Home Again, Home Again...

Well, tonight I find myself at the end of an adventure; in a few hours I will board an airport shuttle and begin the 20+ hour journey back to Denver. Aside from dreading the upcoming hours of cramped and unwashed conditions, I have also begun reflecting on my time here. What am I taking away from this experience? How do I even begin to quantify it? I've seen wondrous places and done things I've always wanted to...I've even stumbled across a few random delights like dingo-singing and koala-kissing. But how to wrap it into a tidy ball of self-realization? Such a tricky question!

I don't think I fully realize all the ways this trip has affected me. There have been obvious lessons learned (New Zealanders are to be avoided at all costs and koalas are faithless!) but the true benefits are more subtle. I've got some new lingo to flaunt and opinions on loads more things (oh joy!)...and then of course there are the souvenirs. I look forward to returning to the US (land of free refills and cheap food) and discovering just how my time on the other side of the world has affected me.

The one thing I do want to try for when I get back is to live life more like a tourist. The locals here were always startled at all the things Andrea and I did in their own city that they had never heard of! It's the zoning out of our constants that does it. If the ocean is always there, it is no longer special and the same with the mountains. How many Colorado natives no longer ski? It seems a shame to become accustomed to the uniqueness of our homes. I hope that in the future I will live life as a tourist in my own home: with a sense of wonder and appreciation for what I have.

Thank you, everyone, who has followed this blog and sent me lovely emails. I've loved hearing from you all and can't wait to see you again! But, I think it's best for both of us if we wait for the jet lag to pass. Until then: g'day!

Tip Toe-ing Through the Trees and To the Edge of the Sea!

Today's adventure was all about exploring the area around where we live: the gold coast. After renting a car we drove (on the left side of the road) all the way into the mountains for a tree top walk...which are apparently quite abundant in Australia. This walkway was rickety and old, made from wooden planks and resting 20m above the forest floor. Each plank had a small plaque with the name of one of the original patrons on it. Signs hung warning: only 6 people per span. This walkway was more yielding than the others I had found: it bounced and swayed under my weight, creaking slightly with each step. Old metal ladders climbed up a particularly huge tree and allowed visitors to scamper up for a better view.

After the treetop-walk, we sat down to eat at a picnic table nestled in a shady grove. Andrea's Belgian boyfriend (Mathieu) began to feed a particularly brave bird with a puffy yellow chest and black eyes. He marveled at how cute it was and ignored my declaration of it as a soulless, flying stomach. A moment later, there was a rustling in the bushes and a large male bush turkey burst out; his yellow wattle flapped with each step as he hopped onto the table and advanced towards our sandwiches. Now, Andrea is no fan of birds and she explained this to the turkey by standing on her bench and screaming at it while Mathieu and I waved and kicked it away. We were distracted with this persistent fellow when Andrea screamed again and pointed to the trees. 10 more birds sat watching the scene with their inky, hungry eyes. Just as I assured her the birds were harmless (and the male bush turkey made a frantic charge at a female who was trying to get in on the action) another yellow bird dove out of the trees and swooped down at Andrea, missing her head by inches. It was at this point that my lovely roommate made the calm and sensible decision to shriek and run for a more distant table; Mathieu and I gathered the picnic and followed after her, laughing. Within seconds of arriving at the new table, our bird-ish entorage was back. We all decide that eating in the car would be the wisest move and packed up once more. Refusing to be rattled by the birds, I kept the Doritos with me and stuffed one in my mouth as we began walking. Suddenly the world was a blur of yellow! The same bird that had swooped at Andrea was flying straight at my face trying to snag the Dorito from my mouth! Claws + beak + my face = increased motivation. I turned away from the bird and quickly ate the chip, then we all ran back to the rental car and finished lunch there.

You might be amazed by it, but we were still up for more fun after that. So we drove down the coast to Byron Bay: a place famous for its beauty and for being the most easterly point on the Australian mainland. It felt like stepping into a fairy-tale coastline! Steep ocean-side paths curved out of sight, dolphins were surfing the waves below, and a picturesque lighthouse watched over the whole scene. We wandered down to the official most-easterly point and then cut off to the beach for the sun set. The light was so bright on the bay waters that it looked like a field of snow to my eyes! On the beach there were odd designs in the sand, looking like flowers made of sand balls. My theory is that they were the work of sand crabs; but no matter how many of them I followed I never caught them in the act!

The sun set was lovely and everything around me was beautiful...but the thing that struck me most was that Byron Bay was the closest I had been to home in 4 months! I must admit I have grown homesick for the States: family, friends, accents, food, I even miss the US's more familiar form of bureacracy! Such a sucker, really. But! I'm flying home on October 1st...so not much longer to go at all.















*If I look grumpy in this photo it's because I had to climb all those quaint stairs to get there!

Discovering Brisbane

Brisbane is the third largest city in Australia, coming in behind Sydney and Melbourne. But, what it lacks in population and culture it makes up for in horrific fashion statements; you see, Brisbane is as 80's as slap bracelets and leg-warmers! Women strut their sweatshirt dresses as they glare at you from behind bug-eyed shades. So it was with an underwhelming sense of nostalgia that Andrea and I roamed the streets of Brisbane (can't be overwhelmed seeing as how we were born in '84).

The main attraction for our day was visiting Roma Street Parkland. This park sits just outside of central Brisbane in a converted rail yard. I expected to see signs of the old trains: rusty rails, old cars, maybe a restored depot with a themed-cafe...all mixed in with beautiful flowers. What we found was a lovely botanical garden and a free tour (almost as exciting)!

The gardens were filled flowers, exotic and ancient, divided by raised wooden platforms which were frequented by lizards! They lounged beneath our feet, fat and lazy, as our tour group moved past. The guide was a soft-spoken Chinese man who volunteered at the parkland. He seemed to decide that I was the youngest somehow and kept saying things like "You won't remember this, but..." and turning to my roomie. Who, I'll have you know, is only 4 months older than me!

Just as in Perth's King's Park, I had missed the full flower season by 3 weeks; so while some lilies and snapdragons peeked here and there, the guide was constantly apologizing for the "barren" garden. I also learned more about Queensland water drought than I had ever hoped to. When we weren't talking about the lack of flowers or water, the guide showed us some truly exotic plants. One species had been around since the age of the dinosaurs and actually had a male and female division. Girls outnumbered boys 6 to 2....good odds for an enterprising plant! Another tree was so rare that each new plant is sold by auction and comes complete with a birth certificate; scientists are blind-folded and air-lifted to the site to transplant them. Call me crazy, but that seemed a bit excessive for a plant! Especially since you don't even get to name it yourself. Each one is named after a dinosaur. But, I would defy that. If I had to compete for the privilege of buying this plant, I would name it "Joe" - Joe, the plant.

After the park we went to what appeared to be an aboriginal art museum but in fact was a show for ADD artists who have aboriginal-leanings. Having had that life experience, we went to the Museum of Brisbane which was entirely dedicated to a town rodeo which takes place each year. As thrilling and cultural as Brisbane was we hopped the train back home.

So long Brissie, and thanks for all the lizards!

Scandalous Koala Kissing!

I figured I would let everyone know the truth right now before rumors start kicking up: I fell in love last Saturday. It was love at first cuddle and a shameless display of koala-focused affection swiftly followed our meeting at Dreamworld amusement park. I knew the love of my life would find me soon! I just didn't think he'd be quite so furry!

His name is Manny: he's 2.5 yrs old with delightfully tufty-white ears and a soft nose. And our love would have been forever if it weren't for this photo:

Oh, Manny! How could you?! You broke my heart....you broke my heart...

Australian Graffiti

A picture is taking shape on the wall behind my apartment: jagged letters are filling with pulsing colors and twisting around murals - a team of graffiti artists is at work. They are working in plain sight, laughing and drinking beer only a few step from the busiest street in Surfers Paradise. And why not? The city hired them to do it!

