thehostelwitness

Brunswick St, Melbourne

I have quite possibly discovered the world's greatest street: Brunswick, in Melbourne. Its a lofty claim, to be sure, but I think you'd be hard pressed to find anything quite like it. Novelty stores, young designer clothes, vintage items, cafes, bars, all packed onto one street that stretches for over a mile just outside the city proper. Its the only place I can think of where one store sells $10 t-shirts next to a place selling them for $100. All of this, crammed into old Victorian style buildings, giving it a unique feel, a buzz that there is something about the place. If I were to move to Melbourne, after only two days of surveying, I'm 99% sure it would be near this street, in the Fitzroy neighborhood.

Melbourne has over 4 million inhabitants, so its a bit of a puzzle to me that someplace so close has avoided the fate of a Brooklyn and become uber-gentrified. It may become a pain on the weekends with all the city people descending on it, but during the week it was calm, peaceful even. Tattooed chicks a plenty, and not a single glass-framed condo in sight. I was in heaven.

Melbourne so far has been a vast improvement over Canberra, the capital of Australia, where I spent just one night to break up the 14 hour journey between Sydney and Melbourne. Think of the world's largest outdoor shopping mall, then stick in government offices instead of retail stores and you pretty much have it. I got lost just walking the five blocks from the bus station to the hostel - the first time in all of Australia that I've gotten turned around. And its because every single building looks like the other and can't make up which street its on. I didn't even bother going to the national history museum because like America, Australia is a very young country and shares a similar history. Seriously, the history goes something like this:

1. James Cook discovers Australia for Britain. (Cook also discovered Hawaii).

2. Fleet of 11 ships lands in Australia, drops off crew who proceed to decimate native population. (same same)

3. The Irish and Chinese move over in force. Gold is discovered. Rush is on. (same)

4. Ned Kelly and his gang terrorize Australia wearing a suit of armor.  (The Aussie Billie the kid)

5.  Silver Chair releases debut album. (same)

My first morning in Melbourne, a steady rain and wind was going, sending me to the Australian Center for the Moving Image (ACMI). This is basically a museum for movies, videos, and computer games. All free. Let me tell you, there is hardly a better way to pass a rainy day then to head here and just play. Eventually, the weather cleared up, sunlight descended, and the temp rose up and up until I was a sweaty, smelly mess.

My roommates for this next week are pretty decent folk, but one with a predilection towards talking in his sleep. In German. "Nein, Nein mutti! Ich bin ein Berliner!" or something like that. Its not too bad though - we had one guy in Port Macquarie who literally rolled out of his bunk and smacked the floor hard enough to wake up the whole room. As he THUNKED on the ground, he woke up a girl sleeping in the bunk below who forgot she was in a hostel. "WHO ARE YOU?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM!!!!," she screamed. It made for a lively night, but even more fun to talk about it over breakfast. Another roommate snored so loud - and this is coming from a guy whose been known to let out a few Z's himself - so loud, that he kept the entire room up for hours. Even in the dark, I knew everyone else was awake. One guy would cough loudly to try to stir him. Another person actually kicked the bunk from beneath. In the morning, he left and the event, as most traumatic events occurring to groups of people, bonded over the incident. It was our own St. Krispin's Day.

Manly Beach, Sydney

It occurred to me only after drinking a six pack of corona and a couple bottle fulls of goon, that I was having a grand time of a night. The moon was half-full, but a clear night reflected light off of the dark ocean, bright enough to see a wave crest four feet above my head and for a moment I was plunged back into darkness. It was well past midnight and the whole lot of us - about twenty - had been kicked out of the hostel common area for noise. Why not go down to the beach?

So sure, looking back a midnight swim may not have been the brightest idea in the bunch. I have no desire to join Jeff Buckley, but man, I was having fun. "JACOB. QUESTION." I turned to the sound of the voice, from a guy from Manchester I had only met a few minutes earlier.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you wearing shorts? We're all supposed to be swimming naked."

I looked around. Nope, everyone was fully clothed. You are, I'm sorry to say, the only one.

"Oh."

The fun of streaking quickly wears off when one realizes that they are the only one participating. I stepped slowly away from the naked man and decided it was time to head back to the hostel for the night.

