Hobo's Paradise

I'm back in Katoomba and doing the help-x thing once again. I have a beautiful room in a quiet house with a great host and spend my days doing handyman work. The birds in the garden are spectacular. Each one looks like it should be in search of a pirate's shoulder. Every morning I take my time to orchestrate a large breakfast. Coffee, muesli, muffins, spreads, yogurt, scones, sometimes an egg or two. I sit and watch the kaleidoscope of feathers picking at the seed put out in the metal trays. For background I go to my new favorite iPhone app, Tunein Radio. Here I can listen to just about any radio station on the planet or choose from catalogues of podcasts and recordings. Radiolab is always a good way to get the brainwaves flowing, or sometimes I'll tune into WAMU back in DC and listen live to yesterday's evening broadcast of All Things Considered. Perhaps the most gratifying thing is listening to the DC rush hour traffic report as I sit in tranquility watching the birds. No traffic here.
One thing I almost always tune out is any political material, domestic anyhow. I've been almost completely tuned out to politics for the past six months or so and ask me what I've missed. The drama, the conspiracies, the muckraking, the empty promises? Has anything changed? Has anything really happened? It feels like missing a season of a soap opera. I'll miss a lot of talk, the overuse of soft focus, a plethora of raised eyebrows and the occasional love triangle. But when I come back to it next season it will all be the same again.

When I'm not fixing and building things around the house I'll cut out for a hike in the Blue Mountains. The trails are everywhere, within a half hour drive or train ride are probably a hundred different walks, official ones anyway. If you include the unmarked trails there could be twice as many. This past week I did two hikes. The first a popular route known as the Grose Valley Grand Canyon track, and the second a much lesser known unmarked trail to Dark's cave. The Grose Valley is on the northern side of the Blue Mountains and is surrounded by a massive sheer wall of sandstone. The sandstone walls burst out in deep reds and rusty orange from the surrounding green eucalypts on the valley floor and cliff tops. It is very different from the American Grand Canyon and not of such great magnitude, but it is a grand canyon nonetheless. Like many of the tracks in the Blue Mountains it starts off with a daunting amount of stairs. On a previous hike coming out of the Jamison Valley, just to the South, I humored myself by attempting to count the stairs. Frustrated and slightly discouraged I quit counting when I got to a thousand and the top was nowhere in sight. So it was down into the canyon I went, sometimes trotting in an attempt to save the knees. The canyon was filled with flowing streams, waterfalls and intensely colored cliff faces. The further down you go into the canyon, the darker and wetter it gets. Crossing over streams and wet rocks the footing can be a little tricky. The two highlights along the trail are Evan's Point lookout and Bridal Veil Falls. Along the way there were more than a few tourists; if you are looking for solitude this is not the trail for you, at least not on a Saturday. Despite that, there is good reason it is so popular, it is strikingly beautiful.

My second hike was suggested to me by my host Katherine who knows quite a bit about Katoomba's history. Any hike that has a story behind it is always more interesting. Eleanor and Eric Dark are two of the most well respected former residents in Katoomba's history. Eleanor, a successful writer, completed ten novels including The Timeless Land, which topped best seller lists in America in the 40s. Eric Dark was a well respected doctor and one of the area's first rock climbing enthusiasts. Their former home known as Varuna, located about a block and a half from where I'm staying, was turned into a writer's center and residence in the late 80s. The family spent a great amount of time bush walking, climbing and exploring throughout the Blue Mountains. Amongst their exploring they discovered a large series of caves hidden down on the side of the canyon of the Grose Valley. They would come to these caves on a regular basis to camp and swim in the creek. Rumor has it that during WWII the Dark's were considering using the cave as a hideout in case the Japanese ever invaded. That was enough to entice me, I was ready to find this place.

The trail leading out to the cave is not marked on any maps, however I did have a hiking book that told me where to find the trail head. The directions were worded quite vaguely and I wondered if they had done this on purpose. It has a secret sort of vibe to it, and I could tell once I actually found the trail head and started down it that wasn't travelled by many people. At about 30 meters in the trail drops steeply down the valley wall. Soon I was using all four limbs to traverse the rough terrain, there would be no trotting on this slope. I got to a section of slick rock face and paused to contemplate my decent. A small tree trunk curved out over the top of it so I grabbed that and swung my body down below. When my feet hit the surface of the rock I got no traction and had let go of the tree just a moment too soon. I realized I was quickly sliding down a cliff. I dug my hands in behind me in an attempt to grab onto the rock but it was too smooth, they just slid over the surface. The rock threw me off and I stumbled onto a landing a few feet below. I wiped the mud and grit off my hands and kept descending. It was a bit of a challenge when I realized I had skinned my finger tips while sliding down the rock, but I reached the bottom of the canyon and started following the creek. I started to see small out coves in the rock but nothing quite the size that a family could live in. The path started to lead me back up the other side of the canyon and over some more slightly precarious rock faces. During drier times this would have been a breeze but since we have been getting rain almost everyday each rock forces you to be extra careful about your footing. I climbed up onto a ledge that ran along the rock face and followed that for another 20 meters or so. Up ahead I saw a huge overhang of rock and knew this was it. A large boulder was almost perfectly positioned at the edge of the cave to allow just enough room to squeeze through. I sucked in my gut and shimmied on in.  Right at the entrance was a nice little fire pit and in front of it a natural stone bench sat out from the wall. I walked further back and the cave opened up. The ceiling must have gone 30 feet up. Tucked nicely into the corner were some artifacts from previous tenants. An old rusted out shovel, a worn and faded canvas blanket, and the carcasses of well loved hiking boots and shoes. There was another fire pit in this room and next to it sat a couple camping pots, or "billies" as the experienced Australian bush walker would call them. There was an old rusted tin box sitting there as well. I stooped down and lifted the lid slowly, half expecting it to be packed with snakes or spiders. Inside were a few boxes of matches inside a jar, some fire starters, a couple of hearty looking granola bars, and a little red journal. I flipped it open and found a short history writeup about the Darks and then a poem about the cave written by Eleanor. The rest of the journal was filled with blurbs and insights from previous visitors. Some of it quite sappy but all of it respectful. This was surprisingly pleasant. A lot of the time in these field journals you'll find a slew of snide or crude remarks. I then looked around and was shocked to find not one set of initials. Nobody had obnoxiously notified the world that "Biff wuz here" or "Leroy luvs Bertha." It was the first notable destination I've been to in Australia that wasn't littered with tags. This place was respected. At the far end of the cave was a marvelous little waterfall spilling into an intimate bathing pool. If the weather had been warmer I'd have stripped down and been splashing about like a drunken otter. Instead I sat back and took in the view. The cave faces outward across the Grose Valley and its dramatic orange cliffs. This was a hobo's paradise. An image flashed in my mind: a can of beans curled open and warming on the fire, dirty toes poking out the end of an old boot wiggling away to a wailing harmonica. The long bearded man lays back on a thick wool blanket and gazes out at the night sky, his face glowing red in the firelight. A long pull from a green glass bottle warms his inners. Maybe in another life.

