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.

Kata Tjuta Encounter

Thursday, November 10


Our afternoon tour of Kata Tjuta didn’t start until 2:30, so we thought we’d sleep in, then get in a visit to the cultural center located in the national park. My eyes flew open at about 9:00 so I spent some time organizing my pictures. I can’t believe how many I have. It’s going to be so hard to decide which ones to print.

At about 11:00, I woke Doug up and took a walk around the resort grounds while he got ready. I had a long phone call with Jo (I haven’t dared calculate the cost of that one) while I enjoyed the breezy weather. We lucked out with the weather on this leg of the trip because it’s unseasonably cool. That means it’s only 90 when it’s usually 105.

We headed off to the cultural center (sorry, no photos allowed) and read a little more about the Anangu people. They have a very interesting relationship with the “whitefellas” that has evolved from combative to collaborative over the years. There are many sacred ceremonies that are gender-specific and are passed down from grandmothers to granddaughters and grandfathers to grandsons. They can’t reveal what these are, of course, because they are secret. I found it all fascinating.

Our Kata Tjuta (the “T” is silent) Encounter tour was led by Jodi, a twentysomething with multiple piercings. There were 10 of us on the tour, which is important because later, when pierced Jodi left 7 of us behind and we were left to tour the area on our own, you can calculate that she didn’t realize she was missing 70% of her group.

Kata Tjuta is the second mountain range in the park, not as famous as Uluru, but just as beautiful. The range used to be called The Olgas after the queen of a German province, but was changed back to its traditional name after the Handback. Our hike was only about 2km, but it was a little more challenging then our base walk because it was all uphill. Kata Tjuta apparently either gets more rain, or does a better job getting the water to the right places because there is a lot of lush greenery, much more so than Uluru. Of course, this is all speculation, because pierced Jodi somehow managed to lose 7/10ths of her group before the climb even began, so there was no color commentary from her.

After the climb, 7 out of 10 tour members who boarded the bus were disgruntled and filling out feedback forms. Jodi was oddly silent during the drive back to the resort. That is, until she abruptly veered the bus off to the side of the road, threw it in reverse, and started barreling backwards down the highway. Calmly she said, “I’ve seen a small animal in the road. I’m going to rescue it.” Then she got out of the bus and ran farther down the road. We all looked at each other and I said, “You know she’s leaving us here.” One of the other guys said, “Yeah. Can anybody drive a stick?”

But, not to fear, pierced Jodi came back and partially redeemed herself by producing one of the Outback’s most interesting specimens: the Thorny Devil.

Dinner was at one of the resort restaurants called the Outback BBQ. It’s a rough and tumble type of place where you cook your own meat. There was a musician there who played acoustic guitar and augmented classics by James Taylor and the Beatles with the gurgling sounds of the didgeridoo.

Uluru Base Walk

Wednesday, November 9

When the alarm went off at 4:20AM, I though I must be in Hell. My throat was so dry, ugh. I hustled Doug out of his bed and we got ready to meet our group in front of the hotel to start our tour. We were told that it would take about 5 hours to complete the tour, which is basically a 10 km (over 6 miles) walk around the whole base of Uluru. We both took lots of water with us and headed off.

Our tour guide, Scott, was a fun kid who was full of stories about the legends of Uluru and about the desert in general. Doug and I were the youngest people on our tour, but let me tell ya, the oldsters left us in the dust most of the time.

The walk wasn’t very difficult, but it was long and our packs were heavy with all that water. The main reason the walk starts so early is that the temperatures are more manageable at that hour. I was actually a little chilly for the first hour. There was a good wind which kept the flies at bay for a little while.

It was cool to see the Rock from so many different angles and so close-up. From far away, it looks sort of like a pound cake. But up close, you can see all of the crevices and colors and there is an Anangu legend behind every one of them. For example, there might be a crevice that looks like a paw print. According to Annangu lore, it was left by a giant demon dingo that chased the original tribe members from that place.

