Life and Times of LB

LURRYWALES.COM

2011-05-22T09:35:00.002+10:00

Please Check Out My New Site: LURRYWALES.com

Surfing in Harrisonburg?

2009-11-01T06:46:00.003+10:00

Sun Downing's Never Getting OLD

2009-11-01T06:44:00.003+10:00

Quote to Us

2009-10-30T00:22:00.001+10:00

About the most originality that any writer can hope to achieve honestly is to steal with good judgment.
- Josh Billings

Hunting Season

2009-10-21T00:16:00.004+10:00

Stoked that it is finally time to get back in the woods and do some hunting

Counting On...

2009-10-13T23:28:00.001+10:00

In a world like this one there are only a couple things that you can always count on:

coffee and music

iTunes and Closet

2009-09-22T11:04:00.002+10:00

Songs on my iTunes are like clothes in my closet. Some get used, some get used a lot, and some never at all. Either way they sit there are take up space.

Sun Downing's Never Getting OLD

2009-09-15T11:56:00.002+10:00

land OO lakes

2009-09-02T13:10:00.001+10:00

Monday Nights with Bourdain

2009-09-01T11:16:00.000+10:00

No Reservations 10pm on the Travel Channel

This might be the coolest guy ever. Man Crush? Indeed

A Few Koozies Left

2009-08-27T23:40:00.003+10:00

Don't Let It Pass You By! After GRADUATION how else will you remember some of the greatest days of college that you spent drinking more or less of you face off?

If you don't have one you're only lying to yourself...

$3 each, shoot me at waleslb@gmail.com to get yours today

I Love Thursdays

2009-08-27T23:31:00.003+10:00

Not only does the weekend (officially, but not really) begin but TheWorldsBestEver.Com always has this:

*theworldsbestever.com

A Little Piece of Heaven

2009-08-27T00:10:00.002+10:00

Feeling OLD

2009-08-25T23:22:00.004+10:00

Being Back in Harrisonburg couldn't be more fun. I've liked seeing school friends* and class friends** as well as home friends***; however, being a senior, it has me feeling VERY OLD.

*kids you know from going here. you see them on the weekend when you party together.

**you talk about what your'e doing for the weekend Wednesday to Friday (in class). you say "we should get together, I know of a party, but never do. 3 or 4 times per semester you may see this person at a party. you either (a.) completely ignore them or (b.) go make drunken conversation where you strictly talk about the hot girl in class or how much the last test killed you.

***kids from home that you have known from highschool, or from freshman year that are friends of friends

Step Up Your Game Natty Light!

2009-08-24T09:49:00.002+10:00

By far the coolest thing I’ve ever done...

2009-08-16T10:19:00.003+10:00

I woke up early my 2^nd day in New Zealand. I made instant coffee and French toast. I put my bed (surfboard bag) away. I drove about 20 minutes out of town. I arrived to skydive. There was 1 guy there. The other was on the way. I tested out a suit and hopped in. The only guy there put the harness on me and started adjusting and tightening the straps. Quickly the man stepped back and looked at me in a confusing manor.

“Ah, I’m not even sure how these things work,” he added as he walked back behind the counter.

“Here we go,” I thought to myself as I gave fake laugh out loud. With the arrival of the other guy, I found out that the first guy was only the pilot. Slightly more relieved, I signed my death wavier liability and paid while I sipped on what could possibly be my final cup of coffee. The harnesses were fastened and we walked out back to the little plane and did a couple of dry runs on what would be happening. Within 10 minutes of arrival we were on the runway in the plane which didn’t have any other seats, besides of course the one for the driver. As the altitude rose I made a conscious decision that one day I would have “Pilot” on my resume. I could see the entire Bay of Islands now. I looked below during one of the steep turns. I enjoyed the view rather than processed what I was about to do in the following 5 minutes. I wish I was more scared. The “old LB” would have been. I tied my camera to a strap which I’m pretty sure isn’t normally allowed. We locked up before the door flew open. That was a noise that I’ll never forget. Holy Shit!

“Head out to the wing,” I was directed.

I proceeded. My eyes were as big as saucers and my stomach was inching north through my ribcage with an intended destination of my throat. I looked south through the clouds to the very hard ground below. I received a tap (meaning the go ahead) and we were off. This was a dream. Surrealism took over my brain and vision as “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” by The Who blasted over the sound of the intense wind zooming past my face. As memories can seem both “like yesterday” and yet “years ago” instantaneously, flying 120 miles per hour towards the earth can seem both like slow motion yet incredibly fast at the same time. Complete Elation...

The shoot was pulled and it all sank in. We were still very high up: cruising, flying, pulling the straps and doing turns. Although there was a huge man of 6’4” and well over 200 pounds, I couldn’t tell. I was free.

4 Year Party

2009-08-16T09:17:00.003+10:00

I am entering the last quarter of the 4 Year Party called College. Ole' Mr. James Madison has treated me very well. After a conversation with a recent JMU graduate, who currently has a 9-5, I feel inspired and compelled to carry out what are now his dreams as I know that he will be living vicariously through my stories.

We shall rage... We shall go out even though we have a test the following day. We shall make bad decisions and momentarily call them regrettable. We shall stay up late. We shall cram for tests. We shall only drink 2 beverages: coffee and alcohol. We shall wake up confused, we shall wake up very, very confused. Although, I do not have much intention on landing a "real" job, I do intend on taking full advantage of college and the art of partying in every respect.

School in a Week!

2009-08-12T04:26:00.003+10:00

There are only three things I'm going to miss

sand in my bed
my dog
free food

I mean how cool is college? You constantly get to make bad decsions in a playground built for irresponsible freshly ex-teenagers and without parents, there is no one to tell you to do otherwise. The most important thing that you have to do is take a test for 1 hour or write a paper that is 5 pages. That is it! Life is good, Life is oh so good.

JMU, Here I come.

HST VS. LB

2009-08-11T08:19:00.008+10:00

* http://www.anticlockwise.com/images/hstssc.jpg

"We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug-collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge. And I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon..."- HST

I had 2 surfboards, 1 backpack, an 8 foot coffin boardbag with 2 broken wheels, over 28,000 miles to go, 1 camera, 1 deck of cards that was full to my knowledge, a whole galaxy of multi-colored stories to come: uppers, downers, screamers and laughers and also, 1 nalgene bottle, 3 pairs of trunks, 1 rusty knife, a growing 5 pound sack of dirty clothes, a limited bank account, and 1 tube of zink oxide. I needed most all of that for the trip, but once you get into a personal core-score battle the tendency is to push it as light as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the bank account. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a poor man in the depths of a surf travel spending binge. And I knew I’d get into that rotten stuff pretty soon...

If JMU Had A Beach, I'd Never Leave!

2009-08-11T08:07:00.004+10:00

Surfing Related Summer Saga

2009-08-09T10:03:00.005+10:00

Being bored, I agreed to go sit at the beach and attempt to surf the 8 inch waves that plague the Eastern American coastline every summer. It was Friday at 1:30. Which is an illegal time to surf in Virginia Beach unless you are surfing at 1st, 4th, or Croatan beaches. It is also illegal to surf without a leash at all times. There was no a body in the disgustingly murky waters within 100 yards of either side of my location. I had a beer and entered the water. After paddling around for 35 minutes, I noticed that the end was near. A police officer and his lackey were filling up their running shoes with copious amounts of sand and their head with ego as they flagged me out of the water. I was asked in a sarcastic manner how I could pass my surfboard to my friends with a leash on. I cracked an "are you kidding me?" grin and laughed with a hint of devil. I was asked if I had read the sign at the entrance of the beach. I provided the same reaction. The other guy was being annoyingly nice to the police in an attempt to get out of the ticket. The "yes sirs" and bullshit talk was getting him nowhere. I watched him drown as he gave the officer his details. I sat down and waited for my turn.

I was the complete opposite. I made it as hard for the officer as possible as the tone ego in his voice made words seem almost foreign. I gave him my information. He didn't believe me when I told him that I didn't know my social security number as he shouldn't. He had to call it in and asked for my descriptors over the phone.

"Ok, so he's saying he's 5'11" and 165, that check out?"

I laughed again, being correct.

"Ok, well I have your social if you want it. You might want to memorize it, so no one can steal your identity."

"How can anyone steal my identity if I don't even know it myself," I jolted back.

The officer was frustrated as he stumbled over some non important words handed me hundreds of dollars worth of tickets and walked away, leaving other surfers in the water just blocks down. I walked back to the cooler, cracked a cold one, and recounted the moment before. I complained about being poor to whoever I talked to when I drove home.

I walked in the door and browsed through the mail. Ah, a letter. I opened it without a tool only to find a speeding ticket that I received in New Zealand. I guess my handwritten letter of persuasion about a fake meeting with the admissions office with a graduate school program wasn't believable either, as it shouldn't of been.

A "Working" Vacation

2009-07-22T08:34:00.001+10:00

After a year, I’ve made my return, as promised, to a place that I truly enjoy. Although I will not me making my mark for 6 weeks like last summer, my drive here was enough to leave me nostalgic with the memories of Fire Island, rocket fuels, solo brews on the way to the city, nights in the city, (insert rides home from the city here [unremembered]), snow balls, big family house parties, and afternoon cocktails; a genuine working vacation. Sometimes I feel more at home here, than in my native city of Virginia Beach. Not that I know where much is… Actually I don’t know where anything is. I usually ask for directions to the gas station. I have a 15 minute drive to work at the beach off of the Ocean Parkway and I have no reason to go anywhere else than “home.” I am on Long Island, NY in West Islip. I have come here to run surfing camps again, as I did last summer.

It is here that I live like a king. Daily, I drink as many ~~Long Island Ice Teas~~ Vodka Martinis on the rocks with a thin slice of lemon as I eat meals; usually about 4 or 5. These Italians will not let you walk away from the table… literally. After a meal at this kitchen table it is borderline impossible to do anything, but thank the cook and advise others how full you really are. They exchange the same details. At a meal time it is crucial that you eat double the amount that you would normally need in ordinary circumstances. The food is too good to turn down. Homemade Italian from real Italians, need I say more? I look at the meal on my plate and basically everything came from the garden or was created in the pots, pans, or cutting boards that now relax in the bubble bath sink before being massaged clean.

After teaching local Long Islanders, City Dwellers, and Jersey Shore kids to surf all morning my afternoons are completely reserved for pool swimming, book reading, and hammock napping.

Needless to say, life is good. And getting better… I need another beer.

Summer So Far...

2009-07-21T07:04:00.002+10:00

Being employed by only the occasional surfing lesson (until now) has given me the opportunity to try out a few things this summer. I have worked as an artist: putting extensive wall finishes in a million dollar home. I have installed windows in a University of Virginia dorms (although they had to be taken out after a combination of carelessness from many allowed them to be put in without the proper measurements). I have completely demolished my sister's bathroom with a sledge hammer and ipod speaker in 3 days.

Finally I'm out of town... After travelling for the better half of six months and going a new place every couple of days for the last two of them, being in Virginia Beach for a month straight has forced the word restless out of every pore of my body. I believe this is some sort adverse effect of reverse culture shock, but either way... it has been good to get out.

After loading my car with surfboards, bathing suits, and a few shirts I was off, mapless*, to Bethany Beach, Delaware to surprise some friends who work as life guards in their parents beach houses for the summer. And surprise them I did. I made my way up the Delmarva Peninsula and onto the beaches of Bethany. There I found my old comrades, whom I spent everyday with in Australia, monitoring the water but paying better attention to the weekly 17 yr old female renters walking along the edge.

I spent the weekend "Lurring" and made my hungover way to Long Island, again mapless, on Sunday. I'll go to the city a few times only to return home next week, more than likely in more financial than when I left.

* MapQuest, GPS systems, or even an ordinary road map (if it is in your native language) can take away from possible opportunities for adventure and thus lead to predictable circumstances

Leaving Singapore

2009-07-21T06:46:00.006+10:00

May 24^th-

Singapore Airport: Gate C-16

I’ll tell you… No one gives you shit, when you are walking through Chinatown with a proper backpack that could hold a small child and a surfboard coffin bag that is well, the size of a coffin. No one asks you if you want a massage, to glance at the pictures in the menu, or even to stop for a happy hour Tiger beer. They stare. They stare good and hard, as if they have never seen a person lug around such a large bag.

I was drenched in sweat with sunglasses on and my tee shirt over my shoulder. I was headed to the Chinatown MRT station to catch a train to the Chengi Airport. I vouched to take the train because it would me $2.90 SGD, minus the $1 that I would have gotten back for depositing the card. I made my way through the sea of tailors, money exchangers, and other various street vendors to the entrance of the MRT. I made my way down the escalator without falling the entire way down. I purchased my ticket and made my way through the gate, where I would take the next escalator downstairs to the NE platform towards Harbour Front. BUT… I was stopped dead in my tracks as if I was as crazy as I looked.

“No, no, no,” said the fat, usually tall Chinese man. “No surfboard on MRT,” he screamed.

“I have already purchased my ticket,” I explained.

“We can refund”

“I took the MRT when I got here with my surfboards,” I lied. “There are no signs posted anywhere saying you can’t bring surfboards.”

“No, no. I get refund now.”

“Well, how the hell am I suppose to get there, I don’t have the money for a cab,” I was getting heated.

“No my problem, is it?” He said was a hint of devil

“Not your problem eh?” I was beginning to make a scene. I snatched my money from his hand, which I assume was completely in coinage due to its complete inconvenience. I kicked the gate open and mumbled something like, “you work in a f***in’ train station, you f***in’ (insert derogatory term here).” I had to kick the gate open again as it came closing shut a lot faster than I thought and I almost fell over.

So I made my way back up the escalator and onto the street where I flagged down a couple of cabs and got laughs when they saw my board bag. “I have straps,” I exclaimed to them in pity. After the second one had passed and didn’t have the name of a shuttle I could take, a man walked up.

“You really trying to get cab with big bag?” He said with that stupid Asian grin. (I need to get out off of this continent).

“I can’t walk to the airport,” I said with sheer sarcasm.

“You call the-”

“I have no phone,” I cut him off because I did not see this conversation going anywhere. Just then the guy got out his phone.

“I call shuttle,” he glanced to his wife and child like the hero he was. My demeanour changed quickly by adding in numerous “pleases” and “thank yous.”

