Lake Tekapo

Yesterday morning at the crack of dawn (8:30!) I boarded the InterCity bus to head from Christchurch to Lake Tekapo. I'll be travelling on this bus line a lot in the next month, and I am happy to say that my first trip was fantastic.

First of all, the ENTIRE bus was covered in upholstery. Only the windows were spared the blue and purple carpeting. Secondly, the trip was narrated by our driver, Bernard (which was pronounced BERnerd, of course). I am pretty sure that he was actually working for the NZ immigration department, for, after telling us the history of Christchurch (founded by an Oxford man, of course), he went on to explain the great welfare system, health care system, auto system... and then gave us the government website for all things New Zealand, pointing out it was alphabetized, and I is the most important letter, for immigration. (But, let me tell you, it wouldn't be so bad to live over here. Or so it seems at the moment while the exchange rate is about 2:1, and it is summer!) In fact, after listening to his NZ plugs, I felt as inspired as after hearing Kenneth Brannagh give his St. Crispin's Day speech in Henry V. Yea, rah! Go New Zealand! CHARGE!!!

The bus went through a number of small towns (including Ashford, which boasts the world's largest spinning wheel factory) in the plains before coming into the mountains. I'm not sure of the range we are in here at Lake Tekapo, but the Southern Alps are in the distance, and they are pretty spectacular. (I'm heading there in a few hours.)

Once I get pictures up, you'll see that Lake Tekapo is this freaky milky blue-green color. It reminds me of some laundry detergent we had when I was little. Apparently the milkiness has to do with the run-off from glaciers or mountains or something. (I should have paid more attention to BERnerd, clearly.) A nice English girl was settling herself into the same dorm room as I (gotta love hostels), so we went for a little hike yesterday up a small mountain. (1000m above sea level, but, since the lake is a dammed lake, we were starting at about 700m.) Last night I was hoping to go star-gazing, as this is supposed to be about one of the clearest skies there is (probably has to do with the fact that the ozone layer is gone here, hence the sunburn I got the other day), but, alas, it was cloudy. Another night, perhaps.

Guess that's it for now...

Back in Action

After my little fall off the emotional roller coaster the other day (four months before a breakdown is pretty good, I think!), I'm back to normal. I decided that I needed to not think about how much anything cost (as I'm staying with people most places, so don't have to pay for accommodation or dinner), and start throwing dollars around and just have fun.

With that in mind, today I went down to the coast to a town called Akaroa (means long harbor). The area was formed about a zillion years ago (or 6,000, if you are Sarah Palin) by a bunch of volcanoes, so it is hilly and gorgeous. I wandered about the sweet little town for a while, then went on a boat ride out to see the dolphins. (They handed me a glass of wine upon boarding the boat, and cookies when I got off. Who needs dolphins???) We saw a bunch of Hector's dolphins, which, at 4 1/2 feet long, are the smallest (and most endangered) aquatic mammal. We also saw a bunch of seals sunning themselves, and a few little white flippered blue penguins (which I kept hearing as "little flipping blue penguins" and I didn't understand why the skipper was so angry with them). It was all gorgeous.

I went to the Akoroa Museum as well (it started with a movie, which is always good), and while I was in there, I could hear masses of sirens going off outside. Sounded an awful lot like tornado sirens back home, and when I looked around, the museum did seem to be empty. Of course, how many people want to go into a museum on the history of Akoroa? I wandered to the front desk just to check that I didn't need to seek shelter or make a final call to loved ones, and was told that it was just the volunteer firefighter alarm. (But it was an old WWII air-raid siren, so my instinct to duck and cover wasn't far off.)

As I've mentioned before, I find myself mis-reading signs a lot. I don't know if my eyesight is going (probably), or if things are out of context (or I just expect them to be out of context), but it has happened a lot. (Like the store called Fire and Ice which sold "OPEX"... when I got closer I saw it actually said "OPEN".) On the drive down to Akaroa this morning (narrated by a nice old guy named Graham, which was entertaining unto itself), I glimpsed a sign that I thought read "Lifestyle for Sale". I made a mental note to check it out on the way back, which I promptly forgot until we were on our way home this afternoon, and I glimpsed another sign that read "For Sale-- Lifestyle Plus". What? Now I was keeping my eyes peeled for that first sign, and eventually I did see it, and it really did say "Lifestyle for Sale". Alas, my eyes weren't quick enough to catch the phone number to call for that new lifestyle.

Tomorrow I head inland and south to Lake Tekapo, then onto Queenstown and the Milford Track. Woo hoo! (See, I'm all better now. I "woo-hoo"ed.)

(By the way, in Queenstown I'll be staying with the nephew of the daughter of a friend of my aunt. Oh yeah, that's a solid connection!)

Oysters

Today was my first real day in NZ (as yesterday was cold and rainy and I didn't do much, it didn't count). I walked into the center of Christchurch to see what it had to offer. There were shops and cafes, galleries and museums, a festival of buskers (street performers), a street market, and a tourist information site which had about a thousand things that I would love to do in my six weeks here. The world was my oyster. So what did I do? I had myself a good old-fashioned breakdown.