I had heard of the unique status of Australian graffiti and, with such a perfect example only two hops away, my roomie and I decided to investigate. Within 5 minutes of talking to le artistes it was undeniable that they were high. We stood 8 feet back as they worked but I still felt my brainstem start to float away. Four artists had divided the wall between themselves and were spraying diligently while 3 more lounged with equal dedication in the shade. The team was headed by a set of middle-aged twins who own their own graffiti company. Companies hired them to design and execute artistic tributes throughout the city. These men had been in business for a decade, and worked all over Australia; I think it's the only country where a scheme like this could work!

In Sydney there are actually graffiti tours of the city! Graffiti is protected in the same way that historical buildings are in the U.S. If you purchased a graffiti'd building there is no guarantee that you'd be able to paint over it - the work may well have entered into the annals of Australian art and be untouchable, or rather un-touch-up-able. The famous Bondi Beach boasts a boardwalk tattooed with bulbous letters and grotesque caricatures, and cities all over Australia have started picking up the trend.
I am not entirely sure why this fascinates me so except that it seems a perfect illustration of the difference between the US and Australia. In the US graffiti is categorized as an "art crime" almost on par with violent hate crimes; in Australia it is glorified. So, is the USA just behind the times? Is graffiti the artistic wave of the future? Maybe. But did I mention the mural they are crafting is for a NASCAR race? Can you say klassy?

Dinky the Dingo and other Nothern Territory Adventures

Men are selfish! That's all I could think as I ran along the eastern length of Uluru under the midday sun. A fine red dust had collected on my skin, my legs burned, and the backpack happily slammed into me with each stride; I was tired, late for the bus, and men were selfish. Why else would the entire eastern side of the giant rock be declared a sacred male ritual site and therefore off-limits to photos?* I had never noticed it before, but every post card shows the western side of Uluru. The entire eastern side is sacred to the Anangu aboriginals and photographs are considered a violation. Which is a shame really, because the eastern side has the most intriguing rock formations of the site. I don't know if my eyes could violate the sanctity of the rocks but, in the words of Oscar Wilde, "only the sacred things are worth touching."

Uluru lays 480km southwest of Alice Springs; it is a 6-hour drive each way and that meant hopping onto a tour bus at 6am. Ah, 6am! A mythical time I occasionally hear tell of from friends with children or glandular issues. (Having now seen it for myself, let me assure you that it's not worth the trip.) The bus came complete with comfy seats and an annoying tour guide whose nervous, breathy commentary always started and finished with a high-pitched "Righty-o!" After about an hour on the road the sun had come up, painting the land red, and we pulled off at a diner for some breakfast.

Now, before I continue, let me ask this: have you ever had a story to your name that was so surreal, so full of silliness and stereotypes that it almost becomes boring? Well, I have! Waiting at the diner was a piano-playing, singing dingo named Dinky. My fellow tourists and I sat nibbling on egg and bacon sandwiches when Dinky hopped up onto the piano and walked up and down the keys, howling the whole time. We all watched with eager cameras and distracted smiles, able to ignore the high-pitched noise in favor of the comical aspect. I was selected from the audience at one point to play for Dinky while he sang. (This was the culmination of my piano-playing career!) As I moved to sit beneath Dinky, his head turned and I was face to face with a snarling set of dingo teeth. "Woah!" his handler cried, pushing Dinky's head away. "Were you talking to him?!" He demanded of me. I assured him that I had not yet had the pleasure, and he scowled for me to begin playing. And that's how I ended up playing "When the Saints Go Marching In" beneath a singing dingo. (There has been a theory put forth that Dinky is only masquerading as a singing dingo, and is currently wanted by Alice Springs authorities in relation to a baby-eating.)

Not much can beat Dinky for Aussie experiences bordering on the surreal...but Mt Conner and the giant salt lake came close. I thought Mt Conner was Uluru from a distance; it spurred up from the flat horizon so dramatically I felt time had surely slipped and we had arrived! I watched it take shape and wondered why no one else saw it. Eventually, the tour guide explained in his nasal tones that Mt Conner was actually the polar opposite of Uluru- instead of being sacred, the aboriginals feared this place. They believed that Attila the ice-man lived on Mt Conner and would strike down those that approached. So, why is it so cold in the middle of a desert? The answer can be found in the enormous salt lake - a giant stretch of white against the red sand. Though there is no water on the surface it still flows beneath the land, and is still affected by the moon. The water rises higher to the surface at high tide and cools the surrounding air. (If this sounds like complete b.s. blame the tour guide). In a borderline British moment, we had tea, fruit cake, and lamingtons amidst this wasteland. The lamingtons were delicious!

Driving towards our final destination was rather other-worldly. The giant rock rises so dramatically from the flat, arid land that my eyes could not resist climbing it. The soil of the red centre is the finest I have ever seen, burnt to a lovely red-orange color; the Uluru visitors' center has a collection of "sorry rocks" that were taken from Uluru by admiring tourists and then mailed back with notes of apology. If ever a mars movie was to be made it would be filmed at here! A high-pitch droning from the flapping mouth of our tour guide offered three options for entertainment. We could:

1. Climb the giant rock. Unfortunately, this is considered disrespectful to the aboriginals. Tourists who do so anyway are called "mingas", meaning "ants", because that's what they appear to be from a distance: little black pests scurrying up the rock face.
   
2. Walk around it...a 9km journey in all.
   
3. Hang out with the guide at a cultural center and get a base tour by bus.

Well, 3 was right out! Something about a falsetto doesn't invite my friendship, and I had decided against 1 to be respectful. So, option 2 it was! I had just run a 14K so this should be easy, no?

No! For the record, I'm a masochistic idiot. I don't know if I hovered too much over pictures or just set a mosey-like pace, but as the deadline to meet the bus approached I found myself stranded on the eastern side of Uluru with no way to get back to the road. That's how I ended up running at the back of Uluru. Eventually, I had to cut across some protected land to make it back to the road. Two national parks violated in as many weeks! I'm a rebel with a cause...and that cause appears to be trespassing in national parks. Look out, Yellowstone!

Aside from the intrinsic beauty of Uluru, I loved the stories and myths about the rock. The first tale I stumbled across was about a gray lizard-shaped discoloration on the western face. Long ago, Lizard came to live at Uluru. One day he found a wounded emu with tribal spears sticking out of its belly. Even though it was obviously the object of a hunt, he killed and ate the emu. When the hunters came looking for their catch, Lizard lied and said he had never seen the creature. Soon after, the hunters discovered Lizard's trick and came back demanding their emu. Lizard climbed the rock to escape them. As he climbed, the hunters built a great fire and blinded lizard who fell to his death, hitting the rock where the ghostly shape still lays. (In fact, the gray discoloration is the true color of the rock! The orange that covers most of it is in fact rust.)

We finished the day with a sunset dinner at Uluru, complete with cheap champagne. After scarfing the food and casually kicking over the drink I'd been given I snuck away to watch the show. A purple shadow crawled towards the giant rock, slipping over golden bushes and low trees. It oozed up to the rock and then began to scale it. The colors drained away wherever the shadow touched and eventually it had devoured the rock. As soon as the sun set, the sky surrounding Uluru bloomed with an intense pink color that swam about the gargantuan stone before dying out. In the twilight the rock was gray, its true color, not the burnt orange shade that rust had given it. The desert was quiet and we had a long journey home. I waved goodbye and boarded the bus. So long, Uluru, I couldn't forget you if I wanted to!


See below for Dinky's performance!




*I later learned there are some female sacred sites mixed in there, too. But I think the blame is fine where it's been laid.

14 Kilometers Later...

Everywhere I looked, runners jostled each other in the early morning chill at Hyde Park. People from all over the world had flooded into Sydney for the annual City 2 Surf 14K "fun run" and now waited for the the start guns to fire. As we shuffled, the differences between Colorado's Bolder Boulder and this race kept jumping out at me.

