It might be a strange comparison but I'm just going to go ahead a say it - I feel like my life here sometimes resembles a video game. And not just any video game - Super Mario. You know the kind of game where you are just walking in the same direction and you have all of these obstacles, little turtles or pitfalls or something, to avoid. Here in Jakarta it is much the same.
You start out walking, take a big step to avoid the hole in the sidewalk - miss that one and you'll end up in the sewers. Walking, walking, oh no, you have to cross the street. Put your hand out and hope for the best - cars stop, motorcycles don't. After tangoing your way across the street you have to avoid the woman begging for money, walk around the garbage dump (hold your breath!) and balance on the edge of the sidewalk so you again don't end up in Jakarta's sewer system. Walking, walking, past all of the starring Indonesians, the children yelling stuff at you and the food carts. This really isn't an exaggeration, actually in many ways it is slightly watered-down (I am tired to into more detail...).
Not going to lie, it is not the most fun game BUT it keeps me engaged.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
My Birthday!
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I have to say, turning 21 in a foreign country, where the legal drinking age is either 18 or not enforced, is rather anticlimactic. I have sort of been “21” since living in Australia. Who cares – its official! I am 21 and am now legal to drink IN and OUT of the United States of America.
We celebrated on Friday night, the 30th, by going out to eat at this really nice Italian restaurant. I had the best pumpkin ravioli and everyone surprised me with this massive strawberry cheesecake – words don’t even begin to describe how delicious it was…I am a chub. After dinner we went to the Black Cat, a jazz club. The place had a good atmosphere to it – little round tables, candles, a low stage. There was a jazz trio with this amazing piano player (she had the coolest voice!). I was stoked because they were taking requests and actually played the song I asked for. Happy birthday to me!
On my actual birthday we Americans had a rather uneventful field trip to a handful of museums in Jakarta (blah) but at night we went to a traditional Balinese wedding reception. I know, I know, I do things in style around here. Weddings here seem to be a bit different than in the states. It is normal for second cousins to invite friends because the wedding list is often over 1000 guests. There were actually 1500 at the one we went to. It was held in this massive ballroom and there were no tables or chairs for people to sit; just tables and tables of food. People queued to greet the wedding party and then mingled around the hall eating. It was a really fun way to celebrate. Even though it was a wedding I kept telling myself everybody was there commemorating my birthday. Things did become slightly awkward when I was asked to record a video message for the bride and groom figuring (1) I was one of the four white people in the room; (2) I don’t speak their language and (3) the minor detail that I don’t know the bride or groom….once again, a smile goes a long way.
We celebrated on Friday night, the 30th, by going out to eat at this really nice Italian restaurant. I had the best pumpkin ravioli and everyone surprised me with this massive strawberry cheesecake – words don’t even begin to describe how delicious it was…I am a chub. After dinner we went to the Black Cat, a jazz club. The place had a good atmosphere to it – little round tables, candles, a low stage. There was a jazz trio with this amazing piano player (she had the coolest voice!). I was stoked because they were taking requests and actually played the song I asked for. Happy birthday to me!
On my actual birthday we Americans had a rather uneventful field trip to a handful of museums in Jakarta (blah) but at night we went to a traditional Balinese wedding reception. I know, I know, I do things in style around here. Weddings here seem to be a bit different than in the states. It is normal for second cousins to invite friends because the wedding list is often over 1000 guests. There were actually 1500 at the one we went to. It was held in this massive ballroom and there were no tables or chairs for people to sit; just tables and tables of food. People queued to greet the wedding party and then mingled around the hall eating. It was a really fun way to celebrate. Even though it was a wedding I kept telling myself everybody was there commemorating my birthday. Things did become slightly awkward when I was asked to record a video message for the bride and groom figuring (1) I was one of the four white people in the room; (2) I don’t speak their language and (3) the minor detail that I don’t know the bride or groom….once again, a smile goes a long way.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
In Sickness and in Health
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I am imagining this blog-post as one of those movies, you know, with all of those flashbacks and special effects; the kind where you are always sort of in the dark because the writer wants it that way but they still sort of leave you in the light of the plot; everything is really not brought together until the end, you know? Well, here’s a go.
Our story begins with me getting sick. Crap, I revealed the plot too soon. Let me try again, everything is fine, I’m better – DAMN! Here’s to spoiling the happily-ever-after. Screw it, I don’t have a future in Hollywood, here is what happened.
In a land far-far away, closer or farther depending on where exactly you are in the world, technicalities… where am I even going with this sentence? Fate finally caught up to me and I got sick for the first time since being outside of the States. It had lasted for a few days; it being a chronic stomach ache accompanied by the occasional shooting pain. Whatever, I have a high tolerance for pain and I wasn’t dying. So I started drinking more liquids, popped a few more vitamins and carried on with my life. Then I woke up with a fever, and was really tired, and was freezing and had chills, and was weak…but I went to class…and then to work…and then came home and crashed. Drained.
My Indonesia friends were convinced that it was “masuk angin” literally translated to “open wind” (if they only knew) and that it simply meant I had contracted this Indonesian wind from going outside with wet hair, or sleeping with the air con too high, or anything else that can make you feel under the weather. Anyways, to test for this threatening medical anomaly, one must receive a back massage using this Chinese oil and a street coin. I am not joking. If your back turns red, you have masuk angin; if it doesn’t, you don’t. Simple, right?
Not if you are me. When this was explained to me I didn’t fully understand what I was getting myself into. I thought the directions were described to me in a way that said that if the oil was the indicator of the redness, not my back. I was gravely mistaken. Picture this. Me, shirtless, lying on my bed. Okay, back to the story, simmer down ladies. My friend is rubbing this oil on my back before beginning to scrape my back, my actual back, with a coin...from the street. You no doubt want to know if this was painful.
Yes, yes it was. They were carving into my back with a street coin (which we sanitized, I didn’t want a staph infection on top of the open wind). Of course my back turned red, how could it not? I had six neat lines running in pairs away from my spine, along my ribs. The best part was that my friend, a superstitious medic, burps every time they give a massage like this. To them, they feel as though it represents them taking out the bad from my body and releasing...the good? They claim it’s involuntary but I'm not convinced. So, between the sound of scraping flesh, the muffled squeals from me, and the burps from my friend I had quite the cultural experience.
I ended up having a really bad fever that night and thus decided to go to the doctor the following morning after class. I still had a fever of over 100. He said my symptoms were either Dengue Fever, Typhoid Fever or a stomach bug (with a such a wide range of diagnosis I was expecting to hear the Black Plague or breast cancer next, either one) but after some blood work we concluded that it was a stomach bug. Oh joy. After consuming only plain food (scrambled eggs, toast, cereal) for a week and getting my fever down, I can finally say I am back to 100%. Thank goodness. I can also say that I didn’t have to visit a dermatologist for any skin infections that I may have contracted after what some call the “witch-craft” I endured.
Our story begins with me getting sick. Crap, I revealed the plot too soon. Let me try again, everything is fine, I’m better – DAMN! Here’s to spoiling the happily-ever-after. Screw it, I don’t have a future in Hollywood, here is what happened.
In a land far-far away, closer or farther depending on where exactly you are in the world, technicalities… where am I even going with this sentence? Fate finally caught up to me and I got sick for the first time since being outside of the States. It had lasted for a few days; it being a chronic stomach ache accompanied by the occasional shooting pain. Whatever, I have a high tolerance for pain and I wasn’t dying. So I started drinking more liquids, popped a few more vitamins and carried on with my life. Then I woke up with a fever, and was really tired, and was freezing and had chills, and was weak…but I went to class…and then to work…and then came home and crashed. Drained.
My Indonesia friends were convinced that it was “masuk angin” literally translated to “open wind” (if they only knew) and that it simply meant I had contracted this Indonesian wind from going outside with wet hair, or sleeping with the air con too high, or anything else that can make you feel under the weather. Anyways, to test for this threatening medical anomaly, one must receive a back massage using this Chinese oil and a street coin. I am not joking. If your back turns red, you have masuk angin; if it doesn’t, you don’t. Simple, right?
Not if you are me. When this was explained to me I didn’t fully understand what I was getting myself into. I thought the directions were described to me in a way that said that if the oil was the indicator of the redness, not my back. I was gravely mistaken. Picture this. Me, shirtless, lying on my bed. Okay, back to the story, simmer down ladies. My friend is rubbing this oil on my back before beginning to scrape my back, my actual back, with a coin...from the street. You no doubt want to know if this was painful.
Yes, yes it was. They were carving into my back with a street coin (which we sanitized, I didn’t want a staph infection on top of the open wind). Of course my back turned red, how could it not? I had six neat lines running in pairs away from my spine, along my ribs. The best part was that my friend, a superstitious medic, burps every time they give a massage like this. To them, they feel as though it represents them taking out the bad from my body and releasing...the good? They claim it’s involuntary but I'm not convinced. So, between the sound of scraping flesh, the muffled squeals from me, and the burps from my friend I had quite the cultural experience.
I ended up having a really bad fever that night and thus decided to go to the doctor the following morning after class. I still had a fever of over 100. He said my symptoms were either Dengue Fever, Typhoid Fever or a stomach bug (with a such a wide range of diagnosis I was expecting to hear the Black Plague or breast cancer next, either one) but after some blood work we concluded that it was a stomach bug. Oh joy. After consuming only plain food (scrambled eggs, toast, cereal) for a week and getting my fever down, I can finally say I am back to 100%. Thank goodness. I can also say that I didn’t have to visit a dermatologist for any skin infections that I may have contracted after what some call the “witch-craft” I endured.