Yes, in the middle of the town square, with jugglers and vendors and tourists surrounding me, I melted down. All I wanted to do was find a quiet corner by myself and cry. I had to settle for an unoccupied bench; I put something on my lap that I could pretend to read, let my hair fall around my face, and I sobbed.

I was overwhelmed by all the choices I had, all the decisions I had to make, and, most importantly I think, that I would be doing it all on my own. I was just suddenly blindsided by the fact that I am lonely. Not alone, by any means, for I've had plenty of people to talk to, but it's not the same as being with family and friends; as sharing all these amazing experiences with people I know and love. So I sat and felt sorry for myself and cried.

When the tears and snot got to the point that they were dribbling into my lap I decided I needed to do something. I stole a napkin from a cafe, and used one of my lifelines to phone a friend. I only had 8 minutes left on my Australian SIM card, so we didn't have long, but he said all the things I needed to hear-- most importantly, "Hello."

I am better now. I knew it would be a fleeting thing, and it was. I spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around, visiting the lovely Botanical Gardens, and reminding myself how terribly lucky I am. I'll be home before I know it, and wishing I could do it all over again, I am sure.

But, to paraphrase the fantastic children's author Judith Viorst, everyone has bad days... even in New Zealand.

PS Except for the fact that they give us pearls, I don't really care for oysters.

New Zealand

Yesterday I left the hot and sunny shores of Australia, and came to the lovely, but quite cold, shores of New Zealand. (Today is raining. The first rain I've seen since November! At least now I'm in the mood to buy long underwear, which I will need for my hike on the Milford Track next week.) As soon as I got in line to board the plane, I knew I was going to a different world. First of all, I noticed that the NZ passport is about twice as thick as ours. Clearly, these people travel. Upon entering the plane (Emirates Air), I noticed the mood-enhancing atmosphere coming from the vents. Literally. There was smoke or steam or haze or (could it be?) actual moisture puffing out of all the vents. All I needed was a little black-light and maybe some strobe lights, and it would have been a flashback to the endless 6th grade plays at my school.

There were two things I enjoyed about being on that plane (beside the ridiculously large selection of movies I had to chose from). First was the sign which read "Please open hatracks with care." I think they were referring to the overhead compartments. The second great thing, which I had heard about but not seen myself, was the camera on the underside of the plane somewhere, which showed us the runway on take-off and landing. That was pretty cool.

My favorite thing about NZ so far (I've been here about 20 hours, and half of that was spent asleep), is that we started our descent into Christchurch (on the east side of the south island) before we even had gotten to the west side of the island. We crossed the entire country in landing the plane! I was glued to the window the whole time, for the mountains on the western side of the country were spectacular. It should be a good stay here (even if I have to buy lots more warm clothes).

Final Oz Thoughts

Yesterday I clicked my heels together or got into the hot air balloon and came back over the rainbow, away from Oz. It was a nice 5 weeks, and by the end I didn't even notice their funny accents. Here is an assortment of random thoughts and observations I had while there that didn't make their way into any previous Oz blogs (or at least I don't think they did).

In wandering around some art museum in Melbourne, I glimpsed an Aussie standing in the next room, without shirt or shoes, and actually just in his tighty-whities. Given that they didn't seem to wear shoes that much, I wasn't really terribly surprised. Upon looking at the man properly, I discovered that he was actually a sculpture.

Given how hot the country is, the people in Western Australia seem to keep dogs with ridiculously thick coats.

The Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology has its alumni courtyard in the Old Gaol Hospital Compound. What does that say about how you view your alums?

After being in countries where they drive on the wrong side of the road for four months now, I have almost got it figured out. I look the correct way when crossing a street, but I do get awfully surprised when I see a 10 year old in the driver's seat.

I can't remember now what it was apropos of, but I saw a sign somewhere that read "STD calls". I can hear it now, "Um, mom? I have something I need to tell you..."

For whatever reason, my cousin's child (just turned 3), decided that my name was Chloe. I get Julie and Susie a lot, and even Jane once, but this is new.

The house I was staying in in Sydney, with the lovely old lady, smelled just like my house. I couldn't pin it down at first, until I pulled a book off the shelf and was hit with it. It smelled like old books. Old books and woolen blankets (mothballs). It was great.

At the North Sydney Community Center, one of the Adult Health classes that they offered was "Hoolahoops". That would have been fun to watch!

Australian possums are WAY cuter than American opossums. WAY!

I misread a sign, thinking at first it said "Home Lessons." The I reread it and wondered what "Home Lessness" was. Of course, it said "Homelessness".

I was on the bus one day and there were two boys (aged maybe 6 and 10) sitting at the back. They were chanting "Grey matter! Grey matter!" for some reason. At one point, the younger one said, "If I up-chuck..." which elicited a worried look from the guy sitting directly in front of him, who promptly switched seats. The kid followed.

