Off We Go, and On With the Trip!

I guess you can say I’m sort of a city girl. There’s just something about the sound of my shoes against the pavement (or preferably, the cobblestones), the rush of the darting across the busy streets, the sound of the honks and the thrill of the idea that thousands of others around you are just as exhilarated by the endless opportunities of the day as you are. And, of course, there’s the standard afternoon Americano in a classically chic café to break up the excitement.

However, to fully appreciate who we are, and test our boundries, sometimes a girl’s just gotta get outta town; and in this case, I got way out of town.

In fact, this whole trip to Sydney is based on a two week trip into the small towns of Australia, and the Travel Itinerary took us into the towns that show the heart, history, and heritage of the Aussie people. During the two weeks, we visited 12 towns in 14 days: Braidwood, Beechworth, Benala, Bright Glenrowan Milawa, Omeo, Boydtown, Eden, Tilba, Tilba Tilba, and Bermagui. I’m sure you haven’t heard of any of those places. But frankly, most Australians I’ve encountered hadn’t the faintest idea where they were, either, so “no worries.”

As the bulk of the travel writing program, this trip took eleven college students out of the city of Sydney, and into the small inland towns, where no traffic lights could be found. Saying goodbye to our wireless internet and cell phone reception, we put the fast-paced American kid mentality to rest, and traded our iPhones for a pad and paper to work on uncovering the secrets, the sounds, the sinners and saints of the real towns of rural Australia.

Now, even though the description of the programme says, “From the ocean to the Outback,” we never really hit “The Bush.” I didn’t see any tumbleweeds, but I saw a whole lotta other things you can’t find in Sydney. Because each day was jam packed with things to see and do, stories to find, people to interview, and delights to behold, I will give you a top 5 list of my favorite moments on the way, and I hope that in doing this, you can share in my appreciation of being taken out of my element, and being thrown into a world of investigative journalism, timeless folklore, songlines of the old, and fresh paths of the new people in a very rich, hidden world somewhere Down Under.

1. Feeding the Kangaroos on Pebbly Beach

After being cooped up in the mini-bus for about 5 or 6 hours as we moved toward our first destination, Braidwood, our driver, Sean, tackled the hills and vales that seem to lead to nowhere, and dropped us on a beach that existed beyond a valley that I’m pretty sure no one would be able to find again. With the dirt roads covered in detour signs, and the heights and drops getting bigger and deeper, the bus ride was both thrilling and a bit nerve racking. However, with Sean’s skill, and Sharon, our wonderful professor, and Cal, our fantastic program leader, we arrived on Pebbly Beach to find the surprise of the day: feeding wild kangaroos on an unforgettably gorgeous beach at sunset. Fun facts of the first day: Kangas like ice cream cones. Kangas hop real fast. Kangas have sharp nails. Kangas box you real fast with their sharp nails to enjoy their ice cream cones. However, all and all, we had a perfect ending to the first day with these friendly mascots, and to be up close and personal with such a legendary icon (and with such soft fur!), we couldn’t have been more delighted to be out of the city, and into the real life Australia.

2. The Lolly Shoppe, outside Braidwood.

Old fashioned candy store filled with everything from flying wafers, chocolate covered pineapple and jars that extend to shelves beyond my reach. Oh, and it was connected to a homemade pie shop! Affordable and delectable. Need I say more?

3. Ned Kelly Country: Braidwood, Beechworth Benala, Glenrowan.

For our literature course, we’ve been studying the questionable hero of early Australia, Mr. Edward “Ned” Kelly. “Who?” you may ask; but the story is worth telling, exploring, questioning and retelling throughout the generations as one country discovers the history of their own Robin Hood. During our travels, we went to Kelly’s main land marks for courthouses, battles and brawls that moved Victoria one step closer to freedom. We talked to the locals about the legends and truths, and tried to find out for ourselves which cowboy hat Kelly should eternally wear: the heroic white, or the devilish black. Overall, the landscape sung to tunes and harmonies of the Irish spirit all along the way, and bits and bobs reminded me of a land by the Atlantic Sea, the one of my own roots, as well as many Kellys, Murphys and O’Donnell’s here…

4. Hothham Heights.

The astonishingly gorgeous ride up this unbelievably beautiful mountain would be enough to make anyone with a slight fear of heights squirm…but I made it. Hotham Heights had a ski resort on top, and a whole lotta land underneath. With breathtaking views into the valleys and off the daringly dangerous drops, this two hour journey was the perfect way to start the journey to Eden.