Dark's Cave

looking out from the cave

The Outback

Like a bat out of hell we shot out of Sydney. Dropping all but the essentials with my good friends and gracious hosts the Julians, I crammed my backpack and a cooler into the boot of the Golf and we were on the road. No agenda no real destinations, just time and space to fill the void. And space there was plenty of. Being the largest city in Australia, it did take us a while to get out of the sprawl of Sydney's suburbs and out to the bush. We made a stop for a couple of last minute supplies at a small town called Goulburn. Two things you want to have when driving to some of the most remote and desolate places on earth are a spare water tank and a gas can. Don't want to take any chances when your nearest gas station could be 400km away. 

Once we got moving, we started to think about where we wanted to stay that night. There was a national park called Cocoparra roughly along our route and it supposedly had some nice campsites. It was a good distance out and it would give us a sense of accomplishment for our first day so we decided to check it out. It was well after dark when we cruised past the sign off the main highway and realized we had missed the subtly marked park. We back tracked a little and spotted the sign, it was another 10km off the main road to the start of the park. This is where the pavement ended and the dirt track began. I'll just note here that about 95% of the other cars we saw on the roads anywhere in the outback, highways, dirt tracks, mud pits, etc were large four wheel drive trucks. Either large SUVs pulling obese white caravans or the hardened pure testosterone fueled utes. Not the SUVs you see sparkling at a DC Metro kiss and ride, but actual trucks. Your Ford F-150 just won't size up here. These things are outfitted with a short aluminum (excuse me aluminium) utilitarian bed in the back usually toting some sort of rusty machine parts under a flapping tarpaulin, like a gurney hauling off the remains of the last tourist's vehicle who thought they'd go for a casual drive in the outback. So when you pull off the paved road in pitch black and attempt to take on the dirt track, you may begin to question the abilities of your stout little VW. Instantly we feel like we are driving over a large rippled potato chip. It was a black, moonless night, all we saw was the red dirt track in front of us looking like the surface of Mars. The car is seizuring down the path raking up stones and stomping into deep potholes. Eventually we get to a picnic area and jump out to check the map. Shit - we had been rumbling down the wrong way and would have to back track another 15km to get to the campsite. Being our first day out and full of gusto we drudged back down the way we had come. We found the other track and started up it. It was gradually growing worse and worse, we were scraping the bottom of the undercarriage and kicking up rocks that hit with unsettling crashes. It sounded like we were going through a carwash of baseball bats. It was time to accept our limits and turn back. We would go back to the picnic area and set up there for the night. Shortly after turning around we saw a pair of bright yellow glowing eyes in the middle of the track about 20m ahead staring back at us. They paused, we paused. They turned and then darted away, as we crept up slowly, squinting off to the side to try and see what it was, we saw lying in the middle of the track, a dead wallaby. A fresh kill. Creepy. 

The next morning I woke with intrigue to see what this dungeon looked like in the daylight. Gorgeous! Huge green Eucalypts towered overhead. Swarming with exotic cockatoos, lorikeets, and galahs, an assortment of tropical birds so colorful you question the mushrooms you had for dinner last night. A short hike lead us to a beautiful rock outcropping where we discovered a pack of feral mountain goats basking amongst the rocks in the morning sun. We bouldered around for a bit and it was back to the road.

I hopped in the driver's seat and gladly took my shift. We were officially in the outback now; beyond the city, beyond the suburbs, and beyond the bush. Nothing but flat open country. Gnarly sun-scorched gum trees and shrubs spaced out by that iconic red Australian soil as far as the eye can see. Cruising along we tuned into a country rock playlist Mike Julian had made for me back in Sydney. Buzzing along to The Band and Harry Nilsson I sat back and watched the world fly by. Amused by the occasional passing tumbleweed, I was just settling in to get used to a long peaceful ride when I saw a kangaroo up ahead. "Oooh look!" I pointed out to Luke. It was the first kangaroo of the trip and I was honestly pretty excited to see one. It hopped slowly across the road but was so far ahead of us there was no concern of hitting it. Then like a giant gargoyle out of the sky swoops the biggest eagle I have ever seen! It is nearly twice the size of this kangaroo and comes down on him with ominous determination. This all happens just as we are driving up so I slam the brakes and pull over to watch it play out. The eagle had giving the kangaroo a nice clamp on the noggin with its immense talons and then casually perched on a nearby fence post where it analyzed its strike. We sat with awe as the kangaroo meagerly hopped around in what we can guess were its last blurry moments. It was a powerful scene. We sat and contemplated the raw harsh reality that the outback had just presented us with. It was a great introduction to what we would see over the next two weeks. Filled to the brim with adrenaline we set off back down the road. 

The wildlife just kept coming. A few hours down the road, Luke was taking a shift driving as I spotted two emus about 100 meters in front of us. They were each about 5 feet tall and casually strolling along side the highway. I pointed them out to Luke and I'm not sure it really registered with him as he cruised along at about 110 km/hr. Sure enough, just as we get within 20 meters of them they decide its a good time to cross. This was one of those moments where time slows down and you brace yourself for a horrible sight. This was a two lane highway and one emu easily takes up half a lane. They strutted out about a meter apart and then hesitated. At this point they were directly in the middle of the road and it was too late to brake. Shit shit shit shit shit!!!! I wish I could go back and see our franticly wincing faces as we miraculously split the goal posts. As we shot through in slow motion I watched each feather on the emu's torso turn up and expose the white skin underneath, the roof of the car shaving the whiskers from the bottom of its chin. If this bird had had an adam's apple it would have been taken out by the rearview mirror. The bird on the driver's side was equally close. We could not have come any closer without exploding in a giant burst of feathers, beaks and legs. Driving has never been so exciting.

That afternoon we pulled into Mungo National Park. Mungo has a great deal of archeological significance but doesn't seem to get the credit that it deserves. In the late 60's a lucky archeologist while exploring the expansive dried lake stumbled upon the remains of an Aboriginal man that dated back to over 40,000 years. These were the oldest human remains ever found in Australia and forced scientists to reexamine their theories of how man arrived in Australia. There appears to be quite a bit of controversy in the scientific community about the subject still to this day. We set up camp, cooked a quick dinner of canned soup and sacked out. In the morning we walked around a bit and drove through part of the park to experienced true desolation. Just to get to the park was a 90 km drive on unpaved roads. Once there, you can opt to drive a 70km loop around the dried lake. We had enough driving to do without the loop and decided it was best to move on.

Needing a change from the dry desolate landscape of Mungo we pushed west and were headed towards the Barossa Valley, Australia's most renown wine region. We drove well into the night after discovering that our first choice of campsites was overrun with mosquitos. They even swarmed the car from the outside, I've never seen them so aggressive. Finally we found Sandy Creek, according to our camping book this was not only a valid campsite, but a highly recommended one. Well the book was about ten years old and when we got to the end of the dirt road it was pretty clearly marked that this was in fact not a campsite. At that point did we care? No, we did not. This was home for the night and no one was there to tell us otherwise. The ground was soft with pine boughs, there were no obnoxious camper vans and we had been driving all day. Popped the tents up, boiled some noodles, hit the sack, out like a light. The next morning the air was cold and crisp I threw on my down jacket and stumbled bleary eyed out of my tent, eager, once again to see what my campsite actually looked like. It was surprisingly agrarian and consisted of a short nature trail winding between some pastures. We hiked the nature trail to get the blood circulating and stopped to watch a herd of about 40 kangaroos grazing in a field. In the early morning light this was a real treat. We got back to the car and both had the same thing on our mind. The night before we had driven through a handsome little tourist town called Tanunda. Being wine country and chock full of yuppies we had a good notion that there would be a mighty fine breakfast establishment in this town. Indeed there was. We stepped out of "Nosh" rubbing full bellies and doing the sort of lazy calisthenics one does before an ambitious day of wine tasting. It was just a bit early to be drinking so we killed some time at the library and visitor's center. On the north end of town is the start of the Barossa Valley scenic drive which takes you through about 30 different wineries and vineyards. This sounded like a good choice and possibly idiot proof. In case you don't already know this about me, I haven't the slightest clue when it comes to wine. I know there's a red kind, a white kind, and a kind that comes in a large cardboard box (I believe the proper way to consume this one is with a novelty plastic straw.) So it was time to get into character and start throwing around words like "oakey" and "tannins" with a straight face. It was time to delicately stick my entire nose in a glass and smell vigorously without snarfing it up with snot bubbles in fits of laughter. I was going to have to swirl and hold the glass up to the sunlight without spilling all over myself then turn my head at a pretentious angle flare my nostrils and ponder deeply. Well it was about time to educate myself and after seeing Sideways I've always wanted to do this.