FIFA 2010
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I am not sure who, I am actually not sure when, but somewhere in history I am positive that some famous person once said something about the significance of sport on the world stage – it connects people through friendly competition or something. Just look at the Olympics – bringing the world closer than white on rice. But even better than the Olympics and a bit more timely was the FIFA World Cup. The tournament that started many a conversation in Australia continued to amaze me in how it brought people together here in Indonesia.
Actually, my first experience, arriving in the airport and while waiting for the other students, was with the two Indonesian men who picked me up. You can imagine that everything was a bit awkward – I spoke no Indonesian and they spoke little English. Yet, with one simple word a broken conversation began: “FIFA”? It makes miracles happen. The names of countries and players are accompanied by smiles and nods of yes or no. Same thing in the office. Talking about last night’s game or asking people which team they want to win –it builds bridges when there seems as though there is nothing else to link you to the people around you.
Besides being a marvelous conversation starter I am actually a huge fan of international soccer. Unfortunate though, the time difference did not play to my advantage here. The games began at 9:00pm or so but the games I always wanted to watch (USA!) started after midnight. Nonetheless, I was able to catch two of the games, downstairs, at the lovely cantina. The World Cup was only aired on one station here so we had to watch the game on this old-school TV with a flimsy antennae taped to the top left corner. Whatever, I could see what was happening. Picture this. Ghana v. the USA, me sitting in a restaurant, long closed for the night, along with six or seven Indonesians, some in chairs, most lying on the floor: it’s 3:30am. For some reason everyone is cheering for the US (well, I think my reason is rather legit). The game winds into extra time. We lose. The experience though, the instinctual screams we all shared when a goal was narrowly stopped or when we all jumped to our feet simultaneously when there was a breakaway; the sadness we felt when that last goal was scored and our team lost. Those things aren’t unique to any one country, they aren’t cultural. They are human and it is through sport, both playing and watching, that I have felt more connected to my surroundings, both in Australia and Indonesia, and to the rest of the world than I ever have before.
the Real World
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Well, it is official – I can no longer say I am studying abroad. No, no, don’t get your hopes up, I am not back in the U S of A just yet. Simply stated I am living abroad. In Australia I was studying abroad – being enrolled at a University, taking classes, doing homework all while soaking up the culture and living my life down under. But you know all about that. Here in Indonesia my life resembles something more out of MTV’s the Real World – not with as much drama…or alcohol…actually, yeah, maybe this isn’t the best metaphor.
We all joke (here’s where I make the connection), “here’s the true story of eight strangers…picked as FINIP fellows to live in Jakarta...work and learn together and to find out what happens... when people start getting real...The Real World Jakarta.” Seriously though, I have a real life here. Wake up at 6:45am, class from 8:00-10:00am work until 4:00pm or 5:00pm, gym, dinner plus whatever time is spent in traffic. I am very happy to have been given this experience to really learn what it is like to truly live and function in another country and not just be a tourist or a student. But I can’t help but wonder, as I think about the real world, what other aspects of my life here in Indonesia represent the “real world”.
Here I am exposed to so much in my day-to-day life. I see extreme poverty and I see extreme wealth. I see the shanty shops and houses and the mega-shopping malls and luxurious hotels. I see pollution and I see what development can do to the environment. More than anything else, however, I see the rift between the developing world and the developed world: the majority versus the minority. Here we experience random black outs where the government decides that for a certain amount of time one section of the city will not have electricity. In some places they don’t have electricity during the day, only at night and still yet, some people don’t have electricity at all. The people of the slums bathe in the rivers and streams – strengthening the realness of environmental issues here.
I have started to think a lot about the environment, my chosen area of study and what I want to spend the rest of my life working with. Unlike in America where we worry ourselves with oil, natural gases, alternative energy sources, and greenhouse gas emissions, here in Jakarta their environmental state is visibly in a very critical condition. I saw a map a few weeks ago showing the amount of forest covering the island of Java, where I am living. In the past fifty years the island has gone from being almost entirely green to being sporadically dotted and consumed by development. The sewage system runs parallel to the streets and is clogged with garbage; the rivers and streams are stagnant and covered with a film of rubbish and trash. When people clean their shops at night they sweep everything into the streets – the ocean is their dumping ground. We worry about composting and recycling, they don’t. We worry about having twenty different kinds of cereal to choose from, they think about feeding their families. We complain about a minimum wage of $7.50, they could change their lives with that much money.
In my “real life” here in Jakarta I am finding more and more that I am far from real in this very real world. There is a disconnect between me and my surroundings. I cannot fully say that I have stepped out of my protected bubble that the Western world has provided me; rather, the majority world has broken through and opened my eyes yet has not accepted me - I am different and will always be different. Even though I feel a separation from the nation I reside, I couldn’t be more thankful to Indonesia for helping me realize what the real world even is.
We all joke (here’s where I make the connection), “here’s the true story of eight strangers…picked as FINIP fellows to live in Jakarta...work and learn together and to find out what happens... when people start getting real...The Real World Jakarta.” Seriously though, I have a real life here. Wake up at 6:45am, class from 8:00-10:00am work until 4:00pm or 5:00pm, gym, dinner plus whatever time is spent in traffic. I am very happy to have been given this experience to really learn what it is like to truly live and function in another country and not just be a tourist or a student. But I can’t help but wonder, as I think about the real world, what other aspects of my life here in Indonesia represent the “real world”.
Here I am exposed to so much in my day-to-day life. I see extreme poverty and I see extreme wealth. I see the shanty shops and houses and the mega-shopping malls and luxurious hotels. I see pollution and I see what development can do to the environment. More than anything else, however, I see the rift between the developing world and the developed world: the majority versus the minority. Here we experience random black outs where the government decides that for a certain amount of time one section of the city will not have electricity. In some places they don’t have electricity during the day, only at night and still yet, some people don’t have electricity at all. The people of the slums bathe in the rivers and streams – strengthening the realness of environmental issues here.
I have started to think a lot about the environment, my chosen area of study and what I want to spend the rest of my life working with. Unlike in America where we worry ourselves with oil, natural gases, alternative energy sources, and greenhouse gas emissions, here in Jakarta their environmental state is visibly in a very critical condition. I saw a map a few weeks ago showing the amount of forest covering the island of Java, where I am living. In the past fifty years the island has gone from being almost entirely green to being sporadically dotted and consumed by development. The sewage system runs parallel to the streets and is clogged with garbage; the rivers and streams are stagnant and covered with a film of rubbish and trash. When people clean their shops at night they sweep everything into the streets – the ocean is their dumping ground. We worry about composting and recycling, they don’t. We worry about having twenty different kinds of cereal to choose from, they think about feeding their families. We complain about a minimum wage of $7.50, they could change their lives with that much money.
In my “real life” here in Jakarta I am finding more and more that I am far from real in this very real world. There is a disconnect between me and my surroundings. I cannot fully say that I have stepped out of my protected bubble that the Western world has provided me; rather, the majority world has broken through and opened my eyes yet has not accepted me - I am different and will always be different. Even though I feel a separation from the nation I reside, I couldn’t be more thankful to Indonesia for helping me realize what the real world even is.
the Indonesian Open
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“In-do-nes-ia”! Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap. “In-do-nes-ia”! Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap. That was the chant at the Indonesian Badminton Open. That’s right, I have finally found a place in the world who loves badminton and they don’t just play it recreationally like I have always loved to in the states, they play it for real –it’s their most popular sport.
A few of us bought “VIP” tickets and spent the better part of the day watching a tiny court in the middle of this big arena where men and women all over Asia (and Poland of all places) competed in the doubles and singles finals. I had so much fun. All the screaming and the chants; watching these really intense athletes smash this tiny shuttlecock. Watching the winner fall to his knees Roger Federer-style with just as much emotion and happiness as I had ever seen in a champion. But isn’t it just badminton? Well, yes, yes it is but when you see people that into it, cheering, clapping, riding the emotional rollercoaster any sporting event takes you on, it becomes hard to resist joining in on the fun. I mean they could have been throwing sea urchins back in forth while jumping on one leg and singing Lady Gaga’s “Alejandro” in Dutch but hey, if people were cheering and in to it and that was the cultural thing to do then you can count on me being right there next to them chanting “Al-e-jan-dro”! Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap. I digress.
This experience for sure has reinforced my thoughts on world sport. From playing tennis, soccer, and water polo to watching rugby, AFL, the World Cup, the French Open –all overseas- I have definitely formed a higher respect for the power of friendly competition and the unity of fan-hood.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
FOOD!
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I can officially say I have been eating like a king in South East Asia. My first week I was eating rice three times a day but have since cut back to eating just two servings a day. Please don’t think that it is the rice that has be being a chub, no, no, it’s the fact that this entire region is vegetarian heaven. It’s like the Promised Land…except instead of flowing rivers of abundant milk and honey there are endless restaurants/cars full of endless tofu and tempe. And the vegetables are delightful. Sure they have their cabbage and spinach and little corns and mushrooms but they also have the strangest looking bundles of tubers and legumes and other Earthly treats…I just smile and eat.
My favorite thing so far has been nasi goring (basic fried rice) although I enjoy it with tilur dan tempe (egg and tempe). And a shout out to all my Latino/a friends, I can officially hang with the “in” crowd at your next spicy food festival. We eat chili peppers like it is our job here…and by “eat” I mean nibble at the tips of the peppers and when I say “we” I mainly mean the fire-breathing Indonesian’s –my God they are tanks. Funny story though, I refuse to admit something is spicy or hot in the presence of Indonesian’s I am not really chummy with…like the office ladies, we keep it professional. I had something the other day at the office that easily ranks in the top 5 spicy things my tongue has ever come in contact with…and do you know what I did when asked if I thought it was spicy? I straight up lied – “no it’s not bad,” said my mind. Meanwhile, my esophagus was temporarily paralyzed, my sweat glands turned onto 40 meter dash mode and I began inwardly crying. Silly masculinity.