5. Whale Watching in Bermagui

This marked my fourth or fifth whale watch, and my first whale spotting! Hooray! I saw about 6 Humpback whales, a slew of seals, and when we got to the destination of Montague Island, I also saw some penguins, up close and personal! A great way to see the sparkling shores of Australia, and some of its precious wild critters.

Other Highlights:

Visiting the house of the ever-inspiring writer (and one of my personal favorites), D.H. Lawrence. This is where he wrote his book on Australia, “Kangaroo,” which I have found to be unfailingly relatable and enjoyable on this journey Down Under.

The Sea Horse Inn, walking the shores, frolicking in the sands. The pictures speak a thousand words for this luxury hotel situated on a private beach, overlooking the mountains and gems of the Sapphire Coast.

Boydtown and Eden: Also on the Sapphire Coast, just totally impressive views with a mix of nature, history and best of all, relaxation along the way of our rigorous 14 day academic trip. Laugh if you want, but we visited 12 towns in 14 days, and conducted interviews everywhere we went. Scouting for stories, making them work and discovering the secrets of the land definitely entitles us to a sunset on the beach!

And last but not least, sunset in our last town of the trip, Bermagui.

Thanks for reading, and I wish I could do this trip more justice. As I write articles for the stories I found, I would be happy to send some around if you want more of a journalistic approach on the ins and outs of trekking through the nooks and crannies of Eastern Australia.

As Always (and with a renewed love of the land),

Happy Travels,

xxx

Quick Update

Sadly, I left my camera cord back in Sydney, so I won’t be able to upload my pictures from this trip yet (I have taken…probably 500).

However, I just have to say that these last two weeks in the backcountry and small towns of Australia have been nothing short of a dream, and I can’t wait to tell all about it. For the last 11 days, I have been writing, researching, interviewing, creating and writing again, reading again, and delving into all the material from the folklore of the Aborigines to the tales of the hero (?), Ned Kelly, to the stories of the old gold rush, to the stories of killer whales in a land called Eden. With a heavy heart, I say that I am currently in my last stop, about 6 hours from Sydney, and tomorrow we’re going on a whale watch.

Not only have I tried to discover the real voice of Australia, but I’ve been lucky enough to be able to fall into the past, embrace the roots and the times of old, and explore who Australia really is through the sounds and stories of her people.

The writers with me are extraordinary beings, and I can’t wait to see what these talented people put forth in their observations and explorations after our adventure (sadly) ends.

In 11 days, I have observed the pinks, oranges and mint green of a sun set in a winter sky across the blue hue of Australia’s mountaintops. I have spoken with, and interviewed people in nearly 9 towns across the backcountry, trying to uncover their stories and history. I have been to the top of one of the highest mountains here, and have absorbed the pure depth of a valley from a twisting and winding road that leads nowhere but down into more loveliness. I have made good friends in former strangers, absorbed the literature and language of this part of the country, and probably most impressively, successfully handfed a wild kangaroo an ice cream cone (and that was day 1 of the trip).

Here’s to a better update with pictures, and hopes that you enjoy these very special travels to come, as this girl from the smallest state of the Union falls in love with a big country, and continues to discover the hidden treasures of the grand and rich Australian landscape.

Happy travels from an amazing place,

xxx

June 14: World Cup to Whoa Nelly

* TWO WEEKS OVER DUE*

For weeks now in Sydney (and around the world), the buzz has been around the World Cup.