• Bolder Boulder: 26+ starting heats based on prior race times and estimated times
• City 2 Surf: 5 starting heats based entirely on completion time in last year's race

• Bolder Boulder: the streets were lined with bands and cheerers- tons of entertainment!
• City 2 Surf: 2 bands composed of senior citizen rockers

• Bolder Boulder: 10K on relatively flat terrain
• City 2 Surf: 14K on hills that would make San Francisco blush

• Bolder Boulder: Freebies! T-shirts, food, drinks, galore!
• City 2 Surf: A free newspaper and bus ride back to the start

• Bolder Boulder: 55,000 registered participants
• City 2 Surf: 70,000 registered participants

Finally, the gun shot for our heat ripped the air...and no one moved. A minute passed...still nothing. People started hopping to see the front. Had that been our group's shot? It had. Slowly, the crowd began to move: waddling forward like so many penguins. It was 5 minutes after the gun shot that I crossed the start line, and then the real fun began!

Even after being part of a 70,000-strong herd of humanity, I have no way to conceptualize that number. I think the human brain starts struggling somewhere around 500 people. All I know is that the crowd never thinned out. I was perpetually dodging walkers and runners and the river of participants always disappeared into the distance. Another runner joked that it was a 16K race with all the weaving factored in.

As with the Bolder Boulder, some people had gone all out for a theme. There were about 20 men painted blue and wearing white undies: smurfs. Some army men carried two kids on stretchers; a group of kids ran as tools - wrenches, pliers, etc. Others wore fruit or fat suits...just general silliness.

In general, I found the race incredibly under-organized; it worked as it was, but could run so much smoother! However, there was a clever aspect of the race that rather impressed me. Runners were told to wear clothes that they didn't want anymore for layers and to simply strip them off as they warmed up. People tore their clothing off as they moved, festooning the streets with jumpers and sweat bands. Girl scouts followed along and collected the clothing then carted it off to charity. And, the lack of freebies meant even more money for charity. I believe the race raised over $1,000,000.00 and was, all in all, a pretty unique experience.

How did it all turn out? I was the 25,917th person to cross the finish line with a time of 84:24. I have yet to decide if this time is a "good time" but, in the moment, simply finishing was everything I could hope for!

Exploring Kings Park and the Botanical Gardens

I'm not sure what I did to offend the parrot, indeed I didn't know it was possible to do so, but some basic bird morality must have been violated to make the bird repeatedly launch itself at my head as I walked to my hostel in Perth. Weighed down with all my backpacker gear, the most I could do was squawk a protest and scoot away as fast as possible. So, naturally, I was wary when I found more parrots (gallahs, specifically) at King's Park, grazing like pigeons under the sprawling trees. King's Park sits atop Mt Eliza overlooking Perth; 62m above sea-level qualifies as a mountain here. The park has 3 faces: the war memorials, the botanic gardens, and the aboriginal history; it was expansive, lovely, and best of all: free.

For every city in Australia there is an unique aboriginal culture; the myths, crafts, and ancient ceremonies of the local tribe are pushed fairly hard to tourists. I think of this as a form of repentance. Up until 1928 aboriginals were being hunted as animals, slaughtered for sport, convenience, or dog food; they had few civil rights and no respect for long after. Even today, they hold an "untouchable" status for many Aussies. So I don't resent the peddling much, and I thoroughly enjoyed visiting the old lookout points and meeting places of the Nyungar tribe.

The memorial aspect was also impressive. Aside from the dominating statues and rows of bronze placards listing names of those fallen in war, there were artistic tributes to law enforcement and living tributes in the form of dedicated trees lining Honor Ave. This may seem a bit excessive, but Australians have come close to extinction from losses in war. So, in times of peace, it is natural to hail the accomplishments of old without which they'd all be inbred. Got to tip your hat to that!

The botanic gardens were lush, diverse, and inventive. Giant boab trees contemplated the universe among cacti, agave (tequila!), and all manner of plants I'd never heard of but enjoyed gawking at. Most people come to the park for the wildflower gardens; when I found this section it was a ruin: full of spindly and twiggy bushes. Apparently, the flowers are due to burst into life about three weeks after I leave Perth...poor timing on my part. I am sure it will be magnificent when in full swing. Another draw was the water garden: an artificial river carves through the land, flowing over ledges and rocks in an artistic display. The centerpiece is a lake with timed fountains spraying 20 feet into the air around a statue of a mother and child. It was here that I lounged for a time beneath the trees, keeping an eye on the parrots.

Throughout my wanderings I had seen several plants more cared for than the rest with little signs explaining their significance. These were experimental plants! It turns out that King's Park is one of the world's leading centers of botanical research. Scientists breed new plant species, study their life cycle and generally perform highly important plant experiments. Most of the experimental plants can only grow in Australia; so the luscious gardens double as a laboratory.

Before I had come to Perth, all I had heard was that the city was extremely clean and so far away from the rest of the Aussie world that it might as well keep going. So my expectations were not high when I came here, but I was pleasantly surprised. Perth is not an amusement-park city like Sydney (busting at the seems with tourists and attractions), but rather a homey-city. It is the sort of place that Americans settle in to raise families: safe, beautiful, and friendly. The size and feel of the city reminded me of Denver, and so it was with a sense of "home" that I spent my time there.

Tingle Trees and Breathalizers in SW Australia

And through the tulgey wood it came...

Granted, I didn't see any jabberwocks, but I felt sure they were there as I walked up the road to the Valley of Giants. I had traveled from Perth to Albany, a small town in Western Australia, to traverse the famous elevated walkway through the tingle tree forest. In Albany, I rented a car to and drove the 100 km to Walpole-Narnalup National Park only to find it closed. Gasp! What terrible planning on my part! But, unwilling to admit defeat after venturing so far, I ventured yet further and trespassed in a national park. I know: my new-found rebel status shocks me sometimes, too. My thrilling life of crime may be late-begun, but I think the Australian authorities saw it coming considering certain events that day.

Earlier, at the airport in Perth, I was randomly selected to be screened for bomb materials. A middle-aged man flagged me down and led me to a cash-register-sized machine on a folding table; I could sense the seriousness of this procedure as he handed me a laminated sheet and stowed away the Krispy Kremes. (Aussies are crazy for Krisy Kremes!) The instructions explained that I was suspected of being a deviant and only a thorough poking with a bomb-detector would prove my innocence. I consented and he cheerfully commenced the prodding. I passed. But something still didn't sit right with the law because on my way to the park I was pulled over (on the left side of the road) to participate in a random breathalyzer test. I don't think these policemen had ever met anyone so excited to be pulled over! The whole experience added charm to my bizarro-world driving adventure, and they let me keep the mouthpiece after I blew a 0.0. (Clarky* the swimming saftey platypus says "Good job, Sarah!")

So the Aussie cops had the right idea about me but the wrong crimes. My villainy came later, as the sun set and I walked through a forest I should have paid $8 to see. The tingle trees towered above me, painted pink by the setting sun; the air was sweet with the taste of them. I crawled inside a particularly large tree with a gash in its base and listened to the oceanic rumbling of the wind through the leaves. The world was so quiet that even the rustling of my backpack was startling; the trees whispered, always seeming to fall quiet when I turned to look. This place definitely gave me tingles! The complete lack of humans combined with the company of such an imposing expanse of woodland was powerful and precious.

However, the tranquility morphed into spookiness about the same time that the sun set...go figure. So I scampered back to my rental car and drove to the "town" of Walpole. My hostel turned out to be little more than a glorified trailer park; sadly, I did not rank a double-wide. All facilities were outdoors, and I appeared to be the only guest. When I asked about food I was directed to the local gas station which "should be open if [I] hurr[ied]." After stocking up on delicious junk food, I returned to my trailer to enjoy the one luxury it could offer: a space-heater! For the first time since returning to Australia I was blissfully warm and ensconced in my own room with comfort food. Ah, joy!