It is easy to conclude that I will not be losing any weight here. Rather, between the amazing meals (and cheap meals) and the selection of various Asian cuisine there is a strong chance this experience will turn me into a fatty boomba. Let’s hope that my active lifestyle and fast metabolism pull through me once again. But on a serious note, food and eating is a very cultural thing here. Restaurants are often family run and count on service and quality. I have adopted eating with fork in the left hand and spoon in the right and when need be, can eat an entire meal, including rice, with my fingers. Thus far, Jakarta has been very good to this food-fanatic.
P.S. They have breakfast pastries in Indonesia…and I found them. We have become very good friends.
My favorite thing so far has been nasi goring (basic fried rice) although I enjoy it with tilur dan tempe (egg and tempe). And a shout out to all my Latino/a friends, I can officially hang with the “in” crowd at your next spicy food festival. We eat chili peppers like it is our job here…and by “eat” I mean nibble at the tips of the peppers and when I say “we” I mainly mean the fire-breathing Indonesian’s –my God they are tanks. Funny story though, I refuse to admit something is spicy or hot in the presence of Indonesian’s I am not really chummy with…like the office ladies, we keep it professional. I had something the other day at the office that easily ranks in the top 5 spicy things my tongue has ever come in contact with…and do you know what I did when asked if I thought it was spicy? I straight up lied – “no it’s not bad,” said my mind. Meanwhile, my esophagus was temporarily paralyzed, my sweat glands turned onto 40 meter dash mode and I began inwardly crying. Silly masculinity.
It is easy to conclude that I will not be losing any weight here. Rather, between the amazing meals (and cheap meals) and the selection of various Asian cuisine there is a strong chance this experience will turn me into a fatty boomba. Let’s hope that my active lifestyle and fast metabolism pull through me once again. But on a serious note, food and eating is a very cultural thing here. Restaurants are often family run and count on service and quality. I have adopted eating with fork in the left hand and spoon in the right and when need be, can eat an entire meal, including rice, with my fingers. Thus far, Jakarta has been very good to this food-fanatic.
P.S. They have breakfast pastries in Indonesia…and I found them. We have become very good friends.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The Program
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How rude of me, I realize I really have not yet explained why I am even here in Indonesia…and now I feel the need to apologize for such a poorly constructed sentence…is it too early to blame a language barrier?
Here is the program at a glance. The Freeman Indonesia Non-Profit Internship Program, sponsored by the International Institute of Education is a cross-cultural program designed to bring Indonesian and American students together. There are ten American students paired with ten Indonesia students who study at US colleges and universities spread across three cities in Indonesia: Jakarta, Bandung, and Yogyakarta. Besides strengthening the relationship and understanding between our two nations, the program is designed to expose us students to the NGO (non-governmental organizations) sector in Indonesia. As Americans, we are enrolled in an intensive language and cultural course where we attend class Monday through Friday from 8:00am to 10:00am and then have field trips every Saturday. The Indonesians will have two weekend intensives on non-profit management in Indonesia.
We are each paired with an Indonesian counterpart to complete our main task in Indonesia: our NGO internship. Upon acceptance to the program we were placed into different areas: education, public health, the arts, environmental protection and economic development. Every day from 10:00am until 4:30pm I work with Kehati, an NGO working to protect Indonesia’s biodiversity through sustainable development and community empowerment (aka environmental protection). They are a source for grants to a number of NGO’s in Jakarta and they are not only well known in environmental initiative but are also doing some amazing work. So far all I have done is help formulate the early stages of a proposal for a grant for a mangrove education center and give a fifteen minute presentation on sea-level change and coral reefs for what they call “knowledge-sharing Fridays.” My main project will be to work with various mangrove projects over the course of the summer ranging from grants to education to restoration. I am very excited about what I am doing here.
Hopefully this gives you a better idea of what I am doing with my life. I am really trying to learn as much as I can and will hopefully come away with cultural, academic and self knowledge.
Here is the program at a glance. The Freeman Indonesia Non-Profit Internship Program, sponsored by the International Institute of Education is a cross-cultural program designed to bring Indonesian and American students together. There are ten American students paired with ten Indonesia students who study at US colleges and universities spread across three cities in Indonesia: Jakarta, Bandung, and Yogyakarta. Besides strengthening the relationship and understanding between our two nations, the program is designed to expose us students to the NGO (non-governmental organizations) sector in Indonesia. As Americans, we are enrolled in an intensive language and cultural course where we attend class Monday through Friday from 8:00am to 10:00am and then have field trips every Saturday. The Indonesians will have two weekend intensives on non-profit management in Indonesia.
We are each paired with an Indonesian counterpart to complete our main task in Indonesia: our NGO internship. Upon acceptance to the program we were placed into different areas: education, public health, the arts, environmental protection and economic development. Every day from 10:00am until 4:30pm I work with Kehati, an NGO working to protect Indonesia’s biodiversity through sustainable development and community empowerment (aka environmental protection). They are a source for grants to a number of NGO’s in Jakarta and they are not only well known in environmental initiative but are also doing some amazing work. So far all I have done is help formulate the early stages of a proposal for a grant for a mangrove education center and give a fifteen minute presentation on sea-level change and coral reefs for what they call “knowledge-sharing Fridays.” My main project will be to work with various mangrove projects over the course of the summer ranging from grants to education to restoration. I am very excited about what I am doing here.
Hopefully this gives you a better idea of what I am doing with my life. I am really trying to learn as much as I can and will hopefully come away with cultural, academic and self knowledge.
I am just a white Shaquille O’Neil living in Jakarta…
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...except I am tan, 6’1’’, have curly hair, green eyes and nice teeth –still, I am a minority through-and-through (or a Greek-god depending who you talk to). Here are a few stories I feel best represent my, hmmm, looking different?
Story One: The program, FINIP, gave us enough money to go out and purchase mobile phones so that in the case we get stranded on some dismal, shady street corner by a sketch taxi driver we would be able to call for help. Well, the only problem is they sent all twenty students in the program at once to get the phones from one of the nearby malls. Of course we were a sight to see; ten Americans and ten Indonesians walking into an Indonesian mega-mall, wow. It was like we had walked out of a circus act and into South East Asia daily life; I felt as though I needed to juggle knives or breathe fire or something to appease their strange stares. The Indonesia students gibber-gabbered in Bahasa with the store clerks trying to negotiate prices. A few of them strongly urged me to walk away from the bargaining battle ground because my luminescent white skin was making it difficult for them to get the price lower – apparently a stereotype here is that white people have money….go figure. We ended up getting phones and then promptly exited the mall, single file. In hindsight we really didn’t do much to make ourselves incognito.
Story Two. The first Friday here in Indonesia about half of us decided we wanted to go to Friday prayers. Since Indonesia has the world’s largest population of Muslims it was rather easy to appease our cultural craving since religion is such a part of daily life here. We hitched a few taxis to a market near a local mosque. Picture this. A small group of American’s along with three or four Indonesians winding our way through this maze of an open-air-market towards the source of the call-to-worship. I am practically walking sideways, bent at the waste as to not knock my head against the low lying electrical wires and lines supporting the colorful tarps and tents covering the periphery of the narrow path I wander through. The people I pass either stare or do a double-take; their confusion is understandable. They must be wondering to themselves what we are doing there…we ask ourselves the same question. A quick smile and nod goes a long way in this country as it melts away the concern and curiosity chiseled into the Indonesian’s faces: they always smile back.
Story Three: Children are infatuated with white-people. It is not uncommon for us to walk past a group of Indonesian children on the street and then have one of the Indonesian counterparts lean over and whisper to me that they just called one of us beautiful. I actually had a group of women say I was very handsome in one of the malls this past week…of course they said it in Bahasa so I had no idea I had just been complemented…again smiling goes a long way. Back to the children. We were standing at a queue yesterday for about an hour waiting to ride a sky-rail at a local cultural theme park and for sixty minutes we were like television to those kids. Honestly, I feel like a celebrity sometimes. Every time the line wrapped around the children would tug on their parents sleeve so they too could sneak a peek. Some would chatter with one another and giggle before returning to their whispering. There was one instance when this baby was just crying and crying –clearly unhappy—and then the little runt caught sight of us. Literally within two seconds the kid stopped crying and just looked at us with those big, dark watery eyes.
Basically, I could write about every single day here in Jakarta and have similar stories to the ones above. Some people get frustrated being under the spotlight all the time; they begin to crack under the pressure of the stares, glares, and whispers. As for me, I embrace it. The way I look at it, I strive to give them something to look at. No, not like “hey look at me, I’m an American!” as I flaunt my lanky self around the streets of Jakarta. Rather, I try to radiate sincerity and kindness and be an ambassador for my country, to be a model “white-person.”
Story One: The program, FINIP, gave us enough money to go out and purchase mobile phones so that in the case we get stranded on some dismal, shady street corner by a sketch taxi driver we would be able to call for help. Well, the only problem is they sent all twenty students in the program at once to get the phones from one of the nearby malls. Of course we were a sight to see; ten Americans and ten Indonesians walking into an Indonesian mega-mall, wow. It was like we had walked out of a circus act and into South East Asia daily life; I felt as though I needed to juggle knives or breathe fire or something to appease their strange stares. The Indonesia students gibber-gabbered in Bahasa with the store clerks trying to negotiate prices. A few of them strongly urged me to walk away from the bargaining battle ground because my luminescent white skin was making it difficult for them to get the price lower – apparently a stereotype here is that white people have money….go figure. We ended up getting phones and then promptly exited the mall, single file. In hindsight we really didn’t do much to make ourselves incognito.
