My bestest friend, Allison, was hanging out at the baggage claim when I stepped off my red-eye flight. If the airport wasn’t already awake when I arrived, there was no question after I shrieked with happiness and practically leapt into Allison’s arms the moment I saw her. We bounced around for a few minutes like two kids on pogo sticks – I was euphoric and still pinching myself that I was back in the Midwest. HELLO WISCONSIN!
Our drive to Eau Claire led us directly into a blood-orange sunrise which lit up the small patches of snow that speckled the frozen fields. Allison and I chatted non-stop, scarcely taking time to breathe as there was lots to catch up on! Along with sharing my Fijian tales of woe on the ride home, Allison and I made sure to discuss two very important questions:
1.) How shall we best execute this epic homecoming surprise?
2.) And, how soon is lunch because a Jacob Bluefinger sub is an absolute MUST.
We arrived in Eau Claire in no time at all. I was sleep-deprived, my tummy was grumbling, and my heart was beating a mile a minute. For the last seven months, I had anticipated this very moment. I had actually dreamt about it on numerous occasions. I even wondered if I might cry. Just thinking about walking through the doors made my palms and armpits start to sweat with expectation. Then, it was time. I was greeted by the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread. As I walked to the counter, my eyes gazed at the ample selection of crispy chips, hot soups, and fizzy sodas. Ordering my favorite sandwich from Erbs and Gerbs was like being reunited with a long, lost friend. I swear I went a bit weak in the knees when took my first bite.
Once my belly and heart were blissfully content, it was time to tie up the loose ends of my homecoming surprise, which I had dubbed “Operation: Epic.” My family and I had already planned a pre-Easter skype date for 6:00pm that evening – of course, they were under the impression that I was “in Sydney with the Etheridges for a lovely holiday weekend on the beach.” That same morning, my dad had gone to the Minneapolis airport to pick up my cousin Alana who had come from California to spend 10 days in Wisconsin before heading to Europe on her very own overseas adventure. Non-coincidentally, her visit was to coincide with my arrival so she could take part in the big event! And, as one of my magnificent “Operation: Epic” accomplices, it was going to be her mission to video record the surprise from start to finish.
That afternoon, Allison rang my dad.
“Hi Doug! So, Anna has an Easter present that she wants me to deliver to you. Would it be alright if I stopped by sometime this evening to drop it off?”
“Sure, Allison. Cathy finishes up with work around 5:30ish. Why don’t you pop by around 6 o’clock or so?” Perfect!
Just a few hours later, and it was nearly time. Allison and I had picked out a lovely Calla Lily to pose as my Easter gift. I was practically biting my nails down to the cuticle as we drove towards home. My heart was slamming against my ribcage; my feet were fox trotting along the floor board. We hadn’t even reached the top of the Mt. Washington hill when I quickly contorted and crammed my entire body beneath the car console, bound and determined not be seen by a single neighbor who could quite easily tip off my family that I was back in town. I didn’t care if it was exceptionally unlikely to actually happen, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
Everything was in place for a surprise seven months in the making. I kept shaking my head thinking “This is really happening. I think I am actually going to pull this thing off. Holy crap, they are totally gonna freak out!”
We pulled into the driveway, parking where not a single living soul from inside the house could possibly get even the teeniest glimpse of me. And yet, I stayed firmly wedged inside in the pocket of Allison’s car.
Let “Operation: Epic” commence.
I could see Allison holding the Calla Lily as she rang the doorbell.
“Hi Allison! Come on in!” Cate said as she grinned and welcomed her into the cozy house where the fire place crackled with fervor.
At the top of the carpeted stairs, she saw them – Cathy, Doug, and Alana, all gathered around the kitchen counter visiting and preparing for supper. Hugs were given all around and the blooming Calla Lily was placed on the cream counter top.
“Oh shoot!” Allison exclaimed. “I forgot the card in the car. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”
She slipped on her shoes to walk back outside, and I peered up as she opened the car door. “Are they all upstairs?” I asked.
“Yep!” she grinned. “They’re all there!”
We walked up to the front door together, letting ourselves in. Allison led the way up the stairs, and I followed right behind hearing laughter coming from the kitchen. I was grinning at them for several seconds before their brains even registered what they were seeing. Then, all at once, it hit them.
“HOOOLY SHIT!” Cate hollered as her hands covered her mouth and tears sprung to her eyes.
My mom released a spine-tingling, seeming endless wail and involuntarily walked the opposite direction, completely taken aback by my unannounced arrival.
“Holy Smokes!” my dad exclaimed, clutching his heart as his eyebrows skyrocketed to his hairline.
Then, Cate rushed at me, full force, and we hugged each other so tight the Jaws of Life would have had a hell of a time breaking us apart. Everyone was crying, laughing, and, quite honestly, in utter disbelief. I embraced my mom next, after she had taken a solid minute to let the shock ripple through her every muscle. I glanced up smiling with tears of joy and saw my dad rubbing his eyes and squinting at the calendar.
“June 23rd?” he puzzled, as that was the arrival day of my faux travel plans.
My lips curled into a grin as I went to hug my dad. “Surprise!” I chuckled. I gave a giggling Alana a huge bear hug and made a mental note to give her a humongous thank you for recording the whole surprise affair. Alana and I both knew from the start that pulling off a homecoming surprise of this magnitude was not going to be a simple task – especially when I have one of the best "detectives moms” I know! Even so, “Operation: Epic” went off without a hitch. *Fist Pump!*
The rest of the evening was filled with lots of stories and endless laughter. Cate was quick to point out that I had indeed developed a New Zealand accent and apparently now had a funky blend of Wisconsinite and Kiwi twang with a dash of Aussie vocab sprinkled in. My mom couldn’t stop touching me, as though she wanted to make completely certain that I wasn’t a figment of her imagination. And yet, here I was; home again after one year, two months, and four days of travel and thrilled to be back with family and friends. Home is truly where the heart is.
*Click here for video footage of Operation: Epic
Thursday, April 21
Wednesday, April 20
Flashback
September 2010 – Christchurch, New Zealand
As I strolled through the bustling streets of Christchurch, my eye catches a shop window and I read “STA Travel.” The door jingles as I walk through, and I take a seat in front of Fiona, a cool and calm travel agent who immediately offers me her time and unwavering attention.
“I'm looking for a flight from Sydney, Australia to Minneapolis/St. Paul, Minnesota, “ I say.
“No worries, let me check that for you,” she responds with a smile.
Two hours later, I've booked an April flight from Sydney to LA with a ten day layover in Nadi, Fiji. I've decided that, with seven more months of travel, I just might be ready to go home for a visit come Easter. So, with a freshly printed itinerary in hand, I step back out into the ebb and flow of the city streets. I'm officially going home! How much fun would it be to keep it a surprise? Buckets o' fun, I'd say!
October 2010 – Omarau, New Zealand
I'm on the hostel computer reading the latest email from Mom. She had a grand time during her trip to Germany and Poland with my Aunt Carol and has promised to send mountains of photos soon! I read further:
“When Carol and I were in Germany, we met a good friend of cousin Klaus and his daughter, Melina. Melina is interested in coming to the United States after her high school graduation and possibly staying for the summer. I ran an idea by Dad and Cate about potentially hosting Melina during her stay, but I also wanted to check with you on what your plans were. Of course, if you're planning on being home for the summer, we wouldn't give up your bedroom, but if it's open, would it be okay if Melina stayed there? When is it that you're planning on coming home again??”
I chuckled to myself as I considered how to reply.
“Dear Mom,
It's great that you are thinking of hosting Melina for the summer! My plans for after Australia are still pretty up-in-the-air, so if i were to give you my thoughts right now, I'd say I'm 80-90% sure that I'll be off to Southeast Asia after my Australian visa expires. And, most likely, I'll be there for 3 months at least, so I'd expect to come home around, oh, October of next year? Obviously, I haven't booked any flights yet, so nothing is set in stone, but that's kinda what I'm planning out in my head. Keep me posted on plans with Melina!
Love, Anna”
My reasons for giving up my bedroom for the summer was two-fold. 1.) I liked the idea of paying forward all of the gracious traveling karma that I had and was still receiving during my backpacking travels, and 2.) I'd have the once in a lifetime chance to see my family's faces when I walked through the door unannounced – and it would be so worth it.
