My Life as a Double Agent

You want to know how I feel about Spies? Two words: Dream Job. Wear Lycra, do Kung Fu, balance exhilarating rumbles with Bad Guys with excruciatingly boring day job. Nothing wrong with that.

I actually might have made a reasonably good spy. Costume? Check. Kung Fu skills? A little rough, perhaps, but I've got a good kick. Double life? Sometimes. It's all relative.

In the very recent past, I had to channel my inner Sydney Bristow as I worked on a super-top-secret new business pitch. Well, it's over now. And we lost. So, now I can finally break the cone of silence.

It had all the makings of a good spy thriller: a crack team of highly talented, but possibly unstable operatives was assembled to complete a gargantuan task under an impossible deadline. Along the way there were clandestine meetings, strange people with dangerous accents, suspicious foods, and a whirlwind trip to a dingy little European town.

It was thrilling. The fate of the world (a.k.a. next year's forecast) was in our hands! The following images were pulled off an old Soviet satellite:

Radioactive snack-ums from the Crown Club. I brought home a sample to be analyzed in the lab.

Even super spies can supersize.

Our "target" is the guy in the red jacket.

Here we are posing as tourists. Hiding in plane sight. Genius, isn't it?

See, with the glasses, no one knows it's me!

Flesh Loaf. With salad.

I make this guy taste all my food to make sure it's not poisoned.

I caught this guy paying homage to Colonel Klink.

Those eastern Europeans are so superior.

The trick to having an alias is getting the details right. Like having a "Hildegarde" name-mug on your desk.

Beer and pretzels. With cheese. And butter. They were out of salad.

Updated

For those of you who couldn't read the fortunes in the previous entry- I updated to include them.
C

a month in photos

I've been missing from the Blogosphere for about a month, even though there has been no shortage of hilarious, absurd, infuriating, and disgusting things to write about.

So, in lieu of my witty prose, here are some snaps of life according to me:

I think these fortunes sum up the difference between me and my sister:

My sister's fortune: "People are naturally attracted to you."

My fortune: "The strengths in your character will bring you serenity." Frankly, I'd rather be hot and unserene.

A pre-holiday gathering of oldsters. We were full of pie:

Christmas Chez Hindsley:







New Year's Day in Philly. I didn't see any Mummers, but I saw a lot of drunks.




The first RAT of the new year!



Celebrating Sheri's birthday in style...

emotional spandex

It's the evening we look forward to all year... the office holiday party! Who will pass out in the bathroom? (sadly, no one.) Who will make inappropriate comments? (um, everyone?) Will I actually get to eat this year? (prime rib. yum.)


Anyway, a fine time was had by all. Great space, great music (Look, Ma, a real band!), and a bunch of us from the agency stormed the stage and performed a not-so-impromtu set of tunes. We called ourselves "Pitchin' and Moanin'." Otherwise known as "Emotional Spandex."

Don't Ask.

The band in rehearsal.

I think this should be our album cover.
"She Hates Me."
Me and my fan club.

I'm sure I'm making some really good point.

Probably singing some Elvis Costello tune.

Strike

I know I'm way behind on posting. Life has been so ridiculous since I've been back in the US. I forgot how fast we move in NYC. My body rebelled, finally, last week in the form of a nasty stomach bug that flattened me for three days and hung around for a few more. Although, personally, I think it was overkill. My body could have just left me a voicemail.

As everyone in the free world knows, NYC was plagued with a transit strike this week. Three days of no buses or trains. Incredible how crippling it was. Through it all, most people demonstrated an incredible capacity for "sucking it up" and getting on with life.

The subway station near my office.

I came up with what would eventually be revealed to be a flawed plan. I had a rental car to get myself and a co-worker out to NJ for a client meeting, but I couldn't get past 96th street. So, I headed uptown to pick up my friend Michael and two of his friends. Flawed. We found ourselves hopelessly mired in the gridlock that was Manhattan.

Me, still cheerful after 3 hours behind the wheel.

It was an experience worthy of a Seinfeld episode. Conversations ranged from our jobs (advertising, broadway) and politics (hate George Bush) to tv (Super Nanny) and the strike (hate it!). Five hours later, I arrived at my meeting in NJ. Late, but with a humdinger of an excuse.

My chariot.

