As much as I hate to admit it, the halfway point of my Australian adventure has come and passed. It’s been almost ten weeks since I called each family member one last time from my gate at SFO before powering down my cell phone until May. And the time has flown by.
The next five weeks will be based out of Sydney. While it’s true that I have lived in Sydney since my arrival here, the first seven weeks our program offered three day weekends which allowed us to travel within Australia, hence the adventures to the Gold Coast, the Blue Mountains, Melbourne, and Fraser Island. Now I have class on Mondays and work in Sydney Tuesday through Friday, so my deep exploration of the city has only just begun. Our travel adventures in this half of the program are more limited, but stay tuned: We’re scuba diving the Great Barrier Reef in just a few weeks!
The first week of my internships (yes, plural) fared well for me. I spend Tuesdays and Wednesdays doing creative writing for a dating newsletter. One of my favorite parts of this internship is the office. The office is great mostly because it’s not an office and therefore very conducive to creativity. On the second story of the second oldest building in Sydney is a room with a large window that opens from top to bottom, a single desk and a chair. Outside the window, a man dressed in colonial costume rings his bell about every hour and makes an announcement about the neighborhood’s events of the day as if it were still 1880. An outside café is our backyard, and below, American Mike runs bicycle tours of Sydney. Knowing of the reputable advertising and insurance companies that house my fellow classmates as interns, my boss (one of two people beside myself who work for the company) apologized again and again for the lack of professionalism the office offered. Feeling the breeze flutter through the open window onto my shoulders, I assured her that a corporate office is not what I’m looking for and gladly sat down for the day’s work. At 4:15 p.m. my boss inquired, upon learning that I had yet to experience the Israeli chocolatier, Max Brenner, “Katelyn, what do you say we get out here, grab some hot chocolate and head home?” I couldn’t think of a better plan.
Onto internship number two: a women’s magazine. I was worried that after a wonderful Tuesday-Wednesday experience my second internship wouldn’t measure up. I’m happy to tell you that, despite an embarrassing start, I am equally fond of this work experience.
On day one I met the crew—the writers, the design team, the editor, and everyone had one question: where are you from? When I said California I received the usual, “I was just in L.A.!” One writer had just been on assignment in Los Angeles, San Diego and Palm Springs writing a travel article. I asked to read it, and she excitedly handed it over. I gave the pictures a once over—a “California Highway 101” sign, her doing yoga on the beach, et cetera. I began to read the article. Like a true Northern California gal, her adventures in L.A. didn’t’ invoke any strong feelings of home for me, but as she began to describe driving down the 101 to San Diego to the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Californication” blaring through the car speakers, I was surprised to find tears in my eyes. Apparently, her words hit home. I have not considered myself homesick during my time here, except for in small, quickly passing spurts, so these tears of apparent sadness were met with a feeling of great surprise. However, if I thought I was surprised, you should have seen the look on my new co-workers’ faces.
One of my favorites of the office remarked, “Oh my god! You made the intern cry on her first day!”
I laughed, assured them that I was emotionally stable and commented to the author that her writing had truly captured the essence of California and had transported me the 7500-miles home. Still, I’m pretty sure crying isn’t on the list of Ways To Make A Good First Impression.
So while I’m keen on both of my internships, the downside of working (besides the actual working part!) is how quickly time flies when you are on a schedule—constantly scanning the calendar, planning for the coming weeks. I’d prefer to throw watches and calendars out that beautiful, open window, but then I remember that this is school and not vacation, that these writing assignments will be edited and published, not graded, so I happily accept the responsibilities. As someone who struggles with but believes in living in the moment, I despise countdowns (especially the kind that end with “you leave Australia.”), so I won’t say anything more about the days I have left. I’ll just say this: I’m planning on going out with a bang.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Jee Jee Dub '09
When finals were done, Brooke, Jorie, Sarah Mitus and I boarded our flight to the Gold Coast. Our spring break itinerary was great mostly because we didn’t have many set plans. We would split the next week between the Gold Coast beaches and Fraser Island—a sand island filled with natural paradises like fresh water lakes, rainforest and refreshing creeks.
