Blogabout Europe

Temper Tantrum at Sea

I had my first semi-breakdown in the water on Sunday. After a long afternoon the previous day at the Old Bar bowling club, betting on losing horses while my second choices (the ones I didn't bet on)consistently crossed the finish line, I wasn't feeling fantastic. I'd probably only lost six dollars, but it was the principle of the thing.  That I'd nearly picked a winner and then decided against it at the last minute.

After tugging on my child sized wetsuit and hopping across rocks with the surfboard, I was already feeling frustrated. Frustrated at the wetsuit, frustrated that I didn't know how to surf already, and frustrated at the bikini-clad girl in the water, catching wave after wave in the time it took me to place navigate to the water.

I got on the board and forgot everything I'd learned so far. Feeling completely out of my element, I allowed each wave to toss me into the water, sending my board towards shore before being tugged back by my leg rope. My duck dives and attempts at paddling were hopeless, and I wanted to bash the surfers in the water out of sheer jealousy.

I know.  Very, very childish.  

So, I am utterly ashamed to say, I pulled out. Without even making it out to sea, I shook my head angrily at Jared, picked up the board, and hightailed it straight out of the water. Fuming, I rinsed off the board, rashie and wetsuit, then sat wrapped in a towel, watching the legitimate surfers as they made it look easy. 

Watching is not the way to become a surfer, just as thinking about a novel is not the way to become a writer. All I can do is wait for the next attempt and make sure I see it through.   

Paddle Pops

Surf lesson #2 took place on Sunday at Dudley Beach in Newcastle.

The sky was partly cloudy, the sea was reasonably gentle,and my wetsuit was still child-sized for maximum discomfort. I took the longboard, which seemed awkward and ungainly, much like I do on a surfboard. This turned out to be  a wise decision, because it gave me slightly more stability in the water. No dolphins made an appearance, but I paddled my hardest, feeling like I was exerting a high level of effort for a minimal achievment. Jared lazily sliced through the water and was soon a tiny speck on the horizon.

Most of my energy goes to staying on the surfboard while laying on my front. I do not attempt to sit up and watch for waves, nor do I attempt to catch them without Jared shouting, "Now! Paddle!" My goal during lesson three, besides the everlasting aim of standing up, is to make my own wave decisions. The exciting part of Sunday's lesson was that my feet touched board. I felt it, for just a split second, the hard plastic and rough dried wax against my soles, and nearly rejoiced before being destroyed by the wave and tumbling into the ocean.

Lesson three is due to take place tomorrow morning in Port Macquarie. I know this town to be the home of my temporary adopted koala, Binnacle Clearview. My sisters adopted him in my name for the duration of one year in 2006, and he lived at the Koala Sanctuary, where he was recovering from either some sort of fire or from falling out of a tree. Visiting Binnacle C. is not on the agenda, though, as apparently there is more to Port than koalas.

I have three days off, the sun is shining and it smells like summer outside, all good omens for the road trip. Now I have to go practice my standing up techniques on the kitchen floor, while no one is home to laugh at my attempts.

National Velvet

On Wednesday, I baked. Red velvet cupcakes, to be specific. I finally quashed the craving I have been cultivating for two years, ever since I had one on set as an extra for the movie 'The Year of Getting to Know Us.' I never saw the movie, but I'm pretty confident that the cupcake was of a higher standard than the script.

As I was making the cupcakes (from scratch!), Jared watched, horrified.  The Australians don't eat red velvet cupcakes, and I think I know why - they are really bad for you. I mean, really bad. Probably not as bad as that other American favorite, the Cheesecake Factory, but still no trace of nutrition. Ms. Paula Deen's recipe involves an artery-clogging amount of butter and cream cheese, not to mention more sugar than you'd collect in a good night on Halloween. Paula's instructions also left me with half a bowl of cream cheese icing that I couldn't bear to throw away. It is now chilling in a tupperware container in the fridge. I will probably eat it, then feel gross afterwards. Knowing this in advance does not decrease the likelihood of it happening.

The problem with baking is that the results taunt me. The neon red cupcakes (slightly too much food coloring) were calling me from the kitchen all morning. At 10:08, I broke down and ate one. It was so delicious that I had two. Then I remembered what they were made of and my stomach started to hurt. I'm not entirely sure what sort of lesson I should have learned here. It either has something to do with self-control or having some one else make the cupcakes, so I can enjoy them in blissful ignorance.

I'm hoping for blissful ignorance.