The next time I awoke at the mythical time of 5am and drove back towards Albany. Who knew people could do that? Huh. Along the way I pulled off to a beach called Peaceful Bay to watch the sun rise. It was, as promised, quite peaceful. I crouched on a shadowed sand dune while the sturdy roots of beach grasses dangled from above. The massive carcasses of seaweed monsters lay beached along the shore; seaguls fought over their bodies and drunkenly dipped and twisted through the air. Slowly, the sun began peeking over the clouds.

I realized then that I had touched every ocean except those at the poles. How did the Indian Ocean compare to the sunny Pacific or the yawning Atlantic? From where I sat, I was at first inclined to say it was more peaceful: the waves at Peaceful Bay were breaking far out from the beach making the waters more like caresses than waves. But that was just the lay of the land in this area. What was the character of the whole ocean? The more I thought, the more I noticed that everything touched by the Indian Ocean is exotic, feral with its own beauty. The scented shores of India, the wilds of the African coast, and the green splendor of Western Australia all made the character of the Indian Ocean something truly unique.

All told, I spent a little under a day in the Albany area. But in those few hours Western Australia became my favorite corner of the continent, and I can't help feeling that I will return someday.



*Clarky can be seen in public service announcements on late-night television (in between the one phone sex ad that keeps repeating).

The Indian Pacific: A Cross-Continental Train Adventure

Do you remember the evolution of a tantrum from when you were a kid? Where "I won't do it" quickly becomes "I can't do it" and horrendous sobs over the injustice of it all result from being forced? That's how I felt about the smelly guy who took the seat next to me at the Adelaide stop. He didn't simply reek, oh no! He exuded the nearly-tangible odor of the bog of eternal stench or the three mouths of Cerberus, hell hound - it was bad. I started developing complex schemes to escape the night: sleeping in the showers, staying up, pretending to read in the lounge car, etc. It was horrible! And no one understood except for those tiny violin players; thanks, guys, wherever you are!

Melodrama aside, train travel wasn't so bad. There's a lot more space to move around in than a plane, but that freedom is paid for by the slowness of the journey. My red service seat (coach) allowed access to 2 other cars: the dining car and the lounge. The dining car was a time-warped 1950's ice cream parlour complete with intense lighting, metal-trimmed tables, and rigid plastic booth seats. The lounge had a couple arcade games and several coaches so soft they bottomed out not matter how light the sitter was. The main source of entertainment came through the large windows. At times, the train would stop with no apparent reason (in that it was very like Denver traffic); we actually were letting other trains by. The Indian Pacific is a single rail line cutting across the Australian continent from Sydney to Perth, with a brief detour in Adelaide. The line was extended out to Perth as part of the deal to make Western Australia a province of the country; it was the first, and remains the only, transcontinental railway in Australia.

The land melts from city to suburb to dairy farms to bush to proper outback country. What's the difference between the bush and the outback? As far as I can tell it's a matter of life. The bush still has trees and kangaroos while the outback has no life other than the half-dead bushes and a few humans: the only creatures stupid enough to live out there!

Our first whistle-stop was at Broken Hill, also known as Silver City. Broken Hill is a true mining town: all of the streets are named after mineral, unions are alive and well, and the mines still operate. The town has served as backdrop for several fabulous films: Dirty Deeds, the Mad Max movies, and Priscilla: Queen of the Desert. Yet, despite all this glamour, it is a town coming to the end of its life. In 2001, when mining was slow, the council made a decision to prevent Broken Hill from fading into a ghost town: the entire town would become a "living museum." Old buildings were restored, porch roofs were re-attached to shops, and tours began. Call me a pessimist, but this plan seems flawed. A living museum? Museums are, by nature, dead; completely focused on preserving the past, they have no future. Broken Hill still cannot offer jobs to its children and so they leave. The community simply gets older, and no matter how they cling to the past, there is no stopping that.

The second full day on the train took us through the Nullarbor Plains; Nullarbor is from the Latin for "no trees." An apt name. The plains sit on a giant slab of limestone 30m deep and as vast as the plains themselves! The layer was formed by this section of land submerging and emerging from the Indian Ocean tens of thousands of years ago. The land is so desolate that bushes break the horizon instead of trees; it is flatter than Kansas, with the burnt-orange soil peppered by tiny blue-grass bushes and rocks. The clouds lounged lazily on the horizon - close enough to poke if you had the gusto to get there. As I mentioned before, only humans are crazy enough to live out there, and I met a few at the next whistle-stop in Cook.

Cook was an interesting little town. There was no official tour, probably because the town could be fully explored in the 30 minutes it took to refuel. Cook was once a boom town, but those days have long passed and now it is a simple refueling stop. This self-proclaimed ghost town sits in the center of the Nullarbor Plains. There is no directionality possible there without referencing the train tracks of the only street sign in town: pointing west to Perth and east to Sydney. What residents do remain seem to take their isolation and degeneration with an Aussie sense of humor: the town is decorated with aging signs carrying catchy phrases. "Save our hospital: get sick." "If you're a crook, come to Cook!"

There actually are some trees in Cook thanks to 6 men called "the men of the trees." A few years back, these men from Adelaide and Perth brought 600 trees to Cook to begin the "re-greening of Australia." Most have died since, but a few remain to offer a welcome counterpart to the surrounding plains.

Back on the train I listed to audiobooks and watched the barren sprawl. The motion was hypnotic, and even when we stopped I thought us still in motion; my eyes carried on travelling whether or not the train cooperated. As we moved back into the bush, the sun seemed to set with supernatural speed and cast purple shadows over the ground and trees. Our last whistle-stop was in Kalgoorlie for 3 hours. Two Singaporeans, Two Swiss men, and I attempted to romp around the town for awhile; it's not easy to romp in freezing temperatures when all the shops are closed! The best part of Kalgoorlie besides trying to pronounce the name correctly? Sitting on the lap of a man statue/drinking fountain named Paddy Hannan. Thanks for the drink, Paddy!

The smelly guy took pity on me and slept in the lounge car on our last night - I think I might have kicked him, ENTIRELY BY ACCIDENT...but a lot, the night before. Mwahaha! When I woke up the world was covered in fog but I could make out trees and rivers and green grasses. We had made it to Perth!

Cliff-Walker: Hiking from Coogee to Bondi

Time to hit the beach! Alright, not in the traditional way - more in the jeans and sweatshirt "geez it's freezing here" way. Today I joined a hostel tour of the seaside cliffs between Coogee and Bondi Beach. Coogee lays 8km SE of Sydney's city center and is a classic example of English settlers inability to overcome language barriers. The name Coogee comes from the Aboriginal word 'koojah' meaning 'smelly place'; this referred to the rotting seaweed that washed up on the shores and not the place itself. Ah well, at least the natives can get a chuckle about it. Bondi Beach is one of the most famous Pacific Ocean beaches, holding 40,000 sea-waders on any summer day. It is also the setting of a reality Bay Watch show simply called: Bondi. I believe slow motion running is involved on a near-daily basis.)

I ditched the tour group about 30 seconds after getting off the bus; there is no time for lunch when there are ocean cliffs to explore! They probably wouldn't keep up anyway. The cliff walk was a rock-scrambling good time that reminded me of family adventures to Great Falls, Virginia. The ocean boomed and sprayed against the rocks and a murderous wind kept shoving me towards the edge. Far below were men who should, if the world was a sane place, be in a mental institution and not surfing. The undulation of the water made me nauseous; it looked like a giant had grabbed a carpet and was shaking off the dust...in this scenario swimmers and surfers are the dust specs flying off into oblivion.

After Coogee, I entered a wildlife preserve warning against the disturbance of all plants, aquatic invertebrates, and fish; except grouper - nobody likes them anyway. The Aussies are incredibly cautious when it comes to the ecosystem. They do not allow food to be transported internationally or even domestically between provinces and their animal-quarantine laws are infamously stringent. Not that they don't have good reason for paranoia. Australia's ecosystem is the diverse on the planet, filled with species not found anywhere else in the world. But, most of these species have had to adapt to a very specific and harsh conditions and have not had to endure competition. When a more adaptable breed is introduced the world goes haywire. Take the story of the bunnies: In 1859, a brilliant man named Thomas Austin released 24 rabbits onto his property for hunting purposes...and now rabbits are invasive pests responsible for the extinction of several Australian species. So the Aussie care for environment is not unusual and there were several preserves along the path.