First things first. Sarah Mitus has not been formally introduced, but she deserves that introduction. So here’s a little Sarah Mitus synopsis: we call Sarah by her last name, “Mitus,” mostly because it’s an awesome last name that we feel deserves first name usage. And it fits, because Aussies shorten every word: afternoon = “arvo,” breakfast = “brekky,” “Brisbane = “brizzy.” So, after two months together, Mitus now answers to “Mito,” “Smito,” Shmito” and so on. Shmito is my personal favorite so from here on that’s how we’ll refer to her.
I met nineteen-year-old Shmito at the airport newsstand back in January. “Cosmo or Glamour?” Jorie asked her and her friend Caroline. “Cosmo for sure,” they replied. We were friends from there on.
Shmito is from western Massachusetts, but she is the farthest thing from a Mass-hole. The girl’s favorite response is, “I’m down for whatever,” which explains why 1) she is a great person to travel with and 2) why she’s become one of my dearest friends so quickly. She’s easygoing. She mostly smiles and laughs, but ask her about marketing and she’ll show you her wits. She talks admiringly about her family, especially her dad, and worries that she won’t find a guy as great as him. So, plain and simple, Shmito was a wonderful addition to the spring break adventure.
Our trip featured many beautiful locales and exciting adventures. Here are the highlights:
DRIVING: None of us had ever driven on the left side of the road, so this was a recipe for some fun. Additionally, Brooke and I haven’t owned cars in over two years, and I only drive during the summer. In our rented Hyundai we maneuvered the streets of Coolangatta onto the Pacific Highway. (Yay for another Pacific Highway!) It took all four of us to make a lane change, and that lane change was often only signaled by turning on our windshield wipers instead of our blinker. Wipers. Blinkers. Same difference.
By far the funniest part of our driving experience was the four-hour drive turned six-and-a-half-hour drive to Fraser Island. Brooke’s Australian ex-boyfriend (who’s house we stayed in on the Gold Coast) had provided us with directions to get around the Gold Coast. Those directions had satisfied all our needs—groceries, secluded beaches, nightlife—until Tuesday morning, when, like fools, we didn’t read the fine print. After three and half hours of following Morgan’s directions to a tee, we did indeed arrive at Cooloola Way, just where our directions intended for us to be. The catch is that Cooloola Way has a giant sign at its conception warning drivers that “Cooloola Way is 30 kilometers of sand and gravel track connecting to Rainbow Beach Road…4-wheel drive vehicles only.” We had failed to read that the directions were guiding us to where Morgan took his 4-wheel drive before putting it on a barge to Fraser Island. The Hyundai was closer to a go-cart than a jeep and with no town in sight we had no choice but to detour to Rainbow Beach, where we stopped at a backpacker’s lodge. The look on the woman’s face when I told her we were looking for Hervey Bay said it all. Eyes wide and eyebrows raised, she told us were two hours south of our destination.
This little bump in the road, if you will, did have an upside. First, my appreciation for my travel companions grew as we each chose to laugh at our own mistake, pitch in on gas and get back on the road. Someone suggested road games to pass the extra hours. There’s nothing more valuable on a road trip in a foreign country than easygoing travel partners. The other upside of this slip up was the night sky on the ferry ride to the island. (We had planned on taking the 4 p.m. ferry, and ended up on the 7 p.m. ferry thanks to our detour.) On the open ocean in the absence of city lights, the stars stretched to the horizon. I had never seen so many stars at once, and I got that feeling that you read about in books. You feel small, but not insignificant. It was the closest thing I’ve had to a religious experience. We continued our star gazing on the deck of our condo on Fraser Island. Two shooting stars, a beer and countless mosquito bites later, the irritation of the long car drive was long forgotten.