More than once I saw someone jogging with goggles around his or her neck. Always ready for a swim!

The Sydney Airport played the best collection of 80's sing-along music. Call Me, Fame, Sweet Dreams. At least I think it was supposed to be sing-along.........

I finally put up pictures on my Sydney post, by the way.

I hope you enjoyed Australia as much as I did!

"I'm mellltiiinng..."

I am sure that I will get no sympathy from those at home who keep sending me emails about how cold it is and photos of thermometers registering 0 degrees (Fahrenheit), but I have to tell you that it is hot here. Really hot. And humid. It's 100 degrees right now, and the sun is beating down on all the buildings and pavement and it feels like I am in a pizza oven. (That would sound tasty, as I haven't eaten all day, but it is too freaking hot to want to eat.)

I have spent my day seeking air conditioning. I went first to a movie (Slumdog Millionaire-- fantastic, if a bit hard to watch at times), then to a random hotel and sat in the lounge outside the conference rooms and made phone calls home. Now I am in the state library.

Don't fool yourself that into thinking that there might be books here that I could read to pass the time. No, no, it is not that sort of library. It is a reference library, which means that everything here is dead boring. Example: When waiting for this computer to open up I glanced up at the books on the shelf in front of me. What did I see? The absolutely gripping page-turner that is the Encyclopedia of Consumer Brands, volume 2: Personal Products. I know, it quite likely will have been grabbed off the shelf by the time I finish writing this.

Once the sweat has dried off my body, I will head back out into the heat and make my way home. I'm going to another play this evening. No idea what it is about, nor do I care. All I know is that the theater has AC.

Addendum: It turns out that this was the second hottest day EVER in Sydney, coming it at 41C (that would be 106F). And humid. So I don't care how many emails I get whining about it being cold. It was HOT!

Sydney

I've been in Sydney for six days now, and while I've put up a few posts in that time, I've not actually talked about being here. So here it is...

I am staying with a lovely 85 year old woman who is friends with my high school Latin teacher. (A tenuous relationship, it might seem, but I take my contacts however I can, and this one has turned out to be a gem!) She reminds me of my grandmother, my aunt, and all the other little old ladies whom I have loved and respected. It is a treat to have dinner with her and chat at the end of each day (when I'm not sampling Sydney's culture)... Yet again proving that I am really a 60 year old trapped in a 36 year old's body. (Make that a 28 year old's body.)

While here I have hit the standard highlights... a walk around the Sydney Opera House (it really is cool), a trip to the aquarium (also blessedly cool, as it has been about 95 degrees for a few days), and various museum. Today I went to the zoo. It had a nice view, I can say that for it, but it cost $39AUD!!!! (That's about $26 US.) Luckily my cousin in Melbourne had given me her membership card, so with some wheedling (they require additional ID to prove that you aren't some American tourist trying to wander in on your relative's card-- go figure!), I got in for free. As I said, the view was good (on a hill, overlooking the harbor towards the opera and downtown), but I have to say that going to a zoo after seeing the animals in situ in Kenya just didn't really cut it for me. I fear that zoos will forever be changed in my mind. (Oh well, I didn't go there that often anyway. Only to pick up unsuspecting zookeepers.)

I had a good wander around the Botanical Gardens one day (not nearly as nice as ours at home), clearly at lunchtime, for the place was packed, and I mean PACKED, with people exercising. Whole hordes of joggers would go by, group after group. Other groups would be doing push-ups or sit-ups. Some would be boxing, others running up and down the stairs. I felt sorry for all of these office-workers, so cooped up all day that they feel they need to go out in the sweltering mid-day sun to get a bit of exercise. (Outside time was scheduled into my job, three times a week... unless it dropped below 20F, which was a point of some contention...)

My visit here happens to coincide with the Sydney Festival, so there are lots of cultural events going on around town. I gave myself a nice treat, and last night I went to see the new(ish) dance company Morphoses. (Sure, they are based in NY, but I haven't seen them there, so I might as well see them here.) It was lovely, of course. (The director came out beforehand to tell us various notes about the program, including that the cosutmes for the first dance were designed by the woman who designed Michelle Obama's gown for the Inaugural balls. That got a cheer.) The night before my hostess's son, who is a theater critic, took me to see a play called The Yalta Game. (He had been reading Homer, apparently, as one is wont to do, and it said that there is nothing better than being kind to strangers, so I reaped the benefits of that!) Normally I am not a huge fan of theater (I keep waiting for them to break into song or do a dance or SOMETHING), but this was actually great. It could have been because it was only 60 minutes long. Or it could have been the glass of red wine I had right before (upon entering the theater, I wanted nothing more than to say a series of "WEEEEEEEEEEEEE"s and "WOOOOOOOOO"s as my head spun around. Maybe wine on an empty stomach wasn't such a good idea). Whatever it was, I enjoyed the play, and may get to go to another one tomorrow night.

