keyon is from Bristol and his accent is reminiscent of Sid Vicious and 80's British punk rock.  Charlotte, or the other hand, is from London and she sounds a bit like one of the Spice Girls (though I would never say that to her face.)  Anyway, since all of my Australian co-workers are with their families I have found myself on a week long British Holiday.  I hope life is good back in the states because things are stunning out here.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND HAPPY NEW YEARS!   

Outline Part Threre: Sydney, Newtown

Sydney is an amazingly well laid out city.  The suburbs are integrated into a network of trains and the main lines go through Circular Quay, showing off the harbor bridge and opera house.  This serves as a constant reminder that you are in Sydney and no where else.  The Central Business District exists in multiple layers, reminiscent of dreams in which rooms progress into more rooms.  What you originally thought was an underground food court becomes a shopping mall --> massage studio --> train station.  When you finally decide to exit the indoor labyrinth you realize that you are four blocks from where you entered, as if the entire city that takes place above ground also exists below.


My friends out here live in Newtown, the once-bad-neighborhood turned cool-artsy-counterculture-oasis.  Newtown was an affordable place until gourmet restaurants bloomed and housing prices skyrocketed due to pure desirability.  Even if you have never been to Newtown, I know you know exactly what I am talking about.  The other day my friends were jokingly scheming to bring crime back in order to create a catalyst for reverse gentrification.


My friend Daniel once told me his theory of Gentrification by Coffee Shop and I still think about it all the time.  This is roughly how he explained it:
So South Berkeley runs into North Oakland right?  And South Berkeley used to be the sketchy transition area between nice Berkeley and ghetto Oakland.  Then they built Sweet Adeline (this really cool coffee shop-bakery) in North Oakland.  Now people bring there kids here, they ride their bikes here, and walk their dogs here.  Regulars come here every morning to get coffee.  Everyone wants to live walking distance from their local coffee shop so, of course, young couples start to move here.  Slowly North Oakland becomes gentrified and the transition area moves further into Oakland, just past Sweet Adeline because Sweet Adeline is the last coffee shop before copious liquor stores and run down buildings, but once they build another coffee shop...


I apologize for the digression.  Please forgive me.

Outline Part Two - Roommates

I am sitting on the couch in the apartment on Oxford Street.  It is raining outside just like it did yesterday and it probably will tomorrow.  It is becoming an unseasonably cold summer.  I am eating a banana for the first time in ages.  Because of the floods in Queensland, banana prices rose to $15 a kilo which made bananas an absurd luxury.  Now banana prices have come down a bit so everyone and their mom is buying them.  It is like this weird banana obsession.  I came back from the grocery store today with a bunch of bananas and Sinan, my roommate, asked: "Where did you get those?  How much did you pay?  Are there a lot left in the store?"  Talk about supply and demand.  Anyway, it has been a long time since I last blogged and you are probably bored already because I am writing about bananas, economics, and the weather, three mind numbingly dull topics, so I will get on with the outline of my life in Sydney and I will try my hardest to make it interesting for you.     


Roommates
I live with three Turkish guys: Sinan, Hakan, and Fatih.  Sinan is the boss of the house, or at least we let him think that he his.  He is the liasion between us and the landlord which gives him this false sense of power.  It's fair enough because out of all of us, Sinan spends the most time actually in the house.  Come to think of it, I cannot recall a time when I was home and he wasn't.  Sinan spends all of his time watching Turkish sitcoms and playing this stupid computer game with mythical  war zones and graphics circa 1990.  Fatih is Sinan's cousin.  He is the strong silent type -- the hardest working and the most serious of all the roommates. Fatih is a full time Civil Engineering student and he works nights at a kebab shop so he barely has time for sleeping let alone socializing.  Hakan is pretty much the opposite or Fatih.  He is the laid back one of the group.  Hakan is always bringing home friends and hanging out on the balcony.  I probably get along the best with him.  Unfortunately, Hakan is heading home to Turkey to serve his five months of military service.  This makes me appreciate how lucky we are in the United States not to have mandatory service. 