*~*~*~*
For anyone who knows my Mom, it makes a whole lotta sense that the “surprise the bejesus out of your mother after you've been gone for months” gene runs in my blood. And although my Mom gets a kick out of surprising others, it's no simple task to try and surprise her. That's what made this challenge that much more intoxicating. Over the next several months, I began to create an intricate and convincing back story that evolved more and more as my parents continued to ask me further questions about my travel plans – why was I traveling to Fiji? Vacationing of course! Are you sure you can't come home for Christmas? How would June work instead? What are you're plans for Easter? I'll be celebrating with the Etheridges in Sydney! My advice to secret keepers? Seven months is too damn long!
*~*~*~*
February 2011, Christchurch, New Zealand
For Christmas, my mom and dad graciously offered to fly me home for a visit – a visit that they would like to see happen as soon as possible. Seeing as I haven't told them that I've already purchased a ticket home, I've put myself in a bit of a pickle. I'm bound and determined to keep this surprise a secret no matter what obstacles are thrown at me. So on my last night in New Zealand, I design a very official looking flight itinerary and set my arrival date for June 23rd, 2011. I send the itinerary off in an email to my parents with the subject line reading “I'M COMING HOME!!!” and far too many exclamation points scattered throughout the message box. It doesn't take long before I find out that our home calendar reads, “Anna Home!” on June 23rd – in dark, non-erasable pen.
Monday, April 18th, 2011 – Los Angelos, California
“Hi Mom and Dad!
I'm back from Fiji and finally bedbug free! I'm couchsurfing in Sydney for the next few days until I meet up with the Etheridges to celebrate Easter up at their beach house. The weather in Sydney is gorgeous! I just got back from a walk in the Botanical Gardens this afternoon. There are Flying Foxes everywhere! Would you, dad, and Cate be around for a skype date on Thursday around 6:00pm? It'd be great to see you and wish you all a Happy Easter!
Love, Anna”
Three days later, I am on a plane from LA to Minneapolis/St. Paul. Our Thursday “skype date” is going to be brilliant! :-D
As I strolled through the bustling streets of Christchurch, my eye catches a shop window and I read “STA Travel.” The door jingles as I walk through, and I take a seat in front of Fiona, a cool and calm travel agent who immediately offers me her time and unwavering attention.
“I'm looking for a flight from Sydney, Australia to Minneapolis/St. Paul, Minnesota, “ I say.
“No worries, let me check that for you,” she responds with a smile.
Two hours later, I've booked an April flight from Sydney to LA with a ten day layover in Nadi, Fiji. I've decided that, with seven more months of travel, I just might be ready to go home for a visit come Easter. So, with a freshly printed itinerary in hand, I step back out into the ebb and flow of the city streets. I'm officially going home! How much fun would it be to keep it a surprise? Buckets o' fun, I'd say!
October 2010 – Omarau, New Zealand
I'm on the hostel computer reading the latest email from Mom. She had a grand time during her trip to Germany and Poland with my Aunt Carol and has promised to send mountains of photos soon! I read further:
“When Carol and I were in Germany, we met a good friend of cousin Klaus and his daughter, Melina. Melina is interested in coming to the United States after her high school graduation and possibly staying for the summer. I ran an idea by Dad and Cate about potentially hosting Melina during her stay, but I also wanted to check with you on what your plans were. Of course, if you're planning on being home for the summer, we wouldn't give up your bedroom, but if it's open, would it be okay if Melina stayed there? When is it that you're planning on coming home again??”
I chuckled to myself as I considered how to reply.
“Dear Mom,
It's great that you are thinking of hosting Melina for the summer! My plans for after Australia are still pretty up-in-the-air, so if i were to give you my thoughts right now, I'd say I'm 80-90% sure that I'll be off to Southeast Asia after my Australian visa expires. And, most likely, I'll be there for 3 months at least, so I'd expect to come home around, oh, October of next year? Obviously, I haven't booked any flights yet, so nothing is set in stone, but that's kinda what I'm planning out in my head. Keep me posted on plans with Melina!
Love, Anna”
My reasons for giving up my bedroom for the summer was two-fold. 1.) I liked the idea of paying forward all of the gracious traveling karma that I had and was still receiving during my backpacking travels, and 2.) I'd have the once in a lifetime chance to see my family's faces when I walked through the door unannounced – and it would be so worth it.
*~*~*~*
For anyone who knows my Mom, it makes a whole lotta sense that the “surprise the bejesus out of your mother after you've been gone for months” gene runs in my blood. And although my Mom gets a kick out of surprising others, it's no simple task to try and surprise her. That's what made this challenge that much more intoxicating. Over the next several months, I began to create an intricate and convincing back story that evolved more and more as my parents continued to ask me further questions about my travel plans – why was I traveling to Fiji? Vacationing of course! Are you sure you can't come home for Christmas? How would June work instead? What are you're plans for Easter? I'll be celebrating with the Etheridges in Sydney! My advice to secret keepers? Seven months is too damn long!
*~*~*~*
February 2011, Christchurch, New Zealand
For Christmas, my mom and dad graciously offered to fly me home for a visit – a visit that they would like to see happen as soon as possible. Seeing as I haven't told them that I've already purchased a ticket home, I've put myself in a bit of a pickle. I'm bound and determined to keep this surprise a secret no matter what obstacles are thrown at me. So on my last night in New Zealand, I design a very official looking flight itinerary and set my arrival date for June 23rd, 2011. I send the itinerary off in an email to my parents with the subject line reading “I'M COMING HOME!!!” and far too many exclamation points scattered throughout the message box. It doesn't take long before I find out that our home calendar reads, “Anna Home!” on June 23rd – in dark, non-erasable pen.
Monday, April 18th, 2011 – Los Angelos, California
“Hi Mom and Dad!
I'm back from Fiji and finally bedbug free! I'm couchsurfing in Sydney for the next few days until I meet up with the Etheridges to celebrate Easter up at their beach house. The weather in Sydney is gorgeous! I just got back from a walk in the Botanical Gardens this afternoon. There are Flying Foxes everywhere! Would you, dad, and Cate be around for a skype date on Thursday around 6:00pm? It'd be great to see you and wish you all a Happy Easter!
Love, Anna”
Three days later, I am on a plane from LA to Minneapolis/St. Paul. Our Thursday “skype date” is going to be brilliant! :-D
Dancing Amongst Stars
The pure euphoria I felt as I watched the lights of Los Angelos come into full view beyond my tiny, oval airplane window was nearly overwhelming. I was literally bouncing in my seat, my entire being just tingling with desire to set foot once again in my dear country. I’m home, I’m home, I’M HOME!!!
My good friend Julie, who I first met in 5th grade volleyball, was at the airport to greet me when I was finally able to squeeze my way through customs. Her first words? “My GOD, you are freakishly tan!” Yes indeed – one of the few good things I could thank Fiji for.
The sun was shining, the temperature light and warm. If it had been up to Julie and me, we would have gone straight to the beach. Unfortunately, my other potential souvenirs from Fiji needed immediate extermination. Thus, we drove straight to Julie’s apartment and proceeded to execute “Operation Bedbug Bye-bye” for the remainder of the afternoon.
Julie was the ideal LA tour guide, offering various ideas on how to see the great expanse of all there is to see and do in the LA metropolitan area…in 3 days. On my first evening, we walked the pier at Santa Monica, stopping every so often to watch the various street artists and applaud their performances. Then, we ended the night toasting my return with mega-marvelous margaritas and authentic Mexican cuisine. Salud!
It’s funny the things you miss when you are away for 14 months. While you’re gone, you have cravings for certain foods; miss the comforts of familiar places. What was the first stop shop on my list? Target. When you’ve been stuck with “The Warehouse,” New Zealand’s mediocre imitation of Walmart, you’ll long for the day when you can pass under that red bull’s-eye, walk through those automated doors, and smell the sweet smell of that all-in-one superstore. Oui, Target, oui, oui!