We started learning about the history of the national park as well. Similar to our Native American population, the Anangu were tossed off the land sometime in the mid-40s and the whole area was turned into a nature reserve. Tourism quickly followed and many of the traditional aboriginal land management techniques were abandoned. As a result, the park became overrun with dead or unusable vegetation and the incidence of wildfires dramatically increased. Meanwhile, the Anangu people were petitioning to get the land back. Finally, in the mid-80s, the “Handback” occurred and now the Anangu people are once again the rightful landowners. They lease the land to the national park, as required in the Handback agreement.

We didn’t see many animals during our walk (we saw a dingo from the bus at about 5:30 AM), but Scott said this wasn’t unusual because the animals tend to stay away from people. We did see lots of birds, though, and Scott was good about pointing out the interesting trees and plants in the area.

We got back to our hotel at about 11. It was rough getting up so early, but I think it was really worth it. Of course, we immediately went back to bed.

Sounds of Silence Dinner

Hours later, we once again boarded the bus for our evening tour event, the Sounds of Silence. Before I left Japan, The Pres had strongly recommended that we join this tour and I’m glad he did. The bus traveled out on some very rough road and took us a few kilometers away from the main resort. We were dropped off on the dunes where we were led up to a large area where we were served sparkling wine and canapés. We watched the sun go down over Uluru and Kata Tjuta while listening to the sounds of the didgeridoo.

Oddly, the “didge” is not native to the Northern Territory. But, due to tourism, it’s exhibited here and everywhere else in the country. Our didge player, Duane, gave a short talk about how to play the instrument. I didn’t understand a word, but he was amusing all the same.

After sunset, we were herded to the candlelit dining area. We sat at a table with three other parties: a woman (Sophie) and her parents (Trudy and Malcolm) from Wales; an older couple (Marie and Reginald) apparently living in sin in Sydney, and a fascinating couple from Holland whose names we couldn’t ever get right.

The wine was flowing and the conversation was lively. We all had stories to share and by the end of the evening, we agreed that we obviously had the most special table in the whole place. Reg made a toast to us and let us know that his son had proposed to his now-daughter-in-law at this even the year before.

Dinner included kangaroo steak (pretty good), crocodile Caesar salad (I don’t think I actually got any crocodile. If I did, I couldn’t taste it), and barramundi (some find of native fish). Of course, there was the requisite beef, chicken, etc and some lovely desserts.

After the meal, there was a fabulous “star talk.” The staff blew out all the candles so that they only light came from the moon. Then, a local astronomer gave a talk about the constellations. We were able to see so many stars and a few planets (Mars and Venus were really bright). Orion and a few of the zodiac constellations were also out. Unfortunately, we couldn’t see the Southern Cross at that time of night. It was a little trippy because they have a different view of the night sky than we do in the Northern Hemisphere. They have constellations we never see, and the ones we share are upside down! Even the moon looks like it’s backwards. At the risk of sounding corny, it was a magical evening: engaging conversations, good wine, and a starry night. The worries of life were literally thousands of miles away. All is right with the world.

Ayers Rock

Tuesday, November 8

There was a huge storm overnight that woke me up. It was sort of thrilling and I snuggled under the covers to enjoy the thunder and lightening. We had to be up by 5:30 AM (yikes) to make sure we got to the airport on time for our flight to Ayers Rock. This is sometimes referred to as the Red Centre (or the Outback). We managed to make it to the airport on time but we were groggy and dazed.

The three-hour flight went fairly quickly and we arrived in Ayers Rock at about 10AM local time. Ayers Rock is 1 ½ hours behind Sydney which really threw me off. We rented a car and Doug bravely drove us to the hotel, The Ayers Rock Resort, which is literally the only place available to stay in the whole area. Ayers Rock resort is a huge compound that has four hotels ranging from 2-4 star plus a campground. It’s not an all-inclusive place, but everything you could possibly want is right on the grounds (restaurants, supermarket) and they will set up tours of the area.

Once we checked in, we took a little walk around the complex. The heat was unbelievable, about 40 C (104 F) and DRY. Between the flying, my still constant intake of tussin-based products, and the heat I literally can not drink enough water. I have quickly abandoned my need for bottled water as it costs about $5 a liter.