At one point in the walk, I found two ducks floating happily in a small pool while a tiny rivulet carried the water back to the ocean. My guess is that the pool fills at high tide each night and drains throughout the day. I stood at the brink admiring the clever little ducks when an aquarium exhibit flashed into my head. I was loitering at the edge of a pool...and the world's greatest ambush hunters live here! I jumped from the imaginary crocs into the safety of a large mud puddle at the cliff's edge. Ah, the cold clammy embrace of safety! How would a croc get up on a cliff? Listen, if you're going to bring logic into this when I've just escaped death, I'm not sure we can be friends anymore.

ANYWAY! Back to the cliff walk. The path wound into little coves full of fishing boats, through playgrounds and preserves, along boardwalks, through sea-side cemeteries, and always back up to the rocky cliffs. The entire walk took about 1.5 hours, mostly due to my dawdling over pictures and scenic views. It's a backpacker's delight: romantic, harrowing*, and informative all for the price of bus fare.

*Note: This walk is more harrowing for those possessing intense imaginations and little sense.

To Wine & Women! - Don Giovanni at the Sydney Opera

I know I've violated some universal law of backpacking by bringing a formal dress and Calvin Klein stilettos with me on the road, but something had to be done for my first opera! Tonight I attended Don Giovanni at the Sydney Opera House, wearing my little outfit plus a couple of additions that will get me some backpacker cred: I tied my $3 purple flip flops to the money belt strings under my dress. I felt truly sneaky and clever. Show me the woman who can walk 2 miles in stilettos and I will run the other way!

Back to the show, though. Don Giovanni was a humorous tale of an Italian playboy who romances women indiscriminately: fat, thin, old, young...each was simply a different flavor to satisfy different hungers. Part of me admires a complete lack of standards in a man - it's rather like equal opportunity for the dating world. As must always happen, this Don Juan gets his comeuppance; but not before some truly amusing antics and amazing singing. My favorite character was Lady Elvira, the most recent in a string of jilted lovers who still has a soft spot for the town's bad boy. She was the one female character in the opera who was realistic; even if it was realism in a sad form. She was ever-forgiving and ever-loving yet ready to beat him senseless for his crimes. If you love something, set it free....and if it doesn't come back, hunt it down and kill it! Female philosophy through and through!

The opera house was vastly different from Beijing's. Where Beijing overwhelmed, Sydney intrigued. The concept seemed to be the warping of small spaces. Stairways interwove and overlapped while odd hallways drew you into corners. It was rather maze-like and fun to wander through. Plus, it boasted a view of the Harbour Bridge and ferries that more than made up for the cost of admission. At intermission a Scottish physicist bought me a glass of wine and elaborated on the intricacies of Mozart opera...this was made so much more amusing with flip flops under my dress.

After the night of wine, scorned women, and Mozart had finished I 'flopped my way back to the hostel.

Wake Up! My First Hostel Experience

I always knew travelling would spur revelations about life and the world...I just didn't know the extent of things that would be revealed. For instance, my first night in a hostel I did not expect a young frenchman to de-pants in an 8 person, multisex room. I did NOT see that coming! But we all saw it going! (har har) And, maybe it's just me, but I would not flaunt a pale, hairy little butt like that - I don't care if it is all the rage in Paris!

As you can see, hostels are odd places, but I happen to be staying at a particularly great one. Wake Up! (the hostel) is ranked #1 large hostel in Oceania. It's set up in central Sydney in an old department store building; as with many re-purposed buildings, it has a unique flavor. The store was originally built with each floor at different heights to house different merchandise, so no 2 floors are the same. This lends a funky feel which is heightened by big pillows, poof chairs, and blaring music - hippy heaven.

The more I hang around backpackers, the more I understand the culture they've set up for themselves. They take great pride in their roaming, revel in their showerless state (you can sniff out a true BP'er any day!), and dress in an 80's flashback style (where do they buy capri leggings these days?). Most of my hostel-mates are between 17-19 years old...which makes me feel a bit out of the loop. The looks I see when they learn I'm 24 make me feel as if I've achieved centarian status 76 years too soon!

But, the few years between us make me shake my head in a "how young I once was" way (Steve knows what I'm talking about). They haven't started jobs or college and view the first as a prison for them to rot in...and so they wander. I have a theory that they won't grow up until they are attacked by anti-bacterial soap. Experiments to commence soon!

Exploring Sydney

Zombie-Sarah was unleashed on Sydney today. I'm amazed people didn't flee from my, no doubt hideous, state as I blundered from tourist spot to tourist spot on only 2 hours of sleep. Not my smartest move, but there were too many sites to resist!

Sydney is an unusual place filled with unusual people. The city is a combination of old and new, rather like New Orleans. The rolling hills of San Francisco and the cottages and alleyways of London merge together with the safe, clean feeling of Denver. Most people are either backpackers or Asian tourists...either way I'm still being assaulted by languages I don't understand. English continues to startle me when spoken. This mishmash of people and buildings confuses me and I keep forgetting where I am.

I started out the day by wandering over to the Chinese Gardens in Darling Harbour (because I'm still in China-mode). What a laugh! I must have warped into a China-snob in the last week because I took time out of my day to mock this place. The willow trees were limp and yellow, nothing like the vibrant, graceful limbs of China's; pigeons crowded every level of a pagoda decoration in the fountain; the roof tiling carried a plastic sheen; and the guardian dragons looked comical: their tongues lolling and their paw drunkenly cuffing their young. Surprisingly, I decided not to pay the $10 for tour and tea service. Just as well, really. I've got to get out of yen-mentality; dollars are dollars here, mate!

Denied the pleasures of a Chinese Garden I walked along Cockle Bay wharf (with cockles and mussels, alive, alive-o!). The sun had warmed the day to perhaps 60 degrees and tourists and locals bustled along the wooden docks while the expensive, white yachts were busy shining. A yawning archway in the shape of a shark's mouth welcomed me to the famous Sydney Aquarium. I repented my laughter of before - THIS was why people come to Australia!

I am not particularly fascinated by fish, but I do appreciate beauty. Between the informative displays on individual fish, the difference between salt and fresh-water crocs, and reef construction were some of the most amazing creatures I've ever seen. Long-necked turtles weaved through murky tanks in a sinuous dance; penguins sat upon their rocks rustling their feathers and shaking it for all it's worth; seals huffed damply at their audience as they flowed over and around each other. The underwater walkways were the true shows, though. Giant sea turtles and manta rays dwarfed the predators in the tank while saucy little fish dashed along at eye-level. At the touch-tanks I pet a 4-pronged blue starfish and learned of the age-old battle of starfish vs. damsel fish; damsel fish are adorable, bright-blue fish that flit about stealing food from the starfish. Stay strong, my starfish friend! And try not to contort yourself into further loss of limb.

Aside from the magic of the giant tanks and long-suffering starfish, my favorite part of the museum was the platypus display. One of the information signs told an aboriginal tale of the platypus. In dreamtime, all the animals were dividing up by type. The birds got together and decided to invite platypus because she had to lay eggs as they did. Platypus was flattered, but didn't really feel right about accepting because she didn't fly. She decided to think about it. Then the mammals and fish got together and invited platypus because she had fur like the mammals and swam like the fish. Platypus was again flattered, but unsure of either offer. So she called all the groups to meet together in peace. She said that their offers were very kind but she couldn't accept any. She was glad to be friend to all, because she understood the plight of each group. And since then, the aboriginals took the sighting of the platypus to be a sign of luck and friendship. It's like I've always said: Screw evolution, maybe the platypus was right!

