The Byron Bug

My original idea when arriving in Australia was to hang out in Byron for about a week while getting over jet lag and decompressing from the busy months leading up to the trip. I figured one week would be enough and then I would head further north up the coast to Noosa or Cairns for another week before flying to Sydney to meet my friend Danielle. 

However, when my local adventure in Byron continued after that memorable day with Tommy, I found myself pushing out a departure date further and further. Brenda, the innkeeper at Atlantic Guest House, began to hold my bed for days in advance without my request. She even began to shift expected guests to other rooms so that I could have my room to myself. I finally conceded to the fact that I clearly wasn't going anywhere else before meeting Danielle. I had caught the Byron bug.

I spent the next few days following a pattern loosely consisting of the following:
-wake up early
-chill on the beach or write
-have a big breakfast of coffee and toast with hard boiled egg, cheese, tomato, and avo
-take another surf lesson
-have a beer at the Buddha Bar
-head to another locals beach to fish
-cook a late dinner, hopefully with some fresh-caught fish
-crash

By the weekend I had swung fully into the life of Byron. I'd made friends and was getting invited to homes and functions. I helped Chris-O and his family move to their new house. Brenda invited me to pay her a visit at her holiday home in Queenstown on the south island of New Zealand, as I would be traveling through there during her stay. I felt very comfortable in Byron and was fully enjoying my holiday.

Tommy invited me to join him for another adventure that Saturday, in celebration of his birthday. We drove to Ballina, stopping for a big breakfast before taking a kayak out onto the Richmond River. We paddled our way across the salty, turquoise river to a quiet, white-sand beach to do some fishing. A tall wooden pole stood in the water nearby, hosting an osprey nest high above the water. Tommy showed me how to tie the hook and sinkers on the line and how to attach the bait, though he was kind enough to do that part for me as I stood by with a squirmy look on my face.

I cast my line out into the gentle flow of the current, standing ankle deep in warm, clear water. I waited patiently for a bite, but was having a hard time feeling the difference between pulls from the current and what I like to think were bites. Several times I thought I felt a tug, so I jerked the line and reeled it in as fast as I could, only to find nothing had even touched the bait. So, I continued to cast the line and wait.

I finally felt what I knew was a solid chomp from a fish. I quickly jerked the pole up hard and fast. I reeled the line in smoothly, feeling the pull from the struggling fish on the other end, my pole bending from the heavy weight of the poor animal. I worked hard to maintain control and lifted the pole to find a massive flathead flapping in fury!

Truth: I got tired of standing there in the hot sun waiting for nothing and decided to reel in the line to take a break. Apparently a fish caught sight of the moving bait and decided to go for it. I had no idea the fish had taken the bait and had hooked itself on the line until I had reeled it in almost completely and saw the fish on the surface of the water. It was a small flathead. Whether or not I caught the fish or it caught itself, I still had a fish on my line. IT STILL COUNTS!

The flathead was a few centimeters too small to keep, so we had to throw it back. Unfortunately the dang fish had been hooked through the eyeball. I had blinded the poor thing, but couldn't put it out of its misery. I gave up fishing for the day and went for a refreshing swim, instead.

After a light snooze under a tree, we headed back out in the kayak and paddled up river to a mangrove forest. Tommy let me put my paddle away for awhile to enjoy the peaceful scenery while he silently steered us through low hanging branches. I sat back and watched the sunbeams glimpse through the trees, illuminating the life below the water's surface. The chorus of birds, frogs, and insects swam through the thick, humid air. All was peaceful and still.

Back in Ballina, we rewarded ourselves with a large ice cream cone. I managed, as usual, to drip ice cream on my clothes and smear it on my face, much to Tommy's amusement as well as the elderly couple sitting next to us. While trying to control my cone, Tommy and I discussed the evening's plans. As it was his birthday, Tommy and his friends had planned to get together for bowling, with the added twist of dressing in all white clothing. When Tommy invited me along, I couldn't figure the novelty of dressing in all white clothing to bowl in an alley with french fries and beer. As I came to find out, we weren't bowling like Americans. Rather, we were going to play a sophisticated game of lawn bowling, enjoyed by citizens of Commonwealth countries around the world.