Next stop, Hollywood! As Julie and I made our way over the Star-studded sidewalks, I was in visual turmoil, torn between seeking out my favorite celebrity names on the ground beneath me and ogling in jaw-dropping wonder at all of the colorful stuff surrounding me. We saw Jack Sparrow snapping photos with wide-eyed pirate fans, random people curled up on the ground next to their favorite Star for that special photo-op, and even a gigantic, life-sized wax figure of everyone’s loveable and freakishly green friend, Shrek. I was constantly pointing at the ground exclaiming, “Look! Beyonce!” or “Hey! It’s Kermit the Frog!” or “OH MY GOD, BARBARA STREISAND!!” When we reach the Chinese Theater, the concrete slabs running up to the building were filled with signatures, quotes, and hand prints from a remarkable number of outstanding persons who have made extraordinary contributions to worldwide entertainment; the cast of Harry Potter, Shirley Temple, Sidney Poitier. As I browsed through this cement floor of celebrity imprints, I couldn’t help but giggle when I discovered the gray indentations of thick dreadlocks. Ya gotta love Whoopi.
I was really hoping to be selected as an audience member for the “Ellen Show,” but, as we discovered, if you aren’t up at the crack of dawn to call in and leave a message after the beep, you’re s.o.l. So instead, we found our way to the Getty Museum which has got to have one of the best views of LA. Standing on the balcony, the entire city is sprawled out before you, a smoggy haze draped sleepily over the jagged skyline. The massive (what is it now, an 18 lane highway???) is seriously impressive. The museum itself was fun to explore and the open air garden, just shy of the spring bloom, was a lovely place to stroll in the sunny, yet cool weather.
While I was very much enjoying my time in LA, thoughts of home were constantly barraging my mind. You see, seven months prior, I had booked a multi-plane ticket from Sydney to Los Angelos to Minneapolis. I just chose not to tell anyone. Eventually, a few people got in on the surprise – The Etheridge Family (as my backup story for my “Australian Easter plans”), my best friend Allison (as my welcome hug and personal taxi home from the airport), and my cousin Alana from California (as my fellow accomplice and token videotographer). What started out initially as “oh man, it’ll be so much fun to surprise everyone!” eventually took a very detailed and convoluted course as the 210 and some-odd-days began to tick off one by one.
In October, my mom mentioned that they were thinking of hosting a German exchange student, Melina, for the upcoming summer. I have always wanted my parents to host an exchange student, but it wasn’t until my bedroom was vacated that they decided to consider it. Well, me being the stubborn secret keeper that I am, told Ma and Pa to go for it! Melina could use my room, no worries. Tell her to make herself at home :-)
In December, Mom and Dad offered to fly me home for Christmas. As I had already committed to working in the Milford Sound over the holiday, I didn’t feel good about leaving. And, at that point, I only had a month left on my NZ work and holiday visa, and after that, just 2 months more until I was flying home anyways (unbeknownst to them, of course). It certainly wasn’t an easy thing to do, telling my parents basically, thanks, but no thanks. How, I wasn’t quite ready to come home just yet. What do you think about me coming home for a visit this summer instead? Don’t worry about booking anything though; I can sort that out when I find the time. (Mamma Mia…)
On February 14th, five months after booking my real ticket, I fashioned a false one. To accompany my faux itinerary, I sent along this email:
Hi Mom and Dad!
Well, I did it! I bought a ticket!! Spent all night at the computer last night looking up flights via LOADS of travel sites and finally settled on the cheapest option I could find - hitting the "BOOK FLIGHT" button at 2:47am! I can hardly wait :-)
The 29+ hours of travel time is going to be a pain in the arse...but, all the layovers apparently make the flight much cheaper, so...I'll just have to deal with the wonderfulness of jetlag. ;-) I'll be seeing you at the Minneapolis Airport on Thursday, June 23rd!!
Love you heaps and heaps,
Anna
I can be fairly confident when I say that from that moment on, the date June 23rd was burned, hot and fiery, into my mother’s mind. Ooo, I’m such a sneaky little bugger! (And, I can also say with certainty that my mom would whole-heartedly agree.)
Since my ten days in Fiji was, in reality, an extended stop-over, I had to make up a yaddy-yadda story about how I was going to Fiji with a girl-friend, “just-because.” My mom took that to mean that I wanted a vacation, so I was fine with leading her to believe just that.
>>> As a side note: For those of you who don’t know my Mom, she is an awesomely awesome woman. She is also extremely difficult (if not down right impossible) to surprise. So, if I was actually able to pull off this surprise homecoming, it was gonna be nothing less than epic. Capital E-P-I-C.
>>> As another side note: Once again, for those of you who don’t know my mom, she traveled as a young woman to Greece, spending several months abroad in a country that was going through some pretty serious political mayhem at the time. One day, as my Grandma was outside hanging clothes on the line, a taxi pulled up at the end of the driveway. My mom proceeded to step out of the car and shock the livin’ daylights out of her mother! Heavens! What kind of daughter would DO such a thing?! Now, may I continue with my story, please?
In the month or so prior to leaving Australia, I spent many a night awake thinking about how I could pull off this bombshell of a surprise. Should I surprise them individually? Or all at once? In different places? Or at home? What if they just found me soaking in the hot tub, and then I could jump out and give them all big, wet hugs? Sigh…the possibilities were endless. But, foremost on my mind was making sure that Mom, Dad, and my sister, Cate, wouldn’t have even the itty bittiest inkling of a thought that I was coming home. Needless to say, this took a grand effort from a few of my co-conspirators and a large amount of creative storytelling on my end.
As far as my family knew, I was returning to Sydney after my “vacation” in Fiji, celebrating Easter with our longtime family friends, the Etheridges, and then returning to the Rhythm Hut where I had been offer a sweet job, working and drumming there until it was time for me to return to the states on June 23rd. While in Los Angelos, I emailed Mom midway through telling her how I had just gotten back from a beautiful stroll in the Sydney Botanical Gardens and how I found the Flying Foxes just as fascinating as I did ten years ago. Like I said, seven months of secret keeping and the backup stories get marvelously complex.
I had used my four days in LA to slowly but surely assimilate back into American culture. I found that the oddest thing about being back was getting used to hearing the American accent everywhere. If I heard an American accent while traveling, my ears would perk up and my brain would casually mark them with a red, white, and blue sticker. For my first couple days in LA, my brain was in sticker frenzy, and I was just starting to gradually absorb the normalcy of being back in the States. But now, I was Midwest bound – the land of hunting, fishing, and questions like “oh yaa, dontcha kno?” I couldn’t have been more excited.
My good friend Julie, who I first met in 5th grade volleyball, was at the airport to greet me when I was finally able to squeeze my way through customs. Her first words? “My GOD, you are freakishly tan!” Yes indeed – one of the few good things I could thank Fiji for.
The sun was shining, the temperature light and warm. If it had been up to Julie and me, we would have gone straight to the beach. Unfortunately, my other potential souvenirs from Fiji needed immediate extermination. Thus, we drove straight to Julie’s apartment and proceeded to execute “Operation Bedbug Bye-bye” for the remainder of the afternoon.
Julie was the ideal LA tour guide, offering various ideas on how to see the great expanse of all there is to see and do in the LA metropolitan area…in 3 days. On my first evening, we walked the pier at Santa Monica, stopping every so often to watch the various street artists and applaud their performances. Then, we ended the night toasting my return with mega-marvelous margaritas and authentic Mexican cuisine. Salud!
It’s funny the things you miss when you are away for 14 months. While you’re gone, you have cravings for certain foods; miss the comforts of familiar places. What was the first stop shop on my list? Target. When you’ve been stuck with “The Warehouse,” New Zealand’s mediocre imitation of Walmart, you’ll long for the day when you can pass under that red bull’s-eye, walk through those automated doors, and smell the sweet smell of that all-in-one superstore. Oui, Target, oui, oui!