Manly Beach is one of many beaches surrounding Sydney, the most famous being perhaps Bondi. My hostel was actually a few kilometers north, at Collaroy beach, names that will mean nothing to most people, but suffice to say they are all beautiful. The sun was out, the waves were big, and the water a bright shade of aqua marine. So it was hard not to enjoy the experience. The group was a ramshamble of travelers and hostel staff, all left from the barbecue that had gone on a few hours earlier. Introductions were made - and quickly forgotten - in the dark waves and grainy beach. A quick laugh from the group when a young German girl, 20, said that she was traveling to "find herself".

Join the crowd!

I tried to tell her not to worry about finding anything here, just enjoy the ride and inspiration comes. But as bad as my German is, I found my English after the drinks to be considerably worse.

The days were spent hiking around the beaches, through national park land that sits high up a sheer cliff with views clear to Sydney. After all that, I was eager for a beer or two. And I was introduced to Goon - which is simply, boxed wine. My favorite part of goon though is the ingredient list, which states something to the effect of "egg, milk, and fish product were used in the production of this wine", which of course, is the authentic french method of wine making. Egads. Fish product? For only $10 a box though, it might as well be backpacker mana. Everyone drinks the stuff. 

I'm sitting waiting for the bus to Canberra, where I stop over for the night before continuing on to Melbourne in the morning. So in the meantime, a few more pictures.

Manly Beach Photoset

Sydney Australia Day

Australia Day is a weird nut to crack. On the one hand, the entire city of Sydney turns into one huge festival, with food courts and activities set up in nearly every green space. Plenty of people walk around with Australian flags worn as capes, temporary Australia tattoos, and all manner of patriotic body paint. Museums throughout the city go free or heavily discounted and nearly everyone you see is smiling, laughing, and all around having a great time. As a festival and testament to organization, it can't be beat. And no wonder, this city handled an Olympics; a single day of festivities is simple enough.

So the thought that entered into my head during the closing ceremonies came as a complete surprise: this all seemed a bit too forced. Over 200,000 thousand people crammed into Darling Harbor, all relaxed and having a great time. What they didn't need, in my humble opinion, was a huge television screen featuring local TV personalities exhorting the crowd to cheer "AUSTRALIA!!" nearly every 10 minutes. The crowd to their credit, mostly ignored these entreaties, but the huge TV face just took it as a "dead crowd" and kept on bothering the group until just before the fireworks. Even the fireworks show was a drawn out attempt to instill patriotism - with the video wall face talking about why this was such a great country, the greatest in the world. Imagine going to a fireworks show and being forced to sit through a 10 minute video message from the governor. All around me the people waited and waited and waited, then finally the greatest cheer - a true, patriotic cheer - for when the fireworks show started.

And what a show! There were over 8 platforms loaded with fireworks, all put to good effect. It seemed a fitting end to a busy day.

So, what does it mean to be an Australian from an American's point of view? Australia is like your favorite cousin - not your closest relative and you may not see them that often, but the same blood sits in your veins. The American dream can just as easily be the Australian dream, with such a diverse mix of people and desire to have a good life. Rules should be kept to a minimum. Religion should coexist with, not dominate politics and daily life. Beer, sports, and women are all good things. An easy going spirit runs through everywhere: "No Worries" could easily be the national motto.

One last note - when going to any Australian festival, there promises to be loads of meat pies available for sale. So you probably shouldn't watch "Sweeney Todd" the night before. Just saying.

Finally, as a Australia Day special for my sis and Aussie friends who couldn't be home for it, I put together a little photo collection. Enjoy!

Australia Day 2008 Photoset

Sydney day 1.5

Happy Australia Day, everyone!

Australia day is their fourth of July, not quite a celebration of independence, but of settlement upon this big country. Its the day the First Fleet pulled into the harbor to settle Sydney, boats laden with petty thieves and lower lordships. To celebrate, everyone drinks. A lot.

A bonus is the museums are free today, so I plan on spending a good chunk of it inside on the cheap.

More to come!

Sydney day 1

The last night in Newcastle's main event so to speak was a quiz night at the local bar down the road. My quiz skills haven't always been sharp, but I was able to quickly form a backpacker team consisting of two English, myself, and a Canadian. I was sure we would do well at the AUSTRALIA quiz night. Right, and I'm a Chinese jet pilot.