The cool thing about living with three Turkish guys is that they know several kebab shop workers, coffee shop barristas, and convience store employees on the block.  Because they speak the same language it is like they are instant friends (or at least acquaintances).  It would be nice to have that sense of community.  The only frustrating thing about living with three Turkish guys is that sometimes they get into Turkish speaking mode and I have to try and snap them out of it.  Usually it goes like this: they  talk for a bit and I yell "ENGLISH!."  Then they translate what they said into English, which is usually something disappointingly mundane like.
- "I asked Sinan to go down and buy some coffees,' 
- "and I told Hakan that I got coffees last time and it is his turn to go down and buy them."
- "Lily, who do you think should get them?"

Interlude 2

My favorite and least favorite thing about street fundraising is that we work in a different location every day.  This is sometimes a pain because I have to figure out the transit system, but it is also cool because it gives me an excuse to visit little areas that I would never voyage to on my own.  Sometimes it feels a bit like a tour of concrete suburbs that could easily blend in with any English speaking country.  You know the ones that I'm talking about: the grocery store next to the bank next to the dive bar next to the old antique shop next to a series of dormant businesses with barred doors and dusty windows.  The streets are a monotonous set of strip malls pasted together on cracked pavement.  The occasional tree, plopped down like a castle in a fish tank serves to make you feel as if your habitat is closer to the natural world, providing the illusion that you can escape from your bubble at any time - or is it an illusion?  

Interlude I

Everyone loves bartenders and everyone hates street fund raisers.  These are facts.  You can ask anyone.  If I were a person who felt my job defined my identity, I would probably be a complete mess from the contrast of treatment.  The bartender is the definition of cool, the keeper of keys, the dealer.  You want to be her best friend.  She can hook it up or refuse service at her whim.  You abide her as the dominatrix of liquor and you love her because she washes away your anxieties and brings you to a place where everyone is successful, good looking, and alright.    

Paradoxically, the street fundraiser is the scapegoat.  She reminds you of the deterioration of the planet: the helplessness you feel in the face of global warming, economic crises, mass starvation, disease, six-hundred pound gorillas stealing resources in a time of widespread scarcity, and most excruciatingly of all, she reminds you of death -- of the lack of control you feel in the face of even your own death.  Once you are down, she digs you further.  She reminds you that there are charities.  Charities are important.  Charities would not exist without donations.  She tells you that if you don't donate, you are part of the problem.  However, if you do, the result is abstract, intangible, and the problem still exists.  Finally, the alienation and confusion build up inside you.  You find yourself projecting all of your hatred onto this twenty-something-year-old idealist street fundraiser who is persuading you to donate money to a charity that you have never heard of, for a cause that you feel no control over.  You become so internally frustrated that you decide to stop by the next bar and order a drink. 

Outline Part One

7 Weeks, 9 Cities, 4 Living situations, 2 Jobs, 1 Journey.  At this point my life has become so multi-faceted that it warrents a quick plot outline.  The setting is Sydney.  Imagine a cleaner San Francisco with wide streets like Vancouver, a train system like England, and beaches like Florida - only better.  I live near the Central Business District on Oxford street, the rainbow-flag-lined, gay verging on flashy drag queen homoerotic, area of the city.


I work at the Down Under Bar and Bistro two nights a week.  Fortunately, I am a fast learner in the art of drink making and cash registering so I have turned out to be an alright bartender.  Unfortunately, my boss now wants me to waitress for dinner shifts before I bar tend at night.  Now I have never been a waitress before, nor did I pretend to have waitress experience.  Luckily, I have been to several restaurants in the past so I was able to deduce the job description.  I simply walked up to a table, having no knowledge of the menu whatsoever and asked "Can I take your order."  

Since backpacker bars have a consistent crowed of young drunk internationals, the Down Under Bar finds it profitable to have theme nights similar to those put on by college frat parties. In Australia, and apparently in the UK as well, they call theme nights "fancy dress parties" don't ask me why.  Anyway, since I only work at Down Under Bar two nights a week sometimes my boss will forget to mention these things in advance.  This happened last night when I walked down to the bar to find it crowded with Western Europeans wearing beachwear and covering themselves with body paint.  Luckily my boss gave me a few fake Hawaiian leis so I could fit in.