Day two was not much better. This time I picked up three "hitchhikers" along Columbus Ave to get myself through the checkpoint. It's so weird having a two-hour conversation with complete strangers. I'll never see them again, but I'll never forget them.

Day three I gave up and stayed home.

I Want My Mommy

I'm so sick I want to die.

Feeling Charitable?

The holidays are such a crazy time of year: gift shopping, holiday getherings, work-related functions. Who has time for anything else?

For any of you who have been meaning to make some charitable contributions, here are a few ideas I've heard in the recent past that I thought were kind of cool...

** If you have suits hanging in your closet that are a little past their prime, Dress for Success will take them off your hands. This organization provides suits and other professional clothes to low-income women who are interviewing for jobs.

**Ever wished you could run a marathon but are too busy/out-of-shape/sane to train for one? Why not contribute to a marathoner's training/charity fund? My roomie, Joanna, is running a marathon on behalf of the Leukemia/Lymphoma Society.

**Want to help rebuild New Orleans? Click here for good old-fashioned hurricane relief.

**If you're like me, you probably have a drawerful of toiletries stolen from hotels around the world. Did you know that local shelters would love to have them? Ditto for cell phones, baby clothes, and even prom dresses!

Many contributions are tax-deductible, so it's a win-win! Give til it hurts people.

Life Behind the Mirror

As in life, advertising is about multi-tasking. This week was one of the wackiest. I was all over the place: market research, black-tie cocktail party, rock & roll jam session. Who's life is this?

Interviewing neurologists. ZZZZzzzz.

The only thing missing is the m&ms.

RCW house band: Pitchin' & Moanin'

Retrieving Delilah

During my trip to Japan, my pooch Delilah was spending time in the Philly area with my Aunt. She had a great time visiting her "cousins" (the other pets in my extended family) and running up and down Aunt Joan's Stairs.

Over Thanksgiving I went to pick her up to bring her home. I was really worried that she wouldn't remember me. Luckily, that was not the case. I found her happy, healthy, a little scruffy, and if possible even more adorable than when I left her.

And they call it puppy love...

Thanks for abandoning me, Mom.

Delilah with Aunt Joan and friends.

Two hot babes and a hot car.

Pet Peeves

Sometimes people ask me if I have any pet peeves. I always roll my eyes because, of course, I have about 10 million of them. I become peeved fairly often. In fact, one could say that, on occasion, I can be quite peevish.

 

One of my biggest ones is the constant need for people to monitor the weight of other people (OK,  the weight of me). Don't get me wrong, I like a good compliment as much as the next person, but "Wow. You lost a TON of weight!" doesn't exactly qualify as a compliment in my book. I get it, I'm not as FAT as I was last time you saw me. Thanks, but could we refrain from hyperbole of the 2,000 pound variety?

 

Think about it: what other physical "defects" do we feel as comfortable mentioning? When was the last time you ever heard someone say, "Hey Jill, your acne's really clearing up! You really had a pizza face there for a while." or "Wow, Bill, your formerly hooked and bulbous nose looks SO MUCH smaller! Way to go!" or "I gotta tell ya, Phil, whatever you did to get rid of that bad breath is really working. I mean, it could have knocked a maggot off a shit wagon. Keep it up!"

 

I could go on and on. Really.

 

I admit, if in fact I am defined by my body type, I am as guilty as anyone else for making that happen because it's so often a topic of conversation and something that I obsess over on a daily basis.

 

I'm just saying.

 

 

 

 

Gobble Gobble

Happy Thanksgiving!

I'm in Philly for the weekend to see my family and eat copious amount of Turkey, etc. After a relaxing weekend in the neighborhood, I was back at work on Monday morning. It was strange, but really fun. Of course, no actual work was done and I drank a lot of wine at lunch.

Life is good. And I'm sure by next Monday I will be fully back in the rat race.

So, I'm thinking of continuing this bloggin thing. But, should I start a new blog? One that's not a rip off of a movie title about being in Japan? Or keep this one. Confused.

Thoughts?

The Longest Days of My Young Life

November 17-18

Sadly, we had to leave Port Douglas and begin our journey home. The plan was to fly from Cairns to Sydney, where Doug and I would go our separate ways: he would stay with Tisha for 2 more days in Sydney and I was flying back to Tokyo to pick up my connecting flight back to NYC.

