Photo voila

Here we go now with some pictures. Crossing fingers that this is going to work.

A beautiful swimming hole in Litchfield National Park, two hours from Darwin. This was the perfect way to cool off on a muggy Northern Territory day.

Me after my first day on the job at the concrete factory (looks more like I was working with Avian Flu-infected birds or something like that, doesn't it?)

A humungous termite mound in Litchfield National Park. There are gazillions of termites in the NT. In one field near this spot there were hundreds of other mounds. Really amazing to see.

The best for last: a big crocodile goes in for the "kill", snapping raw pork off the line. We saw about seven other crocs on the tour as well as endangered sea eagles.

An all-too-brief hello

My lack of blog posting over the last month is absolutely disgraceful. I know. But maybe you'll forgive me once you realize I've been working 55-60 hours per week and have had no internet access anywhere near home! It's been a struggle just to respond to emails, let alone getting all fancy in the blogosphere.

This is going to be short, even though I have a lot of things to tell you. I've seen dozens of lizards, eaten ridiculously fresh mangoes, swam beneath waterfalls and witnessed live crocodiles in a river. Australia's Northern Territory is sure different from the likes of Sydney or Brisbane. It's beautiful yet dangerous; civilized yet wild.

Here are a few pics. The first was from my first day on the job at the concrete factory, where I was responsible for dealing with the pigments used to die concrete blocks. Thankfully, I only had to do this for the first 3-4 days.

And now it's time for some croc action. These suckers are real, wild and will chomp your arm off. Fortunately you view them from a safe distance on the upper-deck of a riverboat. Pretty amazing to see their size and behaviour up close.

OK, and scrap the pics. I just went through the trouble of uploading a whole bunch and now Blogger won't let me post them here for some strange reason. It's always something. . . . Pics will be posted next time then, for sure!

I fly down to Sydney early Friday morning on a red-eye from Darwin. It feels neither like December or anything like Christmas with the current weather (sunny and +34 C . . . this is the lovely thing about Darwin. The weather is exactly the same every day: hot, sunny, with the chance of an afternoon or morning thunderstorm. Very predictable and such).

I must jet but another post, and the pics, coming soon.

Bright red: the colour of money

Hello once again:

I've got to make this very quick but I thought I should give an update. It seems I will not, repeat N-O-T, become a jackaroo after all. Bit of a long story, but I got a bad feeling when the woman from the backpacker job centre called and said she couldn't get a hold of the ranch but she'd keep trying. Then she said if this doesn't work out she could give me a 2-week gig at a national park as a gardener. Sounds all right . . . but 2 weeks?

So I went out and found my own dang job right here in Darwin. It's at a concrete block factory very near where I'm staying. I did my first day yesterday (1o hours!). It's hot, dusty and a bit boring but both the pay and hours are great, as in 50-60 hours per week. A large part of my day yesterday consisted of manning one of the cement mixers. Every 3-10 minutes a massive vat on a pulley comes over and dumps a whole lotta sand in the mixer. This was my cue to dump a 12 kilogram bag of bright red iron oxide pigment into the mixer. As a result, we get lovely bright-red bricks. The things you never thought about when you go to your local garden centre for pavers, eh?

By the time I got home I was ABSOLUTELY covered in bright red pigment myself. My face, arms, legs, clothes and even eyelids were a scary red colour. It took a lot of scrubbing to get off. I took a few pictures (not of me scrubbing but of when I got home), which I'll have to post as soon as possible.

So, I'm staying in Darwin for the month near to email, phones, computers, pubs, comfortable beds and all that good stuff.

Phew.

Survival of the fittest

I arrived in Darwin on Monday night after a three-hour flight from Cairns. As capital of Australia's Northern Territory, Darwin is the country's northernmost city. Keep in mind that north=hot and south=cold in the southern hemisphere. In other words, Darwin is a ridgy-didge stinker of a place. (That's Aussie for right effin' hot).

For example, it was +27 when I got out of bed this morning about 8 o'clock. And the humidity was somewhere around 92%. It's not so bad when you're still indoors with fans all around you and the choice of air-conditioning. It's just that as soon as you step outside you begin to sweat. Or at least I do anyway. "It's like having your own personal sauna," is how a woman I met yesterday put it.

I spent the first couple of days pounding the pavement and getting a feel for the city, as well as looking for a job. Yes, it's sadly that time again: time for Tyler to join the real world and work. My five weeks of jet-setting, sailing, scuba diving, four-wheel-driving and otherwise living as a hedonist have done a number on the bank account. Now it's time to recharge the funds, as it were.

Darwin is a pretty city. Lush flowers and gardens are practically everywhere. The water in the harbour has a beautiful teal colour to it, much like it does at the Great Barrier Reef. The city's architecture is also remarkable, for two main reasons. Number one: many of the buildings are bright and colourful with a "tropical" feel. This is a city that's not afraid to take a few risks when it comes to design. Take the parliament building, for example. Some critics have apparently dubbed it "the wedding cake." But I think it's beautiful. It's where the tropics meet British colonialism meet institutional poise. Or at least that's my take on things.

The second reason why Darwin's architecture impresses: very, very little of it dates before 1975. There is a fairly simple reason for this. On Christmas Eve 1974, a terrible cyclone gathered strength off the shores of Darwin. Then in the wee hours of Christmas Day, Cyclone Tracy hit ground and effectively destroyed Darwin. Something like 11,000 buildings were completely wiped out and 66 people killed. There are only a few buildings which survived, most of them of the stone and brick variety (which makes one question some of our "modern" building techniques, doesn't it?).

The result of this is that Darwin feels like a very young city when it is, in fact, well over 100 years old.

As for jobs: I was a bit worried when the first few places I called told me either that the position had already been filled or that they wanted to hire someone who lives permanently in Darwin (and not a backpacker who will surely run away to Sydney in a month's time . . . as I fully intend to do).

Then I found the Backpacker Job Centre in the heart of town. I was a bit skeptical about the centre, as we've all heard horror stories about employment centres that don't actually find people jobs but just take their money. Well, such was not the case this time.

Within 15 minutes of arriving and handing in my application, I was back out the door with a job. It wasn't quite what I had pictured, mind you.

That's right: I am now Australia's latest cattle station hand, also known as a "jackaroo" in these parts. This means that I have to move to a farm 150 km south of Darwin very soon. I will spend most of my time out under the harsh sun doing I don't quite know what. I will work six days per week and probably be dead tired on the seventh. But, and this is the good part, I don't have to pay anything for food or lodging and I'll be taking home a very decent rate of pay on top of that (similar to what one can earn with an arts degree back in Canada).

I'm slightly scared that this will turn out to be a horrific experience but then, hey, I've probably had worse jobs. The woman at the job centre assured me that I'll have a good time (she said she worked on cattle stations herself when she first came to Australia from New Zealand). Here's hoping she's right.

Oh, and don't expect to hear from me much until I'm back in civilzation. There will be no cell phone reception at the cattle station so no text messages or sudden calls from me. I also HIGHLY doubt that there will be an Internet connection anywhere near me. So no blogging, checking emails or (gasp) Facebook for the next while. This doesn't, of course, mean that you can't keep sending me emails. That way I'll feel extra loved and important when I finally get back online.

Wish me luck!

P.S. I turn 29 in 10 days. I certainly never thought I'd be celebrating my birthday with a bunch of cows.