On Monday through Friday I work as a street fundraiser for the Australian Conservation Foundation - a large environmental charity that focuses on researching sustainable energy, protecting endangered species, and conserving the Australian environment.  The ACF has no political or religious affiliation.  It is primarily a lobbying group that works alongside the government to preserve the natural beauty in Australia for future generations.  Don't worry, I am not asking you to join, I just want to tell you about what we do.  I tell this to about fifteen people per day two minutes before I pull out the form and ask them to join.  


My boss is an eccentric French guy.  His name is Alexis which he pronounces Alexi, but most people just call him Jesus because he has long hair and charisma like the son of God.  Alexis is an exceptional fundraiser.  From what I have witnessed there are two reasons for this.  1. He really knows his stuff and 2. He hits on everyone.  He says things that you can only get away with as an attractive 26-year-old with a French accent.  "Oh, I see you are on your phone.  Are you trying to call me?  Well it's alright sweetie, I'm right here.  I am Alexi.  Have you heard of the Australian Conservation Foundation?"  "Oh, you have never joined a charity before?  So you are a charity virgin!  Well don't worry I will wear a condom and I'll go slow."  For some reason, old ladies and business men seem to find this one the most amusing - either that or it makes them uncomfortable and they laugh to be polite.  I don't know.  


Alexi says that confronted with a street fundraiser 90% of people with say no.  Of those, 10% actually mean no and 80% just need more information.  
Example: 
Me: "Do you want an apple?" 
You: "No" 
Me: "Really?  I am going to cut the apple into pieces, pour some sugar on them and put them in  the oven.  Now do you want the apple?"
You: "Yes.  Yesss I want the apple" 


All I know is that if you are a successful street fundraiser you can sell almost anything.  


Note from the author: I do not have time to write more at the moment, but this outline of my life in Sydney is not finished.  This is only Outline Part One.  Part Two Will Come at a Later Date.

Working in Australia

After my first week in Australia I wrote in my journal: "It strikes me that I have traveled all the way to the other side of the world only to run into people who are doing the same thing as me.  Australia is the perfect place for first-world babies to extend their youth.  It is as if this country was built for backpackers who need temporary cell phones, jobs, housing and bank accounts."  


Now, I think that Australia is that and much much more.  There is an air of accessibility here that is foreign to the United States.  If you want a job you can get one.  If you want an education you can do that too.  Universities aren't free but they are extremely affordable.  There is no fear of unemployment and impending failure so there is no temptation to extend your youth through excessive schooling and living off the parents.  Australia is a place where you really can do the dishes to pay for your meal and clean the floors to pay for a place to sleep.  


The hostels here are overflowing with Western Europeans.  At first I thought that most of them were here doing gap years or enjoying those long holidays that Americans are always envious of, but actually a lot of them are here to work.  With the rest of the first world in crises Australia has become an economic oasis.  As my Brazilian friend said, "When you have people trying to immigrate here from Switzerland you know that it's a good place to live."  Yet, oddly enough, there are very few Americans out here.  In fact, this is the only place that I have ever traveled where people guess that I am Canadian before they ask if I am from the United States. I feel as if I stumbled upon a secret that the rest of my country knows nothing about.   


To be fair, the job market in Australia is not easy for everyone to break into.  Fluency in English is extremely important.  I have been told so many times by Estelle and by my roommates how lucky I am to be a native English speaker.  It is also much easier to find a job in Australia if you are in your twenties.  This is simply because the older you are the harder it is to get a work visa and you need a work visa for all legal employment.  So, to qualify my above statements: if you are 18-31 and fluent in English, Australia is an amazing place to be.      


