Sufjan Steven’s Christmas Greeting

A cute video to get the bah humbug outta you grumbly grumps.

Sufjan Steven’s “Put The Lights On The Tree”.

Merry Whatever.

Irony is a Bitch

This turned out a lot different than it was originally conceived.

I love it when your own art takes you by surprise.

That’s it… pretty subtle, huh?

The Great Ocean Road #2

The Great Ocean Road runs along the southern edge of Australia, next to the immense Southern Ocean. The wind blows strong and frigid. The air: ahh… you could swallow gallons of it without tasting tire particles and pavement. It was more fresh and clean than Outkast.

I ran out to the beach to grab some shots before the bus pulled up.

We waited for it in front of our motel, out early to make sure we weren’t stuck in the back again. Half the bus stayed in a hostel, mostly the younger kids, and us old folks stayed in a motel up the road. (We meant to stay at the hostel — just get a separate room — the confusion turned out beneficial however, as the old folks turned out to be rockers and drinkers, and we ended up spending a nice dinner with them this night)

Lucky for us, when Emma pulled up in the bus she was alone and we got to pick our choice of seats then swung around to the hostel and picked up the kids and were off.

We went inland for awhile and explored the Otway rainforest. Emma led us for a hike through the woods and shoved us into a giant tree, “just to see if we’d fit.” Wacky Aussies.

I’m buried too deep in the tree to be in this photograph.

Again, this forest reminded me of Big Sur. Same leafy canopy, same soggy forest floor.

We did a loop through the trees and then got right back on the bus, stopping up the road for some coffee and to take pictures of the wild parrots.

Next stop was the 12 Apostles.

More limestone. Like in New Zealand, this stuff is shaped into spectacular formations by the sea. In this case there’s a row of limestone cliffs sticking out of the water. Even though at one point there was more than 16 visible, now there’s only nine, but it’s still called the 12 Apostles, and incidentally the naming has nothing to do with religion.

From Wikipedia: Originally the site was called the Sow and Piglets. The name was changed in the 1950s to the more majestic “The Twelve Apostles” to lure more visitors even though there were only nine left.

The 12 Apostles were impressive, the earth washed away by time, a whole landmass made of fossils, epically allegorical — we all die, we’re not special in this regard — it’s not so bad, you think, it’s just part of that never ending math equation.

We took a helicopter ride for a more scenic view.

This is how they look at ground level.

Afterwards we moved on to Tower Hill (which, because of Emma’s accent and my poor listening abilities, I kept thinking was called Tallyhoo) a nature and wildlife retreat. We pulled off the road and descended into a large, verdant crater, a place they were using as a garbage dump up until the 50’s but have since reclaimed for the animals and the tourists.

First thing we see in the distance is an emu running around all comic-like. Then a few yards down the road a kangaroo pops out of the bushes. The bus erupts in joy and the snapping of pictures. Everyone’s head was doing the swivel, ‘where? where?’ thing. We got out and tried, as best as 20 tourists piling out of bus could, to be quiet and stealth. There were a couple of kangaroos in the bush, a little family, they tolerated us until we got bored and piled back in.

Once we parked the bus, we rambled through the bush on a designated pathway, catching sight of more koalas, emus, lizards, roos, snakes, and crazy-beaked birds. We came across a kangaroo path down the side of a hill and surprised a family scampering down it, their footfalls thumping on the earth causing vibrations, much louder than you’d suspect them to be. You can hear them coming before you see them.

Phump. Phump. Phump.

Here are some of those animals.

All in all a packed day on the road. The bus let us out in Port Fairy, at our hotel, with vague instructions from the hotelier about where to go for a decent dinner and drinks; apparently the hotel immediately across the street, convenient. About a half hour later when we walked into the sallon in a confused fashion, the same hotelier was there leaning on the bar, pointed the way to the dinning room, convenient.

There we saw Pauline and Jeff, Liz, a native Brit currently living in Perth, and later on Sharon and… shoot, what’s his face? Sharon and what’s-his-face? were a fun Irish couple who surprised us all by sitting down at the table with Fanta instead of spirits. Liz, never one to claim political correctness, or to hold her tongue, hollered at what’s-his-face? “what kind of Irishman are ya, ya don’t drink?”

The restaurant was a laid back affair, order at the counter, a veggie bar for your sides. They specialized in meat I gathered from the mammoth portions of such on the plates. I ordered a plate that came with a little cow and a little pig and some baby chickens on top. Meat and eggs piled high. A tower of protein. We laughed about how much food we were consuming, as Pauline herself finished a seafood starter and was working away on a pork chop.

We gorged on meat and drink and shared horror stories about our countries. Pauline shared with us that she is prone to falling down in public when she’s tipsy, a story I would remember the next day when we attempted to take a group picture on some rocks and she had trouble balancing, making jokes about it and giggling the whole time. Although we were the youngest couple there, in some way I felt at an equal footing, our marriage may just be starting out but we want what these folks had, a loving companion, perhaps some kids at home, someone to share meals and jokes with; a simple, rewarding life. Nothing fancy.