We found Nemo

Yes, my friends, it's true. I have literally taken the plunge and gone scuba diving for the first time in my life.

It wasn't really planned, it just sort of happened. I found myself in Cairns on Wednesday evening and was immediately bombarded with 10,000 different ways to go and see the Great Barrier Reef.

While the Reef is about 2,000 kilometres long, Cairns is probably the most popular base for visits and day-trips in all of Australia.

At first, I thought I might just pass on the Reef. I've already snorkelled in some pretty amazing places in Oz and have seen so many great things.

Wait a second: I can't come this far and be this close to one of the seven natural wonders of the world and not go and see it. Can I?

Then I started to think I'd just go and have a snorkel out at the Reef since I have neither my diver's certification or the $500 lying around to go and get it done at the moment.

Well, somehow I found a pretty sweet deal at the hostel I'm staying at. For $115 I got boat transfers to and from the Reef (two hours each way), lunch, two snorkels AND an introductory Scuba dive. Since it was going to cost $90 just to do the snorkelling, I thought why the hell not?

I didn't think too much about the dive until we got on the boat yesterday. That's when the instructor gave us a 45-minute safety talk, putting all sorts of frightening thoughts in the brain. "Remember, guys, the most important thing is to never come up to the surface too quickly. Or your lungs will explode."

Then he told us we'd be going as deep as 10 metres (more than 30 feet). Wowza, and I thought this was just for beginners.

I began to wonder if perhaps I shouldn't have given this a practice before coming out to open water where any number of things (sharks, jellyfish, coral) could slice, dice and have you for dinner.

But there was really no turning back at this point. That would have just been a wasted opportunity. The good thing is that the instructor gave us plenty of time to float on the surface and get used to breathing. It was very strange at first but then surprisingly easy once you calm down, relax and get used to all the bubbles surrounding you.

Then he took us one by one down a rope, making sure we were breathing properly and popping our ears as the pressure got too great.

And then away we went, swimming next to massive boulders of coral, spotting giant clams and basking in the warm, blue waters.

The highlight, of course, came when we discovered not one but two clown fish right on the ocean floor. That's right, we found Nemo! I certainly never expected that.

The dive only lasted about 15 minutes and then it was time to resurface (slowly!). I've never been so happy to breathe the good old-fashioned way in my life.

To be honest, the snorkelling is just as good on the Reef, as many of the sights are just a metre or two below the surface. I spent a good hour snorkelling at two different spots. I could have stayed even longer if they hadn't called us back to the boat.

I was exhausted by the end of the day. All that sun, salt air and water can really do a number on a person. Let's just say a three-hour nap was in order but at least I earned it.

I came, I saw, I dived.


P.S. I have to share this funny little story: I was listening to a local radio station on my first day in Cairns (remember this is pronounced "Cans" by the Aussies). The radio announcer started talking about a female bartender in Western Australia who was fined for crushing beer cans between her breasts. (I have no idea what possessed her to crush the cans in this way or why she was fined for doing it. We've all got to have a party trick, don't we?)

Anyway, the female announcer said she thought maybe they should give this sort of thing a try locally.

Says she: "We'll have them crushing cans with cans in Cairns while doing the can-can."

Priceless.

The value of a good bed

The value of a good bed is priceless, I have learned.

In the past eight months I have slept on everything from a bed of sandstone to a fluffy, luxurious hotel mattress. And let me tell you, when I now find a good bed, I know it.

This is why I've been so happy with the last two hostels I've stayed in: Scotty's Beach House at Mission Beach (click on the link) and The Serpent in Cairns. Both hostels have super, ultra comfy beds (for a hostel that is). And both hostels seem to actually care whether their guests are comfortable and having a good time. This is unfortunately rather rare in a hostel.

Scotty's was probably the best hostel I've stayed in on any continent or in any country. Not only were the beds good, the pool was big, deep and clean; there were plenty of couches, hammocks, and lounges to hang out on; and the kitchen and Internet rooms were open 24/7. Staff even show you to your room and make sure it's OK at check-in. I've never seen that before in a hostel. So, if you're ever in Mission Beach, Scotty's is most definitely the place to stay.

And if anyone tries to tell you that there's nothing to do in Mission Beach?

Well, they're right. That's kind of what makes lying in the hammock all day so much guilt-free fun.

I've finally made it to Cairns last night. Very nice so far! I must now get my bum off the chair in front of the computer and out onto the streets to explore.

Ciao.

Every day is Sunday here

For some reason, I don't really feel like blogging today. It just seems like an awful lot of work and at the moment I feel like an awful lot of lazy. But no, I must persevere.

It's been almost a week since I stepped onto a yacht in Airlie Beach in anticipation of two days at sea in the Whitsunday Islands.

Let's see if I can sum up what it was like briefly: GORGEOUS.

The Whitsunday group of 74 islands are some of Australia's most famous and most breathtaking. Surrounded by warm teal waters, full of pristine beaches and nestled right next to the Great Barrier Reef; life doesn't get much better than it is in the Whitsundays.

The picture behind my blog title is at Whitehaven Beach, one of the most photographed locations in Oz. I'm sure I don't need to explain why.

I was a wee bit apprehensive about getting on a boat with 15 strangers (plus two crew) for such a long period of time but for the most part I had nothing to worry about. The first guy I met was a very friendly Brazilian named Mateus. This guy was a laugh from start to finish on the trip. I also had the pleasure of getting to know two lovely Swiss people (Carina and Stephane), Farquan from Scotland, and a nice Danish couple.

There was also a group of nine other travellers who were doing the sailing bit as part of an 18-day trip up Oz's east coast. It seems this group would rather have had a private boat than share with the rest of us. Let's just say "friendly" was not their strongest character trait (though a couple of them were all right). Aside from their group wanting to go to bed at 9 p.m. and the rest of us wanting to stay up and play cards/drinking games, we mostly got on OK. Anyway, we won't talk about that anymore. I will, however, warn you to think twice if you're ever contemplating booking a Let's Trek Australia tour. Unless of course you like going to bed at 9 every night on holidays.

Gripes aside, I had a beautiful time in the Whitsundays. It was the most time I've ever spent on a boat but I managed not to get seasick even once. Oddly enough, I found that drinking a beer made me feel better the couple of times I was a bit queasy. Homer Simpson would have been so proud of me.

The trip highlight had to be snorkelling in the reefs around two of the islands. It was like being suddenly part of an IMAX film. I'm now kicking myself for not shelling out the money for an underwater disposable camera. But that's OK, I have my memories.

Tonight I'm in the city of Townsville (a lovely city, by the way) before taking off to Mission Beach tomorrow, arriving finally in Cairns on Wednesday. It may have taken me six months to get this far from Sydney, but I made it!

P.S. Almost forgot my exciting news: I've seen a real koala out in the wilderness. At long last! Here's a pic of him.

Paradise found

It's only 7 a.m. but I already feel sick to my stomach.

We've just finished loading up our massive Toyota jeep with camping equipment, backpacks and food for 9 people over the upcoming three days on Fraser Island.

Next we are corralled into a room and shown videos about all the horrible things that can (and will!) happen to us on the island if we don't obey all the rules. No driving on sand dunes. No using 4WD on pavement. No driving over 60 km/h. No feeding the dingoes. And on and on.