Where I am staying is on the north (referred to as "Nth" here. They LOVE their abbreviations, and it takes a while to figure them out. Still don't really know what 'arvo' means), so I have been taking the bus or ferry into town each day. I have never thought of Australians as particularly polite (I think the adjective that would have leapt to mind for Aussies would have been "tan", but as I've mentioned before, the anti-skin cancer campaign has really done a good job here, so that descriptor would be wrong), but I have to say that I have never heard so many people thank bus drivers. I would say probably a third of the passengers, when disembarking (even from the back of the bus), thank the driver. (Maybe that was in the same add campaign as the sunscreen. "Thank your driver while you slap on the sun goo.") Mind you, it is quite possible that people at home are just as courteous to the drivers, because, honestly, I can't think of a time I have been on a bus. (Oh wait, in Boston in the mid 90's I took a bus once or twice. I am sure I thanked those drivers. If not, thank you now.)

As I have mentioned before, and will likely mention again for it is unlikely to change, I am not particularly fashion savvy, but sometimes I just don't understand what makes people put on certain outfits. People here seem to be dressed for the beach at all times of the day or night. At least I hope some of those dresses are beach cover-ups. If not, then, EGADS, have some decency! (The dresses here seem to leave little to the imagination in terms of decolettage. Sometimes I wonder how the important bits actually stay in!) And then there are the shoes. Women seem to have only three sorts of shoes: flip-flops (called 'thongs', which was a little disturbing at first when I would see signs saying "no thongs in pool"), spike heels, and what I would have to call slave sandals (as in Egyptian slaves from 2000 years ago). I'm still waiting for the spike-heel slave sandal to appear. (I do have to tell you, though, despite looking like all my clothes have been shoved in a backpack for four months, and perpetually being ready to go on a hike if someone asked me to, I was approached by a woman today who wanted to know where I got my Chaco sandals. Of course, she was around 50, and probably suffering from foot pain after years of heels, but I'm taking it as a compliment!)

Some women might take offense-- but I just find it comical-- that men of all ages, occupations, and levels of intoxication (ranging from, hopefully, NONE in regards to the bus driver, to HIGH in regards to the 20 year old on the bus) have referred to me as "dearie" and "love". And me not even having batted my eyelashes!

Just a couple more (hot) days in Australia, and then I am off to New Zealand, where I hear that their accent is even odder, and it might just be snowing. (Yes, it is summer there.)

Inauguration Day

I have never been at all political. When I see someone on the street trying to rally support for someone or something, I steer clear. My total knowledge of how the White House functions is courtesy of Aaron Sorkin. And I don't think I could actually tell you the names of both Missouri senators and the govenor. (I might get one or two out of the three, but that would be sheer luck.)

I am not at all patriotic. The last time I waved a flag I was probably ten. During the one week out of the year that my class learned about the Pledge of Allegiance, I had to dig a crumpled flag out of the filing cabinet. And if I ever wear red, white, and blue, it is by accident.

But today, Inauguration Day, I actually thought that I wouldn't mind having a little American flag on my person somewhere. (Obama was inauguated at 3:30 am Sydney time, so I consider today Inauguration Day, even though it is the 21st.) I went into the city this morning, and on every newspaper at every store the front page had photos of Obama being sworn in, the Oath of Office, and quotes from his speech. I walked around grinning like mad, often with tears running down my face. No one approached me, but I'm sure they all thought I was a bit off my rocker. But if I'd had a little flag or sign saying "I'm an American" they might have understood. People all over the world, I can tell you with first-hand knowledge, are thrilled with today.

The inauguration was being rebroadcast here at 12:30 pm, so I cut my touristing short for the day, and headed back to where I am staying (via a bakery to buy some apple pie, which was the closest thing I could think of as being patriotic. It did have rhubarb in it, though, for I clearly am not in America). I have never watched an inauguration before. Sure, I probably was actually working during previous inaugurations, but I wouldn't have cared to watch them anyway. But this one I wanted to see. I had my pie and my tissues (it was a two-tissue event), and I was ready.

I never understood the mania around JFK, why people were so crazy about him, why there are JFK memorials literally all over the world, but now I think I might get it. Even abroad, Obama-mania is sweeping through.

In my travels, I've never shirked my nationality, but neither have I broadcast it. But today I would. It is a good day to be an American, wherever you are.

NZ customs

I was just checking the website for New Zealand customs to see if I can bring in the little wooden thing I just bought or if I need to ship it home, and I found that I am not allowed to bring in "cloned and hybrid human embryos". Damnit, now I'm going to have to repack.

