AKA Nina

Sharing the Big News

2012-01-18T20:01:00.000-08:00

This isn't my favorite photo, but here's the bump

After I'd reached the twelfth week of my pregnancy, we knew the little bean was likely to stick around and that we could share our joy/fear/apprehension/explanation for my strange behavior with Sydney friends and colleagues.

Mickey was eager to tell the world, but I felt much more reluctant. I knew our friends with children would welcome us to their club, but I felt I was somehow betraying our friends without children; I guess I didn't want to tell them that we were leaving their club. However, people have a way of surprising you and defying your expectations.

I was sure that my friend Jennie would have guessed my news because she's incredibly astute and I was sure she'd have noticed that I no longer had a wine with dinner. She hadn't noticed, though, and was delighted. Likewise, our friends Bryan and Lisa (who aren't planning a family) were nearly ecstatic to hear that we were expecting a baby. Their pure joy was quite touching to me.

Telling my boss was a bit of a funny story. We were en route to a meeting when I was feeling very ill. I warned him, "Jack, I might throw up in your car and I've brought some barf bags, but it's because I'm pregnant." He's been very understanding and supportive. In fact, I walked into work yesterday to find a new, fancy chair at my desk. I've experienced some back pain in recent weeks and this ergonomic upgrade couldn't have been more welcome.

Telling my family was still nerve-wracking, but fun. Of course my mom is overjoyed and wants to talk about the baby daily. She's been incredibly good about never once asking us in four years when we would have a baby, though she really wanted to be a granny. My Aunt Tina's reaction was one of the sweetest. She began to tear up and embraced me and said, "I don't want to let you go." She said to my mom, "our baby is having a baby!" I'm nearly thirty, but I guess I'm still their baby.

Telling Mickey's family was different. I didn't feel nearly as nervous because I feel like it was his news to share. I felt like I could sit back and just wait for the words of congratulations. Mickey's parents and sister are really excited for us and I've been grateful for my sister-in-law's advice. She walked us through the baby aisles of Target and explained what all the baby gear is for. Other members of Mickey's family seemed to have a 'we guessed it already' or 'it's about time' sort of reaction. I wasn't thrilled with those responses because they almost cheapened the experience of telling them.

There will always be cultural differences between me and my in-laws, though, and they have a slightly different attitude toward starting a family. For lots of Mickey's family and cousins, having a baby is simply what you do after you get married. Perhaps they viewed our moving to Switzerland and Australia as unusual diversions from a proper life path.

In their own ways, everyone has expressed their happiness for us and that in turn makes me happy. Many people mentioned some really high expectations for our little one. People generously say that our babe will be beautiful, smart and kind. Are they just being nice or do they really believe that? I worry that s/he won't be able to live up to those expectations. If our baby is just average I know that I will still love her, but maybe other people would be disappointed.

I'm expecting the little one to be born red and squished like lots of newborns. I imagine my biological instinct/hormones will help me love the little alien creature right away, but that she might grow cuter to others as she gets fatter and less red. That's my hope anyway.

I refer to the baby as 'she,' but I do not actually know the sex of the baby. Though Mickey would rather know now, we'll be surprised when it arrives.

the Big News

2012-01-18T19:04:00.000-08:00

Reserved parking outside one of Google's buildings

I've ignored this poor blog for too long because what I most wanted to write about (my pregnancy!), I wanted to keep a secret until I had shared the news with friends and family in person. But now that the word is out, even on Facebook, I can describe the journey that I've been on for the last 21 weeks.

Mickey and I had been married for four years when we finally decided, yes, now might be the right time to try for a baby. It was a tough decision because, fortunately, our lives as a couple felt content and fulfilling. We have good jobs, friends and enjoyed our relatively carefree lives in Sydney. On the one hand, the question as to why we should interrupt our lives involving travel, dining out and spontaneity with the challenges of raising a child was a good one.

On the other hand, I think Mickey and I both have a lot of love to give and have always wanted to build a family together. When you have nearly everything you could want, sometimes you want to push your luck and explore what else life has to offer.

So, we began trying for this babe in May, knowing that if it worked right away, we'd bring the little one to Nic and Kat's wedding the following May. If it didn't work right away, we were hoping we could eventually get lucky and I'd show up to the wedding pregnant. Of course, there were a couple months of conflict and that's when this babe decided to stick around. My due date is literally the day before Nic and Kat's May 27th wedding and there is no way we can attend.

I've shed a lot of tears about this, but nothing can be done now. I'm grateful that Nic was extremely generous and understanding; he's really happy about his niece/nephew and not mad that we cannot make it.

Week six of this pregnancy marked the beginning of a devastating daily battle with "morning" sickness/nausea. I've put quotes around 'morning' because initially I felt awful at all times of the day and then settled in to feeling worst in the afternoons and evenings. I told Allison my news right away because I knew that she'd find a way to help me.

In a matter of hours she had called her pharmacist in Virginia and asked them to send her last refill prescription for Zofran, a powerful anti-nausea/vomiting drug designed for chemotherapy patients, to California. CVS filled it right away and I began taking the drug that afternoon. It's unfortunate to admit that I'm still on Zofran, but I've dropped the dosage way down and am feeling worlds better than I did. It cost Allison only $10 for a bottle of 24 four mg tablets. I pay $54.95 for a packet of 10 four mg tablets. And we wonder why health care is a bit of a problem in the US!

Unrelenting nausea is a strange and miserable feeling. Dealing with it for days on end felt a bit like depression: you stop caring about everything else because you can only focus on this crummy feeling. From an evolutionary perspective, nausea makes little sense. When pregnant moms most need nutrition, they experience food aversions and in some cases cannot hold food down.

Cravings make a bit more sense to me; the mom's body sends a signal to her brain indicating what the baby needs. I was far too sick to crave anything for a while, but now cannot get enough fruit and fruit juice. I seem to crave food and drink that are sweet, but haven't desired desserts (cake, pie, ice cream, chocolate) as I once did. I suppose that's healthy!

When people complimented me on looking great for being X number of months pregnant, I would lean over and whisper, "my secret is the vomiting." It doesn't make for pleasant dinner conversation, but it was true. Now that I've improved, I've gained a bit of weight (probably 10 lbs.) and am sporting a fashionable bump.

I bought some maternity clothes to outfit the bump and recently my friend Estee loaned me a huge bagful of hers. I was grateful to add more variety to my wardrobe, but am now concerned about where to put all of my old clothes, the ones that won't fit for a while yet.

In fact, space issues weigh heavily on my mind these days. We live in a furnished two bedroom apartment with limited closets and storage space and no garage. Where is all this baby stuff going to go? I've always been a tidy person with little tolerance for clutter and I think that a big part of mentally preparing for baby will involve accepting my space with a lot more stuff in it.

It's amusing that first world babies "require" so much gear. Indeed, most new moms and dads these days cannot imagine life without diapers, wipes, cribs, strollers, baby carriers, bottles, pacifiers, walkers, bouncers, swings, high chairs, etc. We watched the French documentary Babies over the holiday and were reminded that billions of people raise bubs with almost none of that gear. I can't get over the image of the Namibian mom in the documentary wiping her baby's dirty bum on her knee and then cleaning her knee with a corn cob. Ah, so there's one substitute for diapers.

There's much more to tell, but I'll leave it for another post.

Mom's summer vacation highlight - a day trip to Palmie

2011-08-24T22:52:00.000-07:00

This year marked my mom's fourth annual trek to Sydney to visit us. Her extended stays range from four to eight weeks and necessitate that she not simply play the tourist, but make a life for herself here: find friends, develop routines, exercise and generally become a local. I'm always delighted to retell stories describing just how much of a local my mom is here; she's befriended butchers, given directions, spotted celebs and even found a bargain or two.

from left to right: me, Helmut, Roxanne

Though she loves Sydney, we make an effort to show her other parts of NSW/Australia during her trips. We've taken her to Kiama, Berry, the Blue Mountains, Adelaide, the Clare Valley, the outback, Byron Bay and even Canberra (I know, we were really scraping the barrel of Australian destinations there). She's been to Melbourne once and there are still plenty of worthy winter destinations on her to do list including, of course, the rock and the reef.

I was in the red with vacation days when Mom showed up in June so we decided to stick closer to home. Palm Beach, a fashionable yet relaxed beach community, is just an hour north of Sydney and home to some of Australia's rich and fabulous. The fact that Australia's most iconic soap, Home and Away, takes place in Palmie solidifies its status as the premiere aspirational beach town. Anyway, it reminds me of Carmel and I knew that Mom and Roxanne would love it.

Mommy in Palmie

Sydneysiders sans cars can take the L90 bus all the way up to Palm Beach, but we opted to hire out a goget car to allow us greater flexibility. Sandra, our friendly neighborhood Toyota Yaris, was unavailable so we reserved Helmut, a tiny Suzuki Alto that boasts four doors and an amusingly dinky 50 horse power or something close to that. All jokes that day revolved around Helmut's German heritage and his lack of get-up-and-go, but ultimately he was a great sport and got us safely to and from Palm Beach.

The weather threatened to put a damper on our beach adventure, but the rain was off and on and fortunately while we were in Palm Beach, mostly off. In fair weather, Palm Beach and the Boat House in particular can be absolutely magical. The sun shined through the clouds while we dined on fish and chips, salt and pepper squid and steak salad alfresco. It became warm enough to ditch our jackets and don our sunnies while admiring the water views.

We couldn't have dreamed up a better day. Mom read her Kindle near Helmut while Mick, Roxanne and I climbed up to the lighthouse at Barrenjoey head. Mickey had done this walk before, but the gorgeous views of the headland, beach and isthmus were new to me and Roxanne. When it started to sprinkle, we carefully trekked back down the hill, avoiding slippery rocks and mud puddles.

fish and chips of the gods

We concluded our jaunt up north with hot drinks at Jonah's at Whale Beach, a snooty restaurant with great views. The wait staff didn't want to waste the heat lamp on patrons who were only paying for coffees, but they did give us some blankets.

I'm sure Mickey and I would visit Palmie more often if it were a bit easier to reach. However, I suspect it is this relative remoteness which makes it so attractive to the wealthy folks who call Palm Beach home.

Curlew Camp Artists' Walk

2011-08-17T21:49:00.000-07:00

A view of the city from the bush

For the most part, this winter in Sydney has been mild and pleasant. It's not quite warm enough to swim in the ocean, but it's been an ideal temperature for short bushwalks and even tennis.

Horizon Building reflected by another

I was eager to take my mom on one of my favorite inner-harbour walks, the trail that stretches from the Spit Bridge to the Manly Wharf. The three-hour walk marked by plenty of ups and downs seemed a bit daunting, though, so we hunted online for a shorter inner-harbour option. It wasn't long before we stumbled on the Curlew Camp Artists' Walk (1.5km) which begins at the South Mosman ferry and ends at the Taronga Zoo ferry.

It begins with an intimidating staircase, but Mom bravely trudged up them. The rest of the walk, in fact the entire day, was simply gorgeous.

Roxanne's fantastic photo of two kookaburras

Sirius Cove

One feature that especially endears the inner-harbour walks to me is the variety of scenery you can experience over very short distances. Of course, there are great views of the city, bridge and Opera House, multi-million dollar homes, tiny coves dotted with sailboats and calm beaches, and surprisingly untouched coastal bushland.

Every time I take one of these charming hikes, I vow to return in summer with my cozzie (bathing suit) and a picnic hamper. Let's see if I remember this time.

Whale Watching Outside Sydney Harbour

2011-08-16T22:22:00.000-07:00

Mickey and I have recently visited a couple of prime whale watching destinations: Western Australia and Hervey Bay. Sadly for the former aspiring marine biologist in me, we were there out of season and didn't catch sight of migrating whales.

Katie and Becca waiting for our boat at Circular Quay

Katie and Becca's visit to Sydney, however, presented the perfect opportunity to spot some whales just outside the harbour. Katie scored some coupons and generously paid for the four of us girls to hop on the Discovery Whale Watching Tour. It departed a little after 10am on a spectacularly clear, sunny day from Circular Quay. We grabbed seats on the top level of the three-story boat and enjoyed the sun and fresh air as we motored beyond the Opera House, past the heads and out into the open ocean.

The kind lady at the ticket booth advised that our chances of seeing whales was quite good because the boats had been spotting them for several days straight and the company tracks the whales overnight via radar. Fortunately, if we didn't see whales, we would be allowed to take another chance on the Discovery Tour later in the season. I was reluctant to get my hopes up, but pretty satisfied with this guarantee.

Our boat wasn't in the open ocean for ten minutes before we spotted the first couple of sprays from blowholes along the horizon. We approached a group of whales and then followed them for the remainder of the two hour tour. The experts with the microphone explained that we were following a "competition pod," a group of presumably adult males pushing each other while jockeying for position as the top dog, er... whale.

Dorsal fins

The experts couldn't explain the whales' behavior with certainty, but the whales in the competition pod sure put on a show. There were four of them in the group that literally pushed up against one another and aggressively raised their heads and fins out of the water and smacked them down again.

To my delight and astonishment, the whales got really close to our boat. It is against the rules to get any closer to the whales than 100 meters, but if they approach your boat, you're meant to just stay there and let them do their thing until they move along. We were the biggest, but certainly not the only boat following that active pod. Much smaller boats (practically dinghies) broke the rules by getting too close to the whales and were lucky that they weren't accidentally capsized or killed. The whales don't know the rules after all.

Because the whales were so busy that morning, I began to hope that I might see one breach clear out of the water. I'd seen clips on the news of whale watching boats getting such a treat, but dared not hope for it until it started looking not just possible but even likely.

One of the whales turned on his side and began smacking his two meter long pectoral fin onto the surface of the water over and over again. We were so close to the whale that we could clearly hear the noise of the smack on the water. I felt like we were watching a Sea World show, but it's likely that the whale was sending a message to the three others in his pod, not us gawkers on the boat.

Indeed, the whales had something to express because not long after the fin smacking, another whale (or maybe it was the same show-off) breached! I couldn't believe our good luck. Watching the enormous humpback whale lunge clear out of the water was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen (I'm turning into such a nature geek as I age). Mom, Katie, Becca and I all squealed with delight and amazement. We had seen a whale breach; that alone would have been worth the $80 tour cost.

So, you can imagine how we felt when the whale decided to breach again. Yes, it was just icing on the cake at that point.

Mom and me on the top deck of the boat

As we motored back to shore, Mom excitedly began to plan another whale watching trip with her friend Roxanne. I had no interest in going again, though. The naughty whales in the competition pod had spoiled me with their boisterous show; I'm sure I'll never be that lucky on future whale watching trips and am happy to cement this one firmly in my memory.

Vivid Sydney 2011

2011-07-27T22:35:00.000-07:00

The art geniuses behind Vivid Sydney once again projected animated images, colors and designs on to the sails of the Opera House and created pure magic.

It seems they've elevated their game each year, perhaps hiring ever more clever artists or maybe learning over time how best to utilize a canvas as unique as the Opera House.

Mickey dragged his tripod to Circular Quay on a chilly evening in May to capture some Vivid moments. This one reminds me of a really cool retro sweater.

This one spread out like a fan.

This is a composite image. Mickey left the camera on a slow shutter speed and the colors bled together. It's my fave.

Royal Wedding

2011-07-06T21:51:00.000-07:00

Now that my student days are long gone, I find myself genuinely interested in history, particularly social history. When I read about events that took place within the last century or so, I wish I had a record of how my ancestors experienced it. When the World's Fair came to Chicago in 1893, did my great, great grandparents attend? How did Grandma feel when Pearl Harbor was bombed?

In my own humble way, I hope that this blog serves as a record of one girl's twenty first century life and perceptions. Who knows, maybe my posterity will experience the same curiosity about the past and my family's relation to it that I do now. Even if this blog doesn't last generations, perhaps I can look back on it and recall details about my own life that I'll forget due to having children, dementia or the long-awaited robot takeover.

In any case, I feel the need to record my own experience of the royal wedding between Prince William of Wales and Catherine Middleton because it was such a significant media event. Of course, I've always felt a certain closeness with Wills because he's only three days younger than I am and my mom has fond memories of being pregnant at the same time as Princess Diana. I remember weeping in front of the television when the news revealed that she had died in a car crash and felt terribly sorry for William and Harry. They had grown up in the lap of luxury, but no amount of money or influence could bring back their mum.

My other "tie" to the royal couple is that I studied in Edinburgh, Scotland in one of the same years that Wills and Kate were studying at St Andrews. My flatmates and I had vague plans to stalk the prince when we visited St Andrews in 2002, but sadly, we didn't catch sight of him.

Anyway, Will and I have a bond (of which he remains unaware) and I was delighted to learn that he was going to marry the lovely Kate. The British tabs are legendary for their cruelty, but the worst adjective they had for Katy was 'waity.' Indeed, she was poised to be the perfect people's princess: beautiful, stylish and approachable. Ever since the royal couple announced their engagement in December, the world began to eagerly anticipate the wedding of the century.

I feel lucky to have witnessed the royal wedding as an American in Australia for a couple of reasons. Firstly, it aired at a reasonable time of day for us: Friday evening at 7pm. Dedicated royal wedding watchers in America had to set an alarm for the middle of the night to watch live coverage. Secondly, because of a genuine love of Diana and desperation for a positive news story, the American media went a bit bonkers with royal wedding coverage. When the Daily Show poked fun at the Today Show for interviewing some guy who makes iconic British building jelly moulds, I was glad that I missed most of the craziness.

Mickey and I were fortunate enough to score the perfect royal wedding viewing spot: Thor and Jennie's couch. I practically insisted that Jennie let me come over to watch because I love her and her house and TV are amazing. And because she's one of humanity's gems, she agreed and even prepared a perfect British roast meal complete with an Eton mess for dessert.

We watched the entire royal wedding from the arrivals to the balcony kisses on the BBC in high definition with no commerical interuption. The coverage on the beeb was first rate, but the commentators assumed a level of background knowledge that this yank just didn't have. I kept barking questions to Jennie and Thor: "who is he talking about? She's related to whom? They reconstructed her nose when?" (How did I get this far in life without learning about Tara Palmer-Tomkinson?)

I loved every moment of the royal wedding. The outfits, hats and celeb-spotting were spectacular. I found it fascinating that plenty of seats in Westminster Abbey wouldn't afford a good view at all. Kate's gown couldn't have been more perfect and she was utterly radiant. No one really agrees with me on this, but I would have liked to see what a makeup artist could have done with her lovely face. I think she did a superb job, but I'd like to see the Duchess move beyond the black eye pencil on the lower lashline.

According to the media, Kate's maid of honor, sister Pippa Middleton, almost stole the show. While I thought she looked lovely, I don't understand why the media now won't let the girl live her life in peace. She didn't sign up to be a royal... yet.

It amuses me that my American friends and family were far more excited about the royal wedding than any Brits or Aussies I know. I sensed that Thor and Jennie, like plenty of Brits, are sort of "over" the royal family and their silly antics. Asking about the purpose of a monarchy in a democratic society is a legitimate question I guess. As an American who has no tax-based reason to question the royal family, though, I am inclined to love and be fascinated by the Windsors (is that tecnically their surname?) What's not to love about an impossibly rich and stylish family with a long history of infidelities, backstabbing and scandal?!

At the conclusion of the coverage, even Thor and Jennie were impressed with the flawless execution of the royal wedding. The pagentry of the event struck the perfect note: enough pomp to do the British tradition proud, but not so outrageously over the top as to make the royals seem completely out of touch.

I can't wait until Harry gets married so we can do the whole thing over again.

The Legacy of Tuesday Trivia

2011-05-30T22:40:00.000-07:00

The first time we met our dear friends Chris and Jess (formerly in Sydney), we asked them to join us at The Fringe Bar in Paddington for Tuesday trivia. We hadn't been in Australia long enough to know that you need bookings for almost everything so there wasn't a table for us that night, but our blind couple date was a success and we decided to meet up on subsequent Tuesdays at the Fringe Bar (as long as someone made the booking).

Steph's last trivia night at The Fringe Bar

We assembled a crackerjack starting line up consisting of Thor, Jennie, Steph, Lee, Tim and eventually Mike and Laura in addition to ourselves. We loyally attended trivia night at the Fringe every Tuesday for three years despite a love/hate relationship with the current host, mediocre food and appalling customer service. It became one of the most pleasant and reliable parts of the work week: an opportunity to catch up with friends while having a drink and nerding out.

Though Jennie has an incredible ear for music and Tim's general knowledge and familiarity with all things Australia served our team well, our MVPs couldn't always deliver a win. Fortunately, the Fringe often awards prizes to those coming in second, third, fourth, seventh, etc. so we usually concluded the night with a bar voucher.

The first host we came to know at the trivia was a handsome, easy going bloke called Murray. Now that I'm familiar with a couple of different trivia hosting styles, I realize that Murray's strength was his attitude: 'enjoy the game, but don't take it seriously; though I'm holding the answers, I understand that I'm not God.' We enjoyed Murray and like many other teams, named our team the not-so-subtle "when's Murray back?" and "we want Murray back" when he was replaced by a very small guy and eventually the current host, DJ Mike Blades.

For those who haven't encountered DJ Mike Blades, I must refer you to Steve Carrell's character on the American Office, Michael Scott. My feelings toward him vacillated from pity to mild loathing, sometimes in the same night. We got creeped out when he started massaging our friend Jess' bare shoulders without provocation, but would then later feel sorry for him when he revealed, 'it's my birthday tonight and I'm here,' or told a sad anecdote about his ripped jean shorts.

Blades called us trivia participants "party people" and enjoyed the power trip that the role of host afforded him. He would whisper answers to some teams (ours included) and imagined that his mildly sexist jokes were charming. For better or worse, though, we were committed to The Fringe and Blades for our Tuesday night meal and entertainment. It was there that we discussed and celebrated Thor and Jennie's engagement, Mike and Laura's engagement, retold stories about our travels, introduced new friends, entertained visiting families and guests and excitedly talked about our friends' post-Sydney plans before they moved away.

Well, we thought we were in it for the long haul until one day, without warning, we showed up at The Fringe Bar to learn that DJ Mike Blades had been replaced. New management, new food and drinks menu, new host, new format, it was almost too much to bear. We had long discussed trying out other trivia nights and this change at the Fringe presented the perfect opportunity. What did we have to lose?

Tim won all the coins in the jar!

We carefully researched and then ventured out to several trivia nights in Surry Hills. We quickly realized how many different elements compose an enjoyable trivia environment: location, noise level at the pub, quality of food and drink, variety of food and drink, personality of host, pacing of the questions, difficulty of the questions, etc. We encountered a couple of bars that had decent questions and food, but were in slightly inconvenient locations. At Trinity Bar in Surry Hills, we encountered familiar questions. In fact, we learned that we'd answered those exact same questions 32 weeks prior when we met the host, none other than DJ Mike Blades. It felt so strange seeing him in another trivia context.

He told us the whole story about how the management at the Fringe Bar told him on Monday that he wouldn't be needed on Tuesday, but then rang back Wednesday indicating that the new format was a failure and would he please come back next Tuesday. While we had imagined Blades was on to bigger and better gigs, he had been back at the trivia for weeks. We found ourselves back at the Fringe Bar, too, for Mike and Laura's last trivia night for old time's sake.

When they left, Paddington was no longer a central meeting point for all so we decided to give The Harlequin Inn in Pyrmont a try. Pyrmont is convenient for Mickey and Thor because it's near the Google office and it also happens to be down the road from Tim's place. It's not quite as easy for me to get there, but the quality of the questions make the trek worthwhile. Host Jason Dean writes a crossword and two rounds of twenty questions from scratch each week. Many of the questions and all of the answers involve pictures and video. Jason keeps it lively and delivers the questions at a good pace. Best of all, the questions are easier than at the Fringe (no obscure Aussie sports questions!) and we've actually won first prize twice. I can't say if we'll be at the Harley forever, but it's certainly our Tuesday night home for now.

Fraser Island, Hervey Bay and the big white Hummer

2011-05-26T23:35:00.000-07:00

While living in Switzerland, before we had planned our next move to Sydney, our friend Pete mentioned that Fraser Island in Queensland was one of the most beautiful places he had ever visited. This piece of information stuck with me though we spent our first three year's worth of Australian holidays in other tourist destinations: the reef, the rock, Tassie, etc.

Sunset on the ferry

When this year's glorious five-day Easter/ANZAC holiday loomed near on the horizon, I remembered Fraser Island and grew excited about squeezing one more beach trip out of the season. By late April, Sydney's beaches are a bit cold for all but the most hardcore swimmers and surfers, but further up the Australian east coast in Queensland, the weather becomes warmer and more tropical.

Because the options for staying on Fraser Island are limited (you can stay at either of two resorts or camp), we booked in at a B&B in Hervey Bay, a sleepy seaside town that serves as the gateway to Fraser Island. I was initially disappointed that this meant that we'd only have one day in Fraser Island, but it ended up working out beautifully.

Fraser Island only has two resorts because it's extremely underdeveloped. In fact, it doesn't even have paved roads. Ferry travel from the mainland is expensive ($80 - $90/vehicle, one way) and restricted to cars with 4WD that can cope with the sand traps that pass for roads on Fraser Island. Obviously, we didn't want to deal with potentially getting a rental car stuck in the sand so we booked an all-day tour of the island that would include pick up and drop off from our accommodations.

Get the linens out for a morning tea in the rainforest

Mara, the helpful proprietor of our B&B, strongly recommended a luxury Hummer tour. Now, riding in a Hummer is something which ordinarily conflicts with my principles because they are known to be ecologically unfriendly. However, I rationalized this particular Hummer ride because I would enjoy it in a one-time tour through a place without real roads context as opposed to a daily, suburban housewife dropping kids off at school in a military vehicle context.

What really sold me on the Hummer tour was the individual attention it afforded. Other tours had up to thirty people, but ours had just four. That allowed us to stop at certain spots and hop back into the vehicle without waiting for 29 others to take their seats. The promise of a gourmet morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea didn't hurt either.

Our tour was fantastic and great weather made it all the better. I knew we were in luck when we saw two wild dingoes saunter past my side of the vehicle when we weren't ten minutes off the ferry. Fraser Island dingoes are known for being among the most pure in Australia (not crossbred with domestic dogs). We started the day with a walk in the rainforest and concluded it with a dip in Lake McKenzie, the clearest, cleanest body of water I've ever had the pleasure of swimming in.

Clear water at Lake McKenzie

It's funny that the premiere swimming attraction of an island is its lakes and not its beaches, but the beaches are kind of a dangerous place on Fraser Island. Because it doesn't have paved roads, the long, flat stretch of beach serves as its super highway and 4WD vehicles travel along it at a frightening clip. It's kind of sad that frolicking on the beach is ruined by the danger of oncoming cars. So, who exactly is traveling at 100K/hour on this otherwise isolated island? Bogans racing to their campsites, of course.

Yes, bogans are the other hazard of Fraser Island's beaches. Indeed, bogan campers, beer, campfires and largely un-patrolled "roads" do not a safe holiday make. I was happy to observe their daytime festivities from the comfort of the Hummer.

Note the sticker on the truck: "WHERE D PHUKRWE"

Mickey and I spent the rest of the holiday enjoying Hervey Bay and the surrounds. We took a road trip up the coast on Sunday and encountered some beautiful beaches, more bogans and delicious macadamia ice cream from a small roadside shop. On Monday we reminded ourselves why renting bikes always sounds better than it actually is: oh, the sore bums! Still, Hervey Bay has a fantastic esplanade for walks and enjoying the coast.

The highlight of the trip, though, was actually the meals we enjoyed at our B&B, Villa Cavour. The hosts Mara and Rocco once owned a restaurant in the mountainous Piedmont region of Italy and brought their talents to Australia almost a decade ago. We decided that home-cooked Italian food would be vastly superior to other Hervey Bay fare and boy, did that decision pay off.

Mara and Rocco asked that we decide at breakfast whether or not we would want dinner also. They offered us a lengthy menu, but we got a tad frustrated when we'd point to a menu item and Rocco would say, 'no, no, no.' He had an abridged menu in his mind that would have made a better basis for selection. Anyway, Rocco offered to make gluten free gnocchi so I was thrilled. The grilled vegetables that preceded it were cooked to perfection.

Can you see why we need this?

We were so pleased with this meal that we decided to take a private cooking class with Mara and Rocco the following evening. Rocco was absolutely fearless when it came to experimenting with gluten free flours to make gluten free pasta. I would have warily hunted online for the right combination of flours that make the most edible pasta, but Rocco simply swapped the all purpose flour for the generic gluten free variety and varied the amounts of water and egg until he reached a workable consistency. We haven't yet repeated the experiment at our house (partly because we now need a pasta roller), but I cannot express how exciting it was to eat fresh ravioli for the first time in years.

As with most trips, we'll likely remember the extremes: incomparable Italian food, the bumpy rides in the Hummer, the restorative properties of Lake McKenzie and its fine white sand, and the Jim Bean flags that the bogans used to mark their campsites.

Laura's Hens' Night

2011-05-26T21:23:00.000-07:00

Our dear friend Laura and her fiancée Mike once lived in Sydney, but have moved back to the states and are now only weeks away from their June wedding. Before she left, Jennie, Katy and I sent her off with what I don't mind saying was a pretty epic Hens' Night.

Any party at Jennie's is special because of her gorgeous home at McMahon's Point and superior hostessing skills, but all the girls contributed to a memorable night. Jennie and I had taken a page from Martha Stewart's book (literally) and created some elegant yet inexpensive ceiling decorations. Jennie also hung white wedding bunting and arranged some beautiful white flowers on the dining table; her place looked perfect for a classy girls' night.

Of course then Katy walked in with penis straws to top the cupcakes and cheap Mardi Gras-esque beaded necklaces! We didn't want them to taint the Martha-inspired theme, and smiled through our teeth while saying 'oh sure, it's fine to stick the plastic penises in the cupcakes...' In the end, we were glad that Katy contributed the kitsch because Laura and the girls had fun with it.

