An Australian in New York Land (And a New Yorker Back Home)

Feb 8, 2011

Home sweet home! After nearly six months abroad in Australia, I was back home on U.S. soil. When I left Australia it was over 100 degrees, and when I landed in New York it was below zero. What a welcome home. I went from sandy beaches to snowy streets in one day. I looked at Natasha and said, "Todo, I don't think we're in Australia anymore." She jumped up and down excitedly. While I wasn't in warm Aussie land anymore, at least I had an Aussie in my freezing land. I won't go into a day by day, minute by minute replay of our New York adventure (mainly because I didn't write everything down, and my memory isn't that good), but it is certainly worth mentioning some of the many highlights.

NYC from up above

This trip was full of firsts for Natasha. It was her  first time on an international flight. She freaked out. Fortunately, she had her knitting to keep her calm. Oh, and the free flight wine. Nothing soothes the flight nerves like a mini bottles of Chardonnay. It was her first time seeing snow. She freaked out. She ran outside like a giddy child spinning round and round with her arms wide open and head lifted to the sky. Then she dove in the snow and began making snow angels across our front lawn. It was her first time driving on the right (and also the correct) side of the road. She freaked out. I could go on and on. No doubt, watching Natasha's reactions to these novelties was absolutely priceless.

Natasha's first snowfall

Snow angel making

We spent the first few nights in Saugerties, which Natasha thought was the cutest "friendly, historical" town her eyes had seen. She thought all the houses were so nice, and loved the small vintage shops and cozy town bars. It was nice to see an outsider's fascination and appreciation for my hometown, which I admittedly take for granted at times. When you've lived in a place for 25 years, you tend to become immune to its subtle splendor, from the Catskill Mountains to the Hudson River and everything in between. Natasha's fondness of Saugerties reminded me to appreciate the beauty that resides right outside my front door.

Bundled up, waiting at the Poughkeepsie train station

The two of us spent most of our time in New York City, however. Natasha fell in love with the city the moment we walked out of Grand Central Station and into the heart of the madness. As the week passed, her love deepened and deepened. She didn't want to leave. We stayed busy each day running all over the city seeing this and doing that. Natasha's list of things to see and do was ridiculously long. I explained to her that not even people who have lived in the city for a year have time to do all the things she wanted to do. But that didn't stop us from trying to do it all in a week. We hauled our little booties all over town, cramming in as much food eating, museum visiting, sight seeing, shopping and booty shaking as we could each day. Natasha had questions about everything. I felt like a horrible tour guide because I didn't know the answer to any of her inquiries. Usually, I just spat out an answer that I thought was correct and hoped that she would accept it as good enough. She was like a little child whose developing, sponge-like mind kept asking, "Mommy, what's that? Mommy, why does __(fill in the blank)___? Mommy, what's sex?" And then I would blabber something about birds and bees, cars and garages hoping it would quiet her. Don't get me wrong, I love that she was so curious about and fascinated with the city- I just didn't have a clue. I'm not that NYC savvy.

Our reflections in a piece of art at the MOMA

Natasha in the city. Doesn't she look like a New Yorker?

Drinking warm beverages at a rooftop bar that supplied us with red cloaks for warmth. We felt like we were in a cult.

We took a one day detour from New York City to visit Laura in Philly. Natasha also thoroughly enjoyed this northeast city. She was a huge fan of Philly's architecture, from the cobble streets to the mosaic tiles that were embedded in the buildings to the murals painted on the sides of buildings. She was also thrilled to indulge in a Philly Cheese Steak, Philly pretzel, and root beer soda. Some of Natasha's other favorite American foods were Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Ranch dressing, sushi, New York City pizza, Tasty D'Light ice cream, corn bread, and last but not least, bagels with cream cheese and lox.

In Philly

All in all we had a fabulous, action packed two weeks. I'm so glad that I got to share my home with Natasha,  and that her dream of going to New York City finally came true. Plus, it was great that my mom and dad could meet one of my Australian friends in the flesh after reading so much about them in my blog. They of course adored her, and were ready to adopt her as their third, Aussie child. Did I mention that she knit them socks? No? Well, she did. That's not something this child has ever done for them, nor ever will. Knitting is one skill that I haven't acquired. Oh well. I'll add it to the bottom of my "to do" list.