WILDLIFE: What you read is true. Australia is filled with weird and dangerous wildlife. I came knowing they have most of the world’s most poisonous snakes, lots of venomous spiders and, obviously, sharks too. But because I grew up swimming just on the other side of the Pacific, I wasn’t intimidated to swim here, even after hearing of the first two shark attacks in Sydney Harbour, in which both people were swimming at dusk, aka dinner time for sharks. Turquoise from afar but clear up close with rolling waves, I can’t refuse the ocean’s invitation. So on a perfect afternoon at Dreamtime Beach on the Gold Coast, I encouraged the group, “let’s swim out further.” As we did, we got a lot of looks from the surfers. At first I thought we had swam into their surf spot, but we were clearly outside their territory. Then we thought they probably just thought we were cute. Wrong again. The next night we told our friend Lara, who was born in Oz, moved to the U.S. and now goes to school on the Gold Coast, about our swimming adventure. Her jaw dropped.
“You swam there! I would never swim there! There are sharks. I never go past my knees at that beach.”
Dumb American girls. No wonder those boys were staring as I floated on my back like a seal over the waves. They knew who was shark bate.
The next day we ventured the 50 kilometers to Byron Bay, which is considered a town but in actuality just an intersection of three streets lined with cafes and shops on the southern end of the Gold Coast. We drove to the lighthouse on top of the hill to check the view and see Australia’s most easterly point. From the mountain we saw sharks feeding on a school of fish only about 100 feet off the coast, giving weight to Lara’s comment that there are indeed sharks and they aren’t that far out. A pod of dolphins swam by. A stingray probably 5 feet wide hovered in the waves. Sea turtles drifted by. This was the most natural wildlife exhibit I had ever seen, all within a 500-foot stretch of coast.
While the shark feeding was unexpected and fascinating, Wednesday morning’s surprise was the most memorable of the trip in terms of wildlife. We woke early to start our tour of Fraser Island. Sleep still in my eyes (and definitely in my hair), I walked slowly to the couch to put on my shoes, but I stopped in my tracks at the site of the hairy Huntman’s spider the size of my palm caught between our window screen and glass. (Taylor, you would have passed out.) The woman who answered our call to the front desk assured us that it was non-venomous and would just keep the other bugs out, so we let B.F.G, as we named him, stay where he was. But when we returned nine hours later, B.F.G. wasn’t lookin’ so hot, so Ashley came up to remove him.
“Woah, he IS big,” Ashley remarked. Yes, Ashley he is. Thank you for noticing. That at least made us a feel a little better about our level of toughness.
WARREN: Because of the awesome exchange rate we were able to plan a private tour of Fraser Island, which is great because otherwise you have to either rent a 4-wheel drive jeep on your own and then operate it through the sand roads of the island or join a 40 person tour bus—not our scene. So Warren, a fifty something off-roading expert and native Australian handled the wheel driving us to Fraser’s best lakes and creeks to cool our cores. But in the meantime, we got to know him and vice versa. Warren had two sons and had been happily married to his wife for over 25 years. He loved his job, meeting people from around the world, sharing his knowledge of the island with them. He read “Wildlife of Greater Brisbane” in the shade as we swam in Lake McKenzie. This was Warren’s best advice.
“People of my generation did it all wrong. We hurried into jobs, got married, bought a house and had kids. We planned to travel later in life. Problem is later in life you can’t walk like you used to. So, girls, travel now. Don’t get married until at least 28. Plenty of time for guys.”
Amen, Warren. Amen. After a perfect day, we bid Warren goodbye.
“Thank you for showing us such a great time! Have a nice evening Warren!” I called.
“Have a nice life. And remember! Don’t get married until 28.”
************************************************************
When the last Corona had been drunk and our suitcases offered nothing more than sand covered shorts and tanks, our seven-day spring break adventure came to a close. It flew by too quickly but was just enough to rejuvenate us for the next half of our semester here. And Brookie went back to New York revitalized as well, but not before a tear-filled goodbye from me. I’ll never forget the fun of the last two weeks. Jee Jee Dub ’09!!
First things first. Sarah Mitus has not been formally introduced, but she deserves that introduction. So here’s a little Sarah Mitus synopsis: we call Sarah by her last name, “Mitus,” mostly because it’s an awesome last name that we feel deserves first name usage. And it fits, because Aussies shorten every word: afternoon = “arvo,” breakfast = “brekky,” “Brisbane = “brizzy.” So, after two months together, Mitus now answers to “Mito,” “Smito,” Shmito” and so on. Shmito is my personal favorite so from here on that’s how we’ll refer to her.