Australian Money

Some of you may know that the Australian money is color coded by denomination (great idea), has different sizes for the different bills (great idea), and is waterproof (great idea...especially for when you want to swim up to the bar). The smallest bill that they have is the five dollar bill. For one and two dollars, they have coins (but, inexplicably, the $2 is smaller in size than the $1 coin... much like our dime, I guess). Being a former British colony or protectorate or commonwealth thingy, the queen is on the front side of all the coins. As a result, on many occasion I have had to catch myself from referring to the money as pounds and pence. (You'd think that I would find it easy to adapt to calling the money dollars and cents, but not so much.)

I have sheepishly handed over $50 bills at all sorts of establishments in the last month, apologizing that I had nothing smaller, but no one has been phased at all. (Guess $50 isn't worth that much over here!) Until today. The driver on the bus this morning couldn't break it. I asked what I should do, and she told me to sit down, and she'd think about it. When we arrived at the terminus, I went back and offered her my small money (two pounds, twenty five pence), but she said I should just buy someone a cup of coffee at some point today. (The bus driver this afternoon-- during rush hour-- wasn't quite so accomodating. Maybe I should have offered HIM the cup of coffee.)

They have no pennies here. They did away with the coins a few years ago. And yet, things still cost $1.97 or $23.61. So what do they do? They just round. I think the till just automatically rounds up or down when it gives you the change, assuming, I suppose, that it will all work out in the end.

Go figure.

Melbourne

I've been in Melbourne a week now. (I haven't written about it because I thought I would give you time to digest the last flurry of posts. Plus I've been busy being a tourist-- and hanging out with my new bogan friends in their cool green utes.) My cousin who lives here said I could stay with her (when I invited myself, she kindly accepted), but she and her family were on holiday my first day in Melbourne, so she recommended a backpackers' place called The Nunnery. Yes, as in "Get thee to a..." So I got myself there. (Really, it was only a matter of time, wasn't it?) The Nunnery (an old, Victorian house which had been a convent at one point, and still had lots of religious art around, but all done tongue-in-cheek...I think) was actually great. High ceilings, wooden floors, and a bed (bunk bed, with a Japanese girl above me) that was actually comfortable. Plus, there were free pancakes (really crepes) for breakfast on Sunday morning. Yum.  (By the way, I just found out that prostitution is legal here, and there's actually a brothel around the corner from the Nunnery.  Oh, the irony...)

I had the day to kill before my cousin would be collecting me, so I wandered around the suburb of Fitzroy (Melbourne's oldest suburb). It was really nice. Not nice in a swanky sense, but nice in a lots of character (and characters) sense.  They seem fans of what the NY Times once referred to as "elegant distress".  (Translation:  bare plaster is in.) Brunswick Street is the main strip, which is filled with lots of restaurants and bars and shops. Melbourne seems to really be into the hip and cool look to their shops, which alas extends to the signage. At many places, I couldn't decipher what exactly the name of the shop was. Looking in the window helped sometimes, but not always. I did go into a paper store that was beautiful. I popped into one "luxury items" (scarves and necklaces) shop. I gave all the boutiques a miss. (Neither to my taste nor my budget.) Somehow I managed to walk past all the bakeries and the chocolate shop without being lured in. (Having extended the Christmas bingeing for the whole three weeks that I was in Perth, I thought I would take a little break from sweets while I was in Melbourne, at least for one day.)

So along I walked on my sugarless way when I saw people sitting on very colorful seats outside a shop. The name of the shop was displayed as just a jumble of colorful letters, so that didn't help me in figuring out what they sold. I looked through the window into the shop, and I swear to god my brain was still decoding "Oh, it's a gelateria" when my feet had already turned into the store. I had absolutely nothing to do with it!  But since I was already in there, I did get some gelato... one scoop of sesame, which was fantastic, and one of spiced chocolate, which actually had a bit of a kick to it.

Back at the Nunnery, I pored through all of the tourist information that I had collected, sad to see that I would be missing various cool looking events (like the Victorian Hot Rod Show, which is a week after I leave... your guess is as good as mine as to what a Victorian hot rod is!), but I was THRILLED to see that the Metropolitan Opera (in New York) HD broadcasts were going on here (not live, clearly), and I would be able to see Tommy's wigs for Thais! I nipped right off to the theater, shelled out insane amounts of money (actually cheaper than it costs at home, but still four times the cost of a normal movie ticket), explained to the guy behind me in line that when the box office sign read "Thais opera" it meant that the movie was the opera Thais, and in I went. The time difference for once was working in my favor, and I called mom and dad during the first intermission (yes, the movie had intermissions, just like the real opera) and happily told them where I was. (Kind of like the time that I was in Vienna and I called home from a subway station at 3 a.m. to tell them that I was spending the night in line on the sidewalk to buy standing room tickets to see Placido Domingo sing in Carmen at opening night of the Statsoper.)

Once the opera ended (the wigs were indeed fantastic, as I knew they would be... and the singing was pretty good too), my cousin came and collected me. I haven't seen her in AGES, so it's been nice to catch up with her, see her husband again (the first time I got to be a bridesmaid, at the old age of 15. Loved that periwinkle dress), and meet her kids.