It was sad to send Natasha off. Her departure finalized the end of my Australian adventure. It also finalizes the end of my blog. So let's all take one large inhale together, and now let out a long, loud sigh. Ahhhh. Did you do it? Do you feel better? No? Me either. Go grab tissues, we can cry together. But I will only permit you to cry for one minute. After that you must wipe a smile back on your face, and be comforted knowing that you can come back and read this blog any time you experience nostalgia. It will be here waiting for you, I promise. And I promise that I will be back to blogging the moment I embark on my next great adventure. But for now, let's go out with a hearty group "CHEERS!"

My Last, Final, Ultimate Week in Sydney AUSTRALIAAAA

This was it. My nearly two-month long travel expedition through New Zealand and Australia had come to an end, and now I was back in Sydney for one last week. I couldn't believe it. It felt like just yesterday that I stepped off the plane and stared in amazement at the Sydney Opera House and bridge, and now in just a few more days I would be stepping on a plane that would take me away from it all and bring me back to my real home in New York. It was a bitter, but sweet thought.

I spent my final week crashing at Natasha's place in Leichhardt, the Little Italy of Sydney. I focused my time and energy on three things: 1) seeing as many of my Sydney friends as possible, from my dozens of foreign roommates back at 60 Bourke Street to my Summit mates to my American companions (such as Aubrey, Sara was back home for the holidays); 2) spending as much time at the fabulous Sydney beaches as possible (mainly Manly, Bondi and Coogee); and 3) eating the best cuisine that Sydney had to offer including Greek, Italian and Chinese deliciousness. My final night in Sydney I had a goodbye dinner with some of my favorites: Natasha, Aubrey, Matt and Andy (both mutual friends of Sara's who became mine too). Matt, the unbelievably kind gentleman that he is, treated us all to the finest pizza that Sydney has to offer at Lucio's (it's no New York pizza, but it was good). Then we went to his favorite cocktail bar where I was treated to a magical potion of a cocktail which required wearing goggles to enjoy the smoky preparation of the drink concoction. Fortunately, it didn't taste like a chemistry experiment. Then the bunch ventured onward to another laid back lounge where we sipped on wine and played jenga for the remainder of the evening. I couldn't think of a better way to spend my final night in Sydney. I was in a state of bliss as I enjoyed the evening with these fantastic people whom I was proud to call friends. There was no doubt I was going to miss them, and there was certainly no doubt that I was going to miss Sydney and Australia.

Out for Pizza (Natasha and Matt)

My chemistry cocktail

Sad to say goodbye

With Aussie Andy

Playing Jenga

With my girl Aubrey

I think I would have been in a state of depression were it not for the fact that miss Natasha was coming back with me to New York for two weeks. She had never been outside of Australia and had always dreamed of going to New York. As an avid fan of Sex and The City, an art history major, a classical pianist, a model, and a shopaholic, New York City was Natasha's heaven on earth. She had stacks of New York City books in her room (and by stacks I mean two or three books). Visions of the Empire State Building, Metropolitan Museum of Art and Burberry fluttered through her mind at night as she slept. She was excited to come to New York as I was to come to Sydney. Now was her chance, and I was so excited to be there to share this momentous occasion with her. I had just spent six months in Natasha's world, and now she was going to get to experience mine. How cool. This coupled with my eagerness to see my beloved parents, sister and friends was a powerful enough antidote to ward off any depression I would have otherwise felt. My exciting journey wasn't over quite yet.