The touring options are a little overwhelming, but we have three days, so we decided to splurge and do three outings: the Uluru base walk, the Sounds of Silence dinner, and the Kata Tjuta Encounter. We didn’t schedule anything for our first day, though, because we were both exhausted and couldn’t bear the thought of actually doing anything constructive until we’d had some more sleep.

Late lunch at the Gecko Café (slow service, sub-par food) and then to the supermarket to stock up on water, trail snacks, and something for dinner. Our accommodations are in the Emu Walk apartments, so we have a small kitchen. Doug offered to play chef and make us a delicious pasta dinner.

After napping through the hottest part of the day, we hopped into the car and went into the national park to view Uluru at sunset. One thing I don’t think I’ve mentioned before is the flies. They are everywhere in this country! We thought we were plagued by them in Sydney, but they seem to have doubled in number out here. In Sydney we learned how to do the Australian Salute, which is what the locals call the frantic swatting actions required to keep the flies off your face! Luckily, they don’t bite, they are just annoying.

From the guidebook: The Uluru-Kata Tjuta National park is located in the Northern Territory, 335 km SW of Alice Springs. It the sacred land of the Anangu people, a tribe of aborigines that have been on this land for at least 35,000 years. The park is 1325 square km in size and is home to two major sites: Uluru (formerly “Ayers Rock”) and Kata Tjuta (formerly “The Olgas). Many tourists come to the park specifically to climb Uluru, which is about 350 m high. This is strongly discouraged by the Anangu people because the climb site is on sacred land and the route taken is part of a special ceremony. It is not illegal to climb, however, and there is a little bit of conflicting PR about making the climb. On the one hand, the resort staff will tell you how terrible and dangerous is the climb and that it’s disrespectful to the aboriginal people. On the other hand, there are a number of fairly expensive tour packages available to get you up on “the rock” if you are so inclined. We asked at one point why the climb is still legal. Of course, it all comes back to dollars and cents. The park entry fee is shared by the park service and the Anangu tribe. Since about 50% of tourists come expressly to climb Uluru, they fear that if they close the climb, they will lose that income. So, the plan is to discourage the climb as strongly as possible and let the word spread so that they can reduce the percentage of climb tourists. The hope is to close the climb by 2008. We decided fairly quickly that the climb was not for us. It’s not very safe and actually not very scenic, so why bother?

Sunset at the Rock was gorgeous. They say that the Rock changes colors many times, but I couldn’t really tell. There were lots of other tourists there looking at the Rock. I think I have about 60 pictures that probably all look exactly the same. But it is a beautiful site.

Early to bed because our morning tour starts at 5AM! Suckers.

Zootopia

Monday, November 7

It’s a good thing that Doug is essentially a nocturnal being (Tisha calls him Wombat) because I have been an anchor so far on this trip. Because I spend the nights coughing and wheezing, the days have all started late and I’m generally not much fun to be around. Last night was the worst night yet. Tisha declared that the tussin I was taking was substandard (no arguments there) and produced two more types of syrup to try and quell my barking and gurgling. At about 5 am, I finally fell asleep, drugged beyond comprehension and praying for a quick death.

Oddly, I think I made it over the hump. I woke up at around 11:00 feeling better than I had in days. I was almost chipper. Almost.

Doug and I were determined not to miss the zoo this time, so we hustled out to the ferry and got the zoo pass. Marge was no where to be found.

The Taronga Zoo is really amazing. Even if you’re not into zoos, the views onto the harbor are beautiful. It’s situated at the top of a hill. We took the sky safari cable car which is like an enclosed ski lift.

Our first stop in the zoo was to get our picture taken with the koalas. It was obvious that the two zoo keepers manning the koala enclosure were over the cute=factor of the sleeping nocturnes. Angus [me with another Australian native animal, the crusty old coot] was especially peeved at the Canadian woman who started negotiating with him on the price of admission (it was $3 AUD, approximately $2.25 USD).