I met nineteen-year-old Shmito at the airport newsstand back in January. “Cosmo or Glamour?” Jorie asked her and her friend Caroline. “Cosmo for sure,” they replied. We were friends from there on.
Shmito is from western Massachusetts, but she is the farthest thing from a Mass-hole. The girl’s favorite response is, “I’m down for whatever,” which explains why 1) she is a great person to travel with and 2) why she’s become one of my dearest friends so quickly. She’s easygoing. She mostly smiles and laughs, but ask her about marketing and she’ll show you her wits. She talks admiringly about her family, especially her dad, and worries that she won’t find a guy as great as him. So, plain and simple, Shmito was a wonderful addition to the spring break adventure.
Our trip featured many beautiful locales and exciting adventures. Here are the highlights:
DRIVING: None of us had ever driven on the left side of the road, so this was a recipe for some fun. Additionally, Brooke and I haven’t owned cars in over two years, and I only drive during the summer. In our rented Hyundai we maneuvered the streets of Coolangatta onto the Pacific Highway. (Yay for another Pacific Highway!) It took all four of us to make a lane change, and that lane change was often only signaled by turning on our windshield wipers instead of our blinker. Wipers. Blinkers. Same difference.
By far the funniest part of our driving experience was the four-hour drive turned six-and-a-half-hour drive to Fraser Island. Brooke’s Australian ex-boyfriend (who’s house we stayed in on the Gold Coast) had provided us with directions to get around the Gold Coast. Those directions had satisfied all our needs—groceries, secluded beaches, nightlife—until Tuesday morning, when, like fools, we didn’t read the fine print. After three and half hours of following Morgan’s directions to a tee, we did indeed arrive at Cooloola Way, just where our directions intended for us to be. The catch is that Cooloola Way has a giant sign at its conception warning drivers that “Cooloola Way is 30 kilometers of sand and gravel track connecting to Rainbow Beach Road…4-wheel drive vehicles only.” We had failed to read that the directions were guiding us to where Morgan took his 4-wheel drive before putting it on a barge to Fraser Island. The Hyundai was closer to a go-cart than a jeep and with no town in sight we had no choice but to detour to Rainbow Beach, where we stopped at a backpacker’s lodge. The look on the woman’s face when I told her we were looking for Hervey Bay said it all. Eyes wide and eyebrows raised, she told us were two hours south of our destination.
This little bump in the road, if you will, did have an upside. First, my appreciation for my travel companions grew as we each chose to laugh at our own mistake, pitch in on gas and get back on the road. Someone suggested road games to pass the extra hours. There’s nothing more valuable on a road trip in a foreign country than easygoing travel partners. The other upside of this slip up was the night sky on the ferry ride to the island. (We had planned on taking the 4 p.m. ferry, and ended up on the 7 p.m. ferry thanks to our detour.) On the open ocean in the absence of city lights, the stars stretched to the horizon. I had never seen so many stars at once, and I got that feeling that you read about in books. You feel small, but not insignificant. It was the closest thing I’ve had to a religious experience. We continued our star gazing on the deck of our condo on Fraser Island. Two shooting stars, a beer and countless mosquito bites later, the irritation of the long car drive was long forgotten.
WILDLIFE: What you read is true. Australia is filled with weird and dangerous wildlife. I came knowing they have most of the world’s most poisonous snakes, lots of venomous spiders and, obviously, sharks too. But because I grew up swimming just on the other side of the Pacific, I wasn’t intimidated to swim here, even after hearing of the first two shark attacks in Sydney Harbour, in which both people were swimming at dusk, aka dinner time for sharks. Turquoise from afar but clear up close with rolling waves, I can’t refuse the ocean’s invitation. So on a perfect afternoon at Dreamtime Beach on the Gold Coast, I encouraged the group, “let’s swim out further.” As we did, we got a lot of looks from the surfers. At first I thought we had swam into their surf spot, but we were clearly outside their territory. Then we thought they probably just thought we were cute. Wrong again. The next night we told our friend Lara, who was born in Oz, moved to the U.S. and now goes to school on the Gold Coast, about our swimming adventure. Her jaw dropped.