I am currently training for a fundraising job.  Yes, I am one of those annoying people who tries to get you to donate money in the street.  No, I do not work on commission.  This is just such a legitimate company that I feel like I have to give it a shot.  The company is called Public Outreach.  It is based in Canada and has been in Australia for three years.  Public Outreach fund raises for really well-known charities such as: Save the Children, Oxfam, and the Australian Conservation Foundation.  For every $1 donated less than 18 cents goes to company costs, meaning 82 cents goes to the charity.  Yet, somehow they manage to pay workers a living wage (it pays more than my bar job...what?)  Anyway they are just branching out to San Francisco and LA so you should look them up if you get the chance.  http://www.publicoutreachgroup.com/


So right now, I am working part time for the bar job and part time for Public Outreach.  I need to save money to continue my Adventures on Walk About...wow I used the name.  Anyway, I will still try and blog as much as I can.  :) 
   

Apartment/Job

Today is October 23rd, exactly one month since I first arrived in Australia.  I have done so many things and met so many people in the last month that September 23rd seems like forever ago.  I realize that I have neglected to write much since I arrived in Sydney -- honestly it is because I started panicking a bit.  I got to Sydney a week ago and everyone was warning me that come summer all of the backpackers would arrive and hostels would be unaffordable and I might not be able to find a job.  So of course, ah this is so typical of me, I thought: oh no what if I can't find a job or a place to live and I have to fly back to the Bay Area without ever making it to Melbourne or Tazmania and I fail at life and end up crying in some sad corner of the world...so I went obsessively house and job hunting and I actually found both within six days, which I think is somewhat of a record -- though I am still looking for a second job.

I found the job yesterday, completely by happenstance.  I was walking by and I randomly decided to stop into a downstairs bar/restaurant.  This is how the conversation went:
Me (in a really cheery voice): Hi, I was walking by and this looks like such a cool place.  I am just wondering if you are hiring
Manager: Yes we are.  Do you have experience?
Me: Yeah totally
Manager: Come in at nine for a trial and if it works out your hired.
I know what!?


So, it turns out that this place has only been open for three weeks and they just started looking for people, which is lucky because I just randomly came across it but unlucky because it is only open Wednesday through Saturday and I don't even know how many hours I can get.  Anyway, I am getting ahead of myself. During my trial I made about a million dumb mistakes:  I got confused about prices, pressed the wrong buttons on the register, gave some people too much foam, not enough foam (though apparently the amount of foam you like is related to your nationality: I gave this Dutch guy what I thought was way too much foam -- it rose like a half inch over the glass -- and he looked so happy that I think he actually fell in love with me for a second).  The worst mistake that I made was confusing the lemonade with really cheap margarita mix.  I don't think that a vodka margarita mix is a very good drink.  Anyway,I worked alongside this awesome British girl who was totally patient and taught me everything, and the most beautiful and ridiculous thing about the whole situation is that the manager was running around the whole time and didn't seem to notice any of the mistakes that I made.  At the end of the day he said that I was hired but we still need to work out hours (which means I probably need to get a second job) but whatever.  It restored my faith in my Sydney job search.

Now, about the apartment.  I found it on Gumtree (the Australian version of Craigslist). It is an awesome high rise building with a rooftop pool right in the cool gay area of the CBD.  I am paying a little bit less than I was at HQ and once prices go up it will be a lot less.  I live with three Turkish university students.  They read the Koran obsessively, get angry when I bare my shoulders, and pray facing Mecca six times daily (kidding -- there are so many stupid stereotypes about Islamic people.)  They are actually super chill and open minded.  I met them a few days ago and this guys Korean girlfriend made everyone dinner.  That is when I decided I could stay for a few months.

I moved in this morning.  My hostel friends are all surprised that I am leaving because most people talk about finding a place but take about a month to actually move out.  Estelle hasn't even searched for a job or an apartment yet, she just laughs at my stress and says, "Lili, you are so silly.  It will work out."  Maybe Europeans and Australians are more relaxed than Americans.  I feel like I am the only person that worries in this entire country...oh well, there is always room for growth.






  

Sydney day 3. Australia day 25...I think

When I wrote my last entry I had just gotten to Port Macquarie.  Later that day we visited the koala hospital.  This was an uplifting experience because I was beginning to think that traveling to Australia expecting to see a koala was as misguided as flying to California in hopes of spotting a movie star -- though I suppose visiting a koala hospital is a bit like cheating, like going to a book signing or a live concert.  Anyways the koalas were really cute.

Our next stop after Port Macquarie was the Hunter Valley wine country, which was not nearly as pretty as California wine country but all snobbery aside it was a good experience.  