He called and sure enough after about 5 minutes (no really, 5 minutes). A white shuttle with the proper license plate number arrived. He advised me: it will only be $45 SGD and that I should not pay anymore; there would be a small fee if I used my credit card; I should make him take my bags. I followed the appreciated advice, thanked the man with a handshake, and took off to the airport. Knowing that I could pay on my credit card put me at ease, as I was attempting to leave Singapore with $11 SGD and I was definitely not trying to get out a pitiful amount of money with the transaction fee probably being more. On the ride, the driver told me that I should have left my boards at the airport in a deposit box like all the other surfers who stroll through Singapore for the weekend. Then, I could have taken the MRT, he told me. I signed for the charge and exited the van.

I made my way over to the JetStar counter very cautiously, first walking by without my huge surfboard bag to size up the lady at the check-in counter that I was going to be working with. After my $100 USD baggage fee from that shitty little airline called ValuAir, and given that I have begun to run really low on funds, I have to go these things.

Knowledge: There is always a carry-on weight limit (this one was 10 kilos). I knew this, but I also knew that the counter persons rarely, if ever, actually weight the carry-on bags, unless they look ridiculously stuffed to the gills with cheap t-shirts and duty free booze.

Plan: I left my bigger backpack on an empty chair in the waiting area… exactly what they preach against doing, and caution everyone to call security for. I was doing this because the counter person would not know that I would be obviously overweight on my carry-on because I would only be holding my little bag, so she would have no reason to weigh it.

I walked to the counter harmlessly with my surfboard bag and my small backpack. I can always tell how hard I am going to be hit with baggage fees by the look on the counter person’s face within the first few seconds that I walked up. She looked at me with a smile. I was surrounded by Aussies and immediately felt nostalgic, as I used JetStar for every weekend getaway while in OZ. I put my bag on the oversized scale to see that it was 10 kilos overweight.

“Will you be paying with credit card, or cash Mr. Wales?” She asked politely.

I love it when I am referred to in such a professional way, but I asked “how much” in a pitiful, young, poor, traveller tone.

“20 Singapore per kilo, sir.” I nearly shat myself.

“I’ll try to put some things in my carry-on, its very light, as it only has my computer,” I lied. Well, not really. This, bag really did only kind of have just my computer in it, but the huge bastard in the corner had enough stuff for a small country.

I transferred clothing, wetsuits, sandals, and a pair of booties until I was only 3 kilos over. I always put a bit of the bag on the side of the scale, so that the measurement works in my favour. We agreed the price of $60 SGD. She asked me again how I’d be paying and I said credit card. But somehow, just then, it slipped over, and the scale revealed the true weight: 5 kilos over; another $40. The nice woman smiled and lied through her teeth as I had been doing and said “it’s only 3 kilos over.” Because I was paying with credit card, her manager would need to sign off on it and she had just walked away. She asked me to come back in 15 minutes. This was perfect because my little bag was kilos away from being able to zip. This gave me time to run back to the big bag that people were probably beginning to think was some kind of bomb and I could transfer things over and get everything perfect. I sat on my bag so that I could muster the strength to pull the zipper shut. Everyone around was laughing.

I left both bags and walked back over to the counter. “Why it is your lucky day Mr. Wales. My manager has waived the fees for the bag from here to Darwin and Darwin to Sydney.”

“Damn,” I though to myself. I wonder how much stuff I could have left in there before I really had to pay for the whole lot.

On "On The Road"

2009-06-30T11:37:00.010+10:00

My bed is constantly changing...

I shut my eyes on couches without cushions, floors both hard and carpeted, in airports, apartments, airplane seats: middles, windows, and aisles, train booths, surf board bags, buses, beaches, camper vans, and back seats of cabs

Backpacks, sweatshirts, towels, and balled up t shirts become makeshift pillows

My clothes are worn day in and day out; stains like scars should be worn with pride and accompanied with a story

My hair can be shaped in any desired direction and as it grows longer, can soften the uncomforting blow of sleeping on a solid floor

With a little hunt and a bit of luck I find little gems for brekkys, lunches, dinners, and meals in between

Over these cheap local eats, coffees, and beers, I swap stories, converse worthwhile conversations, and compromise card games with complete strangers, fellow travelers, and solo wanderers

I crunch exchange rates, negotiate over pennies, and walk away with black bags, a full stomach, and a good buzz, if I was looking to find one

I’m not ready to say goodbye to an intoxicating amount of complete liberation and elation

See you later,

Going Home Feels Like Surrender

2009-06-09T13:21:00.005+10:00

Well, I stopped writing. I can't really put a finger on it, but I think not having a good light at night while I was in my camper van in New Zealand had something to do with it. During the days I was typically surfing, cooking, driving, or map reading. By night I watched a movie and usually fell asleep, wrapped in my surfboard bag, parked in some illegal fashion.

I am going home tomorrow. I may not be ready to go home, but I am ready to leave Fiji. I'll explain the place in a later post. It is going to be strange re-entering my native country after being gone for so long. Back to a life of not much myster-"ity." A cell phone will become a Global Positioning System for others to find out where I am and what I am doing at all times. I will be able to complete a full day without attempting to choke down another bowl of instant cup noodles. That will be good. I will not have to really worry about the bed bugs, or much of bugs in general. I will not have to convince myself that the ants crawling over my food will be a good source of protein, especially since I have been lacking any form. As far as food goes in general, I will be better off in the States.

I plan on attempting to sit first class on my flight home. I have a plan, and a backup. If they do indeed fall through, I will be sitting on the aisle in coach. Window gives for a better sleeping position, but I'm thinking ahead. After all the booze I plan on consuming on the 10 hour ride, an aisle seat will allow me to move to and from the bathroom as I choose without disturbing the unlucky soul that will watch me drown my fears of going back to a place of responsibility; a place where credit card debts are real and these people called parents will be the first to tell you.

Currently Packing,
LB

Losing Things and Leaving Indo

2009-05-24T17:43:00.000+10:00

May 11^th- 15^th

Padang Bai, Bali – Lembar, Lombok

I departed Nusa Lembogan this morning at 8. After an egg, cheese, and avocado jaffle, coffee, and fresh banana, melon, and pineapple covered in squeezed lime, I hopped on the public ferry. Not before doing a quick once over all my things. I realized that another prized possession was a victim to “the road.” My precious Nalgene bottle, only just purchased in January…

My Lost List:

1. Favourite Jeans

2. Rain Jacket (my Dad’s)

3. Good Jumper (sweatshirt)

4. My Nalgene

The combination of grey skies, sprinkling rain, and an unbalanced boat (slightly to the left) led to some children with green faces and predictable consequences.

Nusa Lembogan was expensive, but worth it.

I arrived at the Sanur Harbour to a freshly drenched motorbike and helmet, and flat waves. I consulted with some guys selling ferry tickets in regards to the Padang Bai Harbours ferry times to Lombok. I glanced at a map for a general location and took off.

Although the road was pretty well paved and newer than most, the surroundings were nothing of the sort. Rice paddy fields with a few local workers in the foreground and a volcano in the background.

I made it to Padang Bai in a typical fashion to my travels, I was lost once. As feared and previously forewarned the only ATM within one hour was out. Not of cash, but of Visa because it only took MasterCard. Who has a MasterCard anyway? A man told me that there was a Visa ATM on Lombok, so I purchased my ticket and left with only about $10 after my 80 cent lunch.

I have never seen more heckling than on the boat here. With the ferry riders stuck in their respective seats they are waiting targets for a close to mobbing experience. The couple across from me was really getting it badly because they had one thing in their hand, thus showing that they were willing to buy more and they did. Smarter, I ignored the hellish vendors with my a blasting Ipod and sunglasses.

The ride was much bumpier than I expected it would have been given the size of the ship. At one point, I even went down below to make sure that my scoot was still in tack and had not fallen to kill my boards.

We arrived to the Lembar port within five hours and thanks to a previous heads up, I knew that it would be another hour until we actually exited the ship. The longer we sat in the harbour, the darker it became outside as the sun slipped behind the mountains and the clouds were filled with water. This was going to get interesting.

Finally, I took off in search of Shengigi, as I was told that there would a Visa ATM there. I was going North. I drove until the rain started really pouring to badly that I could not see 15 feet in front of me. I pulled over at a mechanic’s and so did a few others drivers that lacked the necessary gear to drive through cats and dogs (literally dogs too, wet ones).

Just as it seemed the rain was slowing down, it would just start dumping again. It had to have been close to an hour that I waited, but I got a young guy to draw my up a map of where I was heading.

Out of boredom and hunger, I left the next time the rain slowed. It wouldn’t last long. It came down hard and my poncho, although reluctantly covered my bag, did not cover my lap. Eventually I was driving down a road with water so deep that it was constantly coming up over my feet.

The power just turned off… I wonder how long this will last.

15 minutes goes by

Ah, not too bad

This would go on for a long ways. Not to mention the road wasn’t exactly even legal to ride on by United States standards, but it was so drown that you just had to hope for the best.

A huge ATM 24/7 sign grabbed my eye, so I immediately pulled over only to find two security guards “working on it.” I belted a four letter word and they sent me off in what would soon be the wrong direction. I did find an ATM eventually.

After getting some cash I now needed a bed. The security guard here apologized for his lack of English, but the poor guy would suck at Charades too because he couldn’t make out my sleeping hand gesture and my big bag and face of despair didn’t give it away.

This went on for a while until I got a solid lead and I was close. I found the reception desk only to find out that they were out of rooms because of a conference meeting (even though the place seemed dead and it was about 7pm). I asked the guy for another place to stay and after talking broken English and sounding out every consonant and vowel, as if this would help him much away, I got yet another lead. I lost it quickly in the darkness and rain, so I went back to asking window food cooks and street vendors. My last hope and it came in English. It was not the man’s native tongue, but it would suffice.

It was pretty steep at about $10 a night, but it did include free brekky and a 4 channel (no English) television set. The woman asked me if I needed to shower. I answered that for 100,000 rupiah a night I would be taking a couple. This flustered her because for no apparent reason most of the showers in the rooms were out of order. I suggested that maybe we could work on the price as I am far more use to not showering then paying so much for a room. She quickly declined and thus got back to looking for a room with a shower. After about 10 minutes she was in luck. I showered and went out. I found the cheapest internet in all of Indonesia at 5,000 rupiah an hour and a quick bite to eat. The food was only a window stand, but it was fabulous. A fried wrap tortilla with egg and veggies inside covered in homemade chilli sauce.

The following morning I used the cheap net out of its cheapness of course then hit the road down to Kuta, Lombok. I was asking for directions just to get out of the capital and most of the time the directions were either conflicting or none were given at all as most of the people in this reserved Muslim island turned their backs to me. I would often just laugh loudly and buzz to the next stand. I was finally spotted by a fellow surfer; a local. He saw my boards and the fact that I was going inland and set me straight for the coast.

I stayed in Kuta for a few nights. The place was a lot mellower then Bali and equally as cheap. I surfed a few times at a couple different spots. I met up with some the Aussies again from Nusa Lembogan. I went out to dinner with people that I never plan on seeing again. It was cool, but I was very happy to get back to Bali. It was a full day of travelling to make it back to Bingin after about 3.5 hours on the scooter and a 5 hour ferry ride, I was in dire need for a feed and a large Bintang.

I surfed for most of the next following days. I was sad to find out that the swell would be maxing out during the weekend (and I leave on Thursday). That’s just how it goes I suppose. I have still gotten some great waves the past few days.

I started lugging my stuff up the 175 uneven stairs in sections on Thursday evening. It was a weird feeling to leave since I had spent almost a ¼ of the time that I spent in Australia, just in Indonesia alone and it had flown by. Just quick trips now. Singapore for the weekend…

5$ a Night for a Room on the Beach

2009-05-24T17:39:00.000+10:00

May 1^st- 10^th

Well we went south today after the morning surf. We scooted out around 12ish and after a few simple directions we hoped that signs would begin to help. They did. It was basically a straight shot out to Uluwatu. The roads were not as crazy as the ones around Kuta, so we could really open it up. We were riding through tunnels of trees and overgrown vegetation. The city life came almost to a complete halt and besides the occasion petrol station or drink and snack shop, there was nothing but fields and forests. We scooted around the mountainsides in search of a place to stay out here as we knew that swell was coming for the weekend. After a few suggestions from a friend we settled on Bingin Beach. We were literally on the beach. Although we sacrificed personal showers and toilets, the price dropped to $50,000 rupiah (less than $5 a night). The owner of Juni’s Warung, Juni, told us that she would have space for us tomorrow, when we mentioned that we would be returning. The sun was setting quickly and the dark drive back to Kuta was approaching. We were racing down the steep roads now, and still people were passing on scooters. People with friends, people with families, people with bathtubs. Horns were beeping left and right, but not always bad beeps. Some beeps were to tell someone they could pass, some were saying not yet, and some were the standard “get the hell out of my way.”

Due to the dimly lit streets and lack of signs the three of us were split up and wouldn’t meet up until later at the hotel.

The following morning we arranged for a cab to take our stuff to our new place around 1130. With some time to kill, I packed my things, bought some cheaper standards, and checked the internet to converse with the other side.

We arrived and setup our rooms. I went for a surf before coming home to come great cooking.

The past couple day’s lunch and dinners have consisted of Nasi Goreng (rice, chicken, bacon, served over rice) with sweet soy sauce coupled with hot sauce to liquefy the solid, or Noodle Soup with chicken, bacon, and vegtables. Brekky has been a cup of Balinese coffee, and either three pieces of French Toast (for $10,000 rupiah), a plater of bananas, apples, and pinapples smothered in honey and lemon (for $15,000), or a jaffle stuffed with bananas, honey, and peanut butter (for $15,000). Needless to say, I am being feed, and very well at that.

Although the waves haven’t been anything to brag about, I have been surfing about three times a day and loving it. There have been some other people on the peaks, but after the Gold Coast getting a wave here is a cake walk. And how much can I complain when I am writing this from a hammock over a Bintang, after an awesome dinner and after having just watched the sun set over the ocean? NONE. Life is good, although it is hot.

May 3^rd

I rode my scooter up to the Uluwatu temple this afternoon after the internet. Despite the mod of Chinese people that were unloading from busliners like a herd of cattle and the sarong that I was forced to wear in respect to the Gods, it was very interesting. The temple itself was off limits for guests, as it was reserved for rituals, and the monkeys who basically owned the entire side of the cliff. They were stealing waters, sunglasses, and whatever other goodies they could get their hands on from tourists in hope that there would a later exchange of a bag of bananas or peanuts. Not wanting to pay more than the $60,000 that it cost me to park and to get in I opted against the food bags, but tricked one instead with a peanut shell to snag a picture.