“You swam there! I would never swim there! There are sharks. I never go past my knees at that beach.”
Dumb American girls. No wonder those boys were staring as I floated on my back like a seal over the waves. They knew who was shark bate.
The next day we ventured the 50 kilometers to Byron Bay, which is considered a town but in actuality just an intersection of three streets lined with cafes and shops on the southern end of the Gold Coast. We drove to the lighthouse on top of the hill to check the view and see Australia’s most easterly point. From the mountain we saw sharks feeding on a school of fish only about 100 feet off the coast, giving weight to Lara’s comment that there are indeed sharks and they aren’t that far out. A pod of dolphins swam by. A stingray probably 5 feet wide hovered in the waves. Sea turtles drifted by. This was the most natural wildlife exhibit I had ever seen, all within a 500-foot stretch of coast.
While the shark feeding was unexpected and fascinating, Wednesday morning’s surprise was the most memorable of the trip in terms of wildlife. We woke early to start our tour of Fraser Island. Sleep still in my eyes (and definitely in my hair), I walked slowly to the couch to put on my shoes, but I stopped in my tracks at the site of the hairy Huntman’s spider the size of my palm caught between our window screen and glass. (Taylor, you would have passed out.) The woman who answered our call to the front desk assured us that it was non-venomous and would just keep the other bugs out, so we let B.F.G, as we named him, stay where he was. But when we returned nine hours later, B.F.G. wasn’t lookin’ so hot, so Ashley came up to remove him.
“Woah, he IS big,” Ashley remarked. Yes, Ashley he is. Thank you for noticing. That at least made us a feel a little better about our level of toughness.
WARREN: Because of the awesome exchange rate we were able to plan a private tour of Fraser Island, which is great because otherwise you have to either rent a 4-wheel drive jeep on your own and then operate it through the sand roads of the island or join a 40 person tour bus—not our scene. So Warren, a fifty something off-roading expert and native Australian handled the wheel driving us to Fraser’s best lakes and creeks to cool our cores. But in the meantime, we got to know him and vice versa. Warren had two sons and had been happily married to his wife for over 25 years. He loved his job, meeting people from around the world, sharing his knowledge of the island with them. He read “Wildlife of Greater Brisbane” in the shade as we swam in Lake McKenzie. This was Warren’s best advice.
“People of my generation did it all wrong. We hurried into jobs, got married, bought a house and had kids. We planned to travel later in life. Problem is later in life you can’t walk like you used to. So, girls, travel now. Don’t get married until at least 28. Plenty of time for guys.”
Amen, Warren. Amen. After a perfect day, we bid Warren goodbye.
“Thank you for showing us such a great time! Have a nice evening Warren!” I called.
“Have a nice life. And remember! Don’t get married until 28.”
************************************************************
When the last Corona had been drunk and our suitcases offered nothing more than sand covered shorts and tanks, our seven-day spring break adventure came to a close. It flew by too quickly but was just enough to rejuvenate us for the next half of our semester here. And Brookie went back to New York revitalized as well, but not before a tear-filled goodbye from me. I’ll never forget the fun of the last two weeks. Jee Jee Dub ’09!!
 |
| Australia |
Wish You Were Here
“Reunited and it feels so goooood,” she sang as promised, waltzing out of the taxi, seemingly unscathed by the twenty-four hours of traveling she had just endured. With her Vans and a-line bob, she looked the same, which for some reason is always surprising when you are miles (or kilometers) away from home. Brookie, my silly older sister traveled half the world from New York to Sydney to spend twelve days with me in Australia, so we didn’t waste anytime before getting the party started. (DISCLAIMER: the party is never full on without younger sister Taylor in tow.)
That afternoon we explored Newtown, a hippy neighborhood in Sydney, where we chatted over a Pure Blonde (yummy Australian beer) about the things that never made it into the quick phone conversations we had had during the last one and half months. We updated each other on our respective country’s news: U.S. economy still sucks. Shark attacks in Sydney Harbour.