We spent a few minutes with Felicity and Adori before moving on. Angus recommended the Free-flight Bird Show as “the best show at the zoo.” Doug and I checked it out and it was great. There were all sorts of birds, including an eagle and some owls, and they were trained to fly over the audiences heads and demonstrate how they catch food and track prey.

We spent a few hours in the zoo, checking out all the exhibits, and ended up missing the last sky tram. We got on a bus that was headed back to Sydney via Military Road which is the main street that runs through the suburb of Mosman. Saucy had recommended that we stop into Mosman to check out the shops, specifically the toy shop he used to own. It was perfect timing. We got to the toy shop just as it was closing, so we only dropped in for a minute to say hello to Saucy’s former partner. Hopscotch is a kid’s dream. I was sorry we hadn’t made more time to explore.

Mosman is just the cutest neighborhood. The shops are all small and privately owned and the houses are straight out of Better Homes and Gardens. If I hit the Lotto or score a rich Aussie boy who can support me, that’s where I’ll live.

Later, we met Tisha for our farewell dinner in Sydney. We went to a neighborhood called Double Bay. I wish we had more time, but we have to be up at the crack for our flight to Uluru.

Doug spent a few minutes wandering around Tisha's back patio trying to steal wi-fi from one of her neighbors. He was successful, but he had to stand on one foot and hop around a little to keep the signal. See? Crime doesn't pay.

Bondi and the Bridge

Sunday, November 6

We woke up to a gorgeous, sunny day. Tisha took us on a beach walk that started at Bronte (her local beach) and ended at the famous Bondi beach. It was the first weekend of “Sculpture By The Sea” so there were crowds of people doing exactly what we were doing. Local and international artist submit artwork to be displayed on the beaches and the surrounding area. I think Tisha’s favorite was the oversized beach chair and flip flops. I liked the big red intestines on the rocks.

In the afternoon, we planned to do a Bridge Climb at the Harbor Bridge, which is exactly what it sounds like. We were running late due to an overlong lunch at a poorly managed restaurant and missed our reservation for the climb. Luckily, there was space on the next climb.

The Harbor Bridge is one of the focal points in Sydney Harbor (along with the Opera House). The climb takes about 3 hours and is fairly intense. Getting to the top of the bridge basically entails climbing ladders and steep staircases, which wouldn’t be so scary if it wasn’t 440 feet high and looking down on 12 lanes of traffic and a harbor filled with ice-cold water and all sorts of hungry fishies. The Bridge Climb people had it all worked out, though. They made us sign all sorts of waivers, take a breathalyzer test, suit up in very unflattering jumpsuits, and practice our climbing techniques on a small scale version of the bridge before actually letting us outside. I was momentarily afraid that my enormous tussin intake would make me fail the breath test, but I passed. Suckers!

Our climbing guide, Luke, was a real dreamboat. I wanted to put him in my pocket and bring him home. At the start of the climb, he said anyone who was nervous should stand right behind him. Of course, I jumped right up there. Truth told, I wasn’t that nervous, but Luke had this Young-Leif-Garret-Before-He-Crippled-His-Best-Friend-in- a-Drunk-Driving-Accident-and-Became-a-Bloated-and-Bald-Has-Been vibe going on and that was really working for me.

Once we were actually on the bridge, it wasn’t that scary. Luke kept us amused with stories and trivia about the bridge and the major sites of the city (The oldest bridge climber was over 100 years old! A man once fell from the bridge… and survived!) and the views were spectacular. We weren’t allowed to bring our cameras on to the bridge (because they want to sell us souvenir shots) but I think that was actually a blessing in disguise. I think we spend so much time looking through the lens of the camera that we don’t take the time to really look at the sites we’re trying to capture.

When we got to the top of the bridge, Luke said, “Well, here we are: 183 meter, 440 feet, or 5.2 seconds. However you want to look at it.”

It was a great day, but all things come to an end, and the Robitussin eventually wears off.