Tommy and I drove all around Ballina in search of an open op shop in which to purchase some white bowling apparel. Apparently, the entire town of Ballina takes the weekend off, including many retailers. After a last minute purchase of white shorts, a white top, and a large-brimmed sun hat from Target (yes, they have Target in Oz, but it's more expensive than Target in the States and has less selection), I was ready to get my lawn bowling game on.

Lawn bowling is a bit like bocce ball, but you play the game at a bowling club on a court that looks like a large putting green. Bowling clubs are as prevalent here as country clubs in the States. You must pay to be a member of these clubs, which awards you unlimited lawn bowling, or you can pay a one-time guest fee. The clubs feature, at least, numerous outdoor bowling lanes, a bar, and a restaurant. Apparently, many bowling club in-house restaurants serve Chinese cuisine. Naturally.

I was pleased to win a round of bowling, as I was new to the game and there is actually a good bit of technique and skill involved. As the bowling and drinking rounds continued, however, everyone's level of skill and sophistication began to wane, so we retired to the restaurant for some good conversation and Chinese food.

My time in Byron was quickly coming to an end, as I was due in Sydney to meet up with Danielle and fly to New Zealand. I spent my last day taking a final surf lesson, catching some good waves along with some great wipe-outs, and enjoying a feast of fresh oysters, wine, and fish curry with prawns and kingfish.

Byron Bay had been very good to me. I felt fully relaxed, and rejuvenated. I had fantastic adventures, and met some wonderful people. I thoroughly enjoyed my time there and was sad to leave. But new adventures awaited me in new places. It was time to recover from the Byron bug.

Spoiled in Whangaparaoa

I began today by waking up sprawled out in a queen-sized bed with plenty of cushy pillows. I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with coffee, fresh fruit, muesli and yogurt, then took a dip into a warm swimming pool. I've just had a hot shower during which I fully conditioned my hair and shaved my legs, and after which I dried off using a fresh towel from a heated towel rack. I am now sitting on an open-air, wooden deck overlooking Rangitoto Island and a few of the many bays surrounding Auckland, with hot tea and a Tim Tam in hand.

I am in Whangaparaoa getting wonderfully spoiled by an extraordinarily hospitable Kiwi family, the Wotherspoons. I'm using these few days to try to catch up on emails, blog posts, photos, etc. Photos thus far into the trip have been posted to http://gallery.me.com/jessicafolkerts#gallery for your enjoyment.

For now, I must sign off to view an episode of BBC's Planet Earth on a large drop-down screen with surround sound. Life is hard.

A Taste of the Local Flavor

Someone recently informed me of the difference between backpackers and travelers. Backpackers come into town for two or three days, fill their time with tour packages and partying, and are off again to the next “hit” town.  Travelers take their time, spontaneously deciding to take one route versus another, and letting the wind carry them through their experience. I like to think of myself as a traveler, preferring to get to know the locals and the true vibe of the area. Which is exactly what I did yesterday.

Tommy, an instructor at the surf school from which I’ve been taking lessons, is originally from England, but has lived in Byron for about a year now. A couple days ago, after I’d been asking about the “real” Byron Bay, he offered to take me off the beaten track so I could see what I was craving – a taste of the local scene. I had heard of the beauty of the hinterland and the waterfalls in the nearby rainforest, but without knowing the way or being familiar with driving on the left side, I was feeling hesitant to rent a car and strike out on my own into the country. I thanked him for his offer and told him I would think it over. After all, I am a single woman traveling on my own. Letting a stranger take me to low-populated areas in a foreign land is not exactly the safest idea.

However, I am a woman who strongly believes in intuition. I had spent two surf lessons with Tommy, felt no “shadiness” in his character, and had a positive sense about him. I decided I would take him up on his offer. Of course, I did take the precautionary measure of informing my hostel roommate of my plans and of writing an email to a friend in the States, with the promise that I would write her again as soon as I returned.