We got into Sydney the next morning.  Estelle and I had already booked a week in a hostel that her boyfriend's friend works at.  The hostel is called HQ Backpackers.  It is only two months old, located right near the center of town, and incredibly clean.  In fact, after two weeks in the orphanage and a week of car camping, HQ feels like some sort of communal luxury hotel.  Everything is shinning wood floors, brown pleather furniture, and bright orange doors.  As the English would say: looks pretty smart eh? 


Anyway, the big downside to this hostel is that the internet here SUCKS but I am trying to make it work so bear with me. <3

Byron Bay, Nimbin, Coffs Harbor, Port Macquarie

Would you rather drink a pint of Victoria Bitter or Carlton Draft?
Would you rather pay $1 for Coles white bread or $4.50 for a loaf of multigrain?
Would you rather listen to Down Under by Men at Work five times in a row or an entire Beyonce album?
Would you rather buy a digital camera with a really good zoom or one with a panoramic option?
Would you rather stay in a hostel for $20 per night or camp out for free?  Even if your only shower options are freezing cold beach showers?
Would you rather travel with one person you really really like and one person you can not stand or two mediocre people who you don't really care if you keep in touch with?
My Answers: Victoria Bitter, multi grain, Down Under, panoramic, camp, one person you love and one person you can't stand (hate is a bonding experience)


In my last entry I did not do Byron Bay justice.  The town might be a Santa Barbra-Santa Cruz-Point Reyes Station but the coastline is 100,000 times more fantastic than any coastline I have ever been to.  This is a low--tide season so the waves roll in thin smooth layers that seamlessly glide back down shore.  From the coastline you can spot dolphins and humpback whales and the water sparkles like blue magic under the hot Australian sun.  I splurged on a half-day guided kayaking trip (they don't rent out kayaks in Byron because of ocean dangers and stupid things tourists do with animals so you have to do a guided tour.)  It was AWESOME.  We paddled up to groups of whales and dolphins as they happily swam through the clear ocean waters.  The guide said that it was the clearest visibility day that he had seen in months! 


At night we went to Cheeky Monkeys, a famous backpacker bar/restaurant with an awesome $6 dinner special: a pretty good steak, chips (french fries), salad, and a pint...I know awesome right?! (and no, in case you were wondering I am not a vegetarian anymore).  At night they have stupid games where you can win prizes.  Two people got close to naked on stage to win a scuba diving trip.  Later bar filled up with backpackers and by midnight everyone was dancing on tables to popular American music.          

All in all Byron Bay was AMAZING DEFINITELY MY FAVORITE PLACE SO FAR...DONT YOU HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE WRITE IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS?

The next morning we left Byron Bay.  Our first stop was Nimbin.  Nimbim is a little hippie town in the middle of no where.  Its only selling points are drug tourism and the spectacle of drug tourism - people either go there to buy drugs or to ogle at the weed positive culture.  Going to Nimbin with Estella and Rhys made me realize two things: 1. how unfazed I am by stoned - tie dye wearing - mate drinking - hippies and 2. how uncomfortable they make most of the world.  Nimbin is one of those towns with so many high people that walking around sober makes you feel slightly paranoid, as if you are on the wrong level to understand your surroundings.  After about an hour of walking the town (which is only about five or six blocks) Estella and Rhys wanted to leave because the town made them feel uncomfortable and I wanted to leave because I found it a bit boring.  


Our next stop was Coffs Harbor.  We stayed there for all of five minutes to take a picture with The Big Banana.  From what I saw, Coffs Harbor is made up of strip malls and a big banana plantation so that is pretty much all there is to do there.  After a great photo shoot (I am being sarcastic - it was cold and I had to pee) we hopped back in the car and headed all the way to Port Macquarie, which is where I am now.  From what I have seen so far Port Macquarie is a step up from Coffs Harbor...maybe a small step...but there is a Koala Hospital and we are camping near the beach so life could be a lot worse :)  

Day, what day is it again?

When I left Brisbane it was pouring outside -- that incombatable tropical rain that saturates everything.  Everyone in the orphanage was hungover from a big Friday night.  As I packed to make check out, my friends were pushing beds together -- setting up to watch a marathon of Geordie Shore.  It was a sad goodbye...but I guess that is the backpacking lifestyle.  We made vague plans to meet up later in the season, and I set off for the Gold Coast.   