I was in charge of games and prizes and had way too much fun writing edgy, but not offensive bride's and groom's quiz questions. The party ended the way all lively good nights out do, wandering around the Rocks searching for clubs that play music we described as 'USHER AND HIP HOP' in too loud voices, talking to strangers and of course giving up on finding another club and jumping in cabs to go home instead.

from Cleveland to Sydney: the Katarias' Visit

2011-05-10T23:12:00.000-07:00

As far as guests go, Mickey's parents were two of the best when they visited for the month of February. They had hot and healthy dinners on the table when we came home from work, cleaned up often and didn't expect to be entertained extensively.

They'd come out to Sydney five years ago to visit extended family in the Blacktown area and, though they love the Australian branch of the Kataria clan, probably didn't imagine that they'd return to the land down under. It's a long journey from Cleveland and their issues with troublesome knees and backs don't make the hours across the Pacific very pleasant. Anyway, Mickey convinced them that waiting out a frigid Cleveland February in sunny Sydney with us was the way to go and booked their tickets after Christmas.

We truly enjoyed having them and learning some new tricks from each other. Mickey's mom bravely experimented with different gluten free flours until she found a roti equivalent that was acceptable for my consumption. Mickey in turn showed her how to use his favorite Christmas present, the tortilla press, to make fresh tortillas.

My in-laws taught me how to play Seep, a complicated Indian card game. I introduced them to Glee, which I don't think they cared for. We all learned a bit more about what doulas are when Estee unceremoniously announced her pregnancy while brunching on Indian food at our house. Indeed, the visit was enlightening.

One anecdote that will stick with me involves the barbeque that the Aussie Katarias hosted out in Blacktown. I'll preface it by saying that Mickey and I disagreed about what sort of relationship we should have to alcohol during his parents' visit. They don't drink and that's fine with me. I would never disrespect their home by drinking alcohol there. I figured that when they're in my home, though, I should be able to have a glass of wine now and then. Mickey doesn't see matters exactly this way, but we'll leave it there.

Anyway, no Aussie barbeque is complete without lots of grog: beer, wine, whatever. The Blacktown Katarias know this and offered me a glass of wine during our visit. I said I'd have one if they were opening a bottle. Well, they opened a bottle... served me a glass... and closed the bottle. No one else had any wine. As if the white, American wife who doesn't speak Punjabi and cannot eat bread didn't stick out enough at this party, my lonely glass of wine confirmed my outsider status. It was terribly awkward, but really funny, too.

I'll admit I was a bit daunted by the month-long visit with the in-laws, but when dropping them off at the airport, I grew sort of teary. Mickey's mom said something to the effect of, 'don't stay here, move back,' in a way that wasn't delicate, but was absolutely sincere. They don't want to have to travel 24 hours to see us and I can't blame them.

We'll most likely take her advice and move back at some point, but I hope her visit provided her with a glimpse of what keeps us in Sydney for now.

Australian Open 2011

2011-04-19T22:18:00.000-07:00

Stuffed Roger fans in front of us

2011 marked our third year attending the Australian Open, a truly fantastic events that even non-tennis fans can enjoy. We purchased a quarter finals package to ensure that we'd be able to see our Swiss hero, Roger Federer (as long as Roger made the quarters, which he did, of course) because we'd missed him on previous years.

Luckily for us, the quarter finals package allowed us to see all the top players: Rafa, Wozniacki, Murray, Na Li and the eventual singles champs: Djokovic and "Aussie Kim" Clijsters. Our seats and the weather were fantastic. The only thing to be desired was a bit more excitement in the matches; those players who won did so seemingly pretty quickly and easily ending the matches in a timely fashion.

This was painfully true of Rafa's match against his countryman David Ferrer. He wasn't well and couldn't win and even started to break down in tears between games, but decided to finish the match rather than withdraw. Ferrer played brilliantly and Rafa might have had trouble beating him even if he were in top form. I came away with more respect for both players.

Rafa lunging for the ball

Perhaps the most entertaining player to watch was Francesca Schiavone, an Italian who was incredibly strong and determined. Her grunts, let alone her backhand, intimidated her opponents.

I'm already looking forward to next year's Open and a chance to cheer for Rog and perhaps a fabulous American or Aussie player (Sam Stosur, we're looking at you).

Tasmania - Cradle Mountain and Launceston

2011-04-19T21:46:00.000-07:00

Because Australia Day fell on a Wednesday this year, we grabbed the opportunity to take two days off and treat ourselves to a long weekend in Tassie prior to the Australian Open in Melbourne. We had visited (and loved) Hobart and were keen to explore the Cradle Mountain area near Launceston.

Our friends Dan and Estee gamely agreed to accompany us and tolerated our choice of accommodation. The first stop enroute to the Cradle Mountain Lodge was Christmas Hill Raspberry Farm, an overpriced but delightful spot with a cafe serving raspberry-infused everything (even tea). It was indeed a lovely drive through picturesque farmland and tiny towns that, despite their size, each had a claim to fame. There was Railton - Town of Topiary and Sheffield - Town of Murals not too far from each other. Mickey asked if I wanted to pull over for photos, but I sufficiently enjoyed the topiaries and murals from the comfort of the passenger seat.

Cradle Mountain was beautiful and especially easy to enjoy in the good weather that we were lucky enough to experience. We took some leisurely bushwalks around the lake and national park and were treated to a poem about wombat droppings by an overqualified ranger. The dude almost fell off a cliff taking this photo:

Wombats and other native Australian creatures are a highlight of any trip to Tassie. Because most are nocturnal, we took a night spotlight tour with Cradle Mountain Lodge. I was thrilled to see an eastern spotted quoll, a sight which the driver/tour guide indicated was rare, but a bit disappointed that we didn't see any Tassie devils in the wild.

Fortunately, our penguin tour on our last night in Tassie made up for any previous disappointments. We were told to meet the tour company, which operates out of a tiny beach shack, at 9pm (twilight at that time of year). Three guides broke us into three groups of ten or so people and led us down to the beach to tell us more about fairy penguins. Our guide couldn't have been more than 17 years old, but he did a fantastic job. As the sky darkened we started to notice tiny penguins emerge from the ocean and waddle up the beach in small groups. Pairs were headed back to their nests to feed their young.

I helped the guides lug around a large battery-operated red/orange light that we could shine on the penguins without hurting their eyes. To say that they were cute is a profound understatement. The babies, though not much smaller than their parents but fluffier, were even more adorable. Hunger drew them out of their protected nests and caused them to holler for their mamas and papas. We took about a zillion pictures and painstakingly culled them down to a manageable number.

I've enjoyed all of my visits to Tasmania and hope I can take my own kids there one day.

What has art done for you lately?

2011-04-19T21:02:00.000-07:00

Back in January, the Sydney festival gave anyone the chance to see their name in lights across the top of the Australian Museum a stone's throw from our house. American artist John Baldessari's exhibit "reflects the changing cult of celebrity in modern society and recalls Andy Warhol's prediction that in the future everyone will have their 15 minutes of fame" according to the Sydney Festival website. All you had to do was enter your name on the website and wait for them to let you know about what time your name would appear.

Here's mine:

Yes, I became famous at exactly 6:47am so we decided to take a screen shot from the site's webcam rather than drag ourselves out of bed early to take a photo.

This is probably the coolest thing that art has ever done for me.

NYE 2010: Santa Barbara

2011-04-18T23:09:00.000-07:00

In an attempt to maintain the tradition of spending each New Year's Eve in a new location, Mickey and I wound up in Santa Barbara on the last evening of 2010. We had "done" LA and San Francisco in prior years and didn't wish to leave California so we decided on the lovely seaside town of Santa Barbara, a place known for a once-legendary Halloween party, but not for any particular NYE festivities.

And that was fine by me, because I'm one of those who believe that NYE is always overhyped and disappointing. You could dress up and get tickets for a fancy evening at a restaurant or club, watch some fireworks and hope for good music and good company. OR, you could buck tradition and start your own. I've decided that my favorite NYE traditions are a night in with friends full of games, making top ten of 2010 lists but not getting past number three, a dip in the hot tub and s'mores at midnight. At least that's what I did this year and hope to do again on subsequent NYEs.

Of course a night in with friends was appealing to me because "in" was the gorgeous, cozy holiday house we rented for the weekend and "friends" were five of my favorite people on the planet: Mickey, my dear friends Andrew and Alyssa, Nic and his girlfriend Kat. We spent plenty of happy hours playing Dance Central on the xbox 360 Kinect, the 'it' gift for last Christmas. Poor Nic couldn't make it to midnight because of a brief episode of stomach flu, but he was in fine form the next day when we went wine tasting.

This was one of my most enjoyable NYEs. In fact, the only part I would not do over again is watch the prerecorded Snooki ball drop on the Jersey Shore at the stroke of midnight. I'll stick to smooching my sweetie and s'mores.

CleveLAND

2011-04-18T22:26:00.000-07:00

Directly after Christmas, Mickey and I flew to Ohio to spend some quality time with his family and by quality time I mean eating-intensive visits with family structured entirely outside of normal mealtimes. "Please don't say we're going to Aunty's place. I might barf because I'm so full" is sort of the sentiment after two and a half days of breakfast, brunch, lunch, afternoon tea and dinner visits. Of course, each of these meals (even breakfast) concludes with dessert, too. And choosing not to eat would offend the host, so gluttony is the only option for my visits to Ohio.

Our joke of the trip was saying "this week was sponsored by Jaipur Junction" in a singsongy advertising voice. The size of our gatherings required some catering because even the most tireless little aunty couldn't be asked to throw together a meal for twenty and Cleveland's favorite Indian restaurant Jaipur Junction was the takeout of choice.

The highlight of any trip to Ohio is spending time with our niece Priya and twin nephews Isaac and Isaiah. They're boisterous, but ridiculously adorable. We only see them once a year and it was delightful to observe their budding personalities. Isaac follows Priya, the loving big sister (and only person other than their momma who can tell the twins apart reliably) while Isaiah dances to a different beat. Though he can barely talk, he expressed his preferred clothing and shoe brand to his mother thusly: "Mom, Nike shirt." This cracks me up because it's adorable, but also sort of terrifies me. Does Nike know that their Swoosh is recognized by two year olds?

When not half heartedly stuffing Jaipur Junction's butter chicken down our throats, the tykes and I played Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders. Good times.

Bowling in the new year

2011-04-04T23:26:00.000-07:00

It's April, but I'm still writing about the Christmas/New Year holidays. Yes, I'm a bit behind.

If our holiday trip to the states had a subtitle it might be: American Bowling Alley Tour 2010/2011. We literally went bowling four times over the course of the holiday, first at our beloved 4th Street Bowl (aka Ghetto Bowl) in San Jose, then again in Diamond Bar and Parma, Ohio and finally somewhere in Ventura County enroute to LAX.

Though Mickey's a good bowler, I can't say that we're particularly attached to the sport (we own neither our own shoes nor ball). So, why did we go bowling four times over the holiday? Well, there actually is some logic to it. When you get together with family and friends over winter holidays, you can only go out for meals so many times. At some point, you want to do something mildly active, but the weather doesn't always permit it. Going to the movies is a great option, but it's not very social.

And that's when bowling becomes your go-to holiday activity with friends and family. It's indoor, bowling alleys are everywhere in the US, they're cheap and they have something for everyone. Competitive and/or athletic? Stick to the bowling. Can't stand bowling and/or your family? Well, the bowling alley probably has a bar. Teetotaling or entertaining little ones? They probably also have a jukebox, arcade and nachos. See? You just can't go wrong with bowling.

After touring the four bowling alleys, I noticed a slightly disappointing trend, attempts to renovate and modernize. You may wonder why a bowling connoisseur such as myself isn't excited about replacing the clunky CRTs with flat screens at bowling alleys across America and it's because 'slightly dingy' and 'retro' are the descriptors for which every bowling alley should aim.

Have you ever been bowling abroad? I've been bowling in Zurich and Sydney and the bowling alleys there are all wrong: bright colors, loud music, high prices, menus with items like sliders and satay skewers and way too clean. No, if you ask me, plastic seats, cheesy graphics and cheap cocktails are part of the American bowling alley's charm.

Christmas Part II: It just wouldn't be Christmas without...

2011-01-31T20:47:00.000-08:00

Some of my expat friends spent gorgeous Christmases here in Sydney on the beach enjoying seafood barbecues and summer sun. Though paradise to many, a beachy Christmas away from family strikes me as terribly lonely and inauthentic. I guess I'm just not as adventurous and adaptable as my friends who bravely forge new Christmas traditions of beach bonfires and mango margaritas.

To me, there's only one Christmas. It's celebrated in LA with my mom, brother and Mickey and it just wouldn't be Christmas without...

a fabulous family party at Aunt Tina's with a bit of glamor, lots of cousins and an impromptu talent show - The Mallinson, Rennie and Pakfar clans used to gather on Christmas day when we were little, but now that our families are growing, we generally get together at my Aunt Tina's house in Northridge during the weekend before Christmas for a dinner party. We have some good-looking family members, so mom and I stepped up our game this year by getting our makeup done at MAC before the party. I used to be intimidated by the makeup artists at MAC because their own faces often express the drag queen/Lady Gaga-spectrum of their talent, but they're perfectly capable of creating normal party-pretty looks without a touch of Marilyn Manson. Anyway, it was lovely to catch up with all my cousins, especially the Oettinger contingent from Texas who I hadn't seen for several years. Aunt Tina unfailingly serves up a fantastic feast and this year was no exception. The saffron sour cherry rice, a Persian dish this year served up by Uncle Hamid's mom, is always a highlight. We were entertained by seven year old Brandon who sang Justin Bieber's hit song "Baby" twice. Though he was good, my cousin Brittany's three year old son Charlie's effort to literally push Brandon out of the way and then sing the same song was even better.
taking turns opening presents on Christmas morning and wishing I had maybe gotten dressed and put on makeup because Mickey's taking a ton of pictures - On many Christmas mornings of my youth, my brother would awaken me and our parents at around 6:30am. There were plenty of Christmases where the whole thing would be over by 8:15am. Nic's still an early riser and jet lag contributed to another early start to Christmas morning. Some families tone down their Christmas celebrations and the quantity of gifts once the children leave their childhood and teen years, but my family remains remarkably generous and the number of gifts under the tree seem to increase as the years go on. This is also because our family has grown to include Tom and his family, Mickey and his family and Kat, of course. In one critical way, I've matured enough to realize that it truly is better to give than receive. I'm rising early not because I can't wait to see my haul, but because I'm eager to see how everyone else likes the gifts I gave them. This year's highlights were the xBox 360 Kinect with Dance Central game for Nic and Kat and a tortilla press for Mickey. I was thrilled with several generous gifts from my family: clothes from Mom, a signed cookbook from Nic and Kat and games, music and more from Mickey.
my childhood stocking and the luscious chocolate orange inside it - I sometimes feel sorry for families who hang the traditional red felt stockings with cheap white faux fur trim because my own stocking is so special to me. It's white and green with a delicate quilted pattern; I've had it since birth and my mom recently had my name embroidered on it. Every Christmas I find it filled with a number of small, delightfully useful things: cute pocket Kleenex, Chapstick, socks and a magazine. Without fail, it also includes a chocolate orange fashioned like a real orange complete with sections and pith. You know the type; you have to knock it firmly against a hard surface to separate the sections.
exchanging gag/ugly gifts with my cousin Holly - We initiated this tradition when I brought home my first lot of teacher Christmas gifts. Bless their little hearts, but the gifts I received from my darling first graders were... well, exactly the types of trinkets that a six year old would find beautiful. I saw my fair share of red and white stuffed animals, silk roses with glue meant to look like dew/rain drops and lots of porcelain, glass and faux-crystal figurines. It sounds cruel, but I found most of these figurines profoundly ugly and perplexing and I would literally cry laughing while imagining the thought process that went into them. A porcelain ballerina pig with a real tulle mini tutu and Dreamsicle-esque flower crown was particularly memorable and inspired me to share this peculiar joy with Holly. Now that I no longer teach, Alyssa generously donated her "best" gift to our cause. It was a mermaid figurine with a glittery bikini top and inexplicable belly chain. Priceless.
going to the movie theater on Christmas day and choosing a film to suit the whole family - Our family are big on movies. For some of us, the Academy Awards are a holiday on par with Easter or the Fourth of July. Finding a movie that's appropriate for all of us (and that most of us haven't already seen) can be a challenge, but we found a winner this year in The King's Speech with Colin Firth.

It was a beautiful, happy Christmas and I'm so glad I was able to spend it at home.

Customer Service: A Tale of Two Countries

2011-01-13T20:15:00.000-08:00

"It was the best of times; it was the worst of times." Actually, it doesn't matter what sort of economic times Australia or the US are experiencing in regard to the quality of customer service in each nation. Though Mickey and I love Sydney and its Aussie inhabitants, we find the efficiency and friendliness of service here below the American par to which we are accustomed.

(Oh, did you want to find out what happened to the sack of Christmas presents I thoughtlessly left at The Hotel Griffon in San Francisco? I know you did. We'll get there. Stay with me).

So, without further ado, I'll present the evidence, the Sydney customer service "horror" stories we tell at parties to shock our friends:

Return Policies (or lack thereof) - I've had the misfortune of needing to return clothing from a TGV store in the CBD and Veronika Maine. For fear of this exact situation, I held on to my receipts, didn't remove the tags and returned the items to the stores the day after I bought them. The t-shirt shop in the TGV insisted that I get store credit though nothing in the store had any hope of fitting my non-emo sized brother; that's why I was returning it! The manager eventually refunded my money, but it was painful. I wasn't as lucky at Veronika Maine. I had to accept store credit and pick out something else. I cried in the store and they threw in a pair of leggings so really I guess this isn't so egregious. I just wish every store could be a bit more like Nordstrom. I had to return something there over the holiday and they didn't even require my receipt and asked no questions... what a relief.
Property Managers and Estate Agents - If you believe in reincarnation and met a Sydney property manager/estate agent, you'd agree that they did something really, really bad in a past life to wind up in this one as an estate agent. In fact, if you have to deal with them on a regular basis, you start wondering what you yourself did in a past life to deserve it. I'm convinced their job descriptions bind them to not call you back. However, when they want a response from you, boy, they want it quick. They often show property for a fifteen minute window. Fifteen minutes in Sydney? Really? For estate agents, who are notoriously late, to schedule something from 3:15 - 3:30, say, is a joke. Real estate agents in the states aren't saints, but they call you back.
Restaurants - The stories are too numerous to list here, but here are a couple of my faves. We once went to a Japanese restaurant that ran out of tea. We found this out 30 minutes after we ordered our tea. First, you're a Japanese restaurant! Second, why didn't you let us know when we ordered? Many Sydney restaurants prefer that you make a booking beforehand and look at you funny when you present them with a bit of walk-in business. I'm always stunned when the restaurant is half empty, but they tell you they're booked out. We've been to many restaurants that have separate menus for different sections of the restaurant. The bar menu is for the bar and the longer menu is for the restaurant. Sometimes the dividing lines for these sections are so nonsensical you find yourself asking the servers the same retarded questions more than once: "so, if I sit three meters away, I have to order off of this menu?" Or, "I can only purchase that cocktail upstairs and then I have to walk through security again to bring it back?" I could go on and on and on, but our latest experience was kind of funny. A bar told us we couldn't have a pitcher of cocktails because "people kept asking for them and they take too long to make."
Dry Cleaners - Aside from the Incident, I've had other less violent, yet still disappointing experiences with dry cleaners. There are two different vendors that added new stains to my clothes and then looked put upon when I asked them to re-clean them. When I showed up to collect my clothes at another on the appointed day, they told me my items wouldn't be there until the next day. "If you need to pick it up Saturday, you have to say Friday." Silly me for not counting backward one day.
Port Stephens Samurai Beach "Resort" - I can't generalize to say that Australian hotels and/or B&Bs are lacking. In fact, most that I've stayed at are great. Yet, we had a very interesting experience at the Samurai Beach "Resort," a spot puzzlingly ranked number one on tripadvisor. Housekeeping staff did not clean the place daily despite it being a beach "resort" and the tendency for sand to get everywhere. Their method of delivering extra blankets, pillows and towels to our room was shouting 'hey, you guys!' when we walked by reception one morning. They tried to charge us $30/night for our third guest presumably for the extra pillow that we ourselves had to pick up from reception a day after we requested it. Maybe I could cut Samurai some slack if I had seen the koalas that allegedly live on their property, but I didn't so I won't.
George Street Cinema - While sorting out a seating issue before a movie once, an ornery usher told my friend Jess to move her handbag. It wasn't in the aisle, it was just in front of her, yet he told us to "put your handbags in your lap or leave it at home." What?! Since when is that the rule? Everyone's familiar with don't talk and turn off your phone, but keep your handbag in your lap? This guy was nuts.
Online shopping with Big W - My savvy colleague Adam bought a DVD for his wife from Big W online. He was told it would arrive in about eight days. On the eighth day he rang them to find out the status of the order. 'Actually, that item is out of stock,' they told him. They had already charged his credit card and seemed to have no plans to let him know his item would never arrive.
Health Insurance - don't. even. get. me. started. My limited dealings with my health insurance company have turned me into a bitter, crazy person. Why do they insist on conducting business via fax? Can't they tell I'm under 30 and incapable of using that machine? :)

Mickey was meant to write about the hassles of banking, setting up internet and phone service and even trouble with booking seats on Qantas, a usually quite reliable airline, but perhaps his rage is just too fresh. :)

And just how does this compare to my experience in the states when I left that precious little sack of Christmas presents in the Hotel Griffon and remembered two days later? Well, in a panic I rang them 30 minutes before we were to depart for southern California. They said they'd look into it and call me back. They didn't call me back, but when I rang them back they said that my items did not turn up in lost and found but that they would check with the housekeeping supervisor on duty next Monday. This was a bad sign that my items did not turn up in lost and found. Surely, a canvas bag would have been identified as lost property.

I called them a couple more times on Monday morning (when they said they'd get back to me) and by Monday afternoon they had the following story. A housekeeper added the bag to her cart, then it was somehow mistaken as trash, then they went looking through the trash and discovered some of my lost items. Okay, here's what was in the bag: a set of five NARS lip glosses, unopened Orbit gum, unopened hot mustard, bar of soap shaped like a horseshoe, unopened calendar, Christmas card and five bags of special chocolate toffee candies from the ferry building's farmers market. Here's what was recovered: two of the bags of chocolate candies, the Christmas card and the canvas bag once containing all of these presents.

When I later received these surviving items in the mail, I realized how completely implausible their story was. None of the items looked like they had been anywhere near a trash bin. If they had, that assumes the hotel staff dug through 2 - 5 days worth of trash in order to recover them. My mom and some friends are convinced that the housekeepers stole the items and were guilted into returning some of them to management. In any case, Hotel Griffon apologized profusely, sent the surviving items to my mom's house and credited our account with $150, the value I attributed to the lost goodies.

I had trouble forgiving myself for this carelessness initially, but in the end, it could have been much worse. Now, I like to look at it as my small contribution to boosting America's economy.

In comparing the quality of customer service across nations, the conversation always returns to tipping. Because the tipping culture runs rampant in the US, does it improve customer service? This may be true in some cases, but if you've ever been to Japan you'll know that excellent service doesn't always require a tip.

While griping about the inconsistencies of America's tipping culture, when to do it, how much, etc., it occurred to me that the housekeepers at Hotel Griffon may have treated my lost bag of Christmas treats as their holiday tip. Mickey stayed there for a week and a half and didn't tip the housekeepers, perhaps inciting their anger and prompting sticky fingers. Tipping the housekeepers didn't even occur to me and that's what's really frustrating about tipping, the lack of clear rules.

On one side of the Pacific, you have sometimes appalling Australian service, but no tipping culture (even low-level workers are paid a living wage). On the other side, you'll find better service in America, but confusing and often uncomfortable expectations in regard to tipping. My conclusion? Perhaps both nations need to take a lesson from the Japanese. A stronger sense of shame and embarrassment might encourage service providers to step up their game. Though on the other hand, a healthy dose of shame might have also prevented me from writing this post.

Christmas Part I: San Francisco

2011-01-10T21:31:00.000-08:00

Mickey and I recently returned from a glorious month-long trip to the states. How do we sum up such a trip to friends since returning to Sydney? Well, 'fun' and 'wonderful' are a couple of words that come to mind, but I feel I can describe the trip better by breaking it down into its four component legs: San Francisco (the part where I got sick, lost some Christmas gifts, but still had an amazing time), LA (the part where it didn't stop raining, but we had a mega-happy Christmas anyway), Cleveland (the family and food intensive bit) and Santa Barbara (the part where we actually enjoyed video games and initiated a new tradition).

I'll devote this post to our week in the San Francisco bay area.

The trip started off with joyful reunions with our dear friends Andrew and Alyssa (who just returned back to the states after teaching in Shanghai), Chris and Jess (who left Sydney for a new life in Denver) and Steph (who left Sydney for San Francisco). Because our hotel was located near the ferry building, we wandered there often for meals, snacks and gifts. The Saturday morning market was especially good to us; Jess bought a wreath and I tasted a piece of pure heaven: a gluten free cinnamon roll from Mariposa. I hadn't enjoyed a cinnamon roll since before my diagnosis and I couldn't believe how true to my memory of a real cinnamon roll it was. Mariposa drew me back a couple more times during my stay, but I wasn't able to sample every baked good they offer; gf ravioli, I'll be back for you.

Steph hosted a delicious Mexican lunch for us on Saturday afternoon. There we toured her gorgeous new home in the Mission and met up with more Sydney friends, Shannon, Mike and baby James. Though I lived across the bay from San Francisco for a couple years, I never really explored the Mission. It was a treat to peek in the neighborhood's numerous taquerias, panaderias, markets and any other shop selling colorful crepe paper piñatas. After the meal, Steph took us on a quick walking tour of some of the Mission's famous murals. Chris snapped some excellent photos of these.

The work week was quieter because everyone except me had to return to their homes and jobs. I spent the time binge watching MTV's 16 and Pregnant in the hotel when I was feeling ill (I had a nasty flare-up on this trip) and shopping and meeting up with old friends from Cal when I rallied. Mickey hosted me for lunch at the San Francisco office (they have a slide from one floor to the next!) and we enjoyed more delicious meals at Slanted Door, Ozumo and Shalimar.

Our dinner at Shalimar, a casual North Indian/Pakistani restaurant, was a bit more eventful than we would have wished. We were waiting for our food when I saw an employee run at full speed around the counter and out the door. We later learned that he was chasing two young men who stole cash directly from the register. He told us that he caught up with them, but backed down when they pulled out a knife. What's surprising is that this was the second theft I witnessed that week. I watched a homeless-looking man in his 70s steal a scarf from Kenneth Cole at a nice mall. Of course these things happen everywhere, but I couldn't escape the sense that America is more dangerous and desperate than Australia in the current economic climate.

On Thursday morning we said goodbye to San Francisco and drove down the peninsula to our new digs, the Four Seasons in Palo Alto, an extraordinarily elegant hotel. I dropped Mickey at Goog HQ and headed further south to San Jose. I visited Andrew and Alyssa's Rocketship schools and was reminded of my stint as a first grade teacher in a low performing school. Nothing about the day made me wish I had stayed in teaching, but I was delighted to assist Alyssa and give an impromptu lecture to Andrew's students on Australia.

I met up with my lovely friend Leah that evening and helped her students build gingerbread houses the next day. The two days in public schools were chaotic, but I left feeling tremendous pride in my friends who educate America's future.

It wasn't until the next day in the San Jose airport when I suddenly looked up from my Kindle and gasped. I had left an entire bag of Christmas gifts in our hotel in San Francisco two days before. Tune in soon to find out what happened.

Thanksmas

2011-01-10T18:45:00.000-08:00

Last month Mickey and I hosted our fourth annual expat Thanksgiving/holiday party. As usual, it was a tremendous amount of work (even though my friends helped A LOT), but really rewarding, fun and tasty.

Part of what makes organizing an expat Thanksgiving interesting is that not all of the stores are catering to a nation of people who are doing the exact same thing. You won't find enormous frozen Butterball turkeys at the Coles or canned pumpkin and frozen cranberries at the Woollies. In fact, Mickey and I visited at least ten unique vendors in order to tick off our T-day to do list: order $70 chemical free bird from the butcher - check, find a non-plastic pitcher in which to serve a blood orange champagne cocktail (thanks, Lee and Jennie) - check, warn the mushroom guy at the farmer's market that you'll need a quarter kilo of fresh shiitakes next week - check!

I hope this doesn't sound like complaining because pulling off an out of season Thanksgiving really feels like an adventure, not a chore. In terms of dishes, we were only responsible for an appetizer (roasted sweet potato fries with chipotle aioli dip), the bird, gf/vg stuffing and a gf pecan pie. Mickey was keen on brining the bird like we did last year, but I stuck to my guns and insisted we do a salt rub as per the recommendation of bon appetit. Mickey managed the whole process and it came out lovely: crispy brown skin on the outside and moist, flavorful flesh on the inside. Lee, who dropped in again this year from Singapore, made the gf pecan pie, painstakingly arranged the native flowers and set the whole table. That left me with plenty of time to organize other things and enjoy the party.

Our friends supplied salad, yamallow, veggie meatballs, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, vegetables, pumpkin pies, wine and lots of holiday cheer. We played Wits and Wagers and snapped photos on the balcony. I suspect a good time was had by all.

This year there was much to be thankful for: wonderful husband, family and friends, good health, harbour views and most recently, my Kindle. Mickey had someone bring one back for me from the states and I must say that it's my favorite technology toy. I was just getting into my library copy of Clan of the Cave Bear when the Kindle came into my life. I wanted to play with the shiny new eBook reader, but was also really into the other book. For fun, I browsed the Kindle store to learn that Clan of the Cave Bear was available for only $1.59! I downloaded it immediately and stopped stressing a late fee.