The day began at 6am with the intention of viewing the sunrise from the lighthouse. Tommy picked me up at the guest house and we drove to a high point with a 360-degree view of Byron Bay. Unfortunately, we’d missed the sunrise by about 30 minutes. Nevertheless, the scene was magnificent as the early sunlight shone on the water and the misty marine layer dissipated off the hinterlands. After stopping for a “long black” at The Top Shop, we headed up the road to the lighthouse at the eastern-most point of Australia to take in the spectacular panoramic view from there.

A healthy breakfast, again from The Top Shop, consisting of warm goat cheese smeared on ciabatta bread and topped with fresh tomatoes, herbs, and parsley, gave us fuel for the trek into the hinterlands. We jumped in the car and headed out over the rolling hills through fields of livestock, macadamia and coffee plantations. The farms slowly turned into bush as we headed further inland, the temperature rising with each kilometer.

Without warning, Tommy turned the car into a small pull-off area on the side of the road. It occurred to me that we were seemingly in the middle of nowhere and I had no idea where he was taking me. But I truly had no worries. I followed him down a small dirt path to a rock ledge and looked over at a stream falling over the rocks and down about 15 feet to a deep pool below.  We were at Whian Whian Falls in Whian Whian State Forest.

Tommy stood at the rock ledge beckoning me to jump with him, assuring me that the pool is deep enough and safe to jump into. I was quite afraid of the high jump and wasn’t going to give it a go without some serious coaxing. Tommy jumped first to show me it was perfectly safe, and after some good nerve-building, I finally took the plunge on the count of three. I screamed like a little girl as my body hurdled toward the clear pool. I hit the water, came up for air, and squealed in delight over the cold water and the fact that I had overcome my fear of the jump. I felt so liberated!

A local family arrived and we all enjoyed jumping and swimming in the pool together for a bit before Tommy and I headed off to our next destination. A short drive later we were in Nightcap National Park, a subtropical rainforest full of banyan trees, odd frogs, and loud birdsongs. I followed Tommy up a trail along a small stream, stopping to take countless photos along the way. Every sound, sight, and smell was new to me.

Tommy stopped a step ahead of me, turned around, and said, “we’re going to climb for a bit, but don’t look up until I tell you to.” I had no idea what to expect, but as we climbed up the trail I kept my focus on the rocks we were scrambling over. I took a wide step onto the top of a boulder and heard Tommy say, “Ok, now look up.”

As my eyes gazed ahead and began to move slowly upwards, my mouth opened and my jaw dropped. There we stood, at the bottom of a dramatically massive rock face carved out of the earth with a waterfall dropping from the highest point to a clear pool in front of us. The rock wall seemed to endlessly reach toward the sky and the waterfall pelted the rocks below with brute force. I felt so small amidst such grand beauty.

After taking endless photos and sitting in silence to listen to the sounds of the rainforest around me, I gingerly made my way across the sharp rocks to the base of the waterfall for a bit of a shower. The water hit me with such force due to the long distance it traveled from the top that I didn’t linger for very long. I returned to the other side of the pool and dried in the sun on a flat-top boulder. I laid there like a lizard in the sun, thinking about how free and natural I feel in this environment; how invigorated my body and mind become when surrounded by nature’s glory.  

Once I’d begun to feel my skin baking, Tommy and I made our way back through the rainforest to the car. Just a short distance down the road, we arrived at The Channon Tavern (pronounced “Shannon”), a former fire house turned restaurant/bar, located in a small town in the hinterland, known as The Channon. The tavern’s owner, Clayton, chatted with us for quite some time, though I’m not entirely sure what he said. He had a thick, rural Australian accent that I could barely make out and could only liken to that of someone from a backwoods Louisiana bayou. I gathered something about brown snakes (which are abundant on the east coast of Australia and are deadly) dying from eating some type of poisonous frog, and something about $100,000 found in the town’s river. I just nodded or shook my head in response whenever I could determine it was appropriate, and asked Tommy for a translation once Clayton had disappeared behind the bar.