What more can I say that I haven't already said in this blog? My time in Australia wasn't everything I had hoped it would be; it was so much more. I developed friendships with amazing people from around the world; saw astonishing, mind-bogglingly beautiful places; and participated in one thrilling adventure after another.  It's hard to express how grateful I am to have had this experience and how I've changed and grown as a person, but undoubtedly I am departing Australia a different but better Sarah than the one who arrived.  I will forever cherish my time in Australia, my second home away from home. Already I am looking forward to the day I return to Oz. I saw a lot, but there is still so much more of Australia I have yet to see, like the inside of the Sydney Opera House (oops, how did I manage to forgo that one?) and wild kangaroos (six months in Australia and I didn't see a single wild kangaroo! That's just not right). It's funny, many people I talk to about my travels to Australia tell me, "Good for you! Do it now while you can and get it out of your system" but I don't want to get this out of my system. I want to keep this passion for travelling, thrill for adventures and joy of life in my system always. And that means one very important thing: that there will be many more "travel diaries in foreign lands" to come. So stay tuned!

I'd like to give a shout out to my very dedicated and loyal followers (Greg, Mom & Dad). You rock. This girl is almost officially signing out (I will be posting one more follow-up blog about my time in NY with Natasha). As the Aussie's say, "G'day Mate!"

East Coast Expedition: Bouncing Through Byron Back To Sydney

Feb 1, 2011

I woke in my hostel bed in Brisbane, refreshed for the final leg of my trip. I decided that I would spend the day in Byron Bay before climbing on a night bus back to Sydney. This was my second time in Byron Bay. If you rewind your memories (or back track through my blogs) you will recall that Natasha and I spent a day of our Christmas vacation there. It was the hippie, Woodstock-like town located on the coast that radiated rainbows and fuzzy warm things. I had liked it there so much the first time, that I wanted to go again. I arrived around noon and stood at the bus stop weighed down by the heavy load of bags I was carrying. I was pleased that it was a gorgeous day out, but I wasn't too fond of the sweat that I was starting to perspire. There was no way I was going to enjoy a leisurely afternoon in Byron with all this crap dangling off my back and arms. I could barely haul it off the bus nonetheless carry it around town all day. Normally, I would check into a hostel and leave my stuff in a secure place there, but because I was taking a night bus home I hadn't reserved a hostel room. I needed a solution, and fast.

Suddenly, a lightening bolt of genius hit me smack dab in the head. I achingly dragged myself a few blocks away to the hostel Natasha and I had stayed in a few months prior. When we had checked out, they let us store our baggage in a secure luggage room. All we had to do was ask for the key. Logic told me that if I politely asked for the key now they would hand it over, no questions asked. How would the front desk person know that I wasn't a current hostel guest? Luckily for me, she didn't. First, I snuck into the bathroom (which fortunately didn't require a key to get into) and changed into my bathing suit. A swim was necessary on a hot day like this. Then I hid my luggage around the corner, approached the reception desk nonchalantly, and asked if I could have the key to the luggage room. And voila! Just like magic the keys were in my hand. Am I smart, or am I smart? I felt like I was some spy on a top secret mission. Mrs. James Bond in action. I stealthy slipped around the corner, grabbed my bags and tossed them in the luggage room. Then I handed the keys back to the receptionist, flashed my pearly whites and wished her a nice day. I skipped down the road all the way back to town, whistling as I went.

After strolling the streets and nifty shops, and munching on a macadamia nut white chocolate muffin and sushi (an odd but scrumptious combo, when eaten separately) I made my way down to the beach for a swim. The sun had grown hotter, and the sweat was now tumbling off my body. It was time for a cool down. Byron Bay beach was lovely. I enjoyed drifting with the waves for a while, basking in the memories of my incredible past  few months of travel. I probably could have stayed there for hours, but lo and behold some dang jellyfish began to creep up on me. Chances are they were harmless, but then again in Australia the chances are also pretty good that they are lethal.  I had no intention of getting stung and/or killed by a deadly boxer jelly fish on my last day of travels, so I battled my way through the rough ocean currents back to shore where I resumed my reflective lounging on the beach.  Once dry, I decided to walk up to the Byron Bay lighthouse. Natasha and I had attempted to do this, but somehow managed to failed back in December. Despite following the signs that said "Lighthouse this way" we ended up at the bottom of the cliff that the lighthouse was perched atop. I was determined to make it this time. I quickly realized, however, that determination is only a part of the equation. Knowing where you're going is the other half, and I did not know where I was going. How foolish of me to assume that I would miraculously reach the lighthouse by following the same signs that had lead Natasha and I astray the first time. I won't drag this on folks, I failed again. Somehow I ended up back on the beach beneath the lighthouse. It's quite embarrassing actually. How is it that I can manage to navigate my way across all of New Zealand, both the north and south islands, and down the east coast of Australia with no trouble at all yet I can't find my way up a measly path to a lighthouse? Can someone please explain this to me, because I was and still am baffled. All I can reason is that someone decided to play a lighthearted prank on us backpackers and turned the "Lighthouse this way" signs in the wrong direction. That must be it, because I refuse to believe I am that stupid or incompetent. Where's a GPS when you need it?