Sydney Aquarium

Saturday, November 5

It was a good thing Doug and I pushed ourselves yesterday to see the sights because we were fairly useless today. We slept late and then lounged on Tisha’s patio, chatting and snacking on tea and toast. Doug and I tried Vegemite. I prefer Skippy.

It’s Spring in Australia, so it’s not as hot as we expected and it’s been intermittently raining. While we found the rain a little annoying, the people of Sydney don’t complain because they are in the midst of a very long drought.

We didn’t leave the house until after 1:00 pm and we planned on going to the zoo. Once we found the right train to the right bus to the right ferry, we attempted to buy a “zoo pass” from the ferry ticket lady, we’ll call her Marge.

Marge said, sternly: “No. It’s too late for the zoo today. You’ll go to the aquarium today and do the zoo tomorrow.” And that was that.

So, the aquarium it was. Cool exhibits, although we were gypped on the seals (there were only two: one was sound asleep and the other was working overtime swimming in circles to make up for it). They naturally have an entire room devoted to Nemo and his crew.

After a light bite at a place called Pier 26, we headed home. My cold is morphing into some sort of plague. I’ve been guzzling Robitussin straight from the bottle. I think I’ve developed tussin resistance.

Welcome to Sydney

Friday November 4

My arrival in Sydney on Friday morning was on schedule. I left the Germans behind and breezed through customs and finding Doug. Doug’s friend, Tisha, had very kindly offered to pick us up at the airport and let us stay at her gorgeous pad for during our time in Sydney.

Tisha is funny, fabulous, and far too generous for words. She and Doug met in NYC while Tisha was doing a short stint at the ad agency where Doug works. Unfortunately, Tisha needed to rush into work, so she brought us to her place to relax and get our bearings.

I immediately got into the bathtub for a long soak. Afterward, Doug and I discussed our options and decided that since it was early, we should take a rest before heading out. We napped on Tisha’s comfy couches until noon, which was absolutely the right thing to do.

Re-engergized, we set out to see some of the sights. Tisha lives just a short train ride from Circular Quay which is the heart of downtown Sydney (think: Opera House, Harbor Bridge, etc). Doug and I had made a list of some of the sites that we really wanted to see and actually followed a walking course from one of Doug’s guidebooks that led us through or past most of the major downtown attractions. We wandered through Hyde Park, into St. Mary’s Cathedral, past the Hyde Park Barracks (where they used to keep some of the convicts) and down Maquarie Street to the Opera House. It was at some point along this walk that I suddenly stopped and thought to myself, “Wow. Doug is great. He is just about as close to perfect as a human being can possibly be. In fact, even more so: he is a god.”

Note: Doug obviously hacked into my blog and wrote the preceding statements. But, it’s true, so I’ve left it in.

We spent a lot of time at the Opera House. It’s an amazing building and it’s a great place to sit down and watch the parade of tourists and locals enjoying the spring evening. We finally sat down at one of the many waterfront cafes and had a drink.

Tisha met us downtown and it was off to Café Sydney for a late dinner. Cafe Sydney is on the top floor of the Customs House, which had all sorts of interesting and useful information about Sydney and its history. There was a special exhibit in the lobby called the Yahoo! Think Tank. It’s a glass enclosed office where creative types have been sequestered for two weeks to work on creative briefs submitted by the general public. I don’t know if it’s the same creative types for the whole two weeks or if they work in shifts. All’s I know is that while I was watching, no one left to go to the bathroom.

It was a great first day. Unfortunately, when I got back to Tisha’s, my cough kicked in full force. I went to the local chemist (pharmacy) and stocked up on Robitussin, tissues, and cough drops.

The No Exit Row

Thursday, November 3

When they told me I’d be seated in the exit row, I thought: “Great! More leg room!” But, apparently Qantas had other ideas. I was shoved into the window seat next to the exit, which had some sort of hump feature that hit right around my knees. The magazine pocket for all three seats was jammed in there too. I was sitting with a German couple who looked less than thrilled to see that they were to be seated next to a hacking, irritated American.