Right now I am traveling with Rhys, a slightly awkward Aussie guy with an afinity for junk food and the musical taste of a tweenage girl, and Estelle, an awesome Belgian girl who is on the same page with me about nearly everything.  So far we have hit up Surfers Paradise (party central), Lamington National Park (rain forest), and now we are in Byron Bay (hippie beach town).  We will probably be in Byron for a few days so I will write when I get internet access again.             

Day Fifteen - Leaving Brisbane

England: What's his name?
Me: Rice
England: There is no way.  How does he spell it?
Me: R-h-y-s
England: His name is Reese you idiot
Me: Then how come when I met him he said, "I'm Rhyce"
England: That's how you say Reese with an Australian accent.  I can't believe you were going to travel with this guy and call him Rice the whole time.
Me: Whatever

Day Ten

Today is my tenth day in Brissy - that's the name the locals call Brisbane.  I like it because it reminds me of a nick name that an English grandmother would give to a toddler, as in: "Not now Brissy, wait for supper."  Brisbane is a very livable city.  Anyway, since it is pouring rain outside, today is a great opportunity to relax in an alley way coffee shop and describe my experience in some detail.  


The Central Business District is a grid and street names run in alphabetical order with female names going north-south and male names running east-west.  So if someone asks you to take Anne Street to George Street the directions are pretty easy to follow.  There are several transit options around the city.  There is the bus, which I have never taken; the ferry, which I have taken once but cannot tell you much about aside from the fact that it is really cool; and the train, which I have have only taken twice, once was from the airport and the other time was on a drunken mission to Fortitude Valley so the only things that I can tell you about the train with certainty are that it is clean and I think it runs until around midnight?  Anyway, by now I am pretty familiar with the city.  I know where I can find cheap sushi, $6 for four rolls (downstairs in the food court on Queens Street Mon-Wed from 5-5:30); the cheapest beer (the hostel bar during happy hour Victoria Bitter $8.50 a pitcher - here they call it a jug); and even a bolted outdoor cliff side (Kangaroo Point).  


The hostel that I live in is called Brisbane City Backpackers (http://www.citybackpackers.com/).  It is a large complex complete with free wifi, rooftop city views, tanning decks, a bar, movie room and a pool that no one ever goes in.  My bed is located in room 40, a thirty bed dungeon my Canadian friend and I fondly refer to as "the Orphanage."  The room's inhabitants are mostly long-termers, backpackers who have lived here for multiple months, so it is a mystery as to everyone how Canada and I slipped into the room.  One of the long-termers is a guy from Canada who makes a six-figure income and yet decides to live in the social setting of the hostel.  This all sounds great, but the other day he was complaining to me that he couldn't find a girlfriend, to which I replied bluntly "Well if a guy took me home and his house happened to be a thirty bed hostel room full of smelly backpackers...I would leave."  


My core group of acquaintances here consist of two Canadians, two English guys, two 
Swedish guys, and a Scottish guy, most of whom barely leave the Orphanage, which is comfortably reminiscent of some of my friends back home (you know who you are :))  In the morning they lie around, making fun of each other and generally talking shit.  Fast foreword to six hours later: they are in the same position only a fresh bottle of Goon has miraculously appeared to join the party.  They have recently developed the habit of posting up around the same two bunk beds so it is not uncommon for me to return from exploring or climbing at Kangaroo Point to find a couple of British guys chilling on my bed.  Their excuse for laziness: they have been traveling for six months, however I have the sneaking suspicion that they have been living the same way since they got to Australia.     

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Yesterday was my first excursion out of the city.  This Australian guy took me to Mt. Warning, about two hours south in Wollumbin National Park just across the boarder in New South Whales.  We powered through the 8.8km hike in about three hours  The first part of the trail climbed through beautiful rain forest.  This is not a dense canopied forest like the Amazon, but rather an open forest with an abundance of palm trees, ferns, and thick burnt orange trunks with bark so lightweight a chunk breaks like driftwood under your fingers.  As the trail climbs, the forest loses density and the last km consists of following a metal chain up a somewhat steep rock face (not steep for climbers, but steep for everyone else).  From the peak of Mt. Warning, I could see across green undulating hillsides, all the way out to the coastline.  
   