It's an awful lot of information to absorb in just 30 minutes. To make matters worse, I've been nominated as our group's first driver from the hostel to the ferry and then down the wild, sand roads of Fraser. It's my credit card that's been registered on the vehicle insurance form. This brings another rule: no speeding to and from the ferry. If we get a ticket from the police, it'll be issued directly to me.

So, I'm put behind the wheel and away we go. Keep in mind, this is only my second time ever driving in Australia and on the left-hand side of the road, and my first time ever driving a 4WD. Lucky me that I have the lives of eight passenger in my hands.

Koala's Hervey Bay, our hostel, has divided 27 backpackers into three groups of nine. Somehow, and I can only ponder why, I'm the sole male in my group. It's me, three German girls, two Irish girls, and three British girls. For some men this would be an incredible stroke of luck. For others, it is. . .not such a big deal.

Anyway, I'm the Official Boy of the group and that's the way it is. This means I not only get to do much of the driving, but also plenty of heavy lifting, packing and repacking the vehicle and. . . my favourite task. . . chasing dingoes away from the campsite at dinnertime!

Driving on Fraser doesn't seem so bad at first. The roads are more like a loose gravel than full-on sand as we leave the barge landing. But within five minutes we are bouncing all over the place on a sandy laneway through the forest. It reminds me of driving down a very snowy street in the middle of a Canadian blizzard. Who says being from the Prairies doesn't pay after all?

The next couple of days bring their fair share of stories to tell. There was the road we got stuck on deep in the middle of the forest on our way to setting up camp the first night. We managed to get ourselves unstuck quickly, only to witness another car get stuck right after us. Much digging and car-pushing ensued as we helped the middle-aged man and his wife out of a jam. Somehow we made it to the campsite just as dusk set in. Phew.

The next day we get stuck on the beach. Again it is late in the afternoon, we are on our way to the campsite and high tide is quickly approaching. Water laps against the rear wheel well as we dig and push some more. Luckily, a group of Aussie fishermen stop and offer to tow us out. Being towed is technically against the long list of rules but then so is getting salt water anywhere on the undercarriage of the vehicle! We have no choice but to do it. It's literally sink or swim.

Just as the Aussies are about to tow us out, one of them had a look at our wheels. "Hey, this thing isn't in four-wheel drive," he said. "Hehehe, oops," I said sheepishly. It seems one of the other groups from the hostel decided to have a bit of fun with us by switching the wheels from 4WD to 2WD when we were away from the jeep (this can be done from the outside).

Don't worry, we got them back later for this.

Somehow me made it through both nights and days on the island and saw so many beautiful things. . . crystal clear freshwater lakes, strange sand formations, leaping lizzards, hungry dingoes. This was roughing it in the truest sense. And I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Beautiful sand formations along the eastern beaches of Fraser.

A few of the girls and I take a dip in the Champagne Pools. They are rockpools just next to the ocean that fill up at high tide. The crashing waves look like champagne overflowing from the bottle as the cork is opened. The water even bubbles like champagne when the big waves hit.

The Wreck of the Maheno: this ship crashed into Fraser's shores in 1935 due to gale force winds and a fierce storm. It hasn't been moved since. We visited it in the early morning when the skies were overcast and there was plenty of mist on the beach. Spooky, indeed.

Lake Mackenzie: arguably Fraser's favourite beach. The waters are crystal clear and clean as can be. An amazing way to wash off the filth of camping!

Wet and wild

As you can imagine, much of life in Australia revolves around sun, sand and surf. If you live in any of Australia's five largest cities on the mainland (Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Perth, Darwin) you are probably never more than 20 kilometres or so from the beach. Especially if you live in Sydney where there are something like a dozen beaches within the city limits.

As a result, many of the pictures I've taken in the last seven months involve the beach and/or water in some way or another. I think growing up in a landlocked province in Western Canada has only increased my fascination with the beach, to boot. Look at me in this picture. I'm jumping for joy. Shameless.

Here are a few more photos from recent wet-water pursuits.

A glorious sunset on Moreton Island. A couple of friends and I spent a Saturday night camping in the woods. This is the sunset we were treated to that evening. Couldn't have asked for it be much better.

Oddur holds up his big catch: a starfish we found while strolling the beaches of Moreton Island, which you'll note, span miles and miles of ground.

The resort I worked at is in the far distance, near where the land juts out further to sea.

The Tornado: one of the most "death-defying" slides at Wet 'n Wild, a waterslide park south of Brisbane that I visited last weekend.

This ride was cool! You sit three or four to a tube and come flying down a chute before being hurled into the round part of the slide (the tornado) and out the other end. It's all over very quickly but well worth the wait in line.

A couple of kids are shot out the end of the tube.

Washed out the end of tornado for the grand finale.

Whale Bone a-go-go (or How I Spent My Last Days at Tangalooma)

"You went home so early last night," my co-worker Lance said to me on Friday morning, my last day at the resort. "You should have stayed out with us. We went to the Flensing Deck and hung out there until 3 or 4 in the morning."

"What is that some kind of new nightclub?" I said, bursting into a laugh.

You know you live and work somewhere really special when the hottest place to party is at a place called the Flensing Deck.

But this is how life is on Moreton Island where you've got but one bar and one pub on the entire island (Note: the two are separated by a distance of about 15 km.)

The Flensing Deck, in case you were wondering, is a hollowed-out concrete building in which, once upon a time, giant humpback whales were gutted, deboned and otherwise mangled during the height of the Australian whaling industry in the 1950s-60s. The building now serves as a badminton and basketball court for resort guests by day and a place to party for staff when the main bar shuts down. Funny that, isn't it?

Well, I never made it to the Flensing Deck on Thursday night but I sure had a good time anyway. My co-workers and I from the shop went out for dinner at the Steakhouse where we enjoyed fine slabs of cow, chicken and fish, along with a few very tasty desserts.

"It's so nice having a meal that's actually prepared especially for you and not 180 of your 'closest' friends," said Lance, referring (not-too-kindly) to our usual meals in the horrific resort staff room. He is full of witty remarks that boy.

We all had a really good time drinking down at the bar and laughing for a couple of hours after dinner. It was the first time we all went out like that and I now wish we'd have done it more. And as Lance noted, I never got too crazy. I was at home by midnight and in bed by one. I had to open the shop at 6:45 a.m. after all!

My last week at Tangalooma went by in a flash. Between doing laundry, packing my bags, cleaning my room, oh, and working 37 hours, I didn't have much time to twiddle my thumbs. Of course, I'm not complaining. I think life is often at its best during periods of change when the anticipation of future events keeps you feeling relatively carefree.

I'm now back in Brisbane for a few days before heading far, far north up the Queensland coast to the city of Cairns (pronounced Cans, as in beer cans). I figure it's going to take at least three weeks to get there with all the stops I plan on making. Queensland is truly blessed with natural beauty, beaches and a whole bunch of other good things, such as the Great Barrier Reef. I'm so excited about snorkelling up there that it isn't even funny.

Speaking of, I tried snorkelling for the first time ever with two new friends about two weeks ago. We spent a night camping on Moreton Island about 2 km from the resort, just off the beach from a landmark known as the Wrecks. The Wrecks is a group of 15 ships that were deliberately sunken in order to create a safe haven for small boats that drop anchor there when the tide is rough. The sealife like it too, making it a great spot for fishing, snorkelling and diving.