My friend in Perth unhappily told me that Perth, unlike Melbourne, had removed all of its old architecture. I hadn't really registered this until I got here and started to walk around. Melbourne really is lovely. It is in the state of Victoria, so therefor everything is referred to as Victorian, but much actually is from that period.  Sometimes it feels like I am walking around parts of St. Louis (which also had its heyday at the turn of the last century). Melbourne is small and totally walkable. I did cave today and take the tram, but that's because I had to get home for my cousin's child's third birthday party. (There was cake. Enough said.) I've walked around neighborhoods, through downtown, to museums and through parks. It is all great. Many of the museums and public buildings seem to have been built in the last 10 years, and the architecture is what I would call "funky". And graffiti seems to be an art form here.  I've really enjoyed everything... and I haven't even frequented the restaurants, for which Melbourne is famous.

I'll try to put up some photos that I've taken from around town. (But I'm on mac, which is being a bit confusing to me. "User-friendly" my @$$.)

Australian Food

I don't know if there is a particular food which is supposed to be quintessentially Australian, but if there is, I haven't found it.  I have, however, eaten a few things here which I do not think I am likely to be offered again in the near future.  (Some of them, I would even accept if I were offered them again!)

I have eaten kangaroo.  It seems to be kind of like deer here.  Wild, and a bit of a nuisance, so hunters (farmers) remove them and have some nice lean meat.  It was pretty tasty.

I have eaten emu.  Also wild.  There used to be emu farms, but apparently not anymore.  I had my emu in the form of a meat pie.  While it was better than the nasty Scottish thing I ate in October, I've decided that meat pies aren't really my thing.

I have eaten bread and butter from a cafe for $3.60AU (that's about $2.40 US).  That was for two slices of bread. Not toasted, and the butter was on the table.  That's $1.20 US a slice.  That would be what, about $25 a loaf?  (Needless to say, not the cheapest country, even with the good exchange rate.)

I have eaten a Milky Way bar that was really a Three Musketeers bar (just nougat and chocolate).  I have eaten a Mars bar that was a Milky Way (above with caramel layer).  I have sampled a collection of local chocolate bars (for purely scientific reasons, of course) to see how they compare and contrast with those from home.

I have eaten Sticky Date Pudding.  This is where my blog has served me well, for my Perth hostess read about the Scottish Sticky Toffee Pudding, and how absolutely delighted I was with it (I think ecstatic might be a better word), and decided that she had a recipe that was pretty similar.  And it was.  And it was delicious.  And I was happy.  (And she now clearly ranks as The Hostess with the Mostess!)

I have eaten pink grapefruit gelato.  (Yeah, that was FORCED down my throat.)

Not sure what I'll eat today, but apparently I have to dress for the occasion.  My Aunt (really my mother's cousin, but whatever) is taking me out to dinner and asked if I had a skirt and nice blouse with me.  Yes, I have a skirt.  I can fake the blouse (I have a fairly respectable sweater, and the restaurant has AC, which is good, since it is due to be 102 here today).  But she looked a bit scornfully at my Chacos.  Well, it's them or hiking boots!  (Although in this country, wearing shoes into restaurants appears to be optional.)

Bon appetit for me!

Trip through SW Australia

Cate and John (and two year old, Josh) very kindly took me on a trip through SW Australia, so I could get a flavor for more than just Perth and the beach.  (There is more to Australia than the beach??)  We headed south from Perth, via lunch at Cate's family's cattle farm.  (We would call it a ranch, but here it's a farm.  See post about lack of a common language...)  It was hot, dry, and with LOTS of flies.  (I don't like the flies here.)  From there we headed further south to Permberton, a piddly little town in the middle of karri forrests (a sort of eucalyptus, which is also called gum trees, of which there are apparently 750 different species).  We stayed in a fishing lodge, which were lucky was still standing, as it was due to be burned to the ground a few months ago.  (The person who was staying in the lodge at the time complained, and they kindly didn't burn it down around him.)  We wandered out to the Gloucester tree, which was a 61 meter tall fire lookout.  Although the two year old was ready to go up, I was the nominated tree climber.  It was indeed quite beautiful from the top, but I have to admit I was a bit shaky a couple of times on the climb.  But I was WAY better than the poor dad who was being forced to climb the tree with his kids whom I passed on my way down.  He was huffing and puffing, not looking up and not looking down, and holding on for dear life.  Clearly not happy.

The experience of actually climbing the tree myself and being above all the others made the renowned Tree Top Walk a bit of a disappointment.  It was neat, but a wheelchair accessible ramp 40 meters up doesn't quite compare.  (Although there were people on those swaying and bouncing metal bridges who were clearly not happy to be there.)  Further down the road we walked through giant tingle trees.  Yes, through them.  Among them, and through ones that were insanely large and hollowed out by fire.