After the Aquarium, I walked to the Sydney Observatory. It's a rather small building with one of the best views in the city. Inside was a rather odd collection of historical artifacts ranging from ancient telescopes to glass-encased examples of old bathing suits worn in the heat wave of 1867. I signed up for a night-viewing and went to see the Harbour Bridge. Climbing the bridge would have been $179. I don't know how these people climb at night! Resisting the urge to haggle, I walked along the bridge path instead. The opera house glistened below, a spunky counterpoint to the Beijing Opera.

My favorite part of today was probably the hidden alley ways that carve up the blocks between major streets. The stairs and walkways are roughly cobbled and the building walls slant in or out at odd angles to narrow the alley. These alleys were once the underbelly of the city in the late 1800's, filled with point-shoed male thugs and the broad-brimmed hats of ladies of questionable virtue. And there I was, nibbling a muffin in their old haunts. History truly does disconnect from places; it is people that made the alleys what they were and it is in people that they remain special.

The night viewing at the observatory was definitely lessened by my inability to remain awake. The astronomer was a large, be-whiskered man who pointed out the Southern Cross and Alpha & Beta Centauri with a laser pointer that could blind plane pilots! About 20 tourists crowded into the freezing dome-topped tower with me to get a closer look at the universe - explained with an Australian accent.

Big day, but not a bad way to burst back onto the Aussie scene.

Beijing, China - Day 5

Part of me longed for the western-style house while in China - you know: toilets in seat-style and not glorified holes in the ground, air-conditioning, comfy places to sit, tv...home. Leave it to the Chinese to do it better, though! Last night we relocated to Dorothy's Aunt's and Uncle's home outside Beijing. The suburbs are increasingly westernized in terms of architecture and this one was lovely: 4 stories, air-conditioned, gleaming hardwood floors, and a shower with 6 different ways to pelt you with water. It was paradise!


Dorothy's family once more offered a brand of hospitality I've never seen matched. They served us a gigantic breakfast that 10 people couldn't hope to finish and drove us to today's adventure: the Ming Tombs.


The Ming Tombs are extensive and spaced out, including 13 separate mausoleums of Ming dynasty emperors and empresses. We visited the Sacred Way and the Ding Ling museum. The Sacred Way is a path lined with towering willow trees and stone guardian animals. We passed, and climbed on, lions, camels, horses, goats, elephants, and dragon-creatures; you haven't climbed ancient artifacts until you've climbed these babies! My favorite dragon, the turtle dragon, oversaw the complex beneath an elaborate archway. As we neared the end of the path, human statues flanked us; they were the generals and councilors of old. They struck me as silent, thoughtful men and warriors who had meditated so long in the peaceful glade they'd turned to stone. I could see how they'd done it - it was easy to lose yourself in the sweeping path and the hum of the insects.

The Ding Ling museum holds an underground palace that is the resting place of emperor Zhu Yjun and his 2 empresses. Busy guy! We descended 6 stories into the earth to see the replicas of their thrones and coffins. The most vivid memory of that tomb is the dampness, the air was so water-heavy everything was covered in mist. The halls and floors were damp and cold, but largely reconstructed so not as engaging as the Sacred Way.


After the Ming Tombs, we all faced a dilemma. Both Dorothy's grandparents and aunt & uncle wanted to take us out for a meal. So we had two sizeable meals nearly back to back. The Chinese are happy if food is eaten, but tend to order so much that eating it all is impossible! No matter how we all tried, the food was largely undented by our bellies. By Chinese standards we're very rude. In this sense, I'm glad to be leaving because my stomach is starting to lose its nerve.

Since this is my last night, I think it's time for a literary montage of an amazing trip; please hum your favorite bitter-sweet rock ballad. I've sweated my weight in water, acquired a China tan and a temporary smoker's cough, eaten crazy foods, haggled, explored ancient temples and palaces, been photographed with more enthusiasm than ever in my life, ridden public transport in contortionist-sardine-like conditions, developed a love of all forms of green tea, had my personal space violated unknowingly but constantly, and finally fulfilled a childhood dream of seeing China. It's been magical and nerve-racking and I can't wait to do it again!

Beijing, China - Day 4

Does anyone remember a commercial with the Energizer Bunny going along the great wall? Well, that was Dorothy and me today! We charged up those stairs and ramps with a New Yorker's indifference to the personal space and safety of others.

But first we had to get there. The morning started with Dorothy, Pete, Andrea, and me catching a coach bus to the Great Wall. We were all crammed next to strangers and listening to a tour guide we did not understand (Dorothy excluded). My neighbor was a curious little girl who watched me filling out postcards so intensely that I think she might have melted the language barrier; I ended up drawing puppies to amuse her before she crashed into slumber. After an hour long ride we arrived at the Great Wall: it was packed! I quickly reverted to my NY walking skills as Dorothy and I devoured the wall. There were ramps so steep I swore I would slide down, but somehow we managed. It's hard to imagine an army ever even approaching the Wall with all the trees and ravines that surround it. Much too much effort!

The visibility was not grand, as has been the case for our visit so far. The smog in Beijing is so thick that visibility is maybe 200m. The sky is rarely seen, and the air is thick enough to give you temporary smokers' cough. So the view was not spectacular, but the peace of the Wall was incredible. China is serene in ways that other places can never be. Even the willow trees, the saddest trees in Virginia, seem more graceful than solemn here. Part of me would love to be a hermit here - enjoying the quiet of the Chinese forests!



Once again we were dragged into pictures. One woman made a "I found the prize ham" noise when she saw Pete; I half-expected her to start rubbing his belly. But I guess a blond-haired, blue-eyed 6'3" guy stands out a bit. I'm not sure how many scrapbooks I'm becoming a part of, but I'm proud to be White Girl #3 any day!

Beijing, China - Day 3

When it was this soul-crushingly hot in ancient times, the emperors would go to the Summer Palace to escape; today we tried to follow in their noble footsteps - to little avail but much amusement.

The Summer Palace was built by the imperial heir more than 300 years ago in an attempt to lure the Empress Dowager off her throne. It didn't work in the slightest, but a lovely grounds resulted. There are definite themes to the Palace: almost everything is devoted to the idea of longevity. A large rock formation shaped like a man with a peach on his head greets every entrant; peaches are the fruit of longevity.
Crane and deer statues flank every doorway: the air and land animals of longevity. The Chinese characters for longevity are carved at the end of each pipe of roofing and painted on every mirror. The man-made lake is in the shape of a peach and the palace boasts the longest walkway in the world: 728 m...rather long-evinous, wouldn't you say? The other main theme was good fortune which is represented by the bat. The dirt from the man-made lake was moulded into a bat-shaped hill where the Temple of Buddha Incense/Incest/Incompetence now sits. (One of those names is right, I'm sure.) The entire palace seemed like a desperate message to the fates: long life and good fortune. The heir died at 38, by the way, after being imprisoned for 10 years in the Summer Palace. Someone up there sure liked laughing at this guy!

I know all these fun facts because an Olympic volunteer gave us a free tour. These people are all over Beijing, and are put in the streets to help the incoming flood of tourists that the Olympics will bring. Each volunteer gets to see the Olympic Games for free and tourists get a bit richer experience. The idea of volunteering is somewhat foreign to the Chinese, according to our guide, and so most of them are younger, more westernized citizens.

After our guide left us, we took a ferry to Suzhou Street, a venetian-like market divided in two by a canal. The ferry was a long boat powered by a single oar and oarsman at the back; it tipped side to side with each stroke but carried us through the willow trees at a good pace. Suzhou street was enchanting and I explored it while Andrea and Dorothy got pictures taken in traditional garb; way too hot for me to do that! Banners attached to dragon-headed poles fluttered above and a lone flute player filled the with haunting music. On my way back to the girls, a father asked me to take a picture with his two sons...both of whom seemed terrified of me. But, I smiled and the picture was taken. What do they do with these pictures of foreigners? "Here we are at the Summer Palace, and here my sons are with a random white chick, that was a good day!" It's rather like how we act with touristy things; we all became part of the scene: great wall, summer palace, white girls....it's all very exciting. Would you like to buy Sarah tickets?