The feature that I most love is the ability to download a free sample of almost any book before you purchase it. Though seemingly simple, this feature has completely changed my relationship with books. In the pre-Kindle world, I think most of us just read the back cover or jacket before deciding to buy or borrow a book. You might have glanced at a couple of pages, but for the most part books weren't a try-before-you-buy kind of item (unless you're one of those folks who make themselves really comfortable on those Barnes & Noble couches). Now, you can read free samples 'til the cows come home and not feel bad about taking up valuable B&N couch space and then buying nothing.

And if I thought I had a lot to be thankful for in November, I had no idea what was in store for December... Stay tuned for the Christmas post.

Lead up to the Holidays

2011-01-10T17:03:00.000-08:00

I've ignored my dear blog for far too long not because nothing interesting was happening, but to the contrary because all kinds of wonderful things were happening!

Thor and Jennie hosted another incredibly awesome Halloween party complete with sweetly spooky decorations, genuine American pumpkin carving kits, a scary movie and of course, food! I got into the spirit with a Halloween headband and prepared a colorful candy bark with chocolate, Reece's, M&Ms and other goodies. Highlights include Mike and Laura's costumes (Popsicle stick masks of Mark Zuckerberg and trivia host extraordinaire Mike Blades) and Jennie's gf chicken tenders and scones (my friends spoil me).

Of course it wouldn't be November without a photo-filled wander through Sculptures by the Sea. After this, my third time attending the annual art event, I've determined that the best sculptures are not those that are inherently coolest, but those that use their allocated coastal space best. Everyone (including us) wanted photos with giant yellow letters reading 'OMG,' but I preferred this rusty camel on the cliff. It's interesting to see her outside the context of an ocean of desert sand and instead against the backdrop of a well, actual ocean.

Another November highlight was our trip to Taronga Zoo to check in with some of the world's cutest animals ever born in captivity: baby elephants Pathi Harn (aka Mr Shuffles) and Tukta. Mickey and I hadn't been to Taronga Zoo since we first arrived in Australia almost three years ago and it turns out that the Sunday of our visit was an ideal day. A small misting of rain minimized the crowds and Tukta was then just one month old and terribly little and cute! She hung by her mama's side, but Mr Shuffles entertained us by playing with old tires. He was so pleased with himself when he managed to get all four legs on a tire and stand just a bit taller. Anyway, Taronga's elephants are adorable and I highly recommend seeing them while they're still young and goofy.

Check back soon for more holiday posts.

Rainy Weather Tries to Impede Fun in Sydney But Fails

2010-10-24T22:05:00.000-07:00

It rains a lot here. Sydneysiders claim that recent weather patterns are anomalous; it's not usually this rainy, they say. I believed them at first, but I've been here for nearly three years now, three wet summers followed by three equally wet winters. I'm from Southern California so any weather other than sunshine and pollution is still a novelty to me, but Sydney's sneaky storms have nearly foiled some recent outdoor activities.

A couple of weeks ago we had a Monday off for Labour Day (the 'u' here is useful in distinguishing the American versus the Aussie holiday) and hired the Goget car for a drive up to Palm Beach. It was pouring by the time we reached The Boathouse, a charming cafe near the golf course recommended to me by Belinda, and we struggled to find a dry table indoors. When the weather cleared and the model-like waitresses reluctantly towel-dried a bench or two, we claimed a table overlooking the Hawkesbury. I'm sure this spot is absolutely magical on a clear summer day, but rain forced us back inside before our food was served. Still, we enjoyed our meals there and a lazy cuppa in Avalon, another posh northern beaches suburb. Not even locking the Goget's card key inside the car and then setting the alarm off could spoil that day.

Another day not spoiled by rain was the afternoon that Mickey and I decided to explore Art and About, Sydney's free public art festival consisting of installations hidden in remote laneways and the statues project. Believe it or not, local artists designed clothing for the likes of Queen Victoria, her consort Prince Albert, Captain Cook and others. This looked like a challenge because statues aren't obviously as flexible as mannequins; capes and hats were common. Something about this felt really wrong. Reflecting upon Queen Victoria's mismatched knitwear, I felt that her statue's overall look veered from appropriately regal to Rastafarian homeless. And yet, the whole exercise caused me to think about these statues that I hadn't before paid too much attention. Who is that again? What did he do? Wow, had no idea that he had anything to do with the founding of Sydney/Australia. My personal favorite was the cape that Ken Done designed for Captain Cook's statue in Hyde Park.

The day we were most concerned about the rain ruining was Mickey's birthday picnic at Bradley's Head on Saturday. The forecast predicted rain and thunderstorms after midday, but we woke up to crystal clear skies so decided to take our chances. We chose Bradley's Head as the perfect picnic spot while on a harbour hike the previous weekend. It has a direct view of the city, Opera House, scores of sailboats and there was almost nobody there. It turns out that the lack of a crowd can be explained by the difficulty involved in getting to Bradley's Head. Indeed, we rented a Goget car so that we could haul our picnic goodies a bit more easily.

Before 2:30pm, the picnic was ideal. The contributions of each guest amounted to a mouthwatering spread: stinky cheeses, fluffy rolls, salty beetroot chips, basil dips and crackers, quinoa salad with chicken and cucumber, fried rice, greek salad, fresh guacamole, prosciutto, cream sandwich biscuits, fudgey brownies and more. We dug in while deliberately ignoring the storm clouds that rolled across the harbour.

The highlight was watching little James play with a corn chip and a carrot while dutifully wearing his party hat. He couldn't decide which food/toy to play with and alternated between picking one up and putting the other down. His mom and dad wisely whisked him away before the downpour, but Dan and Estee weren't quite so lucky. They got a late start and arrived just as a huge thunderclap boomed across the harbour and the first drops of rain hastened the picnic clean up. Thankfully, we made it to the cars immediately before it started to pour.

We were mildly disappointed that we weren't able to enjoy a longer afternoon at Bradley's Head, but felt truly sorry for the bride whose wedding was meant to be in the same spot. I hope she had a plan B and a determination to not let Sydney weather interfere with her joy.

Uluru: red dirt, blue sky, check and check!

2010-09-13T22:54:00.000-07:00

Uluru, the aboriginal name for Ayer's Rock, that monolith in the center of this vast continent, is a must-see for many visitors from around the world. Indeed, some wouldn't book a two or three week holiday in Australia without making a brief stop at "the rock."

Well, we've been here two and a half years so when Virgin Blue began competing with Qantas on the Sydney/Uluru route, we decided to make the pilgrimage to the red center. Winter is a good time to travel to the Northern Territory because it is unbearably hot there many days of year. Tour companies really play up the beauty of witnessing the sunrise over the rock, but I think the real value lies in exploring the area before the desert reaches oven-like temperatures.

And before I write another word about value, I must mention that a major factor preventing us and many others from visiting Uluru was cost. Sure, we got a reasonable deal on our flights, but everything else at Voyages, the only resort near Uluru, is wildly, almost comically expensive. The regular fee for our room was over $400/night, but we got a "deal" for $230/night. Even this price was too much for what we got: an average room with no insulation. We had to run the fan all night to cancel the noise coming from the Lost Camel.

Visitors are constantly reminded that Voyages is a monopoly. Staff are friendly, but not especially helpful and the food is well below the Australian norm. Aussies are typically spoiled for choice when it comes to fresh produce and seafood, but in the outback, everything but kangaroo jerky undergoes a long, long journey on a truck before reaching your plate. Even the high-end hotel and restaurant, Sails of the Desert, doesn't cook your eggs to order. Like other restaurants at the resort, they offer a really-just-okay buffet breakfast for $33.

The most shocking prices of all, though, are attached to tours. Transportation via a shuttle van to Uluru from the resort and back (24km) costs $42.50 per adult, not including a whopping $25 per adult national park fee. I felt like a broken record when confirming this information with the concierge. "So that's just for one person? - Yes. And it doesn't include a tour guide, it's just transportation? - Yes." Transportation to Kata Tjuta, the other lesser known rock formation that shares the national park with Uluru was an additional $70 per adult. Mickey and I wanted to see both and worked out that renting a car was actually $120 cheaper than taking the bus. Who would have thought?

If you can mentally get past the price of a weekend at the rock, it's easy to enjoy the quiet beauty of the desert. I came for red dirt and blue skies and that's exactly what I got. Indeed, when I look at our Picasa album as a whole, those two colors dominate each photo. On our first night we splurged on the much-hyped Sounds of Silence dinner under the stars. I thought I was being clever booking our spots when the moon was quite new (and thus too dim to interfere with stargazing), but this was Friday the 13th and the universe decided not to cooperate. Clouds covered the sky for the entire evening and we couldn't see anything. The dinner wasn't anything special either, another buffet. Though our friends recommend the experience, at $159 per person, I can't say that I do.

I started that last paragraph with the word 'enjoy' and ended complaining about costs again. Let's see if I can focus on the positives. Walking the perimeter of the rock (9km) with Mickey was delightful, the weather was ideal: sunny but not hot. It took us about two and a half hours at a comfortable pace and we enjoyed watching the landscape and the position of the sun change as we walked anti-clockwise around the rock.

Uluru is famous for standing tall amid a sea of vast nothingness, but that isn't really the whole story. There are gum trees, wildflowers, boulders and roped-off sacred areas to the aboriginal people bordering the rock. Some people elect to climb the rock despite the danger (it's very steep) and a request from the indigenous caretakers/owners that visitors refrain from doing so.

A display in the visitors center and other places in the national park explain this request in kind of a curious way. All the signs seem to say 'we don't climb' in big letters because, I'm told, indigenous language/culture prevents them from telling visitors outright, 'please don't climb.' Apparently, telling others what to do is a no no in aboriginal culture. I'd be interested to learn more about the relationship between these people and the rock that they deem sacred, but much of this knowledge is secret and not shared with outsiders. The fact that Mickey and I didn't see a single aboriginal person while visiting the Northern Territory only added to the mystery.

We enjoyed our most memorable meal that evening at the Outback Pioneer barbecue, a restaurant that sells raw meat and allows you to cook it to your liking on the grills that they maintain. The crocodile skewer was tough and terrible, but the steaks were great. Of course, that evening the stars were out in full force and Mickey used a phone app to point out constellations.

En route to Kata Tjuta on our last day, I spotted a wild camel walking through the desert. I'm loath to admit that this may have been the highlight of the trip for me. How many other places in the world can you see a usually domesticated animal such as the camel wandering free in a landscape far too harsh for most creatures? The legend goes that the first European explorers of the red center introduced camels when horses just couldn't cut it. Some escaped and still exist in the Northern Territory. This story called to mind the zebras at Hearst Castle immediately for me.

Anyway, we didn't have a lot of time to explore Kata Tjuta, but did enjoy a brief romp through Walpa Gorge and the Valley of the Winds. Mickey and I had a philosophical discussion on why Uluru is the star attraction of the region instead of Kata Tjuta. It's not one big rock, but was formed by the same geological processes that created Uluru. Kata Tjuta consists of 36 domes and hundreds more smaller boulders and resembles a sleeping Homer Simpson of all things when viewed from a distance.

Voyages asks guests to complete a survey about their experience at the resort upon checking out. Why they do this is a mystery, though, because they are a monopoly and thus have little incentive to improve. I imagine the replies going to a central office where a team are employed to laugh at the responses, 'yeah, you would like clean bathrooms, wouldn't you? Ha ha ha!'. Anyway, I dutifully completed this survey and answered one of the last questions about whether I'd recommend the resort to a friend. My answer was a resounding no, yet I would encourage people to see the majestic Uluru and Kata Tjuta. Watching the sunset over the rock was not exactly spiritual, but extraordinarily beautiful. So, if a decent competing hotel pops up, I'd encourage everyone to give it a go.

Byron Bay

2010-09-09T21:05:00.000-07:00

This winter marked my mom's third trip to Australia. While here, she develops a routine and makes a life for herself: shopping, cooking, reading, going to meetings, etc. We don't feel compelled to entertain her, but did want to show her at least one part of Australia that she hadn't seen before.

We decided on Byron Bay, a gorgeous, hippie beach community on the north coast of NSW, much closer to Brisbane than Sydney. Visiting Byron made a lot of sense because Mickey and I hadn't been before either and it was low season (aka cheaper than summer), a definite plus when vacationing in a place as expensive as Byron Bay.

Mickey and I favor bed and breakfast type accommodations because they're usually good value: personal attention that seems to lend more authenticity to your experience. This trip was a bit trickier because we were traveling as a trio and required two rooms. Fortunately, the Cape Byron Retreat offered the perfect solution: a two bedroom, self-catering cottage on a quiet piece of land in the Byron hinterlands for about $200/night.

Only about 10 minutes drive from the beach and town, the Cape Byron Retreat offered country charms. The owners have a horse named Budget (whose favorite snack is white bread) and are regularly visited by peacocks, echidnas and wallabies. My mom was delighted to wake up on our first morning there to find a wallaby grazing in the field. My binoculars afforded a really good look at the creature's almost fox-like face.

We spent our first morning brunching and then browsing the food and craft market in Bangalow, a country town about a half hour from Byron. We anticipated a couple of quaint stalls selling the usual craft market goods: honey, soaps, T-shirts, etc. and found that and so much more. The market included at least 200 stalls and took at least an hour to circumnavigate. We walked away with fresh strawberries, a muddler made of native banksia wood and a spider ornament for our Christmas tree.

The sky was partly cloudy as we drove on a country road back to Byron to have a look around the lighthouse and beach. Parking there was scarce and expensive ($7), but worth all the trouble when we looked down from the cliff at a pod of thirty or so dolphins swimming around the headlands. Far out on the horizon, we also spotted a whale watching boat and glimpses of the whale it was tracking.

We spent Sunday in the country again (I guess that's what you do when visiting a beach town in winter). We stopped in the delightfully named Murwillumbah for lunch enroute to the Natural Arch, a beautiful but oddly little known waterfall in a national park across the Queensland border. The drive from Murwillumbah to the Natural Arch was spectacular and worth the trip in itself. We passed semi tropical farms selling lady finger bananas from unmanned roadside shelters. The passing clouds and happy cows reminded me of some of the farms we saw in Maui.

Because we had a late flight back, we had time to swing by the sprawling Gold Coast, a beach suburb dotted with highrise hotels and apartment buildings. The Gold Coast aspires to be a bit like Miami, a fashionable party scene, and achieves this in that it comes off as very un-Australian. Plenty of Aussies wouldn't go near a beach as crowded as Surfers Paradise. They have the luxury of thousands of miles of white sand beaches and only 22 million people with whom to share it.

We were feeling very upbeat about the Gold Coast, Byron and the whole region until we boarded our Jetstar flight back to Sydney. After spending 45 or so minutes on the tarmac, mechanical problems ultimately prevented us from taking off. We de-planed (I hate that phrase) and boarded a different plane, free of mechanical issues. We got as far as the runway when the captain said, "I'm afraid I have some bad news" over the PA system.

Incredibly, Sydney international airport has a curfew of 11pm. Airlines who miss the curfew get stuck with a hefty fine, in the neighborhood of $200,000. In other words, they are fined more than it costs to put a plane full of people up for the night in a Gold Coast hotel. It's funny that I'd had such a fabulous weekend and yet staying one more night was the very last thing I wanted to do. I guess I must give Jetstar credit in that they sent us to a decent hotel and paid for our buffet breakfast and got us back to Sydney in a timely fashion the next morning.

All in all, Byron isn't any different than most Australian beach towns. It's beautiful with clean white sand, clear turquoise water, mostly empty and completely worth a visit.

Katie and Jason Down Unda

2010-09-06T19:29:00.000-07:00

My ten year high school reunion was last weekend in Orange County, California. Of course I didn't go because I'm here in Sydney, but may have considered attending if I had been nearer. However, back in July, my dear friend Katie from high school visited us in Sydney with her husband Jason. So, in a way, we staged our own stylish Troy High School reunion thousands of miles from the place where we donned our caps and gowns ten years ago.

Like most people, my life since high school seems punctuated by my different moves: Berkeley for college, Edinburgh while studying abroad, San Jose for Teach for America, Zurich when I got married and now Sydney. All the while, Katie has resided in different parts of Orange County, but visited me at each of my temporary homes. She has a keen sense of adventure that continues to inspire me.

I'll never forget the night we crammed eight people into my dorm room for a sardine-like sleepover, or when Katie lost her wallet at the cinema in Edinburgh or how she eased my anxiety when I didn't think I could sleep a wink in the 32 bed co-ed dorm room in Dublin. We've had a lot of adventures over the years and Katie has the pictures to prove them... somewhere. :)

Anyway, I was delighted that she and Jason devoted the time and funds to visit us here in Sydney over their summer holiday. They spent half a week in Cairns enjoying scuba dives off the Great Barrier Reef and bungee jumping in a rainforest canyon. Then they spent a calmer week and a half with us and my mom exploring Sydney and the surrounds. We weren't able to take any time off work, but my mom gave them excellent tours of the city and we packed the weekends full of Sydney must-sees: the Rocks Market for a Christmas ornament and a ferry ride out to Watson's Bay for Doyle's Fish and Chips and equally delicious views.

Jason's joined the US Navy and before long, he and Katie will move away from Orange County and embark on their own adventures away from home, family and friends. Katie expressed a little fear about this change and indicated that she admired my ability to pick up and create a new network of friends in a new city. I was surprised by her hesitation because I always considered her to be the fearless one. I am convinced that she won't just survive future moves, but will absolutely thrive. Indeed, I look forward to being a guest in her future home and taking a peek at the new life she'll build.

The Incident

2010-08-26T21:52:00.000-07:00

My blog posts are usually filled with smiling vacation photos and/or lush landscapes. And I do have more of those to share, but we have yet to upload the photos.

For now, I need to retell an anecdote that I mentally refer to as simply 'the incident.' I feel the need to record it now, a month after it happened, so that it doesn't morph dramatically over the years. Truthfully, it's dramatic enough without my imagination filling in the gaps of memory.

One crisp Saturday morning, my mom and I went to pick up my dry cleaning from a shop I'd used occasionally.
We handed the lady our claim ticket, but there was still confusion about where my items were. Eventually, the owner, an Asian woman in her fifties or so, found my blouse and work trousers.

Immediately, my mom and I thought that the shirt looked off in color. When I brought it in, it was close to an eggshell white, but now it looked pale yellow. We tried to discuss this color issue with the woman, but she didn't offer any helpful solutions. When she wasn't wandering away to help other customers, she told us, 'you need to speak to the dry cleaner.' Hold on a moment, we thought she was the dry cleaner.

It seems that the actual dry cleaning is done by someone else, but the woman didn't indicate when that person would arrive or if they could re-clean it. We were pretty annoyed by then because the woman kept ignoring us to help other customers while our issue remained unresolved. My mom asked what we should do and I decided we should pay for the trousers and either bring the blouse to another dry cleaner or try to hand wash it at home. For all I knew, the blouse was ruined.

When the woman realised we weren't paying for the blouse, only the trousers, she quickly turned her attention back to us and flipped out. She grabbed the dry cleaning out of my hands and we started in with a heated tug of war. She was adamant: yanking and yelling about 'you not pay!' I was stunned, but it was nothing compared to what came next.

I finally won the tug of war and we were about to walk out of the shop when she grabbed my mom's purse! Looking back, I still can't believe that this happened. She put it behind her on a shelf where we couldn't easily get to it. 'Excuse me!' we said. 'Ma'am, give me back my purse!' We were completely shocked.

My mom went behind the counter and tried to take it back and the woman responded by fighting her for it and moving the purse again. After prying the woman's hands off my mom's poor arm, we finally had the purse. Realizing she was fighting a losing battle, the woman started shouting that she'd call the police. 'Call them!' we shouted back. We knew that she'd likely be at fault as she stole my mom's purse and then tried to assault her.

Practically dazed but intact, we left the shop while the woman cursed after us. She screamed the 'f' word and then said something like 'second hand' meaning to insult my blouse.

Now here's where it starts to get interesting. In the light of day, yeah, you guessed it: my blouse was fine. Not discolored or ruined. I don't know what happened, but we could have sworn that the blouse looked absolutely yellow in the shop. Was it the yellow walls, fluorescent lighting or the plastic covering that made it look so off? I guess we'll never know, but we started to feel a bit bad at that point.

My mom considered slipping $7 (the absurd amount of money in dispute here) under the door the next day, but I told her we couldn't. That lady had taken her purse and assaulted her! Thoroughly shaken by the incident, we tried to laugh it off the rest of the weekend.

Mom's big takeaway from the incident is that $7 isn't worth a physical fight with a middle aged dry cleaner (although in the end it felt more like a fight for the purse). My lesson learned? I sure as heck don't live in the land of the customer is always right. This customer will never look at that blouse the same way.

One Week in California

2010-08-06T21:44:00.000-07:00

The true purpose of our trip to California last month was to celebrate Nic's graduation, but after two days of that, we were left with five extra days to hit up some our favorite spots in the golden state.

About two weeks before our trip, I was possessed by a nostalgic whim to revisit Knott's Berry Farm, my favorite amusement park. Knott's earned the honor of being my favorite park not because it's the nicest (that's Disneyland) or has the best rides (that would be Six Flags). In fact, I like it precisely because, when compared to the Magic Kingdom, Knott's is a little bit grungy, almost grungy enough to be retro/hip, but not quite. Knott's is consistently cheaper and less crowded than Disneyland and sells their signature Knott's Boysenberry Juice alongside other soft drinks, so really, what's not to like?

Much like Wayne's World is my favorite movie, Knott's is also my favorite park because I've created a lot of fond memories there over the years. There's a sweet, drooly picture of a three year old me playing in one of those nasty ball pits in Camp Snoopy, the section of the park reserved for wee ones. I remember visiting Knott's with Allison and Debby O'Connor for Alli's tenth birthday and being completely terrified of "the big rides." Alli poured on the peer pressure and by the end of the day I was reciting the mantra 'there will be a tomorrow' to manage my fear of Montezuma's Revenge. I loved it.

We spent several summer days there during my middle school years. A couple of friends had season passes and I remember showing up at the park with a complete change of clothing (socks, underwear, shoes) in my backpack. My dear friend April couldn't get enough of Big Foot Rapids, the white water rafting ride, and we'd run from the exit back to the end of the line, riding it until we were completely drenched.

Well, this year there was no running from the exit to hop straight back on the ride only minutes later. Unfortunately, the park was too crowded for us to ride anything more than once. In fact, we were at the park all day, but only got on six rides. Upon arriving I quickly learned that our tickets purchased online were cheap because we chose to visit the park on the same day that every other middle school in Orange County did.

This put a slight damper on the day because middle school students are well... middle school students. They think they're quite clever and adorable when they jump the queue and there was a lot of screaming; even for an amusement park with thrill rides, there was a lot of screaming. Our party of four decided early in the day that we wouldn't tolerate anyone cutting in front of us in line. We didn't accept excuses such as 'I need to go with my group' and nearly got into a scuffle because of our stubbornness.

We had just joined the snaking queue to ride Montezuma's Revenge when half a softball team tried to cut in front of us. We told them that this wasn't okay and their mama bear got really bent out of shape. She was armed with plenty of nonsense arguments: 'they're just little girls and you're adults.' Yeah, and we think everyone, regardless of age should take turns. Anyway, she asked her male companion who we later began to call Number One Dad, to get involved. Though the words coming out of his mouth seemed to agree with us, he was angry and decided to teach us a lesson (and set an incredibly poor example) by cutting in front of us. As you can imagine, the rest of the wait in that line was awkward, but Number One Dad was from that point on an excellent reference point and butt of all jokes.

Knott's had changed, but not dramatically so, since my previous visit. Though a self-proclaimed 'huge weenie' about roller coasters, Kat summoned the courage to ride most rides with us. I even dragged the whole crew on Big Foot Rapids despite their reluctance to get wet. We tried out a couple of new rides, too: Pony Express which is poorly designed, uncomfortable and generally sucky and Silver Bullet which is perhaps the best roller coaster I've ever ridden. Silver Bullet is the type that suspends you from the top and leaves your feet dangling. It took you through plenty of loops and corkscrews, but didn't bang your head around which was brilliant.

I wanted to stay until the park closed, but our visit was cut slightly short by Nic's need to see the Laker game and Mickey's desire to get the hell away from middle school students. I couldn't blame either of them, really. In the end, I still love Knott's, but made a vow never to return unless it was a random mid-week day in the spring or fall; school days at the park are just too hectic.

Almost two months later, the rest of our week in California was a happy blur. We shopped, went swimming and played games. We celebrated my birthday by going out for In 'N Out burgers and my brother taught me the coolest trick: ordering a neapolitan shake so that you don't have to decide between chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry, you get all three!

Nicholas Rennie, BA

2010-07-15T22:07:00.000-07:00

Flying from Sydney to LA takes about 14 hours. If you count the return trip and time spent traveling to and waiting at the airport, the total travel hours involved in a round trip journey to LA numbers around 36. Last month, Mickey and I took a week off from work and made that 36 hour journey to LA and back to celebrate my brother Nic's graduation, an occasion which was truly worth the trip.

Eight years ago, Nic almost didn't graduate from high school. He moved among a crowd to whom academics weren't important. He's always been bright, but at that time had neither the motivation nor the confidence to succeed in school. In fact, Nic was mentioned by name in a friend's commencement address: "we'll remember the bad boy antics of Nic Rennie and..." My mom recalls hoping my grandmothers wouldn't be too embarrassed by this claim to fame.

Nic spent a couple of years at the community college, enrolling in and then dropping classes, but making steady scholarly progress. He met professors and encountered issues that inspired him to not only learn, but act. Three years ago he gathered the courage to apply to the University of California, Riverside (UCR), was accepted and thrived. He graduated cum laude with a BA in Philosophy.

My family and I had never been so proud of Nic and my mom decided to commemorate the event with a big family party. Her friend in the embroidery business customized about 25 ball caps that said either "friend of NIC" or "relative of NIC." Because the word 'Nic' was spelled out in all capital gold letters on official-looking navy blue hats, my cousin joked that we'd be mistaken for a government agency with the acronym 'N - I - C' like SWAT or FBI.

My mom decorated the house with flowers from her garden, but the food and beverage for the afternoon reflected the tastes of the man of the hour: imported microbrews and Reece's Peanut Butter Cups and Twix on every table. Buca di Beppo catered the main meal, an Italian feast featuring a tray of lasagna for 40 and a similar sized tray of meatballs the size of your fist. As you can imagine, we were eating leftovers for a week.

The weather was sunny and warm enough for games of croquet on the lawn. At one point, my cousin's three children were each playing with a set of mallets, balls and gates, but none of them were playing the same game. We'll call it creative croquet. Most guests were content to catch up with each other, wish Nic well and pose for pictures wearing the 'NIC' hats. I believe that a good time was had by all.

We spent the next day, Nic's actual graduation day, with a smaller subset of family. Our two Rennie cousins flew all the way out from New York and Florida to celebrate with Nic so it was great enjoy a champagne brunch at Riverside's Mission Inn hotel with them, Nic, Kat and my mom. It's funny that I remember wanting to treat Nic to brunch at the Mission Inn since the moment I learned he was going to UCR. The quality of the food is decent, but it's really quantity and variety that are the restaurant's brunch buffet specialty. We delighted in the uniqueness of each plate that returned from the dizzying buffet hall: mussels, corn salad, roast beef and a danish or ceviche, breadsticks and rice pudding.

The commencement ceremony, honoring many social science graduates, was special despite our proximity to rude, low-class families. Someone needs to get a word about graduation ceremony etiquette out to the masses (perhaps via WalMart or truck ads). Though my humble blog resembles neither of these, I'll step up and be that someone. Proud families of graduates, please do not talk at normal conversation volume throughout the duration of the commencement. It's rude. Also, do not stand up for a half an hour waiting for your graduate's name to be called. It prevents those behind you from seeing their loved one. Thank you; I'll step down from my soap box now.

Anyway, even those bogans couldn't stop us from savoring Nic's shining moment. He deliberately kept his cum laude status a secret from us so it would be a surprise, the sneaky little smarty. Though his Lakers lost game 5 of the 2010 NBA finals (but eventually went on to win the title), I hope Nic was still feeling like a champion on June 13, 2010. You deserve it, Buddy. I love you.

Vivid Sydney Returns

2010-07-11T22:01:00.000-07:00

Well, really, Vivid Sydney returned and is now gone again; I'm just a bit slow with the updates.

Last year, I was incredibly impressed by Vivid Sydney, our city's festival of light, music and ideas. This year's program offered some of the same visual treats (a series of slowly changing colorful images and patterns projected on the Opera House), as well as something new.

This year marks the 200th anniversary of the first NSW Governor Lachlan Macquarie's arrival in Australia and Vivid Sydney artists commemorated his achievements by projecting historical images and text on the facade of St Mary's cathedral. I personally feel there is no danger of anyone forgetting Lachlan Macquarie; indeed, you cannot travel two feet without running into a street, park, school or suburb named after the first governor or his wife, Elizabeth.

Still, I found the display absolutely stunning. A series of images, facts and diary and letter excerpts portrayed Macquarie as a compassionate man who showed mercy toward the convicts shipped to Australia against their will. Perhaps Australians are grateful to Macquarie because he granted their forefathers the dignity necessary to forge their new nation.

Though jetlagged, we insisted that my mom see Vivid Sydney on her first night in town and coincidentally the final night of the festival. And like last year, it was completely worth our while. Thank you so much, Sydney, for creating another piece of public art worth braving the chilly evening air.

Exploring Aussie Sports Part II: AFL

2010-07-07T23:17:00.000-07:00

Months ago Mickey and I attended our first Australian Football League (AFL) game when we cheered the Sydney Swans in their decisive victory over the Richmond Tigers.

AFL players engage in a sport called Aussie Rules Football. I figure fans refer to the sport as AFL because ARF would be a little weird. 'My hobbies include painting, arf, karaoke...' Yes, better to refer to the sport by its league name, AFL, than have strangers assume you have some sort of canine Tourette's.

Anyway, the sport was designed to keep cricketers in shape in the off season. I find this puzzling because, in the words of Bill Bryson, 'cricket is the only sport in which the fans burn as many calories as players, more if mildly restless.' I can't imagine what sort of winter time activities would render one incapable of even cricket. Competitive eating, perhaps?