Still, apart from the Aussie based questions, we did reasonably well - the English girls doing well to provide knowledge of Aussie soaps and I even got to come in the clutch by knowing who Brian Dennehey was, as well as two elements that border Aluminum in the elemental charts (magnesium and silicon). How, just how, I came to the knowledge of my elements is a long complicated story involving a bit of witchcraft, dried squid, and a moral learned at the end of the story. But I will say there was multiple choice involved.

Anyway, we ended up finishing fifth out of eleven, which gained us a good amount of appreciation from the regulars. No one bought drinks for us, but I'm sure the intent was there.

On to Sydney. Sydney is one of those cities that's blessed with such a beautiful approach into it that your opinions are immediately favorable. Seattle has it driving up I-5 short of Boeing Field when the Space Needle comes into view (I get goosebumps every time), New York driving into Manhattan from JFK, and Spokane when you first see it in your rear view mirror. Huge blue skies dotted with clouds hanging over in the distance and to the left, the famed Sydney Opera House.

My hostel is in a converted railhouse just south of the central train station and right smack in the asian district, thankfully giving me my fill of kimchee. After a couple snafus, including the one where the entire locker system broke leaving my bag stuck inside (who knew lockers had actuators?), I headed out to tackle Sydney.

Of the five months or so that I've been travelling, I think today (weather wise) may have been the Perfect Day. Warm temperatures, but with a nice, steady light breeze, blue skies with the occasional cloud giving perspective, and sunshine, beautiful sunshine forcing smiles on all the Sydneysters as you walk by them. I had to constantly remind myself that it was summer here. I took a walk through Darling Harbor, then worked my way up across Sydney's main park, "The Domain" (by the way, there's nothing better to improve a name than throwing "the" in front of it. THE Domain. THE Hague. THE Gesu Church. THE Hostelwitness. THE Jacob Rhoades.) before taking a good walk up to Mrs. Macquarie's Chair and the Sydney Opera House.

Finally, since I was in a bit of a jones for a bit of familiarity, I paid $10 for a ticket to see the Sydney Kings basketball team play the South Dragons. Basketball is the forgotten child of sports in Australia, well behind rugby, aussie rules football, soccer, and cricket. Still about four thousand fans showed up, all die hards. The first hint that you are in for a different sort of night is a banner for the forthcoming playoffs: "Welcome to the Hummer Championships!"

Did I buy the wrong ticket?

Also, unlike in the NBA, there were no large scoreboards, just a rudimentary high school setup on each end of the court. An announcer called the game and when it was time to lead the crowd in a cheer, instead of queing the "Defence! Defence!" song, he just yelled "DE-FENCE!" and the crowd quickly followed suit. Sometimes, in the middle of play, the DJ (there was a guy courtside with turn tables) would start playing a song. The scrappy play, the fans, the um, "dance" team from Sassy Models, Inc; all made it an enjoyable night, and for $10 no less.

You'd be hard pressed to find a city more beautiful than Sydney on a nice day - perhaps Vancouver or Riga, but it wouldn't be by much. By and large, the people of Sydney tend to be fit and love playing in the outdoors. Also, I'm not sure if its my ears and imagination, but there is also a distinctly different accent compared to Aussies up in Queensland. And the Asians that were missing up in Newcastle can be found here in great numbers, which is good for me since there's dimsum right across the street.

Newcastle days 1-3

Ah, the sun. How I love the sun.

The past few days in Newcastle have been overcast and windy, the result of which gave me some much needed time for laundry. The hostel I'm staying in is probably the nicest I've ever been in - three stories tall with a basement kitchen and comfortable beds. The main attraction though is the main gathering hall, a large high-ceilinged room with 10 plush leather couches, deep easy chairs, and large tables strewen throughout. The building used to function as a Gentlemen's club in the 1800s (which served a completely different function then as one would guess a "gentleman's club" would serve today). You can almost feel the ghosts of doctors and lawyers puffing on cigars with fingers of scotch in their hands.

Newcastle itself is a bit of a weird nut. The city center is dotted with large, classic 1800s city architecture, many of which now stand vacant, no doubt due to the high cost of maintaining them. Beaches surround the community which extends via a small penninsula, with large waves giving experienced surfers plenty to crow about. All about, new apartments are rising into the air, all built in a classic red brick motif. Its probably the newest deserted city I've ever been in.