The pride of the Barossa Valley is its shiraz. They claim to do a variety of other wines out there but everywhere we went all we saw was shiraz. It was a nice way to learn about one type of wine, which I'm sure you could spend ages doing. Out of dozens of wineries we drove past we stopped into just two of them. The first, Murray Street Vinyards with its gorgeous stone buildings and vine draped pergolas sat on of picturesque back drop of calmly rolling hills lined neatly with rows upon rows of burning yellow and red grape vines. For those of you in the northern hemisphere, you have to remember that its fall down here and consider the colors that come with it. For five bucks we got a seat on the porch over looking the vineyard and about a 30 minute presentation of all the wines in the tasting. Our server was patient and accommodating, she didn't even laugh at our questions. Even after paying for the tasting we felt obliged to buy a bottle, which wasn't as cheap as hoped. The second winery was called Whistler and this had more of a family farm vibe to it. The dirt road was lined with sheet metal folk art cut outs of families and some hokey looking animals. The tasting was much less formal but very free. We stood at the counter and made small talk with one of the proprietors. After a few nips and at this point a warm feeling in the soul we felt obliged to buy a bottle here as well. We stepped back out into the sun and walked over to an enclosure to pet some kangaroos who were quietly napping in the shade. They had absolutely no interest in us and we took that as a sign to get back to the wild side. Enough of this posh rigamarole, we were vagabonds and it was time to embrace it! 

We took off for Adelaide, an easy drive from Barossa and spent the night with Luke's brother George. George is a surveyor and has seen more of Australia than anyone I've met here thus far. Not only does he spend vast amounts of time looking at it from satellites and studying remote outback sites for work, but he is an avid bush walker and explorer. When we pulled out the maps to get some ideas flowing, what we got a gully washer! Within moments no less than 20 other maps appeared mysteriously on the table and were being unfolded in stacks. "If you go this way you can cut over and do the Oodnadatta track and see the Simpson Desert. Oh and you can't miss the Macdonell Ranges. What you've gotta do is take this small dirt track here through the Aboriginal territory, you need a permit to be there and there's no way they'll give you one but just tell them you're there to buy art work and they shouldn't give you any trouble." This guy had seen a lot! Even his eight-year-old boy scoffed at us when we told him we were doing mostly car camping instead of bush camping. Shaming aside we left Adelaide with a boat load of ideas. 

We decided to head North to the Flinder's Ranges and hike Mount Remarkable and the Wilpena Pound. I don't mean to sound redundant but the outback can be extremely flat. Shrubs, gumtrees, grass and dirt and thats about it for sometimes what seems like an eternity. So when one sees the slightest bit of a geographical feature of any sort it is easy to get over excited. And I'm assuming this is how Mt. Remarkable got its name. I don't mean to come down on it, but remarkable is a term I might reserve for something a little more astounding. Given its surroundings however, it does grab your attention. As we approached from the vast plains and the small yet hilarious town of Quorn, Mt. Remarkable makes its presence. A modest height of 995m it doesn't put the fear of god in you like some of the craggy monsters I experienced in New Zealand's Southern Alps, but its enough to stand out amongst the casual rolling hills that buddy-up next to it. Feeling a bit exhausted from all the stop-and-go, we pulled into the Melrose show grounds camping area and splayed out on the grass. The campgrounds were quiet and surreal. An old worn down Australia Rules Football (AFL) field sat at one end of a gently sloping savanna. The widely spaced, broad-trunked gumtrees provided enticing shade. Tufts of golden grass stretched in between and waved softly in the breeze. Mt. Remarkable would have to wait, I had to soak this up. After drifting in and out of consciousness for an hour or so I got up and packed some muesli bars and fresh clementines into my rucksack. I topped off my water bottle and grabbed my down jacket. The day was crawling into late afternoon and we wouldn't be off the mountain until after dark. As soon as that sun goes down the temperature in the outback drops like a rock. It was about 7km up an easy grade to the summit. We took our time and stepped cautiously as we crossed several precariously posed rock slides traversing the entire side of the mountain. They were the kind that echoed as the rocks shifted under your feet, suggesting that if you were a professional yodeler you could easily bring this mountain tumbling down. We reached the peak just as the sun was setting. I can honestly say the sunsets in the outback are unlike any I've seen before. And its not just an occasional one, its every night. Because there is so little topography the horizon goes on forever in all directions. There is really nothing you can say about it, you just stare and melt beneath it. We walked back down as far as we could without switching on our headlamps. I love night hiking, it seems to heighten all of your senses, plus its great to go spotlighting. Spotlighting is where you point your flashlight into the woods to see what kind of eyes you can find staring back at you. While I couldn't find any eyes on this hike I kept seeing hundreds of little blue reflective specs buried in with the rocks along the trail. Upon closer inspection it turns out they were eyes! Tiny little spider eyes shining back like blue sequins. Further along the trail Luke called out to me to come look at something. I walked over to find a brilliant gecko illuminated under his headlamp. This poor guy was missing his tail and oddly enough (after later looking him up in my reptile book ) I identified him as a fat-tailed gecko. Maybe it got too fat. 

The next morning we continued North with our sites set on Wilpena Pound, a horseshoe shaped loop in the Flinder's Range that hosts dozens of hiking trails, breath-taking rock formations and lots of wildlife. We pulled up to the car park outside the visitor's center and decided that since there were so many directions to go in and all of them seeming equally great that we should split up for the afternoon and get some much needed headspace. Luke chose to do the highly regarded St. Mary's Peak track, while I decided to do the shorter, steeper, and rockier Ohlssen Bagge track. As I stepped away from the visitor's center I was instantly amidst herds of kangaroos and emus. They had obviously become acclimated to people and were probably well fed because of it. Its still a bit unnerving to walk past a bird thats of equal size to you and has anything but a calm look in its eye. They seem wiry and unpredictable, even the thinning feathers on their heads gives them the look of being just about at wit's end. So I slinked past and began trudging up the rocky path. I met a couple more exotic lizards and wallabies along the way and before I could realize it I was climbing almost vertically up massive red boulders. The view from the top was stunning, just as expected. But I won't lie to you there is a point at which you have seen one too many scenic outlooks in a short amount of time. I was ready to move on. I met up with Luke back at the car and we started out for the campsite. It was just about dusk and the campsite was another 30km up the road. Now anyone in Australia will tell you, if you're in the outback driving at dusk… well its just better not to. Kangaroos for some unexplainable reason love to gather by roadsides just as the sun is going down. They'll just sit there either gazing across it or undecidedly hopping along it. And in The Flinder's Ranges National Park they were out in full force, it was like a parade gathering. In that 30km stretch of road we must have dodged or swerved a dozen times, all in all probably passing over a hundred of the bouncy assholes. 