Along the way if we see the world and make some friends and eat some cows even better.

The next morning Emma warned us that it was going to be cold on this next stretch of coast and she was damn right. The wind was Antarticianly sharp. We bundled up in protective layers but it still didn’t do us much good as our bones rattled loudly like a samba band. The land was devoid of vegetation but we still caught sight of some roos out here. Those guys are everywhere. There’s three of them for every one of us on the continent. We’re bound to bump into each other, even here…

We stopped for coffee near a picturesque beach of fine sand where it was a little warmer. I read the paper, which was all about how John Howard was taking the “bold move” of acknowledging in the constitution that the aborigines came first, while the lone guy behind the counter hustled to get our 20 lattes and cocoa out to us.

Later on we scrambled up a hill, into a cave and took pictures and looked for bats.

It’s where I happened to spot, and document, the first known-sighting of the mythical Dutch Koala.

That’s Dolf. The Dutch Koala.

Later on we stopped at another scenic ocean view, and for the toilets, where we took the aforementioned group picture on the rocks.

That night the group had dinner together at the Inn we were staying at. They had special plates for us for $12 and of course I bought a carafe of wine and poured drinks for everybody and chatted away about L.A and the war and TV shows in Australia and The Netherlands. (Watch out for The Golden Cage) Afterwards Ellen, a lovely, adventurous lass from Bristol, the Dutch Koala, the missus, and myself ambled down to the pub for more libation and stories.

We had a blast, I remember laughing all night, even though the next morning I couldn’t tell you what was so funny. I just remember looking up at the sky and the stars made me laugh… I remember feeling so far away, kinda drunk and helpless, and loving it… I remember getting misdirected at the bar and looking for the Mens room in some upstairs supply closet… and carrying cardboard back to the Inn for some reason.

Oh yeah, that’s right! The sand hills.

Emma guided us over bumpy, unpaved terrain to a series of sand dunes that we could use for experiments with gravity. The cardboard signs we got from the bottle store promised to be awesome: smooth matte finish, nice rectangular shape, light cardboard… turned out not to work so well, none of the other cardboard either.

The hill wasn’t steep enough, or fast enough, still, I gave it a go.

Oh, almost forgot, we also passed a large and largely pointless lobster.

Larry the Lobster

After the sand hill we stopped at an Aborigine sight for a guided bush tour. The guide was late, rolled up in a Honda and levi’s, and apologized for it by way of explaining that there was a death in the nation and he had to visit with the family. We gave him our condolences and felt pretty stupid for being there. The way the aborigine was dressed surprised me, I wasn’t expecting him to be naked, but I wasn’t expecting a cowboy hat. He had a direct style, chain-smoking while he paced back and forth giving his lecture. He led us around the bush for forty minutes, having us try leaves that had medicinal properties and showed us plants that would keep the flies away, which they did — at first, all the while driving home the point that the white man fucked up their good thing. They had life figured out so simply they didn’t even bother naming birds that they couldn’t eat.

After the walk he put on an ancient VHS tape that explained their creation story, at least I think that’s what it was about; to be honest I was confused about what the hell the man in the video was talking about. Something about a giant fish and a volcano and Kangaroo Island. The guide warned us it would be complicated. (Tell you the truth, I think they just came up with some outlandish shit to tell us, and their true beliefs they’re keeping to themselves)

We ate an aboriginal meal that consisted of kangaroo meatballs, (yum) some kind of fried fish, chips, (french fries) and a salad. I was starving and chowed through the kangaroo and picked the crumbs off my wife’s plate. I’m no Andrew Zimmern but I’ll try most things.

On the way out of the aboriginal exhibit we stopped for a lizard that was sitting in the road sunbathing.

There are animals everywhere in Australia.

But by this point I was worn out. It was hard to get excited for a lizard. It seemed the rest of the bus was too. It was awfully quiet on the rest of the drive to Adelaide; through the beautiful, green hill country we stared out the window in quiet contemplation. The German girls who barely spoke slept with their Ipods on, probably listening to the Hoff. The hills were covered with Patterson’s curse, a lovely purple weed to look at but that has dire consequences on the enviornment, destroying natural grass and killing cows that eat it, thus the name ‘curse’.

We stopped in a picturesque German wine-growing town and snuck off with Ellen and the Dutch Koala for beers, toasting our fantastic voyage. slide, slide… slippity slide.

We arrived in Adelaide around 5, the first ones out the bus, saying goodbye to Pauline and Jeff and what’s-his-face?, sliding down the aisle, it was abrupt and awkward and I’ll never see these people again but I wish them all a lot of love. We grabbed our bags from the back, thanked Emma, and checked into our hostel just in time for free BBQ. (The only reason we booked the place) Australians love their barbecue. It was pretty good too: chicken and sauasage and potatoes.

We had an early flight to Brisbane but that didn’t stop us from having a few more rounds with our new drinking buddies.