Tommy and I sat in the shade of the large, open porch, indulging in a bit of lunch and some cold beers while conversing the hottest hours away. I listened to the hum of what sounded like locusts rise and fall, as the river flowed lazily by. A hot wind had developed over the morning hours and was blowing the sweet smells of jacaranda, frangipani, and countless other sweet-smelling foliage that I couldn’t identify. I easily could have drifted to sleep on that porch, but we had places to go and things to do.

We headed east out of The Channon back toward the coast, the air cooling a bit with each kilometer. As we drove down a dirt road through Broken Head Nature Reserve, I could see the coastline through the trees. Bright blue water rolled into waves crashing onto white sand beaches that were entirely empty of tourists.

I followed Tommy down a steep path to Bray’s Beach, just a few small beaches south of the crowds in Byron. I could see the shore from a high point on the path, immediately noting that there was absolutely NO ONE on this beach! Despite the fact that I enjoy meeting new people and find humans altogether fascinating, I relish in solitude from time to time. Particularly when I’ve been thrust into a new country continuously surrounded by new people. I was thrilled at the opportunity for some peace and quiet.

We stayed on that beach as long as we could before the rain moved in, enjoying the surf and the sand, and of course, a few cold beers. I led Tommy in a mini, stretchy yoga session, my muscles squealing in delight after their strenuous workout in the surf lessons. I dedicated the session in my heart to gratitude for the day – for my adventures, the beauty of nature I encountered, and the good company that had shared his day with me.

I went to sleep that night with a smile on my face, knowing I had been privy to a true taste of the local Byron flavor and recognizing that I am, at heart, a traveler.

From Sick to Surf

What a difference a day makes! My fever broke shortly after I posted my last blog entry and I woke the next morning feeling quite well. I went window shopping with my roommates, Joelle and Laeticia, as a way to explore the town, and then took a long walk down the beach for the first time.

Byron Bay is your typical beach town, including over-priced boutiques mixed with bohemian shops selling sarongs and hemp anklets. As I browsed the shops, bombarded by exciting new Aussie styles and beautiful women in fashionable clothing, I couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious in the practical, quick-drying, mix-and-match apparel I had packed for my 6-month journey. Though I may be a relatively confident woman, we ALL have our moments. I had to remind myself that I had brought sensible clothing for the lifestyle I would be leading and the places I would be visiting.

While browsing through a few second-hand sale racks, I quickly realized that part of my "funk" was due to the fact that I hadn't showered since arriving and was still exuding that "sick" smell. I promptly returned to the guest house to shower and launder all of my worn clothing.

I had been informed by my roommates that the local laundromat charges approximately $9 per load. As a backpacker, every penny counts, so washing my laundry in the sink seemed the best choice. And I was pleased to discover a clothesline tucked away on a side porch at the guest house that we are free to use. Though, leaving your clothing outside overnight is unadvised, as many have had their items stolen. I left mine there to dry, hiding a few of my favorite pieces behind the non-tempting items, and headed for the beach.

My feet hit the sand and I immediately remembered that while I truly love the mountains, I am also part beach. The feel of sand scraping underneath my toes, the salty air and the sound of the waves crashing quickly filled my body with the sense of peace that I get from being in nature. I began to walk away from the crowds that had filled Byron Bay for the weekend, hearing the street music fade behind me, and welcomed the silence broken only by the crashing waves and a few fellow beach walkers. I made my way to The Pass, an area just south of the main beach at Byron where the water, even at high tide, just barely meets between the steep, rocky shore and a large rock outcropping. Pausing to take in the sights and to feel the warm water drift over my toes, I noticed a brush turkey on shore. Its red head and bright yellow wattle were a strong contrast to its dark feathers. I tried to get a photo, but the turkey was having none of that and ran off into the trees.

I made my way up some wooden steps to a platform built upon the rocks. As I gazed out over the clear turquoise water and watched the waves crash against the rocks, I felt some of the stress, anxiety, and exhaustion that had built up over the last month silently slip away.