The next couple of days it was time to cover ground. Out sights were set on Uluru Kata-Tjuta National Park to see the iconic red monolith that competes with the Sydney Opera House for the number one postcard image of Australia. When the kangaroos weren't around the only challenge of driving the long straight two-lane Stuart Highway was the road trains. A road train is just your typical 18-wheeler times 3, if you do the quick math, thats like 197 wheels. They're not small. Three trailers linked together in sequence, they can be over 50 meters long, thats half a football field of truck. Since there is no major railway running the length of Australia latitudinally, the major freighting method through these routes is the road train. Sizing up to them in the Golf was daunting to say the least. The speed limit for most of the Stuart Highway is 130 km/hr and when one passes you at that speed you can't tell if its pulling you in or throwing you clear off the road. The best bet is to get over as far on the left as you can and just hold on to the steering wheel for dear life. Sometimes showering you in a barrage of pebbles, or just leaving you blinded in a red cloud of dust you can't help but feel violated and small as you make it past another one. Between hair raising road train encounters we occasionally came across a town in the outback, and by town I mean gas station. Most of the time you have to stop because the next gas station will surely be out of range and as you can tell by the heaps of rusted out cars littering the roadside, you don't want to run out of gas here. People don't even bother to tow them, they just brown in the sun and become part of the landscape. So the typical town/gas station usually consists of just one establishment that acts as gas station, cafe, grocery store, pub, hotel,  and caravan park. You gotta love the roadhouse! 

After a day and a half of straight driving we had arrived at Uluru! Well sort of. Camping at the national park costs a hefty 36 bucks a night. A nearby "town" called Curtin Springs has free camping, we chose the latter. To see the sunrise or set on the great rock was apparently a sight not to be missed, I set my alarm for 5am the next day and was up headed for the park in pitch black. Being a major tourist attraction entry to the park is of course not free and don't worry someone will be up at the ticket window ready to take your $25 per head even before the crack of dawn. Once through the gate we drove over to the official sunrise viewing area. It was a large car park crawling with tourists, but thats ok, I've learned to love fellow tourists. Most people like to laugh and shun them. Keeping themselves a safe distance from the masses of embarrassing camera toting, map folding, sign reading nincompoops. But the truth is, we're all tourists. Anyone who enters a park of that scale is instantly a tourist the moment they cross through the gate. It doesn't matter how deep your motivation or calling may be, once you pay that admission boy, you have purchased your temporary identity: Tourist. But seriously, who cares. Thats just the way the system works, no matter how you slice it something this impressive is going to draw millions of people, and guess what, that doesn't make it worth any less. So you share the space with your fellow man, as tackily dressed as they may be, no big deal. Once you have accepted your true identity and huddle around with the other lemmings on your designated viewing platform and get to a spot where your view is unobstructed you look up and become entranced. The lemmings will fade out and you get sucked into the giant red rock. As the sun rises over the rock, you ooh and ahh as the hues of red become more intense. Its the largest rock in the world and perhaps for that reason has an unworldly feeling about it. Its a bit eerie, like it has a hold on you. Like buried in its core is an alien spaceship drawing you in with some invisible electromagnetic ray. Ok that sounds a little nutty but there is something entrancing about it. In the distance are the Olgas or Kata-Tjuta as they're known to the Aborigines. Another breathtaking gargantuan rock formation, this one looks like a neat cluster of odd-shaped village-sized boulders, like a cache of giant Easter eggs God never found. When walking alongside both Uluru and Kata-Tjuta (a cruisey 50 km apart) you get an urge to grasp them and start hauling yourself up the side. Now officially you are allowed to climb them but it is made obvious that this is discouraged. The Aborigines ask that you stay off of them because of their sacred meaning, and the park service asks that you stay off of them because so many people have fallen off or gotten stuck up there. Yet there is no rule saying you cannot climb, the reason: it would deter tourists. Kind of funny huh? 

After a long day of awing over geology and bizarre paranormal forces we were once again back in the car. No destination for the night we just kept cruising. Eventually we both got to a point where setting up tents in the dark in a mysterious field off the side of the road was just too much effort. We needed a break from the routine. So we pushed on to Alice Springs, the biggest town in the outback, I guess it could be considered a city? There we schlepped into a hostel and collapsed on the "luxurious" dorm beds. The next morning, with the triple S out of the way and feeling totally rejuvenated we split up to canvas the little oasis town. If Australia was a plate and you were to balance it on one finger, Alice Springs is where you would put that finger, its smack in the middle of nowhere. I was intrigued to witness the city's unique demographic. Alice Springs has the highest Aboriginal population of any large town or city in Australia. To an outsider they are a complete mystery. As I began strolling down the city streets lusting after a real cup of coffee, I noticed several groups of Aborigines walking up to each other from across courtyards, gathering around park benches and having quiet conversations around the fringes of common areas. Nothing odd about that until I realized after an hour or so that this was the case all across town and that these groups had found their destinations for the day. They didn't seem to go anywhere or have any agenda. They looked neither content or desperate, sort of like they were all sitting around waiting for something. But you get the feeling that this is the daily routine. They don't panhandle or busk and for the most part don't even make eye contact with westerners. They are there but they aren't. I felt particularly ignorant about the whole situation and decided I needed to educate myself. So I stepped into the Mbantua Gallery and Cultural Centre. Here they had a very concise and informative exhibit explaining some of the history and lifestyles of the Aboriginal people. Having been traveling through the outback with the luxury of a car and paved roads and yet still feeling it to be a struggle made me appreciate how resilient these people were. For 60,000 years they have been living off the land with almost no belongings or even clothes to protect them from the harsh elements. Just about every story I have read about westerners who get lost in the outback ends up with them dead as a doornail in 48 hours or less. Its that intense! The exhibit showed pictures and samples of the various seeds, berries, fruits and tubers that they would sustain on. It showed how they would locate water holes underground and communicate to each other how to find them. There were glass cases displaying the different spears and boomerangs used for hunting, fighting, and ceremonial purposes. And all of this had pretty much stayed the same for 60,000 years, talk about sustainability. Screw the mountain, this was Remarkable! The devastating thing is how fast it all crumbled. For the minuscule 200 years that westerners have occupied the continent they brought to a screaming halt the oldest sustaining culture in the history of the world. What remains is what I had just witnessed congregating aimlessly in the streets. Their art is a solid attempt to bridge an unfathomable gap. There's a plethora of galleries in Alice Springs and the art is probably the best way to spark interest in the fleeting culture.  Each painting is a story. Without a written language, the paintings and drawings are the only non-oral way of relaying information through the generations. The patterns and dots all represent specific elements of the nomads' daily lives in a beautifully abstract manner. 