May 4^th

Rory and I started out to Ubud to get away from a couple days given that the waves have gotten pretty small. After running a red light, Rory zoomed ahead of me and we were immediately split from each other. I was ok with this. There were little to no signs that mentioned Ubud, so I was constantly pulling over to window food vendors or little petrol stations to verify that I was indeed going to the correct direction. I reached the city midafternoon and grabbed a Bintang and walked around the town. I watched a kids soccer game and tried to figure out which bars where I was most likely to have a good time. I wrote Rory to meet me and we eventually met up for dinner. We went to a great little place called Arie’s Warung Before we did any ordering Arie himself came to show us a book of former eaters and their compliments about the place. The critics came from all around the world, and Arie was quite proud of his stack of reviews. The food was amazing, the beer cold, and Arie’s jokes could not have been cheesier. It was perfect: for under 5$ each we had an appetizer of spring rolls, a big Bintang, Arie’s special, and fried banana for desert. Can life get better?

We grabbed a couple beers and hit the street in search of some live music. After a couple lame bars we settled for just cruising the streets. Until we heard music… We were at the edge of town and the music was coming and going as we walked down the streets. We found ourselves going down an alley way with a couple locals scattered along the sides. The music was getting louder. We walked around the corner to find about 50 people all playing different instruments and a couple of dancing girls. I was embarrassed and attempted to go in reverse, but a man said, “Hello, how are you?” I said that I was good and he offered us a seat to watch, but we would have to cross the entire group. We watched drumming, strumming, gonging, fluting, humming, and xelaphoning for the following hour and a half. Talk about getting local. We were the only white people and they knew it. They didn’t seem to mind though. We asked the man to the left of us what all this was about and he said that it was for the White Herring and that they were practicing for tomorrow night. They immediately invited us; directions and all.

On the 5^th we did the Monkey Forest and hit the road. We would not be attending the concert tonight. We stopped to check Nusa Dua on the way back to Bingin Beach, but there wasn’t much going on since the winds had already picked up pretty heavily. To get into Nusa Dua there was a security check mark and inside the grounds there were tons of people dressed in military outfits. We got some window food at a place that seemed more than sketchy. Rory did not eat his egg, but I finished my plate.

We had an afternoon surf at Ulus and it was pretty fun. We had some great cooking back at Juni’s and talked to Wayan for a long time about starting the place from the ground up. I only wish that he knew more English, and I knew more Indonesian. He had a lot to say, only some of which I could understand, but I nodded along constantly.

He’s a real nice, genuine guy. Even so nice as to let me leave my things with him while I travel for the next “few days.” Unbeknownst to him, my computer, external hard drive, and a few other pretty pennies. I’m free with only my boards and my backpack.

After three pieces of French toast and a coffee I took off, today to Sanur. I was headed to Nusa Lembongan. It was about a one hour scooter ride and another hour and a half crazy ferry ride. My boards were up top taking a beating, as the winds prevailed on the open seas, and neither the captain nor the crew seemed to care that the boat was completely lopsided from all the goods that they were carrying. The wooden planks that the group sat on were only held down with each his own body weight and thus constantly shifting with each ride over another wave. People suddenly falling to the flooded floors happened on more than one occasion.

We arrived and grabbed our things. We walked north, as the sign directed, to the Nusa Indah Bungalows, where I was greeted with open arms as Justin’s friend. The waves here only break on specific tides, so I heard about a cockfight and ventured to it. I still couldn’t figure out how all the betting went down, but the scene was wild to watch.

The waves turned on for the evening, the food was good, and the beer again very cold, which counts for a lot around here. It’s perfect… maybe a little slow, but definitely the kind of place that isn’t hard to get used to.

The island’s chief export is seaweed. It grows out front in the lagoon before the surf. It is picked by little boatmen and women during the lower tides from shallow boats that are pushed around by the driver with a stick. After the seaweed is accumulated in the boats, it is taken to shore and loaded into baskets that are toted to the villager’s hut, where it is placed onto a tarp and left to dry by the blistering sun. After a couple of days, the seaweed is loaded onto a bigger ship where it is taken to be made into different types of cosmetics. The dry seaweed is sold, stolen, from the villagers at 500 rupiah (less than 5 cents) a kilo.

May 7^th

Earlier I used the internet which was about five times the amount that I was used to paying back in Bali (1$ an hour, so 5$ an hour). I don’t think that I’ll use it much out here anymore, although, I should so I don’t forget things like my best friend’s birthday (which I did). I am looking forward to dinner again. It’s nice to eat with your feet in the sand and a tall Bintang in your hand… sad to say that Rory has left and would not be joining me, but I enjoyed despite the circumstances.

After two surfs divided by an egg and cheese jaffle, fresh fruit, coffee, and an orange juice, I made my way back to the cockfighting circus. They seemed to be starting a little late today so I grabbed a few goat skewers, a mound of rice, and some chicken soup. I would later find out that the chicken in the chicken soup was from the losing carcass after being punctured to death by the opponent’s blade which is tied to the back of the left foot.

I still couldn’t get a grasp on the betting system, but an Indo asked me if I wanted to bet in fairly good English. I did. I had a $5,000 in my hand, but I had seen more $50,000s and $100,000s than I even knew existed in Indonesia. I knew that these people meant business. Not only because of the amount of money and probably daughters that they were throwing around, but also because it was one in the afternoon on the second day and none of the two hundred plus people here were at work. I dug deep for my own $50,000, remembering a line from a travel note that read “take risks.” I eyed up the two chickens. I went with the smaller, red and brown one on the right.

He had had his blade tied on first and thus had some time to become mentally prepared to stab the guts out of his opponent. His owner was flustering him up and the feathers on his head were looking like a lion’s mane. I placed my bet to the man and he said, “You win, I win. You lose, I lose.” I pointed out my chicken. He ran away to go up to another middle man and my money finally reached the man two guys running the show. The rush that I had on Anzac Day during the game of Two Up was back, except that this time I would know the verdict almost immediately and confidently. I stood on my chair and cheered on my chicken. Screaming like the mad man that I was, I realized that I was the only white person around. With each close call a sigh and each close stab a yell. There were a couple of quick scuffles, but nothing substantial. Then, my chicken ducked from a jump then stabbed the white chicken in the gut. It’s white chest quickly changed to red as the blood dripped from his chest until he fell to the ground in agony. I had won! Complete Elation! Now I must find my bookie. But instead he ran up to me, cheering and we exchanged a high five as he gave me my first $100,000 bill of the trip.

May 10^th

The surf hasn’t been ideal, but fun nonetheless. I had a scooter ride over to Nusa Chennigan this morning. Nicely abandoned houses littered the beach there. I was surprised. After my lunch, surf, and daily cockfighting watching, I attended a ceremony. For what, I’m still not very sure, but it was very interesting. I borrowed a sarong and head piece and entered the temple. I was the only white person until some older Aussies walked in. All of the women had baskets of fruit which the laid near the temple squares. Everyone sat on the ground with their sandals under their behinds. Although the temple was surrounded by a high border wall and it was a religious ceremony cigarettes were still smoked by the locals. Once the ceremony proceeded there was a speaker with a man talking. A line of men carrying flags entered as did the musicians. The drumming and xeylaphoning began. The girls next to me, all of twelve years old asked me if I wanted to participate in the ceremony. I agreed.

They handed me an incense stick and a set of flowers wrapped in a green leaf. I followed their hand gestures and sipped three handfuls of water from the white gowned man in front of me with the pale of water. After the sips, which were all done separately, I dabbed my hand in a mixture of wet rice and placed it as directed on my forehead and chest. The flowers were then placed in the back of my piece and another in my ear.

I met some good Aussies and tagged along with them for a great seafood dinner, Bintangs, and cards. The game was an Aussie, simpler, version of Asshole.

Looking Forward To:

2009-05-22T17:59:00.002+10:00

I made a little ongoing list of what I'm looking forward to once getting home (besides friends and family) to help pass the never ending time that I was spending in the airport.

Free food / Opening my fridge
Milk
Mexican Food
My dog, Ramsey
Beach bar dives
Doc Taylor's brekky and bloodys
Cheap beer and liquor in general
$100 Days with Andrew
New car (which I keep forgetting about)
Cover bands playing at the 5th street stage
Bikes on the boardwalk all summer long

On Writing

2009-05-22T17:53:00.002+10:00

I really fell off with the blog for my trip home, but as a blog, unlike a book, is ever changing, I'm ok with this. I still wrote down a lot of what was happening while I was in Indonesia, but lack of free internet led to a downfall in my postings. I now have free internet in Singapore, where I arrived last night. I will probably throw in some older things about my travels in Indonesia apart from Bali, but I'm not too sure when.

Leaving Bali was good, as I am becoming more anxious to get heading back home. I know that this will only last a week or so until I become restless again, but you have to go back to realize it. Leaving Bali was not so good in that I got whacked with a 100$ US baggage fee for being double the amount of allotted weight.

Where the Wild Things Are

2009-05-02T17:57:00.003+10:00

April 26^th- May 1^st

Over the Outback somewhere… Somewhere I never go to see, but I’m not worried because I will, someday. Well the long trip home is underway… I’m going through my second worst hangover in Australia, after my final night of Goon (Stanley’s Red Lambrusco) consumption. I cannot split the attribution between last night’s alcohol or the crying I was doing the entire train ride from the Robina Rail Station to Brisbane. I held back when I was dropped off, but after I was left with nothing but my bags, thoughts, memories; I lost it. Unable to comprehend that everything Australia related was over, I could not help myself. Time went by quicker than one can ever imagine, until it actually does. The entire trip seemed like a good weekend and although I was really on summer break, I did not want to be. Things will never be the same. That life and those friends are forever going to be different.

I miss them already. I know that I’ll see them again, but it’s never the same back on the other side where shit is real. Reality? Not sure. Maybe for some. I feel like living a life anything less than what I have been is just settling for less.

I made it. Bali, Indonesia. Talk about Culture Shock… I couldn’t imagine things getting much wilder than here. After negotiating with a cabbie by telling him that I have been here before and that I knew how much a cab cost to Kuta, I paid less than $5 for a 40 minute ride through traffic saturated streets. I arrived at a place that costed $60,000 rupiah a night. When I first checked into my room all I thought I was in Apocalypse Now. Still in Saigon… The fan twisted above my head as my Bintang stood next to me on the bedside table pouring sweat, just like me. My room is better than any rooms I have had in any college semester. I have my own shower, toilet, balcony, and bed. I love Bali already. I have two twin beds, but I am going to be switching into a large one soon*. My balcony overlooks the yard with trees bearing the flowers used in the little boxes that burn incense outside of every workplace. The boxes hold flowers, fruit, crackers, and sometimes cigarettes. I am told that these boxes are offerings to the Gods (of Hinduism).

I used the internet for the first time this morning after brekky. The breakfast was delicious, although the portion was small. Fresh cantaloupe, watermelon, and green melon coupled with a cup of coffee and a warm jaffle stuffed with sliced bananas. I can get used to this. The internet reminds me that there is another world away from here where the environment doesn’t call for continuous cigarettes and Bintangs. Life in The States is now known as The Other Side. The internet is the only way of even attempting to get close to remembering that life.

It’s is freakishly easy to see how this place grabs people and never lets them leave. Everyone is friendly (for the most part) because they are in paradise. Although your typical slow going beachside day with an umbrella drink can be found, the lifestyle in Kuta is quick-paced place under the sun where even walking seems to be ubiquitous with danger: people driving up one-way streets with Bintangs in hand, some on the road, some on the sidewalk almost mowing down tourists and drunken Aussies, some carrying a backpack, some with a bathtub, some with three children. Anything goes on the streets here, and nothing seems surprising. That’s the frightening part.

I looked back yesterday and saw Rory in my sideview mirror: squeezing the handle (as I was), eyes wide open, passing cars, street vendors, and petrol stations. We drove through the Indonesian back roads next to rice paddies and big brown cows with blue skies and a beaming sun. Where am I?

I myself have a scooter, and I’m excited to finally get down south today away from Kuta. Life is going to be simple again: surfing, eating, writing, storytelling, conversation holding, and people meeting.

* This never happens.

Itinerary (as of now)

2009-04-21T14:48:00.005+10:00

As if, I wasn't already I am officially on Summer Holiday. As in, I have no more tests to take, papers to turn in, or classes to show up for. But altogether I have been on summer break since the moment I stepped off the plane in Brisbane back in January.

Typically, everyone know that weekends, spring breaks, and even summers go by entirely to quickly. Before packing up your weekend supplies, flying home from spring break, or pulling out of your home's driveway headed back to college, there is always a moment where you stop and think: "where in the hell did the time go,?" "I just finished class on Friday, landed at my destination, or bombed my last final of last semester." Well, my friends if you think that time passes quickly on these minor occasions... then you have another thing coming.

I feel like I met my friends here yesterday. I remember the cold, rainy morning that I was being driven to the airport. There is a moment of contemplation when thinking about the time since I got here. I feel like I haven't done much (even though I have), and that my time has just begun. The two way street that although you know so much more then when you got here and you feel like you've been here forever, but on the other side you feel like its only been a week.

Time since I have gotten here has sped into a warped dimension. I truly never knew that time could move this fast past my own face. Whirling by and crossing out days on my calendar, taking no time to slow down and rest for even a second. No matter how much I told myself to enjoy the moment and soak up the scene, I will never feel completely satisfied. Which is why, nowadays I sit back grin, happily realising that I'm ok with that.

A good friend's favorite quote, who showed and proved this to me:

"They have worries, they're counting the miles, they're thinking about where to sleep tonight, how much money for gas, the weather, how they'll get there --- and all the time they'll get there anyway, you see. But they need to worry and betray time with urgencies false and otherwise, purely anxious and whiny, their souls really won't be at peace unless they can latch on to an established worry and having once found it they assume facial expressions to fit it and go with it, and all the time the time it all flies by them and they know it and that too worries them to no end..."

On The Road, Kerouac

A Couple Updates

2009-04-16T18:32:00.003+10:00

I leave Australia in 10 days. I will be in Bali for about a month, Singapore for a long weekend, New Zealand for 2 weeks, and Fiji for 1. That puts me back in Virginia Beach on June 11th, unless I hang out in California for a couple days which I have recently thought about.