Next stop, Hollywood! As Julie and I made our way over the Star-studded sidewalks, I was in visual turmoil, torn between seeking out my favorite celebrity names on the ground beneath me and ogling in jaw-dropping wonder at all of the colorful stuff surrounding me. We saw Jack Sparrow snapping photos with wide-eyed pirate fans, random people curled up on the ground next to their favorite Star for that special photo-op, and even a gigantic, life-sized wax figure of everyone’s loveable and freakishly green friend, Shrek. I was constantly pointing at the ground exclaiming, “Look! Beyonce!” or “Hey! It’s Kermit the Frog!” or “OH MY GOD, BARBARA STREISAND!!” When we reach the Chinese Theater, the concrete slabs running up to the building were filled with signatures, quotes, and hand prints from a remarkable number of outstanding persons who have made extraordinary contributions to worldwide entertainment; the cast of Harry Potter, Shirley Temple, Sidney Poitier. As I browsed through this cement floor of celebrity imprints, I couldn’t help but giggle when I discovered the gray indentations of thick dreadlocks. Ya gotta love Whoopi.
I was really hoping to be selected as an audience member for the “Ellen Show,” but, as we discovered, if you aren’t up at the crack of dawn to call in and leave a message after the beep, you’re s.o.l. So instead, we found our way to the Getty Museum which has got to have one of the best views of LA. Standing on the balcony, the entire city is sprawled out before you, a smoggy haze draped sleepily over the jagged skyline. The massive (what is it now, an 18 lane highway???) is seriously impressive. The museum itself was fun to explore and the open air garden, just shy of the spring bloom, was a lovely place to stroll in the sunny, yet cool weather.
While I was very much enjoying my time in LA, thoughts of home were constantly barraging my mind. You see, seven months prior, I had booked a multi-plane ticket from Sydney to Los Angelos to Minneapolis. I just chose not to tell anyone. Eventually, a few people got in on the surprise – The Etheridge Family (as my backup story for my “Australian Easter plans”), my best friend Allison (as my welcome hug and personal taxi home from the airport), and my cousin Alana from California (as my fellow accomplice and token videotographer). What started out initially as “oh man, it’ll be so much fun to surprise everyone!” eventually took a very detailed and convoluted course as the 210 and some-odd-days began to tick off one by one.
In October, my mom mentioned that they were thinking of hosting a German exchange student, Melina, for the upcoming summer. I have always wanted my parents to host an exchange student, but it wasn’t until my bedroom was vacated that they decided to consider it. Well, me being the stubborn secret keeper that I am, told Ma and Pa to go for it! Melina could use my room, no worries. Tell her to make herself at home :-)
In December, Mom and Dad offered to fly me home for Christmas. As I had already committed to working in the Milford Sound over the holiday, I didn’t feel good about leaving. And, at that point, I only had a month left on my NZ work and holiday visa, and after that, just 2 months more until I was flying home anyways (unbeknownst to them, of course). It certainly wasn’t an easy thing to do, telling my parents basically, thanks, but no thanks. How, I wasn’t quite ready to come home just yet. What do you think about me coming home for a visit this summer instead? Don’t worry about booking anything though; I can sort that out when I find the time. (Mamma Mia…)
On February 14th, five months after booking my real ticket, I fashioned a false one. To accompany my faux itinerary, I sent along this email:
Hi Mom and Dad!
Well, I did it! I bought a ticket!! Spent all night at the computer last night looking up flights via LOADS of travel sites and finally settled on the cheapest option I could find - hitting the "BOOK FLIGHT" button at 2:47am! I can hardly wait :-)
The 29+ hours of travel time is going to be a pain in the arse...but, all the layovers apparently make the flight much cheaper, so...I'll just have to deal with the wonderfulness of jetlag. ;-) I'll be seeing you at the Minneapolis Airport on Thursday, June 23rd!!
Love you heaps and heaps,
Anna
I can be fairly confident when I say that from that moment on, the date June 23rd was burned, hot and fiery, into my mother’s mind. Ooo, I’m such a sneaky little bugger! (And, I can also say with certainty that my mom would whole-heartedly agree.)
Since my ten days in Fiji was, in reality, an extended stop-over, I had to make up a yaddy-yadda story about how I was going to Fiji with a girl-friend, “just-because.” My mom took that to mean that I wanted a vacation, so I was fine with leading her to believe just that.
>>> As a side note: For those of you who don’t know my Mom, she is an awesomely awesome woman. She is also extremely difficult (if not down right impossible) to surprise. So, if I was actually able to pull off this surprise homecoming, it was gonna be nothing less than epic. Capital E-P-I-C.
>>> As another side note: Once again, for those of you who don’t know my mom, she traveled as a young woman to Greece, spending several months abroad in a country that was going through some pretty serious political mayhem at the time. One day, as my Grandma was outside hanging clothes on the line, a taxi pulled up at the end of the driveway. My mom proceeded to step out of the car and shock the livin’ daylights out of her mother! Heavens! What kind of daughter would DO such a thing?! Now, may I continue with my story, please?
In the month or so prior to leaving Australia, I spent many a night awake thinking about how I could pull off this bombshell of a surprise. Should I surprise them individually? Or all at once? In different places? Or at home? What if they just found me soaking in the hot tub, and then I could jump out and give them all big, wet hugs? Sigh…the possibilities were endless. But, foremost on my mind was making sure that Mom, Dad, and my sister, Cate, wouldn’t have even the itty bittiest inkling of a thought that I was coming home. Needless to say, this took a grand effort from a few of my co-conspirators and a large amount of creative storytelling on my end.
As far as my family knew, I was returning to Sydney after my “vacation” in Fiji, celebrating Easter with our longtime family friends, the Etheridges, and then returning to the Rhythm Hut where I had been offer a sweet job, working and drumming there until it was time for me to return to the states on June 23rd. While in Los Angelos, I emailed Mom midway through telling her how I had just gotten back from a beautiful stroll in the Sydney Botanical Gardens and how I found the Flying Foxes just as fascinating as I did ten years ago. Like I said, seven months of secret keeping and the backup stories get marvelously complex.
I had used my four days in LA to slowly but surely assimilate back into American culture. I found that the oddest thing about being back was getting used to hearing the American accent everywhere. If I heard an American accent while traveling, my ears would perk up and my brain would casually mark them with a red, white, and blue sticker. For my first couple days in LA, my brain was in sticker frenzy, and I was just starting to gradually absorb the normalcy of being back in the States. But now, I was Midwest bound – the land of hunting, fishing, and questions like “oh yaa, dontcha kno?” I couldn’t have been more excited.
Sunday, April 17
A Series of Unfortunate Events
When you’ve been traveling for over 13 months and your biggest snafu has been forgetting your long underwear in your friend’s car (with the cold weather on its way…), you tend to do two things: 1.) Keep thanking the heavens with all your might for the graces your guardian angels have bestowed upon you, and 2.) Forget that, perhaps, your good luck might just run out one of these days.
On my flight from Sydney to Nadi, Fiji, my flight attendants were all smiles, greeting each passenger with a friendly, “Bula, bula!” As I walked into Nadi customs, the room filled with islander tunes, courtesy of Fijian locals dressed in brightly flowered shirts, singing and strumming guitars. Each visitor was given a beautiful flower with creamy white petals and a yellow center to tuck behind their ear. What a warm and colorful welcome!
The next morning I was off to Mana Island on the Mana Flyer – a relatively small jet boat packed to the brim with island supplies and a few too many passengers. Everyone was bright-eyed and eager for sun, sand, and beachside pina coladas!
As soon as I was able, I had my swimsuit and shades on, a book in one hand and sunscreen in the other. I bypassed the hammocks for a comfortable sun-soaked lounge less than 20 feet from the silky blue waves breaking in gentle rhythm against the golden shore.
The darkening clouds and increasingly strong winds must have been an omen for the various degrees of uncomfortableness I would be experiencing throughout the rest of my Fijian holiday. That very afternoon, one of the male staff members came over to chat with me. From his outwardly obvious chestward gaze, it took me about two seconds to conclude that he wasn’t all that interested in having a conversation with me per say, but rather with my cleavage, which was apparently far more engaging. During our “talk,” I soon discovered that this particular staff member was a very talented jewelry carver, able to carve various trinkets and pendants out of coconut shells. Thus, I told him rather pointedly, that if he intended to stare at my chest, he might as well make me something pretty so I could at least pretend that he was admiring his own art. He presented me with a lovely starfish necklace just a few hours later.