I spent the rest of the evening doing my least favorite activity: you guessed it, waiting. Once back from my unsuccessful hike, I transformed into Mrs. Bond again and retrieved my luggage from the hostel. Then I spent a couple of hours at the bus stop waiting for my final Greyhound bus to come pick me up and take me back to Sydney. On board, I curled up in my seat like a baby and dozed the entire length of the ten hour trip. When I opened my eyes and peered out the window I saw none other than the Sydeny Opera House standing majestically in the distance. I broke into a smile and sighed. It was good to be back.

East Coast Expedition: Adios Airlie, Bienvenidos Brisbane (Again)

Jan 31, 2011

I woke Monday morning afraid to open my eyes, wondering if the hostel walls were still standing. I pried one eyelid open and then the other. Unless I was still dreaming, the hostel had not crumbled down. Phew. I climbed down from the top bunk and crept to the window to peer at the damage outside. I was relieved to see that the buildings outside were still standing in one piece too, although there was palm tree branches and debris thrown across the streets. Cyclone Anthony had spared Airlie, but had it killed my chance to climb on board the Tongarra again? The suspense was gnawing at me, and so I wasted no time making my way back to ABC Travel to see Andy where I expected to finally get my yes/no answer. How foolish of me to assume. Again, I was met with an ambiguous answer. "Well," Andy said. "They have to go down and check the boat for damages. It it's ok then we are planning to run the trip this afternoon. But right now the boat marina is closed, and if the owner doesn't open the marina then we won't be able to go regardless of the Tongarra's condition. Why don't you come back at noon. We should know by then." Seriously? Didn't these people know that us backpackers had travel plans to make? If this boat wasn't sailing then I wanted to get a move on back to Sydney, but I didn't want to bail just yet. After all the effort I had put into getting back to Airlie, it seemed like a waste to just walk away if there was still a chance of sailing again. Oy Vey! That's all I could say as I headed out the door, oy vey.

I had three hours to kill until noon. I decided first to get some breakfast since my stomach had started growling. I walked down the street to the grocery store only to find a hand written sign taped to the entrance that read: "Closed due to no power. Will open as soon as power comes back." Great. I had forgotten that Anthony had wiped out Airlie Beach's power. I wondered further down the street expecting the Mc Donalds or Subway to be open; those mega-chains always have generators, don't they? They answer, I soon discovered, was no. After doing two full laps up and down the main street the reality of the situation was confirmed: nobody was open for business because nobody had power. Weren't hurricanes a common occurrence around here? Why weren't these Aussies prepared? This could be a problem, I thought. I had no food, and there was no food to be bought. What was a hungry girl to do? Wait, of course.

I quickly learned that the impact of Cyclone Anthony and the power outage affected more than my ability to eat. Since I couldn't eat, I changed my game plan and decided that I would pass the three hours swimming at the lagoon. When I got to the lagoon it was lined with yellow caution tape with signs announcing it was closed until the debris in the water was cleaned. So I changed my game plan again and decided that I would buy a book from the outside book stand (which was the only thing open) and pass the three hours reading. I had spent all my cash (they only accepted cash), so I went to the ATM which was silly of me because I realized as I stood staring at the blank screen that no power meant no ATM access. Duh. It also meant that I couldn't charge my phone which was almost dead, and I couldn't go on the Internet to look up the bus and flight schedules. Oh, and I couldn't call Mick to see if he knew the status of the trip because the cell towers were down. Oy vey. I was starting to get quite anxious.