The hostel is also great fun, featuring free dinners four nights a week along with pool competitions and trivia nights. The food is classic bar fare, but still I didn't complain as I wolfed down a plate of chips. Apparently the owners of the hostel also own the bar offering the promotions, which is a fantastic advantage for the owners - what better way to fill up a bar on a Monday night than by offering free food the hungry, cash poor backpackers?

My pool skills alas, haven't improved with the weather and after only two games I found myself out of the tournament. I had been paired off with a swede and together, we made the worst playing team in the whole hostel. I knew we were in trouble after I asked him if he'd seen The Hustler or Color of Money and he had no clue what I was talking about. In fact, hardly anyone had seen the movies, leaving my self-given nickname of "minnesota fats" a bit of a mystery in their minds I'm afraid.

By today though, the clouds had blown out leaving me with a nice afternoon to take in the rest of the city. Newcastle was founded by a group of convicts who had the distinction of being too mean for the original settlement in Sydney. As such, they were put to work in Newcastle creating Ocean Baths, basically huge tidepools carved out of the surrounding cliffs, collecting tide water as the waves crest against the rock. Its an odd feeling sitting in a pool of water as fifteen feet of water falls on top of you.

The town is almost universally white. The huge influx of asian travellers I found up in Queensland is diminished significantly here in New South Whales. I grabbed an ice cream on the beach and was surprised to see a black female working there - I realized I hadn't seen any aboriginals since leaving Cairns. I'm not sure why, but I think as one travels south the cost of living goes up, leaving the natives on the fringes of Aussie society.

As I looked at over the beach, I saw a surfer approach the water and the loudspeaker came on, warning the surfer that no lifeguards were on duty today and if he went in, "you're on your own, mate". Its that sense of individual fatalism that I love about Australia - people are pretty much free to do whatever they choose without big brother forbidding them to even try. The surfer looked back at the beach and a second later, plowed into the water. The ocean baths are similarly left alone - Convict Bogey Hole sits about 10 feet above the ocean, with no fencing or even wires along the perimeter. If you were sitting on the edge with your back to the water, feet in the bath, it wouldn't take a very strong wave to pull you in. Still, its there and a single posted warning is all you get.

Imagine life without fear of being sued! No warnings on coffee cups, no label stating this peanut butter was processed in a plant that processes peanuts, no instructions on shampoo bottles! Imagine bars packed where men can wear sandals without socks, board shorts caked with ocean salt, and still be served a beer. Imagine Newcastle, home to Aussie alt rock band Silverchair, beautiful parks, and an observation tower nicknamed "the big penis" - a long narrow structure topped with a dome shaped viewing tower sitting in front of the harbor.

And there are a million inappropriate jokes I can make about it, but instead I'll let you make your own and end here.

Port Macquarie days 1-2

"They said I had to go to rehab, and I said 'no no no"

I visited a koala rehabilitation clinic today, halfway hoping to see strung out joeys lining up for their methadone or maybe a celebrity koala recovering from too many hard nights out, but alas it appears that these marsupials live a bit more of a sedentary life. For all of the rehabilitation centers in Australia for bats and koalas and roos, you can tell clearly that the people here care for their native species most dearly. The particular clinic I visited happened to be one of the better known koala centers in New South Whales, with many open pens where visitors can visit and read about what unfortunate circumstances led to the little beasts injuries, mostly due to dog attacks, car accidents, and bush fires (had I visited but a few months earlier, I may have been able to see a rare white haired koala, but he was back out in the wild).

Upon being checked in, many koalas are found to have chlamydia, the pathogen being fairly common in the population (no kissing!). Abstinence isn't really an option for these little guys, so maybe there's some money to be made for the person who comes up with the world's first koala condom. Then when that takes off, there's the secondary market for adult novelties, like koala lingerie, pocket rockets, and eucalyptous flavored prophylactics.

And since we are on the subject of koala sex, here's an interesting piece of trivia for the next Aussie pub quiz night: koalas don't really have a concept such as consentual sex. If you are in koala country and hear screaming much like cats fighting in the night, its safe to say you are within ear shot of a forcible violation. When the male koala wants to mate, he just finds a female (not too easy since they are fairly solitary beings) and takes her. Think about that the next time you see a "cute" little koala.