The next morning I woke up a bit itchy around the ankles. It seemed as though the Milford Sound sandflies had stolen away in my luggage and come along for a change of scenery! Fiji was known to have mosquitoes so I shrugged it off as part of my initiation into Fijian life.
That weekend, the sun played hide and seek, several of the guests, including myself, got food poisoning from the Blue Ribboned awarded “Nastiest Lunch,” and I found myself sharing my room with some rather unpleasant, and totally unwelcomed, roommates - bedbugs. These nasty little buggers are no picnic in the park, that’s for darn sure! And, since there were no laundry facilities on the island, there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about it. Soon, several guests were competing for the title of “Biggest Welt,” “Most Bites,” and “Greatest Bodily Coverage!” Needless to say, we were an itchy bunch.
The daily torrential downpours during the first four days seemed only to enhance the dinginess of Mana Lagoon. The scummy shower stalls, soggy toilet paper, and dim lighting left an emotional stench to waft throughout the hostel, seeping into the nostrils of both the guests and staff. The quality of our meals was, on average, very poor and created a general lethargy that hung heavily in the damp and humid air. I could only puzzle over the “Fijian Paradise” that I had heard mentioned from many a traveler that I met throughout New Zealand and Australia. Being bedbug ridden was not my idea of a beach bumming holiday!
Despite all the unpleasantness, I tried to focus on the silver lining. The international hodgepodge of guests staying at Mana Lagoon made for some great conversation and hilariously entertaining evenings. The Mana Lagoon staff threw a party on Saturday night complete with traditional Fijian dances and fire twirling! And, participating in evening Kava ceremonies was a wonderful way to connect with the Fijian locals. Kava, a traditional Fijian drink, is made of a powder from the root of a Kava plant. The powder is mixed with water in a large wooden bowl and then passed person to person around a circle of camaraderie. The Kava tastes as though you’re drinking liquid earth, but the Fijians love the stuff! It even leaves your tongue and lips slightly numb as an after-feel. If you only want to have a small sip, ask for a low-tide. But, if you’re feeling like a grande, tell ‘em “Tsunami!”
A real highlight out of the grab-bag of holiday lows was scuba diving! One of my goals in life was to become Open Water certified. So, between reading my lesson book and taking quizzes, I was able to do four open water dives and explore the reef.
It is incredibly peaceful to float effortlessly just above the ocean floor hearing nothing but the sounds of your own Darth Vader breathing. My diving instructor, Tuks, pointed out all sorts of colorful or camouflaged sea life as we cruised weightlessly through the water and buoyed ourselves over the coral castle, being nosy Nancy’s into the curtained rooms of thousands of royal sea subjects. We spotted flute fish, clown fish, flounder, cleaner fish, and several tiny garden eels poking curiously out of the sand only to retreat shyly into the safety of their cylindrical homes. Tuks pointed out a morey eel twisted amongst the coral reef, nearly invisible if not for its beady yellow eyes staring unblinkingly out from behind its coral fence. As we propelled ourselves around the castle, we saw a small shark lurking just beyond the visibility line. As we swam closer to get a better look, we saw two more! We stopped, suspended underwater, watching the sharks slice gracefully through the clear blue waters. Thankfully, I had already learned that the Fijian sharks are really no threat to humans, so I was happy just to watch them cruise merrily along.
I was very excited to have earned my scuba certification, but unfortunately, the pure relief at finally leaving Mana Lagoon took precedence over the bulk of my emotions. I was on my way to another island and could only hope against hope that my new accommodation would (please, please, PLEASE!) be a few steps up from the last.
My new Canadian friend, Kristina, and I practically melted with joy when we arrived at Walu Beach Resort. The receptionists greeted us with a complementary glass of orange juice. There were folded napkins on the table, electricity that ran all day long, free drinking water, and a swimming pool!! Oh boy, oh boy! The resort was clean, tidy, and peacefully quiet. You know…when you’ve just gone to Bedbug Hell and back, it’s the little comforts in life that really count.
Funnily enough, upon our arrival at Walu Beach, the sun came out from her hiding place and graced us with her warm presence for the remainder of my time in Fiji. For the next four days, I relaxed by the poolside, took out the kayak, snoozed in the hammock, and drank Kava with the Fijian locals late into the evening. On one evening in particular, we sat around a beach bonfire, and I mentioned that I hadn’t yet tried fresh coconut juice. At that, Percy, one of the staff members, literally shimmied himself 30 feet up a coconut tree, plucked a couple coconuts from the palms, and threw them down to his brother below. I was shocked, yet unbelievably impressed. Talk about great customer service!
Despite being a great deal more at ease with our stay at Walu Beach, Kristina and I found ourselves waking up several times throughout the night, only to snatch up our flashlight and beam the bed, eyes squinting in search of any stowaway bedbugs that might have jumped ship from our luggage. Having been unable to wash and dry our stuff left us with our skin crawling at all hours of the night and day. And, as much as I was enjoying watching my skin turn to a toasted marshmallow brown, I was itching (no pun intended) to go home. On top of it all, I had recently found out that my Fijian travel agent who I had booked my entire holiday with had, in fact, ripped me off. This meant that instead of really being able to fully relax and enjoy the rest of my beachside tanning, I was writing emails back and forth to the travel company to request a refund. I had discovered, rather reluctantly, that perhaps my fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants travel philosophy wasn’t always so fool-proof.
On my last afternoon, I was back on the mainland in Nadi and, only hours from my departure flight, I found myself in a cramped, second story office building – the setting of a backpacker travels gone wrong horror film. I was the single lady in the main office of Travelicious, my Fijian travel company, and, with heart pounding, I was holding my ground. My travel agent, Noah, and his business partner had agreed to meet with me to “sort things out.” Well, as long as “sorting things out” meant that I’d be getting my refund, I was game. I felt like Judge Judy - only I was the one arguing my case. And, two hours of discussion and a round of beer later, I won. Case closed (insert gavel *bang* here).
It wasn’t until my plane had lifted off that I, at long last, could truly breathe easy. My airplane buddy, Jen, and I joked that we should wear t-shirts that read, “I Survived Fiji!” But, despite the itchy, swollen bites that covered my legs, I only had one thing on my mind – jumping off the plane at LAX, woah, am I gonna fit in? It’s a party in the USA!!
On my flight from Sydney to Nadi, Fiji, my flight attendants were all smiles, greeting each passenger with a friendly, “Bula, bula!” As I walked into Nadi customs, the room filled with islander tunes, courtesy of Fijian locals dressed in brightly flowered shirts, singing and strumming guitars. Each visitor was given a beautiful flower with creamy white petals and a yellow center to tuck behind their ear. What a warm and colorful welcome!
The next morning I was off to Mana Island on the Mana Flyer – a relatively small jet boat packed to the brim with island supplies and a few too many passengers. Everyone was bright-eyed and eager for sun, sand, and beachside pina coladas!
As soon as I was able, I had my swimsuit and shades on, a book in one hand and sunscreen in the other. I bypassed the hammocks for a comfortable sun-soaked lounge less than 20 feet from the silky blue waves breaking in gentle rhythm against the golden shore.
The darkening clouds and increasingly strong winds must have been an omen for the various degrees of uncomfortableness I would be experiencing throughout the rest of my Fijian holiday. That very afternoon, one of the male staff members came over to chat with me. From his outwardly obvious chestward gaze, it took me about two seconds to conclude that he wasn’t all that interested in having a conversation with me per say, but rather with my cleavage, which was apparently far more engaging. During our “talk,” I soon discovered that this particular staff member was a very talented jewelry carver, able to carve various trinkets and pendants out of coconut shells. Thus, I told him rather pointedly, that if he intended to stare at my chest, he might as well make me something pretty so I could at least pretend that he was admiring his own art. He presented me with a lovely starfish necklace just a few hours later.
The next morning I woke up a bit itchy around the ankles. It seemed as though the Milford Sound sandflies had stolen away in my luggage and come along for a change of scenery! Fiji was known to have mosquitoes so I shrugged it off as part of my initiation into Fijian life.