Snorkelling was one of the most relaxing experiences I've ever had. All you can hear is the sound of your breathing as you float from wreck to wreck and look at all of the amazing fish swimming right in front of your face.

I've got some great pictures of all the things I've been doing in the last month or so but they'll have to wait until the next post. I wasn't organized enough today to get dressed, find my camera AND make it to the library by 10:15 a.m.

My new friend Oddur will be joining me for the first few days as I travel northward. A native Brisbanite, Oddur has been very good about showing me around the city and taking me to places I would otherwise never know about or get the chance to see. Last weekend we visited Mt. Warning, an absolutely beautiful and ancient volcano in the middle of lush rainforest about two hours south of Brisbane.

Yesterday Oddur, his brother and I went to a waterslide park on the Gold Coast near Surfers Paradise called Wet 'n Wild. It's essentially the watersliding version of Disneyland. What a blast! I hadn't been watersliding in years since my last visit to the West Edmonton Mall. Pictures of some of the slides to come too.

Well, I'm now running out of time on computer. But rest assured, I'll be posting again a lot sooner than I have been lately.

Thanks for reading.

Daddy Roo

Ahh, how the days fly past and the months roll on.

It's been weeks since I've written so much as a word on the blog. There are lots of reasons for this but I won't bore you with the details. As it stands, I've got exactly 27 minutes to finish this entry, continue checking emails and do some other miscellaneous Internet stuff. Then I've got to buy a long distance phone card, get some groceries (not to mention a bit of alcohol) and make my way to the ferry back to the island. The prices for food and booze are shocking on the island so I prefer to do a bit of stocking up when I'm in the city. The joys of living on a remote, nearly empty island are truly endless. I don't mean that in a completely sarcastic way.

I cannot believe that I never posted this picture sooner. Not sure what I was thinking. I was oh-so-pleased about making friends with this kangaroo when I visited Brisbane's wildlife sanctuary a couple of months ago. This guy here was posed so perfectly and relaxing in the sun when I found him. He wasn't scared or intimidated when I got right close to take the picture and he even let me pat him on the head a couple of times (kangaroos in the wild are not this tame, mind you).

So, I still haven't seen a roo in nature (or any koalas) but at least I got this cool photo.

I was lucky enough to visit Noosa, a resort town north of Brisbane this weekend, with a couple of new friends. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful drive to and from. We thought maybe we'd catch a glimpse of some koalas sleeping in the eucalypts near the beach but no such luck. Maybe next time.

This here is another favourite photo from the resort: It's taken underneath the jetty (i.e. wharf, pier) on a day with a very low tide but unusually rocky sea. The different shades of water happen based on how deep the ocean floor is beneath. The shallow parts reflect the sand and take on the greeny/aqua shade while the deeper parts are more of a classic ocean blue. It's beautiful!

My time is sadly running out. This wasn't much of a blog entry but it was better than nothing.

In a few more weeks I'm going to quit my job on the island and head back to the mainland for further travels north. I'm very excited about getting back on the road and there are so many things ahead of me. Rest assured, the blog will also regain a bit of vitality once I set off.

Toodles.

Aussie-isms

My oh my, is it time for some new additions to my not-so-definitive guide to Australian vocab and slang, or what?

I started this part of the blog months ago with every intention to create a lengthy list for my linguistically inclined friends and confidantes. And now I've left you out in the cold.

Working with so many Australians on Moreton Island has given me the chance to pick up quite a few new words, many of them to do with the workplace itself.

So, without further ado, here are a bunch of new words you've probably never heard before and will likely never use!

The workplace:

Smoke-o: a short break given to employees for the purpose of inhaling a cigarette or two. Of course, one does not actually have to smoke during smoke-o. I first heard this term when I was working on the construction site in Brisbane. It took me a day or two to figure out what in tarnation the other guys meant when they kept saying things like, "Youze goin' on smoke-o at 10:30, mate?" In the case of the construction site, most guys did indeed have a ciggie or two during smoke-o. (I just ate an apple or orange and drank some water.) Hell, half of them smoked as they worked. It's very "en vogue" to do that in the construction industry.

In keeping with the theme of labour/trades, Aussies have a number of endearing terms to refer to the different types of tradesmen and labourers. Here are a few:

Chippy: a carpenter (as in wood chips, I guess)

Sparky: an electrician, for obvious reasons

Bricky: a bricklayer . . .( are you catching onto a trend yet?)

Yardy: a yardsman

Dishy: a dishwasher. The politically correct term for such a person is "kitchen hand," of course. That being said, no one ever actually calls them kitchen hands at the resort. They're just the dishies.

By this time, you might have begun to notice that Australians love to shorten words. This is probably the most defining characteristic of Australian English. If there is a way to shorten a word, Aussies will find it. My boss Madonna (but remember that everyone just calls her "Donsy") says it's because Aussies are just plain lazy. I don't know about that, but they do have a laidback approach to language.

Even the shortest of names gets shortened further by Aussies. Example: Adam becomes "Adsy" to his friends. Sharon or Sheila becomes "Shazza" or "Shaz." Darren becomes "Dazza." Strangely enough, most Australians call me by my full name. Perhaps that's because Tyler isn't a common name over here. I'm sure once they discover that they can just call me "Ty", they'll be onto it like vegemite on bread. (Make that peanut butter on toast for you North Americans.)

* * * * *

Food:

Tomato sauce: Us North Americans know this one better as "ketchup." If you say ketchup here, you usually get a "Pardon?" and then have to say it again. It's better to just ask for tomato sauce (and that's toe-mah-toe not toe-may-toe). And you must ask. They don't just hand it out with the fries over here.

Choc top: just about anything that is covered with a layer of chocolate on top is a "choc top" in Oz. That goes for ice-cream cones, doughnuts, pastry puffs, etc.

Meat pie: Australians have a major fascination/addiction to the "meat pie", a small, pastry-crusted pie stuffed with any combination of meat and vegetables (usually beef or chicken). I think we'd call these a "pot pie" back in Canada. Meat pies are common street food over here, akin to a slice of pizza or a donair (or gyro or whatever you want to call it). But I've also served them at swanky corporate cocktail parties and luncheons.

Sultana: this fancy name refers to that most unglamorous of fruits: the raisin.

Capsicum: another fancy name for something we Canadians simplistically call the "red pepper."

Rockmelon: I couldn't figure out what this one was for the longest time until one day I finally saw it for sale at the grocery store. It's cantaloupe!

Paw paw: another exotic fruit by a different name. Paw paw, which tastes like a combination of mango and banana, is the same fruit as the papaya. At least I think it is.


Drink:

Short black: known as an espresso in the rest of the world, a short black is what you order when you need a quick caffeine jolt. It is, after all, a short, little cup of coffee.

Long black: known as an americano to Canadians (and, presumably, Americans), this is a coffee that's half-water with a shot or two of espresso mixed in.

Lemonade: In Oz, this drink is the same as what we would call Sprite. That is, lemon-lime soda. In fact, if you ask for lemonade you'll usually get Sprite or some other brand of similar taste.

Lemon Squash: This is what Canucks call lemonade, i.e. a more pulpy, tangy version of Sprite.

Pot: a small glass of beer that is more or less equal to a half-pint.

Middy: same thing as a pot, different name. At first I thought the Aussies were calling it a "mini" so that's what I ordered the first few times.