Sticky Situation

I'm getting old. I know this because the trends are passing me by at lightspeed. The other day at work, a boy of about thirteen came up to the counter with his mom and grandma to buy a DC logo baseball cap.  As I was trying to hide my shock and disgust at the hat's $60 price tag, he told me that he didn't need a bag. I cut the tags off of his overpriced accessory and went to peel the shiny sticker off of the brim.

Panic ensued.

"Oh, no, he needs that sticker!" said Grandma.

"Don't peel that off!" said Mom.

Son just stood at the counter, looking terrified.

I deftly smoothed the sticker back onto the brim of the hat. Good as new. Disaster averted. Everyone let out their collective breath and we all went on with our lives.

I told this story to my coworkers, who all got a good laugh out of it. When did stickers become fashionable? Why is it crucial for a new hat to retain the proof that it is 7 3/8" in size? It makes me lose heart in the kids of today. Take a stand. Peel off the sticker.

And while you're at it, please, please wear your hat with the brim over your forehead. And speaking of the brim - bend it a little. Flat brims do no one any favors.

Current Events

I lied when I said I'd be updating the blog and/or starting a new one in a week. Nearly a month has passed since that post and much has happened.

What has not happened, however, is people making suggestions. So I still have no name suggestions for the new Australia blog. Looks like I'm on my own here, faithful reader (s?).

Since my last post, here are some things that have happened.

1. I have been shit on three times by fruit bats in the Blackbutt Reserve. First it was on my leg, then on my wrist. Yesterday, one particular bat exhibited stunning accuracy and smashed me right on top of the head. Awesome.

2. I got a job. I work for a surf clothing store at the local shopping mall. Kind of like I did when I was seventeen. Some might say I am coming full circle. Some might say I am hitting rock bottom. I'll leave it to you to decide. I am managed by an 18-year-old and a 19-year-old. What's that? A unanimous vote for rock bottom?

3. We got a car. Well, really, Jared and his parents did all the searching and procuring of said car, all I had to do was be surprised when he picked me up from work in it. White subaru station wagon, '95. We don't do flashy. Most importantly, it is an automatic - woohoo! My manual driving lessons are on hiatus so I think this is safer for everyone.

4. Surf lessons are underway. I ordered a wetsuit off of eBay, and it arrived two sizes too small. I think I used to have a cabbage patch kid that would fit easily into this wetsuit. However, with the magic of stretching, I managed to get it on and get in the water. Although I still have not mastered the art of standing up on the board, I did see dolphins. Jared guided my board through the surf so I was at least able to catch some waves while continuing to lie facedown on the board, much to the disgust of the surrounding surfers.

5. The east coast of Australia had the biggest dust storm in something like seventy years. I woke up on Wednesday morning to find the atmosphere completely orange.  Dust had blown in from the outback, through Canberra and all the way up the New South Wales coast to Queensland. People were advised not to exercise and that it would pass. It did. The dust on my pillow that was in front of the window, however, did not pass and I have had to pummel it several times so far.

6. I learned secondhand about the wrath of magpies. While driving around Newcastle, I saw a man on a bicycle who had long antennaes sticking out of his helmet. "What's that?" I said. "To keep away the magpies," Jared said. I laughed. "No, really. What's that for?" "You laugh," Jared said. "I'm the one who's going to be laughing when you get attacked by magpies." That afternoon, walking back from work, I saw a man cycling down the sidewalk. Suddenly, a vicious black and white bird swooped down from above and pecked his helmet, hard! He cowered in fear and pedaled faster. The bird flew down no less than FOUR times in total, giving the cyclist a lifetime of bad memories and me a newfound fear of birds. "I told you," said Jared. Currently contemplating wearing an antennaed helmet every time I exit the house, like sunscreen.

These are the main things.

In the Land of Oz

I've been in Australia for just over three weeks, and the thought occured to me that 'Blogabout Europe' is no longer an appropriate title for this blog.  So I'm going to start a new one in the next week or so, and it's going to be Australia-centric.  If you have any suggestions for a new name, please let me know because I'm experiencing a lull in creativity. 

Australia is like the promised land after nearly two years in the UK.  This is, in large part, due to the weather, but mainly because of the overall quality of life. 

Example:  Last week, I went skiing for the first time, a few hours inland from Canberra.  A few days later, I went to the beach.  The conditions were excellent in both locations for both activities. 

In the morning I get up and run in the Blackbutt Nature Reserve across the street.  The other morning I literally raced an emu.  This is not an exaggeration.  The emu instigated it, and I am proud to say that it lost.  The fact that there was a fence between us is a minor detail.  There are also goannas, fruit bats, kangaroos, and even koalas scattered around the reserve.  Nothing like the smell of eucalyptus in the morning.