We tried to eat a traditional dinner tonight and experience the cuisine. I had spicy frog soup and beer pancake. The frog tasted like salty chicken but the bones were a big turn-off; something about the way dogs suck the marrow out of bones makes me a bit squeamish about eating around them. Yuck! The beer pancake was good though.

Tune in tomorrow for the Great Wall!

Beijing, China - Day 2

Voices, voices everywhere and not an ounce of sense! Day two in the sweltering ocean of Chinese tourists started with a visit to the Temple of Heaven: home of Echo Wall, Circular Mound, and the Hall of Abstinence (double yay!). Although located in the center of Beijing, the temple was an incredibly peaceful place. Freshly caught live musicians set up in an archway and had gathered a small crowd of singers; older couples practiced tango; and a hybrid sport of hacky sack and badminton was all the rage. Once more I was bewitched by the sheer size of the buildings and courtyards, and how easily the Chinese interacted with them.

After wandering about the Temple of Heaven, we set off for Silk Street - a famous hagglers' market. Silk Street was once a huge collection of outdoor stalls but the city of Beijing, recognizing its popularity, constructed a building to house them all. Every surface is heavy with merchandise: clothing ranges from winter coats to traditional Chinese garb, statues stare blankly ahead in tiny armies of jade and bronze, fans flutter, and jewelry glistens. I think you could find anything in the 8 floors of Silk Street. The atmosphere was chaotic, too! Vendors called from every side, "Nice girl! Pretty girl! I want to sell to you!" Sometimes they'd even pull at me; 2 small women dragged me into their stall with surprising force! "You buy tie for boyfriend! No boyfriend? I think you lie - you have 2, 3 boyfriend! You buy tie now!"

All my life I have been tickled by the idea of haggling, but pretty sure I wouldn't be up to it. In my head it was a fairly intimidating affair - but, in reality, it was so much fun! Dorothy says I'm a natural! I haggled for 4 items: a fan, 2 shirts, and a dress. My crowning achievement was talking a woman down from 380 yuan to 50! (Yuan to Dollars is roughly 7:1) That little piece of theatre involved me walking about 20 meters away and her chasing me; my leaving knocked 10 yuan off the top:-) I think haggling ended up being so exhilarating because it's a giant game. No matter what I pay, I'm getting ripped off. I know this. The vendor always wins in reality, but it's a surface victory for me. And, boy, do these women know how to ham it up!

We gloated over our purchases and ate dumplings at our hosts' home before heading off to the Beijing Opera House to see a piano recital. Andrea and I wore the dresses we had just bought and so arrived with a bit more grace than we would have otherwise...sweat-soaked tank tops just don't scream class! I was happy we did dress up, though, because the Beijing Opera House is a marvel! The building sits over a lake, looking like a giant teardrop forever poised on breaking. The main entrance is subterranean, so I was confused to see skylights. Looking up, I saw that the windows were covered with running water from the lake; the marble floors writhed beneath that rippling light. As we entered the main hall, I was struck by the vaulting wood-paneled ceilings, so far above that the wood appeared soft. Escalators and stairways crawled up the walls on either side of me. People scurried up and down them looking no more than bugs in the massive space. The walls were glass and through them I could see that the marble floor was level with the calm lake. It reinforced the idea of a teardrop: if the tear should break then it all would flow back to the water and the instant of art and beauty would be lost. It all seemed so delicately balanced to me, a statement about the fleeting life of art and beauty. Oh, and the piano concert was nice, too.
After the recital, Andrea and I walked to the Night Market: a bustling, winding street lit by large, red lanterns and full of heavily-laden stalls. We perused for awhile before buying corn on a stick. It was cooked but unbuttered, and so dry it tasted like popcorn. The vendors here seemed to feel that everything was made more edible by being on a stick...we even saw starfish-on-a-stick. Nummy! As we left the market, a girl stopped us and asked to take our picture because she thought we were beautiful. We were surprised but posed for the picture and she disappeared before we could get our bearings. It's unusual and highly flattering to be considered exotic! Plus, how often is a woman told she's beautiful without any sort of expectation of creepy intonation placed on the comment? Not too often!

It was a lovely day, all in all, ending in a fantasy market where people thought we were beautiful. I love China!

Beijing, China - Day 1

I have to start this out by laughing at myself. On the 14 hour plane ride to Beijing I was excited about the warm weather. 80+ degrees? Yay! I thought to myself, at least I’ll get a little summer while abroad…oh you stupid little fool. My first day in China was easily 90 degrees and humid in a way that feels like soft velvet rubbing against your skin: oppressively pleasant. At the end of the day I had sweated through my black tank top so horrendously that there were white stripes where the salt had dried!

China was overwhelming! If Andrea and I had not had Dorothy to house and guide us I don’t know what we would have done. The language barrier is impenetrable, even though they do speak slowly to foreigners, and my knowledge of Mandarin consists of smiling and nodding. So, thank you, Dorothy! Her family’s hospitality and her assistance made our visit not only fabulous but possible.

Our first day started out with Dorothy’s grandfather, our host, registering us at the local police station as visitors. Here I was reintroduced to childhood in that I knew I was being discussed and knew I had to be present…but ultimately had no idea what was going on. As a kid I might have played with the ID card booth, but I retained enough maturity to prevent that – shame really, it looked like a pretty fun set up. Here I was also introduced to the species of Chinese person that sounds perpetually angry – one clerk was yelling and gesturing so wildly I could have sworn she’d likened my ancestors to pigs or hamsters, but it turned out she was just saying hello.
The first tourist stop was Tiananmen Square. Though it looked exactly as it should it made me thoughtful. I think people sometimes travel to historical places to snatch at the ghosts of old, to reach for the place-memories that can connect the past to our present. We went to Tiananmen, in part, looking for evidence of its bloody past. But, as is the case with such endeavors, the Square showed little of its history. The walkways were clean and lined with neat rows of potted plants; people crowded into souvenir shops or strolled with brightly-colored umbrellas (conveniently placed at my eye-level for maximum fun).

Moving through Tiananmen Square, we entered the Forbidden City (home of Chinese emperors and center of government for about 500 years). The courtyards were big as fields, with large stones blanketing the grounds and tiny lines of grass hugging the stones. Statues watched us wherever we walked: dragon water-spouts, dragon roof statues, dragons in relief, turtle dragons, snake dragons, dog dragons, lion dragons, and cranes. (Go, cranes! Hanging with the big dogs!)

Every doorway we passed was painted red as were the towering walls. Dorothy explained to us that red is for good fortune. (Perhaps that’s why the communists absconded with it!) Everything was incredibly colorful. Any surface that was not attempting to dwarf the viewer with its blank immensity was minutely detailed. The painted woodwork was a riot of blues, golds, greens, and reds. It struck how every aspect of the palace was built and maintained with a purpose. The Chinese are nothing if not thorough.

And that is why it perplexed me that in such a purposeful, strict society no one knows how to wait in line! How does that happen? We got cut off countless times and even got honked at for using the crosswalk properly. DWA is a stereotype, true….but dear god it’s true and they’re everywhere!

After the Forbidden City we trekked 4 miles to Beihai Park due to an unfortunate inability to find the correct bus. Beihai was beautiful! We had come to see the wall of nine dragons, but found so much more! As soon as we got in, we went to the paddleboats and chugged along for awhile on the cool green waters lined by pagodas and willow trees. Dragonflies zipped around our heads, their swift orange bodies teasingly close but never landing. When we began to explore the park I realized that China is a very unhealthy place for me…you see, I suffer from a love/hate relationship with stairs. Everywhere we looked another stairway curved temptingly upward and out of sight. Rough-hewn or smooth, steep or shallow: I love them all. But with 120% humidity, it was a pleasure my compatriots and I suffered for.

As we walked, we passed a lake teeming with gargantuan lilies (we’re talking frog heaven here); a Chinese man insisted on shaking our hands because he’d never shook with an American before, and we encountered a herd of feral cats two of which were humping up a storm. We watched an older man trying to break up the rendezvous, but you can’t stop kitty love; especially when a cat knows it’s forbidden.