Schooner: Fans of Boston Pizza will be disappointed. Why? Because in Canada a schooner has come to mean a huge glass of beer (about three pints worth). In Australia, it's a very average-sized beer and smaller than a pint.

To be continued. . . .

Knock, knock, who's there?

Sometimes there are periods in life when nothing seems to be going right despite your best intentions.

We’ve all had those times: your car breaks down; you drop $20 on the floor in a dark nightclub and never see it again; your boyfriend/girlfriend/partner breaks up with you when you least expect it.

It’s during those times that we are least likely to appreciate the power of coincidences or even to notice life’s pleasant twists when they happen to us. This is definitely a shame.

Work and money were a struggle during most of June and July for me. My hours at the agency in Brisbane were slashed as winter settled in and the work dried up. Then, what was supposed to be a 30-40 hour per week job on Moreton Island turned out to be a 15-20 hour per week job. The reason? The managers of the resort’s food and beverage department (in their infinite wisdom and expertise) hired far more people than needed at this time of year. It was tough at times to look on the bright side. To remember that I was living on a pristine island just steps from the beach. Sometimes you can’t focus on the good when worries about money, love, and family are gnawing at the back of your mind.

Then something happened and things started looking up for me. I was placed in the resort gift/grocery shop as extra help for three days about two weeks ago. Suddenly, I heard rumours of a permanent casual position in the shop. I figured I would apply but didn’t expect to get the job, being as new to the resort as I am. Just when I had given up on getting the job and started planning to quit the resort and move further north, the shop manager came up to me one Wednesday night and said, “Hey, did you hear the news from your department?”

No, I said.

“You’ve got the job in the shop. You start next Tuesday.”

What?!

So, here I am. Still living on Moreton Island and finally getting decent hours. The shop manager, Madonna (known simply to all as “Donsy”), is a wonderful, cheerful woman who always has a tale to tell. She makes what could be a very boring job plenty of fun.

This morning I’m in Brisbane for the day. It’s time to catch up on a few errands and rid myself of a minor bout of Island Fever. Speaking of which, I no longer am sure whether I prefer life in the city to life in the country or vice versa. Lately the city seems dirty, noisy and overcrowded. What is with all these traffic signals? We don’t even have paved roads on Moreton Island, let alone crosswalks. But that is a bit of a tangent.

I decided to pay a visit to the YMCA this morning. I haven’t done a proper workout with weights in four months and was long overdue. I was disappointed that the gym was kind of small and the equipment sort of old. But the man at the front desk was very friendly and very familiar to me, for some strange reason. I told him I was going to think about it and might come back later to use the gym.

I wandered a few blocks down the street to another gym that is supposed to be larger, newer and nicer.

Then I hit another roadblock: the gym is closed on weekends. What kind of gym in the middle of a city of 1.5 million people does not open on weekends? Apparently the one I was at. Brisbane is a strange city in this way. Just after I arrived in the city at 8 p.m. last night, a few restaurants were already getting ready to close in the city’s nightclub district. The ones that were open were either half-empty or of the fast-food variety. And this on a warm, calm night. But, I digress once more.

So I went back to the Y. It would be cheaper anyway.

I started to tell the man at the front desk about my little escapade and gripe a wee bit about Brisbane’s strange business hours. That’s when he said, “Oh, I know. I’m from Canada. It’s different over there.”

I told him I was Canadian as well. And then something dawned on me. I said, “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Quan,” he said. And then we both realized it at the same moment.

“Did you used to live in Vancouver?” I broke into a smile.

Yep. He did. Right down the hall from me in the summer of 2001. We were both taking summer classes at UBC. Coincidentally, this was the same place I met my good friend Andreas, whom I later shared an apartment with in Vancouver for more than a year.

Wild!

Quan and I spent about 20 minutes catching up on where we were at in life and how the others we lived in the dorm with are doing. He’s now in his last year of medical school here in Brisbane and is dating a local girl. It was so good to see someone from home and talk about familiar people and places. To boot, Quan gave me a free entry to the gym.

I remember a story my dad told me years ago after he went on a trip to China. There he was shopping in a department store in Beijing when he ran into a woman he knew from high school in Regina, Sask. I just never thought I would have similar experience, at least not in Australia.

* * *

All right. I’ve blabbed on for long enough now. It’s time to show you more pictures from
Moreton!



A humback whale gives us a "wave". This was during a whale watching tour I did last weekend at the resort. We were lucky enough to have a calm, sunny day, which made it easier to see the whales. Too bad they were kind of shy that day. I think we only got one breech (a jump out of the water).












My fearless housemate Sam lifts a big, nasty Diamond Python out of our way as a group of us hiked across Moreton Island last week. This snake had stretched himself right across the road and was enjoying some sunbathing when we stumbled upon him. Sam said that the snake was pretty harmless and slow-moving at this time of year when food is scarce. And this was only a python, not a venomous snake. Still, I was a bit freaked out. I assume that any and all snakes can and will kill me in this country. There are some seriously lethal ones and you just never know!

The 20-km roundtrip hike wasn't as hard as we thought it would be but we were pretty much ready for bed when we got back to the resort. The snake added a bit of excitement to the tail end of the trip.

Voila, a shot of the dolphins at long last! These two guys are eagerly waiting to be fed by a staff member (top right) and a guest (in the yellow). A photographer (not me) is waiting to snap a photo of the feeding on the left.

Sand in my knickers, sand in my hair, sand everywhere

As the old saying goes, you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. So is my current relationship to the Internet, marginalized as I am to pricey ten minute increments of computer usage on the island. Today I’m in the public library in Brisbane with a full three hours of computer time to use for F-R-E-E on my day off.

Ahhh, is it good to be back!

It’s hard even to know where to begin or what to tell you first about life on Moreton Island. I come up with dozens of little anecdotes when I’m sitting in my room at night far away from any computer. Now I’m struggling to come up with just one. It figures, I suppose.

For starters, here you have a shot of a wee slice of the resort. On the left is the Tangalooma massage hut where guests can work out the kinks in their backs while on holiday. I haven't tried this yet but lord knows I'd like to.

I would be terribly neglectful if I didn’t tell you about all the fantastic wildlife one gets to see and hear on the island. Every morning begins with the jarring calls of the kookaburra in the wee hours before dawn breaks. If you’ve never heard a kookaburra’s call – and chances are that you haven’t since the bird is only native to Oz – imagine what sort of sound a wild banshee would make. That’s more or less it. The kookaburra is loud, proud and he’s going to let everyone know about it. Still, they are pretty cute and cuddly as far as birds go. You couldn’t hate one if you tried.

Later in the morning the pelicans gather on the beach for a feeding by one of the resort’s marine biologists (that’s them in the photo at the top of my blog). These winged giants are good fun to watch as they try to beat out the other birds in a quest for who-can-catch-the-most-fish. Often there are as many as 14 pelicans and scores of pied cormorants (a smaller, goose-like bird) playing the game.

A short stroll down the beach toward what’s known as the Wrecks (pictured at left), a group of deliberately sunken ships just off the shore of the island, and you are likely to see giant turtles, more fish and maybe even a dolphin swimming around. The Wrecks have created an artificial reef and are now a popular spot for snorkelling, diving, fishing and kayaking.