We had made an attempt the day before to visit an aboriginal community the the intention of buying some art, as suggested by Luke's brother who proudly displays his two paintings above the dining room table. It sounded like a great idea. A way to directly support a struggling community and also a way to find an authentic piece of art that hadn't been skimmed over by a buyer. The art gallery George told us about was in a village called Iwantja and located a few kilometers off the Stuart Highway. We saw a sign and followed it down the unpaved path. Then right before the turn off another nice welcoming sign pointing into the community. As we pulled up to the village we were immediately removed from the western world. Packs of dogs roamed through the streets, ramshackle houses and cars baked in the sun, doors fallng off hinges, shattered windows, dead appliances strewn across the yards. Children played in the schoolyard behind heavy black metal bars. Across the street from the school a pack of men stood like tall shadows slugging on a paper wrapped bottle. We drove at crawling speed, one, to avoid puncturing a tire amidst the shrapnel that covered the streets, and two, because we had stirred the pot the moment we entered that place. Every pair of eyes we passed looked at us with distrust. We didn't belong there. We made the short loop to the end of the village with no art gallery in sight. As we inched back towards the road out we pulled along side a woman walking with a limp. "Do you know where the art gallery is?" Luke asked her in the most congenial voice he could muster. As she leaned in towards the car I saw that her face was badly swollen and deformed, so bad that images of the elephant man came to mind. She told us that the gallery was closed and that they were waiting for someone from Alice Springs to come down and reopen it. We thanked her politely and crept out of there. The whole experience was unsettling. (I am not saying this to be mean or judgmental, I am simply telling it as accurately as it felt, which was truly not pleasant. I don't mean to paint this aboriginal community in a bad light, I'm just not one to sugar coat things. I think its important to describe it as it was.) 

Here in Alice Springs things were not quite so bleak. I met a woman painting on the lawn outside the church. She waved me over and showed me the piece she was working on. She had just finished the base layer of black and gold and orange dots. She explained she was going to paint some waterholes and add some more dots in black and white. "Can you come back in 30 minutes," she asked. "I'll be done soon. Eighty dollars." It was a fair price compared to what they'd charge you in the galleries just in front of her. I came back in half an hour and it looked like she was far from finished. She asked me to come back in another 30 minutes and then it would be done. So I did, it still wasn't finished, and she made the same request. She had just sold another painting she had done earlier so I didn't feel bad when I decided not to go back again. It didn't quite strike me the way some other aboriginal paintings have, so I wasn't disappointed either. $80 is a lot of money on my strict budget and I didn't want to buy it just for the sake of charity. 

Back on the road. I left Alice with a new perspective on Aboriginal culture, not necessarily a clear one but I had at least something to mull. As we continued north we pulled off at a couple of small art galleries in search of that great find. If I was going to bring a memento home I couldn't think of anything better. Nothing seemed to grab me (at least nothing in my price range) and we kept on truckin. As it got later in the day we decided to make the Devil's Marbles campsite our destination for the night. The Devil's Marbles was yet another mystical rock outcropping resembling giant marbles. While flipping through the Lonely Planet guide Luke noted that we were headed towards a town/gas station called Wycliffe Well. He told me that Wycliffe Well is apparently famous for its frequent UFO sightings. Huh, imagine that, some loonies out in the middle of nowhere claim to be seeing aliens. I shrugged and kept on driving. As we approached Wycliffe from about 30km to the south, it was almost time for one of Australia's marvelous sunsets. As I glanced up to admire the subtle color change in the clouds I saw what looked like a giant shooting star. Now two things were wrong here, the size, it was about 20 times bigger than any star (shooting or non) that I've ever seen, and the time, it was still plenty bright out. And to put the icing on the cake I just happened to be looking right over Wycliffe Well! I saw what I saw. I'm not saying it was an alien, I'm just saying I saw what I saw, believe what you want. Of course after this "encounter" we had to pull into Wycliffe Well and get the scoop on this place. By the time we pulled up it was getting dark but you could easily make out the neon green plastic aliens positioned all around the building. The place was great! It was everything you would hope for in an overly eccentric alien themed roadhouse in the middle of the outback. Every wall was covered with some sort of alien propaganda. Murals, old news clippings, blurry photos, bumperstickers, fridge magnets, t-shirts, mugs, bandanas, it was great! In the back they had an alien museum which seemed more like an extension of the over-the-top merchandising but unfortunately it was closed. I asked the girl at the counter what the deal was with all the aliens and she informed me that they just have a lot of sightings, but she had only been there a few weeks and hadn't seen one, yet. The place was so perfect we had to stay and eat dinner. We ordered a couple of burgers with "the lot" and I was thrilled to find mine topped with lettuce, tomato, bbq sauce, cheese, bacon, a fried egg, pineapple and pickled beets?! Its the alien roadhouse in the outback, of course they have pickled beets. I loved every minute of it and wanted to call off the Devil's Marbles and stay there and bug out all night, but was easily dissuaded when I found out they wanted $25 for tent camping. So we said goodbye, paid the tab and took off into the night. Luke took the iPod and was determined to find a song. He put on a song that I've had on just about every playlist I've ever made, which puts it in the running for my favorite song of all time. I don't think there's ever been a more appropriate time to listen to Radiohead's Subterranean Homesick Alien. If you're not familiar with the song listen to it and imagine the setting we were just in. Well played my friend, well played indeed!

About an hour or so up the road we pulled into the Devil's Marbles campgrounds. It was packed with caravans. As we crossed the car park we noticed a dog here and there waiting eagerly outside some of the fire circles. Then it struck me that these were not just dogs but yep, bloody dingos! We found a good spot at the back of the grounds and shared a picnic table and Canadian Club with a friendly German couple. I told them I saw a UFO, and they asked how much of that whiskey I'd had already. Fair enough, I thought. After a discussion comparing the crazy outback roads with the intense German autobahn I felt like it was time to hit the hay. As I lay in my tent drifting off to the serenade of howling dingos, I thought to myself, this will be a hard day to top.

I woke up at 5 in the morning to a wind that was about ready to lift my tent off the ground. I was pretty tired but the noise of the wind and the flapping tent kept me awake. I crawled out and carefully took down the tent without losing it to the wind. The sun started to peek and the boulders all around me lit up like red deities. The Devil's Marbles is a fitting name. They are stacked in such a way that it looks like something carefully positioned them. Apparently these rocks form the same way Uluru and Kata-Tjuta did. They consist of a very dense erosion resistant matter that basically holds its ground while the rest of the ground over the eons of time gets washed away. Again I was enthralled watching the sun light bring this landscape to life. The combination of the intense reds, the deep blue of the sky and the soft earth tones of the surrounding bush creates an atmosphere that is very hard to get sick of. Unlike the sacred grounds of Uluru and Kata-Tjuta the Devil's Marbles can be climbed without offending the natives. So I watched the sun come up, bounced around the rocks, took about 200 photos and was ready to keep moving. On the way out we saw a couple dingos still lingering about the campgrounds, I hope they didn't get anybody's baby.  