Although I'm ecstatic to get on the road for a while, back to travelling, I'm no where near ready to come home. (except maybe to see my dog, score a homecooked meal, and get some money)

While in the water surfing D-Bah yesterday, in between getting barrelled, a friend paddled over and said "I'm trying to tell myself right now: 'Just remember how happy you are right now!'" I agreed, but only to show it by a big grin. I paddled back to my own peak in the water, when I thought about that comment and how I just wanted to take a little bit of that afternoon home with me in box. Somehow capturing the sun, clear water, jumping dolphins, countless barrels, and my thoughts. Then I was reminded by a quote I had heard before "somethings you just have to keep for yourself."

March 16th- April 5th

2009-04-05T23:59:00.001+10:00

Well I’m behind… way behind. However, without the weekend travels, I haven’t had anything too exciting to right about. Not that life in Australia has gotten dull, but overall it has been repetitive; in only the best way. The past few weeks have been filled with coffee mornings, surf sessions, afternoon naps, and late nights. The surf has been consistently big and really fun.

School work is beginning to come up… and fast! I have some papers that I need to tend to, but due to my new obsession with Six Feet Under, they’ll have to wait. It is not Australian or even current. Six Feet Under was introduced in the States in 2001 and ran until 2005, but for me: 2009. I’ve yet to get too immersed in a new book and I think the show is to blame.

I need to spend some time in the library working on my research papers, but I need to spend more time outside… living. I’m into my final month in Australia now, and I do not like it one bit. School is winding down. I am beginning to have less and less class as the weeks continue.

The feeling of burning flesh in my lower back along the left side of my spine is beginning to subside, although I cannot tell if that is because I have been eating Advil Liquid Gels like candy. After a fall at the local Beer Garden last weekend, I am finally able to move about, for the most part, freely and without dying. The crowd went wild went the local cover band, Punchline, began jamming the likes of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” I made a quick appearance before being in the wrong place at the wrong time and sequentially lifted up by my comrades.

The MRI went well the other morning. I was late, but my spot remained open. I was told to drop my “tweeds” and in a mistaken translation process dropped it all. I was told to put my “undies” back on the chuckling middle aged woman who waited on me. In between moments of the horrendous loud sounds bouncing my bones and muscles around to make an image and my aching back twitching out of traditional despair, I actually found the process quite relaxing.

The cyclone has left the past week continuously overcast and the ground saturated. All the time indoors has led to some productive studying and proceedings in Six Feet Under.

I have a couple finals ahead this week, some papers the following, and a couple tests there after. Then el FIN.

As most of my friends here aren’t travelling to quite the extent that I am… Forgetting about my solo escapades of Asia, New Zealand, and Pacific islands…I am growing increasingly more excited to see familiar faces back home. I think I’ll be ready for some green money, common accents, and cheap beer by the time I reach home; for a little while anyway.

The Great, Great Ocean Road

2009-03-23T20:50:00.003+10:00

March 10^th- 15^th

It seems like we just got back, but the three amigos are off again. We get our routine airport beers. Expensive airport alcohol only seems good for two things: to calm heightened nerves or excite adventuresome attitudes. We were b. As we exchanged casual conversation about the weeks past events whether in class, in the water, or elsewhere the gate became less crowded.

After I took another glimpse around, it was less crowded because everyone was on the plane already! We chugged what remained in our bottles and ran to the counter. I took my designated seat and began to read, excited for a weekend of driving the Great Ocean Road and getting another beer.

“In-flight service has now been suspended”

If I can still makeout my already borderline illegible handwriting that has been written during the ups, downs, and side-to-sides that the “unexpected turbulence” has caused, then I think the flight attendants can serve me the beer that I have yet to receive.

Melbourne bound today. My ipod has been reloaded with over 300 new songs, so I put down the book to jam and write.

I’ve never liked the taste of Heineken. Tonight is no different. I’m sure that Victoria Bitter is viewed as an embarrassment comparatively, but there are different strokes for different folks. But, to be honest I’m just content with being beered

We arrived late and snagged a cab to a friend’s place about 20 minutes away. We are greeted with cold coronas with pre-sliced limes. It was about one when we headed out. The streets seemed pretty tame for a Thursday night, so instead of going to a club we stopped at some tables outside of a Lebanese restaurant and ordered a few over a some stories. Ignoring our early rise in a few hours we headed to another bar that was interestingly placed inside of a mall. The whole place was dead and there were only a few advertisements lit up that proved people actually come here. As we went up a few flights of stairs the noise seemed to become louder and more bar-like. We have a few pitchers and head back to our respective beds. Mine is a comfortably carpeted floor.

Friday we are up early in search of a rental car. Nowhere seems to have anything. The receptionists laugh before wishing us luck and hanging up. Franticness ensues. The calling and rejections go on for close to an hour before we have a lead. We are told that there is a Land Cruiser that is available which will be perfect for our makeshift bedroom. After a long walk and a cab ride we arrived at Thrifty only to find out that the driver had to be 25. I let out a four letter word as I dropped my shoulders. The manager typed some things into the computer and told us that the Ford Focus would be available and that it would only cost a little fee for being underage. Fair enough.

We went back to the place that we slept the night before to get some blankets for our new home before hitting the road to Torquay.

Melbourne is an interesting place. If you care to go right in this town it’s slightly different than anything you’ve ever thought of in your life. Due to the trams sharing the road with normal cars and the morons that designed the roads, to go right you must first get all the way to the left hand lane, and even further over. After almost hitting the traffic perpendicular to you, you wait until the following lanes are all open at the same time: the two going in the same direction to the immediate right of you, the tram lane that unforgivingly speeds through the centre, and the two lanes furthest away from you that are heading in the opposite direction. Did you know that if all particles (electrons, neutrons, protons) inside of an atom align in a certain way, it is possible to drop a pencil through a desk? That is about what it is like making a right handed turn in downtown Melbourne, unbelievable and borderline impossible.

We escaped from the city with the car still in tact and headed for Torquay, the city where the Great Ocean Road begins. We stopped and we all scarfed down a big brekky special; I had a coffee.

The Great Ocean Road is exactly that. The seaside view from our car was really amazing as we zigged and zagged around corners around cliffs. To the left, the south, the view was the ocean that seemed to be never ending; to the right, the north, there were empty farming fields and a few scattered houses every once in a while. Kangaroos hopped freely across the plains. An information centre seemed like a good idea, since none of us had done any research on the sites along the road. We had a map that was circled with places to stay and things to see, so we got a case of Tooheys and started driving.

Our first stop was Kennet, where we were told that there would be koala bears. As we pulled up and grabbed a few brodos, we saw a group of people standing under a tree all hovering over each other attempting to snap photos that wouldn’t have any evidence that there was anyone else there. A “natural” view, if you will. We looked and quickly got walking up a dirt road that was heading up in the mountains, away from everyone else. Not far off, we saw koalas in trees, everywhere really. Every time we looked in a new tree we would see another snoozing koala, and we had them all to ourselves. We enjoyed the scene for a while before getting back into the car and driving further west.

After ignoring the forewarning of a passing car that there was a cop ahead, we received a $227 speeding ticket. This was the sixth cop I had seen in Australia, the other five were in Sydney the weekend before. The driver remained carefree, and we continued to make our way up the coast. We followed a sign that said something about waterfalls. The misty fog had rolled in pretty heavy now, especially up in the mountains where we drove. There was suppose to be a great view overlooking all the surrounding land and the water, but it was hidden by a blanket of grey. We walked around the hillside making fun of the sheep in the opposing field by bahhing, when the sound of approaching hooves reached our ears. Out of the grey mist, like that of a movie, a white horse appeared and he was curious. I was frightened and immediately I slid down the steepest part of the hill to the left down towards some woods in hopes that the mare would not attempt to charge down it. Rory on the other hand had issues. After yelling at the horse he quickly changed his demeanour to a nicer more relaxed tone and talked to the horse. They exchanged a moment. The horse whinnied and trotted off.

We continued to admire the surroundings on the road. Occasionally we would pass a small town, or string of homes and we wondered what it would be like to grow up down here. We stopped at a lighthouse before realising that it would be dark soon and we wanted to reach the 12 Apostles sunset show before 8. I drove fast, but under control thinking about the ordeal with the officer earlier.

The road was crossing through an increasingly more remote area. Big open fields seemed to go on forever, just like the ocean that mirrored it. We made it to the Apostles just around sunset; enough time to snap a couple pictures. We stayed and watched for a long time. The twilight here was much longer than any other I’ve ever experienced the sun stays relatively low and only sets sideways to the south facing cliff, making the sunset seeming endless.

We had no idea what we were going to do now. We had literally no plans. There was a college another hour to the west. We could drive there in attempts to find the local hangout and party with some kids our age. We could drive back to the previous town, which we knew had some restaurants and maybe one bar. Or we could drive just a little further up the road to Port Campbell, which we had yet to see. Port Campbell it was.

We drove through the town in about sixty seconds and located a hostel. There wasn’t an office and the patrons inside said to go to the little villas up the street. The office was closed, now that it was about 9, but there was a number. We called, but the rooms were about $120 a night; too steep for backpacking travellers. There was a bar across the street that had a sign that said accommodation. We asked the bartender. She said no, but pointed us in direction of the other hostel in town. We lucked out, and at $22 a night, it was the cheapest hostel so far. We showered without soap or shampoo, threw on some cool weather clothes and went out for dinner, observing the few bars on the main road, placing bets on which we thought would be the most fun.

I had a great plate of the special beer battered fish and chips after an equally amazing pepper onion soup with cheese foccacia bread dippers. Our stomachs were filled and we walked to the bar whose sign read “Live Music Tonight.” We got a couple jugs and took a seat in front of the band. There were about 25 people in the room, whom we assumed were all locals.

The man next to me leaned in and asked if the band was local. I responded that I had only been in the town for an hour and had no clue. We were not alone. After a song, the man leaned in again and said:

“I’m a married man, but if I were you I’d go out back, there were some good looking girls out there.”

I passed the word on to my friends and immediately followed them out there. We took a seat, but without cigarettes to smoke, felt awkward in that there was no other reason to sit in the cold. After 5 minutes we returned inside. The girls followed a minute later, only to be greeted by their boyfriends who were inside the whole time. Close call we though as we exchanged the notion with head nods and wide eyes.

The band was really jamming now. “Surfusion” was their name and that’s exactly what it was. It was a three-piece jazz inspired surf band with hints of punk and garage music alike. They were unpredictable and cool. We got a few more jugs and intended to leave soon. We had been up since early that morning and drove the entire day. It was literally mid-song of the last one before we decided to leave when two girls, whom we noticed earlier, pulled the three of us onto the makeshift dance floor with the other seven people dancing. Without resistance we joined them. They didn’t want to dance with us exactly but just near us. It was strange, but we all had solo sessions. Due to the music style, we never knew what was coming next. There were no clear cut dance moves that would cover the bases for the rest of the set. The dancing became increasingly more free and original as the songs progressed across the board. I was in astonishment at how ridiculous everyone looked and didn’t care. I was right there with them, sweating now. We stayed for the rest of the set, and talked with the girls afterwards. In-between spilling her wine and some cigarettes one of the girls informed us that she had a “little one” at home. We soon left, heading to what would be the only real bed that we would have the entire trip. When we walked in the hostel I took notice to a board of facts on the wall. At the top read: Port Campbell: Population- 200. We assumed this was when all the accommodation in the town was booked.

The following day we planned on finishing the remainder of the road preceded by taking the, much shorter, inland road back to Melbourne. We had inquired the night before with the manager about the surfing close by, so he informed us on the local spots with a map. He took us to a couple, and then wished us on our way.

We stopped at the first little café we saw once we reached town and grabbed some brekky and a standard coffee for me, actually two, as advised by the waitress. We headed back to Torquay and checked out the surf museum and a couple shops.

We entered Melbourne around 5ish and began to get lost in the city in search of a hostel for the night. After getting rejected from about 5, we decided the car would do just as well, and we should get some dinner and our night started.

The pizza dinner was good and the wine and beer satisfied all of our current needs. We grabbed a bottle of Yellowtail from the bottle shop and drank it along with the rest of our beers before hitting the town. We went to a couple bars and then entered a club. Here we split. After jamming together for about an hour, the rest of my crew was no longer to be found. I left happy and almost enjoyed the fact that all of our cell phones were dead and the only way that we would all meet again would be at the car later that night. While walking back to the car I noticed a lonely table in front of a restaurant that looked as though it could use some company. I sat down and ordered a beer. I was quickly spoken to from the guests at the adjacent table. I probably told them I was from Canada. From there I slightly exaggerated about how I was a world traveller and writer. It was cool and I had the audience captivated until I departed.

I returned to the car to find the other two fast asleep. I got them to open the car, and found that the most uncomfortable seat was left for me. Given that I would have done the same, I got in without words and fell quickly asleep.

The next morning we were awoken by the city crew cleaning the parking lot. It was gloomy outside and it was very reflective of the way that I felt. We got out the map and planned our course back to the Thrifty, taking as few right handed turns as possible. We dropped off the car and headed to the markets where we were told of live music, good food, and cheap goods. After lunch we walked around the huge market for a while debating with sellers over items. It was fun and there was a lot to be seen. Near total exhaustion we took a seat in the middle of the square at a table near some live music and coffee stands.

We recounted the weekend for a while, the night in Port Campbell in particular then grabbed a cab to the airport.

Bedroom Revision

2009-03-18T23:21:00.003+10:00

With the lights off and newly collapsed eye lids

I can imagine the former rooms that put me up

My room at home slowly becomes two others in Harrisonburg,

quickly reversed back to that of the current with the shut of a door

With each transformation, I envision the location...

of pictures in frames, dressers filled with clothes, doors upon walls, and book covered bedside tables circulating the room until they reach the venue that hosts their presence.

March 2nd – 9th: Sydneys Burning

2009-03-16T22:51:00.002+10:00

I have a love/hate relationship with finishing books. I have been reading A Cook’s Tour for an embarrassing amount of time until now. I have another one of Bourdain’s books collecting dust on my shelf, unopened, but I yearn for the comforting travel tales of the previous chapter. Ironically, I am going out to the first real sit down dinner that I can think of since getting settled in here, tonight. I can only ever strive to remember all of the ingredients, even the tastes, and characterise them as freakishly well as Bourdain. I am frustrated that the book is so old now. I feel as though he has done so much since then… And I want to read it all!

The crocodile at the Asian inspired restaurant was accompanied with typical vegetables of a Japanese steak house. The sauce was foreign to me but very good. I received the name from the broken English speaking Asian, but I am humiliated to mention that I have forgotten it. There were also the precursors of a Japanese steak house of miso soup and a salad with ginger dressing. The salad was small and decent, but the soup was a real treat. Whatever brownish sauce the croc was in was a perfect adornment to the chicken coloured meat. It was much more tender than I had previously imagined…

Thursday-

Due to the freakish amount of toddlers on my flight I’ve had to put down Bourdain’s The Nasty Bits around my third essay in and turn on tunes. We left the Gold Coast airport about 15 minutes ago and the whiny little bastard’s ears are seconds away from popping uncontrollably. I have to pick a song, now. Faster.