Unfortunately, when we got to the airport in Cairns, we found that our flight had been mysteriously cancelled and that we were put onto a later flight. One that would get me to Sydney exactly two hours before my flight to Tokyo. Normally, this wouldn't upset me, but given my recent issues with baggage, etc, and the fact that I had done NO souvenir shopping, I was pissed.

I set it up with the Qantas people to check my luggage straight through to Tokyo so that at least I wouldn't have to claim and re-check my baggage. I was pretty specific about the fact that Doug's bag would be staying in Sydney. They seemed to understand.

Well, let's just say that they knew that one of our bags was supposed to go to Tokyo, they just were a little mixed up on which one. Luckily, when Doug went to baggage claim, he recognized my bag trundling down the conveyor belt. He was able to get the Qantas people to re-check my bag through to my Tokyo flight, but the staff were unable to find his bag. They assumed it was already on my flight and they couldn't get it off.

In a last minute call, Doug told me to look for it in Tokyo.

When I landed at around 6AM, I went immediately to the bag claim people to explain the situation. My bag came through, but I didn't see Doug's. It was a little early to call him in Sydney, so I decided to fill out a lost bag report just in case. This was easier said then done, and as I was repeatedly asked to produce my passport to various baggage claim people, I was getting worried that I might be flagged as an agitator. I finally called Doug and he reported that Qantas had indeed found his bag after about 2 hours of searching the airport in Sydney.

I had hurriedly purchased an oversized, wooden souvenir as a gift for someone in my office. The customs inspector was very concerned about it and mentioned "termites." I assured him that there were no termites stowing away in any of my stuff. He looked unconvinced, but waved me through anyway.

My flight to NYC wasn't until 7PM and it was only 8AM when I finally cleared customs. I wasn't allowed to check in, so I wasted the day watching CNN in a random lounge, buying up some final souvenirs, and getting my nails done. I finally checked in at 2PM, and once-freed of my large suitcase, I set off to deal with my boxes of stuff that were being held in another terminal. I was only allowed to check in one more piece of baggage without being charged (they told me the charge to check my oversized wooden souvenir, which weighed less than 2 kg, would be $200 USD! Charlatans!!). So began another session of "what can I abandon now?"

I finally got everything into one box (underweight, thank you), stopped by the post office to ship my oversized wooden souvenir (only $30 USD, score!), and triumphantly returned to the check in desk. The agent tried to get me to downgrade my ticket to economy class because business class was oversold. I gave her a look that my friend Michael describes as my "I smell shit" face and said, "No, thanks." As if.

The flight home was very comfortable, although I made the mistake of ordering the Japanese meal. What on earth possessed me? I'll never know. I chatted with my seatmate, a 50-something actuary/estate tax specialist from Boston who was much more interesting than his job sounds. He asked me why I was still single saying, "You know, if there wasn't a geographical issue and an obvious age difference, I'd ask you out."

There I was, bare-faced, bespectacled, flip-flopped, uncoiffed, and unshowered being practically propositioned by a possibly non-creep. Wonders never cease. We exchanged business cards, but that's probably the end of that.

Finally, we landed in NYC and I breezed through immigration. I had only the tiniest twinge of guilt when, in response to the question: "Have you spent any time on a farm during your time outside the US?", I checked the NO! box. I'm sure those cows were clean.

There was a car waiting for me at the airport (thank god) and soon I was back at my apartment, catching up with my roommate and trying to win back the affections of my seriously pissed off cats.

Snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef

Wednesday, November 16

We were up early to catch the bus to take us on our snorkeling tour of the Great Barrier Reef. The Quicksilver company was recommended by a woman we met in Sydney on our Harbor Bridge Climb. They were a little more expensive than the other companies, but I think they had a more comprehensive program and were obviously well-prepared for any and all tourist-related situations.

Boarding the boat

It took about 90 minutes to get out to the pontoon at the Agincourt Reef dive site. On the way, the crew showed us a video about how to snorkel. I admit, I watched this with great interest because my last few snorkeling attempts have been great failures. I don't know what it is, but I just get really panicky underwater. Having that mask stuck to my face and the snorkel thingy shoved in my maw is just horrible. Don't get me started on the flippers.