On the way back from Wollumbin, we took a detour through the Gold Coast so I could get a taste of the glitzy, Surfers Paradise.  Since I arrived in Queensland I have heard a lot of people equate the Gold Coast to Miami Beach, and..well.they were right: the Gold Coast is just like Miami, there is even an area called "Miami Beach."  Regardless, it was amazing to see the ocean again.  I missed ominous waves, the site of the horizon and the view to infinity.  

Day Five

Today is my fifth day in Australia and time is just flying by.  Before I came out here I was under the assumption that arriving would be extremely stressful and disorienting.  I thought that I might have trouble figuring out how to set up a bank account, get a cell phone, tax ID etc...but everything has been quite seamless.  So far the most complicated and frustrating thing I have had to deal with has been transferring money out of my Wells Fargo account and into my Australian account (go figure)...THANKS MOM!   


In these last five days, I feel like I have done virtually everything Brisbane has to offer: I have walked through the CBD, Fortitude Valley, Chinatown, Kangaroo Point, the Botanical Gardens, and two different Queensland University campuses.  I have taken the ferry for transportation (which is so cool!) and gone to high tea.  


After all of this, so far my favorite part of Brisbane is my hostel and the people I have met here, oh and winning $15 at Pub Quiz (the Australian name for Trivia Night)...the first question was: "What is the Jewish place of worship?"...I was the only one who knew the answer haha.  


Anyway, at this point, I think that I will need to stay at the hostel for another week to wait for my debit card and tax ID number to come in, plus the hostel is only $130 per week so why not?  After that, however, I plan to move on...haha, this sounds simple but I have been hearing so many cool stories about different places that I have no idea where to head next.  I have been told that Sydney is a great place to find a job so I might head in that direction, but my waitress at tea said that Sydney was "too normal" and that I should go somewhere else...hmm..."too normal"... anyway the British girl who sleeps in the bed next to me gave me her copy of Lonely Planet Australia.  The book added about two inches to my growing stack of travel books...in all it is pushing about a foot high.  Anyway, I am in the process of finding direction (ha, story of my life.)


But I can say this...after only five days in Australia: I do feel quite at home :)       

I take it back...

Brisbane is nothing like San Diego.

The Beginning

I arrived in Brisbane at 5:30AM yesterday --> bags/immigration/customs/etc. --> Airtrain to Roma Street Station --> I arrived at Brisbane City Backpackers Hostel at 8:15 (or, as the Aussies say: "eight and a quarter.")  

The room I am staying in consists of fifteen bunk beds packed together in a space roughly the size of my old living room back in Boulder.  My mom would probably hyperbolically refer to the room as a refugee camp.  I, on the other hand, will euphemistically describe it as cozy and social.  The hostel reminds me a bit of a ski bum dorm in a resort town.  There are a variety of languages, it is a rarity to find a local Australian, and people are referred to by where they are from: the Finnish girls, the British guy, that weird girl from California who asks too many questions and loses things constantly...etc.  Becoming a backpacker in Australia (which really is an identity out here) is akin to joining an international community of nomads, we spend little, need little, and carry our homes on our backs -- kind of like turtles.  

Anyway, I got to my hostel --> showered --> decided to explore: My hostel is situated next to a variety of, bars, internet cafes, other hostels, and travel agencies plastered with deals for the low-budget traveler.  The Central Business District is only about a ten minute block away.  Walking around Brisbane I noticed two major differences from the US: 1. there are no homeless people.  2. It is clean.  Other than that, Brisbane reminds me a little bit of parts of San Diego if you subtracted the beach and added a giant public pool in the middle of the cultural center (okay maybe there are three big differences...)  

When I returned from exploring, I met some guys back in the hostel.  They laughed at my "accent" and then invited me to where ever they were going.  We bought this terrible "wine" stuff called Goon.  It is the cheapest alcohol you can get out here.  They also bought some lemonade to mix with it, which confused me until I later found out that Goon tastes like  great fruit juice mixed with rice vinegar.  Anyway we met up with some Finnish girls and German guys and we all sipped Goon together and that is how I spent my first night in Australia...not bad.