Koala fact #2: outside of soil, which they consume sparingly for medicinal purposes, the koala only eats the leaves of certain eucalyptus trees and gets all of its nutrients and water from the leaf. It rarely drinks water ("koala" is an aboriginal word for "doesn't drink") and whats more, the leaves are poisonous, so much of the koalas engergy is spent finding trees, then fighting off whatever poisons are consumed (deadly to baby koalas or "joeys"). They sleep throughout most of the day and night. When you see a koala, you are struck by the fact that there just doesn't seem to be much going on and there isn't - so evolved to energy conservation is the koala that its brain has actually shrunk over time. Its one of the few mammals whose brains are smaller than its brain case (koala fact #3: they have four thumbs, two on each hand!).

The degree to which the koalas have evolved to specialize in its food, energy conservation, and mating is astounding and a perfect example of how fragile and unique the Australian ecosystem is. Australians know this and take great care and concern for their animals, so its a bit astounding and really, quite inexcusable when one considers that that there is really no recycling program here. Everything goes in the trash: glass, plastic, and paper. I'm sure in a few places it may be different, but sadly its the exception and not the rule.

Not that it can't change or won't happen in the future. After all, recycling is really a phenomenon that's only a few decades old. I'm just not sure what the hold up is.

That's not to begrudge the country's environmental record. Its one of the leading crusaders for greenhouse gas reduction - a warming of the world's oceans by even a degree can end up wiping out the Great Barrier Reef, as coral can only grow between 80-82 degrees, if I remember correctly - and many houses here have solar panels installed on the roofs of houses. Furthermore, there is regular news coverage of illegal japanese whaling, for which the Aussie government regularly dispatches its navy and coast guard to monitor, with the hopes of eventually bringing charges against Japan to the world court in the Hague.

You can't even fault the huge prevalence of SUVs and huge trucks on the roads, as many highways consist of nothing more than packed gravel, making most of the country remote during the rainy season. Unlike watching commercials of Tiki Barber driving his Cadillac Escalade through the streets of Manhattan, here you really do need a good sized truck.

Huge swaths of land are categorized as World Heritage sites, making large freeways unreasonable. Some of the heavily travelled roads between Sydney and the Gold Coast never get any bigger than two narrow lanes of traffic, making travel by bus a bit of a harrowing experience. Further in the Outback, huge tractor trailers tow up to 10 trailers in a single haul, earning them the name of "road trains". The record I remember reading is something like 20 containers being pulled by a single truck - imagine something like that piling down I-5!

Oh, and Port Macquarie is a nice little town, but as you might be able to tell doesn't have much going on allowing one's mind to ruminate over recycling.

Recycling, and koala sex.

Byron Bay days 1-3

The posts have been slackening of late for a couple of reasons. First, after the first two months I just can't keep up the breakneck speed of posting. And second, for a developed country its a pain in the ass to get on the internet here. Sure, the hostels have terminals but some charge up to $4/hour with old computers w/o USB. And no wi-fi or the ones that do charge twice as much. So I've been a bit circumspect with my postings.

Byron Bay is the first city I've visited in New South Whales, the most famous and populous state in the country - though that's not saying much, as the population of China increases every year by the sum total of people living in Australia. The travel times between bus stops lessen and more and more backpackers pile on, most students making their way back to Sydney in time for school after the month long break. Its a beautiful (of course) coastal town, with the requisite beach, small shops, and surf boards. It is also in Byron that one starts to see two ubiquitous species of land animal.

The first of these are also found in Seattle, surprisingly enough. Walking down the main street, you hear the rythmic thumping of drums and jangling of a tambourine. Then, paradoxically, your gut grows cold and your ears heat up. I've found my first Aussie Hippie Drum Circle. This species differs than the Seattle group by its deeper, tanner coloration and lack of Columbia Sportswear, Patagonia, or North Face jackets. The feet are also different, with thongs (or flip-flops) replacing the favored strap sandles.These hippies tend also to be in better shape and shirtless, but don't let that fool you - these guys would just as soon lure you into their drum circle of death than help you out with anything constructive.

The other species is beach going. Very quiet, you hardly even notice the beauty of it until you turn around and there she is. The best way to observe is at an angle, glancing askew as not to look at it with a direct stare - a confrontation and challenge if there ever is one. I was lying on the beach myself when I saw my first. I slowly turned around and just to my right, there she was in all her naked glory. I am of course, speaking of the Aussie Topless Sunbathers. Not prevalent at all up north, here in New South Whales the species flourishes, much to my delight. Here's to the perpetuation of the species, the naked breasted booby!