Though AFL is played on an oval-shaped cricket pitch, the similarities to cricket end there. While cricket is slow enough to make baseball seem positively thrilling, AFL is fast-paced and high scoring. To the untrained eye, it resembles a soccer/rugby hybrid sport. Players are allowed to kick and pass the ball, lift each other up and tackle. More than any of those actions, though, AFL involves running, so much running, you'd imagine it was designed to prep players for marathons not cricket.

I forget the rules, but recall sets of three goal posts on opposite ends of the field. When players kicked the ball through the center goal post, they score six points; if it goes through either of the side goal posts, they score three points. But because the Swans were so far ahead of the visiting Tigers, we didn't pay much attention to the scoring.

We spectators were more intrigued by the drunken fan who led cheers from the bottom of our tier. Mickey snapped as many photos of him as he did of the players. We also thoroughly enjoyed singing along to the victory song played at the end of the game and then joining our fellow fans on the pitch for photos and hundreds of simultaneous games of catch. It's as if the crowd couldn't wait another moment to burst on to the field and reenact their own moments of athletic glory under the harsh stadium lights. It was great fun until we almost got hit in the head by multiple AFL balls whizzing through the air.

Barefoot in Sydney

2010-06-23T23:37:00.000-07:00

Whether or not pedestrians in any given nation/area wear shoes usually depends on wealth. Residents of rich countries generally wear shoes in public whereas those in poor nations often don't. Until very recently, Mickey and I believed that we had only lived in countries belonging to the former, shoe-wearing subset of nations.

But I've come to realize that Sydneysiders buck the shoe-wearing-in-developed-nations trend. Indeed, Australians are a rugged, adventurous sort of people who simply will not be bound by conventional foot protection.

Sure walking around barefoot in public makes a bit of sense in beach suburbs; you've just emerged from the surf and sand, forgetting the flip flops is okay. But what going barefoot further inland? What about going barefoot outside a beach suburb in a season that isn't summer? I've witnessed women going barefoot in precisely these circumstances and I must say I found the lack of shoes not charming, but alarming.

One woman emerged from a train barefoot at about 8:15am. Though I might describe her hairstyle as 'free' or 'untamed,' she certainly wasn't homeless. Likewise, I recently spied a woman walking barefoot to the post office near my office. I was shocked because a) my office is nowhere near a beach, b) my office is in fact clustered among other highrises in what you could call a corporate suburb and c) it's winter here! What letter needed posting with the sort of urgency that would cause one to leave her shoes at the office?

On another note, Mickey and I recently slipped on a type of footwear that we never imagined we'd need in Sydney: ice skates! Margaret, our circle of friends' own little Kristi Yamaguchi, organised an outing to what has to be one of Sydney's only rinks. Though we couldn't mimic her spins, we did get into the spirit of winter.

Australia's West Coast: our trip to Perth and the Margaret River

2010-05-11T20:48:00.000-07:00

Before I give my verdict on Western Australia, this continent's vast golden state, I'll provide a bit of background to put it in perspective.

Perth, WA's capital, is considered the world's most isolated city. Perth is closer to Singapore than it is to Sydney (4.5 hours by plane)!
Western Australia comprises one third the Australian continent, but only 10% of its population, a mere 2.2 million people.
36% of Western Australia is covered by sheep stations. I didn't do the research, but surely some of these are bigger than small European countries.

You get the idea; WA is remote. And though Perth didn't knock our socks off, the Margaret River area with its rolling acres of vineyards and gorgeous beaches, really did. We loved it and I know you would, too. As long as you love wineries. Or beaches. If you don't like either of those, you're really missing out! Seriously, I felt I could have enjoyed a whole week or two in the region, and without recapping the whole trip, here's why.

The Foodie/Yuppie Scene

For some crazy reason I thought that once we got out of glamorous Sydney, prices for food and accommodations would go down. Silly me. That isn't the case at all, but I think I can sort of understand why. I've just been harping on about how remote it is; well, distance is one factor that can increase food prices. More importantly, though, WA is home to some really classy dining establishments: restaurants run by thoughtful chefs who care about serving fresh, local ingredients.

Mickey and I spent our first evening in Margaret River dining at Wino's, a restaurant and bar with an award-winning wine list and a tapas-style menu. The herby hand-cut chips were a treat, but we had to pass on the peach creme brulee... next time. We also enjoyed lunch at Wise, the only one of the region's wineries with an ocean view, and dinner at Must, arguably Margaret River's best restaurant. Our hosts at Llewellin's Guest House, Jo and James, hooked us up with free pate because they know the owners of the restaurant.

Speaking of which, Llewellin's deserves a lot of the credit for us falling in love with Margaret River. Jo and James have decorated the rooms beautifully, made excellent recommendations and took extraordinarily good care of us. James even made gluten free chocolate and pistachio scones for me on our last day!

Lighthouse Tour 2010

Mickey and I never used to give a lot of thought to lighthouses, but on this trip we found ourselves visiting two: one at Cape Naturaliste and another at Cape Leeuwin, the point at which the Southern and Indian Oceans meet. Both offered wildly expensive tours ($15, dude, it's picturesque, but it's a lighthouse), but we did pay a smaller fee to walk around the lighthouses and poke around their tiny museums. I was fascinated by the lives of the lighthouse workers in the days before lighthouse maintenance was automated. They had to tend to the thing every hour, worked in shifts and almost never took a holiday.

Mickey and I try to pick up a Christmas ornament from every destination we visit. The natural choice would have been a tasteful little lighthouse, and we found dozens of lighthouse magnets, key chains, pencils, etc. but alas, no ornaments. We instead took home a cow figurine decorated in a mardis gras style. The international traveling cow parade, featuring life-sized cows decorated by local artists, had reached Margaret River so we took pictures with cows in front of almost every winery.

The Wildlife

Cape Naturaliste is even more worth a visit in the months of June - November, aka whale season. This is the time of year when pods of humpback, right and even blue whales migrate north to calve in warmer waters. And apparently you can see them right from the coast! Though I kept my eyes peeled when Mickey and I stood at Whale Point, we didn't spot any of plumes of water and air bursting from blowholes, only miles of white caps on the glimmering sea. Likewise, we struck out when we visited Penguin Island off Rockingham (only saw penguins in the sanctuary) and failed to see any dolphins in Bunbury.

Still, you can supposedly see all these animals in the wilds of WA! After reading a particularly interesting wine label when back in Sydney, we learned that we also missed the blue-ringed octopus, a little creature possessing enough sting to kill two soccer teams we learned. Ignorance was indeed bliss, because if we had known about it, we might never have dipped our toes in the Indian Ocean.

Though we struck out with whales, dolphins and penguins, we were lucky enough to see an enormous sting ray at the gorgeous Hamlin Bay. Fishermen use fish heads to lure these massive creatures (1 meter across!) close to shore not to catch, but to amuse kids and tourists like us. We were also delighted by our unexpected lorikeet spotting outside Perth. Lorikeets usually congregate in groups of two to three, but when the sun set over Cottesloe Beach, thousands flew from north, south and east to descend on a row of trees lining the shore. The noise was deafening.

The Caves

Most of the wineries in the Margaret River region are located just off Caves Road, so named because the region has over one hundred limestone caves! Only a dozen or so are open to the public and the guidebook advised us to visit Jewel Cave if we were to tour only one. We followed that sage advice and were thoroughly impressed with Jewel Cave.

I especially loved the unapologetically unscientific manner in which the mysteries of the cave were explained by our tour guide. After introducing himself, the guide said something like, "well, this cave is pretty damn good." Right, this guy was speaking my language! In the early part of the twentieth century, an adventurous gentleman discovered the cave when he noticed gusts of air coming up from the ground. He bravely explored it in the days before proper belaying and safety equipment: using ropes and candles. Interestingly enough, knowledge of the cave's location died with this man and it wasn't rediscovered until decades later. In the late 1960s, they added platforms and staircases and opened Jewel Cave to the public.

You could then navigate the cave via a raft because a couple meters of water pooled at the bottom. Then, in the 1970s, the water started to disappear by a couple inches each year our guide explained. He went on to say that caves go through wet and dry cycles (in fact, the cave up the road was in a wet cycle at the moment), but that no one really knows why the water disappeared. What?! Really? I honestly believe that the managers of Jewel Cave could invite a cave scientist to study the cave and get some real answers, but they just can't be bothered. 'Eh, we like our own stories,' I imagine them saying.

Instead of naming the Jewel Cave's five platforms after the different geological eras during which they were formed or employing another scientific method, they clearly subscribe to the 'nothing fancy' school of nomenclature. "You see that feature over there that resembles a pipe organ? That's why we call this the organ platform. You see how that kind of looks like broccoli and cauliflower? Well, we call this the vegetable platform." Surely, you can guess why it's called Jewel Cave? That's right, there's a feature that reminded someone of a jewel case. Who thought I'd learn so much about the Western Australian mentality by visiting a cave?

The Sunsets

I don't consider myself sunset deprived; I'm from the LA area where air pollution creates some of the most vivid sunsets you'll ever see. Still, it was a treat to watch the sunset over the ocean, a phenomenon that Sydney just can't experience. Mickey played around with the settings on his camera to capture the beauty. Can you see why we didn't want to leave?

Jennie's Hens' Night 2010: She who has the biggest boobs, has the most fun

2010-05-04T21:26:00.000-07:00

Our dear friends Thor and Jennie are getting married in June on a small island in Norway. Though we, their Sydney friends, adore them, a trip across the globe just isn't feasible (especially not with this volcanic ash business). So, of course we had to send them off with really spectacular Bucks' and Hens' parties.

I initially envisioned a marathon day of girly fun: spa treatments followed by cocktails, dinner out and an old school sleepover at a hotel suite with junk food, truth or dare and bad movies. As delicious as that would have been, we simply couldn't ask Jennie's friends to fork over hundreds of dollars for a Hens' Night. My more budget-friendly agenda went as follows: optional cocktail making class at Cruise Bar in the rocks, dinner at a dosa restaurant in Darlinghurst followed by games at my house and finally dancing at the Retro.

About two weeks prior to the party I read a brief interview with Sofia Vergara in People magazine. "Who has more fun?" People asked, "blondes or brunettes?" She gave the following playful answer that was to become the catchphrase of the night: "who cares?! It's the one with the biggest boobs that has the most fun." I found this silly quote particularly appropriate and printed it on the buttons I custom-made for the party.

Unfortunately, it was hard to notice these buttons because of the other Hens' Night accessory I forced on the girls: cheap feather boas in a rainbow of different colors. Purchased at the discount store for $4 a pop, these feather boas were itchy, but made for some fun photos. Upon bestowing each guest with a boa, I made no promises about the feathers not dyeing one's skin or clothes, but fortunately the only thing the boas shed was feathers. Indeed, our gaggle of girls was like Hansel and Gretel with their trail of breadcrumbs; we could trace our path backward by following the feathers.

The cocktail making class was excellent considering we didn't actually get to mix any cocktails. There were rules preventing us from getting behind the bar so the master bartender basically demonstrated technique while we drank. At the end we decided that 'cocktail appreciation' would be a more accurate title for the class. Still, we learned a few new tricks. The instructor explained the importance of using the right ingredients and how to spot a good bartender. He also explained the difference between Scotch and Bourbon (there is none, really, both are whiskeys, but created in certain styles named for their regions of production) and revealed that Southern Comfort is not whiskey at all, but merely a peach liqueur marketed as a whiskey. His catchphrase, though almost nonsensical, could also have been printed on a Bucks'/Hens' button: "never turn your back on alcohol."

As we were finishing up, we were delighted to see Shannon pop in with her newborn baby James. I'm not sure that he enjoyed the smell of alcohol on our breath while we tipsily cooed over him, but he was a pretty good sport about the whole thing. He patiently endured our amateur photo shoot near the bridge and Opera House until we bid his mommy goodnight.

We hopped in some cabs and made it to Malabar on time for our 7pm reservation. We devoured dosas and samosas while the other guests arrived. Jennie was pleasantly surprised to see each new face because the RSVPs were mostly unknown to her. Malabar did a brilliant job of accommodating our vegetarian and glutard diets so I was pleased in the end with this choice of restaurant. By Sydney standards it was pretty affordable and we all managed to chip in to the total bill without awkwardness and consulting iPhone apps. Someone commented that that never happens when we go out with the boys.

The girls wandered over to Wow Cow (fro yo) and Messina (gelato) for dessert while I made a beeline for my apartment. I strung up a clothesline full of panties for a racy guessing game. Each guest bought a pair and Jennie had to guess who brought which one. If she guessed correctly, she could take them off the line, if she guessed incorrectly, she took a shot of Polish vodka. After a couple minutes of this game we learned two things: 1. Jennie believed (erroneously) that her American friends are more inclined to purchase cow-themed underwear and 2. Jennie has a mind-bogglingly high tolerance for vodka. She is from northern England after all.

We followed that with a Mr and Mrs Quiz (so sweet) and a Hen-friendly version of Pin the Tail on the Donkey: Plant a Smooch on Johnny. We took turns applying harlot red drugstore lipstick, being blindfolded and spun in ten agonizing circles before fumbling toward the wall and attempting to leave a lip print as close as possible to Johnny's own perfect pout. After taking my turn, my friends asked if I always go in for a kiss chin-first; I laughed so hard.

A couple of bellinis later, those among us with children or early mornings made tracks for home, while the energized other eight jumped in two cabs and headed for the Retro. Jennie initially vetoed the Retro idea; Michael Scott-esque trivia host "Blades" (who we see every Tuesday, but who also deejays at the Retro) was to have no part in her wedding celebrations. Who could blame her? She eventually caved to peer pressure, though, because the rest of us had an itch to go dancing. And we weren't the only hens out for a night on the town. No, Jennie was one of maybe a dozen brides to be celebrating with girlfriends that night.

Still, we had a great time sweatin' to Whitney Houston and oldies mash-ups. Jennie good-naturedly let us drag her to the dance floor where Blades is king and snap a photo of the two of them in the deejay booth. A good time was had by all and Jennie walked away with new undies so I can't complain.

Now the Bucks' Night that Mickey organized for Jennie's other half Thor, well, that's another story.

Easter in Mudgee

2010-04-18T22:29:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, Australia is in some ways more Christian than even the US is. Or, at least it maintains some traditions relating to the national holiday calendar that the American separation of church and state policy left by the wayside. In other words, Easter is a four day weekend in Australia; woo hoo! But because everyone has a lovely long weekend off (or more if you're on a school schedule), hotel rates are sky high; boo!

So, we replaced our grand plans to rent a fashionable beach house with more modest plans to spend the weekend in Mudgee, a wine-producing region of country New South Wales, four hours drive northwest of Sydney. (Quite a step down if you compare sand and surf to a town whose name starts with M-U-D). No, seriously there was nothing muddy about Mudgee. The weather was warm and clear and our accommodations at Wildwood Guesthouse were comfortable and relaxing.

Mike, Laura, Jennie, Mickey and I piled into Chris and Jess' car for the mostly traffic-free journey. We took a delightful lunch break at the Secret Creek Cafe in Lithgow, almost certainly superior to the "workie's club" in town, an RSL-type establishment offering "family food" (shudder). In addition to the restaurant, the Secret Creek property also includes a small, native animal sanctuary.

We were seated at a table on the porch and were enjoying watching a trio of brightly colored rosellas flit from tree to tree when the silence was suddenly shattered by a chorus of animal howls. It was probably just a couple of dingos and some dogs, but the way the yelps echoed in the small valley made it sound like a whole pack surrounded the restaurant. Yikes. Among those not joining in the chorus were a pair of emus called Dumb and Dumber. When I saw Dumb look through the window of the cabin where their food is kept while Dumber made a break for the open door, I wondered how apt their names really were. We met a small marsupial named Randy on our way back to the parking lot. The keeper explained that Randy was a wallaroo, neither wallaby nor kangaroo, but an entirely different species. When we started asking more questions about this species we had never heard of before, he backtracked, "yeah, it's like a kangaroo and a wallaby." Hmmm...

Because Laura was eager to see an Australian Big Thing, we stopped at the Big Miner's Lantern to snap a few photos before continuing on to Mudgee. We made our first wine tasting stop at Logan, a fantastically situated winery serving okay wine disguised by great labels.

We relied on Google Maps to guide us to Wildwood and had a good laugh when, 1.8kms down a dirt road in the middle of the bush, the friendly navigation voice stated "you have arrived at your destination." Oops. Fortunately, a woman who had more reason to be on that dirt road explained how to get to Wildwood. In a few short minutes, we arrived at our destination for real: a beautiful property with gum trees, ponds, birds and roos. Our little party rented three of the B&B's four rooms so we pretty much had the run of the place. Wildwood offers cozy beds and a healthy dose of peace and quiet, but no TV and only spotty internet reception so we were forced to entertain ourselves the old fashioned way: board games and actual conversation. I can't complain; I thoroughly enjoyed revisiting Pictionary and learning Pass the Pigs.

I ordinarily would have been a mess after two days of wine tasting, but thankfully discovered the art of taking a sip or two and spilling the rest of the generous pour into the spittoon. That way I could taste a lot of different wines without the headaches and dehydration. It shouldn't have been such a revelation, but for me it was. We couldn't help but compare Mudgee to the Hunter Valley, the more commercial wine producing region only two hours outside of Sydney. I didn't detect any major differences in quality, but I have to give points to Mudgee wineries for their relaxed, inviting atmospheres. Many, Di Lusso especially, had patios with stylish tables and chairs for patrons to use while enjoying a bit of wine and cheese and contemplating the good life. Almost all of these patios looked out onto neat rows of vines and endless blue sky. I guess the spectacular weather didn't hurt either.

We avoided electing a designated driver on day two of wine tasting by renting bikes. Laura, Mickey and I were lucky enough to score comfort seats, the big cushy kind for those of us who prefer beach cruisers. Another great reason to go wine tasting via bicycles is that the extra exercise helps one justify consuming more cheese. Win win.

Wine and cheese aside, though, we don't believe that Mudgee is the foodie town that it thinks it is. On our first night we ended up at the Wine Glass, a brasserie with the reputation of being one of the better restaurants in town. The food was decent, but they actually served a wine that had gone off. The fact that it was on special for $20 a bottle could have been a clue, but we were in a wine town, not a Shakey's Pizza in Canton, Ohio for heaven's sake. We scored a booking at Blue Wren for dinner on Easter Sunday, by some accounts the best restaurant in Mudgee. We were immediately impressed that they pick up and drop off diners at their hotels for no extra charge. Despite the extra service, though, the food didn't blow us away.

Though as an adult I haven't been way into Easter, I decided to organize an egg hunt for my friends on Sunday morning after breakfast. I scoured my favorite discount stores for plastic eggs, but they were nowhere to be found. It turns out that Australia's Easter traditions are cemented around chocolate; only chocolate bunnies, bilbys and eggs will do. I can't say they're missing out on much regarding Peeps (sorry, Jess), but jelly beans and plastic eggs would be lovely. Anyway, Mickey and I woke up early on Easter Sunday and tiptoed around the B&B's porch, stuffing eggs in planters, hedges and outdoor furniture. Sadly, the owner's dogs found a couple of the chocolates before our friends did, but they still appreciated the effort.

Overall, Mudgee is a great long weekend getaway from Sydney. Even if you're not into wine, the bird and roo watching were really rewarding. We saw four black cockatoos fly overhead one afternoon and I spied tons of tiny birds chasing each other through the gum trees. The sights and sounds of the country are appealing enough to make me ponder what life there would be like. Then again, the kookaburra's 5am cackle reminded me that Sydney's not so bad either.

Photos courtesy of Laura Wandke. Thank you, Laura.

Auckland: Visiting NZ's one and only Metropolis

2010-04-14T22:10:00.000-07:00

About a month ago, Mickey scored a work trip to Auckland and bought a ticket for me to tag along for the weekend. After two previous trips to New Zealand, one to Wellington and the other around the south island, we were eager to explore Auckland, the city in and around which one third of the kiwi population lives.

Mickey arrived mid-week and I followed him on a delayed Jetstar flight (during which I did not possess my $10 entertainment unit long enough to finish The Blindside) late Thursday night. Taking the direct shuttle into town was easy (take note, Sydney) and cheap, too, thanks to a pre-printed coupon Mickey left for me. Can you see why I love this man? I joined him in a small, but comfortable room at Rydges, a recently renovated hotel conveniently located near the harbour.

While Mickey was at a work event, I spent my first day wandering near the water's edge admiring the sleek racing boats and yachts that line the quays. After some pretty intense shopping, I stopped for lunch at Mexicali Fresh, a restaurant Mickey swore was legit, "Californian owner," etc. Foolishly I believed him and wasted my appetite on dry, shredded beef wrapped in a plasticky corn tortilla, their version of a Tijuana taco. I guess that's what I get for believing I could get a taste of TJ in NZ.

Window-shopping on High Street afforded a unique opportunity to find unique kiwi-designed clothing. I would have loved to wow my Sydney friends with a one of a kind kiwi fashion treasure, but found the prices shockingly high ($400NZD for a sweater - I don't know the conversion, but it certainly wasn't affordable). I would have been happy to take home another pair of thundies, mega fun and comfy underwear, but alas found none.

Mickey was free from his work commitments on Saturday so we took the ferry to Waiheke Island, a gorgeous spot known for its wineries. Spectacular weather helped us instantly fall in love with the place as we traveled in a crowded bus from one end of the island to a beach on the other.

We stopped at a couple of wineries in the afternoon, the most notable of which was Saratoga, a winery owned by a couple from Saratoga, California of all places. They also offered a Mexican-inspired menu, but I talked Mickey down to just ordering a plate of chips and queso. We also stopped at Wild on Waiheke, a winery/brewery/activity center in one. I question the wisdom of the person who thought offering archery and drinking at the same time was a good idea, but everyone seemed to be having fun. In fact, we enjoyed observing separate groups celebrating Hens' and Bucks' parties. I never thought I'd witness a grown man perfect his laser clay shooting skills while painted blue and dressed as a smurf, but thanks to Wild on Waiheke, I have.

There aren't a lot of differences between Auckland and some of Australia's capital cities in terms of architecture, food and culture, but I noticed an abundance of Japanese restaurants in Auckland's CBD. We briefly searched the internet for recommendations before settling on Tanuki for dinner on Saturday. The atmosphere was cozy and authentic, but sadly the food left something to be desired. I found the rice way too sweet and was forced to face facts about my favorite sushi rolls not being gluten free.

But what Auckland lacked in the delicious food department, it made up for in the adorable penguin department. Mickey and I spent our last morning at Kelly Tarlton's, the self-proclaimed biggest tourist attraction in Auckland, which features an Antarctic penguin enclosure. The reviews online were mixed, but we totally dug it.

The penguin enclosure is designed to mimic Antarctic conditions so they keep it at 1C. Visitors observe the little cuties via a revolving snocat car so there's no need for parkas or snow boots. Kelly Tarlton's is home to two species of penguin: the King and the Gentoo. The Gentoo were quite active: swimming, waddling on to the snow and then diving in to the icy water again. Meanwhile, the King penguins just stood there very proudly. They were so lazy that the trainers had to hand feed them! I really admire that kind of attitude in the face of captivity.

Kelly Tarlton's other major exhibit is a reproduction of Robert Falcon Scott's 1911 Antarctic hut. I was completely captivated by his tragic story of exploration, starvation and death at the South Pole. I forgot to mention that Kelly Tarlton's provides a free shuttle to and from the CBD. The shuttle bus is shaped like a shark. I'm not kidding. In other words, I had a great time at Kelly Tarlton's.

Auckland consistently ranks among the top most livable cities in the world and I can see why. It's clean, beautiful, friendly and there's lots to do. Maybe next time I'll find it even more livable if I seek some pointers on where to eat.

Honeymoon in Fiji - two and a half years after the wedding

2010-04-07T22:36:00.000-07:00

Mickey and I are extraordinarily fortunate in that we travel for fun often. Thus, we didn't feel the need to take a honeymoon following our 2007 nuptials in Switzerland.

After returning from a quick trip to Fiji, though, perhaps our most relaxing and romantic trip yet, I asked Mickey, "can this count as our honeymoon?"

Booking the trip back in early December was easy; V Australia advertised a sale and twenty minutes later, we had purchased two round trip tickets costing only $600AUD all up. Booking accommodations, on the other hand, was trickier because the options seem endless. Did we want a super lux over-water bure (featured in that awful Vince Vahn movie Couple's Retreat) or a more affordable garden hut? Was the private plunge pool worth the money? Should we seek out a resort with all inclusive meal packages? What a lovely problem to have, right?

I consulted tripadvisor and our friends Chris and Jess who had recently visited Fiji for advice. Resort websites were no help; they all feature gorgeous pictures of white sandy beaches with crystal clear turquoise water so it's hard to differentiate between them. Tripadvisor wasn't too helpful in making a decision either. Every resort page featured glowing reviews declaring the place utter paradise peppered with the occasional but still worrying damning review along the lines of 'not worth the money.'

I was disappointed to learn that some of the resorts I liked best are hard to physically reach if your flight lands after 2pm. The last boats of the day destined for remote islands in the Mamanuca and Yasawa chains depart from Port Denarau around 3pm, leaving passengers on afternoon flights to either stay on the main island one night or take a private sea plane, jet boat or helicopter directly to their resorts. The first option didn't suit our needs as we were only staying four nights, and the latter two were a bit too extravagant. Private sea plane? What am I, Madonna or something? If I had mentally prepared myself for a splurge on an aerial tour, I might have opted for the flight, but I just couldn't justify spending the same amount as two nights accommodation on simply getting there.

To make a long story just a little shorter, I finally decided on Musket Cove, a resort in the Mamanuca chain that offers transportation on a 5pm catamaran. Perfect. It was pricey, approximately $320USD/night, but I compared resorts that were less and more and this seemed suit us best. When I rang the resort to make the reservation, the agent immediately offered me a 50% discount. I could have been jumping for joy, but instead I was skeptical. Other resorts I had called for quotes indicated they were booked out, not offering discounts. I asked the agent the reason for my (dubious) good fortune and she explained that it was "low season." What did low season mean? Was that code for cyclone season, disruptive hotel renovations or extreme political unrest? I optimistically decided that the GFC coupled with a genuine low season (neither US nor Aus/NZ have holidays at that time) made for a bargain, not a gamble.

Fortunately, I was right. Mickey and I were delighted with Musket Cove and Fiji in general. Spending approximately $160USD/night for a large, private beach bure (hut) in a 3.5/4 star resort seemed to be really great value. Snorkeling trips (and all gear) as well as an excursion to a native Fijian village were included in the price. Food and cocktails, of course, cost extra, but we didn't find these to be outrageously expensive. Likewise, I found great deals at the resort's day spa; my 50 minute massage was only $35USD!

Yes, we were pampered indeed. We spent our time between meals carving a triangular path between the pool, ocean and lounge chairs. Sunday morning started off quite differently, though, when we heard a loud knocking on the door to our hut at 7am. Mickey groggily answered the door and learned from the staff that we had to evacuate because of the tsunami warning following the Chilean earthquake. The funny thing about it was that we had three hours notice; the tsunami wasn't coming until 10am so we had time for a leisurely breakfast. The other guests didn't seem too worried. A local woman explained that the geographic location of our island and its reefs made us quite safe. One idiot piped up, "we think this is bad for us, think about the people in Chile." Comparing a mildly inconvenient evacuation to the total devastation of your town seemed ridiculous.

Anyway, after gathering the belongings that we absolutely didn't want to get washed away (passports, jewelry and my Bon Appetit magazines), we evacuated to a chapel on higher ground. The irony was too much to resist making bad jokes: how do you get two atheists into church on their Fijian vacation? Though it was very hot, the staff did a great job of keeping us updated on the tsunami-watch progress and provided everyone with food and water. After three hours in the chapel we were given the all clear. Hallelujah.

I thoroughly enjoyed our snorkeling excursion to the nearby reef. In some ways, it was superior to snorkeling at the Great Barrier Reef in north Queensland. Reaching the outer reef takes an hour and 45 minutes whereas boating to an arguably equally beautiful reef in Fiji takes only ten minutes. Observing the brightly colored fish from the surface of the water felt like gliding over an alien landscape; there's nothing like it. Mickey wasn't as moved by the experience as I was, but he did extremely well with the open water.

We initially planned to go snorkeling on our last morning in Fiji, but thought better of it when we crossed paths with a black and white sea snake while wading near the shore on the previous afternoon. It was just a little thing, but Mickey and I both had nightmares about it. Scarier still, we couldn't get a straight answer from the staff about whether or not it was venomous.

Sea snake aside, we had a wonderful time in Fiji and talked about wanting to stay longer or return for Christmas with my family. We experienced the joy of a honeymoon, but didn't get ripped off the way honeymooners often do. Now that's what I call paradise.

A Baby Shower for Shannon

2010-03-16T21:24:00.000-07:00

I'm no Martha Stewart, but I love to entertain. I come from a family of women who also love to entertain and put their own unique stamp on the parties they host. Grandma and her friends hosted theme parties and prepared multiple dishes involving jello and pretzels. In her later years, she was known to make vegetable soup a week or two in advance of her party and then freeze it to be ready for her guests. My mom loves a good party and incorporates flowers from her garden on the tables. Her meatballs in grape jelly and chili sauce are legendary. My Aunt Tina is a master hostess who could probably teach Martha a thing or two about throwing a party. Her food is spectacular and well-presented and she always makes you feel that she's glad you attended, even if you are one of 45 guests.

Anyway, hosting a party makes me feel closer to these women in my family who I love, so I jumped at the chance to host a baby shower for my friend Shannon. Shannon and her husband Mike are expecting a baby boy any week now and I felt that we needed to make her celebration extra special because she's spending most of her pregnancy away from her family.