Story Two. The first Friday here in Indonesia about half of us decided we wanted to go to Friday prayers. Since Indonesia has the world’s largest population of Muslims it was rather easy to appease our cultural craving since religion is such a part of daily life here. We hitched a few taxis to a market near a local mosque. Picture this. A small group of American’s along with three or four Indonesians winding our way through this maze of an open-air-market towards the source of the call-to-worship. I am practically walking sideways, bent at the waste as to not knock my head against the low lying electrical wires and lines supporting the colorful tarps and tents covering the periphery of the narrow path I wander through. The people I pass either stare or do a double-take; their confusion is understandable. They must be wondering to themselves what we are doing there…we ask ourselves the same question. A quick smile and nod goes a long way in this country as it melts away the concern and curiosity chiseled into the Indonesian’s faces: they always smile back.
Story Three: Children are infatuated with white-people. It is not uncommon for us to walk past a group of Indonesian children on the street and then have one of the Indonesian counterparts lean over and whisper to me that they just called one of us beautiful. I actually had a group of women say I was very handsome in one of the malls this past week…of course they said it in Bahasa so I had no idea I had just been complemented…again smiling goes a long way. Back to the children. We were standing at a queue yesterday for about an hour waiting to ride a sky-rail at a local cultural theme park and for sixty minutes we were like television to those kids. Honestly, I feel like a celebrity sometimes. Every time the line wrapped around the children would tug on their parents sleeve so they too could sneak a peek. Some would chatter with one another and giggle before returning to their whispering. There was one instance when this baby was just crying and crying –clearly unhappy—and then the little runt caught sight of us. Literally within two seconds the kid stopped crying and just looked at us with those big, dark watery eyes.
Basically, I could write about every single day here in Jakarta and have similar stories to the ones above. Some people get frustrated being under the spotlight all the time; they begin to crack under the pressure of the stares, glares, and whispers. As for me, I embrace it. The way I look at it, I strive to give them something to look at. No, not like “hey look at me, I’m an American!” as I flaunt my lanky self around the streets of Jakarta. Rather, I try to radiate sincerity and kindness and be an ambassador for my country, to be a model “white-person.”
Friday, June 25, 2010
Indonesia through my Eyes
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People keep asking me what is Indonesia like? What does it look like? Where is it (get a map, lazy!)? Well, here you go, some answers to appease your curiosity: Indonesia through my eyes. You already know about my airport experience so I will not bore you with more from that. One important thing to understand, before we embark on this visionary quest, is that Jakarta, the city where I will be for the next two months IS NOT representative of all of Indonesia. Imagine being asked to judge all of the United States on a two month stay in Los Angeles. You would get a very skewed picture of the place…well, that is how it is in Jakarta. Indonesia is massive and thus is rich in culture and traditions –unfortunately Jakarta is very westernized. Here we go.
The drive from the airport to the hotel was fascinating. One second you are driving past beautiful shopping malls next to lovely office buildings and skyscrapers…the next second you are driving past landfills, polluted rivers and slums. It is quite the juxtaposition. There are motorbikes everywhere, street carts selling food wherever you look and people all over the place. I think that the biggest adjustment has been not being able to see the sun or clouds or a blue sky. There is so much pollution here that it is very rare not to see an endless expanse of gray above you.
I suppose there is some beauty here. The people thus far, beside the starring and the occasional judgement for being white, are lovely. Also, at night, when all of the city is lit up and the skyscraper’s lights are able to penetrate the polluted air it is quite beautiful. I am hoping to see some more of Indonesia cultures during weekend day-trips and some weekends we have planned in Bali and Yogyjakarta. So excited. It is for sure nothing like Australia…but alas, if you are trying to “see Indonesia through my eyes” you should understand that I have quite poor eyesight…I wear contacts. Therefore, you should see it for yourself. I will undoubtedly take pictures and share stories until you can plan a trip.
The drive from the airport to the hotel was fascinating. One second you are driving past beautiful shopping malls next to lovely office buildings and skyscrapers…the next second you are driving past landfills, polluted rivers and slums. It is quite the juxtaposition. There are motorbikes everywhere, street carts selling food wherever you look and people all over the place. I think that the biggest adjustment has been not being able to see the sun or clouds or a blue sky. There is so much pollution here that it is very rare not to see an endless expanse of gray above you.
I suppose there is some beauty here. The people thus far, beside the starring and the occasional judgement for being white, are lovely. Also, at night, when all of the city is lit up and the skyscraper’s lights are able to penetrate the polluted air it is quite beautiful. I am hoping to see some more of Indonesia cultures during weekend day-trips and some weekends we have planned in Bali and Yogyjakarta. So excited. It is for sure nothing like Australia…but alas, if you are trying to “see Indonesia through my eyes” you should understand that I have quite poor eyesight…I wear contacts. Therefore, you should see it for yourself. I will undoubtedly take pictures and share stories until you can plan a trip.
Jumping Continents and Cultures: The Airport Experience
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I was expecting my flight from Townsville to Sydney to be me, sitting next to some stranger, in a fit of narcoleptic crying…I ended up falling asleep, with my aviators on, before we even took off. I woke up on our descent into Sydney airport. I spent the afternoon and evening with my friend Lucy and her family. It was a strange feeling – in some ways I almost felt like I was returning home, to familiarity. I had been to Sydney over lecture recess and in many ways it was good to get back there, especially after my emotional departure from Townsville.
My flight the following morning to Jakarta on Garuda Flight 713 was like any international flight. I spent the first few hours of the seven hour flight catching up on some much needed sleep. My flight was my first exposure to the Indonesian language. Not going to lie, when spoken it sounds rather intense. When I woke up I watched Invictus (such a good movie!), had a really good lunch and wrote in my journal for almost two and half hours.
When I finally landed in Jakarta International Airport I landed in a dream – a hazy city of which all I knew about it came from news articles and media reports; I was walking into a dream, some mythical place that you can read about in encyclopedia’s but never really imagine witnessing it in person. That is my ongoing view towards Jakarta. I was herded out of the plane, down some stairs and onto a bus filled to capacity. The bus taxied through the airfield to the main terminal where I sort of just through myself into the river of people into the lines reading “immigration and foreign”. There were people of every color, race, height, stature, socio-economic status, dress and religion queued to enter Indonesia; and there I was, the six-foot-one, white American attempting to hide the front of my passport. For the first time in my life I was a minority…a noticeable minority.
Getting through customs, passing security and collecting my bags were relatively simple tasks given the language barrier and my general confusion. I felt as though I had literally walked from the sophisticated feeling of Sydney to a modern-day version of Disney’s Aladdin that is Jakarta. Because the other students flying in from the States weren’t scheduled to arrive for another two hours after me I was met by some men from the internship program. Think of an American airport pick-up terminal and then think of the complete opposite of that –that is where I found myself, perched on a tiny pipe running near the floor next to a wall of windows waiting for the Americans. Never before did I feel so out of place…I had little children literally starring at me like I was a circus act, tugging on their mother’s garments to get their attention –the mothers pulled them along but only after stealing a long glance at the pale foreigner. What an eye-opening experience.
My flight the following morning to Jakarta on Garuda Flight 713 was like any international flight. I spent the first few hours of the seven hour flight catching up on some much needed sleep. My flight was my first exposure to the Indonesian language. Not going to lie, when spoken it sounds rather intense. When I woke up I watched Invictus (such a good movie!), had a really good lunch and wrote in my journal for almost two and half hours.
When I finally landed in Jakarta International Airport I landed in a dream – a hazy city of which all I knew about it came from news articles and media reports; I was walking into a dream, some mythical place that you can read about in encyclopedia’s but never really imagine witnessing it in person. That is my ongoing view towards Jakarta. I was herded out of the plane, down some stairs and onto a bus filled to capacity. The bus taxied through the airfield to the main terminal where I sort of just through myself into the river of people into the lines reading “immigration and foreign”. There were people of every color, race, height, stature, socio-economic status, dress and religion queued to enter Indonesia; and there I was, the six-foot-one, white American attempting to hide the front of my passport. For the first time in my life I was a minority…a noticeable minority.
Getting through customs, passing security and collecting my bags were relatively simple tasks given the language barrier and my general confusion. I felt as though I had literally walked from the sophisticated feeling of Sydney to a modern-day version of Disney’s Aladdin that is Jakarta. Because the other students flying in from the States weren’t scheduled to arrive for another two hours after me I was met by some men from the internship program. Think of an American airport pick-up terminal and then think of the complete opposite of that –that is where I found myself, perched on a tiny pipe running near the floor next to a wall of windows waiting for the Americans. Never before did I feel so out of place…I had little children literally starring at me like I was a circus act, tugging on their mother’s garments to get their attention –the mothers pulled them along but only after stealing a long glance at the pale foreigner. What an eye-opening experience.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Saying Goodbye
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As much as I had tried to prepare myself to leave Townsville, Australia I found myself unprepared and emotional on Tuesday morning. Well, I suppose I cannot really say emotional…it is sort of that feeling you get when you know something really sad is about to happen but it has yet to happen – your body innately begins to prepare for the mourning of something you have not yet lost. That’s how I woke up at 7:30am. Breakfast was a blur. I had heaps of errands to run between the kitchen, the office, and the Post. The only time Boyd left my side was to go back to his room to change clothes; of course his new garments were all black: “funeral colors”. What was it I was writing about the five stages of grief? Yeah, point proven. At nine-thirty I started making my rounds around college, saying farewell to my friends.