I’m content with my second Victoria Bitter, freshly charged Ipod, pen and paper, and my thoughts.

We are Sydney bound. We opted for the most intelligent form of logistics: OOL – SYD, while some are flying from BNE, and others are calling a Greyhound-style bus seat ‘bed’ for the night. A little less than 45 minutes now.

I have already planned on breaking the bank this weekend. Premeditated thoughts of a continuous flow of open containers while walking around the largest city in Australia are in the works. 30 more minutes. Not sure what we have in store for tonight, but I’m ready. I’ll be riding on my recharged travel binge after my purchase of a one-way ticket to Bali earlier today. I cannot help but be saturated in a good mood.

“Perfect Weapon,” by Communiqué is playing, but I’m singing “perfect weather.” This was once inspired by former smells of stale beer, and liquor charged morning drives to Tech with Pickles for football games, even though we never left the parking lot pregames. Even during the game. Right at about the time we would all run out of beer, the teams were preparing for kickoff, the former tailgaters were finding their seats, and my gang of pirates were spreading ourselves through the parking lot looking for treasure chests of imported beer, but we would settle for heavy domestics; it was free. Those days are long gone now, and I’m substituting old songs for memories. Getting my ticket to Bali is either the first step to planning my journey home or the furthest from it. Currently I need to be back in Sydney on May 21^st to catch a flight to New Zealand.

“Music players must now be turned off.”

We’re getting close.

“Please place tray tables and seats in the upright position”

After a train transfer to Central Station we are greeted in the street with beers… a good way to kick off the first 20 minutes in Sydney. We all meet and exchange names, then cheers. We all drink 3-5 beers over some general conversation before heading out to a bar just up the street. We are staying in Newtown on the outskirts of the city, but one can tell that this place gets busy. The friend’s house that we are staying at is a little short on cups, so for some reason or another stealing the schooners in front of us seem like a good idea at the time. I placed mine in an alley way in the midst of walking to the second stop, an Irish pub up the street. Liquor is a rarity here, but what better time to celebrate. Johnny Walker goes down the hatch. I find myself with my good friend talking so some older Aussies… about what, I cannot recall. I’m going to guess that Obama came up at least 45 times because everyone here loves to talk about Obama and how great Obama is and how Obama is going to be a better president than the former, whom they despise. Why? Most of them have a half-assed reason. Some have decent. And few have good. I've quit asking. While ranting about politics and how bad Bush was, most don't stop to think that maybe the American public wasn't to keen on the ideologies that were going on behind the White House doors either. Most of the time, if asked, they mention Canada. This is because they don't want to offend real Canadians by asking if they are American. Nowadays I respond "Southern Canadian," and most of the time talks of politics are skipped and beers are to be had.

As standard procedure would have it, I am the first to wake on Friday morning. I am on a couch with a few missing pieces. I find them on the floor as makeshift pillows from other visitors. I make some coffee from the stash that I brought, while I contemplate going back to sleep.

After an interesting set of logistics we make to the famous set of Bondi Rescue, Bondi Beach. The place is pretty packed, and I’m content with bird watching in between Bourdain’s essays. Sunglasses are a must here. Around 4 we make our way to Sydney Harbour. What an amazing site. The Sydney Opera House with the Harbour Bridge backdrop makes for a picture that has been seen all too many times by the popular postcards that leave this city.

We are walking home with the intent to snag a kebab in Newtown when the likes of a pizza and jug happy hour immediately hook our attention. We sit down and order a couple rounds. The spontaneity that accompanies a big city is something that many take for granted. Since landing in Sydney I have some nostalgic connotations of my previous summer in New York, and the afternoons and late nights that I had out in the big city. While it is not nearly as fast or crowded here, the scene has evoked a feeling that I have not had since August. I like it, but it makes me contemplate my intentions on living once I am “grown up.” Because I never grew up in too big of city, at least not world famous, there is a constant feeling of curiosity and eagerness to find all the little nooks, holes in walls, and dives that this or any other place has to offer.

We continue to escalate our buzz back at the house over some boxed wine. An Aussie house party and a few drinks at the bar later and I am ready to call it a night. Mardi Gras Saturday is tomorrow and I have no sleep to waste. But as fate would have it, we go to a bar instead.

When sleeping in unfamiliar places I am immediately awoken by any foreign noises. Some of the other guys staying at the apartment are stirring around 10 because they are going to check out the Harbour. I am ecstatic to be invited to grab a cup of joe. I have noticed that coffee drinkers are few and far between on this trip, so I am delighted to share the vice with someone. Frightened, I slightly open my wallet like opening a cracked door; 5 dollars, enough. As we walk to a place just up the street I am informed that the place we are going, Campos, is addressed as having some of the best coffee in Sydney, if not the country. I am having trouble deciphering if it is the exhausted, damaged, headache-stricken body that really believes this is the best cup of coffee I have ever had, or is the skilled artisans behind the counter are miracle workers. My headache has burnt off just with the first few sips. I walked back to the house to brag to the others back at the house. Being non-coffee drinkers, they found my story slightly unappealing.

The backpack is loaded with beers, and the remainder of the, now, bagged wine. We start the walk into the heart of city with Tooheys in hand. I love this country. The others ate earlier and I am growing increasingly hungry. Chinatown sounds enticing. We get our bearings straight and head to the city within the city. As we enter, we are flooded with little women telling us about lunch specials. I feel feet taller in this town. We continue to walk. Downstairs we go, underground. There are about 25 different little food stands all crammed side by side. The signs are overwhelmingly covered in foreign symbols, but the pictures tell all because food always turns out how it looks in film. I make a lap assessing my options. I decide both by price and friendly looks. Now what to get out of the 50 choices…Easy: the number 1 has the biggest picture and lettering. This is clearly what they are the best at.

16 pieces of fried dumpling accompanied with some hot chilli sauce stare at me as I crack another beer. The food is hot both temperature and spicy. I like it very much, nonetheless.

We continue our trek through the city still attempting to figure out what the plan is for this parade: time and location. Some friends notify us that Oxford Street is the main drag of the parade. We head that way. The closer we come the epicentre of gayness (the official name of the parade is: Mardi Gras Gay and Lesbian Parade), there are more and more people and while their gender is clear, their biological sex becomes harder and harder to determine. Finding a good spot seems few and far between, but we manage to land a plot a few street lights down from the intersection where the parade begins. The wine has now been mixed with some juice to lessen the warm sour taste. With 2 hours before the parade even starts we are left with no option but to hold down the fort by standing and creating a circle around our territory. Drinks in hand are necessary.

The sun has gone down now and there is now a blanket of people everywhere along the footpaths and grass behind it. Holding our ground is becoming increasingly more difficult, but attainable.

The floats are absolutely ridiculous. Rainbows, angel wings, and skimpy clothing are in popular demand. The crowd grows wilder with each float and presentation. This place is insane. The crowd behind me has really started to push forward with force. My elbow and empty jug are keeping my feet in the ground like posts. After an hour and a half of this the crowd has a complex stench of sweat, cigarettes, stale beer, and your average conception of body odour. I have got to get out of here. I nab a friend and we head out of our initial spot into a jungle of freaks, underage drinkers, and normal people that are in total astonishment at the entire occasion.

Looking around and you’d think it was the beginning of the apocalypse. People running in all directions, drunken idiots attempt to make conversation with each other, others strung out on drugs make conversation with themselves. I look down and in between strobe lights and street lights I see broken glass and burning cigarettes constantly under my flip flops. Kids are passing around bottles of liquor, gay and straights alike are making out and making their way to second base. However much chaos was really going on among the masses, I found it strange that everyone was in a good mood, still smiling in the fantasy-like environment of borderline anarchy.

We hailed a cab, showered quickly, and changed into attire that was suitable for the occasion. As absurd as it may seem… when going out at night it is not worth it to risk going out without jeans and close-toed shoes. It is basically a staple in Australia. I can handle Sydney's cool night breezes, but the heat of the Gold Coast can leave me frustrated in restricting jeans, socks, and shoes.

We met up with some friends in a hotel bar for 9$ jugs. This is probably the best price in the entire city tonight. After a few, we return to the streets in search of chaos. King’s Cross seems to be an area that is a recurring subject when discussing binge drinking into the wee hours of the morning, so we adjust our directions accordingly. After a few bars, I quickly realised that the most entertaining of venues were the streets themselves. The parade had ended a couple hours ago by now, and the bar rejects were bouncing around like pinballs in a pinball machine. They’d hit walls, fall off curbs, and walk clear into traffic. Cab drivers weaved through them like an obstacle course. I think they almost enjoyed it.

I awoke from the couch with most of my clothes on. After a one-eyed trip to the bathroom, I robotically started the coffee. I sat back down for a moment before exiting to the balcony to gather my thoughts.

I packed my things and noticed, as I always do, the garments that went unworn. We had much of the day before we needed to make our way to the airport, so we decided to walk around near the harbour. This turned out to be the best decision I made the entire weekend. The fresh raw seafood caught earlier that morning was waiting for my eating. The others grabbed fish and chips with an addition of fried calamari. I settled on the sushi the moment I saw another's plate. Japanese worked behind the counter cutting whole fish right there on the table, before making rolls, and putting them in take-aways. I enjoyed my meal knowing that I had done a lot in one weekend: had some great times, great coffee, and the best sushi to date. And for the fact that the others don't like sushi, thus eliminating questions of a bite. As my friends slowed down on their meals I was given the permission to work on the leftovers. Sushi never fills me to the extreme, so this was good. We sat looking over the harbour. The skies were gray, yet satisfying. The weather was gloomy, but agreeable.

After we walked around and witnessed some near death street performers attempt to cut their heads off for 20$ in change, we hailed a cab to the airport. We arrived early, but I used the time to read and write. As I walked away from the coffee stand to the right of the food court, the skies opened up. It poured… probably in hopes to wash out the sins of the city and put out the flames from the hellish weekend.

A Bit to Chew On

2009-03-09T23:00:00.004+10:00

The longer I'm here, away travelling, the futher mentally I am from home... and closer I am to physically to being there.

Learning on a basic level is really just creating, organising, and reorganising a sequence of entities in a series of lists.

I organise my life around liquid: coffee to wake, ocean to surf, beer to party.

Substitute Teaches

2009-03-03T19:56:00.002+10:00

I have begun to substitute coffee for sleep

saltwater for showers

toothpicks for teethbrushing

books for tv watching

old songs for memories

a search for clarity

negotiation for morals

adventure for comfort

travel for entertainment.

February 23rd- March 1st: Watch-tan Diaries

2009-03-01T17:59:00.002+10:00

February 23^rd – March 1^st

I really would not have even been writing right now but I have completely trashed the PowerDVD on my computer. There are 8 different DVD regions in the world. The U.S. is 1 (of course) and Australia is 4. Every time that I check out a movie from the Bond University Library (about 25 times so far) there is a chance that the film is either 1 or 4. Not ever reading the pop up box that asks me to change the country code for the DVD player, I always click “change.” What I have been missing all these times is that you are only allowed to change you DVD player’s regional country code 5 times before it becomes stuck on the last region that you have watched. There is no way of changing this once it has occurred. That said, my computer will now be forever stuck in the Australian and New Zealand code of 4. Thus one more reason that I must live here forever…

When I was first looking back at the week I thought that it was rather uneventful, until I started writing.

The beginning of the week was pretty hectic, as I felt totally disorganized from my trip to Fraser, and I had 2 papers that were due for film. I had yet given either much thought. They actually went fairly well and did not take up too much of my time. I rewarded myself Tuesday once they were done with an evening surf session instead of class.

I surfed a lot this week: once a day, sometimes twice. Not that there was much swell but it was indeed better than the current forecast in Harrisonburg, Virginia where I would be otherwise. Thursday at Duranbah was a real treat. The waves were fun and the waters were shared with the likes of Bobby Martinez, Mick Fanning, and Greg Emslie. It was fun seeing those guys out in the water. I tried to thrive off their power and use it to my motivation. That night we did the usual and always entertaining Don’s. We would have gone out to Surfer’s, but we had larger fish to fry in the morning: Surfing South Straddie.

We awoke early and made the trek down to the spit. Foolishly forgetting my booties in my room, I would make the rock jump / climb with naked feet. After a quick paddle through the shark infested waters, we ran over the dunes to see what we were working with. I felt as though I had just gotten out of my car mid summer on Pea Island, North Carolina to look at some hurricane swell. The crowd factor would be considered negative for the Gold Coast and the waves looked perfect. We surfed for 3 hours before paddling back with noddles for arms. I went home for a nap and a snack.

The afternoon was consumed by rock jumping in the Currumbin Valley and pushing our luck at the natural rock slides in a part of Springbrook National Park. The water was cold, but everything about the jumps and the slides was so sketchy that the racing of my heart had overtaken the icy waters.

Saturday was equally fun. The world circuit tour had arrived and although the waves were not very good, seeing all the pros out at the place I surf weekly was some real eye candy.

We went to Surfer’s both Friday and Saturday night this weekend. The tax return money that I was just notified that I would be receiving was being quickly dispensed, as if it was already in my bank account. The Beer Garden was our “go to” both nights. Music is exponentially better live especially when cover bands are playing late 80s and 90s with a hint of today.

I know that this up coming week is going to go by really quickly. Thursday we leave for Mardi Gras in Sydney. Melbourne has been booked for the following weekend.

On another note- I am frustrated to say that I am still reading Anthony Bourdain’s A Cook’s Tour. I have another book of his waiting on my shelf, and more books on an imaginary list that I have created. It is really hard to have down time to read or watch a good film, let alone sleep in a place that has so much going on all the time. The culture is much relaxed here, but there is so much that I want to do. I have really developed a love for writing since coming here, but sometimes I find that writing gets in the way. I love the feedback even more (hint hint for the readers I have). Not that it makes me think that my pieces display anything great in any way, shape, or form, but that people are going out of their way to listen to my thoughts. I hope to intrigue them to think and optimize everything they come across.

I want to keep this lifestyle once I return to Virginia Beach this summer: no wasted time, continually being outside, not watching tv, capitalising on creativity and wit, exploring the natural / unnatural landmarks that my surrounding area has to offer. I want to continue this when I get to JMU as well: checking out hiking trails, enjoying time in Deerfield, being constantly productive. I can only hope that these entities remain my focus.