One item of interest that was repeated several times was that there is a high possibilty that there will be "marine stingers" in the water. Now, by "marine stingers" they actually mean Box Jellyfish AKA venomous death blobs that will kill you as soon as look at you. In fact, they don't even look at you because they don't have eyes. They just have tentacles. And if even the teeny tiny tip of a tentacle even brushes against your teeny tiny toe, you die a slow horrible gasping death.

But, never fear. In order to avoid 400 tourists writhing in unimaginable agony on the decks of the pontoon, Quicksilver provides "stinger suits" which apparently protect the wearer from the stinging creatures. Maybe the electric-blue lycra spandex deflects the stings. Or maybe it scares the life out of everything in it's path. You be the judge:

Auditioning for the Blue Man Group.

My match.com photo

Awwww...

Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close up.

Anyway. Once we were suited up, it was time to get in the water. Even though they make it easy by providing a snorkeling platform where you get basically just sit down and your in the water, I was fairly terrified. My heart was thumping so loudly I could barely hear Doug trying to reassure me that it would all be fun.

The snorkeling platform. At least I wasn't dorky enough to wear a life jacket over my stinger suit.

We got in the water, and it wasn't long before I was being knocked around by little waves and had taken in a huge mouthful of water. I was trying to stay within the "if you're not a strong swimmer" zone, where they suggest that children, the elderly, and the infirm should stay. But I soon realized that my chances of drowning were great increased due to the presence of other flailing, panicked landlubbers. So, I made the executive decision that I'd strike out for the calmer waters of the "if you're a confident swimmer" zone.

Best decision I ever made. The water was calmer (even if the current was not) and soon I had gotten the hang of the skorkeling thing and was chasing after schools of fish. Doug and I stayed in the water for over an hour and went in for a second trip later. It was fascinating seeing the coral reef and all of the crazy fish and other creatures that live in it. We even saw several clown fish (that's Nemo to us mere mortals). I was absurdly pleased by that.

They call this the "dead man's float." Eek!


It was our last real day of vacation (at least together, Doug was staying on in Sydney for another two days). So, we went back to our favorite restaurant in Port Douglas (of the two we tried): Salsa Bar & Grill. Another great meal complete with witty banter with our new best friend - our waitress who looked just like Cate Blanchett playing Katharine Hepburn.

Later, after waiting 40 minutes for a cab that would never come, we ran into the Nuts people from the night before. They were also waiting for a cab and offered us a ride back to the hotel once their car finally came. They were a hilarious group of friends who vacation together every year. Good times.

Lazy Day by the Pool

Tuesday, November 15

We decided to make today a free day to laze around and take advantage of the Sheraton Mirage resort. I was up around 9:00 and I decided to go for a run on the beach. Of course, I underestimated how difficult it is to actually run on sand, especially since I'm not in such great shape, so it turned into more of a granny-jog/power-walk/beach-combing session.

I took advantage of the breakfast buffet (they had vegemite and nutella packets!) before squeezing myself into my humiliating bathing costume and heading off to the pool.

Bliss. My view of the world for most of the day.

I amused myself by taking pictures of the hotel and another walk on the beach.

One of the five "lagoons" at the hotel.

Another view of the lagoons.

Four Mile Beach was just outside our hotel.

In the afternoon, I went to the resort spa where some woman beat the crap out of me for an hour. Again, bliss.

For dinner, Doug and I went back into town and ate at a BYO ("bring your own" liquor/beer, etc) Thai restaurant. There was a black out that effectively shut down every business in town. There was one bar that had a generator, so everyone headed there for more drinks. Unfortunately, after about 20 minutes the generator died and we were all left to finish our beers and get the hell out. When we asked the taxi driver what caused the black out he said, "Lack of electricity, mate."

The one place with a generator, after it died.

The Sheraton, of course, was lit up like Christmas. They must have some sort of super generator. We headed into the bar for a few more drinks. There was a singer there who played the guitar fairly well. There was also a party of four revellers who had us laughing with their crazy dancing and their attempt to hijack our nuts. (Minds out of the gutter, please).

Nuts people.

Blog is Up to Date

Hi All:
The blog is finally up to date through today's adventures. The catch is that for some reason I am unable to upload any pictures into Blogger.