The next day was the wine, cheese, and chocolate tour.  Most of the vineyards seem to have a sideline going so that mom and dad can feel okay dragging their kids from winery to winery.   At the first vineyard (which also sold homemade cheese, fudge, and ice cream) there was a couple who had been in the day before, and in the interim he had proposed to her.  They told the woman behind the counter all about it, and, after she handed them their case of wine, she looked at me and asked "Isn't romance wonderful?"  Hell if I would know!  (Not that I am likely to be proposed to anytime soon, but I think I am much less a top-of-the-mountain-champagne-in-backpack kind of girl than I am the at-the-dryer-folding-laundry proposition.  (Yes, that is how my cousin was proposed to.)  Of course, I'm also perfectly happy just to buy myself a nice ring and not have to deal with the strings attached!)

From there we went to a little petting zoo.  I think the proprietors' intention was that we would pay the $12 entrance fee (each) and go outside to pet the animals.  I decided that staying in the gift shop and petting the stuffed animals for free was more in tune with my budget.  I actually totally fell in love (no engagement rings), and, had I been ridiculously wealthy, I would have paid $220 for a teddy bear which had alpaca fur.  Oh my goodness, I have never felt anything so soft.  So I pet and pet and pet that. (I'm not too much of a tactile person or anything.)

Next stop, winery/puzzle shop.  That place just pissed me off, for all of the puzzles were those cursed rope things that I can never do.  They did have some incredible smelling jasmine out front, though, so it wasn't a total loss.

We had lunch at yet another gorgeous white sands beach (on the Southern Ocean,

 which everyone else on the planet apparently calls just more of the Indian Ocean).  My favorite of these beaches was Conspicuous Beach.  Obviously I was drawn there by the name, but the place was actually quite stunning.

Last stop was a meadery.  No monks in sight (although the place was called Bartholomew, which has a monkly ring to it).  I was not wise in the ways of mead, so had to ask.  It seems to be any alcoholic beverage made from honey.  I tried two ports and a wine.  Not bad.  Not as good as the honey ice cream, though...

From there we drove for hours and hours to a place called Margaret River, which is the cutesy tourist town in the heart of wine country.  (Nothing like Portsmouth or any New England cutesy tourist town, alas.)   We had dinner watching the sun set over the Indian Ocean (the real one this time, for we were back on the west coach), and watching one idiotic surfer staying out until dark in shark infested waters.  ("Probably just some local fisherman out for a pleasure cruise at night ... through eel infested waters."  Name that movie.)

Then it was back to the beach house in Mandurah for a little laundry doing (which, in this 'dry heat' dried on the line in no time), then to Perth, then to Melbourne!

Divided by a common language

Some famous person (whose name I should probably remember, and could quite easily look up, but I don't feel like it) said something to the effect that England and America are two countries divided by a common language.  That may well be true.  But if so, then what the hell is Australia????

Previously I mentioned finding a bogun with whom to go hooning.  Some of you I am sure got a little excited by this prospect (not having any idea of what it was, exactly).  Well, don't.  First of all, a bogun most likely has never uttered the phrase "with whom".  I don't know if there is an exact translation for bogun beyond (the terribly un-PC) white trash.  Boguns would be very at home in Hampton Beach.  'Nuff said (to NH folks).  Hoons (a noun, also used as the verb, to hoon) appears to be folks who like to drag race (a big overlap with boguns, I believe) or the act of drag racing and doing donuts and just generally screwing around with one's car.  (Which, if you are a bogun, is most likely a mettalic lime green ute-- that half car, half truck thing.)

Now, bringing England back into the picture, I don't think I ever wrote about the fact that I apparently was quite ill when I was in England.  Whenever I met or walked by someone I knew, they asked me if I was all right.  It took me about a week of being a bit concerned that I was looking pallid (which I probably was, as all the blood had left my extremities and was desperately trying to keep my vital organs warm in that freezing climate) before I realized that it was simply their greeting, their version of our "How're you doing?" or, even better, " 'Sup?".  In Australia they have changed this again, and they inquire as to how I am going.  What?   What do you mean, "How am I going?"?  By car?  By foot?  By you?  Of course, upon reflection, "How are you doing?" is just as inane, and "'sup" is just ridiculous, but at least I know the appropriate responses.  ("Fine, thanks" and "Nommuch... 'Sup wid chu?")  At the hostel the other day the Aussie guy in reception asked how I was going, and I responded, "I am going well... If that makes any sense."

My favorite thing to do while driving around SW Australia (when not busy wondering at YET ANOTHER lime green vehicle) was to look at the names of roads and places.  I like playing Scrabble quite a bit, and sometimes am even good at it, but there are times when my tray of tiles looks a bit daunting, and I ask if manjimup might not be a word.  Or boodjidup.  Or wonthaggi.  The answer is yes, but they are proper nouns, so they don't count.  Here are a few more of my favorite place names.  (Bonus points to anyone who can actually rearrange any of them into something that looks like a real word.)  Yalgorup, Nannup, Myalgelup, Gnarabup, Tjukayilta, Boyanup.  (And, in case you are wondering, I think that these are all Aboriginal names.)