I retreated back to the hostel and plopped my butt down on a bench to wait for the miracle of power to return. Moments later, in walks none other than that random Canadian guy who accompanied us to Monkey's friend's house party back at Rainbow Beach (remember, I told you he would come back into play). The guy sits down next to me and strikes up a conversation with me, but it wasn't a "Oh hey! I remember you from Rainbow Beach. How are you?" type of conversation. No, instead it was a "Hi! We've never met before so lets get acquainted" type of conversation. I was cracking up inside but maintained a neutral face as he told me all about himself...again. "Yes, I know you're from Toronto," I wanted to say, "because we've had this conversation once before. And yes, I know you just came from Rainbow Beach because I was just there with you dummie." But I didn't. I let the man ramble. I still had a lot of time left to kill.

I almost lost my composure when Mr. Clueless Canadian (as he shall now be called) started to tell me about "this awesome party with the locals" that he went to in Rainbow Beach. "Oh yea?" I replied as fought my cheeks together to avoid bursting out laughing. He indulged me: "Yea it was at this house and there were all these people there playing bongos and guitars and singing. It was awesome. I got to know a lot of the locals really well." I squeezed my cheeks together a little harder. I was dumbfounded. Mr. Clueless Canadian didn't have the slightest clue that I was there too, sitting directly by his side as we banged on bongo drums and sang together. I didn't dare tell him either. Instead, I inquired further. "Oh yea? Which locals?" I asked. "Well," he said pausing to think. "I don't really remember their names (that didn't come as a shocker), but there was this one dude who was really built. I think they called him Monster. And he had this massive beard."  I was now squeezing my legs together to prevent myself from peeing my pants. Was this guy serious? "MONKEY!" I wanted to shout. "His name was Monkey, not Monster you bimbo. And he had massive dreads, not a beard! Clearly, you knew him very well." Was this guy really that idiotic? Apparently, yes. But it is not in my nature to call someone out on their stupidity. It is only in my nature to blab of their stupidity to the world in my blog. But since you all only know him as Mr. Clueless Canadian, I think his identity is pretty well protected.  He will not suffer an ounce of embarrassment. I wonder if he even knows his own name? I wonder if he will ever make it back to Toronto? Oh the things we will never know.

But back to the more urgent matter: the power, the sailing trip, and my sanity. Around 11:00 a.m. I received my first saving grace: the Vodaphone cellphone service was back. I immediately texted Mick to see if he knew the status of the marina and today's sailing trip. After what felt like hours, he messaged me back and informed me that the trip had been canceled. Finally! A definite answer. It wasn't the one I wanted to read, but at least it was a final verdict. After my agonizing morning in Airlie with no power and absolutely nothing to do, there was no way I was going to stick around the desolate place longer than I had too. And there was definitely no way I was going to stick around for the next cyclone to strike in a few days. Anthony was a category two, this next one was suppose to be a category five. I could only imagine that being like ten Cyclone Anthony's on steroids; I had no desire to stick around and find out. So I put my efforts into finding the quickest, easiest way out of town. Fortunately, I found another travel company that was open and running on generators. I booked the next bus to the airport, from where I would catch a plane back to Brisbane. The shuttle bus wasn't until 3:00 p.m. however, which meant I had another three hours to kill. I wanted to cry. God was giving me a mandatory lesson in patience and waiting. I had also learned a few important lessons about how to best prepare for a hurricane: 1) Stock up on food 2) Stock up on cash (not plastic cards, but the flimsy paper stuff), and 3) Stock up on books and/or reading materials. Crossword or sudoku puzzles would suffice too.