On my second day on Moreton I went for a short run down the beach. I spotted a small mound in the distance but didn’t think much of it until I was about 50 feet away when something told me to have a closer look. It turned out the “mound” was a massive sea turtle beached on the sand. Unfortunately, I think he might have been dead. There were no signs of breathing or movement and his eyes were closed. A shame, but my first time seeing such a creature in person.

Every afternoon about an hour before sunset is when hundreds of screeching lorikeets make their way to the tops of the palm trees and settle in for the night. These birds are fast, colourful and shockingly loud. Did I mention loud?

The highlight of the day for most guests happens every night at 6 p.m. That’s right, it’s dolphin-feeding time. A pod of 8-10 dolphins turns up with amazing accuracy, frolicking and waiting patiently before the dinner bell rings. Five “feeders” form five lanes and then make their way into the water to say hello and give the dolphins a bite before the guests enter. The dolphins even team up in the same pairings and at the same lanes each night. I’ve even heard stories of dolphins bringing “gifts”, such as a half-eaten tuna fish, for the feeders as a way of saying thank you for the food the dolphins get in return. When the feeders have tried to return the tuna fish to the dolphins, they won’t accept or eat it. It’s unbelievable how smart they are.

For the first week I only caught a few short glimpses of the dolphins, usually while rushing off to a shift in the restaurant. Then I had a stroke of luck while talking to one of the staff photographers. She mentioned that they needed another casual photographer to help with the dolphin photos on Sunday and Monday nights. I went down to the photo shop the next day and was soon in business!

I’ve now done photos three times. This involves treading right into the water and standing behind the dolphins as they’re fed. Often the dolphins swim right past my legs as they’re waiting for the fish and you’d just swear they have little smiles on their faces.

On my first night we had a total of 14 dolphins: 10 regulars and four party-crashers. The four intruders were males from another pod and one of them was apparently looking to mate with Tinkerbell, one of the regular females. Poor Tinkerbell couldn’t get a moment to herself as the intruder male swam back and forth behind her for the entire feeding. He even swam up and tried to put distance between me and Tinkerbell when he thought I was getting too close at one point. It was incredible!

Another highlight was the trip I took to the Tangalooma Desert two weeks ago. Moreton Island is the world’s third largest sand island (the other two are also in Oz). The island is made of about 98% sand and 2% rock. Most of that sand is covered in trees; however, a few areas, like the desert, have no trees at all. Instead there is literally nothing but soft, white sand on about 10 acres.

The resort takes guests on “safaris” to the desert (staff can go for free if space permits) to try their hand at sand tobogganing.

The premise is simple: grab a piece of smooth board, add a bit of surfboard wax to one side, climb up a 150-foot sand dune, and slide right on back down. Being Canadian, I like to think of myself as a bit of a tobogganing aficionado. Sand tobogganing was certainly a new one for the repertoire.

Of course, there is much more that I could tell you but this entry is getting very long and I don’t want to put anyone to sleep. I’ll save a few more stories for the next round.

P.S. I miss you.

Five days in

Ahoy, mates, I write to the world from Moreton Island, that isle in the sea stumbled upon by Captain Cook way back in 1770.

It was he, after all, that gave the island its name, calling it Morton Island after some rich fancy-pants back in England. Everything was going along swimmingly until some yokel got the name wrong on an official document and Moreton Island it has been ever since.

Life at the resort is pretty sweet. The weather was Superb with a captial S for the first three days. Sunshine, not a cloud in the sky and highs of 22 degrees. Not bad for the middle of "winter" (even if winter is a total sham in Australia).

I've been very busy training at all of the resort's restaurants and bars: there are six in total. It's slightly hectic but I'm happy to be busy. Life here resembles living in a small town in many ways. There are about 100-150 staff so it doesn't take too long to get to know all the faces. Life is also a bit like high school here. We eat all our meals in a cafeteria. As one of the "new guys" I have been stared at and quizzed multiple times. I think I should just start wearing a stamp that says "Made in Canada" on my forehead. That being said, most everyone has been very friendly and tried to make me feel at home.

Anyhow, I must run as the clock on this public computer is ticking with a hunger.

More to come as I get the chance.

To the dolphins

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned an interview at a resort near Brisbane where I was attempting to get a waiter gig. After waiting for a week or so (and thinking that I wasn't going to get the job), the resort came through in the end. And so, I'm moving to Moreton Island on Monday to start the new job. I'm sincerely hoping that it goes well as the resort is more or less the only show on the island. It's not as though I'll have tons of other work options. But there are lots of cool things to do on Moreton: snorkelling, ocean kayaking, ATV-riding, feeding wild dolphins, and -- most enigmatically -- sand tobogganing. That last one will be a blast.

I don't expect to have frequent access to the Internet on the island, unless I somehow luck out and get a roommate with a laptop and a wireless connection. There are Internet kiosks at the resort but they charge something like $2 for 10 minutes. As if. So, if you don't hear from me for awhile you'll know why.

To the dolphins I go. . . .

Memories

June 27 is special for me.


It's a day I've been thinking about for years. And because I came to Oz this year, it's now twice as significant.


For one: today marks four months that I've been in Australia, having arrived on Feb. 27. It's amazing how quickly the time passes. I think most travellers can relate to the way your conception of time changes when you're away from home. In some ways, it's all one, big blur that has come and gone in a flash. In other ways, I feel it has been years since I last saw my family and friends in Canada. And since I ate poutine. (I just had to throw that in.)


For two: I graduated from high school on June 27, 1997 -- exactly 10 years ago today.


I can remember the day so clearly. It was only partly sunny. Not the perfect weather one would hope for on such a day, but at least it wasn't raining. I remember so many small details: the ceremony of going to pick up the rental car (a brand-new, hot-red Pontiac Sunfire coupe) from the dealer; the extra time I took showering, shaving, and getting dressed; driving to my best friend Kim's house to pick her up, as well as a couple of other friends; the way we drove down Albert Street and then around the block a couple of extra times before parking the rental car at the hotel.


Later on after the dinner and ceremony, we boarded yellow school buses and set off for the after-grad party at a local nightclub (it was terribly exciting for a bunch of underage kids to be partying in a nightclub, although we weren't allowed to drink alcohol. It was an event organized by the school, after all). We danced, we ate, we talked until dawn. A big group of us went for breakfast at an all-night diner. Everyone was in a terrific mood, despite the lack of sleep.


And then we went our separate ways, not knowing exactly what the future would bring or what we would make of our lives.


Some of us have moved to far-flung parts of the world. Some of us still live in Regina, Saskatchewan. Some of us went to university. Some of us didn't. Some of us are married with children. Some of us are single. One of us is sitting in a public library in Brisbane, Australia, typing a new entry for his blog (a word that didn't even exist on June 27, 1997).


Did I think this was what I would be doing 10 years from graduation day? Of course not. Although I had always dreamed of travel and had been to Europe my first time just a few months before grad, I had no ambition to live in Australia back then.


I think what strikes me most today is that I don't fundamentally feel any different than I did when I was 18. Sure, I'm a bit wiser to the world. I've gained confidence and life experience. I can be proud of several achievements while I try not to think about the failures.


Otherwise, I'm still that same kid who loves to have a laugh with friends; who loves food from all corners of the Earth; who sometimes takes life too seriously; who is more shy than he would like to be.


Just one question remains: where will I be on June 27, 2017?