Here is a riddle I made the other day:

What is something abstract that is measured with hands?

Answer will be displayed on next post.

February 19th- 22nd: Camping and Car Trouble

2009-02-24T15:20:00.003+10:00

February 19^th (night) – 22^nd

For those of you that know about it: I just pressed play to “Avoiding Catatonic Surrender” on my iTunes; the good late night JMU favourite. Actually that’s not all true… I just pressed reply because it just finished. I really haven’t been listening to too much Tim Barry / any other acoustic music that reminds me of being in Harrisonburg for the winter. Not sure why. I guess it just throws my vibe here off kilter a little.

That’s beyond the point… From the looks of where my pasty white thighs meet my waist it appears that I am constantly wearing a red t-shirt, but I assure you that it is only severe sunburn.

Thursday I had packed and hopped in the driver’s seat by default only to find out that I would be soon driving through near torrential downpours for the next 2hours with what had to be considered the bottom 1st percentile. The only things that I could actually make out were the tail lights from the car in front of me, and it was not even dark yet. The sheer power of the rain had shattered my vision. I continued north for another 3 hours or so pulling up to my destination at about 10 something. My crew and I all checked into our respective rooms, cheers-ed, chugged our beers, and went to the bar to meet the other 50 yahoos that had come on the trip with us this weekend. The bar closed at 12 and we had to be on a bus by 6 hence no one started luring too hard.

I awoke… confused and tired. Friday I was up from 5 am til 1230 am running off morning coffee and evening energy drinks. I was beat. We got on the bus and headed to the 4WD place to pick up our weekend whips, but first we had to watch a couple “educational” boring ass videos.

Woolworths was our first stop. The 8 of us settled for hotdogs, bread, peanut butter, ham, processed cheese, and steaks (which we would later not eat). Next, and more importantly it was now 9 and the bottle shop next door was ready for our business. Our car was stacked: 2 boxes of wine, 5 30 cases of 1.4 beers, and a bottle of Tequila. We had more alcohol per person than a small country and we were ready to get to the ferry and get camping.

The ferry ride was a quick 40 minutes or so followed by a 20 minute drive through the jungle before we could open it up on the beach driving wherever we chose.

We drove North up to Indian Heads for the afternoon to do some picture taking, handstand competing, fish catching, and standard textbook procedure goofing off. As the sun started for slide down the other side of the sky we decided that we should set up shop with plenty of daylight out.

Our camp site was perfect: 5 minutes walk from the bathroom and the barby. While some rinsed off, others cracked cold beers and started cooking. The steaks that we did not believe were so cheap were so cheap because they were similar to lamb fat and bone. I opted for the hotdog. More beers and worthwhile conversations were followed by shots of tequila and a midnight star gazing session on the beach.

The following morning I was the first up. It was about 630am and I was still lagging behind on sleep from the previous couple of days, so I set the coffee before I could even process whether I had to pee or not. I did, but it could wait.

I started making eggs, but to no avail on the barby that we cooked the hotdogs on the night before. It was not working and raw egg not only tends to bring quite a few flies around, but it also can go bad in a matter of minutes, probably even seconds. I ran back to the Land Cruiser and climbed on the roof to get the gas stove that I should have used in the first place.

Instant success and more instant coffee were in the near future. While I cooked, Rory took out the trash; the others backed up all the bags and deconstructed tents. The eggs were all cooked up and there was one plate for Rory.

“Here,” I approached

“Oh, wow, thanks,” said Rory prior to immediately stuffing his face. “Wow, yeah what’s in here?”

“Eggs,” I replied, “cooked eggs, fried eggs, not so fried eggs, burn eggs, and more than likely some remnants of the previous night’s meal.”

He chuckled and we finished backing before being threatened by someone from the Russian area. Apparently some midnight beach goers had left some bottled casualties at the beach that needed disposing of and of course it was the loud, stupid, American’s that DON’T even own bottled beer.

We were underway, cruising south down the white sand beaches of Fraser Island UNTIL: the (at the time) worst thing happened: a bad gear switch on the manual left us feeling an uncomfortable click every 5 seconds. Shit. The whip was drivable, but not in the least bit safe. We pulled over and flagged down the quickest driver. They were older, Australian, and more than happy to help. My friend who was driving got in the backseat of their car and headed back North to the camp ground.

We didn’t let this hinder our fun in the least bit. We continued the morning with impressive handstands, yahoo games, and I had no better time to learn a new language: semaphore. It is the language used on Bethany beach where my friend lifeguards in the summer. I am no where near able to read over a kindergarten level, but I can sign it on a third grade level.

The driver returned and a mechanic was on the way. After some extensive under the hood and body checking we were told to drive south until we reached the camp ground, where we would setup and then take the cruiser to the ferry to get a replacement. It wasn’t long before the mechanic that was following us flagged us over and told us that it was too bad and that we would have to be towed. We pulled over and unloaded everything from our vehicle. A tow truck arrived and took the driver along with his girlfriend back to the ferry where they would be met with a new car. The mechanic said that they would return around 530pm. It was currently about 11 and we were told to not drive past 3 due to the higher tides and the dropping sun.

After some sammys and a general direction from the mechanic, we walked south to Eli Creek. We saw our first dingo. It looked like an under-fed dog. We retreated to the location of our things. I grabbed a beer and my book and walked to the beach. In between sips, I read. I made some progress, but more with the drink in my hand.

More handstands, semaphore talk, threatening dingos around our food, more beers, joined the most extensive game of “Would You Rather…” that I have played made for a great afternoon. As the sun fell we made up “what ifs” for our situation. We also made a cumulative decision that a shot of tequila was necessary with the arrival of our other comrades.

The flies had now basically covered every square inch of our things and the thought of packing everything back up into a new cruiser was taking on a paranoiac feel. We were rewarded for our patience on the beach with an 11 seater as opposed to the 8 that we had previously. After a near death experience with the flies while packing our car, we were on the road, or sand. It was dark and the tide was high, but we charged. Everyone besides the driver was cracking beers only to drink out of fear of running head on into rocks or flipping our way through a major washout. We lived though. We had approximately reached the intended camp site when we decided that this was our spot. We unpacked again. While a few of us started dinner the others setup tents. Setting up tents in the pitch black after an afternoon of drinking is tough stuff, but we managed.

Dinner was a fine meal of chilli dogs on white bread and beers for drink. It topped the lamb that we suffered through the former night for sure. Some flashlights were passing by and after a drunken holler we realised that it was the rest of the group. They invited us down to their camp. After a few shots of tequila and we grabbed some roadies, we headed down the beach, star gazing the entire way. I was mad that my camera could not capture the galaxy that I was witnessing above. Then I thought to myself that just because you can not record the remarkable view above in pictures, some things you just have to harness in your mind and keep them for yourself. I had taken an entire album worth.

We met up with the other group explaining to them our situation of changing cars. There had been rumours that we were switching from 7^th gear to 1^st going 170km/hr. We laughed on the inside and let the naïve believe what they wanted. We had intentions of waking up at 445am and checking out Lake McKenzie since we had missed it so far. We were successful. I awoke and brewed some coffee. In between sips and packing up, I observed the sun grow from the dark sea to the east.

The lake was truly amazing: some of the clearest blue water that I had ever seen lightly slapping against some snow white sand. We were short on time however, so after a 45 minute dip, we were headed to Kingfisher Bay for our ferry.

We snagged Scarlet, ate Subway, I grabbed an energy drink, and hit the road for the 4 hour return to school. The ride back was much nicer. Although there was a little rain, driving home after a great weekend trip left me feeling relaxed and much less anxious than the drive to the destination.

February 16th- 19th: Quick Post

2009-02-22T22:23:00.001+10:00

February 16^th- 19^th

The first day of week 5? Already? There is no confusion here about when projects are due, or tests need to be taken because they go strictly by a number-week basis. The first week of school is week 1, and the fifth week of school is week 5, ect. “Your project is due Friday week 8,” places things in a better perspective than “Friday, March 14^th.” No one knows off the top of their head when the hell the 14^th is. Today being the day that it is though, I had my first in class test, or quiz, or exam. I’m really not sure what the hell to call it. It was for biology and it’s worth 7.5% of my total grade for the semester, but it was only 20 questions and we were only given 25 minutes to answer it. I think I did ok though, enough to attain the 50 required average, which is the only thing that really matters. I really didn’t study too much; I just sort of looked over some PowerPoint slides. The first test in a biology class at JMU would have required much more preparation. The class seems very interesting; everything that the professor is talking about is going on inside your body right then and there. I just do not have that much time to dedicate to studying. I have too many other things going on: surfing every morning, enjoying a nice cup of coffee, travelling on the weekends, reading Anthony Bourdain, attempting to write in a style similar to his on this blog. As you can see lots of these types of things deters me from studying.

I’m about to take off to the largest sand island in the world in about 20 minutes: Fraser Island.

I also finally just submitted my application for the best job in the world: Hamilton Island Keeper. With 4,000 applicants a day I’d say my chances are slim to none. I know that I would do a great job though. It’s hard to sum yourself up in a little video clip. Attempting to be witty, clever, get the point across, and cater to what you think they might like. I kept it simple and cheesy. I’m sure that some people are going ridiculously out of their way to come up with some insane way to be remembered by that will quickly surpass my 31 second clip. At least I can say that I did it… I really just cannot stop thinking about the money though. $150,000 AUD = $100,000 US. That would be too wild. I would just invest the bulk of it. Well I guess most all of it because $100,000 couldn’t get you too far. Without a steady income, it would not be enough to comfortably buy any house that I would want to live in.

I have decided today that I want to spend a lot of weekends travelling this summer; continue the lifestyle I live here. I really have not seen much of the U.S. at all, and it has always just been waiting for me to check out.

Rainy Days and Plane Tickets: February 9th - 15th

2009-02-15T21:28:00.008+10:00

February 9th- 15th

Monday morning I wake up a few minutes before my alarm. I have not received the usual call from Rory telling me that he will ‘be there in 5.’ About 10 minutes goes by and there is still no call. I feel somewhat relieved and hop back into bed when he calls… we decide that sleeping is a better option that surfing this morning. And it was. I awoke a couple hours later feeling more tired than earlier this morning proving that the extra sleep I had was very useful. My chronic breakfast stares at me and I dig in. It is actually mediocre at best, but I have taken affection to it. I start by cleaning out the remains of the prior days breakfast from the bowl, which I stole. I add in some Weet-Bix, which is like a dry cereal grain rectangle. If I have any fruit, fresh or not, I add it. I finalise the meal by pouring some milk on top. However, I have just only recently come to realise that a milk/juice concoction makes the meal exponentially tastier.

It is Wednesday evening and I cannot believe that in 2 classes and about 20 hours it will be the weekend again. Although extremely apprehensive I did in fact hang a calendar on my wall in my room. I’m beginning to regret it. Everyday I cross out the previous. Today I had to make up for some that I missed; all in all about 8 days went before my eyes. Although my time here is taking me further away from the world I left behind it is ironically bringing me closer to it at the same time. I am excited for this summer back home at the beach, but not in the least bit to forgo time that I could spend travelling.

I just finished a lot of things: my cup of coffee, counting my money in my wallet, and figuring out what happened last night. I feel accomplished to say the least. I was re-reading some of my old blogs and I really need to start proof reading. I don’t do it out of pure lazines, but I realize that I need to get concise and sharpen up my thoughts.

[laziness missing an ‘s’ is on purpose, proving the sharpening of my thoughts]

I think that we are travelling today, but I have no real idea. We might go to Byron Bay, we might not. We have no hostels booked, hell I haven’t even looked any up online, let alone the town itself.

The weather here has been pretty bad for the past couple of days: rain and lots of it. I don’t think that they are really in a drought.

It’s Happy Hour on Virgin Blue, and I am in desperate need of some plane tickets…

I am officially going to Sydney for Mardi Gras. It shall be a grand event. I have no clue where I’m staying / any other relevant information about Sydney besides the Opera House.

The weather has deterred us from going to Byron for the weekend, but we do take a Saturday afternoon drive to Nimbin. The drive there is nice. Initially getting out of the car we had no idea on the scene that we were about to become apart of. The drizzling rain and overcast skies multiplied the already inherent eeriness. We browsed around some shops, all seeming to be interchangeable besides their addresses. Every store is overgrown with pot-leave-covered tourist paraphernalia: post cards, cosies, and shirts.

After walking through a museum along the 100 yard block, not knowing what to do next, half of us decided on eating. I’m not quite sure how the restaurant was functional. The order taker and waitresses were distraught by their obvious high. They were confused and couldn’t get anything right. Eventually we got our food, but the amount of confusion that went along with it was only par for the course in a town that inhales more THC than oxygen.

However, it doesn't stop there. We finished up and headed out into the wild streets. There were two types of people walking around this paranoid dystopia: the freakshows that live here, and the travellers that want to get a glimpse of them. It was an interesting time, to say the least.

I am eating a peanut butter sandwich as I write instead of continuing studying for my biology quiz tomorrow. It was an early rise this morning, but it took a little longer than usual to get underway. We drove north to the spit with the intention of surfing Straddie Island, but the huge waves breaking out on the outer sandbars forced us to do otherwise. We went down to Burleigh were the waves were huge, and people were getting ridiculous barrels. I took the spill over the falls of my life, and balanced that out with a stand-up barrel 10 minutes later.

A nap was necessary after the early morning session and preceding the events from the night before. I awoke in astonishment that the weekend had left once again. I studied a little, then had an evening surf at Snapper. I end Sunday-funday by catching up on writing, and watching letters that make up biology terms float around on a page.

Midweek Special

2009-02-12T17:56:00.002+10:00

February 11^th

Dear JMU and All Friends, who reside there,

I have been neglecting you lately, yet thinking about you more and more. I hope that the cold winter has not been too harsh. I hear that school has been cancelled or delayed quite a few times, so that is always good news.

Soon spring will blow in and the quad will be illuminated with Frisbee throwing, puppies that girls cannot take care of, kids on towels skipping class, and the mighty sundresses that we all know and love. Not far after that it will be SUMMER.

For those of you who may be graduating, I hope that you all are having as much fun as possible in your last semester at college / fantasy land. I expect some visits next year. We have had a good run and I’ll never forget that memories that I actually remember with you all.