Now, as you may have guessed, I’m not necessarily a sports fan (I own a Red Sox hat…does that count?), but I do enjoy watching other people become enthusiastic about matches, and because Sydney was one of the five countries in the world to host an “official” World Cup celebration in Darling Harbour, I had to go catch this once and a lifetime opportunity.

With the swarms of people, stunning lampposts shaped like soccer balls, and a floating big screen TV (complete with live Aboriginal dancers putting on a jamboree), the Harbour was alive and well with football frenzy, and international intensity.

The opening match between Mexico and South Africa prompted the wave of midnight madness, as lively supporters of both countries were littered in the crowd. The games here are always shown at obscene hours, like 9 PM, 12 AM, 2 AM and 4:30 AM. If I owned more than just a Red Sox hat, I definitely would have dragged myself out at 4:30 to watch the England Vs. US game, but the events of the following day prevented even my biggest spirits from rising at such an ungodly hour.

Starting when I was in London this past Winter, the rivalry between the US and UK football teams was already in full bloom for a match that was six months away, and I really did hate to miss it. The 13 of June became almost a deadline for the two “U”s to duke it out head to head—or should I say- foot to foot, for the “best” man to win—and funnily enough- it was a tie.

Anyway, enough about sports.

Annie, Rebecca, Gaby and I left Darling Harbour on Friday night at 1 AM, after checking out the sensational scene, making some new friends, and flouncing through a sea of flags.

At 4:30 AM, Annie and I woke up, not for a big match, but for a big date with two horses, and the Blue Mountains.

Rushing in the darkness to catch the 5:47 AM train toward Blackheath (just outside of Katoomba) from Sydney’s Central Station, Annie and I sprinted through the tunnels of the train station, combating post-game drunkies to reach out desired track. With a slight mishap, we somehow lost our track number, and at 5:45, we finally emerged in the general direction of our nearly-departed train. With a hop, skip, and a jump (almost literally), we made it through the darkness of the early morning, to start our journey trying to make it through, and to, the wilderness.

That morning, I watched the sunrise over the Blue Mountains—a sight I’ll probably never see again. With the bright yellow sun beaming through the red and orange horizon, I almost felt as if I was witnessing a private moment of nature’s —and one so rare that it almost didn’t’ feel like mine to keep. Although I wanted to yawn and drift away beyond the sounds of Coldplay, or jabber to Annie about the events of the night before, I didn’t dare break the silence of the break of dawn against the blue hazy mountaintops. I watched the tips of green emerge from the hidden shadows of nighttime come through, and I absorbed the peaceful moment of rebirth without any sound except the gliding of the railroad. I finally felt like I was out of the city, and into Australia.

Ah, but when I did get the beaming, sunny land of Australia, there was frost on the cars, and icicles forming on our noses. While waiting for the lady from Werriberri trails to come get us to take us out on horses, Annie and I couldn’t believe we were falling into the December-like air, and that no cups of tea would be waiting to warm us up in this deserted town. As we watched our train leave us behind in the middle of nowhere, we wondered if this big adventure was such a good idea.

To start, I haven’t really been much of an equestrian—er—ever. And although I have ridden horses along trails more than once, I may have fibbed a little on my information sheet with the trail leaders. The options for experience were as follows: Question One: Have you ever ridden a horse? Check. Question 2: How many times? Options: Less than 25 times, Less than 50 times, Experienced rider. Okay, thought I, with my “three” times, I’ll go with box one. However, apparently, box one means you get a former race horse named FLAME, who sometimes forgets she’s no longer a race horse, and falls back into her old lifestyle, whilst a three timer holds on for dear life…

I exaggerate—a little.

As Annie and I (and Flame and Pumpkin) rode along the steep and sticky trails of the Blue Mountains (famous for their colour…and height), all seemed well in the world. After about 20 minutes into our two-hour trek through the slopes, and unmarked trails, Flame and I started to get along quite nicely. Basically, I just set up a bargain: You don’t throw me, I won’t scream. Easy as pie.