A picture of my friend Tana Cameron and I on graduation day, June 27, 1997. Thanks for sending this to me recently as a surprise, Tana!

Still kickin'

I figure it is time to let all of you know that I am indeed alive and well on the other side of the world (or the same side of the world, depending on where you're sitting).

I have neither abandoned my dedication to the blog or forgotten to do updates. Basically, I have no good reason for the lack of posts, except I've been working an awful lot at all sorts of hours and any day of the week, I've no access to a computer at home, and usually have insufficient energy to get all creative.

But that will change soon. Tomorrow I have an interview at a place called Tangalooma Wild Dolphin Resort on Moreton Island, not far from Brisbane. Sounds exciting, doesn't it? If I get the job it is full-time, and I move to the island. So, I'm kind of hoping the interview goes well.

Coming soon: posts on Aussie-isms (I'm making a mental list) and the quirks and quarks of Queensland.

By the way, this picture -- from when Matt and I were camping in the absolute middle of nowhere one night and had little but hot dogs and bread to eat -- has nothing to do with what I'm writing about in this post. I just thought it had been far too long since I posted anything visual on the site.

Toodles.

Old man winter

It is 7 p.m. on the first day of winter in Australia.

And I am wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

The patio door to the balcony is wide open and other guests at the hostel are outside eating their dinner on picnic tables. This, my fellow Canadians, is simply not fair, is it?

At least it's almost summer in the northern hemisphere. That ought to be some consolation.

It's been good fun listening to certain Aussies chatter about the "cold" lately. Last week a girl I worked with told me she has been just freezing at night and always wears two jumpers (sweaters) at home. I told her I've still been sleeping with just a bedsheet and the window partly open.

Even funnier, the other day a radio announcer expressed concern when he saw a young woman walking down the street in the early morning with long, wet hair. She was sure to catch a terrible cold, he said. It was +15 degrees outside.

Everything, including what constitutes hot and cold weather, is truly relative.

Why the Aussies even bother with following traditional European seasons is a bit of a mystery to me. There are really only two seasons Down Under as far as I can tell: warm and hot. You'll notice that seasons don't start and end on the same day as they do in North America. The first day of autumn was on March 1. Winter (as mentioned) started today. I can only guess that spring will come on Sept. 1 and summer on Dec. 1. I haven't yet figured out why this is.

* * *
I've happily finished a string of five shifts at the Brisbane Convention and Exhibition Centre today. It's not the worst place I've ever worked, but it's surely the most humongous. The centre's entire floor area is equal to the size of 462 full-sized tennis courts, according to its website.

This week's massive convention was the Australian Tourism Exchange, where tourism industry professionals from around the country and overseas descended on Brisbane to explore all manners of tourist activities in Oz. On Monday we did a cocktail party for 2,300 guests. On Tuesday and Wednesday we did sit-down lunches for 1,500-1,700 people. Yesterday and today we did buffet lunches for 1,200-1,400. If you think setting 170 tables of 10 with silverware, plates, glassware, wine and soft drinks is a good time, think again.

The sheer size of events at the convention centre makes it an impersonal, factory-like place to work (this despite the centre's motto: "Making Events Personal"). You are issued a uniform when you sign-in for work (amazing they don't also issue you a computer chip for tracking your identity and location). After you've changed, you are corralled into gigantic service elevators and taken up to the function rooms when work is to begin. You are "briefed" on the day's function and a roll-call is taken. Supervisors are called "captains" and they frequently shout out orders for the remainder of the shift. The best (only?) course of action is to submit obediently to their wishes and prepare to roll with the punches. It is the closest I've come to being in the military yet.

Perhaps that isn't a fair thing to say. The people in charge at the convention centre are actually quite nice, given the circumstances. Still, I simply cannot imagine working at these sort of massive functions for the rest of my life. It just isn't for me.

* * *

News bulletin: I am soon to see real live koalas, kangaroos and platypuses. Brisbane's Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary is not too far from where I'm staying and it does seem worth a visit. I had hoped to see some cuddly critters in the wild (this is why I avoided going to Sydney's zoos). But the koala sanctuary is wilderness-like and lets you see all sorts of animals in one place. Plus, I simply can't wait any longer! Will take plenty of pics, to be sure.

Foiled again

Today I've yet again been thwarted by technology in my neverending quest to upload pictures to Picasa (Google's photo manager) and use them on my blog. This is an ongoing issue for me. Either I can't find a suitable Internet cafe with the right computers and software, or my own laptop gives up the ghost, or my camera software acts up, or I forget one crucial element at the hostel, or. . . . Sometimes you just have to long for the days when you took a roll of 24 pictures to Superstore, popped it in an envelope, and picked your fully developed pictures up after lunch (doubles, of course!).

Griping aside, I've had a very active week in Brisbane, mostly spent working all over the place. I got a call from a hospitality agency Monday morning, asking me to come in for an interview on Tuesday. I jumped at the chance given that money matters have been at the forefront of my mind lately. Australia has turned out to be slightly more expensive than I'd hoped and the money always leaves the wallet faster than expected when travelling. Mix that in with "little" concerns like student loan and credit card payments to worry about back in Canada, and you've got one willing worker on your hands.

The interview went well and I was given orientation and a shift right afterwards. I do think it helps that the manager who interviewed me and does much of the scheduling is a Canadian woman from Ontario who seems to have taken a liking to me, in a patriotic sort of way.

On Wednesday morning I was sleeping soundly in bed when the guy who runs the job club at the hostel came into my room and asked if anyone wanted to work today . . . like, now (this seems fairly typical of him). I didn't exactly want to work. But hey, I got's bills to pay, don't I? So I uprooted myself from the bed and made my way to reception. The job in question was unloading a shipping container for 6 hours at $18/hour, or so we were told.

A man picked myself and two other chaps from the hostel up close to 9 a.m. and away we went deep into the suburbs. It turns out we were actually headed to a home construction site where unloading a container would be just one of the things we did. Most of the morning was passed in the following manner: moving pieces of lumber from one side of the yard to another; moving pallets of bricks (one brick at a time) from one pile to another; picking up garbage all over the site; moving bits of scaffolding from in front of the house to the rear. Not the most exciting stuff but at least it was good for the physique and a warm, sunny day to be outside. Later in the afternoon we were required to unload blocks of sandstone tile from the shipping container, which wasn't as bad or heavy as I'd imagined.

All of this would have been just fine, except that the agency also called me on Wednesday morning to inform me that I had to report for work at Brisbane's Suncorp Stadium that evening at 4:30 p.m. It was, after all, the day of the huge State of Origin rugby match, an annual competition between the states of Queensland and New South Wales. Think Labour Day Classic (a match between the Saskatchewan Roughriders and the Winnipeg Blue Bombers every September) for those familiar with the Canadian Football League. This was serious business.

Miraculously, I made it to the stadium at about 4:35, having only finished the construction gig at 3:30, and showering and changing in between. It was great to see the Aussies all riled up about the big game and helped abate my football homesickness a wee bit. However, serving 330 people pre-game dinner and post-game cocktails was not exactly a thrill a minute. The shift finished at midnight and I literally crashed into bed a few minutes later (thanks be to God that the stadium is only a five-minute walk from where I'm staying).