You all know as well as I do that James Madison University is a playground for college kids; a ridiculously amazing time to say the least. What you all don’t know that I have been privileged enough to come to find out is how renowned we really are. When I first started my 48 hour journey here I was meeting a lot of kids from the Northeast. The moment I said that I went to JMU it was a shocker. Most all of the kids that had heard about JMU had been there on a visit and had a wild weekend to share with me. There was a general theme of how nice everyone was, the food was good, the disbelief that beer really was free, that you were invited to every party just as much as anyone else (for the most part), and that there were girls and lots of them.

I guess that having gone to school there for 3 years I became numb to it. Not that I took going there for granted, but that I didn’t realize how envious others were of the place that I call my school.

Hope all is well in the Burg,

Slurpee Cups and Cover Songs: February 1st - 8th

2009-02-09T15:12:00.011+10:00

February 1^st- 8^th

After the morning surf session, we had big plans for the first day of February (I only knew from just consulting a calendar). We were headed to Springbrook National Park. Google Directions listed the park about 1 hour away, and from the look of the map it was south west of our current location in Varsity Lakes. We packed the car full, filled up, and headed out. My directions were pretty basic, but I had seek advice from the map and I knew (or so I thought) the general area that the park was located.

Unknowingly, we entered the highway going south, when we needed to go north even though the park is southwest. We drove and drove taking the surroundings of the countryside into account much more than the directions that I had copied down. We had been driving for a while now and still no sign of the sign that we were looking for. The crew also discussed that there had been no signs for the park and we were on the biggest highway on the east coast of Australia. I decided to pull over and ask. That was a separate mission in and of itself. The thing about Australia signs is that they are really about 2 or 3 exits before the listed exit, but they don’t generally tell you that. After a laugh and slight jaw drop by the rental office employee, that we decided to ask directions from, they pointed us back to our origin.

After getting back on the highway and passing our former trail… Of course the exit is one after where we started… IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION. I was the driver and the planner of this little day trip and thus I felt / was completely responsible for our mishaps. But if anyone was disappointed about the difficulties they kept it to themselves.

We were driving into the mountains now and with each kilometre we were getting further away from traffic lights, shopping outlets, eateries, and petrol stations. Everyone was now completely intrigued. I think I was the only one saying how intrigued I really was, while the rest of the group just took it all in. Vast mountain ranges, single lane bridges, and little to no guard rails had everyone on their toes while I drove with extreme caution. I liked being in control and now everyone seemed to forget about the 3 hour trip that it took to get to a location that was only 1 away. It was worth it.

We did some walking and then drove to the natural bridge/waterfall/cave of bats. It was really quite a sight, much different than the natural bridge that I had seen in Virginia on my alcohol soaked trip back from the first time I visited Tech.

I have been in Australia for a MONTH today, Thursday. I cannot believe it. I am travelling this weekend and I had to get one of my old bags out… it had about $40 US… the green pieces of paper looked foreign to me, so I guess I have been here for a while now. Time is flying by, and I need to soak it up. I know that soon enough I will be enjoying my last Victoria Bitter, and I will be calling it a night… not so long after that I will be standing in the Norfolk, Virginia airport: cultured, changed, tan, half sober, and ready to hang with all my friends that I left behind back in the cold winter January days.

The weekend trip to Noosa was a great success. Not only did we arrive to the intended destination without getting (very) lost, we did the majority of the drive North in the dark. Scarlet (is the name of the car, I don’t believe I mentioned that yet) was running well and surprisingly did not suck down too much gas.

Our hostel for the weekend is the Koala Backpackers Resort. It was getting pretty late already and the main desk had closed down, so we checked in and got our room keys at the bar. Although this is pretty funny in and of itself, the bartender doesn’t have a real calculator so she resorts to her phone in between pouring drinks and taking our money.

After dropping off our bags in the room, the most important thing was to immediately get the wine on ice. We ran up to the 7-11 and got a bag. The trashcan quickly became a makeshift cooler, and as the wine cooled off from its hot, almost nondrinkable state, I took a quick shower.

[I just realized that my internet is down, hence this blog will get my undivided attention]

After throwing on some clothes and filling up some stolen 7-11 Slurpee cups, we play a few games and converse about our appreciation of having our 7 person room to ourselves. We headed out to the hostel’s bar, and from there we couldn’t find the intended next stop so we settled for having drunk talks about life on the beach instead.

I following morning, I awoke Rory in excitement. A bit tired, I assume, he doesn’t show me the same enthusiasm, but gets up wilfully and we search for the beach. As fate would have it, we go the wrong way, initially forgetting the way that our drunken feet took us the night before. We finally got on the right track and found ourselves walking along a wood lined deck path curving in and out of the side of the headland through vast vegetation and sounds of morning bird chirps. We see surfers out, and we decide to return to the house, get the rest of our crew, put some food in our guts, and do nothing else but spend the entire day at the beach.

The surf is great at Tea Tree Bay… not knowing the proper paddle out or rock jump we follow some guys ahead of us that appear to have been here a few times before. We are taken to a 10 foot rock jump into a small cut out of the rock. After the jump you paddle your ass off to make sure that you do not become a victim to the unforgiving wall of barnacles, crevasses, and caves behind you. In between surf sessions I read some of Bourdain, listened to some tunes, and ate the granola bars that I brought and grown to love. I would soon have the longest wave that I have ever ridden in my entire life.

The next couple nights we have are of extreme opposites and we had some new found companions that tagged along. Vincent, who spoke little to no English, was from France and Romain from Belgium, would be his translator and our other new roommate. The two were funny and loved exchanging drinking card games and talking about our travels. The first night we went to the strobe light flashing-dizziness inducing likes of The Rock… enough said. In an attempt to forcefully throw myself out of my comfort zone, and one to force an immediate humorous reaction; I participated in a European version of hair gelling. The second night, however; we had made an early conscious decision that we were going to a bar and that we were going to hear live music. We pregamed again with none other than cheap boxed wine, and then walked across the street to the Irish Pub. It was one of the most fun nights since I have been here: A tight knit crew, cold beer by the pints, and music; live, American cover song music.

We were the band’s favourite fans. We sung every song with as much excitement as them, and probably even louder. The girls danced with a drunk that couldn’t see and I laughed, and snapped pictures to document the night correctly.

The beach and surf session on Sunday seemed short. The feeling of an ending weekend is something that no one wants to come to terms, with just like the ice cream that we indulged in before we left. But on the car ride home we decided that we were never going to feel like we were really going to school here. Class is just something you go to for a few hours, a few days a week, and that is it.

Coffee and Wine: January 26th- 31st

2009-02-02T11:42:00.002+10:00

January 26^th- 31^st

Today is Australia Day. Given that I had class and it was a Monday, it was nothing special. Everything closed down early. All the day drinking had caught up to the bars and those that hit them early. But I was ready to party. After a full load of classes all day, and “taking the night off” the night before I was ready. At least the local drive through liquor was open, thus fulfilling my natural college-aged craving of whatever’s cheap. I used to say that it all takes you to the same place... and in some respects it does, but in most that line is something that I’ll let dwell in the past. Trying to approximate how much wine, red or white, is justifiable for a pregame is a hard measure. There are lots of things to take into account: what the color is, what the alcohol content is, what size glass you’re drinking from, how fast you are drinking it, and what time you’re heading out on the town. A couple of weeks ago I might as well of been an 8^th grader, or freshman in high school. I had had wine before on the occasional Sunday or Tuesday with Cramer while we sat around and watch a couple TV shows, but using wine as the sole entity of a pregame is a world that I was not yet prepared for.

After 3 weeks, I have slightly heightened my knowledge on wine binge drinking... the keys to my success are remember: it’s not beer so drink slow, and also bring a toothbrush to the pregame if you’re drinking red.

This knowledge, coupled with my more consistent and good eating habits, and my afternoon runs and workouts have helped my body feel somewhat healthy again. I have emerged on the other side of the trough that I fell unknowingly into during my first few weeks here.

I had my first coffee today and ironically it was the latest day that I have slept in since I have started this travel. I felt tired though, and we had a 5 minute break between a movie screening. After the first sip of the Medium Dark cup I was instantly hooked like a fish and stunned as to why I have not indulged in my former vice sooner... the cup was fantastic, and although I forgot to ask for it to be iced, which in the 90 degree heat is crucial, it was still amazing. The hook was pulling me closer and closer to the residual effects of heightened awareness, dissolving sense of tiredness, and constant interest. Each grew with another sip. I had forgotten of how great I felt every morning this past semester heading to class after my two cups. While I’m going to attempt to limit myself with one cup a morning, I cannot make any promises once I get the lid off of my canned, cheap, instant coffee that is staring at me right now.

Today is Friday and it is exactly what it is suppose to be. The beginning of the weekend... I roll over when my alarm goes off at 4:55am. I shut it off. As my squinted eyes open, a moment of drunken questioning goes through my head. Even if you have not been that drunk the night before, call it an early night, or just wake up at 4:55am there is always a flash of a purgatory-like state where the dreaming stage ends and reality becomes more prevalent. This can be mind-blowingly confusing if you have had a very realistic dream, or you have been slammed the night before.

I contemplate as to whether I should call my friend or fall back asleep... I rest for 5 minutes and set the coffee. I gather my things, check the internet, and head out the door with surfboard and proper beach essentials. We are surfing South Stradbroke Island today. This involves an extremely dangerous rock jump into a shark invested inlet, and an even more dangerous climb back up barnacle and/or slime coated boulders all while watching out for boats and waves rolling in. The island really is neat though. It reminds me of Hatteras without houses. This is the first scene of somewhat isolation since arriving in this tourist infected city. I love the nightlife here, but trying to surf with a million people really isn’t my thing. I’m really not even sure why it is called “Surfer’s Paradise.” It is like the Virginia Beach Oceanfront on steroids: beach souvenir shops, Subways, 7-11s, surf shops, ice cream parlors, and my favorite which Virginia Beach lacks: heaps of good Kebob storefronts.

After the surf I hit the hay around 12 for a cat nap. We head to the beach again... the swell is bigger, the other surfers better, and the rock jump is (at another beach) a bit hairier than the former time I surfed it. I regroup eat dinner and realize that I am in dire need for some post-it notes, postcards, and batteries.

I head to Preston’s and we begin pregaming before hailing a cab down to Kirra. I wake up to an empty night (forget everything I said about learning how to drink wine), set the coffee, and prepare for a run... something to make me feel productive, like there is no wasted time.

Driving on the Opposite Side of the Road: January 19th- 25th

2009-01-28T13:01:00.006+10:00

January 19^th- 25^th

I am having my first class today, and I am honestly excited to get some organization and structure into my life. The classes here are wild, chaotic, and the teachers have so far lacked displaying much control of the students. Two seats down from sits a guy with hair past his rib line, which you can see because his black shirt is completely unbuttoned. He has yet to take his sunglasses off yet, and his phone just rang and startled by the ringer he jumped up and yelled “FUCK!” He raises his hand by giving a rock on symbol that is ev

en more obnoxious because of his grotesquely long ringer nails. In my second class 4 phones have now rung. The teacher laughs it off somewhat. At JMU I don’t even know what would happen in a class, but I don’t imagine seeing t

oo much laughing. Make that 5 phones.

The 20^th is the first day that I think I’ve had 3 square meals since I left on the trip. Before this I was scraping by... eating whenever I could or felt completely starved. We are going to Surfers again tonight... $10 for a ride there and back and a free drink. I am leaving again to see the other nightlife in Surfers... not for long though. All the bars have a $20 cover; what a joke. It’s only Tuesday. So I return to my fellow comrades right where I left them and grab another VB. My stomach is starting to crave anything greasy, unhealthy, and

cheap. I convince a friend that this will be a good decision and he follows me. We munch on our Kebobs which are really like burritos and skewers are really like kebobs. Make that 4 square meals. After our stomachs are satisfied we head to the bus stop and wait to climb into the crammed, stuffy, smelly drunk tank for the ride home.

This morning I really craved some coffee. I haven’t had coffee since I left and I’m contemplating getting a coffee for the common room. Although I kind of like being self sufficient and taking full responsibility for the tiredness that I have been exponentially attaining since I left for this trip. Screw it, coffee tomorrow.

It has been a few days since I last wrote and still no coffee, although I did buy some today.

The longest weekend ever has finally come to an end. I had no class from last Wednesday 21^st til today, Sunday, the 25^th. We have been up to the usual nonsense: a pregame with poor man’s wine, various drinking games (7,11,or Doubles; Pointers [Shoulders]; Thumper; Buzz, and Fingers), and going out. Tonight will be the third night that I have stayed in. Although there has been more drinking since we got here than should be allowed in the entire semester, there has been some productivity when we awake from our caves mid-morning.

We have a car!

Year: Old

Make: Holden

Model: Commodore

Color: Red

She is a beauty and I expect that the perfect name shall come soon. After the third trip to Rent-A-Bomb in Southport, just northwest of Surfer’s, we sealed the deal and even got our Salesman Glen to throw in insurance and registration. The trip to Rent-A-Bomb is a mission in and of itself. First you have to take a bus to Surfer’s, then another to Australia Fair. Here you walk, and walk down Nerang Street until you reach a sketchy looking building with sketchy looking and sounding used car salesmen. The deal was basically already done, so we finalized with some autographs, cash exchanges, and weary handshakes. The car was now ours!

Rory would be the first to drive. Nearly scared shitless I hopped in the front seat. With seatbelts fastened we took off. We got directions from Glen as how to get back to school, even copied down directions from Google Maps, but we quickly through those out and relied on gut and intuition. We had made it home alive, now celebrate we must. As the four of us were cooking up steak, cracking our first beers, and exchanging some stories, I finally felt accomplished for the car mission and as if we were doing things right. Smiles were followed by statements like “We are in Australia,” “We have a car,” and “We will never be slaves to the public transportation in the Gold Coast ever again.”

This week is going to be much different. I can surf every morning. I do have all my classes, and I even picked up another... a film class, another film class.

I need to start planning trips, making lists, and regulating my cash outflow.

Clubs and Jugs: January 11th- January 18th

2009-01-21T17:17:00.001+10:00

January 11^th- January 18^th

My liver gets the night off. Monday night. This is the second night that I haven’t gone out since I have left and it has severely caught up to me. My crew of pirates and bizarros have been drinking more $8 boxed red wine than some small countries. My memory has been bugging me lately. I’m not sure if it’s the continuous binge drinking, the jet lag, culture shock, or what, but I don’t like it. Last semester already seems like an eternity away, a former life. It all goes by so fast... all you can do is live.