An apology

To my devoted fans (mostly my father, who likes to tell me how long it has been since my last blog post), 

I am sorry to have been so delinquent in putting posts up recently, but I was taken on a lovely trip through SW Australia, where Internet was a bit sparse, but the gum trees (and flies) were plentiful.  When I got back to Perth I had only a few hours before my next departure, which I filled with checking email (only 23... not bad for 5 days away) and eating strawberries from the garden.  (A girl has to have her priorities, you know.)  I will attempt to make it up to you now by inundating you with posts.

Australia

It is soooooooo nice to be in Australia, where I can settle in and be a normal human being. This morning I did a little yoga, walked to the store, harvested some tomatoes and peppers-- called capsicum (?!) here--from the great garden, and made some lunch. (Sorely missing the NYTimes Sunday puzzle, but that's okay, because the last time I had one it was really, really hard. Much harder than normal for someone of my great intellect. Obviously I am out of shape mentally as well as physically.) All of the Aussies that I have met (mostly related to Cate and John, or close friends of theirs) have been really great. But there are a few quirks to life Down Under.

I mentioned that I was at the beach last week. Going to the beach at home is a lovely, relaxing experience. Here it is a near-death experience in many, many ways. First of all there's the water. My ocean is welcoming (if a wee bit on the cold side), with gentle waves rolling in. This ocean pretty much wants to eat you. The waves pound into the shore and grab all the sand from under your feet, trying to take it-- and you-- back out with it. I'm somewhat wise in the ways of undertows and currents, so I was prepared for that. I was also not terribly surprised when, inching my way out into the hungry waters, the sand suddenly dropped away. (I figured there was a reason that huge waves were crashing only about ten feet from shore.) Okay, so now I'm in the water. No one has mentioned anything about jellyfish, so I'm not concerned about that. But the news the previous week was completely filled with the story of a 50 year old man who was 'taken' by a shark not too many kilometers north of where I was standing. Hmmm.... sharks. I don't see many big nets floating out between me and the ocean. But there were lots of other people between me and the vast expanse, and they look pretty tasty, so I think I'm safe. (But I'm keeping my feet on the sand-- as long as the waves don't suck it away.)

The second death threat that you need to overcome at the beach is skin cancer. I wrote earlier that all sunscreen here (NOT suntan lotion, thank you very much) is 30+. These people are serious about not tanning and not getting skin cancer. Having not used any sun screen for probably the first 14 years of my life (and then moving onto nice oil, SPF 4), I am a bit wary all of a sudden. I look at the various freckles and moles I have on my body and wonder if they've always been there, and if they have gotten any bigger since I've been hovering around the equator. (One day in Thailand I walked around without ANY sunscreen on. I'm definitely a goner now!) So it was with a sudden panic the other night that I did see a small brown spot on my arm that definitely had NOT been there before. It was pale brown, slightly raised, and a bit smaller than a lentil. Before running to the phonebook to find the number for a dermatologist, I thought I would see if perhaps it wasn't really part of me. No big surprise, it came right off. Chocolate, of course. (Not sure how I let any get past my mouth, but that is a different issue.)

The last part of the beach experience which makes it slightly less than a day at the beach would be the flies (which, alas, are not restricted to just at the beach). These lovely little creatures are apparently quite starved of water in this desert country, so seek to get it wherever they can. Unfortunately that means that they like to dive bomb my mouth, nose, and eyes. Ick, is all I have to say about that. Guess I'll have to bring out the DEET again, alas. (Speaking of which, the mozzies in this country, while unseen by me, are something fierce! I haven't had a mosquito bite which itched in about 15 years, but MAN, am I itchy now! I look like my poor British cousins who come over and get accused of having chicken pox because they are covered in red welts. Luckily my welts are located just on my feet... right underneath my sandal straps, of course. Can't wait to meet the sand flies in New Zealand.)

As to other Down Under oddities, I'm afraid I can't say anything about the water flushing down the toilet being different here, because I can't actually remember which way it goes at home. Guess I don't spend enough time staring into the toilet bowl. I can tell you, though, that I spent about a month south of the equator (in Kenya and now here) staring at the stars at night, trying to get my bearing. There's Orion, but he's upside down. There's that W thing that I don't know the name of. No sign of any dippers, big or little, and where the hell is the North Star? Yes, it took me a MONTH to figure out that there ISN'T a North Star because I am in the Southern Hemisphere.

Like I said, I'm out of shape mentally. Or it could just be the heat. The other day it was 42 C. I was asked by someone at home if it is a "dry heat". Who cares? It is flippin' HOT is what it is! (But yes, it is a dry heat. 42 C equals 107 F, but I could still breathe. Unlike home, I didn't feel I needed gills.)

I'll tell you about the language later. Now I need to go find a bogan boyfriend whom I can go hooning with. (Totally G rated, but illegal.....)