However… old Flame must have gotten a bit nostalgic for her old track days along the slope of one steep hill (that lead into a river…way down), because before I knew it, she flew off of the guided trail, and up some rocks, heading into some trees dashing to bring us somewhere up the Blue Mountains (and this I don’t exaggerate).

Luckily, Annie is an experienced equestrian, and controlled her horse long enough to try to talk me down off the tree hill, and back on the trail, whilst holding her horse back so feisty little Flame could find her way on track.

Helluva scary little episode, and one I definitely won’t forget…but after Flame and I reignited our comfort with one another (and I stopped holding my breath around every corner), the last hour was full of sweeping shots of the Blue Mountains, and idyllic scenes of back country Australia, only two hours outside of Sydney.

As an added surprise, we also ran into a few kangas in the wild, that aren’t usually seen along the trails. And not just the big brave ones, but a tiny little Joey also made a shy appearance, popping his little feet from the mommas pouch. Only in Australia. J

Anyway, Annie and I brushed ourselves off, I kissed the good earth from my normal height, and we headed to Katoomba, the sight of the famous Three Sisters.

A little tired, and a lot pekish, I waddled my newly bowed legs down the town for some grub and a tour of the town with a leisurely stroll to ease the straightness back into my limbs. The Three Sisters were hidden in the back of the town, and boy were they worth the wait. I think the pictures can speak for themselves. It was the perfect time of day, and the perfect way to end our excursion in such a peaceful place. For the hour that we were there, I felt as though I was a part of something harmonious, as the birds and bugs chirped from beyond the layers and layers of trees, cliffs, and streams into miles and miles of unseen land and life. Literally, as I stood on the foot of the lookout, I felt the overwhelming sea of mortal insignificance in such an ancient and timeless space. One that has housed the ancient Aboriginals, given life to new society, preserved the animals, the insects, the fish, the bacteria, the cells and the bones of those gone by, and nurtures space for those to come.

The Blue Mountains, and the legendary Three Sisters, are landmarks of Australia for folklore, and fun, but more importantly, this moment (and the whole day) was just full of time to listen, to absorb, and to see with more than just my glancing eyes. For a while, standing there in the sea of ranges, I really looked beyond the blue haze, and into the trees. I imagined where I nearly got lost because of Flame, where I thought life would be over, and where I realized it could actually be pretty fun and risky, but always worth a try. We stayed there for a good hour taking in the sights and sounds of the natural world, and for that time, Annie and I were part of the living, breathing microcosm of Australia’s everlasting, undeniable, indescribably beauty & wonder.

Catching the train at 4 PM, Annie and I watched the sun set over the Blue Mountains. We started our day with it, and now that we had our time in the land, we were ready to drift into the newfound feeling of rest and renewal.

Happy Travels,

xx

WalkAbout

Hi all,

Sorry for this, it's a week late. Just wanted to say that I'm participating in a big bulk of my travel writing research now, and will be away from this 'til after 29 June.

Please check back and hopefully new stories will come soon!

Happy Travels through the small towns of Australia!

xx

C

Bait Your Hook, and Keep A Tryin'

If you strike a thorn or rose,

Keep a-goin'!

If it hails or if it snows,

Keep a-goin'!

'Taint no use to sit an' whine

When the fish ain't on your line;

Bait your hook an' keep a-tryin'-- Keep a-goin'!

When I was a kid, my grandfather bet all of his rambunctious little grandkids that if we could memorize this one poem (and all four stanzas), we’d get a shiny, new hunk of silver; also known as 25 cents.

Through time, the lesson has remained invaluable (Thanks, Pop), and this little Irish ditty looped through my head about seventeen times this week. For the first time, the travel writers of the American persuasion tried our hands at different styles through various workshops; trying to, at last, prove ourselves as something other than a group of cute wide-eyed kids.

For the most part, we spent the sessions analyzing published travel works, and taking a stab at conquering the feared obstacle of all writers who love adjectives: the word count. The workshops were easy to do at first; tell why you like the article at hand, what makes you intrigued, what skills do you see at play, etc. But then, the game turned fierce.