People have different ways of saying good bye. Some cry in sadness, others are seemingly not affected initially but later wallow in solitude: then there is me. In the moment of departure I try to look into the person’s eyes; yet, past them, I can’t bring myself to look directly into the familiarity that I long to see one last time. It is all too much; my eyes turn to the ground, now, acknowledging that my emotions are brimming to their fullest – the slightest movement, a smile, could set me off. My mirrored aviators slide down from the crown of my head to veil my eyes, or rather, hide my tears from the people they fall for.
It is not that I just think saying good bye is hard; it is more than that. It is some unexplainable emotion that we all as people have to learn to deal with; not so much to be comfortable with saying goodbye but to respect and grow from them. To quote one of my favorite movies, “why do we fall? – so we can learn to pick ourselves back up.” I definitely “fell” a bit leaving Australia but my fond memories and good friends are allowing me to start picking myself back up and I am definitely smiling because it happened.
People have different ways of saying good bye. Some cry in sadness, others are seemingly not affected initially but later wallow in solitude: then there is me. In the moment of departure I try to look into the person’s eyes; yet, past them, I can’t bring myself to look directly into the familiarity that I long to see one last time. It is all too much; my eyes turn to the ground, now, acknowledging that my emotions are brimming to their fullest – the slightest movement, a smile, could set me off. My mirrored aviators slide down from the crown of my head to veil my eyes, or rather, hide my tears from the people they fall for.
It is not that I just think saying good bye is hard; it is more than that. It is some unexplainable emotion that we all as people have to learn to deal with; not so much to be comfortable with saying goodbye but to respect and grow from them. To quote one of my favorite movies, “why do we fall? – so we can learn to pick ourselves back up.” I definitely “fell” a bit leaving Australia but my fond memories and good friends are allowing me to start picking myself back up and I am definitely smiling because it happened.
Monday, June 21, 2010
The Last Night
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After visiting “Lauren’s Special Place” I didn’t think the evening could get better. I was more than pleased to be proven wrong. Boyd, Lauren, Kirsty, Rachele and I hung out in Boyd’s room and had the most wonderful snack of wine, cheese, crackers, and honey-comb tim-tams (delicious!). We talked, laughed, reminisced before watching Death at a Funeral. Such a good night….well at least it was until I had to go back to my room at half past midnight.
I had packed over the entire weekend so I would not have to pack on my last night. I still had a fair bit of stuff from my desk and shelves to put in my luggage. Before going to bed I weighed my bags to discover I was nearly 5kg (approx 12 lbs) over my allowance –PANIC! I had already donated some clothes and given away some stuff to Boyd and Maddie. It was three in the morning when I began the process of going through my stuff weeding out stuff that I really needed for Indonesia and stuff I could live without. This included two frustrated skype-calls home…I didn’t get to bed until 5:30am and had to wake up at seven…not exactly I had in mind for my last night in Townsville.
Oh well, I have everything I need now and I was even able to send four small boxes home with my text books, notes, brochures, soccer shoes and some other miscellaneous goods. The weight limit was irrelevant anyways when I got the airport. Because I had to change my flight around and would no longer be checking my bags all the way to LA, I was not given my original baggage allowance of 70 lbs and was thus charged $100. Bitches.
I had packed over the entire weekend so I would not have to pack on my last night. I still had a fair bit of stuff from my desk and shelves to put in my luggage. Before going to bed I weighed my bags to discover I was nearly 5kg (approx 12 lbs) over my allowance –PANIC! I had already donated some clothes and given away some stuff to Boyd and Maddie. It was three in the morning when I began the process of going through my stuff weeding out stuff that I really needed for Indonesia and stuff I could live without. This included two frustrated skype-calls home…I didn’t get to bed until 5:30am and had to wake up at seven…not exactly I had in mind for my last night in Townsville.
Oh well, I have everything I need now and I was even able to send four small boxes home with my text books, notes, brochures, soccer shoes and some other miscellaneous goods. The weight limit was irrelevant anyways when I got the airport. Because I had to change my flight around and would no longer be checking my bags all the way to LA, I was not given my original baggage allowance of 70 lbs and was thus charged $100. Bitches.
Lauren’s Special Place
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Monday was my final full day in Townsville and I knew I wanted to do something special, you know, something representative of my time here in Australia. Lucky for my I have terrific friends who know exactly what makes me happy – nature (or what Lauren creepily termed her “special place” because it is her favorite place in Townsville! Lauren and Boyd took me to the Pallaranda which is a park located on the northern beaches of Townsville. We arrived at about 4:30pm and simply strolled down the sandy beach dotted with stones and boulders ranging in size from grapefruits to large cars. It was low tide but the waters were slowly reclaiming the tide pools and mudflats we were wading through. The snapshots were incredible. Magnetic Island just to the right, Castle Hill off in the distance to our backs, craggily scrub and bouldering hills to the left and a setting sun to the fore: perfection.
The three of us mucked around for a good bit, you know, getting stuck in the “quick sand”, looking for marine life and occasionally snapping some photos. The beach approached an almost perfect ninety degree turn to the left just ahead of where we were walking. As we swung around the outcrop of boulders our eyes were met with the most magnificent sky I have seen. The sun, while yes, it was setting, was covered ever so slightly by thin, flat clouds that masked the event in a vibrant expanse of color and texture. More so, the water perfectly captured this episode, complemented by the textural variance of the boulders and ripples left behind from the tides. It was absolutely the perfect way to say goodbye to Australia as a country because it was demonstrative of the two things I fell in love with Down Under: the people and the land.
The three of us mucked around for a good bit, you know, getting stuck in the “quick sand”, looking for marine life and occasionally snapping some photos. The beach approached an almost perfect ninety degree turn to the left just ahead of where we were walking. As we swung around the outcrop of boulders our eyes were met with the most magnificent sky I have seen. The sun, while yes, it was setting, was covered ever so slightly by thin, flat clouds that masked the event in a vibrant expanse of color and texture. More so, the water perfectly captured this episode, complemented by the textural variance of the boulders and ripples left behind from the tides. It was absolutely the perfect way to say goodbye to Australia as a country because it was demonstrative of the two things I fell in love with Down Under: the people and the land.
Castle Hill
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I finally made it up to Castle Hill; the monstrosity of a hill that is just 3 meters shy of being a mountain residing in the center of Townsville. Why haven’t I been up there yet? Well, I suppose it is a mixture of laziness and patience. I did not want to climb it like the typical American tourist or the international students who rushed to the top of it within their first days in Australia. This mixed with the fact that Boyd and Chris and Lauren asked me to run up it with them for about a week and I rejected their offer due to studying combine for my “lazy” approach.
“Patience” is applicable because deep down, I knew I would climb it. This special day came on Tuesday when Boyd, Lauren and I set out for a climb up the hill via a dirt/stone path and stairs and then a jog down the hill along the road.
We got a little later start than we originally wanted. The scenery was still beautiful on our ascent. Although we missed the sunset the sky was gorgeous - all on fire with oranges and yellows elegantly framed by pinks and shades of deep purple. Rather than running down the hill – none of us were really feeling it –we walked down enjoying the scenery and quietness of the night. I am glad I finally made it up what is arguably Townsville’s most well-known feature; the company of good friends made it that much better.
“Patience” is applicable because deep down, I knew I would climb it. This special day came on Tuesday when Boyd, Lauren and I set out for a climb up the hill via a dirt/stone path and stairs and then a jog down the hill along the road.
We got a little later start than we originally wanted. The scenery was still beautiful on our ascent. Although we missed the sunset the sky was gorgeous - all on fire with oranges and yellows elegantly framed by pinks and shades of deep purple. Rather than running down the hill – none of us were really feeling it –we walked down enjoying the scenery and quietness of the night. I am glad I finally made it up what is arguably Townsville’s most well-known feature; the company of good friends made it that much better.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Final Exams!
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Here is an equation for you.
If 12 weeks of classes = done and done = happiness does 12 weeks of classes = happiness?
No, it actually equals final examinations –yuck! I was lucky to only have three finals; I had given a final presentation in my stupid Forensic Archaeology class that I grew to despise.
Here in Oz we have what is called SWOTVAC (aka a study vacation) the week prior to the commencement of exams. I had an exam the very first day in Coral Reef Geomorphology but remember, at Allegheny we have two study days and I had seven days solely to study for this test. Needless to say I think I smashed it.
My next two exams were the following Friday, six days later, in Environmental Law and Policy and in Australian People. I studied extremely hard for my law class; although it was open notes, there was so much information, legislation and cases to memorize and refer to. Thus, I spent the majority of my study time preparing for this exam. It wasn’t until the night before that I started to study for my stupid, annoying, obnoxious Australian People’s final. Ugh I hated that class. I feel bad saying it but that’s how I felt; it was poorly taught, poorly organized and poorly executed and therefore resulted in my bitter rage towards the subject. Lucky for me I absolutely smashed the exam: thank you Allegheny College for teaching me how to write an essay well enough to have one made up 92% of B.S. As for my law exam, it went very well.
I probably learned the most out of the classes I like the most (duh!): coral reef geomorphology and environmental law and policy. This reconfirms my interest in what I am studying, environmental science, and really opened my eyes to other areas and ways of looking at problems in my field. I am fortunate for those experiences. Even though I did not like my other two classes I did learn some…just nothing I feel like sharing on this blog…I’m over it.
If 12 weeks of classes = done and done = happiness does 12 weeks of classes = happiness?
No, it actually equals final examinations –yuck! I was lucky to only have three finals; I had given a final presentation in my stupid Forensic Archaeology class that I grew to despise.
Here in Oz we have what is called SWOTVAC (aka a study vacation) the week prior to the commencement of exams. I had an exam the very first day in Coral Reef Geomorphology but remember, at Allegheny we have two study days and I had seven days solely to study for this test. Needless to say I think I smashed it.