As mentioned before, there are tons of Germans travelling through Australia, as well as the French. Not to perpetuate any myths or stereotypes, but the initial first few minutes of a German-American-French conversation last night started out cold, with the French flatly stating that they "did not like Germans." Not much to go on after that. The two Germans, to their credit, instead of getting offended asked questions and (I think) challenged what ever pre-existing notions that the French had about them. And two hours later, we were talking about all sorts of other things, the first few minutes forgotten. Its one of the things I love most about travelling - you are an ambassador to your country. No matter who you speak with, you are what they will frame in their mind about the "typical" countryman. Being an American and not running into many people at all, I've gotten into a few deep discussions about politics and religion and every time the other person is left surprised that my opinions so closely mirror their own. Not sure if they expected me to wear a hunting cap and chew tobacco, but by the end of the night I think their opinions have changed a bit. As it did last night. Instead of ignoring each other and confirming previously held opinions about French or Germans, they left with hopes to see each other in the coming days in Byron. As for myself, it feels good changing someone's perception: no longer am I a bible thumping bush loving hypocrite, but instead a funny, witty, intelligent, sexy, sexy man.

So Byron has been nice - I met a few new friends, discovered some new species (and in the real world, I did come across a water dragon and tons of wild bush turkeys), and spent a day on the beach reading a second hand Stephen King novel. Port Macquarie promises to be more of the same - listen to me complain - and I'm pushing to reach Sydney by the 24th for Australia Day.

Brisbane days 3-5

I like Brisbane. The largest city in Queensland in a state that prides itself on an identity that the rest of the country considers crazy. Its a sort of southern pride thing, nevermind that its in the north (has to do with the equator and poles reversing and some such).

Take the simple cross walk, for instance. In the States, you get two options of cross walk: one for the literate (simply stating "WALK" and "DON'T WALK") and one for the artistic (the fabled green walking stick man and the red standing stick man). In Brisbane, you get a green and red man as well, but these aren't sticks. They are broad-shouldered muscular figures that suggest a swagger across the road when it comes to cross and a formidable barrier when its time to wait. If space allowed, I'm sure they would have included anatomy in the pictures, but the message isn't lost: these crossing signals have cojones.

Brisbane is also the first city that presents a distinctly American culture. The cars still drive on the left and stores still shut down at 6pm, but to the hell with that, lets all have a party! There are so many bars and pubs here for the folks during the night, and parks brimming with barbecuers during the weekend. I walked through New Farm Park on one particular sunny day and was astounded with all the friends and family playing rugby and cricket. It reminded me of touch football falls and softball summers. It reminds me of home so much it hurts. With the sun out and the cricket bat swinging, I had the same sense of calmness and enjoyment I get at the ballpark. I even learned the basic rules, but still have no idea how points are kept. I now understand how my mother feels watching sports.

The Andy Warhol exhibition was another example of the reach of American culture. Here were over 300 works by the prolific pop artist, with the entire Gallery of Modern Art converted for the show. Brisbane features a whole district of museums, with the state library, museum, gallery, and an additional assortment of buildings sitting along the south shore of the Brisbane river. The river is a fairly large flow, snaking its way through the city, with a beautiful waterfront on the south side facing the downtown skyscrapers and freeway sitting on the north side. Its a city that features, among other things: train transportation, high speed ferry lines, subways, and busses - with the exception of the bus line, all things Seattle lacks. From Lithuania to Australia, again and again I'm presented with the cold fact that there is NO EXCUSE for Seattle's poor public transportation system.

Nearly 3 weeks into this trip, I have only run into 3 Americans, a family out of California. So my puzzlement over the influence of the culture down here in Australia remains magnified. Its not that they are fixated - far from it, no one gives a shit where you are from - but it just kind of seeps into your every day lives, so much so that they don't even realize it. The difference though is that there remains a respectable level of restraint when it comes to our culture's own Achiles' Heel: Capitalism.