I enlisted Jennie for help with decorations and pretty much everything else. Her hand-cut, blue and chocolate brown teddy bear banner provided the perfect backdrop for our afternoon high tea. I insisted on cheesy games, but provided prizes to keep the girls interested. In my search for good baby shower games, everyone mentioned the disgusting 'what kind of candy bar is mooshed in the diaper game,' but I refused and opted for the more tasteful nursery rhyme and baby item memory games. It was sophisticated, but still lots of fun.

My favorite part was watching Shannon open the baby gifts. I would have been content to ooh and ah over the sweet baby clothes, books and shoes all afternoon. Little baby James may not have his extended family in Australia, but he'll still feel welcomed and loved by his parents.

Like Shannon and Mike, we are living far away from our families. However, hosting parties inspired by the women in my family makes the distance more bearable. There's something wonderful about maintaining traditions yet creating new ones at the same time.

Australian Open in Melbourne

2010-03-16T18:16:00.000-07:00

The way I feel about visiting Melbourne, Australia's art and culture capital, is the same way I feel about visiting New York. I feel like it will always be there, just a short flight away, and thus never feel compelled to see everything in one go. I focus on the food and just enjoy myself.

Our most recent trip to Melbourne (though January is now not so recent) was no exception. We booked a trip months before as soon as we secured tickets to this year's Australian Open. We spent only one day at the tennis last year and enjoyed it enough to seek out two days of tickets in the Rod Laver arena. Mickey scored extraordinarily good seats that kept us out of the sun most of the day. Though the weather was gorgeous over Australia Day weekend, spectators in direct sunlight were baking in their seats.

We had really hoped to see our Swiss hero, Roger Federer, but booking tickets on non-consecutive days (Sunday and then Tuesday) made that impossible. We tried to get tickets to see him play Aussie favorite Lleyton Hewitt in the quarter finals, but those sold out immediately. Still, we were thrilled that we were able to see Nadal, Henin and Murray. Mickey got some great shots of the action, especially when he borrowed Chris' lens.

The tennis wasn't our only cause for celebration while visiting Melbourne. We also celebrated Jess' dirty thirty (thirtieth birthday) in true Melbourne style. She made a booking for 11 of us at Coda, a small plates/tapas style modern Australian restaurant. After being seated in a cozy corner table, we placed ourselves in the capable hands of waitstaff who took us on a "journey" through a remarkable food and wine menu. Their ability to impress us with dish after mouth-watering dish while seamlessly accommodating our annoying dietary allergies earned them a tip. (Further evidence that service in Melbourne is superior to that in Sydney on the whole).

Of course such a glamorous evening could never live up (or should I say down?) to the title of 'dirty thirty' so we capped the night off with an inelegant group singing session at a nearby karaoke bar. While belting out bad pop songs with my friends, I remained blissfully unaware of poor Mickey's raging headache. Perhaps it's a good thing that we don't have blow-out celebrations on our calendar every weekend.

Our trip south also afforded us a great opportunity to visit our friends Kate and Michael. The Wrigleys hosted us for a real Aussie barbecue on our first night in town and it was such a treat. It's a good thing that Melbourne is just a one hour cheap flight away. I'm always keen to return.

Doug's Visit

2010-02-06T17:23:00.000-08:00

One of the things that made returning to Sydney exciting instead of tearful after a family-filled two weeks in the US, was my cousin Doug's visit. He boldly skipped Christmas in snowy New York and opted for a two week slice of an Aussie summer from Boxing Day until 9 January.

In this relatively short period of time, he managed to see a broad spectrum of Australian landscapes. He began his trip wine tasting in the Barossa Valley in South Australia, then spent several days with us in Sydney before flying up to Port Douglas for a day on the reef.

We did our part to ensure that Doug soaked up as much Aussie culture as he could handle. That included a rainy day at the cricket (day one of the Australia vs Pakistan test match). We waited four hours in the misting rain for the action to start, and though the match eventually started, I can't say there was any action on the field (unless you call confiscating beach balls 'action'). I'll never call baseball boring again.

On Doug's last day in town, we spent a pleasant evening lawn bowling at the Paddo Bowls Club. We forced him to try one of our Aussie pub food favorites, potato wedges with sour cream and sweet chili. As you can see, though, we didn't have to force him in the end.

NYE

2010-01-14T16:26:00.000-08:00

Perhaps tired of covering the struggling US economy, the media reflected on the year and decade past with endless 'best' and 'worst of' lists. Being the list lover that I am (now if only I could make a career out of that), I decided our impromptu New Year's Eve party would follow the trend. Jess and I came up with a bunch of list titles such as 'Best Movies 2009' or 'Favorite Fads of the Naughts' and encouraged guests to complete them. The easiest and most enjoyable list to complete was 'So You Think You Can Douche 2009 - aka Douchiest People of 2009':

1. Tiger Woods
2. Kanye West
3. Jon Gosselin
4. Octomom
5. Speidi
6. Richard Heene (of balloon boy fame)
7. Rod Blagojevich
8. Levi Johnston
9. Eliot Spitzer/Mark Sanford
10. Tareq and Michaele Salahi (White House party crashers)

Of course, we were just rehashing the stories and characters that already received enough media attention, but we had fun with it. Were there more headline-makers that made us exclaim, 'what a douchebag!/fame-whore!' in 2009 than in past years or has reality television, 24 hour news networks and the internet just been more adept at luring them and bringing them to our collective attention? I don't know, but I can't wait to see what 2010 brings.

Anyway, though I feel NYE is always a bit anticlimactic, Mickey and I have managed to spend the holiday in different places: 2003 - San Francisco, 2004 - New York, 2005 - Seattle, 2006 - Columbus, Ohio, 2007 - LA, 2008 - Kyoto, Japan and now 2009 - Sydney! We were excited to spend the last night of the year at our apartment, avoiding the madness of the Sydney crowds, but maintaining a prime spot for watching fireworks over the harbour.

Years before moving here, we knew that Sydney was one of the best places to spend NYE: they're one of the first cities around the world to ring in the new year, they put on an incredible fireworks display and it's summer! I don't think I'm the type who'd wait six hours in Times Square for the ball to drop, but the whole idea would seem much more appealing if you could celebrate among warm, summer breezes instead of below freezing temperatures.

I would have liked to watch the 9pm fireworks show (just for those with early bedtimes!) at our friends Thor and Jennie's house across the harbour, but heavy pedestrian traffic and restrictions made the two-party option almost impossible. So, we hosted a small gathering for those south of the bridge and toasted the occasion with champagne to wash down the fish tacos. Our feast was casual, guacamole-intensive and made all the sweeter by Jess and Chris' glutard peach cobbler.

Though jetlagged, Mickey and I managed to keep our eyelids open for both the 9pm and midnight fireworks displays. And funny enough, it wasn't any of our guests who nabbed the best spots on the balcony, it was the fancy DSLR cameras on their tripods. Indeed, it felt that there were more cameras than people in attendance on NYE. Of course, the fireworks were spectacular (this is Sydney after all!), but partially obscured by clouds and smoke.

And now that I've partaken in Sydney's over the top fireworks NYE extravaganza (and have the pictures to prove it, thank you, Chris, Mike and Mickey), I feel that I need a stamp in my holiday/life experiences passport. Fireworks? Check! I've earned a free pass that allows me to spend my future New Year's Eves cozily cuddled next to Mickey on the couch, guilt-free. Thank you, Sydney.

California Christmas

2010-01-11T15:26:00.000-08:00

Our week at my mom's in southern California was, of course, much quieter than our baby-intensive week in Ohio. Indeed, my mom took such good care of us (me, Mickey, Nic and his girlfriend Kat) that we were reminded that we are still very much the kids of her household. She prepared a series of great meals while we basked in a comfortable week without responsibilities playing Wii golf, wrapping presents and binge-watching the latest season of Curb Your Enthusiasm.

My brother had the misfortune of being born the week before Christmas (December 19) and thus gets all his presents for the year in the span of one week. And during that week, most people are focused on the birth of Santa (or was it someone else?) not his own. Anyway, I feel for the guy so I always try to make sure I give him distinctly Christmas and birthday presents. Because he enjoyed Wii golf so much when he visited us in Sydney, I figured (pre-scandal) that Tiger Woods PGA Tour 10 would make a great gift.At first, when Nic started really getting into the game and his character of choice, Scottish golfer Hamish McGregor (who does the worm when he hits birdie), I was sure I was right. He loved the gift. However, when he wanted to play the game on Christmas morning instead of opening presents, we knew he was an addict. I'll have to be more careful about selecting video games next year.My other favorite Nic story from the holiday has to do with his hair. About three hours before our classy family Christmas party at my aunt's house, Nic looked like a mountain man. His beard was out of control and the hair on his head was no better. Because he's such a handsome guy, his lack of grooming was a tragedy. Kat was too sweet to tell him what's what so I offered to pay for a professional cut and shave. We found the perfect black barbershop, masculine enough for my brother's taste, cheap and he was thrilled with the results. So were we. The Christmas party and my brother's new 'do were a huge hit. I caught up with some cousins I hadn't seen since before my wedding two and a half years ago. As always, the food and decorations were fantastic. Perhaps a little too fantastic because my aunt's greedy six year old nephew didn't understand that Christmas parties don't involve party favors and kept begging for an ornament from their tree.
Swept up in the Christmas spirit, my mom and I decided to host a similar though smaller party at her house for Mickey's parents (who had flown in from Cleveland to escape the cold) and aunt and uncle. Because catering for our group involved working around various dietary restrictions (gluten free, sugar and flour free and meat free), we decided to let Costco do some of the cooking. Thankfully, Mickey's family didn't protest. Though a wide cultural gap exists between our two families, they genuinely enjoy each other's company and bond over a shared love of Indian food and us. Seeing everyone laughing and eating together was one of my happiest moments of Christmas 2009. Well, it's between that and the remarkable sales at Banana Republic.

From Hot Christmas to White Christmas

2010-01-10T19:32:00.000-08:00

On Saturday, December 12 we left a sweltering summer in Sydney and jumped straight into a white Christmas in Cleveland, Ohio. Previous visits to Mickey's hometown were dominated by family gatherings and left little time for sight-seeing. Likewise, we spent a lot of time with my in-laws this Christmas as well, but Mickey made an extraordinary effort to show me some of Ohio's tourist gems.
We spent a chilly afternoon driving through Amish country, reminding ourselves how much chillier it would feel in a horse-drawn buggy without heating. We stopped at an Amish restaurant and toured Heini's cheese factory which gets its raw material from hand-milked cows on Amish farms. Heini's allows visitors to taste over 50 different cheeses, including a clever green variety labeled 'Moon cheese.'

Mickey and I also explored the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and learned why Cleveland Rocks. Allow yourself an entire day there to get your $22 worth. We started watching 15 minutes of a U2 in 3D movie not realizing that it actually went on for an hour and a half! Don't get stuck watching all the videos because you'll want to see exhibits, too (except Jim Morrison's boy scout shirt, give that a miss. What's the point?)
Mickey's cousin Gagan treated us to a Cleveland Cavaliers NBA game. We watched Lebron, Shaq and the others eventually defeat the Milwaukee Bucks in a lively game.
Other highlights include excursions to Toledo to meet up with Mickey's college roommate, Mike, and to Pittsburg to see my best friend Allison and her munchkins at the Pittsburg Children's Museum. This is the best museum for young kids I've ever seen; every exhibit was interactive. Dacia and Timmy and I had a blast.
Indeed, playing with babies was the major theme of our trip. Our niece Priya (three years old) and twin nephews Isaac and Isaiah (18 months old) made noisy messes, but they were joyous, noisy messes and I learned to smile at the chaos. The story we keep retelling about the boys is that when we made the mistake of mentioning their Baby Einstein video out loud, they immediately understood what we were talking about and began working in concert to make watching the video a reality. One opened the DVD player and actually put the correct DVD inside while his brother handed us the remote and hopped up on the couch to get in prime Baby Einstein watching position. I spent much more time with Priya, the sweet little princess who demands less attention than her brothers now that she's a big three year old. I listened to stories about her friend Ariel for an entire week before learning that she was imaginary. My sister-in-law Bava explained that Ariel assists Priya with adjustments such as preschool, has every toy that they don't yet own and even works on the computer in the evenings for Aflac, coincidentally, the insurance company that also employs Priya's dad, Shaun.

Amish country and an NBA game in Cleveland, could it get more American? Yes, actually. We did our part to assist the struggling US economy and bought lots of stuff at one half or even one third the cost of these same items in Sydney. We were thrilled to take advantage of 50% off everything Christmas sales, but sad that it meant that others were a lot less fortunate this year.

I have so many warm memories that I'm forgetting that we nearly froze in Ohio. Toward the end of our trip we got a couple inches of snow, enough to look pretty, but not enough to prevent travel to our next Christmas destination, California with my family.

Thanksgiving

2010-01-06T21:14:00.000-08:00

When you put a lot of time and preparation into hosting a party, you sometimes create grand mental visions of how it will turn out. 'People will pour their drinks here, nibble on appetizers here,' you say to yourself as you rearrange your furniture to create new social spaces.

Rarely does reality live up to my sometimes impossible expectations when it comes to my entertaining prowess. Did people really like the food? I always second guess myself.

Thanksgiving 2009, however, was an exception. This was the third year we hosted an expat Thanksgiving on a Saturday following the American celebration and because the preceding two had been such a hit, we had high expectations for this year.

We spent at least three days preparing for the party, an absurd amount of time considering we were only responsible for the turkey and a gluten free stuffing. Still, the cleaning, shopping, decorating, ironing the linens, etc all adds up.

However, I believe Thanksgiving 2009 was worth all the fuss. Our ten guests appeared to have a great time, most of the food was eaten and the evening ended with us tracing hand turkeys and playing Taboo. I couldn't ask for much more than that.

Hot Christmas

2009-12-02T18:30:00.000-08:00

I know I've said it before, even as a southern Californian (where December temperatures are regularly in the 70s and 80s), I'm not crazy about the idea of a hot Sydney Christmas. I'm somehow comforted by the fact that though I won't wake up on Christmas morn to find a sled or new ski boots, some other kid on my continent will.

What do Australian kids get from their grandmothers instead of hand-knit sweaters and mittens? How does Santa's sleigh fare through the outback's red dirt? What are Hindu and Buddhist kids supposed to sing at the school holiday assemblies if not songs about winter wonderlands filled with frosty snowmen and jingle bells? I'd guess they sing about the jacaranda blooming while the kookaburra nests, but folks aren't super PC down under so the Hindu and Buddhist kids probably sing about baby Jesus along with everyone else.

Anyway, I don't like hot Christmas, but Sydney practically specializes in celebration so I'm really starting to enjoy some of the decorations and festivities here. Mickey and I attended a tree-lighting event last week at Martin Place. It was aimed at kids, but we still enjoyed the carols and the fireworks show (what a surprise) that followed the tree-lighting.

Nostalgia set in when we recalled our wintry romp around Zurich taking pictures of its more traditional holiday display in December 2007 with our friends Thao and Martin. Zurich wins points for its elegant trees with understated ornaments, but Sydney also wins in my book for replicating the Vivid experience by projecting beautiful, colored patterns on the side of St Mary's cathedral.

Indeed, it may be hot, but it's no less festive here in Sydney. Have a look.
Zurich: The Credit Suisse tree in Paradeplatz

Sydney: Colors projected on St Mary's cathedral

Zurich: Real tree with nearly real candles

Sydney: Buff, platform shoed Santa riding a shark, surely a disgrace to Swiss images of Sami Claus :)

Halloween Pictures

2009-12-01T21:36:00.000-08:00

Now that Thanksgiving has come and gone, this looks a bit silly, but I really wanted to post some more pictures of the best Halloween weekend ever.
My kangaroo jack 'o' lantern

Other spooky jack 'o' lanterns

Thor doing all the hard work

Monster cupcake party fun

Circus Indeed

2009-11-17T19:15:00.000-08:00

Britney Spears performed at the first Sydney concert of her Circus tour on Monday, 16 November and I was there. I consider myself to be a feminist with reasonably good taste and yet I didn't go to the concert to be ironic (well, not entirely). Do I need to explain myself? Okay, here's the whole story:

Back in early July when the tickets first went on sale, my friends suggested that we all go. I'm not a huge Britney fan. In fact, I don't own any of her albums or songs, but I love a danceable pop song as much as the next girl. Spending time with my girlfriends gawking at the whole spectacle and singing along to Hit Me Baby One More Time sounded like a pleasant way to spend an evening so I debated with myself about whether or not to buy a $100 ticket.

In the end I decided that 'meh, I'd rather buy a nice top or dine out with Mick than spend the $100 on Brit' and told Jess, the designated organiser, of my nay vote. The very next day, however, she emailed me something to the effect of 'happy birthday, I bought you a ticket anyway.' By purchasing my ticket as a gift, Jess liberated me from any qualms I had about paying $100 to see this overproduced starlet. Once it was free, I got really psyched about going to Britney's Circus.

My friends are obviously women of good taste, too. What motivated them to cough up the big bucks? Well, if I were feeling a bit nerdier today I'd whip up a pie chart, but this will have to suffice. Here are some of our reasons:

It was 22% the biggest pop star of our generation is here in Sydney, not every musical act travels down under, let's get in on that;
37% okay, yes, I really do like some of her songs; and
41% voyeuristic schadenfreude. Poor Brit lost her mind and then her hair and then her shoes that time she was at a 7 Eleven bathroom and then a custody battle to Kevin Federline. Evilly, we couldn't wait to physically witness Brit slip up and say something like 'Happy Easter, Melbourne!'

It seemed like months since Jess ordered the tickets, but the reality of going to this concert set in when Brit kicked off the Australian leg of her tour in Perth and was criticized sharply for lip-syncing the whole show. I immediately decided that anyone who was disappointed by such a show was a fool, a sentiment John Mayer shared via tweet oddly enough. If we're being honest with ourselves, let's admit that our Brit didn't rise to the top because she's an amazing singer and that her recorded music sounds better, more true to the auto-tuned tracks we've come to love and employ as ringtones.

Nah, we weren't bothered by the lip-syncing, my friends and I concluded over glasses of sangria before the show. There was a zen to pop icon concert enjoyment: go in expecting artists to create music on stage and you will be disappointed, go in expecting pyrotechnics, multiple costume changes and choreography and you will be delighted.

Having dinner and drinks together at the White Horse in Surry Hills was the extent of our preparation before the show. We thought about dressing up and aimed for pink as our unifying theme, but didn't look cohesive and that was okay. That's why it was such a surprise when our friend Sus showed up in a full on Britney circa 1998 costume complete with braids, midriff baring button-down shirt, skirt and even those whispy things in her hair.

Sus wasn't seeking attention; she was in it purely for fun and for that reason, Sus is my hero. Here I am psychoanalyzing and justifying our reasons behind going to a Britney Spears concert, but Sus simply saw a Heidi wig while browsing in a costume shop and figured, 'yeah, that'd be fun.' While perusing my own closet my mantra was juvenile and festive, but I wound up looking sort of suburban and boring in my pink tank top, jeans and sandals. Oh, well.

Of course, our group wasn't the only one that dressed to impress for the concert. When we boarded the train, we found it packed with a couple other Britney lookalikes (not as convincing as Sus) and hordes of other young women in night-club attire: tiny cocktail dresses and sky-high heels. This was a surprise as we were expecting to see women our age, tweens and gay men. Instead, the concert was attended by very few men, a number of families with young children and the above mentioned lady-bogans in their late teens and early twenties.

We weren't interested in the opening act, DJ Havana Brown (who?) and arrived about ten minutes before the circus began. I was naively looking forward to seeing animals on stage, but we were treated to the Big Apple Circus instead, a group of somewhat non-traditional acrobats, midgets and those with a talent for spinning large hoops on or around their bodies (is there a word for that?). The most memorable performer was the legless trampolinist; watching her bounce felt wrong somehow, but at the same time I was glad that she isn't always bound to her wheelchair.

After 30 or so minutes of circus, Brit finally made her grand entrance. The crowd was nearly choking with excitement, but we left an hour and a half later underwhelmed. I knew all along that Brit would lip-synch the show, but still felt disappointed that she didn't bother to connect with her audience. There was no 'Happy Easter, Melbourne,' no, Brit was in reasonably good form, but there was no 'Hello, Sydney. How are you tonight?' either. The carefully choreographed interludes between songs were taken up by costume changes and left no room for improvisation. She attempted to sing one ballad, but lazily left it to the backing track a few bars in.

I'd love to say that what Brit lacked in actual singing she made up for with sharp dance moves, but I can't say that either. Britney is a talented dancer, but she was only 75% in it. It looked as if she were just racing to cover all parts of the stage and wasn't concerned about hitting every target.

I had never been to a concert before during which music wasn't created on stage and didn't know exactly what to expect. However, I did expect that Brit would have people out of their seats swaying and singing along to their favorite bubble gum pop anthems. Nope. No one in the nosebleeds was up and moving, looking further down, I noticed that neither were the fans in better seats or even those in the VIP ground area. When Britney sashayed to their area of the stage, they were too busy capturing the moment on their iPhones to scream and stick their hand out wildly in hopes that Brit would bless them with a sweaty high-five.

So, all in all, I was grateful that I hadn't paid for this show. I was even more grateful still that the best part of the circus was sharing it with friends.

You're never too old to boogie board

2009-11-16T16:44:00.000-08:00

My friends Mike and Shannon recently relocated to Manly and invited us all to warm their new digs with a brunch party last weekend. The festivities were initially scheduled for the prior weekend, but were rescheduled because of the weather forecast: rain with a chance of bleh. I didn't understand the need for a sunny day; we were coming to see their home, we didn't need the beach! Oh, how wrong I was.

The weather Saturday was warm and perfect for brunch followed by an afternoon at Manly beach. Mike and Shan are, among our friends, the best, most ambitious and most prolific cooks in Sydney and thus it came as no surprise when they treated us to fresh mango smoothies, breakfast tacos with homemade pico de gallo, delightfully spiced coffee cake and juicy watermelon. After waiting the requisite 30 minutes, we threw on our suits and wandered en masse down to the beach (only 7 minutes from their house, those lucky dogs!)

Saturday was one of the first beach days of the season so the beach was understandably crowded. We found dozens of kids in what appeared to be a junior surf life saving club in addition to the usual crowd of sun-loving (but fearing) Aussies on Manly beach that day. Protectively clad in rash-guards, wetsuits and gobs of sunscreen, the kids had an absolute blast paddling their surf boards out to sea, legs kicking in unison and then riding the waves back to shore.

When I saw a six year old girl surf right past me on a gentle wave, I knew I had to grab one of the boogie boards that Mike and Shan had loaned us for the day. I recruited Jess and the two of us retaught ourselves how to catch the waves on a boogie board. After a half an hour of a ridiculous amount of fun, we passed the boards off to other members of our crew so that they could give the boards a go. However, I reclaimed the board twice when one of them wasn't being used.

The tide was very low and I rode the waves practically all the way to the sand. I have yet to learn how to gracefully roll off the board when I've beached myself on the sand and return to a standing position while holding the board. Basically, I looked silly and awkward, but the thrill of being pushed along on top of a wave was worth it. That sudden burst of speed as the wave surges forward is a feeling I hope to never forget. But if I do, I can remake the memory because, fortunately, you're never too old to boogie board.

Best. Halloween. Weekend. Ever.

2009-11-09T19:03:00.000-08:00

I didn't have a lot of plans this past Halloween weekend. Gabe and Margaret graciously invited us to their monster cupcake decorating party on Friday, but there was to be no dressing up or pumpkin carving on Halloween day. I was a little disappointed, but I'm an adult living in Australia, what could I expect from this American holiday for kids?

A lot, as it turns out. Gabe and Margaret's second annual monster cupcake decorating party was a huge success. I offered to bring my own glutard cupcakes (courtesy of this delicious recipe), but Margaret, an experienced baker, made not one but two types of gluten free cupcakes all on her own! I was impressed by her baking prowess (she adapted the recipe I sent, a daring move when you're working with glutard flour) and grateful that I had my pick of vanilla or chocolate cupcakes, just like everyone else!

None of us adults were dressed for the occasion, but my boss' children came in costume and that really put me in the Halloween spirit (no pun intended). We filled up on spicy bowls of chili and of course, overloaded on sugar from fluffy cupcakes, sweet green and orange frosting and lots of candy! None of my cupcake designs came out as intended (making a skull from brown and white M&Ms on a three inch cupcake doesn't work), but a good time was had by all.

In fact, we were having such a good time that Thor and Jennie decided to throw a Halloween party the next evening. Bless their hearts, those two Brits went absolutely wild transforming their apartment into classy Halloween central. They spent their entire day searching for decorations and preparing for our arrival and their efforts really showed! They had balloons, an orange and black Trick or Treat banner and had even switched out their light bulbs for spooky red ones.

Thor didn't realize that part of the drama/fun of pumpkin carving is scooping out the pumpkin's stringy, goopy insides and had done all the work for us on four different pumpkins! All we had to do was draw jack-o-lantern faces and carve. I wanted our pumpkin to say something about our surroundings and was inspired by the kangaroo crossing road sign. Mickey gives me all the credit for our good results, but his carving was top notch.

We lined our four pumpkins up along the window, lit candles inside and enjoyed their glow while we binged on snacks, chips and more candy. Nostalgia inspired us to watch the classic It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. We had no idea that the television special is 43 years old; it's so clever and timeless, easy for young and old to enjoy. We followed that with Black Sheep, a kiwi horror comedy about zombie sheep. It was preposterous and not afraid to make fun of itself, good for laughs and not nightmares, thank goodness. Thanks, Thor and Jen, yours was the best last minute Halloween party in history.

We kept the festivities going into Sunday as well, spending a sunny morning on the coast admiring the Sculptures by the Sea at Bondi and Tamarama. The annual event always draws a big crowd and we were glad to arrive before the rush. I enjoyed it because sculptures that I might not have given a second look in a museum seem to make more sense in the context of the water and cliff side. I still had no patience for the abstract, shiny metallic sculptures, but genuinely loved the colorful installations and those that moved with the wind.

As if the weekend couldn't get any better, we spent Sunday afternoon at Jess and Chris' Mexican fiesta, an occasion very loosely tied to El Dia de los Muertos (the Day of the Dead). They provided all the fixings for carne asada super burritos: grilled steak and peppers, rice, refried beans, cheese and salsas all wrapped up in homemade flour tortillas. We also gorged on chips and guac and Jess' margarita pie for dessert. Wow, what a treat!

Almost nothing can compare to the excitement of planning one's Halloween costume and dressing up for trick or treating on October 31 as a kid. However, if the Halloweens of my future are still filled with sweets and good friends like this one was, I'll be a happy lady.

Restaurant Review - Agave

2009-11-01T01:53:00.000-07:00

Eating out in Sydney doesn't often inspire me to share my dining experience with the world. In telling friends about new restaurants I've tried, I find myself saying the same things: "good, but expensive." It seems the only variable in my reviews is the quality of service (usually somewhere between okay and terrible).

Last week, Mickey and I dined at Agave, a new Mexican restaurant in Surry Hills, and I'm delighted to actually have something besides 'good, but expensive' to say about it, so I gave it a blog post.

As ex-pats, we complain about food in Australia all the time: why don't they sell regular Cheerios? Why would anyone eat Vegemite? If cookies are biscuits and biscuits are scones then where are those things that we know as scones and why doesn't KFC here sell biscuits? I could go on and on, but the reality is that there is great food in Sydney. The produce and seafood are fresh and you can't beat the Thai.

Still, I feel our only legitimate complaint is that about the dearth of good Mexican food, a dietary staple for those who grew up in California or Texas, let alone Mexico. The scarcity of restaurants I can understand (there isn't a huge Mexican population in Australia), but the unavailability of key ingredients such as chilies, sauces, cheeses and decent tortillas makes it hard to replicate the taqueria experience in your own kitchen, too.

However, those who could live on burritos (they created the breakfast burrito exactly for this purpose) and now call Sydney home can get a taste of authentic Mexican food at Agave. I'm thrilled to say that I loved everything I tried at this restaurant and I can't wait to go back.

Last Sunday we caught the tail end of happy hour and celebrated with sangria, arguably more Spanish than Mexican, but it was the best sangria I've had in Australia, like juice. We knew we were in for a treat after our flautas appetizer arrived. The tender shredded beef complemented the perfectly crispy deep fried tortillas beautifully. Best of all, the flautas were topped with real guacamole (as opposed to mashed avocado) and queso cotija, that light, crumbly Mexican cheese. This was a huge find for us because Australia is great with cheddar, feta and blue cheeses, but Mexican cheeses such as queso fresco and Monterrey jack are nowhere to be found.

Our mains were equally enjoyable. Mickey went for chicken mole, an excellent choice considering how difficult it is to make mole at home, and I opted for a regional lamb dish, cooked in parchment paper. Both were flavorful, but the highlight was wrapping our meat in fresh corn tortillas. Living in California, I never paid attention to the night and day difference between packaged and fresh tortillas. Now that I'm living gluten free in Sydney, the contrast couldn't be sharper. I was in heaven with those corn tortillas!
Sadly, we didn't have room for flan on Sunday, but I'll be back soon enough. I could have kept Agave a secret, but I'm feeling generous and I want this restaurant to flourish! We were some of only maybe ten diners on Sunday, so word has yet to get around about Sydney's newest culinary treasure. So, if you're in Sydney, give it a try, and bring me back some corn tortillas!

PS - In looking for a picture for my post, I found a review for Agave in the Sydney Morning Herald by Terry Durack. If you don't read the article, I'll summarize: Terry describes Agave as only average; what a pendejo! Watch how fast I can discredit our man Terr, though. He walked in to the restaurant with the following attitude: "There are only three or four meals in a day - why on earth waste one of them on Mexican?" Agave is totally wasted on him! Furthermore, here's Terry's guide to pronouncing the name of the restaurant: "(a-garv-ay)." Yuck! What's the 'r' doing in there? Terr, you couldn't be more wrong.