The trip had been full on and we were growing weary of the road. We decided to push up to Tennant Creek, check another art gallery and then start the long haul back east all the way across Queensland and back to Brisbane where Luke lives. Tennant Creek was a eerie run down town but we had been told that there was a good art gallery there. At a cafe in the middle of town I went in and asked the woman behind the counter if she knew about it. We were told to drive into a neighborhood just past the BP and look for a sign or just pull up and ask someone, "You should be safe," she added, as if that made me feel any better. So we did just that and sure enough there was a sign indicating an art center. It looked like someone's house, complete with a few roaming dogs, so we were a little uneasy walking in to ask for art to buy. But we were greeted by a very nice woman who brought us back into the art room. I was surprised to see a great big table covered with canvases running the length of the room with about a half dozen women painting placidly. Our hostess pointed us to several stacks of canvases that we were free to look through. Again, I just didn't find any that really stood out to me. I think what happens with these places is that buyers from galleries come out on a regular basis and buy up the higher quality pieces. Our hope was to beat these buyers, but it appeared that we were passing one just as we walked in. We left without buying anything. I'm not quite sure how I felt about the whole situation but something didn't sit right. 

We were done, over the next 40 hours we covered 2,500km of desert, pasture and bush. We spent one night in the car because we didn't feel like setting up camp. I don't recommend it. We passed a handful of cattle and mining towns occasionally stopping for coffee and stretch breaks. The second night we attempted to camp but started down a dirt road that was as good as quicksand. Queensland had apparently been getting a bit of rain. This made the golf nearly useless off of the paved roads. So as we got closer and closer to Brisbane the thought of sleeping in a warm bed became a better option than sleeping in the car again. Around 4 in the morning we pulled up to Luke's house in the suburbs of Brisbane. It took us two weeks, we covered 7,000km. The Golf was a beast.

I spent the next two days sleeping and enjoying the luxuries of a real home. Luke showed me around Brisbane and took me to get a good cup of coffee. I caught a train to Sydney, it took 14 hours. I feel like I have purged something from my system, scratched my itch of wanderlust. So now what?   

and the road opens up...

Mt Solitary, Katoomba

Wallaby!

With a short pause in stride, I've worked around the last dilemma of what to do and come to an exciting solution. My fellow hotel refugee, Luke and I have decided to hit the road. A great Australian road epic. Starting tomorrow morning we head out from Sydney and head west. Our prospective journey will take us two to three weeks and get us out to Adelaide up to Uluru aka Ayers Rock aka the huge red rock that everybody thinks of when they hear Australia and then either out to Cairns and down the coast or an even longer stretch across the outback. Eventually ending up in Brisbane where Luke is from. When mapping it out on google, depending on which route we take its going to be between 6,700 and 7,200 km (roughly 4,000 to 4,500 miles). Not exactly a trip to the grocery store. Our chariot, a 1997 Volkswagen Golf. Having previously owned an almost identical Golf (despite the steering wheel being on the wrong side) I couldn't be happier about the vehicle, it was more fun to drive than any other car I've even owned. For the past 6 months I've been quite dependent on public transportation and the thought of ripping free on the long dusty roads of the outback on our own agenda making as many stops as we feel is purely liberating. The plan is to drive until we find something worth stopping for or until we need a break, no pressure to be anywhere and no deadlines to keep. To experience the outback, the great vastness that is this country.
My last week in Katoomba was a good one, I checked in to a very laid back hostel called No. 14 in which I lucked out by having my own room for only $22 a night. It was clean and quiet and thats all that I needed, but it also had a great kitchen, cozy lounge areas and a sunny veranda perfect for a lazy afternoon read. After unwinding for a few days and doing some casual research for our road trip, we decided to squeeze in one last hike in Katoomba's beautiful Blue Mountains. We hiked up Mt. Solitary and spent the night up on the ridge line . It was a picturesque campsite with amazing views of the valley below, we stoked up a nice fire beside the overlook and decided to sleep out under the stars. I awoke to the most incredible sunrise I have ever seen, so enchanted by it I couldn't be bothered to get my camera. The hike back to town was no easy stroll but was full of wildlife. I have a lot more to explore in Katoomba and look forward to getting back after the road trip. That being said I don't think I've been more excited for anything on this journey as much as I am for this drive...

Echidna (would not pose for photo)

a fork in the road

Hi folks, I know, once again I've been slacking at keeping you all up to date with the crazy ongoings of this journey. I've found that I am more inclined to write these entries as I grow closer to the next fork in the road, rather than when I'm cruising down it. And so as you may have assumed, here I am at the end of a road, glancing left, glancing right, and then once more over my shoulder. Before I get ahead of myself and tell you all about what paths I have to choose from, I suppose I should catch you up on where I'm standing. 

As I described in my last entry I had three job interviews, each of which very different from the next, and all of which just below my level of compromise. Well almost, I decided to give the hotel all-rounder position a try. No commitment necessary, paid work, new and beautiful town to explore, whats the harm? Well aside from a sinus infection and a slight case of the heebie-jeebies, no harm at all. I have been treated very kindly and I have no desire to hinder the business here, but I cannot work and live in a place that consistently grosses me out. It was mostly the staff cottage that caused me to quit. The accommodations were supposed to make up for the pay that was really just enough to scrape by on. But after scraping by on minimal pay and then resigning to my pest filled, fetid domicile every night I knew I'd had enough. Believe it or not I wasn't that in love with housekeeping work. But I come away with a new found respect for the brave souls who walk into hotel room after hotel room day after day turning trash heaps, stained sheets and unpredictable toilets into pleasant lemony scented nooks, ready for the next heathen to befoul. It's thankless work, and it's exhausting. My hat's off to the housekeepers of the world.

When I wasn't trudging through the darkness of housekeeping I was serving breakfast, doing dishes, setting tables, or working the reception desk. All of these other tasks were pleasant by comparison. All in all it didn't add up, I felt as though I was getting the short end of the stick on this deal and I was giddy as a school boy when I told them I was leaving. 

So we're almost to the fork, but there's more catching up to do. I can proudly say that I was not the only sucker duped into this role at the hotel. My first day on the job I was introduced to two other travelers both about my same age who had been there for a couple of weeks, and guess what? They were both quitting! It was about as subtle as a neon sign flickering "closed," swinging precariously from one hook before crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust. I quickly found out that these were two very cool, very normal people, with very good reasons for leaving. The greatest thing about having a shitty job is having someone to commiserate with. There has been no shortage of material, and we've been laughing our way through this hilarious muck hole. 

With one day of work left here I am standing at the fork. Here's what I see when I look ahead:

 Prong #1: Indulge in Australia. Spend my money on food, hostels, transportation, and pure leisure. Go rock climbing, mountain biking, trekking and kayaking. Not splurging or being careless with my money, but accepting the fact that it will run out and make the most of the few great weeks ahead of me here in Oz. Then cash out, buy plane ticket back to the states, and go on welfare.

Prong #2: The long road. Hunker down, find a better job, settle into Katoomba (or wherever this job may be) for a few months and save up the cheddar. Thus opening the door to countless travel options. The drawback: putting off travels, adventures, and the explosive spontaneity I've been feeding into.  