As soon as possible, I pantomimed a request for multiple glasses of water. Then I took some Advil, an Ambien, and my new “cough powder” which tasted exactly the way I imagine rat poison would taste. I fell into an uncomfortable sleep. I’m not exactly sure what happened next, but I woke up eyeball to eyeball with a very unamused Frau. I think I might have tried to snuggle. I slurred an apology and stumbled to the ladies room. When I came out, there was a flight attendant there asking me if I was feeling OK. I waved him away and dove back into my seat. I noticed that Frau and her husband switched seats which I thought was odd.

“Sorry, You Overweight”

I was amazed that I was able to pack everything into 2 suitcases (1 big, 1 small), 1 shoulder bag carry-on, and a shopping bag that held the gift that Doug and I bought for our hostess in Sydney. When I got to the check in counter, the agent looked at me with a very worried expression. She asked, “Nihongo ga wakarimasu ka?” (Do you speak Japanese?) I replied, “Sukoshi.” (Just a little).

Then she said, in English, “Sorry, you overweight.” I realized that she was not referring to my waistline, but to the weight of my baggage. As stupid as it sounds, it never occurred to me that there would be a limit to the weight of my bags. I had double the amount allowed. The agent told me that I could pay for the extra baggage. The price: 77,700 JPY ($770 USD).

OK, plan B?

She gave me a box and told me to start emptying my bags. Picture this, friends: me, my luggage, and a huge scale in the middle of the check in area. About an hour and two misunderstandings later, I had consolidated my stuff into one suitcase and two carry-ons. Two small boxes were checked at the Narita long-term bag check to be picked up and dealt with during my 12-hour layover in Tokyo after my Australian holiday. By the end of it all, I was sweaty and plagued with fits of coughing. Before they let me through security, the agents asked me, “Daijobu desu ka?” (Are you feeling all right?) I was worried they might think I have bird flu and wouldn’t let me travel. But they let me through. I got to my gate just in time to board the plane.

Goodbye Girls

I had a car service picking me up at 4:45 to take me to Tokyo airport for my 8:00 flight from Tokyo to Sydney so I had most of the day to (sleep) and finish any final packing.

Despite the fact that I had no voice and was beginning to develop a cough, I was impressed with myself for being ready to go.

Thursday was a national holiday in Japan (Culture Day, I think) so Naoko and Yuki were free to spend the afternoon with me. Unfortunately, Miki had come down with a fever and a hangover so she was staying in bed. We met around 3:00 to have a cup of coffee and re-hash the previous evening’s events. I mainly did this through a serious of hand gestures. At this point my cough was getting worse so the girls took me back to the pharmacy. It was closed for inventory, but Yuki banged on the door and the pharmacist remembered me from the day before. Yuki talked to him about giving me some cough medicine so that I could sleep on the plane. He suggested “cough powder.” I was doubtful, but he insisted that it was better than any syrup.

The car was right on time, and I said my final goodbyes to Yuki and Naoko. We promised to keep in touch and see each other either in New York or Japan soon. On the way to the airport I thought a little about my time in Japan, but I wasn’t ready to really process all of the things I was feeling. I knew I had at least one more hurdle ahead… Narita Airport.

How I Lost My Voice

Thursday, November 2

When I woke up on Thursday morning, my usually-loud and a little raspy voice was missing and there was nothing but a parched sort of wind in its place. My throat seemed to be lined with steel wool. I mentally retraced my steps from the night before to try and remember where I could have misplaced my voice. Did I go to the beach and chug pints of sand and seawater? Did I visit a pampered poodle shop and accidentally swallow a squeaky toy? Or, could it be that I stayed out til 5 AM boozing and carousing with all the other drunks in town? Ah, yes, that’s it.


First there were 8:
My last night in Japan! Woo Hoo!! My friends arranged for a night on the town as my final send-off. The group: Miki, Naoko, Yuki, Tina from Taiko, The CD, Saucy, and Gerald/Gerard. It was a motley crew, but the food was great and the shochu was flowing. We started with dinner at Gonpachi, one of my favorite Tokyo restaurants. Gonpachi is a huge space with three separate restaurants. We ate in the sushi place which was busy and loud. Our table was competing for the “nosiest” award with a group of Japanese businessmen at the next table. The food was delightful and there were a few more gifts. Miki and Naoko gave me a cute little travel bag (to put some stuff in) and my very own (matching) sweat towel!