That weekend, the sun played hide and seek, several of the guests, including myself, got food poisoning from the Blue Ribboned awarded “Nastiest Lunch,” and I found myself sharing my room with some rather unpleasant, and totally unwelcomed, roommates - bedbugs. These nasty little buggers are no picnic in the park, that’s for darn sure! And, since there were no laundry facilities on the island, there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about it. Soon, several guests were competing for the title of “Biggest Welt,” “Most Bites,” and “Greatest Bodily Coverage!” Needless to say, we were an itchy bunch.
The daily torrential downpours during the first four days seemed only to enhance the dinginess of Mana Lagoon. The scummy shower stalls, soggy toilet paper, and dim lighting left an emotional stench to waft throughout the hostel, seeping into the nostrils of both the guests and staff. The quality of our meals was, on average, very poor and created a general lethargy that hung heavily in the damp and humid air. I could only puzzle over the “Fijian Paradise” that I had heard mentioned from many a traveler that I met throughout New Zealand and Australia. Being bedbug ridden was not my idea of a beach bumming holiday!
Despite all the unpleasantness, I tried to focus on the silver lining. The international hodgepodge of guests staying at Mana Lagoon made for some great conversation and hilariously entertaining evenings. The Mana Lagoon staff threw a party on Saturday night complete with traditional Fijian dances and fire twirling! And, participating in evening Kava ceremonies was a wonderful way to connect with the Fijian locals. Kava, a traditional Fijian drink, is made of a powder from the root of a Kava plant. The powder is mixed with water in a large wooden bowl and then passed person to person around a circle of camaraderie. The Kava tastes as though you’re drinking liquid earth, but the Fijians love the stuff! It even leaves your tongue and lips slightly numb as an after-feel. If you only want to have a small sip, ask for a low-tide. But, if you’re feeling like a grande, tell ‘em “Tsunami!”
A real highlight out of the grab-bag of holiday lows was scuba diving! One of my goals in life was to become Open Water certified. So, between reading my lesson book and taking quizzes, I was able to do four open water dives and explore the reef.
It is incredibly peaceful to float effortlessly just above the ocean floor hearing nothing but the sounds of your own Darth Vader breathing. My diving instructor, Tuks, pointed out all sorts of colorful or camouflaged sea life as we cruised weightlessly through the water and buoyed ourselves over the coral castle, being nosy Nancy’s into the curtained rooms of thousands of royal sea subjects. We spotted flute fish, clown fish, flounder, cleaner fish, and several tiny garden eels poking curiously out of the sand only to retreat shyly into the safety of their cylindrical homes. Tuks pointed out a morey eel twisted amongst the coral reef, nearly invisible if not for its beady yellow eyes staring unblinkingly out from behind its coral fence. As we propelled ourselves around the castle, we saw a small shark lurking just beyond the visibility line. As we swam closer to get a better look, we saw two more! We stopped, suspended underwater, watching the sharks slice gracefully through the clear blue waters. Thankfully, I had already learned that the Fijian sharks are really no threat to humans, so I was happy just to watch them cruise merrily along.
I was very excited to have earned my scuba certification, but unfortunately, the pure relief at finally leaving Mana Lagoon took precedence over the bulk of my emotions. I was on my way to another island and could only hope against hope that my new accommodation would (please, please, PLEASE!) be a few steps up from the last.
My new Canadian friend, Kristina, and I practically melted with joy when we arrived at Walu Beach Resort. The receptionists greeted us with a complementary glass of orange juice. There were folded napkins on the table, electricity that ran all day long, free drinking water, and a swimming pool!! Oh boy, oh boy! The resort was clean, tidy, and peacefully quiet. You know…when you’ve just gone to Bedbug Hell and back, it’s the little comforts in life that really count.
Funnily enough, upon our arrival at Walu Beach, the sun came out from her hiding place and graced us with her warm presence for the remainder of my time in Fiji. For the next four days, I relaxed by the poolside, took out the kayak, snoozed in the hammock, and drank Kava with the Fijian locals late into the evening. On one evening in particular, we sat around a beach bonfire, and I mentioned that I hadn’t yet tried fresh coconut juice. At that, Percy, one of the staff members, literally shimmied himself 30 feet up a coconut tree, plucked a couple coconuts from the palms, and threw them down to his brother below. I was shocked, yet unbelievably impressed. Talk about great customer service!
Despite being a great deal more at ease with our stay at Walu Beach, Kristina and I found ourselves waking up several times throughout the night, only to snatch up our flashlight and beam the bed, eyes squinting in search of any stowaway bedbugs that might have jumped ship from our luggage. Having been unable to wash and dry our stuff left us with our skin crawling at all hours of the night and day. And, as much as I was enjoying watching my skin turn to a toasted marshmallow brown, I was itching (no pun intended) to go home. On top of it all, I had recently found out that my Fijian travel agent who I had booked my entire holiday with had, in fact, ripped me off. This meant that instead of really being able to fully relax and enjoy the rest of my beachside tanning, I was writing emails back and forth to the travel company to request a refund. I had discovered, rather reluctantly, that perhaps my fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants travel philosophy wasn’t always so fool-proof.
On my last afternoon, I was back on the mainland in Nadi and, only hours from my departure flight, I found myself in a cramped, second story office building – the setting of a backpacker travels gone wrong horror film. I was the single lady in the main office of Travelicious, my Fijian travel company, and, with heart pounding, I was holding my ground. My travel agent, Noah, and his business partner had agreed to meet with me to “sort things out.” Well, as long as “sorting things out” meant that I’d be getting my refund, I was game. I felt like Judge Judy - only I was the one arguing my case. And, two hours of discussion and a round of beer later, I won. Case closed (insert gavel *bang* here).
It wasn’t until my plane had lifted off that I, at long last, could truly breathe easy. My airplane buddy, Jen, and I joked that we should wear t-shirts that read, “I Survived Fiji!” But, despite the itchy, swollen bites that covered my legs, I only had one thing on my mind – jumping off the plane at LAX, woah, am I gonna fit in? It’s a party in the USA!!
Wednesday, April 6
The Great Ocean Roadtrip
The last time I was in Australia, we flew up the East Coast all the way to Cairns to enjoy some relaxing time on the beach and scuba dive with the colorful fish of the Great Barrier Reef. This time, I decided to head down the East Coast to Melbourne, Sydney's artsy rival city, to reconnect with a few friends and explore the Great Ocean Road – a you-don't-wanna-miss-it! Australian natural attraction.
I found a temporary work for accommodation job in St. Kilda, a cute and slightly quieter part of Melbourne whose main street was lined with cafes, pubs, and decadent cake shops. Hot chai, cold beer, and pastry puffs...honestly, what more could a backpacker ask for?
The best part about big cities is that there's always so much happening that the hardest decision you have to make during the day is whether you want to go sing along to the latest musical, laugh at that new, up-and-coming comedian, or go out for a relaxing glass of bubbles with the ladies. As for me, I was more than certain that spending my Friday night watching buff Aussie men dash around a field, tackling, tripping, and chasing each other, would be a greatly superior choice to any other weekend event.
This is how my friend Lorna and I found ourselves bundled up in our autumn evening best following the throngs of people heading towards the St. Kilda vs Richmond Footy match. As far as I could tell, Australian Footy League (or Footy for short) was a thorough mix of soccer, rugby, and football. And, despite our lack of Footy knowledge, it didn't take a Footy enthusiast to appreciate a good, man-to-man brawl out on the field! The energy in the stadium sizzled as the spectators cheered and yelled at the players, refs, and one another. From the way people were rocketing out of their seats, you would have thought that someone had lit a fire under their bums. By the fourth quarter, the two teams were neck and neck! The points crept higher on both sides until the buzzer finally sounded with the teams tied 95-95. And, unlike most sports, Footy doesn't actually have an overtime. It's pretty cool when all 47,000+ spectators and players can go home winners!
With a awesome start to the weekend, Lorna and I continued our adventures with a road trip along the Great Ocean Road. This highly acclaimed route follows the southeast coast of Australia with incredible views of the turquoise ocean, sandy beaches, and the blue horizon. The weather had a difficult time making up its mind, going from patchy blue sky with glimpses of sun to thick cloud cover and drizzling rain. But, during the dry spells, we visited a lighthouse capped with a bright red top, drove inland to photograph a pretty waterfall, and window shopped at one of the small towns along the way. A highlight of the weekend was walking through the forest, eyes squinting against the setting sun, in order to peer into the tree tops in search of a camouflaged gray lump of sleeping fluff hidden amongst the leaves. It was worth the crick in the neck to see nearly two dozen koalas nestled in the branches of their natural habitat. We even spotted few of these adorable animals munching leaves, eyes wide and watchful, fully aware yet outwardly unconcerned about the paparazzi that had set up camp beneath their tree house.