The first five days of B’s trip overlapped with finals week for me, but this finals week did not boast the usual workload, snowstorm and head cold that those in Boston do. Instead, on Wednesday we took the ferry to Manly beach, and after class that night, we went for Mexican food at Baja Cantina. As California girls we have high expectations for our Mexican food—expectations that the east coast of the United States has never fulfilled, so we were delighted to read that Baja Cantina’s owner and operator had worked in both Mexico and California as a chef before opening this location in Sydney. We hoped that was enough experience to create a palate-pleasing menu. And, in fact, our prawn fajitas and red sangria were so delicious we went back the next night…and ordered the same thing.
On Thursday we toured Sydney’s beaches with echoes from me that they had nothing on those of the Gold Coast. Those beaches would steal Brooke’s breath the next week. So in the meantime, we danced with foreign boys at backpacker bars, shopped at the weekend markets and laughed. I was so happy to share Sydney’s delights with my sister and best friend, and it felt good to have a little piece of home next to me. Our little verbal disputes that never lasted longer than a few minutes comforted me—only the people who really know you can push your buttons. Driving on the left side of the road the following week prompted little “fights” like this:
“Brooke, you’re driving in the bike lane!”
“Kate, it’s a narrow road, and I’m trying my best!”
“Ok well I’d like to arrive alive.”
(Pause)
“Remember that time dad drank too many mai tais in Hawaii and…”
(NOTE: I also drove in the bike lane, so the above can be rearranged to reflect the change in driver. In fact, I believe it was me that almost led the group to its demise as I "merged" onto the highway.)
Beside having the time of my life in an exotic city with my big sis, I learned an important lesson last week: beautiful places are abundant, but exploring those places with someone you love next to you, making memories to last a life time turns those beautiful places into matchless experiences. Life is about the people with whom you share your experiences. B, I’m glad this one was with you.
That afternoon we explored Newtown, a hippy neighborhood in Sydney, where we chatted over a Pure Blonde (yummy Australian beer) about the things that never made it into the quick phone conversations we had had during the last one and half months. We updated each other on our respective country’s news: U.S. economy still sucks. Shark attacks in Sydney Harbour.
The first five days of B’s trip overlapped with finals week for me, but this finals week did not boast the usual workload, snowstorm and head cold that those in Boston do. Instead, on Wednesday we took the ferry to Manly beach, and after class that night, we went for Mexican food at Baja Cantina. As California girls we have high expectations for our Mexican food—expectations that the east coast of the United States has never fulfilled, so we were delighted to read that Baja Cantina’s owner and operator had worked in both Mexico and California as a chef before opening this location in Sydney. We hoped that was enough experience to create a palate-pleasing menu. And, in fact, our prawn fajitas and red sangria were so delicious we went back the next night…and ordered the same thing.
On Thursday we toured Sydney’s beaches with echoes from me that they had nothing on those of the Gold Coast. Those beaches would steal Brooke’s breath the next week. So in the meantime, we danced with foreign boys at backpacker bars, shopped at the weekend markets and laughed. I was so happy to share Sydney’s delights with my sister and best friend, and it felt good to have a little piece of home next to me. Our little verbal disputes that never lasted longer than a few minutes comforted me—only the people who really know you can push your buttons. Driving on the left side of the road the following week prompted little “fights” like this:
“Brooke, you’re driving in the bike lane!”
“Kate, it’s a narrow road, and I’m trying my best!”
“Ok well I’d like to arrive alive.”
(Pause)
“Remember that time dad drank too many mai tais in Hawaii and…”
(NOTE: I also drove in the bike lane, so the above can be rearranged to reflect the change in driver. In fact, I believe it was me that almost led the group to its demise as I "merged" onto the highway.)
Beside having the time of my life in an exotic city with my big sis, I learned an important lesson last week: beautiful places are abundant, but exploring those places with someone you love next to you, making memories to last a life time turns those beautiful places into matchless experiences. Life is about the people with whom you share your experiences. B, I’m glad this one was with you.
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