My next two exams were the following Friday, six days later, in Environmental Law and Policy and in Australian People. I studied extremely hard for my law class; although it was open notes, there was so much information, legislation and cases to memorize and refer to. Thus, I spent the majority of my study time preparing for this exam. It wasn’t until the night before that I started to study for my stupid, annoying, obnoxious Australian People’s final. Ugh I hated that class. I feel bad saying it but that’s how I felt; it was poorly taught, poorly organized and poorly executed and therefore resulted in my bitter rage towards the subject. Lucky for me I absolutely smashed the exam: thank you Allegheny College for teaching me how to write an essay well enough to have one made up 92% of B.S. As for my law exam, it went very well.
I probably learned the most out of the classes I like the most (duh!): coral reef geomorphology and environmental law and policy. This reconfirms my interest in what I am studying, environmental science, and really opened my eyes to other areas and ways of looking at problems in my field. I am fortunate for those experiences. Even though I did not like my other two classes I did learn some…just nothing I feel like sharing on this blog…I’m over it.
Working Abroad: Last Day in the Kitchen
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I now realize, looking back on this somewhat intermittent sham of a travel-blog, I have failed to keep the world, and mainly, my “avid” followers, in the loop on my work experience while abroad. Now remember, I have two jobs in Australia. My weekend job was cleaning the bins around college – a two hour commitment that was easy money.
The second job is in the Combined Catholic College kitchen. I gave myself the title as “All-Purpose Cleaner Boy.” As you might have guessed I cleaned everything from the floors to the walls to all of the benches and shelves and the appliances, plate stands, dishes, freezers….yeah, anything that could be scrubbed or polished I did. I can take a lot away from this job. First I made a wonderful friend in Duncan, the dishwasher hailing from Manchester City, England as well as many of the students on college. Second I can take away the source of income…actually that is something I cannot physically take away figuring I spent nearly all of my earnings; but alas, I was able to live comfortably while in Australia and not worry about money. Lastly, I learned patience. Working in that stupid kitchen was sometimes the most frustrating experience, yet, I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.
The second job is in the Combined Catholic College kitchen. I gave myself the title as “All-Purpose Cleaner Boy.” As you might have guessed I cleaned everything from the floors to the walls to all of the benches and shelves and the appliances, plate stands, dishes, freezers….yeah, anything that could be scrubbed or polished I did. I can take a lot away from this job. First I made a wonderful friend in Duncan, the dishwasher hailing from Manchester City, England as well as many of the students on college. Second I can take away the source of income…actually that is something I cannot physically take away figuring I spent nearly all of my earnings; but alas, I was able to live comfortably while in Australia and not worry about money. Lastly, I learned patience. Working in that stupid kitchen was sometimes the most frustrating experience, yet, I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Death: Writing a Book
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I have been deep in thought…“what’s new”? you ask, “not much, thanks for asking.”
I am really struggling with this whole concept of leaving, I mean, I have exactly one week from tomorrow. Time really does fly. It is actually sort of humorous, “it” being me leaving and “humorous” being more or less the kind of chuckle you give somebody because you feel bad for them, not because you are jovial…I digress.
I took this class two years ago all about death. We learned about the five stages of grief. I will put them into perspective:
Denial: “Haha, what are you talking about, we’re not talking about me leaving Australia, I have three more weeks left. No no no I am not ready because we ARE NOT talking about it, okay? How’s your toast?”
Anger: “I DO NOT WANT TO LEAVE! Stupid month of June, why did you have to freakin’ come…and DO NOT even get me started on those bitches April and March. You can’t make me do anything!”
Bargaining: “Dear Indonesia, thank you so much for the offer but something has come up. What if we say rather than coming on June 16th we say I maybe show up, I don’t know via skype conference? No…well, what about July 15th…hmmm, no still? Okay, final offer, July 15th and brownies…”
Depression: “I (sob) don’t (sob) want (sniffle) to leave (collapse)!”
Acceptance: “I can do this.”
I am really just entering this whole acceptance stage. One thing that really got me here was just taking some time to reflect and think. Now, I promised myself when I created this little blog project that it would not turn into the next e-diary where I share all of my juicy gossip and saucy stories about my love life over the internet(…mainly because if this was the case there would be nothing to post, sorry Grandma…). And alas, here I am about to go all deep and meaningful on you.
Basically, for the past five years, I have been asking myself, “what is it that I want out of life?” This is obviously a gargantuan question and I don’t have an answer…anticlimactic, hey? No, but seriously, one thing I decided I want from life is stories, you know, I want to have adventures that create the most beautiful, scary, suspenseful and mythical tales that we all craved as children. I want to see “the world”, travel to far off places and meet exotic and new people. How, then, can I justify getting sad about leaving Australia –I am doing exactly what I set out to do. Indonesia is at my doorstep as my new adventure, my new experience that holds countless new stories just waiting for me to live and share with whomever will lend an ear.
Well, like all good stories, mine here in Australia must come to an end. Sure, there are always possibilities for sequels but for now I am looking forward to closing this chapter with the most fitting of endings: a happy one.
I am really struggling with this whole concept of leaving, I mean, I have exactly one week from tomorrow. Time really does fly. It is actually sort of humorous, “it” being me leaving and “humorous” being more or less the kind of chuckle you give somebody because you feel bad for them, not because you are jovial…I digress.
I took this class two years ago all about death. We learned about the five stages of grief. I will put them into perspective:
Denial: “Haha, what are you talking about, we’re not talking about me leaving Australia, I have three more weeks left. No no no I am not ready because we ARE NOT talking about it, okay? How’s your toast?”
Anger: “I DO NOT WANT TO LEAVE! Stupid month of June, why did you have to freakin’ come…and DO NOT even get me started on those bitches April and March. You can’t make me do anything!”
Bargaining: “Dear Indonesia, thank you so much for the offer but something has come up. What if we say rather than coming on June 16th we say I maybe show up, I don’t know via skype conference? No…well, what about July 15th…hmmm, no still? Okay, final offer, July 15th and brownies…”
Depression: “I (sob) don’t (sob) want (sniffle) to leave (collapse)!”
Acceptance: “I can do this.”
I am really just entering this whole acceptance stage. One thing that really got me here was just taking some time to reflect and think. Now, I promised myself when I created this little blog project that it would not turn into the next e-diary where I share all of my juicy gossip and saucy stories about my love life over the internet(…mainly because if this was the case there would be nothing to post, sorry Grandma…). And alas, here I am about to go all deep and meaningful on you.
Basically, for the past five years, I have been asking myself, “what is it that I want out of life?” This is obviously a gargantuan question and I don’t have an answer…anticlimactic, hey? No, but seriously, one thing I decided I want from life is stories, you know, I want to have adventures that create the most beautiful, scary, suspenseful and mythical tales that we all craved as children. I want to see “the world”, travel to far off places and meet exotic and new people. How, then, can I justify getting sad about leaving Australia –I am doing exactly what I set out to do. Indonesia is at my doorstep as my new adventure, my new experience that holds countless new stories just waiting for me to live and share with whomever will lend an ear.
Well, like all good stories, mine here in Australia must come to an end. Sure, there are always possibilities for sequels but for now I am looking forward to closing this chapter with the most fitting of endings: a happy one.
When Weird Becomes Normal
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Things can be a bit different here in Australia compared to the United States. Look no further than the way we measure distances, volumes and temperature. In the States (if you were unaware) we use miles, inches, gallons, pints, and degrees Fahrenheit. How strange? Especially figuring the rest of the world, including Oz, use the metric system –centimeters, meters, kilometers, and degrees Celsius! More so, Americans choose to drive on the left side of the car yet on the right side of the road; whereas, my Australian compatriots do the polar opposite, driving on the right side of the car on the left side of the road. You might expect this to be confusing or complicated but, actually, that is not the case.
Sure, at first these things seemed foreign to me; rightfully so, I am in a country on the other side of the globe that has sided with the majority of the world when it comes to units of measurement. But over time I have adapted and evolved. The funny thing that now I am used to it; weird has not only become normal, it has become all I relate to. I am cold when it is 17 °C and I am hot when it is 30 °C: I live for 23 °C. What is that in “American units?” you might ask? Well, my answer would be I don’t know what it is for you because those “foreign” measurements and units mean something to me because I live them. The same holds true with driving. I drove a few friends back from a festival we went to yesterday and not once had to think about “oh, no, oh, no, everything is different –STAY LEFT!” because it is not different, it is the norm.
Let’s hope that this “cultural enlightenment” doesn’t result in a traffic/pedestrian catastrophe upon my return to the States or in Jakarta.
Mount Stuart
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Saturday was exciting for two reasons. First, I completed my first final examination. I will not bore you with coral reef geomorphological processes or theories; however, I will tell you that it went very well - I was content. The examination set-up (room, proctors, etc) I must say was rather imposing but nonetheless, but 3:30pm I was a free man and had no plans to study for the rest of the day.
That being said, my lovely friend Jamie and I decided to drive up to Mount Stuart, the beautiful, paramount formation that provides a natural skyline to the city of Townsville. It was about a twenty minute drive through beautiful foothills and rolling meadows, gradually winding their way up to ridges dotted with eucalyptus trees. The sun, tempted with the idea of setting for the day, sat like a sinking beacon to the west casting long shadows across golden and pink grasses and deepened the textures of the nearby barks of the trees we drove past. Once at the top we were met with the most spectacular view of the city. To think, I have been here for four months and had yet to experience this gorgeous scene. Just goes to show you that you can travel all you want to see "the beauty of the world" but sometimes the most beautiful things in the world are in your own backyard, overlooked by monotony.
Jamie and I walked around a little path along the edge of the mountain and had the best views of the surrounding area. We could see Magnetic and Palm Islands (near where I was at Orpheus a few months ago), and inland where rolling hills were met with flat grasslands. Beautiful.