“Now,” said my savvy instructor, who spent ten years travelling the world and diving into seriously dangerous situations in Africa, India and Iraq, “It's your turn!”

And so, with this cheerful dare, we were asked to write our own pieces, based on places we’ve never been, or places from our past. I wrote an attractive travel piece on Cranston, Rhode Island (Dels and the beaches were my selling point), advertising the city inbetween the capital and the sea.

But, in the hours and days that followed our beginning enthusiam, there were a lot of criticisms, a lot of chuckles, a lot of pointers, and some disappointments. For the first time since landing in Sydney (and um, ever), I had a group of people, who had no attachment to me , telling me how they really felt about my writing. Although the criticism wasn't too harsh yet,the openness and vulnerability felt exhilarating; and scary as hell.

Of course, I'm here to challenge myself, doubt myself, and see how I can change, or impress or disappoint with style, technique, etc. But, to be honest, the best part about the writing workshops was being able to discover my characters, and finding out who lives in my memory. With the millions of people that have passed my way, all the adventures, and conversations, there are certain people who stick out in my mind that I never thought I’d get to see again. But, in literature, they are alive and well, and right there with me. In one workshop, I got to revive my excruciatingly awkward trip from London to Paris, where an older Jehovah Witness tried to sell me his son (and convert my little soul). I got to relish in another instance from my childhood, where I got lost along the rocks at Bonnet beach, and struggled with the sinking feeling that I may never find my way home. The scolding of every adult who said “Kids, avoid the point!!” ran through my head...but after reliving the memories, I have to say thanks to Tim, Tom and Ang for never listening. In story writing, people can come back from the dead, and love stories can live on forever. Brief moments can define a lifetime, and the past can be looked at through a microscope, or given a little sparkle. Ordinary can be extraordinary...and moments gone by can come back to stay with you in 150 words, forever.

On a very personal note, this experience has been full of trying to reconcile the past with the present, and what I'm finding is this fresh world of Australia is full of old friends.

...

Friday: To start our four day weekend, Annie and I took advantage of the beautiful sunny day (a rarity here in the rainy season), and finally headed to the Royal Botanical Gardens by the Royal Opera House. We spent our sunny afternoon, strolling through the mish-mash of Botanical beauties, including some Chinese roses, tropical greenhouses, “An Australian Rainforest” Trail (although I got lost in this, and wasn’t looking at the plants), and of course, met some exotic animals who were just frolicking among the greens. It was a bizarre place, really. Grecian statues, parrots, bats, and pelican-like birds were all within the same vicinity, and at times, I couldn’t tell if I was in Rome, China, Greece or Australia. A better name for might be “The Conglomeration of Exotic and Pretty Things.” But, the Botanical Gardens were peaceful, and a quiet green escape to the sounds and crowds of the cityscape. As an added bonus to a delicious lunch and sunbath on the rocks by the water, Annie and I also searched and found the Gallery of New South Wales, where I finally found my common ground, and a lot of my old Friends. The sinking feeling that I felt in the few days about “I don’t really get this..” had started to re-emerge while we wandered through the endless Gardens, but in the Gallery, I found that sense of home.

(these are bats, "flying foxes," hanging from a tree)

First of all, the Gallery of New South Wales is stunning, with high white walls, classical fixtures, and long hallways that are full of mystery. On one side, there was the high European section, along with landscape painters, portraitures, and the works of the Impressionists. On the other, a huge section of proudly hung Australian art—both modern and historical. As I strolled along, I saw a lot of similarities to the British landscapes, and French Impressionism, but the free-flowing, indepedent ideology of the Austrailians reflected strongly in their art , as it was completely their own style. One particular section reminded me of works done by John Singer Sargent, my old American favorite. But, as I analyzed the bold works of the Australian, J.P. Russell, I found a new favourite with a style all his own.