Lo and behold, Thursday morning rolled around quickly and guess what? I had to be at the construction site again at 7 a.m. Getting out of bed wasn't as tough as I'd imagined somehow. Probably because I was still on an adrenalin high from the previous day. The morning's work was deceptively easy as me and my two Italian coworkers, Mario and Alexandro, simply shuffled rubbish and lumber around the yard once again.

It was the afternoon that nearly killed us.

Out came giant slabs of granite tile from the shipping container. Each one required two men to carry them across the construction site, through the house, and up to the second-story master bedroom. Rinse and repeat. About 40 times. We made it through but not without a good amount of discomfort and some sore muscles.

Then the real challenge for the day came: two absolutely massive granite slabs the size of kitchen tabletops had to go the same route. This time six men were required to move each slab slowly up the stairs. One of the guys started calling us the Egyptian construction crew, so pyramid-esque was the fruit of our labour. I guess each slab must have weighed 700-800 pounds.

Thursday night I felt like the walking dead, as I shuffled about making dinner and trying to relax. I actually felt more tired after a two-hour nap than beforehand. Go figure.

Friday and Saturday were relatively normal days by comparison. Friday night's job was at the convention centre for the Brisbane Architecture Awards (another 570 people to wait on!). Finally, last night I was at The Gabba, Brisbane's cricket/Australian Rules Football ground. What a dream job in comparison. All that was required of me was to pour beer and the occassional spirit for four hours. It reminded me of my days as a popcorn jockey back at Cineplex Odeon Coronet Cinemas during high school.

Today is Sunday and, suitably, I have the day off. It's time for me to grab some groceries and lie in the sun a bit, ya think?

These are the things that I miss

I've been away from Canada almost three months now. They say this is about the time that you really begin to miss the comforts of home. I think they're right. Make no mistake, I'm having the time of my life in Australia. The weather in Brisbane has been astonishingly good since I arrived, reaching on average 26 0r 27 above each day. You can't help but go lay by the pool in this kind of weather. Brisbane's deep blue sky beckons you as soon as you lay eyes on it in the morning, and I'm developing a tan that shows just how weak I am against the sky's calls.

Still, these are some of the things that I miss from home, in no particular order:

- Barbecues with family and friends on May long weekend.
- big trays of veggies with homemade dip at said barbecues
- nachos from 7-11. They don't have them here. I've checked. Numerous times.
- good Ukrainian/Polish sausage. Australian sausage is crap. It's like giant, greasy, breakfast sausage, even at dinnertime. Ick.
- Going to Mosaic (Regina's big, three-day multicultural festival in June, which I've missed for years in a row now but anyway).
- POUTINE. Oh my God, I seriously don't know if I can go without poutine for nine more months. Please bring me a giant plate to the airport when I get back home!

There is a lot of food on that list, isn't there? Well, they say the way to a man's heart. . . .

A study in contrasts

This is a tale of two cities.

Byron Bay and Surfers Paradise are cities that sit not so far apart from each other on Australia's east coast. The first is a small, seaside resort town, perhaps not large enough to be called a city at all (in fact, many of Byron Bay's residents would likely shudder at the thought). Surfers Paradise, contrarily, is a small city made of big-city dreams.




For most backpackers and tourists, both cities are mandatory stops on the Australian tour. From the moment you arrive in Sydney, you encounter other travellers who've just come back from "Byron" or "Surfers", or who are heading there next week. Most of them will rave about the splendours of Byron in one sentence, turning their noses up at Surfers in the next. "Byron Bay is magic, it's so cool," they say, a dreamlike smile appearing on their faces. "Surfers? What a place. Full of nothing but highrises and noise."


It's true that Byron and Surfers couldn't be more different from each other, at least on the surface. Byron Bay found its way onto the world stage as a mecca for surfers back in the 1960s, its crashing waves some of the best in Australia (Yes, those are surfers swimming around near the rocks in the pic above). In the 70s, free-lovin' hippies found their way to Byron, bringing incense, chakra therapy, tie-dye and, of course, marijuana in their wake. In the '80s, backpackers discovered the town and scores of hostels were built as a result. Finally, the yuppies came to town in the 1990s, tearing down unsightly buildings and erecting villas, fine wine stores, and expensive clothing boutiques. At present, Byron is a slightly bizarre combination of all of these things, and then some.





Surfers Paradise, on the other hand, started its life as a sleepy, country town named Elston. Elston had little else going for it besides the fact that it's situated on a narrow peninsula of land and you are never more than two blocks from a beach almost anywhere you go. In 1925 the Surfers Paradise hotel opened as the area was becoming renowned as a tourist destination. In 1933, the town of Elston changed its name to match that of the hotel. And the rest, more or less, is history. A huge development boom in the '50s and '60s started the highrise craze, which continues to this day. Surfers is now home to the tallest residential tower in the world (the Q1), opened in 2005.




You might guess, based on these brief and probably vastly incomplete descriptions of each city, why some people would love Byron and hate Surfers. Byron, after all, is not marked by a single skyscraper or building over, say, five stories tall.

However, if you're more like me, you might wonder if perhaps there is something wrong with you. The problem, you see, is that I think there is really nothing special at all about Byron Bay.

Gasp! Allow me to explain, if you haven't fainted from shock. But where do I begin? Perhaps the first mark against Byron came when we checked in at our hostel, the Arts Factory Lodge, a sort-of hostel meets campground meets hippie commune. It is the most popular hostel in Byron and I have no idea why.

My friend Matt and I were camping at the Arts Factory campground. Great. Except that they demanded we pay $15 each per night for the pleasure of camping there in our one, puny tent. We stayed for three nights and even after 72 hours we couldn't figure out what we were paying for. Was it for the sprawling, rocky, dirt yard they call a campground? Was it for the inadequate and unclean toilets and showers? Perhaps the messy, unsightly kitchen and the spider webs that decorated the ceiling above the eating area? Oh wait, surely it was for the $5 beer available in the hostel's bar (the same beer is normally found for about $3.50 in Oz). Oh, and get this. The Arts Factory charges $30/night for one of their dorms. And here I thought this was a place run by hippies. Shouldn't they be charging more like $3 per night. Anyway, the hostel was a total dud.


The next problem? The damn prices in Byron Bay. Everywhere we went food, clothing and, as mentioned, housing were priced remarkably close to what you'd pay in Sydney. Heck, most of the eateries had a pretentious big-city air about them. Wasn't this supposed to be an idyllic seaside town?



I suppose much of Byron's charm comes from its beaches (they are beautiful, I concede) and the town's lax attitude toward recreational drug use. To be sure, the easy access to pot excites the 18- to 21-year-old set like little else. Maybe if I were a few years younger and hadn't just spent four years in too-cool-for-school-have-a-toke-man Vancouver, I too would have been more pumped. But I wasn't.



All I really wanted was a cheap beer and a decent shower.

So it was with happy hearts that Matt and I left Byron Bay last Saturday and headed for Surfers.

We located a hostel that was not only cheap ($20 per night with a coupon we found PLUS free drinks at the in-house bar) but had a pool, hot tub, arcade, free body boards (see photo for proof I used one) and cheap eats. I nearly thought we were in heaven for a few minutes.

Sure, Surfers verges on the tacky in many ways, with its neon shopping malls and souvenir shops lining the streets. However, the city is also home to spotlessly clean streets, some impressive architecture and miles and miles of golden beach.

It may not exactly be paradise, but take me to Surfers any day.