On my way down from the lookout, an older couple greeted me on the steps and we struck up a fine conversation. Alan and Betty were both born and raised in Australia, got married right out of school, bought some land to clear and built a farm that they maintained for 56 years. They had recently given the farm over to their son and had moved to Byron Bay to enjoy their golden years by the sea. They asked about my trip and expressed their concern over my solo travels. I assured Alan I would not be hitchhiking and that I did not need to meet his neighbor's unmarried son. I wished my momentarily adopted grandparents well and was on my way.

Back at the guest house that night, I chatted with Jules, a red-head from London with a full figure and an insatiable appetite for adventure. She told me about the surf lessons she'd been taking with Mojo, a local surf school located across the street from the guest house. I felt the butterflies beating in my stomach as she spoke, which I immediately recognized to mean I had already decided I would be taking my first surf lesson the next morning.

After a restless night of sleep full of anxiety dreams, I awoke early in anticipation of what the day would bring. With my sunscreen and water bottle packed, I waited for the van on Mojo's front steps, thankful that Jules was there with me. She and I get along quite well, and I took comfort in knowing I had a friend with me for the lesson. The van pulled up and we piled into the crowd. I took the last seat up front with the instructors and immediately began to chat them up to determine whether I would, in fact, be safe under their instruction.

Tommy, the lead instructor, is originally from England, traveled to Ausiland about a year ago to get away from the cold and rain, and has been surfing his whole life. He has a light-hearted, laid-back sense of fun and humor about him that seemed to calm my nerves a bit. His side-kick, Chrisso, is a tall, chubby 16-year-old who was born and raised in Australia and started surfing as a little boy. He has a boyish sense of humor and likes to tease, but makes you feel quite secure due to his massive presence.

I turned around to survey the rest of the group while we played the "name game." The majority were Aussies on their weekend break from work, plus some Germans, a couple English, and a Fin. They all seemed quite comfortable with the fact that we were about to plunge ourselves into the ocean with large, buoyant boards attached to our ankles, and unsuccessfully attempt to ride the waves rather than get pummeled by them. I informed the instructors that I am not very comfortable in open water, not a very strong swimmer, and was quite nervous about surfing. Tommy assured me that Chrisso would keep an eye on me and that I would have a good time.

We arrived at Flatrock Beach, a much less populated beach that featured a good beginners' swell for the day. Tommy talked us through the surfing conditions, teaching us about on-shore versus off-shore winds and the direction from which the waves were coming. We were each given a surfboard to carry on our heads down to the water's edge. Beginning boards are long, wide, and thick and made of foam that makes them extremely buoyant, giving you a bit more stability when first attempting to stand on a board in the water. They are also very heavy and cumbersome. I felt terribly wimpy having to put my board down numerous times to rest along the brief walk to the beach.

We all gathered in a circle with our boards, and proceeded to do a bit of a "warm up" that consisted of some light stretching, a short jog, and wheel barrow and pony races. The laughing and silliness picked up my spirits and calmed my nerves for a bit...until we sat back down for the lecture about rip currents. The butterflies immediately returned and my blood pressure rose. We practiced "popping up" on our boards in the sand to get a feel for the steps. While laying face down on the board with your feet dangling just off the end, you paddle and look behind you for good waves. When you see the "right one" coming and you feel it push your feet, you paddle hard three more times. Then, with your hands under your shoulders, you lift up your upper body, pull your back knee in to the side, pull your front knee up to stand on your front foot, push your upper body upright with your hands, and stand down in your knees with your weight on your front foot and your hips aligned parallel with the board. Seems easy enough, right?

The instructors sent us off into the water, dragging our boards along with us. I stood at the water's edge for a moment, staring at the massive waves coming toward me (well, they seemed massive to me), took a deep breath, and plunged into the water.

...Two days later...

My entire body feels as though I've been put through a washing machine, and I don't mean the gentle cycle. I've taken two surf lessons and have gotten my butt kicked right and left by the waves. I am covered in bruises and sand and board rash and have swallowed my weight in seawater. And I'm hooked.