Adelaide’s nightlife left a lot to be desired as even the Target closed at 6 o’clock. (no joke) Still, stumbling back to the hostel at midnight, saying goodbye to our new friends, tipsy on Cooper’s, the stars swirling floridly in the southern hemisphere was the perfect nightcap to the Great Ocean Road.

Sydney here we come…

The Great Ocean Road #1

Melbourne disappearing behind us, stuck in the back of the bus, the bouncing of the shocks made it impossible to take notes; the wife and I were, nevertheless, thrilled to be outside the city. We boarded a tourbus with 20 strangers for a three-day sojourn along the Great Ocean Road, from Melbourne to Adelaide, traversing a portion of Australia known as ’shipwreck coast’.

It was nice to let someone else do the driving and to meet some other travelers from around the globe. Although I got used to driving around New Zealand, I was fine with putting off doing it in Australia until later. The road itself is pretty gnarly and, although not as hairpin and steep, reminds of the PCH through Big Sur.

The Great Ocean Road is a treacherous stretch of pavement that took almost a decade for the soldiers and workers to build. I forget how many years exactly because I wasn’t exactly listening. I was too busy looking out the window at the scenery unfolding before me. This was our first foray into the bush, or at least anywhere outside the cosmopolitan city of Melbourne. In essence, I was in the suburbs and nowhere near real bush. Don’t get me wrong, I loved it. But I wanted some kangaroos, some koala, some earthy bush guy to tell me, ‘hey mate, killa willy roo with the fendiez of me car but this stubs wash the ding away, yee.’”

I’m pretty sure that’s not how any Austrailian speaks but I still wished for it like I wanted to see a koala riding in a kangaroo’s pouch — that’s what I told the bus when introducing myself to break the ice and I’m pretty sure the joke fell flat, like most of mine do — but anyway, there we were, 20 strangers introducing themselves on a tinny microphone while trying to stay balanced and upright at the front of the bus, while Emma, the young, lively Aussie tour guide extrodinaire steered us in a northwesterly way out of the city. Australia is such a big beast of a continent-country you have to use big, run-on sentences like that to describe it.

First stop was Bells Beach, possibly made famous by the movie Point Break, or by being an awesome surf spot and home to Quiksilver surf stuff. The waves were pretty impressive, the water blue and clean… nothing between us and Antartica… pretty cool thought for a kid who always pictured China on the other side of the ocean… A couple surfers living a good life out there…. we took a few pics and hoped back on the bus bundled up.

Look at that effin’ beach! Keanu never stepped foot on it though.

So it’s still unspoiled.

After that we stopped in a lazy beachside community, the kind of place that is hopping on summer weekends but in a coma the rest of the year. We took Emma’s suggestion and hopped around on the trampolines they had for rent.

We were the only adults jumping on them but we were giggling louder than the kids who surrounded us, probably because we’re not forced to wear some silly school uniform.

Interesting note: Austalia has the largest per capita percentage of trampolines.

My kind of country.

We were three minutes late to the bus and everyone was already on board and waiting for us. We walked up out of breath and blushing. Emma joked that our punishment next time was having to try some vegimite. I joked back that we’d never be late again in that case. It was only the second stop and we were the first passengers to hold up the bus.

It’s silly, I know, but I felt like I let my country down. Why am I so goddamn apologetic? I felt like saying, “yes, yes, I was late for the bus but I did not vote for George Bush.”

The sun was beginning to descend when we got our first sighting. Oh, it was magical! It was brilliant! It was the sweetest thing ever.

Behold, a wild Koala…

Emma quickly pulled over, cramming the bus into a turnout that would be a tight squeeze for a golf cart. (I’m still amazed she is able to drive the bus on the winding road and spot the little buggers. It took much finger pointing and comments like ‘over there, by that big tree, now look down, and to the left, see it? see it?’ for me to finally, indeed, see it.) The entire bus exited to get a better view, oohing and awhing, standing in the road, risking their lives to snap photo after photo and gawk. Cars passed by cautiously, apparently aware of the dangerous habits of tourists under the influence of their first koala sighting.

So far the passengers of the bus surprised me by being older than I pictured, but in addition, even the younger passengers, much quieter. Until now.

The koalas had everyone smiling at each other, laughing, noting the adorableness of the eucalyptus-eating, chlamydia-having marsupials.

Pauline, a sweet-as-pie Brit traveling with her husband, Jeff, both retired grandparents out to see the world, was especially charmed by the animals. She found the koala’s bum to be sublimely enchanting. “Oh, look at it, Jeff! Isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen? Hello! Hi, there! Would you like to come home with me, Mr. Koala?” Sadly, the koalas never returned her gracious offers of friendship. My wife and Pauline hit it off, cooing over the koalas, and I instantly liked her too. Watching Pauline and Jeff in action would make a romantic out of even Snoop Dogg. Particularly at the diner table, but more on that later.

When we returned to the bus the vibe was more relaxed. There was a warm buzz in the air. The koala factor, you can call it. We were all a little looser now.

The sunset was spectacular too, ending a great day.

More animals, more beaches, a helicopter ride, a sand hill, and more, more, more… coming up.