And feeling at home, once again, I strolled into the gallery of European art, and a gallery of English painters. There, I was greeted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and immediately snapped back to Burlington House, where I could smell the walls of the Royal Academy. Thomas Lawrence also made an appearance, as well as Claude, Gainsborough and Constable. I marveled at the never-seen Rembrandt portrait (there are so damn many), and a few Reubens which served as a pleasant surprise. I moved to the Monets, the Cèzannes, and lived in Paris, if only for a little while.

But, it was the Victorian exhibition that really sold it for me. Rightly titled, “Victorian Visions,” this exquisite temporary collection held one painting that I first saw in my Freshman year, visited in the Lourve my Sophomore year, and learned the true tale of the subjects in my Junior year. In its haunting sadness, on the back wall of the gallery, was one of my favorite love stories of classical literature: Francesco and Paola from Dante’s Inferno. I only studied the story this year, and truth be told, I didn’t even know who the subjects were of this painting when I fell in love with it, until I met it again in the Gallery of New South Wales. To my pleasant surprise, I had loved them all along, even before I knew the tale of their tragic tie in the Underworld. In finding this painting, I felt a wave of completeness, and my passions came into Poetry, Painting, and Paris.

In these old friends, I found a sense of home again in Australia. Something felt very “full circle,” and this coincidental visit brought about a sense of familiarity, and again, new beginnings.

After all, Australia is a place for new beginnings in its very history, fiber and being. It’s a place for thought, a place for wonder, a place of struggle, and a place of rebirth; all and all, it’s the best place for me to be right at this moment. No matter where they may come from, there will always be obstacles in life; emotional, educational, geographical… but the important thing to remember is that you always have to Keep a ‘Goin. If it hails, or if it snows…get right back on the horse, and start again.

(I’ll elaborate about the horse in the next entry).

Happy Travels,

xx

Breathe Fresh Air, Ever After...

After I wiped the glitter from my eyelids from the night before, I took my sunny Saturday morning to take a solo trip to Circular Quay, where the Opera House and Harbour Bridge sit in all their glory. Now, I had been to the Quay a few times, but mostly at night and with other folks. With my first single girl bus ride under way, I only had to furrow my brow down the first part of George Street, but arrived without a hitch, and that small fear of being completely lost in Sydney, Australia quickly left me.

On my agenda, I wanted to hit the Museum of Contemporary Art, and the Royal Botanical Gardens with this sunfilled afternoon. Although I arrived around 2 PM, and I was aware of the impending 4:30 sunset, I sat for a while near the Port and watched the people go by on a lively Saturday afternoon. I even bought myself an ice cream cone, and that was one of the best decisions I’ve made so far. With it’s creamy texture, and chocolatey goodness, my first cone of Copenhagen ice cream was delectable, and kicked the day off really right.

Anyway, eventually, I pulled myself indoors, and checked out the much-anticipated Biennale festival inside the M.C.A. The festival is one of contemporary art, and is held in various museums around Australia, although the Museum of Contemporary Art here is the big player, with four whole floors full of participating artwork. For those of you who aren’t art lovers, I won’t go into extensive detail, but I loved what I saw. Many of the paintings and sketches were political satires and commentaries, without being off-putting, and giving away the real agenda. Most of the works were colorful, original, and dealt with serious issues, while still making Abstract art enjoyable. There were no “open for interpretation” blank squares, or shiny sticks that symbolized the essence of life; each work had a purpose, and a clear message about the Australian mentality, of both past, present, and future. Interestingly, there were many pieces dedicated to the Aborigines, with one room displaying clay poles (big and totem like- but skinny) made by one tribe, which came after a death in the family or community. In using their own artistic symbols, each pole was dedicated to a different lost individual; but each section clearly communicated the sentiments to anyone using the universal signs of sadness.