Yesterday I went for a walk around the wildlife exhibits and got an impromptu meeting with a wombat. The keeper happened to be passing by and asked if I would like to pat Bonnie or Clyde, the resident wombats.  Who passes up this kind of opportunity?  Not me.  In case you were wondering, wombats have scratchy fur and get jealous if they are not the ones being patted. They also like chocolate and crunchy noodles, though they aren't allowed to eat either one.

Not the kind of stuff you get to do on a daily basis anywhere else, at least not in my experience.

Regular blogging (and photos!) to come, which will focus on life and travel in and around Australia. As soon as I come up with a name. 

Passport at the ready

This blog is almost one year old, and it has been shamefully neglected.  I am aware.  I blame the fact that i can't access it at work, and my computer (second computer in four months) has recently died. 

Here's the important stuff - my UK days are numbered.  Next week, I'm going to Turkey, then a few weeks after that I'll be blogging a Wicked campervan trip around the UK & Ireland.  Then...it's a one way flight to Sydney.  Goodbye Thames, hello Pacific.  Now that's a body of water. 

So I need to know this:  advice for Turkey?  It will be a quick trip, five days of Istanbul, cannakale, and Gallipoli. 

You can also start thinking about this:  advice for a three week campervan journey around England, Scotland, Ireland & Wales.  My primary question is How do I shower?  Someone suggested wet naps.  I hope it doesn't come to that.

Can you really Carpe every Diem?

When we were sitting in Rome, sharing a bottle of Italian red, Anne brought up a good point. 

"Do you ever find it kind of sad that traveling isn't always as exciting as you imagined?"  

I couldn't help but wonder (shoot me now, Carrie Bradshaw) if she was right.  In a way, yes.  There are those times when you are exhausted from taking a bus to a plane to a train, down a darkened Roman alley, only to arrive at a hostel that is experiencing a blackout.  There are times when you are dirty, wearing scummy tennis shoes, sporting a bird's nest on your head, and all you want is a hot bath and some nice-smelling body lotion.  And, as we experienced in Italy, there are the times when you see something so mind-blowingly old, like the colosseum, and instead of really seeing it, you snap a few photos with your pocket-sized digital camera and dart back into the metro station.  

I think the initial letdown comes from the realisation that no matter where you are, you are still you.  Turning up in Rome, Paris, Tokyo or Sydney doesn't guarantee some sort of personal transformation.  The enlightenment, the exciting part, comes from the parts that aren't on your must-see list, or the images that are frozen in your mind instead of on your memory card.  

Anne and I might not remember exactly how we felt when we threw coins into the Trevi fountain, but I won't forget 3-year-old Francesca, who insisted on throwing her bunny puppet into our laps on the plane, then roaring with laughter.  Or Mister Salvatore, a young Italian mama's boy who tried to coerce us into the hotel's reception area so that his silent, computer-card-playing friend could have a crack at Anne, the blonde American.  Though it certainly wasn't funny at the time, I'd like to think that Anne can now laugh at the stress of us running like graceful elephants through the Vauxhall train station so we could get the last train to Hampton Court.  Then, thirty minutes later, just after we'd caught our breath, I inexplicably got off at the stop just before mine, forcing us to make the game time decision to call a taxi.  

Because that's the appeal of travel, really, as opposed to a vacation.  You learn what kind of stuff you're made of.  Once you survive a wily cab ride through the streets of Cairo with a fist waving Arabic man, or a food-poisoning-related blackout on the hard linoleum of a New Zealand hostel bathroom, you realise that you're capable of more than you thought.  You learn to relax, you learn to breathe, and then you learn to really look at what's in front of you, and understand that you're here to see much more than you'll ever fit into a photo album.  

lvfit

Don't forget the hand sanitizer

Luxor

.  I knew that it was the name of a pyramid-themed hotel in Vegas, but that was the extent of my knowledge.  After two days of the

Temple of Karnak, Valley of the Kings, and Hapshetsut's Temple, I can see that Vegas does a poor imitation. We caught a taxi to the Luxor airport on Monday morning, because that’s where the bus station is located.  Our driver told us that there had been a bomb the previous day in Cairo, but we knew nothing about it, as CNN’s ‘World News’ coverage had focused exclusively on the success of ‘Slumdog Millionaire.’ 

He dropped us at the bus station, where we waited for forty-five minutes to catch our bus to Hurghada.  It was an air-conditioned coach, and there wasn’t a tourist to be found.  We drove along the Nile valley, stopping in tiny villages for toilet stops, or slowing down to a crawl, allowing passengers to jump off the bus as necessary. 