Prong #3: Push on and explore Thailand. Thailand and most of Asia will be extremely affordable. With the money I have saved I could live very comfortably in Thailand for a couple of months. It will be a completely different experience than anything I've encountered so far. New Zealand and Australia have been great but I am eager to get to a true foreign country. Thailand may be more westernized than most Asian countries but it is a good entryway into the continent. There are several possibilities when I get there but I think the best way to get settled would be to volunteer at a meditation center. This way I can take classes, meet people, have my own room and learn about the culture in a group setting. After exploring Southeast Asia my funds should be pretty well tapped and I'll either have to go back to Australia and work or go back to the states… and go on welfare.     

magpie

The Handle: It wouldn't be a true fork in the road if didn't have a road from which you came on. And if I am being totally honest with myself I have to look back that way as well. Obviously I would not backtrack my steps all the way and go home the exact way I came. It would be a waste and I could also not afford to do it. But I always do have thoughts of home in the back, front, sides, and middle of my mind. I would be denying myself if I said they didn't tug at me from time to time. This journey is totally in my hands and I can pull the plug whenever I want. Eventually those thoughts of home will tug at me enough to get me to make that call. I imagine at that point I will feel like my travel is fruitless, tiresome, and just too distant to continue, or I'll just be broke. But now is not that time! Onward. 

The Job Hunt

It feels like home. I have to say I have been exceptionally lucky with the hospitality I've had since starting my journey 5 months ago. But few things can compare to the comfort of seeing the signature JANardoza at the base of a beautiful watercolor. Joseph Aloysius Nardoza, my Granddad, started painting in his retirement and became quite talented and prolific. He didn't paint to gain social recognition, and never did, but he was good. Growing up Granddad's paintings were all over the house, in the foyer, kitchen, living room, dining room, bedrooms, bathrooms. In fact, I have trouble remembering any other artwork we had hanging in the house. A favorite of mine was one he did for me of my cousin Joe and I swimming at the pond at Hudson Guild Farm when we were toddlers. So here I am in Sydney, half way around the world and I get to run into a piece of home. It means a lot when you've been away for 5 months and don't plan on returning anytime in the foreseeable future. So how, you may ask did I run into this ancestral art. Well there just happens to be close friends of the family living here in Sydney that have been kind enough to take me in while I get settled in the land down under. The Julians are very good friends of my uncle Bob's  and he graciously made the connection for me. They have kept me well entertained and have shown me just how much there is to do in this town.

My first morning we were out on the harbor kayaking the crystal clear green waters. We are right down the street from Manly Beach, one of the surfing capitals of the world. And from here the beaches just keep going, to the north, to the south, beautiful water, perfect waves, and chock full of people doing just about every water sport you can come up with. I'm doing my best not to run over any swimmers in the kayak, but they are bloody everywhere.

Manly Beach

When you need a break from the water there's always mountain biking. The other day Matty and I jumped on the bikes and decided to go check out the bike trail just up around the corner. I was blown away. This was the best mountain bike trail I've ever been on and its right in the middle of the neighborhood. Climbing up and flying off rocks that look like they've been transplanted from Mars, we quickly realized this was not a beginner's trail. It is the perfect trail to practice on. I'm not going to lie, I jumped off more than a couple times, and sometimes intentionally. I will definitely be out there again to tackle some of the bigger drops.

While not getting a physical work out I've been getting the mental work out back at the house. I've been thrilled to find out that the Julians are RISK players! Go ahead laugh, make fun, but if you get into it you will have trouble finding a more competitive game than RISK. I'm not kidding it gets intense.

So yes, I've been having a great time, but I do have a goal and that keeps me pretty busy as well. The job hunt. I've been going at it from a couple different angles, the first and most plentiful resource is the good old inter web. The two major sites I use are SEEK and TAW (travelers at work). SEEK is your basic job listing website, not too different from monster or job finder. It has stuff all over Australia and ranging from  minimum wage to six figure salaries. The TAW site is geared totally for the backpacker. Australia doesn't seem quite as overrun with backpackers as New Zealand did but they have more room to hide here. So my fellow filthy working holiday visa holders get herded through the system and put on every variety of menial tasks. From the glorious fruit picking to the shameful goat milking Australians are ready to throw us into their most unwanted jobs with an eager smile on their face. But don't forget the fierce competition. That man holding the clipboard has already talked to 15 desperate, naive, sweaty 19 year old backpackers with absolutely no skills whatsoever. And they'll sign up for ANYTHING! So being 29 and having been through my fair share of job interviews I find myself holding very few cards. No leverage. They are looking for drones. I feel a bit like Jermaine when he and Bret were interviewing for the sign holding job.

So far I've had three interviews all of which completely different. The first was advertised as "Milkman" and was described as a food delivery service in which I would be taking orders and delivering food. Didn't sound horrible. Who doesn't like the milkman? So I get an email back from them asking me to call in and set up an interview. So I do and it turns out they are having a training that day, and if the interview goes well I can sit in on the training and start that afternoon. So I run out and catch the bus and I'm in downtown Sydney within the hour. The building looks nice and I walk in and wind around the corridor in search of the room. I hear it before I see it. The sound is unmistakable, hostel. Well at least I didn't smell it before I heard it, which is the case with some of the hostels I've been to. But lets not get confused here this was a job interview. I walk into the suite and there's about a dozen 18 to 20 year olds all gathered around a tv and an x-box. The walls are covered in beer posters! The kind of which are the most hilarious form of amusement to the 18 year old binge drinkers. There is a pingpong table in the middle of the room, and to my surprise they had managed to clear the empty beer cans and solo cups off of it. It was training day after all. I look around for the man I spoke with on the phone and he must have been in the office conducting another interview. Behind me strolls in Sam, and proudly introduces himself as a manager. Oh jesus. Between the battle of sweat and crust raging on his forehead, I'd say crust was winning. I asked him if Marty was around, who I had talked to on the phone. Marty was indeed conducting an interview, but there was plenty of time for a game of pingpong with Crusty while I waited. We half-ass-edly tapped the ball back and forth neither of us really wanting to play. Then Crusty honed in on an 18 year old girl waiting idly for the training to start. Its been a few years since I've been to a frat party but this seemed about right. "Where you from," he groaned. And the conversation was off and bubbling. It turns out she knew his ex-girlfriend. It was a charming conversation in which she most often replied "no way!" And he somehow managed to use the word tits about 40 times. Oh Crusty, you lady's man you! Finally Marty came out of the office and I barged in to get this interview over with. I hate interviewing with someone younger than me, but I swallowed my pride and allowed this to play out. He had the sales pitch down pat. He was a genuine bullshitter and it appeared to be paying off for him. This guy was about 25 and had an army of 19 year olds canvasing neighborhoods for him selling grocery packages door to door. The position was commission based and completely unpredictable as far as pay would go. I told him I couldn't commit to it, but if he let me sit in on the training I would give him an answer afterwards. This caught him off guard and didn't sit right with him. He sort of stammered and declined, claiming this would be a waste of time if I decided not to do it. So I shook his hand, thanked him for his time, walked out the door and looked for hand sanitizer.