Overall, it seems like Australia is going through an evolution of identity, not really knowing who she is yet, based on where she came from, and where she’s going. With the landscape being a bit more built up, immigration soaring, and only 175 years under her belt, the modern day Aussies seem to be pulling themselves up by their bootstraps (as they have always done), but now they aren’t sure which way to go. Although the United States has always been seen as an ally, both politically and culturally, Australia has had to drop that crutch, as one big brother figure of a country has disappointed quite a bit in recent actions. Supporters of us, they will always be, but it seems that Australia has her own path to make, which paves a much more peaceful road.

When I came out of the M.C.A, it had started to pour again. Sans an umbrella, I decided to cut my losses on the Botanical Garden, and cave for a $3.00 cup o’ Joe. After a great journaling session, and catching up on some classwork, I looked up from my drained porcelain cup to see a humongous rainbow arching over the Opera House from the busy city. As pretty as she had been with the colored lights on the first evening, nothing could compare to the natural pinks and yellows that came from an unexpectedly gorgeous Sydneyside sunset.

After all, Australia was, is, and always will be a place where the sun shines through the rain (of bad politics, abusive power, starvation, and hard living). No matter what may destroy the land, the people always rise above to be more than what their harsh conditions give them. They may have started as “criminals,” but they’ve certainly grown into a race of optimism, easy-living, and kindness, and on that day, under the indescribable beauty of the color filled sky, I was reminded, that just like the Australians, and just like this gigantic rainbow, sometimes it takes a little rain, a little hard disappointment to find those perfect moments of peace. Sometimes, they come when you least expect them, and sometimes, they fade to night just as easily as they burst through the gloom. But, no matter what, no matter how rainy, or dark, or dreary things may become, it’s nice to know that those fresh, colorful, and surprising new beginnings of unexpected adventure are always there. You just need a little rain, and maybe some grey sky, to highlight the spectacular and unforgettable colors of the rainbow.

Afterward, Julianna, Aly and I went to see Nosferatu inside the Opera House (my first time), which was awesomely done with a live band accompanying the 1910 silent film. And the next day, we tried to soak up some more sun at Manly Beach. I really enjoyed the ferry ride over, and for my second time on Australian seas, I again got to soak up the fresh air, smell the sea and embrace the freedom of the wind blowing through my crazy hair. However, we only had about an ounce of sun that day, and quickly, the open seas turned to rough waves.

But like I said, there’s no rainbow without the rain. So, I took my drenched, cold self to get a bowl of pumpkin soup, and discovered why this vegetable is so prized in Australia. With a little warmth inside my empty tummy, I headed back to the city, taking my good with the bad to see more color than greys in the unexpectedness of the whole Aussie adventure.

Happy Travels,

xx

Just an ordinary Friday in Sydney: cuties, crocs and celebrities.

4 June 2010

As D.H. Lawrence writes, “ They say Australia is free, and it is.”

However, the freedom to wander about is certainly not cheap. Especially when my morning cup of black coffee (forget about the afternoon ritual) comes in at a whopping AUS$ 3.00. With the price of living being sky-high, it’s a wonder that people can continue to live in Sydney with all of the quite extraordinary and (pricey) temptations it has to offer.

Howsomever, I say, Australia is not a place for whinging, and you only live once; so enough of that, and onto the fun part!

With one whole week of classes behind me (18 hours of class time in three days!), I decided that this weekend was one of true freedom, rest and exploration in this (culturally) rich little city.

The weekend started really, when my dear friend, Annie, and I headed out on a rainy, rainy, rainy Friday morning to explore the amphibians, arachnids, and adorable animals of Australia at the Aquarium and Wildlife Center.

Now, being a New Englander, I can handle the rain. In Boston, the rain/wind/snow combo is the main atmosphere for about three months of the year, and although I knew it would be “rainy season” Down Under, I didn’t expect it to trump the viciousness of a Boston Winter rainstorm. But, alas, alas, Annie and I found ourselves fighting for dear life and warmth by noon that day, and sadly, the koalas and kangas were doing the same.