Island Hopping

2009-10-31T23:37:00.000-07:00

As the weather warms up in Sydney, festivals start popping up all over town. Some relate to food, others focus on art, I can't keep track. Regardless, we like to partake in most such events. A couple of weeks back, we met friends for dinner at Hyde Park's Night Noodle Market, an event in which Asian food vendors set up stalls, picnic tables, chairs and lanterns throughout the park.

Maybe a week prior to that, we all went Island Hopping in the Sydney harbour. As part of one of these festivals, one ferry ticket could buy you a trip to four ordinarily inaccessible islands in the harbour: Fort Denison (the one with the cannon), Shark Island (named because of its shape), Clark Island and Garden Island (off limits because it belongs to the Navy).

When I tried to sell Gabe on the idea, he indicated that $48 was a bit much for such an event. It's funny that my reaction to the $48 price tag to get ferried around to four different islands was 'what a steal!' It must be a testament to the fact that I've been in Sydney for almost two years, but Gabe's only been paying Sydney prices for five months.

Anyway, it was a drizzly, but fun day out on the harbour. Highlights include Steph's three minute tour of Fort Denison, watching aboriginal dancers teach two year olds an emu-inspired dance and Laura's encounter with a persistent puppet.

The puppeteer did a great job in that she made it look like she had no control of the puppet's annoying behavior. Funnier still was my family's reaction to seeing the pictures of the puppets; they took bets on whether or not they were real animals. It tickles me that Australia's real native wildlife make puppets like these seem plausible.

Nic and Kat in Australia

2009-10-07T23:43:00.000-07:00

I've loved being my family's excuse to renew their passports and travel internationally. I was thrilled when they joined me in Edinburgh, Scotland when I studied abroad in college and was again pleased to draw them to Europe when I got married in Switzerland two years ago. My mom has enjoyed two fun-filled trips to Sydney, but I was worried that my brother would never make it here because of his school schedule and the expense.

Fortunately, the global financial crisis and corresponding airline ticket fare wars worked to our advantage this year. My brother and his lovely girlfriend Kat purchased roundtrip tickets from LA to Sydney for the low, low price of $603 USD each! Unbelievable, right? I bet the cost of getting to Australia (adjusted for inflation) has never in history been lower. With the cost barrier out of the way (thanks to help from my mom and Kat's credit card), we only had to work around Nic's school schedule and that was a cinch.

They arrived on September 11 and I had exactly ten days to show them as much as possible. I wasn't able to take more than a day off work, but still had four weekend days and plenty of evenings to entertain my beloved guests. Their first day was grueling; I dragged them all over Sydney after allowing them only a two hour nap post-arrival. Days two and three were just as busy with a tour of my favorite markets, an evening at the bowls club, a hike in coastal bush land around the harbour and lots of Wii golf in between.

Nic and Kat remained jet lagged for most of the trip, but were very good sports about it. They even swam in the cold harbour - good on 'em! For each of the days during the week I was at work, I planned out detailed itineraries for Nic and Kat. I made sure that they took in the best of Sydney: tasting chocolates at Haigh's in the Strand Arcade, delicious lunch with Mickey at Google in Pyrmont, Taronga Zoo, Blue Mountains, etc. They probably had almost as much fun following my instructions as I did writing them. Seriously, I need to turn that into a career of some type that doesn't involve a double decker bus and a microphone.

We spent our last days together wine tasting in the Hunter Valley. As my brother is mostly a beer man, I had no idea that he'd enjoy the wine as much as he did. However, even more enticing than the Hunter's semillons and shirazs was the lure of showing Nic some roos in the wild. Probably since the first moment I saw a kangaroo here in Australia, I'd looked forward to sharing the experience with my brother. We both love wildlife and treasure family stories about him seeing a moose in Vermont, me spotting a big horned sheep in California, etc.

Fortunately, we did see some roos and Nic and Kat were even able to snap a few pictures. One of my brother's best qualities is that he can make almost anything fun and he is very easy to please. He dutifully ate everything we fed him and enjoyed every place we visited. Part of this zest for life is his nature; we're talking about the guy who found a house party alone on his first night in London after all. Another part of his joy stems from being with Kat, a beautiful person who has been the inspiration behind positive change in his life.

Of course, I cried when I had to say goodbye to them at the airport. However, throughout the trip we planned future adventures together: sushi dinners in LA, a visit to my favorite amusement park, Knott's Berry Farm, and maybe even a cruise one day. Nic and I share many happy memories of family vacations when we were little. As we get older, I hope we'll still travel together as our lives change and our families grow.

the Reef

2009-09-27T00:37:00.000-07:00

Twenty months after we moved to Sydney, we finally made it to Australia's can't-miss natural attraction, the Great Barrier Reef. We took the first Friday of September off from work to make the most of our weekend in Port Douglas (one hour drive north of Cairns), once a small fishing village, but now a tourist hub acting as the gateway to the reef.

Mickey booked us in at the Thala Beach Lodge because it boasted its own beach and eco huts in a rainforest setting, 15 minutes from Port Douglas. Clouds covered the sky when we first arrived and I felt disappointed initially by Thala's eco offerings: no pretty landscaping or gardens and no heated pool. However, the next day brought better weather and I began to see Thala in a new light (literally); I came to appreciate its natural beauty and the privacy of its wild beach.

We celebrated our first night at Flames of the Forest, not merely a restaurant, but an outdoor dining experience. A van collected us from our hotel and drove us to the rainforest location (we could tell we were getting close when the driver turned off the headlights and stopped in front of a burning stick in the road!) We sipped champagne and mingled with the other diners while taking blurry photos next to a candlelit tree. A bride and her small wedding party were celebrating their reception at Flames of the Forest and many other diners were there for special occasions: honeymoons, engagements, etc.

Unfortunately, I don't think Flames of the Forest was worth all the expectation. $200 per person promised a six-course meal, wine, transportation to and from your hotel and aboriginal entertainment. I was excited about the show because Mickey and I had yet to experience an aboriginal performance while in Australia. Shortly after arriving, an indigenous gentleman and his brother appeared in traditional "clothes" (a loincloth and body paint) and led us to the dining tent, decorated elegantly with candles and richly colored linens. He spoke for a couple of minutes about his personal family history with the land where we were dining and told a dreamtime story while his brother played the didgeridoo mid-meal. They stood politely next to diners for pictures (very awkward), but that was the end of the entertainment.

In retrospect I might have paid the $150 per person for the experience minus the "show" which is an option a couple nights of the week. Most of the food was both local and tasty (crocodile and kangaroo risotto), but the pavlova for dessert was most memorable.

The highlight of our trip was our snorkeling adventure on the reef the following day. There are at least a dozen different boat companies that offer dive and snorkel tours of the reef, but we chose Wavelength because they never take more than 30 people out each day and stop at the best snorkel sites. About an hour into the hour and forty five minute boat ride to the outer reef, Mickey started feeling seasick and I wondered if we might have been better off in a bigger boat. However, we dutifully swallowed the seasickness medicine and Mickey ate a ginger biscuit and felt better.

He's not really comfortable in open water so upon sliding in to the turquoise water, it looked like the whole day was going to be a no go for Mickey. He was terrified and outside his comfort zone. However, he pushed through his fear and slowly gained confidence with his mask, snorkel, fins and noodles for flotation. With the gear, a wetsuit and holding my hand, there was no way he would sink and once he realized that, he started to feel more comfortable. I'm so proud of him. If he hadn't pushed himself then he would have never seen the coral, brightly colored fish, sea turtle and even four sharks that we saw.

Wavelength took us to three different reefs and served lunch on the boat. The marine biologists led a snorkel tour around the reefs and pointed out giant clams and rays and took lots of pictures. In the end, we bought the $30 pictures on CD because we needed to document such a special day. I felt so free in the cool, clear water. Observing the reef from the surface of the water felt like flying over a different world.

We spent our last day in Port Douglas on a tour of the Mossman Gorge and Daintree River and Rainforest. Our young Australian tour guide, Sabine, was a really sweet girl and knowledgeable about the region, but a bit naive when it comes to cultural sensitivity. Less than an hour into the trip, she commented "Mickey, you're really brown!" Looking back, she must have assumed that he was a white guy with an incredible tan. Again, later she boldly declared "Mickey, you look almost aboriginal" before asking "what color is your skin normally?" Mickey was amused by the whole thing, but I hope for Sabine's sake that she stops commenting on her guests' skin colors.

The style and pace of our tour indicated that it was geared for seniors and less mobile tourists, but I loved every minute of it. We saw a saltwater crocodile on the Daintree River and enjoyed a tropical fruit tasting at lunch.

I spent our last hours in north Queensland playing in the waves on Thala Beach and deciding that it was the best beach I'd ever visited: calm waves, warm water, soft white sand and no crowds. At first I found the lack of bathers alarming; could there be a reason why no one else is swimming here? Sharks and stingers (jellyfish) came to mind. After a while a couple other people joined me in the water so I stopped worrying about deadly creatures.

If it's possible, I'd love to take another trip back to Port Douglas. It's a beautiful place and I can see why it's so special to so many people. Thor and Jennie met there a couple of years ago and got engaged there just last month. At the end of June, Mike and Shannon exchanged wedding vows there on the beach. Now, Mickey and I have created our own memories there and I'll cherish them always.

Penguins!

2009-08-29T23:29:00.000-07:00

The words 'adorable' and 'manly' don't often go together, but when adorable describes the fairy penguins who seasonally reside at Manly beach, the combination is quite apt. Fairy penguins are the smallest breed of penguin in the world, not weighing more than one kilogram, and they live in Australia and NZ, (lucky for us) as far north as Manly.

At one point, a couple hundred fairy penguins lived there at Manly, but numbers have dwindled to around 60 pairs because of dogs and even foxes. Because of the protection it provides, a couple of penguins nest under the Manly wharf and can be seen coming in from the ocean and waddling up the beach at sundown. We caught a glimpse of one such little penguin last weekend when we rode the ferry to Manly. He and his friends were a bit shy and hovered close to the boardwalk, but we did watch one of the braver birds stretch his wings and make the cutest noises.

The volunteer rangers who've stationed themselves on the beach to protect the penguins don't allow people to take photos with flash, but we still got a couple of good shots and a video clip. Of course one idiot did take a flash photo then walked away and the rangers thought it was us when we'd been following the rules the whole time.

The experience was a huge thrill for me. I told Mickey I felt like we had stumbled upon giraffes grazing outside a shopping mall. I guess that didn't make sense, but I meant that I had never seen a wild animal that special in such an urban spot. When you move to Australia, you're prepared for kangaroos, but fairy penguins? What a bonus!

Back in California

2009-08-16T01:43:00.000-07:00

During last week's brief trip home to California, I was able to spend a lot of quality time with my mom. While driving us to LAX, she cleverly distracted me from the sadness of saying goodbye again by retelling stories of her younger years: her move to California with my dad, their stint on a houseboat in Sausalito and an ill-thought out move to Missouri. "Never decide to move to a place while on vacation," my mom warned. It seemed like great advice because after a week back in sunny, summer-time California, I was ready to move home for good.

Though the official reason behind the trip was to prepare our condo for renters, I still managed to cram a lot of joy into my eight days at home. During every trip stateside, Mickey and I make eating Mexican food as often as possible a priority. This trip, we satisfied our cravings by filling up on tacos, beans, real corn chips, creamy flan and aguas frescas at taquerias, a lunch buffet and even on the Google campus. I was afraid to try my other American favorite, burgers, because I thought my glutard bun-less alternatives could never live up to the real thing. I was right, of course, but was pleasantly surprised by the lettuce wraps at both In n Out and my favorite burger restaurant, Barney's in Berkeley. Enjoying gluten-free steak fries and a massive strawberry milkshake at Barney's also helped me forget my bun-envy.

Home-cooked food didn't make it on to our mental lists of California must eats, but the food we ate at my mom's table was even more memorable than that of the chain restaurants. Mom welcomed us back with a simple, but delicious seasonal meal: balsamic marinated baked chicken, grilled sweet corn and summer salad with heirloom tomatoes. It's easy to forget just how good summer produce is (oh, the peaches and melon!) when you've just come from winter. The fact that some of our salad ingredients came directly from my cousin Brittany's garden, made the meals even more special.

Second only to eating Mexican food on our list of US must dos, is bargain shopping. As anyone who's been to Australia would know, most consumer goods are significantly more expensive than they are in the states. Thus, we made trips to Costco and Target for cheap everyday "necessities:" body wash, vitamins, T-shirts, etc. Of course, I'm prouder of my trophy tags from Loehmann's and DSW - a $278 dress for $58 and two pairs of shoes for just $70! I was definitely patting myself on the back.

Most frivolous of all my vacation activities was binge-watching What Not to Wear and TLC's new gem, Toddlers and Tiaras. As you can probably guess, the documentary-style "reality" show features obese southern moms who spend a significant amount of family income on baby beauty pageants. The show features clever editing which portrays these moms in the worst possible light and was clearly designed to outrage people like my mom and myself. It does that very well because we couldn't get enough. We cried laughing at one delusional mom who entered her two-week old in a pageant and said things like, 'he wants to get out and meet people.'

The true highlight of this trip was catching up with friends and family. Living far away from some of the people we care about most has its challenges, but I've learned to treasure the moments I share with them. We spent one eventful day visiting first Mickey's uncle and aunt and then my cousin and her beautiful family in Orange County. I could have watched her kids play all day: Heidi is all grown up, Emma looks exactly like her mom and Charlie was a sweet little monkey.

We had dinner and brunch the next day with Andrew and Alyssa, two of my favorite people. Their trip home from Shanghai and our quick visit only had a day or two of overlap, but we managed to get together for some good times. I miss them and hate thinking that I don't know when I'll see them next.

In subsequent days I saw other girlfriends who were celebrating their one year anniversaries. I wasn't able to attend either wedding last summer and I feel sad about that, but thrilled to see them thriving in relationships that seem so right for them.

Fortunately, another reason behind this trip was to attend my friend Katie's wedding. She looked beautiful in her white dress and I couldn't help but cry when she strolled down the aisle. My best friend Allison gave birth to a healthy baby boy at almost the same moment. I know this because she called me while in labor and posted pictures on Facebook almost as soon as he was out! Though this all happened in Washington, DC, I felt a step closer to her because I was in California.

With all these touchy-feely "we're growing up" kind of moments packed in to one week, it's no surprise that part of me felt like moving home. However, as my mom wisely warned, vacation is not reality. Vacation is waking up late, eating too many meals out and driving endless miles to see friends and family. Reality is commuting to work, commitments and precious weekends of together time with one's partner. For now, I'm content in Sydney and will have to be content with those brief moments of reconnecting with loved ones far away. In the meantime, there's Facebook and email and I can live with that.

On Ambien

2009-07-19T22:57:00.000-07:00

The piece below was generously contributed by guest blogger, Nan Kirkeby, my mom.

My daughter Alane’s friend Jess remarked recently that all her funny family stories begin with “one time Aunt Jeannie took an Ambien...” My recent travel to Australia prompted my own experience with this most entertaining and quirky drug.

I know I am not a drug addict or an alcoholic by the same litmus test I use for the “drugs” I am addicted to. Think yeast, sugar, butter and heat in one package. Think bakery. Think donuts. Think Homer Simpson. I have never been able to take it or leave it. I have never been able to take a half of some sweet yeasty item and not finish the entire dozen. That is not, however, how I behave when it came to liquor or recreational drugs.

Since I can take or leave them, I leave them. Simple. In my past I might have sipped on a Sloe Gin Fizz or even (yuck) a beer at a college party and left it alone after a few tastes. I could sit in a circle with friends, pass a joint and listen to Neil Young albums with the best of them, but I didn’t particularly care whether there was another joint coming, or whether I planned to do it again the next night.

In my 12 step recovery program (think Donutholics Anonymous) the use of recreational drugs (mind altering) or alcohol (liquid sugar) is verboten and I abstain from those substances, but it actually remains a non-issue out of lack of desire. I can remember a restaurant meal from 37 years ago in graphic and delicious detail, but I can’t recall the last drug participation or sip of alcohol other than a champagne toast at my daughter’s engagement. And, yes, that was a slip. So, I know that I am not going to abuse Ambien, but I am just the teensiest bit interested in what will happen the next time I injest that tiny little rest pill. Remember Mick Jagger singing about Mother’s Little Helper?

The first time I heard about Ambien was when some Kennedy goof off attributed his irresponsible behavior to the side effects of this “sleeping pill”. At that time, I considered the press release ludicrous and concocted out of blatant spinelessness. He claimed to have driven under the influence and didn’t know he had done it. Jeez, really, just how gullible do those Kennedy nephews think we are? Our parents may have bought Chappaquiddick, but I’m not falling for that one again.

The television ad for Ambien I heard just this morning mentioned possible side effects. Something about “eating under the influence” caught my attention. Reading between the lines, this begins to sound a lot like sleep walking, a vague awareness of action and yet a place of not being really responsible for one’s behavior.

Recently, I decided to ask my physician for a prescription of Ambien in order to adjust to a 14 hour flight and a 17 hour time difference in Australia. Qantas knows how to do their job and appears to follow an unwritten rule that once airborne, everyone is on Australia time. We might actually be somewhere over Catalina, but we were “Downunda” now. The dinner trolley came down the aisle relatively soon after takeoff, and never one to miss the opportunity to rationalize an extra meal, I ordered. “Chicken, please.” I had popped the Ambien on takeoff and remember discarding the roll and dessert from my tray. I may have taken a pill that caused some people to eat in their sleep, but I wasn't going to throw away my recovery program on such nonsense.

Sometime later I had an awareness that time had passed. The travel agent from Washington in the seat next to me peered curiously at me. She gently offered the information that she hoped she hadn’t offended me when she took the fork out of my hand and the meal from my chest. Evidently I had paused, fork mid air, while eating salad, and drifted off to dreamland. Oh yeah, I thought, something, something had happened, time had passed. What an odd experience. Rather like when I had my wisdom teeth out and asked the nurse if I had told any secrets while under. Also somewhat like post colonoscopy. You mean it’s over? Wow!

I looked down at myself and noticed the bits of salad that remained. Oil smudges darkened my favorite plum tee-shirt; the one I had dropped 40 dollars on. I have seen my own babies in high chairs fall asleep like this. They may have been eating Cheerios or melba toast, but when those little eyes blinked verrry slowly and they dropped their precious little heavy heads, they were down for the count. I headed for the lavatory and took off my damp, dirty, 40 dollar tee shirt, turned it inside out and put it back on. The matching plum jacket was zipped up a little higher, and I felt sheepish but presentable.

In that first rush of hugging and reunion joy, my daughter and I noticed that we had dressed in the same color and laughed. I told her the story of the Ambien eating and we laughed at the absurdity.

When we traveled to Canberra a few weeks later, I took another Ambien late one night after a marathon day of sightseeing, museums and walking. I don’t always sleep well in a hotel and felt this was a safe thing to do. My plan was to unwind with a little tennis on TV followed by a restful night in a hotel bed. The Wimbledon Championship is a favorite of mine and both Alane and Mickey follow it enthusiastically each summer as well. With London/Australia time differences, the high profile matches just get going around 1 a.m.

I don’t remember Wimbledon that night, I don’t really remember going to bed that night either. Reminiscent of my recovery friends who were formerly blackout drinkers, I asked the leading questions one does to find out just what had happened last night.
Uh, did I do something odd last night?
Uh, yeah Mom. (odd look)
What?
Well you fell asleep with your head on your chest and we tried to get you to go to bed.
I didn’t go?
No, you said you wanted to "notch" Wimbledon.
Notch Wimbledon? What was I doing, carving it into my belt?
We let you go for it but eventually had to walk you into your bedroom to make sure you got in there okay.
Really?

Our roles were suddenly reversed. I remembered when this lovely, accomplished young woman was a toddler who fell asleep at play with her pretty “My Little Ponies” spread about her on the blue carpet in her room. Her splayed legs indicated she had been kneeling and simply leaned back and gently passed into that other place of consciousness/unconsciousness. That night I was the caretaker. I lifted her into my arms and placed her in her bed and smoothed the hair from her face. My precious daughter, I am not ready to be the child to her adult.

Before they expire in a year or two, an occasion of travel or insomnia may arise and I might choose to try Ambien again. I am going make my own prescription label though:
Take with water,
While in bed,
With jammies on,
Prepared to sleep.
Post toilette . (Friend Jess’s Aunt Jeannie reportedly had an Ambien sleep experience involving a toilet, a hotel, a locked door, angry roommates and security break-in)
Nighty night.

Canberra: Not as Boring as You Think

2009-07-15T23:18:00.000-07:00

In preparation for our trip to Canberra, I instructed my mom to read Bill Bryson's chapter on Australia's notoriously boring national capital in In a Sunburned Country. She then passed it on to Tom and we all had a laugh over Bryson's cynical wit, but prepared ourselves for the worst: colder weather and getting lost.

Bryson goes on at length about how Canberra was planned; it was modeled after Washington DC with roads that loop and vantage points that lead the eye from one monument to the next. Had Canberra grown and thrived as it was meant to, such a layout would have made sense, but instead the city is too spread out for its own good and is marked by impractical empty spaces. Bryson joked that locals drive around in circles wondering, 'where the f$%k is my house?'

Mom found this particularly funny and we'd repeat to each other, 'where the f#$k is my hotel?' and giggle throughout the three hour drive from Sydney. We eventually located it without much trouble at all and found the city to be pleasant, but eerily empty. Parliament had just broken up apparently and you could feel the absence of energy.

Still, we enjoyed an informative tour of Parliament House, a modern building consisting of 4,500 rooms that only opened in 1988. We were dumbstruck by the number of people (four) milling around the outside of Australia's capitol building on a bright Saturday morning. Mom grew concerned for the Girls' Choir from Seattle who we learned were to perform in the foyer at 10:30. 'The girls came all this way and there's no one here to see them.' We stuck around though, clapped politely and watched as a small crowd came from out of the woodwork to watch.

The true purpose of our visit was to see Vanity Fair Portraits: Photographs 1913-2008 at the National Portrait Gallery and it was well worth the trip. Of course I was fascinated by the Annie Liebowitz shots of recent Hollywood A-listers, but also enjoyed the older portraits of authors I was familiar with, but of whom I had never seen photographs: Hemingway, Arthur Miller, Chaplin without makeup, etc.

We also stopped by the Australian War Memorial, a mega complex consisting of sculptures, lawns, museums with full-sized planes and more. Though war memorials aren't my favorite type of attraction, we could have spent the entire day there looking at different things. The highlight was the beautiful and very Australian mosaics, stained glass and ceiling in the Hall of Memory.

When dinner time rolled around and we began hunting for restaurants, we knew we were in the same city that Bill Bryson loved to loathe. He swore there wasn't a restaurant within miles of his hotel (The Rex) so he helplessly ate and drank there every night of his stay. We found a number of decent looking restaurants, but all of them, despite seemingly empty tables, were "booked." With hangic (hunger + anger + panic) quickly setting in, we opted for the local club/RSL.

For those unfamiliar with the Australian club/RSL (Returned and Services Leauge, as in veterans) scene, clubs are "members-only" restaurants and bars known for basic, unpretentious meals and plenty of beer at reasonable prices. Non-members are welcome to patronize clubs for a modest fee ($1 per person, in our case).

With an out of character "when in Rome..." attitude, I ordered a steak. This was a mistake as it was way overcooked, but everyone else seemed to enjoy their food. Mom's willingness to fit into the club scene served her well as she won $40 at the pokie machines before dinner.

The next day, we packed up our things and departed early; Sydney and the Big Merino in Goulburn beckoned. We enjoyed our one day in Canberra, but I can't say that I'm desperate to go back.

Vivid

2009-07-04T22:02:00.000-07:00

I've been complaining since the beginning of the season that winter has nothing to offer Australia. In New Zealand, winter brings snow and all the winter sports that go with it. However, for most of this continent, winter means a bit of cold, wet weather and no Thanksgiving or Christmas to make it interesting.

That's why the ideas behind Vivid Sydney, a festival of light, are so ingenious. Artists from around the world designed light installations to illuminate different buildings and other public spaces. Then, festival organizers created a map showing tourists and locals alike where to find each. We took a delightful stroll through familiar neighborhoods (primarily the Rocks) which held a new fascination for us when bathed in a different light.

The most remarkable display was the ever changing colors and patterns projected on to the Sydney Opera House. Perhaps the most creative thing I have ever seen, the Opera House was transformed, becoming not only an Australian icon, but the world's most unique canvas as well. It wasn't Christmas, but it was a festive way for people of all ages to spend a chilly dark evening. I'm so glad that my mom was there to see it.

Most Unconventional Birthday Message

2009-07-04T21:12:00.000-07:00

A couple of days before my birthday, my friends and I were gathered at the Fringe Bar in Paddington for the weekly trivia quiz. My mom, who was visiting at the time, encouraged me to go to the restroom, something she hasn't done much since I passed the age of four. I knew something was up and sure enough, the above message was chalked onto the bathroom wall. It was such a pleasant surprise! I then went around the table accusing different (female) friends of leaving such a clever message for me when I realized that it had to be Shannon. Thankfully, Steph took a picture. I'm truly grateful for my thoughtful Sydney friends.

American Idol

2009-05-22T03:42:00.000-07:00

The longer I live abroad, the more I'm drawn to American Idol. It connects me with some of the people who are in my heart and thoughts, but aren't a part of my daily routine because of our distance: my mom, aunt, best friend, sister-in-law, etc. Watching the show from our separate corners of the earth and then meticulously comparing notes and conspiracy theories allows us to share an experience in a way that isn't usually possible for people oceans apart.

I'm a relatively new Idol fan; I began watching the Taylor Hicks season (5) covertly in 2006. I was busy trying to teach poor kids in San Jose how to read and was thus embarrassed by my frivolous Tuesday and Wednesday night guilty pleasure. When season 7 premiered in 2008, I had just moved to Sydney and craved the familiarity of Paula's nonsensical comments, the Coke cups, the intro music and even the way Simon pronounces 'terrible.' Yes, the show is cheesy and contrived, but I'm thoroughly entertained by it and now don't care who knows that I follow it religiously.

Weeks after David Cook won the title of American Idol last year, I learned that my clever, sophisticated friends Andrew and Alyssa had followed the whole season. I was surprised by their interest in the show, but more disappointed that I'd missed my opportunity to discuss it with them week after week. I would have loved their fresh insight on this monster hit reality show that I thought captivated only commoners like me. It was as if an unknown dimension of our friendship suddenly revealed itself.

While watching Ryan "honor" this year's outstanding male and female during last night's finale, I recalled (as I do every year) how profoundly different the first few weeks are from the rest of the show. The first episodes of every season depict the judges dutifully scouring the countryside for America's best and most delusional singers. I used to believe that awful singers sought fame or were actually aspiring actors/comedians who create a character and then try to put one over on the show's producers as an artistic challenge.

However, I now believe that most contestants aren't that clever and are simply delusional. My generation grew up listening to Mister Rogers tell us we were special and received sports trophies for merely participating (heck, I scored goals for the wrong soccer team and I still got one). Those of us who were lucky realized that the term special is relative. The unlucky ones have good-intentioned parents who, blinded (or, should I say deafened) by love of their offspring, cheered on years of mediocrity.

All grown up, some of these people audition for American Idol and are utterly perplexed by their rejection. The looks on their faces tell the same story every time: they genuinely believed that they were talented singers and are stunned to learn that the judges don't agree.

In stark contrast to the thousands of lousy singers, this year's top 8 were fantastic. If you don't recall how significantly more talented this year's lot were than last year's, let me point out that Christy Lee Cook and Jason Castro were in season 7's top 8. 'nough said. Aside from fugly tatts (my pet name for Megan Joy) and blind dude (Scott, bless his heart), I loved watching everyone this year.

Though my friend Steph disagrees, my mom and I are convinced that the show deliberately tried to conceal Kris' wife. There was one performance show a couple of weeks back during which he specifically mentioned her. Simon called him on it, advising that it wasn't wise to seem unavailable. From then on, when the camera panned to Katie, the caption never indicated 'Kris' wife.' Likewise, montages of his homecoming in Conway, Arkansas featured emotional reunions with his parents, not Katie.

There was also a lot of speculation about Adam's sexual preference: was he gay? why the guyliner? does that matter to America? I'm not sure whether Adam ultimately didn't win because he's gay. Homophobia perhaps played a small part, but that isn't the only reason why America sided with Kris. Adam was the front-runner from the beginning; many agree that he's the most talented performer to have ever graced the Idol stage. America fell in love with Kris more slowly because he grew as an artist as the weeks rolled on, he was handsome, charming, had unique arrangements and played both the piano and guitar.

I adore Kris, but am convinced that America got it wrong. When faced with a choice between someone truly great and innovative and someone good, but more familiar, they opted for the more conservative contestant. Though the comparison is ridiculous, I'm glad that America opted for the more progressive candidate (perhaps the Adam Lambert of politics) back in November. In other words, I'll take Obama and Kris Allen over four years of John McCain any day.

Despite my disappointment with the results, I loved the finale show: the duets with the greats, the jeers at the judges and the awards for those who brought us laughs in the early weeks: Norman Gentle and Tatiana. I screamed when Kara joined bikini girl on stage and whipped out her own two-piece for charity. She was so brave.

Adding to my enjoyment of this season's farewell, was watching with my friends Jess and Chris. It was fun to act as our own judging panel: evaluating the celebrity performances, Paula's tan and level of drunkenness, etc. For me (cue Randy Jackson impression), American Idol isn't important the same way the presidential election is. The fact that Kris Allen won isn't really important either; both Adam and Kris (and Alison and Danny for that matter) will go on to have successful careers in music. What's important about the show is the way it shapes bonds between me and the people I care about, both here in Sydney and back home in America.