The next day, we took a hike down a steep staircase to Wreck Beach where we located the anchor of the “Marie Gabrielle,” a boat that was shipwrecked long ago in the late eighteen hundreds. I wriggled my bare toes into the sand and watched the waves break and drift upon the sandy shore. I love moments like this :-)
Our final stop along the Great Ocean Road was to visit the Twelve Apostles, a group of gigantic standing stones that tower majestically out of the sea. Discarded giant chess pieces left to be claimed by the god's of the earthly elements. Carved from wind, rain, and the crashing waves, the Twelve Apostles have now been reduced to only seven – the elements of creation later becoming elements of mass destruction. Though their numbers have been greatly reduced, the remaining Twelve Apostles stand tall and proud against a backdrop of swirling gold clouds – an impressive and truly humbling sight to see.
I found a temporary work for accommodation job in St. Kilda, a cute and slightly quieter part of Melbourne whose main street was lined with cafes, pubs, and decadent cake shops. Hot chai, cold beer, and pastry puffs...honestly, what more could a backpacker ask for?
The best part about big cities is that there's always so much happening that the hardest decision you have to make during the day is whether you want to go sing along to the latest musical, laugh at that new, up-and-coming comedian, or go out for a relaxing glass of bubbles with the ladies. As for me, I was more than certain that spending my Friday night watching buff Aussie men dash around a field, tackling, tripping, and chasing each other, would be a greatly superior choice to any other weekend event.
This is how my friend Lorna and I found ourselves bundled up in our autumn evening best following the throngs of people heading towards the St. Kilda vs Richmond Footy match. As far as I could tell, Australian Footy League (or Footy for short) was a thorough mix of soccer, rugby, and football. And, despite our lack of Footy knowledge, it didn't take a Footy enthusiast to appreciate a good, man-to-man brawl out on the field! The energy in the stadium sizzled as the spectators cheered and yelled at the players, refs, and one another. From the way people were rocketing out of their seats, you would have thought that someone had lit a fire under their bums. By the fourth quarter, the two teams were neck and neck! The points crept higher on both sides until the buzzer finally sounded with the teams tied 95-95. And, unlike most sports, Footy doesn't actually have an overtime. It's pretty cool when all 47,000+ spectators and players can go home winners!
With a awesome start to the weekend, Lorna and I continued our adventures with a road trip along the Great Ocean Road. This highly acclaimed route follows the southeast coast of Australia with incredible views of the turquoise ocean, sandy beaches, and the blue horizon. The weather had a difficult time making up its mind, going from patchy blue sky with glimpses of sun to thick cloud cover and drizzling rain. But, during the dry spells, we visited a lighthouse capped with a bright red top, drove inland to photograph a pretty waterfall, and window shopped at one of the small towns along the way. A highlight of the weekend was walking through the forest, eyes squinting against the setting sun, in order to peer into the tree tops in search of a camouflaged gray lump of sleeping fluff hidden amongst the leaves. It was worth the crick in the neck to see nearly two dozen koalas nestled in the branches of their natural habitat. We even spotted few of these adorable animals munching leaves, eyes wide and watchful, fully aware yet outwardly unconcerned about the paparazzi that had set up camp beneath their tree house.
The next day, we took a hike down a steep staircase to Wreck Beach where we located the anchor of the “Marie Gabrielle,” a boat that was shipwrecked long ago in the late eighteen hundreds. I wriggled my bare toes into the sand and watched the waves break and drift upon the sandy shore. I love moments like this :-)
Our final stop along the Great Ocean Road was to visit the Twelve Apostles, a group of gigantic standing stones that tower majestically out of the sea. Discarded giant chess pieces left to be claimed by the god's of the earthly elements. Carved from wind, rain, and the crashing waves, the Twelve Apostles have now been reduced to only seven – the elements of creation later becoming elements of mass destruction. Though their numbers have been greatly reduced, the remaining Twelve Apostles stand tall and proud against a backdrop of swirling gold clouds – an impressive and truly humbling sight to see.
Monday, March 28
Earth Love
Upon returning to the Blue Mountains, it having been ten years since my last visit, I had a flood of memories from my family vacation in December of 2000. Steve, Gail, and Elena warmly welcomed me back to their lovely home on Blackbutt Circle (teehee :-D) and, as I walked through the house, I instantly remembered Christmas morning with the kids bounding down the stairs to see what Santa had brought while the moms and dads groggily rubbed sleep out of their eyes. Things looked slightly different without the Christmas decor, but it was a comfort to be back in a familiar place visiting close family friends.
The sky gods just happened to choose the first few days of my visit to give the flora a proper soak, so I took advantage of the cozy couches indoors to make a rather large dent in my Scottish novel. Also, Elena opened up a whole new world for me with my first exposure to the musical wonders of SingStar! As the rain pitter-pattered outside, we belted out duets to a variety of tunes by Disney, ABBA, the songs of the 80s, and best of the 90s. I was in vocal heaven :-)
It would be a crime to visit the Blue Mountains and not stop to explore the village of Katoomba. Thus, as I am rather opposed to committing wrongs against the law, I took the train one morning up to this cute little town and met up with John, a friend and workmate of mine from the Milford Sound. We lucked out with picture perfect weather all day long. The two of us walked to Echo Point where we were rewarded with an absolutely sensational lookout. The cloud speckled sky cast puffy splotches of gently drifting shadow over the green expanse of the Jamison Valley. Outlining the greenery, like a child's poor attempt at coloring within the lines, were sheer, vertical cliffs of fiery orange that looked as though they could burst into flame at any moment. The famous “Three Sisters” rock formations stood out in the foreground with impressive superiority, gazing peacefully over their beloved earth.
John and I made our way down the Giant Stairway to a place where we could actually stand directly beneath the first of the Three Sisters and touch the weathered sandstone of these massive structures. Stepping carefully down the remainder of the slippery stairway brought us to a trail that wove through the Jamison Valley all the way to a lookup of the Katoomba Cascades and the touristic remnants of an old coal mine. At the end of the hike, we gratefully bypassed a sweaty looking climb out of the valley in favor of an supersized gondola which carried us quickly and effortlessly back up to where we began.
That weekend, I left the cool mountain air for the salty waves of Bondi Beach. This hip surfer town is where the Sydneyites find relief during those fry-an-egg-on-the-asphalt summer days. Unfortunately, summer was slowly easing into autumn which meant cool temps and spatters of rain throughout the weekend. But, the weather didn't stop us from having a proper Friday night out in Bondi, complete with a box of Goon and some rockin' Karaoke tunes. The following evening, on our way back from dinner, my friend Ruth and I discovered a group of Earth Hour enthusiasts lighting paper lanterns in honor of the annual event where the world shouts, “lights out!” We were invited to join in on their small celebration and did our best in an attempt to light a lantern of our own. But, with a steadily blowing wind, only a few lucky lanterns set sail, drifting up, up, and away - a simple flicker of a flame illuminated against the starless night sky.
The sky gods just happened to choose the first few days of my visit to give the flora a proper soak, so I took advantage of the cozy couches indoors to make a rather large dent in my Scottish novel. Also, Elena opened up a whole new world for me with my first exposure to the musical wonders of SingStar! As the rain pitter-pattered outside, we belted out duets to a variety of tunes by Disney, ABBA, the songs of the 80s, and best of the 90s. I was in vocal heaven :-)
It would be a crime to visit the Blue Mountains and not stop to explore the village of Katoomba. Thus, as I am rather opposed to committing wrongs against the law, I took the train one morning up to this cute little town and met up with John, a friend and workmate of mine from the Milford Sound. We lucked out with picture perfect weather all day long. The two of us walked to Echo Point where we were rewarded with an absolutely sensational lookout. The cloud speckled sky cast puffy splotches of gently drifting shadow over the green expanse of the Jamison Valley. Outlining the greenery, like a child's poor attempt at coloring within the lines, were sheer, vertical cliffs of fiery orange that looked as though they could burst into flame at any moment. The famous “Three Sisters” rock formations stood out in the foreground with impressive superiority, gazing peacefully over their beloved earth.