The highlight of the ride was probably Muslim prayer time, when the wisdom of our seat choice became clear.  Jared and I made an inspired selection, unwittingly sitting directly under the only speaker on the bus.  The driver turned up the volume of the prayer to top volume so everyone could enjoy it.  Yes.  Enjoy is certainly the word I would use.

A close second was my toilet experience.  I used a hole-in-the-ground toilet before, five years ago in Greece, when I caused a ruckus by monopolizing a stall in the Patras bus station.  This was due to my inability to squat, thus requiring me to remove my pants to prevent embarrassing stains.  The consequence of this were numerous dirty looks from elderly Greek women who no doubt could squat over a hole one inch in diameter on a moving train while wearing leather pants blindfolded and still not miss.

The point is, I’ve come a long way, because this time I peed like a pro and didn’t bat an eye at the unidentifiable bugs, lack of toilet paper or suspicious bucket of water in the corner.  And I am not ashamed of my liberal and immediate use of hand sanitizer afterwards.  

 Hurghada is a work in progress, in an apparent rush to join the club of tourist resort towns.  We stopped there so I could dive in the Red Sea, which was what we did most of the next day.  We used Funny Divers, who were right across from our hotel, the Empire Three Corners.  The captain put together a big traditional buffet lunch between dives.  There was falafel, taboula, pasta, potatoes, and I couldn’t even tell you what else.  Easily one of the best meals we had in Egypt. 

 The next day, it was back on another bus - this time, no prayers piping over the speaker; instead we were seated opposite the staircase to the toilet.  Egyptian food is good going in, but I can assure you it does not smell nice going out.  

One final installment still to come on the Egypt trip, but next week I am off to Rome & the Amalfi Coast.  London may be grey and dreary, but it is definitely doing its job as a jumping-off point.  

* and a side note that has been bothering me.  I was wrong; Cleopatra's mummy is not in the British museum.  There is a mummy there, and she was called Cleopatra, but she is not THE Cleopatra.  My mistake. 

Midnight Train to Luxor

"You're taking an overnight train in Africa?"  

This was the incredulous response I got from Shelley, a former co-worker and Zimbabwean, when she learned of our travel plans for Cairo to Luxor.  

"I'm sure it'll be fine," I answered.  And it was.  I can't say it was an easy or familiar process, but in the end, it was fine.  

I'm sure I read somewhere that tourists should avoid using the metro in Cairo, but we did it anyway, travelling a few stops from our hotel in Dokki to the Ramses train station.  For 2 Egyptian pounds apiece, it was even more cost effective than haggling for a taxi, and the chances of the metro diverting to a papyrus shop were slim.  

As soon as we entered the train station, we were bombarded with requests.  

"You need taxi?"

"You need hotel?"

"You want souvenir?"

Then a policeman stopped to help.  We told him that we needed overnight train tickets to Luxor, leaving that night. 

"Come with me," he said, offering no explanation or room for argument. So we did.  

We crossed over to another platform into a ticket office, where he sent us to the first ticket window.  

"That window only.  But maybe train is full.  Today is a public holiday."  

Well.  That did explain the crowds at the station.  We waited for a while at the window, only to be told that yes, the train was full.  All trains leaving that night for Luxor.  

"Try next room.  Window 17," the policeman said.  

We dutifully trudged to the next room, which apparently was where second class tickets were sold, which is what we were after in the first place. 

"No seats.  Train is full."  

We walked back to the first room, starting to lose hope.  Our trip, while loosely planned, still relied heavily on us getting to Luxor by the following day.  

The policeman appeared again. 

"I help you.  Follow me."

Having nothing to lose and time to waste, we followed him out of the station and around the corner to a hotel.  According to the policeman, the man at reception also ran a travel agency and could possibly arrange tickets for us.  

After five minutes of listening to the receptionist's offer of a five-night, all inclusive holiday in Luxor, I was beginning to lose my cool.  The man refused to sell us train tickets only, as he only benefitted from a package deal.  Fair play to him as a businessman, but extremely unhelpful to our situation.  

The policeman accompanied us back to the station, and up to window # 4.  Suddenly, he announced that we could get overnight tickets for the 12:30 train, but we had to buy them from Cairo all the way to Aswan, then get off at Luxor.  All this for a mere 10 Egyptian pounds more.  

Rather than ask questions, we were happy to pay 109 each for the tickets (under 14 pounds UK).  And that is how we found ourselves, many hours later, in first class seats for the nine hour overnight service to Luxor.  

I slept the whole way and it was amazing.