We caught the early part of the sunset before deciding to drive down in order to catch the colors and sights on the way down the mountain. Equally gorgeous. I am so happy I finally got the chance to go up on Mount Stuart.
That being said, my lovely friend Jamie and I decided to drive up to Mount Stuart, the beautiful, paramount formation that provides a natural skyline to the city of Townsville. It was about a twenty minute drive through beautiful foothills and rolling meadows, gradually winding their way up to ridges dotted with eucalyptus trees. The sun, tempted with the idea of setting for the day, sat like a sinking beacon to the west casting long shadows across golden and pink grasses and deepened the textures of the nearby barks of the trees we drove past. Once at the top we were met with the most spectacular view of the city. To think, I have been here for four months and had yet to experience this gorgeous scene. Just goes to show you that you can travel all you want to see "the beauty of the world" but sometimes the most beautiful things in the world are in your own backyard, overlooked by monotony.
Jamie and I walked around a little path along the edge of the mountain and had the best views of the surrounding area. We could see Magnetic and Palm Islands (near where I was at Orpheus a few months ago), and inland where rolling hills were met with flat grasslands. Beautiful.
We caught the early part of the sunset before deciding to drive down in order to catch the colors and sights on the way down the mountain. Equally gorgeous. I am so happy I finally got the chance to go up on Mount Stuart.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Home is where the heart is...
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Spending time with Maddie’s and Lucy’s families in Melbourne and Sydney got me thinking about what it means to be at home. I had such a terrific time with those lovely individuals and families that welcomed me into their lives. It wasn’t one thing in particular, but more so their hospitality as a whole that made me feel at home. This is something I am having a hard time articulating. Basically it was rejuvenating to be in that setting again, surrounded by the family dynamic - the love.
In the past year I have lived in many places –Bodega Bay, California; Meadville, Pennsylvania; Cranberry Township, Pennsylvania; Townsville, Australia and I have spent a week each in San Francisco, Washington D.C., Sydney and Melbourne and am about to head to Jakarta for two months. All of this moving around has caused me to question the idea of a home. Don’t get me wrong, my home is with my family in Pennsylvania, but when you are travelling around so much away from home, I have realized I am beginning to create a “home” wherever I go. Some of the things one gets in a home-setting are love, comfort, support, and happiness along with a home-cooked meal now and again. Allegheny College, for example, has become a second home to me. The more I think about it, the more I realize that Townsville too has become a home for me; a place where I have began planting roots and feeling as though I do and have always belonged. When this feeling of settling down happens the friends I make become my immediate family, my dormitory becomes my bedroom and living room and my home-cooked meal come in the form of questionable dining-hall food prepared by a sweaty, angry chef named Steve.
They say home is where the heart is. Well, based on the different directions my heart is being pulled and the places and people I have fallen in love with, home to me can be a few different places –I wouldn’t have it any other way.
In the past year I have lived in many places –Bodega Bay, California; Meadville, Pennsylvania; Cranberry Township, Pennsylvania; Townsville, Australia and I have spent a week each in San Francisco, Washington D.C., Sydney and Melbourne and am about to head to Jakarta for two months. All of this moving around has caused me to question the idea of a home. Don’t get me wrong, my home is with my family in Pennsylvania, but when you are travelling around so much away from home, I have realized I am beginning to create a “home” wherever I go. Some of the things one gets in a home-setting are love, comfort, support, and happiness along with a home-cooked meal now and again. Allegheny College, for example, has become a second home to me. The more I think about it, the more I realize that Townsville too has become a home for me; a place where I have began planting roots and feeling as though I do and have always belonged. When this feeling of settling down happens the friends I make become my immediate family, my dormitory becomes my bedroom and living room and my home-cooked meal come in the form of questionable dining-hall food prepared by a sweaty, angry chef named Steve.
They say home is where the heart is. Well, based on the different directions my heart is being pulled and the places and people I have fallen in love with, home to me can be a few different places –I wouldn’t have it any other way.
At Home at Home Masquerade Ball
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No, no, it actually was at home at home, not just at home. You might have assumed that something called At Home at Home Masquerade Ball was (1) a masquerade ball (you’re so smart) and (2) most likely organized by the Redundancy Society of Repeating Redundancy. The evening was in fact organized by the social representatives at the Combined Catholic College and was a planned evening of Venetian mysteriousness and masked fun…held at home.
Everyone got dressed up in their finest attire, I adorning a nice sport coat and slacks, completed with a gold, silver and black mask and slicked over hair (without curly hair I am invisible!). Dinner was served to us at round tables set in a clearing marked by tiki torches and flamboyant, over-sized purple and silver balloons. Elegantly draped white lights were woven above us connecting the trees in a spectacle of ivory glow that illuminated our masquerade festivities. Just like the original Venetian party goers, we had a “nice” dinner served by the kitchen staff, an open bar (clutch), DJ, and dance floor…classic Venetian, no?
The night was an absolute blast. It was so fun to see everybody dressed up and having such a good time.
Everyone got dressed up in their finest attire, I adorning a nice sport coat and slacks, completed with a gold, silver and black mask and slicked over hair (without curly hair I am invisible!). Dinner was served to us at round tables set in a clearing marked by tiki torches and flamboyant, over-sized purple and silver balloons. Elegantly draped white lights were woven above us connecting the trees in a spectacle of ivory glow that illuminated our masquerade festivities. Just like the original Venetian party goers, we had a “nice” dinner served by the kitchen staff, an open bar (clutch), DJ, and dance floor…classic Venetian, no?
The night was an absolute blast. It was so fun to see everybody dressed up and having such a good time.
Billabong Wildlife Sanctuary
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Last week I finally caved and did what every American international student does while studying at JCU—I went to the Billabong Wildlife Sanctuary. Billabong houses native Australian animals, including koalas, wombats, echidnas, kangaroos, wallabies, bandicoots, kookaburras, dingoes, and crocodiles (no, these animals did not walk out of a Dr. Seuss book). I went with Katie, a friend of mine. We spent the first part of the morning walking around. My favorite was the dingoes, they were so pretty and even though they looked so domestic, I know they could have destroyed my face. 
There were “shows” beginning at 10:30. First was at the koala exhibit. A bad-tempered, really pessimistic, and overly dramatic handler told us about the marsupial, how stupid they apparently are, how much we waste our time and money with them, and why he thinks they are too pampered. I don’t care what he says that unreasonable, childish handler, those koalas are adorable. If you paid $16 you could hold one and get a picture with a koala –I saved my money and just stood by the koala and got my own picture. Next on the program were the wombats. Same handler, same story. Wombats are distant relatives to koalas, however, this part of the animal family seems to have developed a rather aggressive food addiction, chubbed-up a bit, slept more and morphed themselves into what looks like an overstuffed hybrid of a koala, gopher, and porcupine…they are so cute. I did the same thing as with the koala, just sat next to it, pet it and got Katie to take my picture. The thing could barely stay awake in the handler’s arms (unless you tickle its toes, then it just lackadaisically “moves” its appendages). 
Before the crocodile show I got to hold a bearded-dragon, shingleback skink and stand next to a beautiful eagle named Malikite. The crocodile show was stereotypically Australian –Steve Irwin style. There was steak hanging on the end of long poles, screaming handlers, jumping crocs, you know, the Aussie thing to do. Billabong was totally worth it—even if it was a mild tourist trap, I successfully avoided it, enjoyed myself, and saw some incredible Australian fauna.
Groovin the Moo
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Sunday, May 2nd, a music tour visiting only five cities in Australia rocked up to Townsville with a mix of alternative and rock bands –Groovin the Moo 2010. I had bought my ticket for this all the way back in February when people were freaking out with excitement. It was totally worth the hype. The festival was meant to last from noon to ten at night. Boyd, Maddie, Brooke and I rocked up around 2:00pm. We couldn’t have asked for better weather: clear blue skies, not too hot, sunny with a slight breeze. Perfect! And the atmosphere –I have to admit, this was my first music festival and I prior to my arrival, my imagination conjured up the spectacle of crazed fans storming ever closer to the stages, crowd-surfing hippies and the smell and sight of wispy smoke from seemingly illegal substances wafting above my head. What I experienced was a much milder version of my expectations and overall it was a terrific day.
My favorite acts included Miami Horror, Tegan and Sarah, Vampire Weekend, and Spoon. There some really creepy performances, aka Empire of the Sun, whose backup dancers wore masks that resembled porpoises or marlin or some other marine creature whose presence at a music festival, let alone a public space, was most undesirable…funny, really really funny, but unnecessary. GTM was a really awesome blend of Australian, Canadian and American music ranging from up-and-coming artists to well known bands. I definitely have been able to add a few more bands to my “favorites” list.
America Day!
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Unlike July 4th, Thanksgiving, and National Eat a BigMac Day, the America Day I am referring to was celebrated on my last Saturday in Sydney, Australia. “How strange?” you might ask. No worries, friend, let me explain.
I met up with my American friend, Rachel, early in the morning and we caught the ferry from Circular Quay in the city across the harbor to Taronga Zoo. We spent the morning and early afternoon exploring the massive zoo set on a rather steep hill sloped that so no matter where you are, the Sydney skyline is acts as a backdrop to the animals. I have to say, it is one of the nicest zoo’s I have ever visited. The enclosures were spacious and the animals were active. My favorites were the baby elephants, the otters, platypus, and Ralph, the emu.
I met up with my American friend, Rachel, early in the morning and we caught the ferry from Circular Quay in the city across the harbor to Taronga Zoo. We spent the morning and early afternoon exploring the massive zoo set on a rather steep hill sloped that so no matter where you are, the Sydney skyline is acts as a backdrop to the animals. I have to say, it is one of the nicest zoo’s I have ever visited. The enclosures were spacious and the animals were active. My favorites were the baby elephants, the otters, platypus, and Ralph, the emu.