Eventually, the power returned to Airlie and I was able to get myself a Subway wrap, check my email and charge my phone. And eventually, 3 o'clock rolled around and I was able to get on the bus and go to the airport. Eventually, after much fumbling and enduring many technical and payment difficulties I was able to purchase my flight back to Brisbane that evening. And after taking off at 7:00 p.m. I eventually made it to my hostel in Brisbane around 10:00 p.m. where I literally went to the bathroom and then passed out. I was disappointed that mother nature had ruined my near perfect plan to get back on the Tongarra, but I was extremely grateful that I had been able to sail the Whitsunday Islands at all. For many travelers, this was there one and only opportunity to embark on the sailing trip and now they had no choice but to carry on without ever witnessing the grander and beauty of the islands. I had been fortunate enough seen this splendor for which I felt blessed. Thus, I couldn't hold a grudge against mother nature. She was still cool in my book. Now I had my sights set on Sydney. I was ready to be back in familiar territory and to see all my friends again before I returned home. This east coast expedition had been a fabulous and surreal adventure, but my second home was calling. It was time to go home.

East Coast Expedition: Cyclone Anthony At Airlie

Jan 30, 2011

This morning I woke depressed that my E-team had left me, but optimistic that the weather would cooperate and I would get the green light to sail aboard the Tongarra again. After a morning run along the bicentennial walkway and a dip in the lagoon, I paid Andy a visit at ABC Travel. When I walked in he smiled, and then gave me a look that said, "You aren't going to like the words that are about to come out of my mouth." I gulped. "What's the word?" I asked less optimistic. Andy signaled for me to come around the desk and look at his computer screen, which showed the hour by hour path of the storm predicted to hit land today. The cyclone's name was Anthony, and there was no doubt that this category 2 cyclone was going to strike Airlie Beach. And a category 5 cyclone was suppose to strike on Thursday, four days from now. "All the boats are shut up right now," Andy said. "In the morning they will go out and look at the damage. If the boats are okay then they are planning on going out as scheduled tomorrow." So there was still a chance, but based on the red swirls and twirls I saw on the computer screen the odds didn't seem too good. All I could do was wait...some more. The anticipation was killing me. I just wanted a yes/no answer already! The answer I had to settle for was: maybe yes, maybe no.

Cyclone Anthony

That evening I met up with Patrick and some Irish gals who were on the Fraser Island trip with us. We met at the hostel bar Beaches for dinner and to watch the Australian Open men's final which was happening in real time in Melbourne. When we sat down there was heavy rain outside, a sure sign that Anthony was approaching. Gradually, the wind and rain picked up more and more. That's when we lost power. Goodbye tennis. Goodbye lights. Hello darkness. The bar was packed with patrons, and not a single soul retreated. Where else would we go? What else was there to do? The answer was nothing, nothing but to continue drinking our drinks, eating our food, and carrying on chatting. And that's precisely what we did. Before I knew it, the powerful wind was madly blowing the dense rain horizontally. The palm trees were bent in half, gripping the ground tightly with their roots to avoid being ripped out of the earth. It was intense. Suddenly it occurred to me that I was in the middle of a hurricane. Anthony had arrived, and he was fierce and frightening. Someone needs to sign that cyclone up for anger management classes. But the travelers surrounding me loved it. The wilder Anthony got, the louder they cheered. Hurricanes, apparently, were an occurrence worthy of a celebration. And celebrate they did.

Minutes later, the bar announced that it was closing (it was only 8:00 pm). We were instructed to leave immediately and retreat to the safety of our hostel rooms. As everyone felt their way blindly out of the bar, the staff frantically tried to secure the bar, boarding up its windows and doors. Patrick and the Irish girls were staying at a hostel down the road. They invited me to join them there for more Cyclone Anthony festivities, but I declined. Beaches Bar was attached to the hostel I was staying at, and I figured it was wisest to stay put rather than chance venturing out into the wrath of Anthony. So I made my way back to my room. My floor hallway was overrun with loud, jovial backpackers. It seemed that the bar patrons had regrouped in my hallway now making it the bar. I wasn't interested in frolicking in the dark with strangers whose faces I couldn't even see, so I hurried into my room where I hoped I would find some solace. No such luck. Instead, I opened the door to find one of my Irish roommates hysterically crying while her travel companions tried to console her. She was deathly afraid of Anthony. "I want to go home," she wailed. "I wish I was home." Nothing and no one could comfort her, and so her friends abandoned her to join the hallway jamboree. Thus I was the lucky soul who got to endure her melt down as she sat on her bunk clutching her teddy bear and rocking back and forth sobbing. I'm not even sure if she knew I was there, but I thought it best to let her be. With time her sobbing ceased, until I lay in my bunk in total silence and darkness. It wasn't even 9:00 yes, but  I snuggled under my covers. "When in dark," I decided, "go to sleep." While Anthony waged war outside, I slept peacefully inside.