To start, the Aquarium was my preferred spot, and absolutely worth the trek. Although I’m not a big fish lover, I do like to be in Aquariums once I get there. This one was a “must,” as it allowed the viewer to see the pretty beings of Under the Sea, over your head, and in your hands. The different displays held dainty seahorses, cool starfish, dangerous jellies, coral cuties, and big time sharks. BIG TIME SHARKS. Essentially, everything that may, at some point, hurt you in some way when you’re not looking as you surf along the waves, came together in one safe place behind the Sydneyside plastic glass. Overall, it was a very pleasant, relaxing way to warm up, and learn about the wondrous wer world.

On the other hand, the Wildlife center was a different story… and not one really worth telling. It was more disturbing to me than fun…and I’m sad to say that I probably won’t go back. First of all, yikes, all the most dangerous snakes and spiders in the world were in the main entrance (!), so it offered a glimpse into the several ways to die by venom, no-thank-you. But, moreso, it was the cutie patutie furry friends that made me upset. From the wandering wallabys, to the sleepy koalas to the face of the nation, all of the animals just looked plain sad. In my imagination, I thought my first encounter with the legendary ‘Roo would be out in the landscape, as he hopped along the horizon, or something romantic. However, no one should ever see these Australian heroes crouched down under a teeny piece of roof behind plastic, trying to find some solace in a very wet, hard and cold rain. Basically, all of the kangaroos were in this plastic-ed “cave,” and so soaked that they couldn’t move. Same with the koalas. Up in trees, snoozing away, but also quite grumpy looking. Sad, but true, and if I never see one again because I avoid this type of thing, I’ll be okay. I nearly handed the poor blokes my half-broken Target umbrella just to get that look off their faces! Sad, sad, sad.

Anyway, it was something on the “to-do list,” so it was done, and all and all, Annie and I enjoyed seeing the variety of wildlife and sea creatures in one afternoon.

In the evening, we dried off a bit, and had added bit more glamour to the rainy day as we joined our professor for an original movie premiere in the Sydney Film Festival. It was held at a spectacular theatre venue, and there were journalists, actors, bow-ties and cameras. Truly, a big event. Our attendance was part of our Travel Writing class, as we are going to a town in the middle of nowhere called Omeo, where this film, Red Hill, was shot.

The film was a Western-style thriller, and unlike anything I’d seen in my childhood days watching Westerns with my Opa on Saturday afternoons. No more “Hi-yo, Silver!”, no more hunky John Wayne strollin’ round the saloon looking for a little lady and a fellow to shoot at High Noon. No, sir. Although this movie had the cowboys, the shiny spurs, the quiet town, it also had an escaped convict wanted for murder running around a sleepy town with a machine gun. Hm. Did it concern me that it was filmed in the hotel where we’ll be staying for a few nights? Not really. Although, I did jump into my teacher’s arms at various suspenseful “cat and mouse” chasing scenes. With the haunting memories of the scenes from Red Hill following ten college girls around, she, and our one brave boy, better get used to it.

TRAILER: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-nrEm9KMV7I

Cool fact, too is that because we were “student journalists,” we were able to meet with the talented director and writer, Patrick Hughes. He was very friendly, and as we posed for a picture, I finally understood how stud-ly Aussie men can be. Almost a George Clooney figure, he was quite patient and kind to a group of outgoing American girls.

For my own personal excitement, I got to meet Claire Van Der Boom, an upcoming actress, who I saw in a film called The Square at Coolidge Corner, right before I came to Australia. What a coincidence that she was also in Red Hill, albeit, briefly. We chatted for about 20 minutes, and she was even prettier in person than on the silver screen. She’s quite, quite talented, and I expect to see her more often in the coming years. Best of luck to her!

So, as we headed to the Cross (King’s Cross, actually—but like all things in Australia, the British references are slowly getting wiped out), where the hipster club scene is, I was reminded of how lucky I am to be here, and what an excellent variety of events a free Friday in Sydney could give to you, even in all of that pouring rain. After all, if my umbrella could survive all that ferocious water, so could I; and just in time for all the glittering fun.

Happy travels, from all of us Down Under,

xx