Luckily, my friend Doug has tons of great pictures from our trip on his blog. He's in the process of updating, so check back often to see new snaps.

Arriving in Port Douglas, Cairns

Monday, November 14

When we got back to the hotel last night, we tried to take advantage of the hotels (not free) wireless technology. Of course, my PC was having none of it, so I only had a few minutes to post some of my piled up blog entries. Blogger chose to not let me upload any pictures and I finally gave up in disgust. My laundry list of why Blogger sucks is growing.

In the morning, we had a quick breakfast then headed off to the airport to catch out flight from Melbourne to Cairns. We were flying JetStar, which is one of those annoying “cheap” airlines that don’t give you any food and don’t have seat assignments. Not having seat assignments is all well and good for business people flights like the Delta Shuttle from NYC to Washington DC, but for regular folk it spells CHAOS. I did not approve. Luckily, Doug and I strategized and ended up with a row to ourselves.

We landed in Cairns and immediately felt the change in the atmosphere. Instead of the breezy chilly air of Melbourne, we were feeling the hot tropical air. I was itching to get to the hotel so I could get on the beach or at least to the pool.

There was a shuttle to take us to the hotel. The driver had two pieces of bad news: 1 – it was an hour drive to the hotel and 2 – the air conditioner in the shuttle was broken. Yikes.

Sweating to death in the shuttle on the way to the hotel.

We made it to the hotel, more or less intact. It’s a beautiful place and our stay here is practically free because Doug has some ungodly number of Starwood awards points. Our room is right on one of the 6 pools (or lagoons as they call them in this hotel). Our porter was helpful, but gave us the longest and most detailed hotel/room orientation we’d ever experienced. We couldn’t get rid of him. By the time I made it to the pool, the sun was gone. But it was nice to be outside for a while.

On the plane, I started reading the book Down Under by Bill Bryson. He’s a travel writer and this book has been recommended by a few people. It’s a hilarious view of his travels through Australia. I’m glad I’m reading it toward the end of my trip because I feel like I can relate to some of his experiences.

Doug and I decided to have dinner in town, so we went to the porter to ask for a cab. We ended up getting a stretch limo for $12 AUD ($8 USD). It was white and the interiors were covered in a white furry fabric which smelled just a little bit like wet dog. But of course, we arrived in style at the Salsa Bar & Grill. The food was fabulous. We shared a house salad (with goat cheese) and the ubiquitous trio of dips appetizer (this has become a regular thing for us, there is usually hummus, eggplant, and salmon roe (or guac) dips with pita or focaccia bread). Doug had the gnocchi special and I had a roasted lamb dish that featured a kangaroo wonton. For dessert, I followed our waitress’ recommendation and had the chocolate cake made with black sapote fruit which apparently tastes like chocolate. Doug had the dragonfruit, mango and lime sorbet.

Doug at the Salsa Bar & Grill.

Me doing my infamous "Crazy Eyes" imitation of scared cows.

We walked around the town of Port Douglas for a few minutes after dinner. It’s bigger than I thought and there are lots of shops to explore (which were all closed). One of the main claims to fame for the town is that Bill and Hillary Clinton have visited there. In fact, they were dining at Salsa Bar & Grill on September 11, 2001. [Cue the spooky music…]

Doug and I just have to decide what to do with our last two days in Oz. We want to go check out the Great Barrier Reef, of course, but we also want to soak up the rays before we go back to the winter chill of NYC.

Melbourne in a Day

Sunday, November 13

Doug wanted to sleep in a little, so we planned an afternoon of touring around Melbourne. I got up around 9 and (gasp!) went to the hotel gym for a granny jog. Once we were both up and around, we headed into center city to find brunch.

Café Segovia is a cute little place on Block Place. We had a big meal and decided to loosely follow another walking tour from one of the guidebooks. Since it’s Sunday, the center city area was a little quiet, but we walked past the major sites. We popped into a little shop that had irreverent t-shirts (my favorite kind). The sales girl was one of those fantastic-looking young rebels with bleached out hair, raccoon eyes, and facial piercings. As soon as we walked in, she started chatting with us and soon she was drawing us a map and giving us the rundown on everything we need to see while we’re in Melbourne. She directed us to Chapel Street, Brunswick (or Bruni, as she called it), and St. Kilda. A few of these had been on our list, but it was nice to have a recommendation from a local. I was thinking that I couldn’t imagine the same scenario happening in New York. I mean, could two tourists walk into a place in the east village, or most other neighborhoods for that matter, and leave with an unsolicited itinerary of the must-see sites of Manhattan. Call me crazy.