East Coast Expedition: Brisbane Back to Airlie Beach

Jan 29, 2011

I wasted no time getting my behind back to Airlie Beach. I took at 10:00 am flight from Brisbane to Hamilton Island (one of the Whitsunday Islands) where I caught a ferry back to the mainland. When I arrived I had a message on my phone from Mick, the skipper of Tongarra. He said he had spoken to Andy and that it would be fine if I came out on the boat as a volunteer (whoopie!). The only issue was that there were two cyclones (hurricanes in our lingo) making their way towards Airlie Beach, and he wasn't sure yet if they would be sailing.  We just had to sit tight and wait and see what move mother nature made. She can be rather unpredictable, so there was a chance she would strike with fury or simple pass us by untouched. Only time would tell.

In the meantime, I reunited with my children from Fraser Island. I joined Kit, Joe, Nicola and Olivia at the lagoon where we lounged by the water and rested in the grassy field. They were so cute. They told me that they cheered on the bus when I told them I was coming to Airlie. It felt oh-so good to be together once more. We spent the first part of our evening at Magnums, an outdoor hostel bar, where we played the most amusing guessing game. Each person at the table wrote down a name of a person or character (famous or real, human or non-human, living or dead) on a piece of paper and then passed it to the person to their right who stuck the the name on their forehead for everyone else to see. Then we each had to guess the name on our forehead by asking yes/no questions. I know it doesn't sound all that exciting, but trust me it was ridiculously fun way to pass the time. Of course, the company added to the fun factor, but I'm certain it would still be fun playing with complete strangers. The name on my forehead was "Jesus." I was the second one to guess correctly, but it took what felt like an eternity to get it. I was stumped for a good while. I had narrowed it down to a dead historical figure which leaves, well, a lot of options. When in doubt, guess Jesus. It worked for me. The other forehead names were: James Bond (I came up with that one), Bilbo Baggins, Frosty the Snowman, Paddington Bear, and Lord Voldamort.

Lil spit is all you need to stick the paper to your head. Hah

Next we went to KC's where we dined on $10 dinners before heading over to the Phoenix Bar for a night of dancing. We danced liked maniacs to the Aussie techno beats, shaking our groove thangs and tapping our happy feet. Poor Kit, with his blonde hair and blue eyes, was quite popular among some of the other male patrons (if you know what I mean). Each time he got hit on, we would look at me and pipe, "Save me mommy!" It was hilarious. I would shuffle my feet in his direction, throw him my imaginary fish line at him, and reel him away from the prowling bystanders. Momma bear always protects her cubs. That evening I was on chaperon duty, interjecting whenever things got a tad uncomfortable. Of course, it was all in good fun. And fun we had.

Dinner at KC's with Patrick

Me, The E-team and some other English lads in Airlie Beach 

Then that dreaded time came to say goodbye to my children-- again. I barely survived the first time. Round two was no easier. Kit, bless his soul, told me that he was going to be homesick back in Melbourne because he would be missing his mummy (me, not his real mom although I'm sure he misses her too). Doesn't that just melt your heart? Mine was dripping on the floor. This was definitely the last time I was going to see my darling E-team in Australia. They were catching an early flight from Airlie Beach back to Melbourne where they worked at a high school as gym teacher assistants. A trip to Melbourne wasn't feasible for me, I was running out of time and money. We made promises to come visit each other in the near futures. Until then, we made a pack to stalk each other on facebook. What would I do without that piece of social media genius? Thank you Mark Zuckerberg, you are keeping my family together.