Despite the fact that the wind had shifted on the second day to an on-shore direction and the current was much stronger, I improved drastically from the first lesson to the next. I became more confident in the water, relaxed, and had more fun. It took every ounce of energy in me to chug through the wash to get out far enough with the board to even attempt to catch a wave (there is an efficient way of doing this, for which I have yet to learn), but I stood up a handful of times on my own and even managed to awkwardly ride a few all the way in. And once you've caught one wave, you want more.

I do plan to get at least a third lesson, but I'm giving my body the day off today. A nap on the beach and a walk to the lighthouse are on the agenda.

And now for more random thoughts and observations:

1) My hair is HUGE here. Humidity and saltwater have turned my usually relatively flat hair into a large, frizzy, curly mop. I'm not gonna lie, I kind of love it.
2) It's a strange feeling to meet such great people, connect with them, and then part ways a few days later. There are always more people coming and going. More on that later.
3) A few more favorite items that I brought along on this trip: a clothesline that I can hang literally anywhere, the organizing packs to keep my things sorted in the backpack, and a sarong (which turns out to have many uses).

Sick in Byron Bay

After 41 hours of travel, door-to-door, I arrived yesterday (Wednesday) late afternoon in Byron Bay. I looked for the "Our Pick" hostel in Lonely Planet, checked in for 2 nights, showered, and crashed out for about 14 hours. The sun begins to shine around 4:30am here, so I didn't feel bad about missing the day when I finally arose at 6. However, much to my dismay, I awoke feeling AWFUL. Exhaustion, swollen legs, a stomach bug, and a headache greeted me to my first full day in Oz. I rallied to find some food as I hadn't eaten in close to 24 hours.

I sat in a lovely open-air cafe called One One One that provides free wireless to customers. Over toast with a bit of jam, an orange juice, and a "short black" (espresso), I frantically searched hostelworld.com to find a room for Friday and Saturday nights. The weekends fill up with locals here, so backpackers living "spontaneously" end up gathered a the bus station with forlorn looks and the unfortunate knowledge that they will have to part with some serious bucks for a hotel room. Either that or risk sleeping under a bench somewhere - a risk I'm not willing to take, particularly while feeling ill.

After forking out a whopping 16 Australian dollars (about $15 USD) for toast, OJ, and coffee, I decided I'd check with the YHA a block from the guest house in which I'm currently set up, thinking I'd only have to move my stuff a short way. One bed in a 5-bed, female dorm room with a locker (provide your own lock, of course), shared bathrooms, and lots of other noisy backpackers. I figured two nights wouldn't kill me, and maybe my pale, ill-looking face would keep my roommates out and about as much as possible. I booked the two nights and returned to the lovely guest house to rest for one more night before moving out.

I met my two roommates, Leticia and Joelle. Leticia is from Paris, and Joelle is from Montreal. They both speak French and English, and if I had any energy I would attempt to practice my French with them. They are about my age, and have both been in Australia for quite some time. Leticia had a good job in the financial sector. After the economic meltdown, she and her boyfriend decided to pick up and travel through Australia for a year. Joelle went scuba diving in Cairns, and since has been suffering from an earache. Because it's taking so long to equalize, she can't fly to her original intended destination, New Zealand. She feels lucky to have found Byron Bay to hang in while her ear recovers.

They invited me along on a beach walk to the lighthouse, and I happily accepted their offer, on the condition that my stomach bug had wained by then. Thinking things were looking up, and after hearing from Joelle how bad the conditions can be in other hostels, I figured it couldn't hurt to ask if there were any cancellations for this guest house over the weekend. Brenda, the woman who runs this fine establishment, discovered that yes, in fact, I can stay in the same room for the weekend! I slumped over to the YHA and asked if I could cancel my reservation (they had already run my card for it). The guy took one look at me, and put the money back on my card. Now, that is an uncommon favor for most hostels everywhere. I must have been spot on about my pale, ill-looking demeanor. Looks like the Good Witch of the East is on my side, afterall.