Darling Harbour

Interview number two. In case you haven't picked up from the first scenario I am staying as flexible as possible to consider my options. So the next position I interviewed for was also well outside my area of expertise. It was for a concierge position in a high end shopping center downtown. For those of you back home, think Tysons II. Yes, concierge position, I know. It doesn't matter I'm going for whatever I can get, and this pay would lead to many adventures. So I was to interview with Larry (names have been changed to protect egos) at the corporate office downtown. This was a slight change of pace from the last... interview? Mixer? So yes I actually prepared, shaved, and suited up. Michael was very generous to let me borrow an Armani suit, shirt, tie, shoes... and yes, socks. Lets not forget my full traveling wardrobe is shoved in a trash bag. Those of you who know me well, might know that my resume contains nothing even close to concierge work, not even retail or waitering experience. This meant it was time to pour on the charisma. Thats it, I'll win him over with my charming smile and hilarious wit! Unfortunately, I was not inspired by the aesthetic of the corporate office, the cold sterile walls and glass terrarium like conference room the interview was held in. I was greeted with a plastic smile and a pudgy limp handshake. If you have ever had a bad job interview, this is it. For being the head of the concierge department Larry was anything but welcoming, but he reassured me during the interview that he was good with people. Right off the bat he knew that I could only work for three months and then I would bail on him. So that was the deal breaker, but for some reason he wanted to see if I could wow him and make my short time worth the training period. And here it is, the type of question everyone who has ever been interviewed loathes. "What is the greatest thing the world has ever produced?" JESUS CHRIST! Looking back on it that should have been my answer, then he couldn't have said anything and I could have just passed for some religious nut. But no, I squirmed, and ahhed and ummed, and then blurted out, "people?" Nope, it turns out the right answer is me. So I'm supposed to sound like a pompous ass in front of this... well, pompous ass. There were a couple more awful philosophical questions and then I was released. He claimed that he would have given me the position if I had been able to stay longer, but as a consolation he would offer me the doorman position. No thank you.      

Interview number three. Hotel all-rounder. Of all the interviews so far, this one was actually the most intriguing. The work would be interesting and I would get free accommodation in the staff cottage. The position is just as it sounds, and the hotel is located in a town called Katoomba in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales. A two hour train ride from Sydney, it was a great excuse to go out for the day and see some more of the countryside. When I arrived in Katoomba it was cold and misty. Thick fog rolled over the Blue Mountains and a light misty rain clung to my rain jacket. It made me miss the Pacific Northwest. But I was immediately comfortable in the cosy little day-tripper town. Cafes and coffee shops lined the main drag with outdoor sport store stuck in between. A good vibe indeed! I walked across town to the hotel and introduced myself at reception. The hotel was built about 90 years ago and still retains some of its old-world charm. Some, being the operative word. I was escorted downstairs to the cafe to meet with Jeff the manager. Jeff was dressed like an effeminate Brian Johnson (AC/DC). Much like my first interview it was obvious that Jeff had a plethora of desperate backpackers in his back pocket. And that he wasn't necessary looking for skill or experience but rather someone he could take advantage of. This showed in the hotel. Four of these all-rounders ran the whole place. No experience necessary! Maybe not the best approach when competing with three other hotels on the same block in a small town. The clincher for this job was the free accommodation and the location. Katoomba is very scenic, leads right in to several hiking and biking trails and is one train stop away from rock climbing galore. So if it meant hauling up in the sty of a staff cottage for a few weeks, that would be ok. I would still get a good experience out of it. It wasn't a great pitch on Jeff's behalf and he came across far from trustworthy, but I'm on an adventure and this place was worth a shot. So when he told me to think about it and let him know, I told him I was game. Its obvious he was pretty new at the whole interview thing because he quickly retracted the offer and told me he had some more interviews to conduct and would have to get back to me. He seemed coked up and confused and kept talking himself in circles, a great guy to work for! I'm not holding my breath although I might need to practice with the way the staff house smelled. The search continues....

Sydney Opera House

      

E noho ra Aotearoa

Fiordland

In like a lion out like a... kiwi? My time in NZ has flown by and it's already time to say my goodbyes. My last week has been a whirlwind of activity. Waiting for opportunities to arise has been quite fruitful. Just by hanging out around the cafe I've been able to tag along on three different outings this week. 

The first of these outings was a day trip to Dunedin, the second largest city in south island and home of the university of otago. I had hoped to see the albatross colonies on otago peninsula and maube see some penguins and sealions. But when I got to dunedin I quickly found out that they have been very intricately marketed and commercialized. A huge disappointment, the cheapest shuttles and/or tours out to the colonies ran about $90!  For a cheap vagrant like me that's just a bit out of range, even for albatrosses. So it was on to plan B, chocolate factory! Cadbury World in downtown Dunedin gives tours of the factory every hour. Having grown up on Cadbury eggs and Charlie and the chocolate factory this was a welcomed second choice. With Gene Wilder singing in my head I proudly donned my white hairnet and matching mustache snood and followed behind our purple overall-clad slightly oompa loompa like tour guide. It was not quite as fantastical as I had hoped but there was a chocolate waterfall, a mountain of crunchie bars and plenty of chocolate to eat along the way! After sickening myself on chocolate it made perfect sense to visit another one of Dunedin's famous landmarks, the world's steepest street. Baldwin Street is just a residential street on the northern side of Dunedin which is dauntingly steep, and yes they do get snow there.

pretty steep

My second tag-along outing was an offer to go boating on Lake Dunston with one of my coworkers at the cafe, Bridget. She and her boyfriend own a jet boat and go wake boarding there whenever they get a free weekend. The beauty of getting invited on these trips is that I've gotten a chance to see a part of the country that most tourists don't get a chance to. Lake Dunston is a sparkling gem of a lake; crisp green glass like water with dramatic rock faced mountains shooting up its banks. Having never wake boarded before my new friends were kind enough to give a quick rundown of the basic idea. So I squeezed into a wetsuit and scrunched my feet into the bindings. The preferred method is to sit in the water and bring your knees up as high as they'll go to your shoulders, I call this "frog boy" position. Then the boat goes and you let your instincts tell you how to stand up on this thing. Well, I'm no pro but that's the best advice I can give. It was a blast! The wipe outs are half the fun but for the next two days I was sore in muscles I  didn't know existed.

Water sports!

My third local-to-Lumsden adventure was a day trip to Fiordland. Dave, the Lumsden electrician was heading out to NZ's largest national park and most remote wilderness area for "a hunt and a fish" and asked if I'd like to come along. Fiordland is often referred to as the most scenic part of the country and is home to the infamous Milford and Doubtful Sounds. The Milford Track is the hottest tourist activity in the country, and with good cause. The scenery is spectacular and the 4 day hike has become sort of a cliche tourist adventure. So getting to see a part of Fiordland that most Kiwis haven't even had a chance to see was thrilling! I met Dave at the cafe at 5 am and we took off in the dark. At dawn we were just entering the gates of the park. We drove along a  rugged access road in the white Nissan sedan, which he treated like a ute (pickup truck in Kiwi). Along the way he would stop and use an electronic stag call to try to summon up some deer, with poor results. I don't hunt, and don't have much interest in it but I was eager to catch some fish. At the end of the road was Lake Manapouri where we would drop our lines in hope of some hungry trout. But the highlight of the day was bush whacking our way out to a spot along the river that he and his family have been coming to for 30 years. It's everything you want a secret fishing spot to be, tranquil doesn't do it justice. With high hopes we fished until dusk, but unfortunately never reeled anything in. It's alright though, I left Fiordland with a full sense of gain, and the fish didn't seem to matter.
So it was back to Lumsden for my last couple of days in New Zealand. It's been a wonderful couple of months full of unbelievable scenery, beautiful birds and wildlife, the freshest air, cleanest water and  caring and funny people. I'll miss New Zealand for sure, but I'm definitely amped up for the next chapter...

Lake Manapouri

Leave your stepping stones behind something calls for you
Forget the dead you've left they will not follow you
The vagabond who's rapping at your door
Is standing in the clothes that you once wore 
Strike another match go start anew
And its all over now, Baby Blue.


-Bob Dylan