All in all, we had a lovely day. I think I got the hang of naming things down here after tooling around the tourist scene. It’s always something elaborate: Hall of Wisdom and Grace, Pillar of Accumulated Elegance, etc. So I started making up my own:

- Temple of Fruitless Thoughtfulness
- Archway of Sensical Violence
- Gateway of the Flamboyant Chihuahua

Feel free to use any and all for your future naming needs! And so passed my first day in China!

*Pictures will be posted after I have finished backpacking Australia.

Where in the world is Sarah?

My beloved passport has returned from its voyage to the Chinese Consulate in Chicago with my Chinese visa nestled inside! Which means this adventure of mine is REALLY about to take off. In a little over 24 hours I will be leaving my beach-side apartment to explore China and to backpack Australia. Dorothy will be meeting Andrea and I in Beijing, housing us, feeding us, and perhaps mistranslating what we say for general amusement; fun will be had by all in a land I've wanted to see since I was 5! But upon our return, I will be wandering about Aussie land alone for 18 days.

Since I will have less ready access to the internet I've decided to post a travel calendar here so people will have an idea of where I am. Updates will be made as changes happen...of which there will be many, I have no doubt.

July 23 Fly to China
July 23 - 30 Beijing, China.....woot!
July 30 Fly back to Sydney, Australia
July 31 - Aug 2 Sydney, Australia
Aug 2 - 5 Indian Pacific Rail to Perth...cross-continental train ride!
Aug 6 Fly to Albany
Aug 6 - 7 Albany/Walpole....Valley of the Giants Canopy Walk!
Aug 7 Fly to Perth
Aug 7 - 9 Perth...Western wine country, here I come!
Aug 9 Fly to Sydney
Aug 10 City 2 Surf 14K!!!!
Aug 11 Fly to Adelaide
Aug 11 - 13 Adelaide
Aug 13 - 14 The Ghan Rail to Alice Springs
Aug 14-16 Uluru/Alice Springs....a rock in the desert...SWEET!
Aug 16 Fly to Sydney
Aug 16 Fly back to Surfers Paradise

Detailed and biased stories to follow on each place!

Surf's Up!

I learned to surf today! The locals think I'm crazy for doing it in the middle of winter, but no time like the present especially considering the land-locked nature of Colorado. It was the first rain-less day in a week and, dammit, I needed an adventure! So I toddled down to the surf shack and they set me up with a lesson complete with damp wet-suit (which felt like trying to pull a recently-slaughtered lizard's skin over my body...delicious!). First lesson of the day: no one looks or feels pretty in a wet suit.

There were 6 other people in the class with me: 3 oblivious Swedes, 1 Japanese man who spoke no English and lacked a personal space paradigm, 1 10 year-old New Zealander who befriended me, and 1 short, blond man who never spoke a word. We each were given surf boards (mine looked about twice my height) and told to follow our instructor down to the beach like baby ducks. Before even looking at the ocean we all sat in the sand and learned about the basics: the swim flags, the rip currents, and shark wrestling. Armed with anti-shark water-judo we set out to catch our first waves.

I don't know how many of you knew this about me, but I'm rather terrified of the ocean. Why? Oh, something about being in the control of a mindless, powerful force that houses sharks and rip currents never sounded fun to me. I've practically hyperventilated in the shallows before, turning every rolling wall into a demon in my mind. But, honestly, all the gut-wrenching irrational fear lasted about as long as it took me to catch my first wave; then it all evaporated in a gleeful "WEEEEE!" Any activity that offers so many opportunities to giggle at high velocity is alright by me! After that, every pummeling wave left me laughing even as the salt coated my lungs and stung my eyes.

After two hours of being dunked and tossed around I finally stood up on the board! It wasn't pretty or masterful in any way, but I think it is undeniable that I was vertical. Afterwards, they showed us a slide show of pictures we could buy which somehow captured the milliseconds where I appeared competent. It's funny how fast shutter speeds and a slide show set to a Chemical Brothers song can turn amateur fumblings into something kickass...but there wasn't anyone bitter enough to share in my amusement.

The day left me feeling like a walking bruise! I have sand-burns on my leg, everything tastes of salt, and I can't even sit for all the new bruises...but I can't wait to get out there again!

Fourth of July - Aussie Style!

America! America! Andrea and I were determined to celebrate Independence Day today; 16 hours ahead of most Americans but together in spirit! Our first stop was the Hard Rock cafe in Surfers...the free refills made me miss home. I never would have thought it would be one of my most missed things, but there you go.

Afterwards, we hopped in a cab and went to the Titans vs. Manley rugby game at Skilled Park. What happened next is best described in a press release:

In what has to be the first time ever, two American girls were ejected from a rugby game at Skilled Park for excessive cheekiness and drinking in a non-licensed section. The women in question were out "partying for America" on the fourth of July. Australian beers in hand, they sang the American national anthem, ogled the rugby players while making extremely decent (it's not indecent if you do it right!) overtures to them from afar, and were generally catty about the cheerleaders....who, according to one woman, resembled ostriches.

With 6 minutes left in the game, and the Titans getting schooled, a security official came up to ask them to leave the non-licensed section. Apparently, alcohol was not allowed so being the inventive girls they were, they downed the evidence. This was not the desired action.....and thus with little resistance, but much giggling, the two women were escorted out of the stadium.

When asked if they felt remorse for their actions they simply said "America! Fuck yeah!"

That was the high point of the night by far! What amuses me most is that I had to move a world away to discover my sense of patriotism. Sometimes life is strange...cheers to the land of free refills!

Currimbin Wildlife Sanctuary

Meet the love of my life: Wilbur the koala! He and his entire family are named after characters in Charlotte's Web; he weighs about 25 pounds, loves to cuddle, smells terrible and is terrifically adorable! We met at the Currimbin Wildlife Sanctuary today/ I generally don't like zoos: the caged animals seem to lead such confined, pathetic lives all for human amusement. But, mostly this one did not strike me that way.

The first animals we met were 3 camels tied into a train. Yes, I know they're not native to Australia but it was the first time I'd met a camel so it's still special. The trainer introduced me to the last camel in the chain, Sheba, and showed me how to pet her; they like scratches on the flat plate on the back of their head. I was amazed at how soft her woolly fur was and how long her eyelashes! She seemed like an exaggerated human woman in a way. When we mounted up on the camel in front of her Sheba lipped at my back...probably upset that I'd stopped petting. It was a fun ride! Camels rise and sit with an exhilarating abruptness and the one we rode tried to shake us off at one point.


Later we met the kangaroos and emus. It was very like a petting zoo; the animals milled around the enclosure and people could feed or pet them as they liked. A handler told us that kangaroos lived to be about 18 years old. The alpha male was pushing that age and had apparently fathered most of the creatures in the enclosure; he was sunbathing on a hill nearby, oblivious to the world and obviously enjoying his position. It's good to be the king! I pet a kangaroo with a joey in her pouch (see the feet?):

These animals are so completely domesticated! There were even kangaroos sleeping within 2 feet of the kiddy train! It felt a little less special interacting with them when they're practically vegetative.

The day ended with us feeding rainbow lorikeets. The birds are wild but have grown used to the public feeding times. Our friend, Alex, and I were handed bowls full of some watery food and told to hold them high. My shoulders started seizing up as I waited for the birds. Alex had a small flock after 10 minutes and still I waited. I think they must have sensed my catlike presence because they landed on people all around me but never me.
I nursed my patience and then, quite suddenly, a lorikeet landed on my arm and hopped towards the upraised dish. Then another, then 10. Some landed on my head before righting themselves. Their tiny claws dug into my arm as they scooted and fought for space. I had more than anyone! They were so close too! Their green bodies were vibrant and unspoilt. Red, yellow, and purple patches mapped their chests and heads. It was an incredible sensation to be so close, and I was still smiling stupidly at their claw-marks long after they flew away.

It was a good day.