[On a side note, I mentioned in a previous entry that all of the Japanese
carry their own “sweat towel.” I have since found out that this is because in
primary school, every child was required to carry certain items, towel included,
with them at all times and show them to any teacher on demand. The main purpose of the towel was to dry their hands after washing them in the restroom. It can also be used to mop the aforementioned sweaty brow or for any other reason one may need a towel. Oddly, many of them have never heard of Hitchihiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.]

And then there were 7:
After a long dinner, most of us headed off to another place, an energetic, Australian-themed bar appropriately named “Café OZ”. The CD begged off saying that he had an early morning, but I suspect he was headed for the underground nightlife in Shibuya. At Café Oz, Saucy tried to teach me the correct way to order a beer in “Australian” (first lesson: never, ever order Foster’s). He demonstrated by saying to our [Japanese] waiter: “Schooner-a VB, mate!” (Large glass of Victoria Bitter, please). The waiter started blinking rapidly and foaming at the mouth. I think Saucy may have triggered a seizure. Luckily, Yuki intervened: “Nama bieru, Bikutori Bittu, onegaishimasu” (Large glass of Victoria’s Bitter, please).

Tina ordered tequila shots for everyone at the table. But Tequila and I had a very bad breakup in the late 90s, so I weaseled out of that one. Miki was not so lucky. She also had a cold but was drinking like a champ with the rest of us. I think she was taking antihistamines or something because within about 5 minutes of downing the shot, she was slumped over, snoring loudly. Once we determined that she was, in fact, not dead, we carried on and let her snooze away at the end of the table.

It was almost midnight and the specter of the “last train” was looming, so Yuki and Tina had to dash. The rest of us were committed to staying out later and paying the exorbitant taxi fares to get home. But, as Saucy put it, we needed a change in venue.


And then there were 4:
We put Miki in a cab and headed off to MUSE. It was crowded and the men outnumbered the women. Gerald/Gerard was standing around looking very British and providing a running commentary on the club’s blatant fire code violations. Naoko, Saucy, and I shook our groove thang and shouted over the music.

And then there were 3:
It must have been around 3 when Gerald/Gerard left us, but at that point I stopped checking my watch. The DJ at MUSE started mixing some truly awful beats, so our trio went in search of a nightcap. We ended up at Motown House, an unapologetically gaijin hangout that plays a relentless stream of American rock anthems. Within minutes of our arrival, a zaftig American women with waist-length bleached blonde hair, a screech owl’s voice, and a wardrobe two sizes too small started a fight with two guys at the bar. While Saucy was getting himself involved in that chaos, Naoko was being lured onto the dance floor by a boozy, bloated, blond guy who looked like he may have at one time resembled Stephen Baldwin but has unfortunately spent the last 10 years pickling his liver and growing out his bangs.

My voice was weakening at this point, I remember, because when I was trying to shoo the BBBSBLA (boozy bloated blond Stephen Baldwin look-alike) away from Naoko I couldn’t raise my voice over the music. Saucy and I spent the next hour or so alternately gossiping about the office and guarding Naoko from BBBSBLA. If he came within 3 feet or her, Saucy would point to him and say, “Fuck off, mate.”

I knew it was time to go home when the conversation turned a bit, shall we say, blue.

It was almost 5AM when we lurched out onto the streets of Roppongi but it may well have been 5PM. The streets were crammed with people and cars were whizzing past. Before we poured ourselves into cabs, I tried to say goodbye, but no sound came out.

And then there was 1.

The Pack Rat

I decided to spend most of the day Tuesday nursing my cold and packing up the rest of my stuff. I still can’t figure out how I got so much stuff. I remember when I was packing for the trip, more than a few people warned me not to pack too much stuff. Did I listen? Of course not. Hence, more stuff than I can possibly imagine. I don’t even know what’s in half of the boxes I sent home last week.