After touring downtown we dropped our stuff at the hotel, changed out clothes and headed back out. First stop was Chapel Street, a mid-market shopping district (less 5th Avenue, more Soho). This neighborhood was much more active and we spent a few hours weaving in and out of the little shops. At one place, Kit, we ran into another uber-friendly sales girl who offered more recommendations on what to cram into our remaining hours in Melbourne. The people here are just so friendly. More than that, I think they are really proud of their cities and of Australia in general, and I think they just love to chat.

We left Chapel Street and took the Tram to St. Kilda, a bayside town with a few cafes and bars. We got a seaside table, ordered some good food and drink, and watched the sunset over the bay.

Hours later, we poured ourselves into a cab and had an interesting conversation with the cab driver, a North Indian man who is getting his Masters degree in Melbourne. He had a lot of cynical, but completely believable things to say about Australia. But, the interesting thing is that he’s applying for permanent residency. I asked him why, I wanted to know why it was worth it to live in a city where he felt discriminated against. And, of course, the answer was: “Because it’s better than where I come from.” It’s a crazy world.

Great Ocean RoadTrip

Saturday, November 12

The Great Ocean Road isn’t the most direct route from Macka’s to Melbourne, but it is a well-known scenic drive. Factoring in the stops we wanted to make along the way, we figured it would take all day.

We started with breakfast in Princetown at a little pub called Talk of the Town. It was empty except for one woman working behind the counter. When we walked in and asked if she was serving breakfast, she said, “I can. What did you want?” There was no menu and we were a little confused. We asked her what they had and she shrugged and said, “I could probably do some bacon and eggs.” I imagined her going back to the kitchen and rustling up some grub, but we said OK. It was actually pretty good. The pub was a strange little place, ABBA was playing on the hi-fi and there was a fishtank with some weird specimens on display. There was also a collage of mildly offensive photos, apparently of the “regulars.” Good times.

Next stop was back to the Twelve Apostles site. This time the sun was out, and although it was still a little cold, the view was even more spectacular than the night before.

We made our way through small towns and long stretches of woodlands where there was no view of the ocean. This is because there is a gorgeous rainforest in the area as well. Macka had recommended a tree top walk, which we were interested in doing. But, the weather was strange and when we got to the rainforest area it was, well, raining. So we skipped it.

Our last major stop was the town of Lorne. We had dinner at a place called the Deck which had a great view of the beach. Afterwards, the got some ice cream and sat on the boardwalk watching the locals enjoying the last hours of daylight on the beach.

We got into the city of Melbourne just after dark and almost got lost finding our hotel. Somehow, Doug used his SpideySense to find the hotel. I still don’t know how he did it.

The Park Hyatt was a far cry from Macka’s Farm. We had a fabulous room with a huge bathroom. Finally, internet access!

Traveling to Melbourne

Friday, November 11


Friday morning we were off to the Ayers Rock airport for our flight to Melbourne. Melbourne is in the same time zone as Sydney, so we set our watches forward 1 ½ hours. We were anxious to get to out first stop: Macka’s Farm. We were to spend the night on a real, working dairy farm. Milking cows – woo hoo!

Macka’s is about a 3 hour drive from the Melbourn airport, so we stopped for a quick lunch at McDonald’s. For those of you keeping track, this was my first trip to a Micky D’s since I left the US. My how things have changed. The Golden Arches has gone healthy and, apparently, upmarket since my last visit.

Ladies and Gentlemen: McCafe.

We got to Macka’s a little after 7 PM and we were greeted by a couple of goats; Baby, an aging, but persistent farm dog; and Lee, a very cute guy who is working on the farm for the summer. Lee showed us to Lodge 2, a homey room with a queen size bed and a set of bunk beds. Guess where Doug slept?

We met Macka, the owner, and he said that we’d just missed the evening milking, but that he’d be doing it again in the morning between 6 and 8 AM. Then he suggested that we head out to the Great Ocean Road to see the Twelve Apostles before it got too dark, then head into Port Campbell for dinner.