So, I'm booked at the Atlantic Guest House in Byron Bay for at least 4 nights. Thankfully, as I'm now running a fever, sitting under two blankets and shivering despite the heat and humidity outside. It's a quiet guest house that draws an "older" crowd of people about my age. The rooms are clean, I feel very safe, and the bathrooms are shared, but private. There is a fully-equipped kitchen where you are free to store food and cook if you like. Brenda, the keeper, is quite lovely. Very friendly, salt-of-the-earth type woman who took pity on me and gave me free wireless for my stay. They provide a fresh towel, clean bed linens, and a little bar of soap. The doors to each room have working locks and there is a wardrobe, a coat hanger, and a nightstand in the shared dorms. I feel much better knowing I can lay low here and get well for a few days.

I'm hoping to feel better in the morning and begin to venture out and about in Byron. For now, lots of rest, Gatorade, and bananas, which I'm currently attempting to muster energy to go and get from the local grocery, Woolworths.

I'll sign off with a few observations and musings from my trip to Byron:
1) V Australia is a COOL airline. Use it if you have the opportunity. Great service, funny employees with a big smile, more leg room, increased reclining, clean pillows and blankets, eyeshades, earplugs, and earphones, a snack bar for those mid-flight munchies, and a water fountain to continuously refill your water bottle. OH, and they RECYCLE! They have ambient lighting that isn't harsh to your eyes, hip music in the bathroom (it played "Get Up, Stand Up" and "Shake Your Booty" while I was in there - a subliminal message to hurry up?), and a fabulous personal entertainment system, including a USB port, on the screen in front of you.
2) Make sure you take some sort of sleep aid when you fly across the pond. I didn't. Bad move.
3) Best tip from the nurse who administered all my shots - wipe down every hard surface with an alcohol wipe when you sit down in the plane. Germs can last a LONG time. Though, since I'm sick, who knows if I didn't wipe hard enough or what.
4) 500 Days of Summer - good movie
5) Don't bring a lavender-filled eye mask with you to another country. The Customs dog thinks it's food, and you get called out.
6) Australia is very much like "The States", as they call it. In fact, the east coast that I've seen thus far is much like Florida. I definitely did not come half way across the world to visit Florida. Thankfully, Byron Bay is more laid back, with an artistic and natural wellness vibe. It reminds me of Boulder, but with a beach instead of mountains. I am likely going to skip Cairns now, as I've heard it's one giant tourist trap.
7) Apparently I am considered a tourist attraction. At least, I was in Brisbane. I had about an hour before my bus ride down to Byron, during which I walked through downtown a bit. Some male Japanese tourists apparently thought I was a good photo opp. One of them casually walked up and stood right next to me as he was on the phone, and another a few feet away took a photo. There was no friendly greeting or inquiry as to whether they could take my picture. Of course, it's the first 24 hours after my arrival, so I'm immediately on guard, thinking this group is trying to pickpocket me via distraction. But no, they just took a picture, smiled, and I crossed the street. Mmmkay. My image will appear on some famiily's TV screen in Japan in the near future. Finally, I'm famous.
8) Don't take Greyhound bus in Oz. They charge you more for the same trip, same quality bus ride as Premiere Motor (or whatever it's called).
9) People here are kind. I've overheard a few raunchy Aussie men, but overall everyone has been quite friendly and helpful.
10) They have bugs here that I've never seen before. Not big or nasty, just foreign to me. And there is a very large iguana living on the property. He blends in quite well, and in my exhausted daze, I almost stepped on him. Poor guy.
11) Waking up to the noise of wildlife here is a very different experience than in Colorado. First, there are no mountain lions or other large animals attacking anyone or anything out your back window. Second, the "birds" that you hear chirping could quite possibly be geckos. I'm in Australia, but it looks like The States and sounds like a jungle.
12) I totally overpacked. My pack is already annoying me. I will be leaving some things behind in Sydney.
13) Most useful items on this trip, thus far: this netbook and a tiny external hard drive, a cable lock for my pack, shower flip flops, a Lonely Planet guide, and my travel cocoon sheet. The linens and beds here are clean, but it's just cozy to know the travel sheet is around me, just in case.

Okay, that turned out to be more than a few observations.

Now, the one thing I miss most right now: Mommy. I'm sick, and a mommy to go to the store to get Gatorade for you and tuck you in and say soothing words in your ear is priceless. I'm blessed to have two Mommies in The States that both happen to be VERY good at doing these things. But whoa is me, I do not have ruby slippers.