A great example of this can be found at the Australian Zoo. The zoo is located just north of Brisbane and was Steve Irwins's greatest passion. No where else in the world will you find a greater assortment of koalas, kangaroos, and (of course) crocs. Enclosures of rescued koalas and kangaroos means that the visitor is guaranteed to get up close and personal with the famous Aussie animals - just walk up and they are apt to come right up to your outstretched hand to check for food.

A stadium dominates a large portion of the park and I was lucky enough to have Terri Irwin herself give the croc demonstration, complete with death spins and leaps out of water. I've seen the same thing on TV, but it wasn't until I was out there in person that I realized that this wasn't sea world - these crocs just hated everyone.

The goal of the zoo is to surpass San Diego's zoo as the greatest in the world. With everything to offer, the most astounding fact is the affordability of it all. Admission for an adult is under $20 - pretty standard - but where the Aussie sense of restraint with capitalism shines is how affordable everything else is. $7 lunches, $2 soft drinks - and this is the case in Brisbane as well once you get out of the coastal tourist towns. Here is a place that embodies British values, American culture, and introduces Australian common sense. I love it.

One benefit of this shining, beautiful common sense is that bars open in the mornings to serve breakfast. Its because of this that I was able to catch the NFL playoffs last week (congrats to the Giants, by the way). The common sense factor is probably my second favorite thing about this country, running a close second only to the general hotness of its women.

So there you have it. "Brisbane: Common Sense, Hot Women, and Don't Mess With Our Crossing Signs."

Brisbane days 1-2

There are certain things about this trip that I will remember for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, not all of it will be happy memories. Top on this list of unhappiness would be the 20 hours spent on a bus travelling southward from the Whitsunday Islands down to Brisbane. After about hour 10 your ass starts hurting from the cardboard fiber chairs that make up these busses. After hour 12 you have exhausted all ways of sitting on a coach chair - on one cheek, then the other, then knees against the back of the chair ahead of you, sideways, etc. Finally, you just give up and whimper. To make matters worse, 2 of these hours were spent hiding from the Duff sisters' latest effort, Material Girls, which being on a bus was made available for all to see. This movie, as far as I could tell, was about two sisters who club all their life on daddy's money, then learn the errors of their ways and go on after the credits to die a lonely, cold death. I was trapped and these were easily the two longest hours of the trip. Eternal darkness, trapped with no escape, and a Hillary Duff movie - this wasn't hell, but you could see it from where I was sitting.

While I was scratching out my eyes, I tried to remember why I was doing this to myself in the first place. Ah yes, that's right. The marathon trip down to Brisbane was necessitated out of a strong desire to catch the Seahawks playoff game in Green Bay (the result of which only serves as salt in the wound). I was perhaps the only Seahawks fan in Brisbane, apparently for good reason. We stunk up the joint and I could smell the rot all the way from across the Pacific.

Another reason, is that prior to leaving for Australia, I had promised myself that I would take a few more breaks in the travels, in the form of a hotel room every few weeks. After 2 weeks of hosteling, three days of camping, and 20 hours on a bus, I was looking forward to lounging about in a hotel room doing nothing more than laying in bed, ordering room service. Other cities have hotels for sure, but Brisbane would be the closest place to where I can find a deal. The cost is still much higher than a hostel (would have gotten me about 3 nights, I imagine), but at least let me avoid the sight that greeted me when I checked into my hostel at noon the following day. Six bodies, still passed out, with at least two pairs of legs poking out from under the same sheet.

The plan is to spend a week in Brisbane, using it as a sort of base to take day trips out to the Gold Coast and even out to the bush for a night or so. While the city isn't as beautiful as Sydney, its still warm, sunny, and definately buzzing with life. According to the hotel literature, Brisbane's concert arena is only behind Madison Square Garden and Radio City Music Hall as one of the top ticket draws in the entire world. With all of the new music acts coming out of here, Brisbane can be considered akin to Austin. There's also an Andy Warhol exhibition going on, with over 300 of his pieces being displayed, and being summer, near nightly midnight movies being played in the parks. I can pretend that I'm back in New York for a bit.

Truthfully though, I think my move back into the city will serve as a bit of a needed break from the beautiful beaches and wildlife one sees on the north coast. I've already mentioned this, but after a bit you do begin to lose the ability to appreciate what you are seeing. It will be good for a change of scenery, if only for a short while. In the States, when one sees ads for tourism in Australia, almost always its about Sydney or the Gold Coast. They would be well served talking up their tropics!