John and I made our way down the Giant Stairway to a place where we could actually stand directly beneath the first of the Three Sisters and touch the weathered sandstone of these massive structures. Stepping carefully down the remainder of the slippery stairway brought us to a trail that wove through the Jamison Valley all the way to a lookup of the Katoomba Cascades and the touristic remnants of an old coal mine. At the end of the hike, we gratefully bypassed a sweaty looking climb out of the valley in favor of an supersized gondola which carried us quickly and effortlessly back up to where we began.
That weekend, I left the cool mountain air for the salty waves of Bondi Beach. This hip surfer town is where the Sydneyites find relief during those fry-an-egg-on-the-asphalt summer days. Unfortunately, summer was slowly easing into autumn which meant cool temps and spatters of rain throughout the weekend. But, the weather didn't stop us from having a proper Friday night out in Bondi, complete with a box of Goon and some rockin' Karaoke tunes. The following evening, on our way back from dinner, my friend Ruth and I discovered a group of Earth Hour enthusiasts lighting paper lanterns in honor of the annual event where the world shouts, “lights out!” We were invited to join in on their small celebration and did our best in an attempt to light a lantern of our own. But, with a steadily blowing wind, only a few lucky lanterns set sail, drifting up, up, and away - a simple flicker of a flame illuminated against the starless night sky.
Thursday, March 17
A Faaabulous Affair!
It's not uncommon to walk down the street and have two policemen in uniform walk past. That is unless, the tall, dashing policeman striding down the road is wearing black, shiny, stilettos and the short, pudgy policeman has nicked the other's uniform trousers. When that happens, well, it's time for Sydney's annual Mardi Gras Parade!
This yearly event attracts over 70,000 people and is the largest gay pride parade in the world! So, on this very special day (which funnily enough, isn't actually on Fat Tuesday), I was more than eager to attend this flamboyant affair to hoot, holler, and whistle my appreciation for Sydney's LGBT community.
The celebration began near dusk with the roar and rumble of Harley Davidson's as the Dikes on Bikes came whirring up Oxford Street. Rainbow flags blurred, lights shimmered, breasts flailed in the wind, and the ground vibrated. What an entrance!
For the next 2 hours, the titillated masses watched as colorful drag queens sang on elaborately decorated floats, men sporting 8-packs (and not much else!) pranced around to Katy Perry's smash hit “Firework,” and Bananas in Pajamas skipped along with frequently friendly humping. It's hard to imagine a more colorful, uplifting, and positively “gay” celebration!
As the next weekend rolled around, I found myself out in the Australian bush with my friend Chelsea. Unlike in New Zealand where I learned from the Kiwis to call hiking “tramping,” Australian's tell me they call it “bush walking.” I'm not so certain either phrase is very kosher, but, when in Rome... ;-)
So, here we are “bush walking” in the Ku-Ring-Gai Chase National Park on a well routed track between the Borowra (try saying that one 5 times fast...) and Mount Kuring-gai train stations. For the next four hours, we climbed up boulders, kept an eye out for snakes and spiders, and just throughly enjoyed escaping the city and being immerse in nature. I particularly felt at peace during our mid-walk rest on the swinging bridge while my corner vision caught glimpses of jumping fish leaping gracefully out of the water and hearing a proper smack! as they reentered the water's surface. There's nothing like tuning into the modern melodies of Nature FM.
That same weekend, I had the opportunity to join five other rhythmic women in performing an eight minute Taiko drumming piece for an event celebrating International Women's Day. After only 3 weeks of playing the Taiko drum at the Rhythm Hut, I was now drumming on stage in front of a theater of 200-something people! I was flattered to be asked to perform and so pumped for the event! Little did I know that come drum time, my heart would be pounding louder than my Taiko drum...
As an entire evening event to commemorate women all over the world, the Rhythm Hut Women, plus our instructor Rendra on flute, opened with a dramatic and powerful performance, highlighting the strength and wonders of our femininity. And, despite being a jumble of nerves, I had heaps of fun sharing a mutual passion for rhythm, movement, and music. The applause at the end left our entire band bright and beaming.
For my fourth and final week at the Rhythm Hut, I helped Rendra with the sweat worthy job of re-skinning a conga drum. After first soaking the cow skin to make it pliable, Ren fitted it to a metal ring which he placed onto the base of the drum. Following that, I helped with the tightening and fastening of the rim to the drum and, after much grunting and lots of elbow grease, we fitted that beautifully black and shiny skin to the hollowed out redwood base. This handsomely chic conga is totally going to make all the lady drums swoon.
Tomorrow, I leave the hum and thrum of the Rhythm Hut for further Australian adventures. But, with the smell of freshly skinned drums in my nostrils and seasoned blisters on my hands, this special place has drummed its way right into my big, beating heart. Don, Do Ko Do Ko!
This yearly event attracts over 70,000 people and is the largest gay pride parade in the world! So, on this very special day (which funnily enough, isn't actually on Fat Tuesday), I was more than eager to attend this flamboyant affair to hoot, holler, and whistle my appreciation for Sydney's LGBT community.
The celebration began near dusk with the roar and rumble of Harley Davidson's as the Dikes on Bikes came whirring up Oxford Street. Rainbow flags blurred, lights shimmered, breasts flailed in the wind, and the ground vibrated. What an entrance!
For the next 2 hours, the titillated masses watched as colorful drag queens sang on elaborately decorated floats, men sporting 8-packs (and not much else!) pranced around to Katy Perry's smash hit “Firework,” and Bananas in Pajamas skipped along with frequently friendly humping. It's hard to imagine a more colorful, uplifting, and positively “gay” celebration!
As the next weekend rolled around, I found myself out in the Australian bush with my friend Chelsea. Unlike in New Zealand where I learned from the Kiwis to call hiking “tramping,” Australian's tell me they call it “bush walking.” I'm not so certain either phrase is very kosher, but, when in Rome... ;-)
So, here we are “bush walking” in the Ku-Ring-Gai Chase National Park on a well routed track between the Borowra (try saying that one 5 times fast...) and Mount Kuring-gai train stations. For the next four hours, we climbed up boulders, kept an eye out for snakes and spiders, and just throughly enjoyed escaping the city and being immerse in nature. I particularly felt at peace during our mid-walk rest on the swinging bridge while my corner vision caught glimpses of jumping fish leaping gracefully out of the water and hearing a proper smack! as they reentered the water's surface. There's nothing like tuning into the modern melodies of Nature FM.
That same weekend, I had the opportunity to join five other rhythmic women in performing an eight minute Taiko drumming piece for an event celebrating International Women's Day. After only 3 weeks of playing the Taiko drum at the Rhythm Hut, I was now drumming on stage in front of a theater of 200-something people! I was flattered to be asked to perform and so pumped for the event! Little did I know that come drum time, my heart would be pounding louder than my Taiko drum...
As an entire evening event to commemorate women all over the world, the Rhythm Hut Women, plus our instructor Rendra on flute, opened with a dramatic and powerful performance, highlighting the strength and wonders of our femininity. And, despite being a jumble of nerves, I had heaps of fun sharing a mutual passion for rhythm, movement, and music. The applause at the end left our entire band bright and beaming.
For my fourth and final week at the Rhythm Hut, I helped Rendra with the sweat worthy job of re-skinning a conga drum. After first soaking the cow skin to make it pliable, Ren fitted it to a metal ring which he placed onto the base of the drum. Following that, I helped with the tightening and fastening of the rim to the drum and, after much grunting and lots of elbow grease, we fitted that beautifully black and shiny skin to the hollowed out redwood base. This handsomely chic conga is totally going to make all the lady drums swoon.
Tomorrow, I leave the hum and thrum of the Rhythm Hut for further Australian adventures. But, with the smell of freshly skinned drums in my nostrils and seasoned blisters on my hands, this special place has drummed its way right into my big, beating heart. Don, Do Ko Do Ko!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