Ralph received a name because he was extra special to Rachel and I. We walked into this sort of isolated part of the zoo when all of a sudden this massive emu was sort of just walking towards us (emu’s are huge, just smaller than ostriches). Ralph proceeded to be absolutely infatuated with Rachel’s long, curly hair and the two spent the better part of ten minutes circling each other, eyeing each other up. When we walked to the wombat enclosure just down the footpath, Ralph followed us. The entrance to the enclosure was through this little rock tunnel and just as we were approaching it, this woman came walking out not paying attention. When she saw us with a giant emu following, she literally screamed and turned around and ran…awkward. Anyways, we bid Ralph a fond farewell. Two thumbs up for Taronga.
After our animal adventures, Rachel and I caught the ferry to the famous Manly Beach. We had a late lunch of fish & chips and walked around the boardwalk and checked out some markets. By this time it was beginning to look a bit rainy. We hopped back on the ferry and headed back to my hostel to prepare ourselves for the evening.
The conclusion on America Day was a rugby game at the Olympic Park between the Brumbies and the Waratahs. We had received tickets because Lucy’s dad is a season ticket holder but was unable to go to the game. The stadium was massive –a holding capacity of 100,000—but held only about 40,000 fans. I have to admit, the game was a bit sluggish and slightly boring to watch….I prefer AFL heaps more. It was good to see, however, and I am glad to have the chance to experience such a different sport’s culture. Rachel and I had such a great day!
Saturday, May 8, 2010
The Blue Mountains
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So basically I discovered one of my favorite places in the world at the end of my lecture recess: the Blue Mountains. I know what you are thinking. "Blue, how can mountains be blue?!" Fear not my inquisitive compatriots, the mountains only look blue because of the eucalyptus trees. But for the sake of me sparing you the science, the mountains are blue. I did a group tour on my first day there. If you know me, and if you don't know me then you will know this about me by the time you finish reading this sentence, I hate tour groups (pretty anti-climatic, hey?). Just the whole hustle and bustle, the jockeying for position, fighting for that perfect Kodak moment spot, the cheesy tour-guide jokes - I am over it. Additionally, if you read my little blurb about Canadians (now heightened after Montreal knocked the Penguins out of the playoffs) then you already know how frustrating people can be in these tours, especially those annoying neighbors to the north. Short story made shorter, I got to see some cool things, learn some fun stuff, and yeah, it was nice. The day got 100x better when I got to my hostel...as cheesy as that sounds.
In the past two years I have stayed at 16 hostels. To put into perspective of how much I enjoyed the Katoomba International Youth Hostel in the Blue Mountains, it comes in ranked on my power-rankings at number 2. It was awesome. An epically huge kitchen, sitting room, couches and chairs everywhere, the nicest most helpful people at the reception area, my room was cleaner than clean (there were two of us staying in a room for six people), and it had a really nice veranda...WITH a fountain. On Sunday night I went to K-Mart (no judging) to buy a fleece and beanie because I was cold and had walked from the Tropics of Townsville to the moderate climate of Sydney to autumn in the mountains. After my shopping "spree", I went to a grocery store to get the food to prepare my own dinner for the first time since January. I was stoked. I had spicy lentil soup with beans, bread rolls, cheese, strawberries, and milk. Delicious. I literally spent the entire night after catching up on my journal. It was extremely relaxing.
Monday was spectacular. I woke up at 7:00am to pack up my stuff, check out, and eat breakfast (raisins here are called sultanas...therefore I had sultana bran - how exotic?) I had laid out what I will refer to as the "epic hike". It was epic for a number of reasons. First, it was meant to take between 5 and 7 hours. Second, because calling it the "mildly entertaining and slightly physically draining hike" would be an injustice. So, I began my "epic hike" in the direction of Ruin Castle. The hike took me down a valley through temperate rainforest, eucalyptus groves, boulders and scrub and massive fern beds. It was a perfect day - clear blue skies and cool. It took me about three hours to get to the Ruined Castle which is actually not a castle but rather a large rock formation that resembles the decrepit remains of ancient stone towers...ish.
Funny story. Once I actually made it to my destination I couldn't actually figure out how to climb it which as you can imagine was quite disappointing. I could just see and could hear two people standing on top of it so I figured there had to be some way to get up there. I tried everything. I began climbing each side of this monstrosity of a boulder literally running into a dead end on each attempt. Finally I did some fancy climbing and popped up near the top. I startled the people who were up there. Lucky for me my sudden appearance did not cause one of them to stumble off the edge because that would have for sure have put a damper on the mood. They got a good chuckle though because apparently there was an "easy" way up that I had not seen. That, and it was a small tunnel thing that I couldn't have fit in because of my large back-side....skipping ahead. The view was incredible. Once the people left I was up there just sitting on this small rock standing vertical in the center of the Blue Mountains. It was breath-taking.
I did the long hike back to the hostel. Because this blog post is beginning to look more and more like a bad chapter out of one of Bill Bryson's travel books, I will jump to the end. I made it back alive, stuffed myself with cheap delicious donuts, showered and caught the bus back to Sydney. Thanks for listening.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Americans Abroad: Rant 2, Part Canada
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I have discovered something here in Australia; the truth about Canadians. You probably read the title of this post, "Americans Abroad, Rant 2..." but in all honesty this post goes out to all of those Canadians who generally have made me angry over my duration here in Oz. First off, this excludes the French Canadians because I love them, they are entertaining, and they speak French. It is the others I have my problems with.
For example, when I was having the time of my life snorkeling on a boat on the Great Barrier Reef I met "Pop Culture Canadian". There were about seven of us who stayed after dinner to chat the night away and we represented five or six countries. "Pop Culture Canadian," however, proceeded to dominate the conversations talking mainly about all of her favorite movies and how she couldn't wait to go home so she could stuff her face with donuts and drink "real coffee." Child please. She then went on to tell me "I lived under a rock" because I, the American, did not know any of the movies she was raving about (no one else didn't). When she asked if I actually had television and movies back at home I said yes, but I actually have a life. What. A. Bitch.
Our second example hails from Vancouver and I had the unfortunate luck of being in the same tour group as the "Chatty Canadians" my first day in the Blue Mountains. These two blonde pieces of work literally did not shut up the entire day. They talked over the tour guide, talked over the water falls, hell, I think they even tried to talk over themselves the stupid ditzes. I tried to convince one of the other blokes in the group to push one of them off a cliff but he thought I was just joking...such a shame.
In summary, Canadians are just like Americans except without the label. This makes them even worse because even though they still come with all of the annoying tendencies, people meet them and are like "you are from Canada?!?, that's so cool." This is what is wrong with the world.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Sydney
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After my escapades in Melbourne I caught the one and a half hour international flight to Sydney (don't ask why it was international...) on Wednesday. I was staying with my friend Lucy and her family and she was there at the airport to pick me up. We spent Wednesday seeing the main harbor. I saw the "old" part of the city, the Rocks, walked across the Harbor Bridge, saw the Opera House, you know, saw the sights. The city is absolutely gorgeous sprawled out over a harbor in the shape of a large flowering plant rooted in the ocean and branching off into tens of hundreds of inlets and bays eventually stemming northward along the Hawkesbury River. Every vantage point is breathtaking. Here is a "Best of Sydney" list (not in any particular order):
1. Seeing Avatar in the world's largest IMAX theater. Spectacular is an understatement.
2. The hour(ish) long hike from Covelley to Bondi Beach along cliff tops and hidden beaches covered in white sand.
3. Learning about "Surviving in Australia" at the National Australian Museum. The exhibit had everything from poisonous animals to Aboriginal lifestyle and culture to dinosaurs. My kind of thing.
4. Climbing the Harbor Bridge! 437ft above the harbor and I could see from the ocean all the way west to the Blue Mountains (close to a two hour drive!). The climb took about three hours all together but was one of the best things I have ever done. Sydney is a beautiful city but it is even more beautiful when you can literally stand on top of it and look down on it. Clear blue skies and a light breeze made it the perfect day to do this.
5. Watching the sunset behind the Harbor Bridge and the Opera House from the Royal Botanical Gardens.
6. Getting my class on and going to the Opera House for a performance of the Silver Rose. It was my first ballet and I loved it. I actually saw a show in arguably the most famous performance space in the world and oh yeah, I got a "student rush" ticket. Thirty bucks for a seat on the balcony, dead-center. Clutch.
1. Seeing Avatar in the world's largest IMAX theater. Spectacular is an understatement.
2. The hour(ish) long hike from Covelley to Bondi Beach along cliff tops and hidden beaches covered in white sand.
3. Learning about "Surviving in Australia" at the National Australian Museum. The exhibit had everything from poisonous animals to Aboriginal lifestyle and culture to dinosaurs. My kind of thing.
4. Climbing the Harbor Bridge! 437ft above the harbor and I could see from the ocean all the way west to the Blue Mountains (close to a two hour drive!). The climb took about three hours all together but was one of the best things I have ever done. Sydney is a beautiful city but it is even more beautiful when you can literally stand on top of it and look down on it. Clear blue skies and a light breeze made it the perfect day to do this.
5. Watching the sunset behind the Harbor Bridge and the Opera House from the Royal Botanical Gardens.
6. Getting my class on and going to the Opera House for a performance of the Silver Rose. It was my first ballet and I loved it. I actually saw a show in arguably the most famous performance space in the world and oh yeah, I got a "student rush" ticket. Thirty bucks for a seat on the balcony, dead-center. Clutch.
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