We took his advice and headed out to the Twelve Apostles, a series of limestone cliffs that seem to defy gravity and the forces of the Indian Ocean. It was windy and cold and the site was thrilling. We stayed out as long as we could before it got too dark to see. We decided to come back the Twelve Apostles site in the morning to check it out in daylight.

I went to bed fairly early, as I was determined to get up early and at least see part of the milking. We couldn’t stay long at the farm, because we were planning to drive back to Melbourne via the Great Ocean Road which would take all day. Doug was not interested in joining me in my early adventure, so I told him I’d wake him around 8.

This Maid’s a-Milking

Saturday, November 12

I had the alarm set for the ungodly hour of 6 AM so that I could make an appearance at the morning milking. I figured we’d come all this way to stay on a farm, I should check out the goods.

I forgot that farm’s have their own alarm clocks: roosters. At 5:30, the cock-a-doodle-doo woke me and every other animal on the farm (except Doug). I stayed in bed for about 20 minutes just listening to the sounds of the farm.

It was cold, so I put on a pair of jeans and one of Doug’s sweaters, laced up my hiking boots and headed into the dairy. Not surprisingly, I was the only farm guest who decided to brave the cold, damp, and smell of the dairy at milking time. Macka was there, dressed in a long black rubber smock and knee high “gum boots.” He greeted me cheerfully and told me where to stand so I could watch him work.
It all started simply enough. We chatted as he loaded a dozen cows into their feed/milking stalls and prepared to hook them up to the milking machines. He finally turned to me and asked, “Have you ever milked a cow?” I told him that not only had I never milked a cow, but I had never even been this close to a cow before. “Oh, well, you’d better get on down here and I’ll show you how to do it.”

So, down into the dairy I went. Macka showed me how to “handle the teat.” He assured me it wouldn’t break off, and soon enough I was actually milking a cow! At this point I realized that my boots were about to be ruined by the muck and mud on the floor, so I traded them in for some gum boots of my own.

Macka: “Let me show ya how to hook up these machines.”
Me: “Uh, OK.”

He showed me how to hold the attachments and get them to latch onto the cow’s teats. The cows don’t seem to like this too much, and they stamp and stomp around. I found this a little scary, but Macka keeps up a steady banter with the “girls” scolding them when needed with a loud, “Come on, you great fat tart!” or simply, “Go on, you old bitch!” I tried hooking up the machine, but it was covered in muck.

Macka: “If you’re going to stay in here, we better put you in a smock.”
Me: “Uh, OK.”
So, he dressed me up in a rubber smock and back to work we went. Before I knew it I was in there with Macka hooking machines up to cow udders and getting a crash course in the care and milking of Holsteins. It was dirty work. I soon found out the real value of the smock: the animals will pee or crap on anyone who has the misfortune of standing near them. Believe me, I was as near to them as anyone could ever expect to be. It’s a numbers game, really, at that proximity; you’re bound to get hit. The worst one was when a cow I was hooking up decided to let forth a golden shower. I ducked just in time to avoid a faceful of cow pee, but my smock got drenched.

Macka: “You got christened, I reckon!”
Me: “Uh, yeah. Cool.”

After two hours, all 138 cows were milked and the dairy truck was coming to collect the milk from last night and this morning’s collections. I stood there, literally covered in the most disgusting substances known to man or beast, and thought: how the hell did I get here? But, as crazy and disgusting as it was, it felt good to do “honest work.” Although Macka did most of the work (in fact, I was slowing him down), I barely noticed the time going by as I attached and detached the suction cups and kept an eye out for any raised tails (the only warning of an impending cow expulsion).

At about 8:30, I went back to Lodge 2 and called out to Doug to wake up. While he was doing his morning calisthenics, I took a walk around the farm, followed closely by an orange and yellow cat. There was a lot more activity at this point: there was a pony hitched up right outside our lodge, the rooster I’d heard earlier was stalking around checking out the hens, and the guy from the lodge next door was racing around after his 5 year old daughter who was terrorizing the baby animals (bunnies, chicks, cats).

After a very long and much needed shower, Doug and I took one last stroll around to say goodbye to the animals and Macka. Then, we were off to drive the Great Ocean Road.