The first week at school has been ridiculous, to say the least. The campus is perfect, small but perfect. I was really surprised too because normally colleges flaunt there buildings, surrounds, and technology. They want to look sexy in college informational literature. This school only had a few snapshots of kids and an arch. A modest view for how beautiful the campus really is. We have gone out to Surfer’s a few times for a wild night life. Every Thursday a bus totes students from the on campus bar, Don’s, to the heart of the Gold Coast night life. Most of the bars here are just clubs. Raging, dancing, binge drinking scenes lit by strobe lights and music is provided by only the greatest ‘old’ rap songs that have been out of style for weeks in the states. A rap song being out for weeks is like years when comparing it to anything else. But no one complains... everyone loves it.

The on campus bar has pitchers for $7. The beer isn’t that great, but when I order another I have to remind myself to call it a ‘jug’ to avoid the $2 American Idiot Tax they tack on if you call it a ‘pitcher.’

I was over this stuffy bar: most everyone was from Bond and all my friends were dancing in the epicenter of the ecstasy invested rave. I left in search of another site. I stumbled down the streets of tall sky scrapers and palm trees. Solitude felt as good as my buzz. It was Monday night so needless to say not many places were hopping, but I saw a few people waiting to have their IDs checked so I stepped into line and entered a place called “The Bedroom.” Beds literally lined the walls of the dance floor. I thought the last place was insane, it was. I grabbed a beer and watched the freakshow from the perimeter. After snagging a slice of pizza I met back up with some friends and we split a bus ride home. The next couple days included a couple surf sessions and beach days and the car search. The surf sessions were nothing to brag about, but I could really tell that Snapper Rocks gets a ridiculous line up. The next couple nights included the same debauchery of those former.

The car search is looking really promising and I think that I’ll have wheels by the end of the week. I can’t wait for how much freedom that will allow for. I’m getting a little apprehensive about driving on the opposite side of the road, but this place is basically American Proof. There are signs along the streets saying “do not enter,” “keep left,” and off sidewalks it literally says “look left” with an arrow.

Although there are hints to summer all around: 90 degree weather, sunny day after sunny day, tourists questioning bus schedules, it has finally hit me. When they mean that there is no ozone here and to reapply every hour or so, they mean it. My back is peeling like an onion. Starting from the middle and working its way to the outskirts of my shoulders and sides, the proof that I have been fried is ever apparent. Now I know that it is summer... I have one good burn under my belt.

I Live in the Future: January 6th- January 10th

2009-01-19T21:04:00.003+10:00

It was 45 degrees and a rainy mess. It was January 6^th and I being taken to the airport by my Dad. After a few days of stuffing my board bag and backpack to the gills the time had finally arrived and I was about to be traveling for the next 2 days to reach Australia. After lying to the counter woman at American Airlines about how many boards I have in my board bag, she tells me that we must weigh it. I lift the 8ft weight onto the scale only to realize that it is 20 pounds over weight and the extra bag that my Dad told me to bring ‘just in case’ was sitting behind my bedroom door 45 minutes away. My Dad got the bag.

Norfolk to Saint Louis. Much to my surprise the Saint Louis airport has security check in at each gate. In search of food I walked just barley over the line of no return when I realize that I am going to have to go through security all over again. Saint Louis checks me a little harder, and in return my bag is searched on the sidelines as other travelers and tourists alike pass me by. The Searcher has found my liquor, of which I have illegally attained. He explains to me that all liquids must fit inside a quart sized bag. I sacrifice my toothpaste to in order to fit all of the airplane bottles of Jack Daniels and move on. A Wolfgang Puck chicken pizza and I take off again.

LA. I have about 5 hours to kill. I read, call some friends, and size up the other kids in the airport that are the likely suspects of Australearn. I don’t really pay attention to any in particular until I get on the plane for the 13 hour flight to Brisbane. Unfortunately, the Qantas airplane seat lottery has provided me with a middle seat, or to the rest of us, ‘the bitch.’ I am sardined in the middle of two girls named Ashley, and one is from Tech. We shoot the small talk and actually know some of the same people.

In spite of my seating arrangement, I go ahead and warn the girls about my sudden twitching episodes when I awake from sleep in a public place. They laugh. The flight is suppose to leave at 11:50 pm (2:50 am my time), but is running about 30 minutes behind. We finally exit the gate and approach the runway when there is a loud ‘Pop.’ Yes the right tire has just burst and yes we have to go back to the gate and have it fixed. They say it will take 1 hour, but it’s finally done in just under 2. We attempt for round 2 and successfully take off at around 2:30 am (5:30 am my time). I sleep more than I would have thought and after skipping January 7^th we land around 10 am (no idea my time) on my 21^st birthday. After missing our flight to Cairns the group is all put on a flight around 1pm, so we have some time to kill.

I am ashamed to say that the American in me decided to spend his first Australian dollar on Subway. It is my first ‘Australian’ meal and I am still wondering what was put on my sandwich instead of the spicy mustard that I asked for. After I eat fresh, I people watch read, and make new friends. As we board the plane I unknowingly say goodbye to the last sunlight I will see for the next 3 days. The flight from Brisbane to Cairns is about 2 hours, but seems to pass faster after 4 Jack and Cokes and a few sketches.

The sweat is streaming down my face as I exit the plane. Finally no more planes for a few days. After haggling with the desk people about my surfboards, we all hop on a bus.

There are signs saying funny things. “XXXX,” “Pokies Here,” and word after word spelled incorrectly. Everything is measured differently... trying to figure out what petrol (gas) costs requires a money conversion then a liquid measurement conversion. I’m certainly glad that at least Time is measured the same way (for the most part). Imagine a measurement of a centi-hour, an hour that is just a little under 60 mintues. But then again there wouldn’t be minutes; it would be a centi-mintue.

We are staying at a place called “Gilligan’s:” A hostel hotel type deal with a huge indoor/outdoor bar on the bottom floor. Showers are taken, dinner is eaten, and drinking begins. Pregaming consists of my left over airplane bottles and a three dollar coke. Then downstairs we go. Shots of Absinthe and strange tasting beers all around... the night soon becomes a blur. The following day we go to a rainforestation. Here is where the site of kangaroos and sedated koalas really makes me feel like I’m in Australia. After another night much like the one before we awake on a rainy day and head to the port for the 2 hour boat ride to the Great Barrier Reef.

It is rainy out and seems like it will stay this for the entire time we are in Cairns. The rainy season holds up to its name. I strap up and hop in the water. Paradise Reef is illuminated with all sorts of fish and other ocean dwellers: Coral Trout, Clown Fish, Red Bass, Large Clams, Starfish, and Stingrays. It is simply amazing. The whole reef sways with the tide and smaller fish school together and fight the tides behind large coral heads. Snorkeling is hard work, especially when the tide is running. We head off to the second location. The second place is the reef off of Michaelmas Key. The water is shallower here creating entrapping mazes within the sharp coral walls. Sea life is abundant as before and I crave for bigger eyes to allow me to see all the ocean dwellers that live here.

We eventually have a few beers and head in, and after a quick nap we hit the town for the last night in Cairns to a crazy more or less local bar called the Woolshed.

Raleigh Ruckus

2008-12-08T09:51:00.007+10:00

These stories have occurred between the attainment of my current id, that I acquired before leaving for college.

I think it was a Hilton... A ton of sorority sisters and their respectable dates had arrived in Raleigh, North Carolina for a drunk, warm weather charged weekend. After a cold winter in Harrisonburg, Virginia the greatest thing for students of James Madison University is the first warm weekend that blanket's the campus. Although we were 5 hours away from the school, we had all suffered through the cold winter and we were ecstatic to feel the 80 degree weather and recently unwrapped palm trees. After the 5 hour car ride with 2 of my girlfriends filled with numerous games and short story exchanges, through interstate traffic, city stop lights, and North Carolinian back roads we had reached destination. We checked in under a fake wedding reception (we would never have been able to book the hotel for the formal if they knew who the real guests were- college kids, 50% underage alcoholics) we unpacked, relaxed, and started getting ready for the night out on the town.

We knew nothing of the night life in downtown Raleigh, but we quickly gathered so information from the concierge service and random people we asked at a random red light. We got a feel for the general location of bars and restaurants, so after we had showered up and had a few drinks we headed out.

The group consisted of a little less than 10 of us. I knew the girls in the group fairly well, but not too much about their dates. They would soon become good friends. We parked the car and strolled the streets looking for a good place to eat. We agreed on an Irish Pub that had little to no lighting, but seemed like a place that would unite college kids and drinkers alike. We sat down and all ordered drinks. Being sophomores in college, I don't recall any of us being 21. One of the guys we were with had a terrible id, so he took it upon himself to collect the ids into a pile to then hand to the waitress after she was done taking all the orders. This seemed like a good idea at the time, but quickly backfired when the waitress then asked everyone which id matched up. Most of the underagers at the table could remember the name on their id, but a few forgot. I still think the waitress had seen right through the plan, but she served us anyways.

I had 30 or so dollars in my wallet, realizing the night that I was about to undertake I decided, along with some others that I should take out some more money. The atm was conveniently located close to our table. I approached the machine and inserted my card... then a problem occurred: Insufficient Funds. This is one phrase that college kids and their parents hate. After embarrassingly filling my friends in on the situation, we collaborated that even if we were 21, in a case like this we would call our parents. I did as suggested. I filled my mom in on the story and she agreed to pay for my date and My's dinner along with some extra cash over the phone by giving the waitress her credit card number, like ordering take-out.

I reported back to the waitress, and she said that she would have to check with the manager. At this time I called my mom back to let her know, when she asked me:

"How much do you think the bill will be?"

"Around $75," I responded

"Where the hell are you eating?"

"Well there might be a few drinks on the tab," I fill my mom in.

"Are they serving a bunch us underage kids?"

"Well, here's the thing: If the waitress asks, my name is James Adams," I reply with a grin.

This is the name on fake id and (since I'm still not 21 yet) whenever I'm going out to the bars she tells me:

"Have a good time, and be safe, James Adams!"

To get back to the original problem, the manager rejected this idea and my friend kindly covered the tab. As for the rest of the night and weekend: I spent all my cash on drinks, and I got some money transfered in the next day. The warm weather was short lived, but an open bar to Long Island Iced Teas and various other stiff drinks made everyone quickly forget.

fake id first timer

2008-12-03T13:11:00.003+10:00

As I am getting closer and closer to the end of an era in falsely identifying myself to consume dangerous amounts of poison at dive bars... I can't help but recalling a times with my various ids.

I got my first fake id within the first month of senior year of high school. I had a friend that I worked with a this Italian restaurant (restaurant friends are a combination of the movie Waiting and Anthony Bourdain's book Kitchen Confidential) that said he had Photoshop (a stolen version of course) and a standard set of false identification making tools. I gave the guy my real Virginia driver's license and a week's time to complete the task. $35 dollars later and I was ecstatic.

I was until I realized that I needed to get an Exacto knife and cut the id out of the laminate that covered it. I was told that after cutting it I would need to apply a glue stick to the sides and it would be complete. I did as assigned and what was suppose to be my fake id looked like a second grader had a picture of me, messed around with it on Microsoft Paint, and printed it on thick, shiny paper. Suddenly, the high risk of this investment was starting to prove to have little to no returns. A week later would prove it.

A week later I drove to the Shell station near to my house to engage in my first purchase of adult beverages... What would come to be the first of infinite. I was shaking harder than a black girl's ass in a rap video, and sweating as hard as one too. I attempted to walk in with confidence, but I thought that the black cashier had seen right through me. I still had time... time to get a regular drink or a candy bar... time to show up to my ,more than likely nonexistent, party sober and ask one of my more experienced fake id equipped friends to go get me a $6 dollar case of Natural Light (which I still drink to this day). But NO, I went for it.

I walked to the back left end of the convenient store, opened the door and picked up my 12 pack. I marched up to the counter. I didn't even think about a line. I didn't think about being seen by neighborhood gossipers or my parent's friends that would be sure to rat to my parents about my illegal purchases. There I stood... 17 with beer, and my growing nervousness was matched with the growing likelihood that my voice was going to crack when I spoke next. After what seemed like forever, the line moved; gas was paid, and cigarettes were purchased. I walked up to the cash register, and placed my 12 freezing friends on the counter.

"Wo' dat be aw fo yo toe-nite?" the black guy proposed

"Yes sir," I hushed to someone who probably was only a couple years older than me.

"$6 (something)," he mumbled.

I handed the cashier my money with exact change (I was prepared to leave as quickly as possible) in total astonishment. I walked back to my car (which was parked out of viewing distance) in shock. 'Did I really just buy beer without being carded?' 'Was it really that easy?' 'Why didn't I do this all summer?' That would have saved me the embarrassment of bumming beers off people. I could not believe it. I was somewhat relieved, but somewhat pissed that the cashier had not questioned me so that I could showoff my freshly purchased older identity.

That Shell station has treated me well over the years even with the attainment of identification upgrades. I can say 'years' with confidence because last week I was home for Thanksgiving... Another 12 of good ole' Natty.

Stories and Tale Telling

2008-12-02T08:50:00.000+10:00

Time changes stories in 2 ways:

1. They become in even the oddest way funnier

2. They become further from the truth

Percentages of People

2008-11-06T13:59:00.000+10:00

One of my sidekicks and I have decided that the most you can ever know, even the most predictable person, is 70%. Why we decided this was an acceptable number, I kind of forget, but it was a good idea at the time and I'm sticking with it.

The Future of College

2008-10-31T01:46:00.000+10:00

College and the Future have 2 things in common:

The students that go there will create it and...
Anything is possible

Worthwhile Conversations

2008-10-31T01:38:00.001+10:00

I find myself holding on to the drunken memories

that I've had all weekend

Whether with old friends, fresh faces, or total strangers

Over warm up shots, late night beers, or morning coffees

there were a few good laughs, worthwhile conversations, and "remember when..." talks

that capture the audiences of all ears

Summed up with a "cheers" the drinks, and the weekends are devowered

Changing Years

2008-10-22T03:07:00.000+10:00

Friends always change with the weather

My calendars change years every Fall

Summertime friends drop like leaves from a tree

A few calls or short weekend visits

Let them hang on by the stalk

But they slowly break off

They are blown away with the cold winter winds

And every Spring a few less return

Fall is moving in

2008-10-17T12:50:00.000+10:00

The cool weather creeps in and stirs the creatures around it

The sun slides behind the mountains

No more sweat-drenched days for a while now

But the blazed trees of reds, yellows, and oranges still keep us warm

These fall flames are closing windows and killing spirits

For some reason, however; I feel more alive than ever