Two Up

2009-05-03T01:53:00.000-07:00

I wanted to spend Anzac Day, Australia's day to honor the sacrifices of its brave service men and women, in style at the races. In the US, 'style' and horse 'races' don't belong in the same sentence unless you're talking about the Kentucky Derby maybe. Here in Australia, you can get drunk at the races (getting drunk is an integral part of every Australian holiday), but the fashions at the Randwick Racecourse elevate the sport of horse racing to a level more sophisticated than the hot dog days at Santa Anita in my youth.
A day at the races is so much more than senseless betting and beer when it's framed as Randwick's Autumn Carnival, an event sponsored by Schweppes and the phrase 'princesses will stop at nothing,' which I still can't relate back to horses or Schweppes products. Anyway, I can't say anything more about the races because Mickey and most other members of our crew weren't tempted by the prospect of drinks and horses in pretty clothes as I was. Maybe next year.

Instead, Jess, Chris, Mickey and I met our token Australian friend Tim at his local watering hole, the Quarryman's in Pyrmont for drinks and two up, a gambling game that's legal in Australia only on Anzac Day. (Funny that our plan B also involved alcohol and betting. It's clear that the boys couldn't be bothered dressing up).

Two up is pretty simple, but has a couple of nonsense rules. Someone holds two coins on a small paddle. People make bets on whether the coins will land heads or tails sides up. The spinner, or spinnah, as we say here in Australia, must make the coins flip around a couple of times at least at a height over his/her head. Two tails mean that tails wins, two heads mean that heads win and one of each means that you must flip again, a rule designed to help people lose money just a tad slower.

Again, it's a simple game, but it kept Tim's crew and the other patriotic Australians in the pub entertained for hours. I generally loathe gambling, but took a chance and ended up tripling my money. That's right, I came in with $5 and ended up with $15. The luck of the fallen soldier was with me alright.

I achieved the most enjoyment from watching Jess take the paddle and get gently heckled by the drunken gamblers shouting, 'come in, spinnah!' in a cockney accent which, like two up itself, is unique to Anzac Day.

Urban Hiking

2009-04-20T00:02:00.000-07:00

Since learning about multi-day alpine treks and their southern hemisphere equivalents in NZ (Milford Track, Kepler Track, etc.), we'd been itching to try one over the four day Easter weekend. The problem is that we don't have any proper gear such as backpacks or sleeping mats. Heck, until our trip to NZ in February, I didn't even have appropriate shoes.

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However, now that I have the shoes, there was no reason not to brave a multi-day walk. But without a tent, backpack, travel cook stove (or the certainty that we'd want to invest in any of these), we knew this would have to be an urban hike. And by urban hike, I mean that we ate in beachside cafes and stayed in reasonably comfortable hotels. We did travel, though, completely on foot from Manly Beach to Palm Beach (30 miles) over three days and for that, we're patting ourselves on the Jansport backpacks.

We walked an average of ten miles per day on sandy beaches, rugged coastal headlands, residential neighborhoods and busy coastal highways. It was never boring because when we weren't minding our steps to avoid golden orb spider webs and other dangerous native creatures, we were people watching and playing a loose game of coastal walk bingo. One point for kayaks, native birds, fishermen and cute babies; five points for dolphins, nude/topless bathers and ostentatious beach houses, one million points for penguins. Mickey is still disappointed about missing the penguins in NZ and raised the stakes pretty high. Sadly, we didn't see one, but I did spot a baby sting ray in the shallow waters of low tide near Palm Beach.

I like to joke that we were so not away from it all that Lee was able to bus in to Sunday's lunch spot (the town of Avalon), hike with us to Palm Beach and then ride the bus back home after dinner. We dined that night on imported and local cheeses and an incredible cioppino, or fish stew. It was a rewarding conclusion to a sometimes strenuous, but mostly relaxed, leisurely stroll up the coast.

I don't know how soon we'll be purchasing a tent and sleeping mats, but we just may work our way up to the Milford Track-esque hikes that involve pre-organized nights in huts. Especially if those huts are situated in and among wineries in Provence.

EnZed

2009-03-24T21:49:00.000-07:00

Our trip to Wellington, New Zealand last Easter to visit our friend Hannah left us hungry for more kiwi charm. Thus, we took the first week of March off from work to visit the famed south island, the significantly less populated bit where Peter Jackson filmed the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

We heard that the most beautiful spots were in and around Queenstown, the adventure sports capital of the world, but because flights there were expensive, we decided to fly in and out of Christchurch and make an eight-day circuit around the center of the south island.

As we began planning the trip, it sounded less and less like a trip I'd actually enjoy: we'd be staying in different accommodations each night and driving between two to four hours each day. However, my desire to see as much as possible (ignited by glossy photos from the Lonely Planet) won out over my natural inclination to linger in a couple of choice spots.

In the end, I'm glad we made that decision. We passed the hours in the car each day soaking up scenery and listening to President Obama read "Dreams of My Father" and other quite serious podcasts. Likewise, rocking up to our bed for the night each evening wasn't stressful as I'd imagined. Each welcome at a new B&B came as a delightful surprise: would they have a tub? the ubiquitous Mackintosh's Toffee and Minties? cable that would allow me to watch American Idol?

I don't think I can recount here how we spent each glorious day, so I may just have to make a top ten list to cover the highlights, retell my favorite stories and draw sweeping conclusions about the differences between NZ, Australia and the United States.

10. a nation of isolation gets personal

I've developed this theory that Australians and kiwis are more inclined than the rest of the world to share personal information with strangers because of their isolation and sometimes limited opportunities for social interaction. An hour after arriving at our cozy Haast B&B on the wet west coast, we tried to make friendly conversation with our hostess. We asked her how long she'd been running the place and she admitted that she was trying to sell the place and was desperate for a vacation. This was awkward, but I'm sure we tried to sympathize. Things just got weirder when she started complaining about her haircut: "isn't it awful?" she asked. 'I hope that was rhetorical,' I thought to myself. We couldn't agree with her and we couldn't really defend the haircut either. We'd never seen this lady before!

Our friends had a similar experience while wine tasting in South Australia. Funny and friendly Texans, Chris and Jess are masters when it comes to polite banter with the pourer/vintner. However, even they were left speechless when their hostess asked their opinion about whether or not she should have told her daughter-in-law that she hated her new grandson's name in the delivery room. Come on, they asked for a sip of the late pick verdelho, not an anecdote about how she alienated her family!

9. the best situated winery in the world

While walking off a delicious lunch of cajun blackened fish around Lake Wanaka, we came upon a sign indicating that the "most beautiful winery in the world" was a mere 300 meters up the hill. Mickey wanted to press on, but I insisted that we check it out. Boy, it was a bold claim, but this place lived up to its hype. The tiny rustic tasting room sat atop a hill overlooking the vineyards, the shimmering lake, rugged mountain peaks and clear blue sky. One of their reds was great, we bought a bottle, but the others were just average. Still, I'd love to return just to view the landscape draped in the color palette of another season: fiery orange leaves or pure white snow.

8. shoe story (short version): woman brings impractical shoes, has to buy totally-not-kidding-around-outdoor-shoe mid-trip

(long version) I hate wasting money on shoes, but it's inevitable because buying women's shoes is a total gamble. You can walk up and down the aisles of a department store 35 times, but you aren't really going to know whether or not they'll work out until you've bought them and walked to work in them. And no one but Nordstrom has a decent shoe return policy.

I brought two pairs of shoes to NZ: some red leather low heels for casual dinners out and my non-sexy European walking shoes for daily romps on trails. I didn't want to bring my running shoes because I wasn't planning to run anywhere (no dangerous animals in NZ) and I just don't want to be the American with the bright white sneakers. I travel light and bringing more than two pairs of shoes wasn't an option either.

Anyway, my shoe karma must not have been good because I started slipping out of the non-sexy European walking shoes and nearly twisted my ankle. They just didn't fit anymore and my situation had become mildly dangerous. If you get injured on vacation, you stand a good chance of ruining it.

Thankfully, Queenstown, the adventure capital of the world, is the place to be when you require totally-not-kidding-around outdoor shoes. It's hard for me to admit this, but I was ready to purchase something approximating hiking shoes. Surrounded by sophisticated poly-whatever jackets and camelbaks, Mickey and I felt really conspicuous in the sporting goods store. Our Zara clothes didn't match the sea of khaki and fleece around us; it felt absolutely necessary to preface our conversation with the sales guy about my need for shoes with the fact that we were city slickers completely out of our element.

Mickey tried to assure me that this or that pair of feminine outdoor shoes were "kinda cute" or "not that bad," but a part of me knew that I'd have to check my notion of acceptable footwear at the door. We ended up with something appropriate for NZ, but I wasn't sure they'd ever resurface in Sydney. I became hyper-conscious of people staring at my shoes and Mickey and I would burst out laughing every time it happened.

7. Mickey's innocence warms my heart

Same store, different story. Before descending upon the ladies footwear area of the store, we browsed the tents. Mickey pointed to a model tent and said, 'I never knew whether those were for pets or what.' It was hard not to laugh. 'Love, I think those just try to show what the tent will look like when you assemble it.' I love being reminded that Mickey's notion of the great outdoors is centered around mosquito nets in India, not nylon tents with Girl Scouts.

He also had me nearly in tears of laughter when he dutifully followed the advice of a tour guide. We were putting on rain slickers and life jackets in preparation for our ride on the Shotover Jet boat with a bus load of American senior citizens. Their guide called everyone over for a group photo and I had to grab him by the slicker before he picture-crashed. 'I think it's just for their tour group, honey.' He's so precious.

6. NZ: a glutard's paradise

New Zealand is a nation of only four million, but most of its restaurants cater to glutards like me, amazing! We enjoyed some really great meals for reasonable prices because of the favorable exchange rate for the US dollar. I was delighted by the number of menus which indicated gluten free meal options and impressed with the servers' apparent knowledge of my condition. I ordered NZ lamb as often as possible and was never disappointed.

Another standout was the creamy pumpkin and feta soup from the Lake Matheson Cafe near the Fox Glacier. I feel that when you stumble into an American town of 3,200 people, you're bound to find a McDonald's and maybe an Arby's, but your restaurant options end there. In NZ, we found charming cafes serving fresh food in towns of all sizes. It was such a remarkable treat.

5. spotting wildlife in the wild, or how I became a bird nerd in NZ

My fellow American expat friends in Sydney and I adore wildlife parks. Jess got up close and very personal with pretty much her favorite animal, the wombat at a wombat rescue center in South Australia. Likewise, Lee loved posing with the koalas at a wildlife park in Port Stephens.

I enjoy admiring kangaroos up close because I can marvel at their long, powerful legs and ooh and aww over the joeys when they poke their chihuahua heads out of their mums' pouches. However, there's something thrilling and primal about seeing a kangaroo or any animal in its natural habitat. Of course I rarely get close enough to spot a joey, but that's what makes the experience special. Instead of paying $10 to pet and feed animals in a fenced in park, I love catching the chance glimpse of a wild animal, observing its seemingly timeless routine.

In NZ we were looking for native birds, not kangaroos of course. When Europeans began colonizing the islands a century and a half ago, exotic bird calls filled the air day and night. Since the introduction of dogs, cats and stoats, a weasel-like creature, the number of New Zealand's native birds have dropped dramatically. Take for example the beloved kiwi, a remarkable flightless bird that once numbered in the millions is now in danger of extinction with only a few thousand surviving in protected pockets.

Though Mickey and I didn't spot a kiwi in the wild (we would have loved to, but they are nocturnal), we did find two in Queenstown's bird sanctuary. We were lucky enough to spot and photograph two species of native birds: the clever but naughty kea in Arthur's pass (they love destroying windshield wipers) and the keruru, a NZ pigeon, near Lake Te Anau. We found the three keas looking for trouble on the roof of a cafe along the main road. The gorgeous keruru (looks nothing like a regular pigeon with a white breast and beautiful iridescent blue green wings and head) we heard before we saw along the Kepler track. It's known for the 'whoosh' sound of its wings.

4. most stylish nation per capita

For some, Bed & Breakfast is synonymous with old & chintzy. I'd argue that in NZ, this is almost never the case. We stayed in a number of modern, stylish B&Bs and boutique hotels that made our trip all the more enjoyable. I particularly loved the Queenstown Chalet and Dun Luce in Te Anau. Kiwis' insistence on world-class style, coffee, fashion, food and design never ceases to amaze me.

3. dipping an oar into the world of extreme sports

Many young backpackers who pass through Queenstown splurge on a bungee jump. After all the "sport" was invented there. I don't think I need to explain why I didn't partake in this aspect of local culture; if I'm looking for thrills and frights I can bird watch and shop for hiking shoes.

Still, I didn't want to leave Queenstown without having done something a bit risky at high speeds outdoors. That's how we wound up riding the Shotover Jet with the American senior citizens. The whole thing was cheesy, but totally safe and a lot of fun. The noisy boat goes barreling through the canyon along a sometimes shallow river, narrowly avoiding gigantic jutting boulders. Every couple of minutes the maniacal driver will twirl one finger in the air indicating that he's about to pull the boat into its trademark 360 degree spin. At that point, we had to hold on to the heated handrail for dear life. The cheesiness (they had a wall of fame featuring celebs like Giovanni Ribisi) of the Shotover Jet experience was balanced out by the incomparable beauty of the river.

The other adventure sport we tried which actually required muscle was sea kayaking. Mickey was quite brave to give kayaking a second go after our first experience in Hawaii five years ago in which I tipped the thing over. This time we had our own kayaks to manage so we couldn't blame each other for falling out. Our guide from the cruise ship took us out for about an hour and a half in a very calm corner of Milford Sound. Propelling myself forward was a serious workout and I couldn't seem to reposition my oar without getting wet, but the scenery and peaceful sounds of the oar gliding through the water made it all worthwhile.

2. our first cruise!

Yes, you could call our experience 'cruising lite.' We'd never been on a cruise before and were eager to start small. Thus, the chance to spend one night on a boat in the beautiful Milford Sound sounded like a gentle introduction to the world of cruising. Mickey was afraid he'd suffer seasickness, but he was pleasantly surprised by the whole cruising experience.

We boarded the boat in the afternoon and were treated to muffins (one was made gluten free especially for me!), coffee and tea while we listened to the crew introduce themselves and describe the safety features of the boat, etc. We then cruised through the sound almost all the way to the entrance to the Tasman Sea before turning around to spend the night in the calm area where we kayaked. Milford Sound gets up to six meters of rain a year so it was lucky that we enjoyed views of waterfalls, seals, glaciers and steep cliffs unobstructed by rain clouds.

I think we were two of the only passengers under 65, but we powered through the buffet with the best of them. The food wasn't amazing, but it wasn't bad either and I was thrilled that they could accommodate my glutard needs. We anchored for the night and devoured a very hasty breakfast before venturing into the enormous swells of the Tasman Sea. The captain turned us around and headed for port before anyone lost their breakfast thankfully.

1. lucky duckies

Mickey and I tried to remind each other at every stunning vista how lucky we were to be on such a trip. Economic downturn or not, we know that relatively few can afford luxurious vacations in New Zealand. Thus, I try to live these experiences for the generations who've come before me in an era when international travel was impossible for all but the uber wealthy. I imagine what my grandma Onie would say if she could have seen the dahlias in the gardens of Christchurch or how my great grandmother would have compared the sheep ranches in New Zealand to those she knew in Scotland.

Likewise, I think about the generations that will come after me and how the landscape may look to them if they ever travel to New Zealand. Perhaps my great, great, great granddaughter will honeymoon on the moon and think abstractly about me and my comparatively minuscule earthly adventures. Even if my memories fade and my photos get lost, today I am lucky and for every day that I have Mickey and the others I love in my life I am truly grateful.

An Island Off an Island

2009-02-16T02:25:00.001-08:00

After spending just shy of 24 hours in Melbourne to spectate at "the tennis" (Australian Open) over the Australia Day weekend, Mickey and I caught a flight further south to Tasmania.

My dear friend Alyssa, a seasoned traveler herself, reckons that we've earned major travel cred for visiting this remote island off an island. And from an American perspective, she's absolutely right. Those of us lucky enough to journey to the land down under usually stop in Sydney and/or tour the dying Great Barrier Reef. Few of us Yanks make time to explore Tasmania because we know so little about it.

Indeed, I remember the first time I met a Tasmanian native, a colleague of Mickey's, and recited what little I knew about his home. It is an island off the southeast coast of Australia with a population of less than half a million and home to one of the world's strangest creatures, the famed Tasmanian devil. Even years later after I had befriended another Tassie native (and a little devil in her own way), Kate, I still knew little about the fascinating place.

Since moving to Australia, I learned enough to know that I had to visit. Some Aussies joke that Tasmania is a bit hick because it's so sparsely populated. My boss and I laughed about the 'no worries' attitude evident at Hobart's single terminal "international" airport. Likewise, another colleague warned me about the speed of service, or Tassie time. "You order your coffee, wait 15 minutes and then wait some more and it will eventually get there."

Others take a different view, identifying Tasmania as a chic artist's retreat, reverent of its natural beauty, tranquility and fine food. Both camps agree though, that Tassie is an ideal place for a holiday.

Mickey and I only gave ourselves three days to see what all the fuss was about, knowing that truly seeing the island probably takes weeks. We decided to stay near Hobart, but make three separate day trips outside of town. Our home base was the beautiful Bellerive House, just across the water from Hobart. This is the nicest place I've ever stayed bar none. This B&B, owned and operated by hosts David and Jacqueline, is a large, charming old house that was very recently renovated. The decor tastefully integrates antique furnishings with modern fixtures and luxurious linens.

Bellerive offered everything you love about B&Bs: personal service and character without any of the "old house" inconveniences such as poor water pressure, squeaky doors or mold. In fact, Bellerive was spotless and served some of the best breakfasts I've ever had. The title of one of its Tripadvisor reviews was "Breakfast Dilemma" because guests are spoiled with delicious choices. Though the creamy porridge with brown sugar wasn't an option for a glutard like me, David and Jacqueline made sure I had gluten free muesli topped with fresh yogurt and seasonal, local fruit. And that was just the first course! The second ranged from baked eggs to grilled mushrooms to souffle pancakes. For better or worse, we stuffed ourselves all three days and didn't require lunch until one or two in the afternoon. In the evenings, we'd feast our eyes on the fresh flowers in our room and satisfy our sweet teeth with gluten free cakes, port, chocolate and cherries that David and Jacqueline had left waiting for us.

Somehow, we tore ourselves away from the pampered life long enough to make day trips to the Freycinet Peninsula, Bruny Island and Port Arthur. We spent a lot of time in the car that first day, relishing the surprisingly dry and sunny weather, admiring quaint farms and remarking on the frequency of marsupial roadkill. We picked up a picnic lunch in Swansea and devoured our burgers overlooking the Friendly Beaches. The guidebook had mentioned Tasmania's inexplicably deserted white sand, turquoise water beaches, but I had to see it to believe it. The water was cold, but the shores were pristine; why wasn't this place packed?

We hiked up 300 stairs to the Wine Glass Bay lookout and then down 300 more to get a closer look at the beach. There we found people feeding a wallaby, exactly as the sign advised not to do. We stopped in Orford on the way home for gluten free pizza and locally made ice cream.

Our second day on Bruny Island (population 500), the island off the island off the island was spontaneous and romantic. We dashed down the coast toward Kettering to make the 9:30am ferry. We got caught behind a motorbike and fretted until the last minute that we wouldn't make it, but we did. We stopped at a fairy penguin rookery overlooking the narrow isthmus between north and south Bruny. The penguins were away in the ocean for the day (they waddle back to the beach at dusk), but the views were spectacular.

Later we went berry picking on a small farm (big fun for city slickers like us) and for an easy walk along the coast. We lunched on Mediterranean fish soup at the Hot House Cafe overlooking the water. We joked all day about the guidebook's warnings about booking ahead in January, Tasmania's busiest month. As we encountered very little traffic on paved and unpaved roads, we wondered where everyone was. We found them in line waiting to board the ferry back to the "mainland." We thought we had plenty of time to make it back for the 5:30 and even stopped for cheese tasting en route. In a way, we did have plenty of time because we didn't make it on the 5:30, or the 6:30, but eventually on the 7:30. We felt lucky that we didn't miss the last flight back to Sydney the way the French tourists in the next car did.

We spent our last day in Tasmania on the Tasman peninsula south of Hobart. We stopped at a Tasmanian devil park whose sign dares tourists to "come face to face with a devil." We made it to the 11am feeding of these foul creatures and watched them tear through rats, fur, bone and and all, squealing and stinking all the while. I thoroughly enjoyed (nerd alert) the birds of prey show featuring falcons, a gallah, a cockatoo and a tawny frogmouth. Most intriguing of all though was the exhibit on the (possibly) extinct thylacine, or Tassie Tiger, a strange dog-like marsupial so named because of its striped back. The last one supposedly died in captivity in 1936, but there have been sightings since then. There are parts of the Tasmanian wilderness that remain unexplored and I'd love to believe that the thylacine still lurks there, but it's unlikely. However, plans to clone the tiger give me hope.

Our next stop was Port Arthur, an entirely different type of tourist attraction. Once a brutal but thriving penal colony, Port Arthur is now a high profile tourist destination with multiple types of tours, ruins, cafes a cruise and a sad past that doesn't end with the penal colony days. One day in 1996, a man opened fire on innocent tourists and staff at Port Arthur, murdering 35 and injuring several more. The cafe that was the main site of the massacre was gutted completely and rededicated as a memory garden.

This morbid past makes Port Arthur a creepy place but an important one historically. The pain and suffering inherent in this place didn't match the beauty of the blue skies, sprawling green and golden hills and clear, calm water on the day we visited. One of the most haunting spots was the area where the repeat offenders were sent, solitary confinement. Here, neither prisoners nor guards could speak and they assigned the inmates each a number to eliminate the comfort and familiarity of even hearing one's own name. Here also stands a chapel like no other in the world. It has separate wooden stalls that allowed prisoners to see the preacher, but not each other.

Looking back, I'm not sure that we deserve massive travel cred because Tasmania was so accessible. Flights to and from Melbourne and Sydney are cheap and frequent, despite some unpaved roads travel is easy, the food is fresh and delicious, the service is slow but friendly and of course the language is English. Yet, it's an island off an island and almost no one goes there. Could Tasmania be one of the world's best kept secrets? If so, I've just spilled the beans.

Around the Pacific Rim in 14 Days

2009-01-08T21:02:00.000-08:00

Despite a couple of international moves, I've managed to have Christmas with my family every year. I didn't want 2008 to be the exception so Mickey and I made grand plans to meet my mom and brother at the Sydney-LA halfway point of our choosing, Maui. Our plans became even grander and more absurd when we decided that we should also visit Mickey's family in Seattle before Christmas and our dear friends Andrew and Alyssa in Japan for New Year. Our itinerary was ambitious, but we did it in the name of tradition, or, tradition and eating delicious sushi.

Packing was tricky because we had to be prepared for three climates, one bi cultural wedding and Christmas. Hat and gloves? Check. Bathing suit? Check. Traditional Indian evening clothes? Also check. Believe it or not, I did this with three pairs of shoes (sandals, boots and non-sexy European walking shoes).

We had an eight hour layover in Honolulu en route to Seattle. Waikiki is perhaps the nicest place I've ever spent a layover, but it made for a long day without a shower. Mickey and I celebrated our arrival back in the US by brunching in a very American fashion: buffet-style. Livin' la vida glutard limits my options at a buffet, but I got my fill of bacon and delicious Hawaiian pineapple. I lingered in the water watching tourists learn to surf in the gentle waves. They made it look easy. Mickey and I always joke about when you can claim that you've been somewhere. I usually argue that layovers don't count and that you have to spend the night to have really "been" there. In this case, we didn't spend the night, but left the airport, swam in the ocean and bought a towel that says 'Hawaii.' That has to count for something.

As our plane descended toward SeaTac airport, I noticed something strange about the ground. "Mickey, the ground looks... funny," I said worriedly. "I think it's the s-word." I'm not one of those Californians who gets excited by snow. It requires temperatures below 32F and not even adorable snowmen and sledding can make freezing weather worthwhile to me.

Sure enough, there was a significant amount of snow on the ground and it kept coming down for the duration of our visit. This wouldn't have been a problem in Minneapolis or Cleveland or any other snowy place, but according to locals, Seattle "doesn't usually get a lot of snow" and was thus completely unprepared. The roads weren't plowed, businesses closed and our rental car was equipped with a flimsy plastic ice scraper that would have suited Barbie's dream car better than our Mazda.

We were in town for Mickey's cousin Tanvir's wedding to the lovely Aimee, a Washington native. Sadly for the couple, the snow caused a lot of guests to cancel. On the bright side, though, the wedding was one of the most thoughtful I had ever attended. Tanvir and Aimee integrated Indian cultural rites and symbols with Western traditions to create a ceremony that was inclusive and meaningful to both families. He wore a tux with tails while she wore a beautiful green and blue Indian dress. They made an effort to involve their guests by encouraging them to string garlands of carnations, cranberries and popcorn and then attach them to a homemade arbor.

Our remaining days in Tacoma were quiet and fraught with worry about flying out on time. Hundreds of flights were canceled and thousands of people were stranded at the SeaTac airport. Desperate to get home, some fellow wedding guests drove from Seattle all the way to LA.

Thankfully, our flight to Maui left as scheduled. Mickey and I were thrilled to exchange our hats and gloves for sandals and shorts again. At least that's what we were wearing under our umbrellas. They don't tell the tourists that Maui is so green, lush and beautiful because it gets a ton of rain, but perhaps we should have put two and two together. It didn't help that we stayed on Maui's north shore, a rainier part of the island.

Still, it was a joy to be off the beaten path, away from the charming but touristy western side of the island. And boy howdy were we off the path; reaching our accommodations at the Huelo Point Flower Farm (HPFF) requires a slow 1.5 mi drive down a bumpy dirt road off the Hana Highway. We wanted to surprise my mom and brother with a unique vacation experience by picking this beautiful, secluded spot to spend Christmas.

HPFF's website promises ocean views, a hot tub for every unit and the opportunity to pick fresh fruit from the orchard. It sounded like paradise and we chose to rent HPFF's main house instead of a more conventional, more reasonably priced vacation home. Of course, our expectations were sky high and we were a bit disappointed by the house. It wasn't in perfect condition (mold, squeaky doors, dryer needed repair, ran out of hot water, sand in the hot tub) and it lacked some basics (shampoo, the privacy that comes with bathroom doors). Mickey and I actually ended up switching rooms after our tolerance for squeaky doors and geckos on the ceiling (are they going to fall in my mouth when I'm sleeping?) ran out.

My mom and my brother were very gracious, however, and were thrilled with all that HPFF did deliver. My mom enjoyed cooking our Christmas dinner in the fully equipped kitchen and fell in love with apple bananas, a smaller variety of banana that grows on the property. Nic was happy to spend Christmas day watching a Laker game via satellite TV and was intrigued by one of HPFF's cash crops: medicinal marijuana. (That explained so much after we learned this mid-trip).

Lonely Planet's guide to Maui (and any other guidebook, I'm sure) describes watching the sunrise over the Haleakala crater as the Maui experience. So, not wanting to miss anything, we set our alarms for 4am (yes, there is a 4am) for three consecutive days to rise and see if it was clear enough to drive up the volcano. Each day, the weather was questionable, but it was Mickey's health that ultimately caused us to turn the alarm off and go back to sleep. He had a sinus infection that caused him pain when we changed altitude. Thus, driving from sea level to 10,000 feet was one of the last things he wanted to do at 4am. On one of our last days in Maui we decided to drive up the volcano regardless of poor weather and the fact that we wouldn't catch sunrise or sunset. The visibility wasn't more than 100 yards so this was kind of a bust. Next time, Haleakala.

Exploring other Maui treasures closer to sea level was far more rewarding. Mick, Nic and I hiked on a short but treacherous path (littered with slippery rocks) through a bamboo forest to a waterfall. As if the waterfall wasn't reward enough, we rewarded ourselves with fresh pineapple smoothies from a roadside stand. Operated by young hippies, the stand also sold homemade coconut candies and delicious baked favorites like banana bread infused with the tropical bites of mango and macadamia.

Another sensory highlight was our day of farm visits, first to the Ali'i Kula Lavender Farm and then the Surfing Goat Dairy. Ali'i's lavender grows on a steep hillside and we enjoyed spectacular views of the island while wandering through the garden. The Surfing Goat Dairy isn't just a clever name; they let the goats play on old surfboards. And if the quality of their chev is any indication of the goats' happiness, they must be fully content. The creamy goat cheese was excellent. We tasted a seasonal treat consisting of quark, cranberries and cinnamon that made me regret not buying a whole jar to slather on bread for a delicious upgrade to your standard leftover turkey sandwich.

And though we aren't beach people, we thoroughly enjoyed two of Maui's beaches. Baldwin Beach, on the north shore close to HPFF, has a lovely stretch of coast that is buffered from big waves by a strip of rocks and tide pools. This lagoon-like area is appropriately called 'Baby Beach' because it's so gentle. My other favorite beach was far more crowded because it's directly in front of the Sheraton resort, but the water was just as calm. Lonely Planet called it one of the best places for snorkeling because colorful fish (unafraid of people and looking for a handout) swim near the coral in waist-deep water. Snorkeling there on Christmas day was one of the highlights of my year. It's amazing that a $50 mask, snorkel and fins kit serves as the key to an entirely different world under the surface of the ocean.

It wasn't long before I bid my mom a tearful goodbye and departed for the final leg of our journey: Japan. We always said that if we were going to visit Japan, we'd have to tag along with our friend Andrew, one of our favorite travel buddies who just happens to be fluent in Japanese. He and Alyssa spent their entire holiday break in Japan and we tagged along with them for one week in Kyoto and Tokyo. Upon arriving, we had to swap our shorts and sunglasses for heavy wool coats again. It wasn't as cold as Tacoma, but it felt colder because we spent so many hours outdoors sightseeing. I had planned outfits around dresses paired with leggings and boots, but eventually alternated between two dingy pairs of pants because I was desperate to stay warm.

The two big negatives I had heard about Japan, that it was unbearably crowded and expensive, didn't diminish my experience there at all. Visiting Japan during a week of national holidays meant that some tourist destinations (such as Tsukiji, the famous fish market) were closed, but it also meant that central Tokyo was less busy. Many Japanese had gone home to the suburbs and countryside to visit relatives. Thus there was never a need to stand upright on trains, with one's hands straight in the front, for optimum subway car space efficiency as the helpful diagrams indicated.