On Wednesday morning I had an appointment with the apartment manager to check the place before I leave. It was the shortest and least thorough check I’ve ever been through. He literally stood in the middle of the room, did a slow 360 degree turn, bowed, and said, “Daijobu desu.” (It’s all OK)

I took one last shopping trip to Itoya, the mecca of Japanese paper goods. Of course, this just added to all my stuff.

I dropped by the office to say my final goodbyes and to make sure my boxes were getting fedexed out. Luckily, I was there when the fedex guy came because, for once, I was honest on the customs forms and wrote “Japanese tea” on one of the airbills. You’d have thought I wrote “crack cocaine.” The guy made me open the box and take out the tea. Great - more stuff to lug on the plane.

Update from Sydney

Hi All!
I've arrived in Australia and am travelling around with my friend Doug. We've had almost NO access to the internet, so no blog updates for days and days. But, rest assured, I am keeping up with my entries and will post them all en masse with photos as soon as possible. Probably this weekend.

Sydney was beautiful! Adding it to my list of cities I could live in... Now, we are in the Outback (Ayers Rock). It is HOT HOT HOT here but as they say, it's a dry heat.

We start touring tomorrow and have a 6KM hike starting at 5AM tomoorrw. Why do I get myself into these things?

For those who care - my cold is almost gone. Hoping to scare it off for good this week. Maybe some aboriginal doctor can make me a poultice.

More later!
C

There Must Be Something Going Around

It seems that the Japanese use the phrase "catch a cold" to include any possible kind of illness you can imagine. Headache? Caught a cold. Foot pain? Caught a cold. Ennui? Yep, sounds like a cold to me.

So, when I woke up on Monday morning with a scratchy throat and the sniffles, Miki and Naoko immediately asked, "Did you catch a cold?" I said, no, not a cold, must be the dry air, the second-hand smoke, the constant boozing. Couldn't be a cold.

Flash forward 3 days: It's a cold.

I spent all day Tuesday in the apartment packing and lounging around. I was supposed to go to Kamakura as my last little trip in Japan, but I figured it would be better to catch up on sleep and rest up for my trip to Oz. Wednesday I went into the office to ship the last of my stuff and say my final goodbyes to the good people at the company (the bad ones I just ignored.)

Ami went to the pharmacy with me to help me get some over-the-counter cold remedy. You actually have to ask the pharmacist for it. He recommended this vile tasting powder substance that is supposed to taste like lemons but actually tastes like baby aspirin. He through in a free sample of liquid vitamins. I'm afraid to taste it. It's probably squid-flavored.

Looks suspicious to me.

Okinawa

I don't know how we did it, but Miki, Naoko and I met at about 5:15 AM to get to Tokyo Haneda airport for our flight to Okinawa. It's a short trip from Tokyo to Okinawa (under three hours).

The weather was good when we arrived so we got a few hours on the beach on Saturday afternoon. We spent the night in the Naha area of Okinawa, which is kind of like the downtown area.

The cab driver recommended this izakaya.

Typical Okinawan dish with goya and spam. Orion is the local beer.

Naoko modeling the sashimi salad.
With Miki and spareribs.

Okinawa is very much like Hawaii, small tropical islands with a large military presence. Okinawa was actually under US control from the end of WWII until 1972 when it became part of Japan again. But there are still about 40,000 American military personnel on the island. So, there's a lot of American-style businesses around.

It was rainy and cold on Sunday and we drove to our next hotel, a resort called Alivila. It was just gorgeous. Too bad the weather wasn't cooperating. So, we went to the Okinawa Churami Aquarium. That was incredible.

The view on Sunday.

The Kuroshio Sea: this tank features whale sharks, giant rays, and all manner of deep sea creatures. Notice the size of the people next to the sharks.

Monday started off really rainy, so we took off on a drive to a lighthouse nearby. When we got back, the sun came out and we spent most of the day on the beach. We took a little time out to visit the spa for facial treatments! Very girlie.

Slightly better view on Monday.

Last shot on the beach before heading to the airport.