Most Unconventional Birthday Message

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

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

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

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

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.