Likewise, we did find Japan expensive in that our roughly $150/night for accommodations bought us small rooms in average hotels with miniscule bathrooms. Finding good food at a reasonable prices, on the other hand, wasn't a problem at all. I remember wandering through the maze that is Kyoto Station in search of a recommended sushi restaurant. I was curious why Andrew and Alyssa were so desperate to find a place that Lonely Planet described as only "good" sushi as opposed to "amazing" or "delectable." When we finally found it and sat down for a long lunch of endless hot tea (they had taps around the counter for hot water on-demand) and conveyor belt sushi, I understood what all the fuss was about. "Good" sushi by Japanese standards is great sushi anywhere else. It was a treat to find fish beyond your standard salmon and tuna on the rotation. We enjoyed some unagi (eel) which for once wasn't overwhelmed by sweet, barbecue sauce and some horse meat by accident. Whoops.

Having traveled in Japan two weeks longer than we had, Andrew and Alyssa had learned that Japanese people like to rank things in top threes. We're familiar with top universities, restaurants and top cities to live in because these things are regularly ranked according to certain criteria, but we don't rank our national parks, war memorials or covered bridges. However, in Japan, they do. And it's not just travel guides that will tell you what the top three gorges, temples and gardens are in Japan, this kind of thing is common knowledge. Alyssa and Andrew visited a castle which someone said was probably Japan's number four or five castle, but not in the infamous top three.

So, in the spirit of Japanese top threes, I'll reveal my top three favorite Japanese foods that I had never tried prior to my visit.
3. yakiniku - It's fun to say and even more fun to do. I'm told this is similar to Korean barbecue; there's a grill in the center of your table, you order the meat of your choice and you grill it to your satisfaction. I loved this because it helped me slow down and savor my food more because it took a while to cook. It's social in that the food and the grill are communal.
2. shabu shabu - It's even more fun to say than yakiniku and it means 'swish swish.' My friends were familiar with shabu shabu, but it was new to me. It's the same idea as above in that you order the meat of your choice and cook it in the center of your table. This time it cooked in a hot broth instead of a grill, though. The 'swish swish' refers to the motion of swishing your thinly sliced meat quickly through the hot broth to cook it. We had all you can eat shabu shabu on New Year's Eve and the Japanese wait staff made sure that you truly got all you could eat.
1. mochi - Mochi is a dessert made from sweetened rice pounded into a gelatinous ball of goodness. Mochi is fun to say when you create new words with it such as 'mochilicious' and 'mochtastic.' We tried different varieties of mochi, some with red bean paste, another with green tea flavors, and the unanimous favorite among our group, mochi with a creamy yellow custard in the middle.

This top three is a great way to organize my thoughts about Japan, so here are my top three uniquely Japanese experiences.
3. visiting the onsen - Onsen is a ridiculously hot thermal/spring bath. You may remember them from those nature videos with those snow monkeys. Visiting the onsen is a quintessential part of the Japanese ski holiday experience and/or the ryokan (Japanese B&B) experience. The ritual requires taking a shower beforehand so you're completely clean and nude when you enter the sex-segregated tubs. We stayed in urban hotels, but went out of our way to find a decent onsen in Tokyo. We located one in our guidebook, several maps, rode the subway and walked to the appointed address only to find it closed. Our courage to bathe naked with Japanese strangers in the name of cultural experience remains untested, but it's still in my top three.
2. buying something unusual from a vending machine - We've all heard the stories about anything and everything being available in a Japanese vending machine: toys, milkshakes, underwear, etc. This is officially a myth. The most unusual thing I saw on a vending machine was Tommy Lee Jones' face (his is the face of Boss Coffee). Still, I did see plenty of vending machines with beer, coffee, soda and to my delight on those chilly winter days, hot drinks. When we returned from our failed outing to the onsen, I cheered myself up by buying a hot lemonade from a vending machine.
1. renting a private karaoke booth and singing your heart out - This was the highlight of my trip to Japan by far. Alyssa and I knew we wanted the Lost in Translation experience: singing karaoke with Bill Murray and a pink wig minus the Bill Murray. Okay, we weren't fussed about the pink wig in the end either, but we knew we had to do karaoke before we left, but where? We were complaining about this when Andrew pointed to a 15 story building and said, 'you see that sign? It says, kah rah o kay.' To our surprise, the whole building was karaoke! We rented a room for two hours and sang until we were hoarse. This place had tambourines for everyone, an option to order food and drinks directly to your room, decent quality microphones and a phone book sized book full of English songs. The experience was pure joy.

Top three stereotypes about Japan that were true to my experience:
3. the importance of fashion - The standard of dress in Japan was very high. The young people followed the trends and older people took great care with their clothes and accessories. We spent an afternoon in Harajuku in search of the wildly dressed women who make the neighborhood famous. Despite the holiday rush to a nearby temple, we found and photographed a few. Believe it or not, a Little Bo Peep motif was popular with quite a few young women.
2. cleanliness and efficiency - I have never seen a cleaner city of a comparable size than Tokyo. When I realized how few rubbish bins there are, I was even more impressed. Andrew jokingly said that the Japanese people anticipate when they're going to need to throw something away and plan accordingly. I'm not sure if he was kidding though, because I would believe that.
1. politeness - It seemed that everyone we came across in Japan took pride in his/her work no matter if they worked in a hotel or cleaned the subway stations. Clearly, there's a sense of professionalism that's missing from many western industries. We were treated with the greatest respect wherever we went.

Okay, enough of the top threes. We had a fabulous trip, but I hope to never attempt another so ambitious again. We were exhausted, Mickey got sick with a sinus infection and I feel like I'm only now (weeks later) catching up with life as usual. These are the complaints of a very lucky person and I know that in my future I'd be only too glad to return to days when my biggest problems are jet lag and unpacking from adventures.

A Reason to Hope

2008-11-13T17:56:00.000-08:00

Day to day, my life is organized around what happens here in Australia; my job, activities and some friends are here. Yet, living in Sydney, thousands of miles from the campaign trails, made me feel that the US presidential election had never been so important.

When you live in the US under an administration as incompetent as Bush's, you can complain about it with your friends and neighbors (especially in the bay area) communally. You're all in the same boat, but that boat is sinking. When you live as an American abroad, however, you have to take the heat from angry non-Americans who, in ways large and small, have also suffered over the last eight years. Their boat is sinking, but it's because of something that our boat did.

I felt embarrassed and ashamed every time 'Dubya' opened his mouth. I didn't vote for him and he doesn't represent me, but George W Bush and the negativity that surrounds him springs to mind when people from outside the US think of America and Americans.

I barely slept the night of November 4 after having stayed up late to watch early election coverage from the US. As we were going to bed, the polls were just opening and when we woke up and walked excitedly to work, the polls were closing and results were filtering in.

My Australian colleagues were just as interested in the US election as I was and our boss (American) generously allowed us to project MSNBC coverage on the wall all morning and afternoon as the results came in. MSNBC called states for either McCain or Obama with only tiny percentages of the precincts reporting, while the New York Times, whose website I refreshed every five minutes, was much more conservative.

Regardless of what you were watching though, Obama had a lead that only grew as the day wore on. The notion that a person of color would become president of the United States slowly dawned on America and the rest of the world. In a way, America had put its money where its mouth was; maybe anyone, regardless of skin color, gender, religion (or even ability in Sarah Palin's case) could in fact become president.

When it became clear beyond a doubt that Obama had won, MSNBC showed clips of the excited crowds at Rockefeller Center, or Election Center as NBC temporarily called it, young black college students crying with joy at Spellman College, the somber atmosphere at the Biltmore in Pheonix and the sea of people waiting to receive Obama himself in Chicago.

I actually felt a bit sorry for John McCain because his concession speech was so gracious. My sympathy for his camp waned, however, when his Arizona supporters booed mentions of Obama's win. I smiled when McCain thanked Todd and Sarah Palin, hopeful that she would be remembered as the butt of jokes on SNL and not as a serious political candidate.

The anticipation built as the cameras switched back to Grant Park in Chicago. At least one coworker and I got a little choked up when Obama took the stage with his family. I wonder if Sasha and Malia had any sense of how their father's career was shaping history and how their own lives would be effected in years to come.

I wanted him to dance down the walkway and celebrate his hard-fought victory. It had been two years of campaigning and traveling to Pennsylvania an indecent number of times and I felt that there was room for a moment of levity. Instead, Obama approached the podium with solemnity, probably relieved that he had won the respect of so many Americans, but humbled by the task ahead. The economy is in the tanks, we're still in Iraq and the pace of climate change isn't slowing. Perhaps a victory dance in the end zone wouldn't have been appropriate.

A week or so after the election I watched a short New York Times video describing the world's reaction to the US presidential election. Unsurprisingly, if you were to zoom out from a map of blue and red states, the rest of the world would be blue. Indeed, people interviewed for this video from Germany to China to Iran were excited that Obama had won and hopeful that their country's relations with the US would improve as a result.

I was most struck by the words of a young man from Kenya, where a national holiday was declared in honor of Obama's win. "I don't care that he is the first black president of the US," he said. "It matters that the white people [of America] were civilized enough to vote for this man." It fascinated me that the election could have such different significance for different people.

Australians are no exception in that they also are pleased with Obama's success and fortunately, their goodwill trickles down to expat Americans like me who call Australia (temporarily) home. My Aussie friend Kate confided, "I have good feelings for you Americans now."

My days of being embarrassed by George W Bush are numbered and I'm looking forward to being proud of my president. We Americans won't have to settle for a 'c' student at Yale who only found himself there because of his father's connections or even a veteran who graduated at the bottom of his class. We've chosen a candidate with brains, strength and character and can hold our heads a little higher now when introducing ourselves as Americans.

A week after the election I heard someone pessimistically saying that Americans' day to day lives wouldn't change immediately after Obama's inauguration. They'd still be concerned about losing their homes, filling their cars up with gas and putting food on the table. I disagreed with him, though, claiming that Americans' lives have already changed as a result of the election. We have a reason to hope.

Glutarded

2008-10-30T21:56:00.000-07:00

Four years ago, when I joined Teach for America and began teaching first grade I started to experience unpleasant gastrointestinal symptoms. Naturally, I thought that the stress of teaching twenty little people to read was the root cause of my troubles. But if that were true, then my symptoms should have disappeared when I gave away my best pocket charts, locked the classroom door for the last time and said goodbye to my identity as Miss Rennie.

Of course they didn't. They followed me across three continents and at least as many jobs and doctors. Clearly, I couldn't blame it all on the first graders. A particularly astute gastro specialist in California indicated that a blood test pointed toward Celiac's Disease, an allergy to gluten (a protein in wheat, barley, rye and oats). Because I had just shared a year's worth of meals with a Celiac's sufferer, my kiwi friend Hannah, I knew exactly what such a diagnosis entailed.

And I wanted no part of it. Hannah had gotten used to her diet, but it seemed incredibly inconvenient and miserable to me. How could I consider giving up bread and my other wheaty essentials? I'd always considered cake and pie to be more like hobbies or even old friends than favorite foods. I decided that as long as pain wasn't one of my symptoms, I would ignore this condemnation of a diagnosis.

I was symptom-free in Australia until mid June when I got another flare-up of gastrointestinal malaise. However, it wasn't until I read that Celiac's sufferers are at increased risk of bowel cancer and infertility if not adhering to a gluten free diet that I decided that I had to face the music and find out if I truly was glutarded.

A blood test confirmed with 99% accuracy that I did have a gluten allergy and an endoscopy (an outpatient tubey down throat procedure) complete with creepy internal pictures left no doubts. I have Celiac's Disease and the cure is staying away from wheat forever. Period.

For once, I didn't cry. I said farewell to gluten with a stylish high tea instead of a mournful funeral. Mickey and six friends met me at the Victoria Room in Darlinghurst for an afternoon of treats which don't have an appealing gluten free alternative: tea sandwiches, scones, biscuits and cakes.

My first week on the gluten free diet was difficult. I was traveling in Queensland for work and attended catered lunch meetings that offered only sandwiches. I came prepared with nuts and dried fruit, but I almost cried thinking that I wouldn't have the willpower to keep saying no to sandwiches. The second week was even harder because I met with a dietitian and learned about other items that were off limits: preservatives that you'll find in barbecue sauce, candy, soy sauce, chicken stock, mayonnaise, medications, etc.

Indeed, it seemed like wheat was in everything and that eating out at restaurants and friends' homes was always going to be difficult. I also feel terribly guilty when I think about how this diagnosis will effect Mickey's diet. He's loyal to me and has been avoiding some of his favorite foods because he'd have to eat them alone. Even if solidarity with me got old, it would still be inconvenient for us to prepare two of everything.

However, I cheer myself up by thinking about the things I can still enjoy: chocolate, sushi, ice cream, Mickey's gluten free pancakes and more. Even more encouraging is the fact that my symptoms are already improving and that I will begin to absorb nutrients better. I had wondered why I've made such little progress with weight training and building muscle. Now, the world had better watch out. I'm getting strong and healthy.

China: My First Stop Outside the First World

2008-10-10T20:10:00.000-07:00

Feeling loose and relaxed as we left the Shanghai massage parlor two weeks ago, Mickey and my friends and I compared notes about how we communicated 'too much pressure!' to our Mandarin-speaking masseuses. We laughed at my cowardly approach: praying that squirming, gasping and scratching the linen with my fingernails meant 'please go easy on me' in international body language. Though my young Chinese masseuse didn't speak English, he probably would have understood if I had said plainly, 'that's too hard.' But I didn't because I was afraid; I was afraid to admit to my friends and even to myself that I was too sensitive for China.

We planned this trip months ago when we knew that our friends Andrew and Alyssa would be teaching at an international school in Shanghai. They had a week off and generously offered to spend it showing us around their new hometown. The summer Olympics had inspired us to fly to Beijing and spend a couple of days there in the middle of our trip. Realistically, it should have been easy. Shanghai, a modern, westernized city of 20 million and Beijing, a city that had prepared for years for an influx of visitors like myself could be called 'China-lite.' The language and culture are Chinese, but these metropolises also offer the comforts of the west: cornflakes, Zara, high-speed trains, etc.

And yet, even when I was getting a massage, an experience that is meant to be relaxing, I felt beaten down by China, overwhelmed by the pressure. I felt like there was danger and trouble at every turn; if you weren't alert, you would get pushed, ripped off, run over and/or mocked. And in a nation of 1.3 billion, no one would notice or care.

The lack of rules and anything goes mentality was terrifying to me. I actually started crying on the way through security in the Shanghai airport because I was so stressed about not being able to reach the check in counter. The Chinese are notorious for not queuing and I was worried that we'd get pushed so far that we'd never make it on the plane. Though we made it just fine to Beijing, it was the return back to Shanghai that deserved more worry. Our reservation was mysteriously canceled and we had to purchase new tickets on a later flight.

The pushing and reluctance to form a proper line were aggravating, but the anything goes approach to driving was outright dangerous. Most taxis didn't offer seat belts, most drivers treated traffic lights as mere suggestions and most bikers didn't wear helmets. It's a wonder that the roads weren't caked with blood.

During the first half of my trip, like the massage, even the positive aspects of traveling in China made me feel like a fool. One of these is the low, low prices for goods and services: $15 for a two hour massage, $6 for a season of your favorite TV show on pirated DVDs, $.50 for breakfast on the street, nothing to complain about, right? Well, I'm the kind of woman who doesn't often refuse a bargain so I felt like a fool for not taking full advantage of China's scarily cheap stuff. (I don't really need a Folex, but it's only $5!) Then, when I did actually decide to purchase something and attempted to bargain for it, I'd feel like an even bigger idiot for settling for the 'stupid foreigner' price. Anyway, I didn't feel a lot of satisfaction from my first couple of purchases.

Containing special economic zones, Shanghai has been open to the west for decades. Thus, the Shanghainese don't find it strange to cross paths with someone like me. In Beijing, on the other hand, my blondish hair and round, blue-green eyes made me somewhat of a novelty. At first, it was flattering, some people asked if I'd pose for photos with their kids while others surreptitiously snapped pictures while I was fighting the crowds. Is this a fraction of what celebrities feel? I imagine they must feel admired, but I just felt like the joke was on me.

At the midpoint of our trip, my mood had fallen and it couldn't get up. I had arrived in China looking forward most to our day in the Forbidden City, but when I got there, I was devastated by the crowds. The Gate of Supreme Harmony might as well have been the Gate to Tourist Hell (it didn't help that we went on a national holiday). It was hot, crowded, polluted even by LA standards and I was desperate for a western toilet (I hadn't yet consigned myself to using a squatty potty). I didn't care what gate I had to go through: Supreme Exhaustion, Heavenly Crowd Surfing, I just wanted to get out of there.

After exiting through the north entrance to the Forbidden City, we'll call it the Gate of Extreme Holding It, there were no western toilets to be found. After several cabs passed us by and right before Mickey unsuccessfully attempted to bargain with the rickshaw drivers, is when I started to sob on his shoulder. He realized this was no Chinese fire drill, this was a genuine spoiled wife emergency. So, he rushed me to the nearest fancy hotel, as any good husband would, where they had clean toilets and wretched, over-priced hot chocolate. Still, I sipped it gratefully while drying my tears and discussing the philosophy of travel with Mickey.

Is it worth thousands of dollars to literally travel outside of my comfort zone in order to learn about a new culture and expand my horizons? Might our money have been better spent on another trip to New Zealand where I could enjoy natural beauty and a warm Kiwi welcome? I have a BA in Anthropology for christsakes, the answers should unequivocally be YES and NO respectively. Still, I was trying to be really honest with myself and with Mickey. At 26, should I look inside and be realistic and unashamed about my travel limits, or, should I push myself to grow and change?

Well, my mood had hit a Great Wall and there was nothing to do but turn it around. (Note: when I wasn't complaining, I was cracking jokes far worse than this at the Forbidden City. 'Can we go in here or is it... forbidden?' I asked more than once). Alyssa helped me see the funny side of the anything goes mentality as it applies to fashion. It is totally acceptable for men and women to wear pajamas, the type where the shirt and pants are the same fabric and print, out on the town. It is also fashionable among young couples to dress alike. We'd give each other people-watching points if we spotted a couple in the exact same shirt and extra if their trousers and/or shoes matched and a bonus if the man was carrying the woman's purse (also okay in China). The winning pair of the whole trip was a couple whose orange T-shirts read: his - "our love will," hers - "go on forever." Their kid was also wearing orange. Elsewhere such a fashion statement would be ridiculously corny, but in China, it worked.

However, while these couples could express their commitment with their apparel, public displays of affection are taboo. In this case, I could not adopt a 'when in Rome' attitude despite my reluctance to attract even more attention or offend. Mickey is too irresistible not to be hugged and kissed.

Another diverting people watching game is trying to find the cart or scooter carrying the most unusual or precariously balanced load. Once we saw a motorscooterist with a houseplant and a desk chair (and another passenger) strapped to his bike. Later, we saw a man with a humble cart carrying more Styrofoam boxes than could an F150.

China had shoved me around, but I was learning to push back. I became a bolder and yet more cautious pedestrian. Twice I threw my 'STOP' hand up like a New York City traffic cop and to everyone's surprise, the driver waited for us. Maybe that's the protocol when a strange white woman jumps in front of your car.

And though I've complained about roller-coaster taxi rides and feeling swindled, we were always safe and treated fairly in China. When travelling in Spain or Italy, a woman has to worry about her handbag (and a man his wallet) and ignore catcalls and stares from local young men: "rubia! bella!" Sure, in China some wanted my photo, but no one disrespected me and we never felt that we had to hang on to our wallets with a death-grip. In China, there's a stricter penalty for stealing from a foreigner than committing the same crime against a local.

Of course the highlights of the trip were trying new foods and spending time with our brave, gracious hosts, Andrew and Alyssa. They took us to a range of local restaurants and encouraged us to sample everything from scallion pancakes and caramelized hawthorn berries on the street to the freshest Taiwanese noodles I've ever had to spicy Cantonese and Sichuan favorites. Then, when we tired of sauce-heavy Chinese food (even my fruit salad had a sauce), they treated us to the best of the west. I devoured the tastiest burger I've had all year in Xintiandi, a western-style shoppertainment center, slurped multiple glasses of fresh watermelon juice and stuffed myself at brunch at Azul in Shanghai's French Concession. We couldn't get over the quality of the blueberry pancakes and fluffy banana muffins. I also had a second course of huevos rancheros plus a fresh juice and a tea for a grand total of $18.

Yes, China offers eastern and western food and fun at every price range. As Andrew and Alyssa's colleagues have proudly confided to them, 'I've lived here for seven years without a word of Mandarin and I can get by just fine.' However, Andrew and Alyssa don't want to surround themselves with only western words and comforts and I'm so proud of them for that. Could I ever do the same? Having spent ten days in China, Mickey wound up with a tummy bug while I suffered a 120 volt culture shock. It's good to alter your routine, open your eyes to something new and learn how other people live. The Chinese may wear pajamas while not holding their boyfriends' hands on the street and actually prefer a squatty potty, but inside, I bet they're the same as me.

Instant Karma

2008-09-17T22:54:00.000-07:00

Even though we are borrowing Chris and Jess's car, I decided that the train was the best way for my cousin James to get to the airport. Maybe this was my first mistake. Read on and see if you can pinpoint the moment that I went wrong.

Central Station is just far enough away that you need to get a ride if you're hoofin' it with a just-under-the-20-kg-limit suitcase, a carry-on and maybe a jacket or purse. James's luggage was modest in size and weight, but I opted for a cab anyway and phoned the concierge to call us one. Just five minutes later, the taxi driver buzzes to say he's downstairs. We meet him there about 90 seconds later, but somehow the meter reads $5.70. "What?!" I exclaim. "That's really rough." The driver assures me that it isn't and encourages me to read the square-shaped sticker on pricing. I skimmed it, but argued with him anyway, claiming that there's no way he had been waiting long enough to start the meter at $5.70.

The station couldn't be more than a mile and a half from our place, but it feels like it takes ages to get there. The meter races up to $13.80 by the time he stops the cab and he asks for an additional $2 on top of that. I refuse. I borrow James's money because I don't want to give this guy my fifty dollar bill. I hand him $13.80, the amount still shown on the meter. He starts yelling at me and refuses to open the trunk where James's suitcase is. Poor innocent James is listening to this guy rage about how he knows where I live and will charge me for fare evasion. I'm flustered, embarrassed, anxious.

As I attempt to get out of the cab and pull my bag along with me, my thumb gets stuck in the patent leather strap. My nail bends backward and immediately it starts to bleed and sting. Instant karma. I'm angry and in pain and James is still listening to this guy from inside the cab. We can't win. I give him the rest of the money and bang on the rear window, demanding that he unlock the trunk.

I bought James's train ticket, embarrassed that he had paid for an expensive ride made more so by my behavior, and washed my hands in the ladies room. I emerged with clean hands, but a messy conscience. I hugged James goodbye and hoped that memories of his trip to Sydney wouldn't be tarnished by the last 20 minutes of our time together.

This drama unfolded this morning and I haven't yet gotten over it. Some of us believe in a westernized notion of karma; what goes around, comes back around. When we have been unjustly treated, it is comforting to think that, some way, somehow the perpetrator will get his/her comeuppance. However, when it happened to me, I was shocked that what went around came back around fast enough to bite me in the... er, thumb, instantaneously.

I don't always believe in karma. Our friend was attacked here in Sydney two weeks ago by two young men who he had never met. They didn't want his laptop, nor did they want his money or credit cards; they just wanted to beat him up. This was terrifying to Mickey and me and all of our friends. Our friend hadn't provoked these guys, not with words nor with flashy clothes hinting at wealth. It happened in an ordinary neighborhood, in the middle of the day, near a train station. If it happened to him, our gentle yet strong friend, then it could happen to any of us.

It is indeed scary and terribly unfair that our universe doesn't operate according to karmic law. Those two guys physically hurt our friend, violated his sense of safety and ran away. Thankfully, justice stepped in for karma (or was it karma in the guise of justice?) and the police arrested one of the assailants the day after the attack. Our friend's blood was still on his shoes when they picked him up. Our friend identified this punk at the police station and the detectives were fairly confident that he'll be put away for a while.

Our friend's bruises have healed and he somehow manages to see the bright side of this dark day. "At least I still have my teeth," he said with a smile. Soon, the bruise under my thumb nail will fade too, but I hope I will have learned a lesson before it does. You can't explain certain acts of violence or tragedy; life is unfair. However, when you have the opportunity to be compassionate, generous and patient, you'll be better off if you take it.

Watching Beijing from Sydney

2008-09-04T22:07:00.000-07:00

I'm a little behind the times; the 2008 Summer Olympic Games in Beijing ended two weeks ago. However, I can't let the opportunity of reporting on my first Olympics abroad pass me by.

And for whatever reason, I was more "into" the games than I've ever been before. As a little girl, I'd always watched the gymnastics and ice skating intently, and in college (2000 summer games in Sydney), the girls in my dorm couldn't get enough of Ian Thorpe, or, the "Thorpedo," as he's known in Australia. Anyway, we spent our evenings and weekends watching obscure sports instead of our regularly-scheduled dose of nerdlicious competition, Jeopardy (reruns, so no loss).

I saw for the first time a synchronized swimming event and marveled not at how they maneuver without touching the bottom of the pool, but wondered instead how their makeup didn't smear. I came to understand the rules of handball and why falling ungracefully is such a huge part of the game, cheered for Jamaican sprinter, Usain Bolt, watched a bronze medal women's softball game (Japan vs Australia) that should have won a gold for most boring 3.5 hours of Olympics and found rhythmic gymnastics crinky (creepy + kinky).

Most importantly, I watched the Olympics from an Australian perspective: Channel 7 coverage complete with wacky breakfast program called 'Yum Cha' (Australian for dim sum) and Australian advertising. My American friends and I whined about missing NBC's Bob Costas and the human interest stories about the athletes ("she left home at the age of three to train and has only seen her mother once a year since...")

My biggest complaints were that the Australian commentators were uninformed and that the network jumped from a heat of one event to a semifinal of another and then to a bronze medal match of another just to capture Australian athletes. My friend Hannah, who was visiting from NZ, mentioned that the American networks must do the same to feature our own athletes and this is true, but I feel NBC does a better job of showing all the top contenders in a given event before moving on to the next.

The opening ceremonies began at 10pm Sydney time so I was nodding off by the time Bulgaria paraded into the arena three hours later. We knew we would miss the Australian and US entrances so we recorded the NBC coverage via Tivo and Slingbox. Despite the commercials and fact that they waited until prime-time on Friday to air it, NBC's coverage of the opening ceremonies were superior to the Australian equivalent.

While the Australian commentators had some facts about the various national teams, their knowledge was sketchy at best. NBC, on the other hand, had a different approach. When a country strolled into the Bird's Nest, its name, flag and, most importantly for geography-inept American viewers, its place on the world map were displayed at the bottom of the screen. Then, they'd cut to a close-up of the flag carrier and display his/her name and sport on the screen. Now that's the kind of information I was after. The Aussie commentators would blather on about the costumes when I wanted to know what a 350lb guy was doing carrying the Polish flag... (ah, weightlifting, of course).

Likewise, when I watched an early round women's basketball game (US vs Czech Republic), I noticed that the Australian commentators had left their briefs at home. "The American women had better watch out," they warned when the Czech team was up 6 points fifteen minutes in. I later learned that Lisa Leslie and the US team won the game by almost 30 points. It turns out that the US team begins with their B team, but the Aussies in the press box were completely oblivious to this.

Perhaps the most revealing moments of the Olympics were the commercial breaks. One of my favorites featured an Aussie swimmer proving the durability of a Lenovo laptop. It begins with her jumping out of a pool (remember this) and walking over to the sidelines to use her Lenovo laptop. Someone else drops it, but it's still okay and another clumsy person spills a glass of water all over the keyboard, but it's still okay. Wait, you're thinking, the fact that she just jumped out of a pool dripping wet wasn't enough to prove that this thing was water resistant and they had to use a glass of water? Yup. I couldn't get over it.

Another less funny ad that I've seen outside of the Olympic coverage is one for the Commonwealth Bank. There are several in this series, but they all feature bank execs in a board room scenario. Two guys from an American advertising agency (labeled as such at the bottom of the screen) are pitching a dodgy marketing strategy to the Australian employees of the Commonwealth Bank. Of course, the ideas presented by the ad men come across as overly complicated and dishonest and the bankers save the day (and the innocent, straight shooting Australian public) by opting for a simple and reasonable idea. The underlying sentiment is clear: foreign (especially American) tactics are deliberately deceptive and inappropriate for Australian consumers. The same way American advertisements employ a British accent to make a product/service seem sophisticated, Australians use an American accent to signal something untrustworthy and foolish. This puts me as a person working in client services at a disadvantage. Does my accent speak louder than my words and reflect poorly on my company?

On a more positive note, the theme of the other ads was Australian pride. One for Coles supermarkets glorifies the dutiful mum who accompanies her budding athlete child to early morning swim and rowing practice while claiming to be "proudly Australian since 1914." Another features different people watching in awe as some Aussie Olympian wins gold while enjoying McDonald's (it's so moving and patriotic that you'll forget that McDonald's is American). And another involves that same laptop girl carrying "the spirit of Australia" to Beijing in her suitcase.

The national pride here is tremendous and it was fun to watch the news headlines change as the Olympics unfolded. Whereas we in America are isolated in that we don't really look beyond our borders, Australia is physically isolated and its people are highly conscious of their distance from the rest of the world. They respond by bonding together, training some of the strongest athletes and thus demanding that the rest of the world sit up and pay attention to this down under nation of 20 million.

Here on my couch, I was cheering on Team USA and nearly cried when Phelps won his eighth gold medal, but there were plenty of times when Mickey and I shouted out, "Aussie, Ausssie, Aussie! Oy, oy, oy!"