Word of the Day: Surreal

Well, I've made it part way. I'm sitting at a power station in LAX, and, quite frankly, having a hard time focusing on what to write for this blog post. I've spent the last few weeks in a complete state of stress and anxiety over this trip, making sure I've taken care of every last detail and prepared myself for whatever may come my way. Since I haven't bought all my tickets for the trip, and have no idea how much time I'll spend in any one location, it seems funny to have spent so much time and energy preparing to be spontaneous. I'm glad I did, though, and feel better knowing my life back home is taken care of while I'm away.

Because I spent so much time stressing over getting everything done before the trip, I had little time to get excited. I think I felt that once I got on the plane to LA, I'd begin to get excited about what I'm going to see and do and people I may meet. Honestly, I'm not feeling that right now. I'm exhausted and emotional, to be frank. I love Colorado, and miss it already. And I miss people. Right now, a warm bed and a hug from a familiar face would be fantastic. Part of me wonders whether I'm putting my life on hold and taking this trip just to check it off the list...to prove to myself that I can do it. I have to assume these are normal feelings. I've picked up my life, once again, and am heading out to a world unknown to me. Everything is foreign, so I've been clinging to the familiar. I think once I arrive in Oz, after a few days of realizing I'm not in Kansas anymore, I'll start to settle in to the new routine, albeit a loose one.

People have been asking me if I'm nervous or scared at all. Uh....YES. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't afraid. But honestly, it's not really a fear for my safety. It's more a fear of the unknown. This entire day I have felt like I'm moving through some sort of out-of-body experience. The whole thing is quite surreal. Tough to explain, and I'm an exhausted, emotional mess right now, so bear with me.

I've been reminding myself of several things the last few days:
1) People travel like this all the time. It's not that dramatic. It's just new to me. Just as I had to adjust to new ways and skills when I took my first restaurant job at the age of 29, I will adjust to the ways and skills of travel, as well.
2) Someone once told me that life begins outside of your comfort zone. I am definitely outside of my comfort zone, and I haven't even left my home country, yet.
3) For a woman holding a serious fear of living a stagnant life (could you tell?), this is the ultimate way to avoid that. Hmm, interesting thought. Perhaps I'll hang onto that for another blog entry down the road.

And now for some amusing sights and experiences today:
1) The airport police at LAX travel via segue (sp?). They are surprisingly thin for such passive patrolling.
2) LAX is not a nice airport. Even more, gazing out the window at the brown haze hovering over the city makes me very glad to live in Colorado. No offense to my Cali friends.
3) Only 13 hours into 33 hours of travel time expected, and I already feel disgusting.
4) I made my first trip friend today. A large, gay Aussie with bleach-blonde hair, wearing a pink button-down shirt, black jeans, and bright orange Crocs, carrying a case full of make-up. Quite the character, and a nice individual. Don't worry, I'm being very wary and careful. Nevertheless, we had a pleasant chat and it made some of the hours go by.

With that, I'm going to go find some dinner, change into my sweatpants for the flight, and begin to think sleepy thoughts.

Welcome to Full Circle Migration

Welcome to my blog! Thanks for stopping by to check it out.

As you may or may not know, I am embarking on a journey to the other side of the pond to explore, experience, and document. Join me on this voyage, as I travel from Australia to New Zealand and throughout southeast Asia. I will be posting updates, stories, and images of the adventures, people, and environments I encounter along the way. Bear with me, as the purpose and theme of this blog will likely morph as I go.

And now, to take care of some business...
I must credit and thank Amy Neill with OX&CO for her brilliant creative direction in coming up with an appropriate title for this blog.

Also, if you haven't already, please go to National Geographic's Expedition Granted and vote for my friend, Ben Horton, for a $10K grant with National Geographic to complete his expedition of tracking and stopping shark poachers off the coast of Costa Rica. Let's support him in his quest to help save one of the most misunderstood creatures in the one ecosystem that truly touches us all, the ocean.