Wet Heat and Vitriol
July 1, 2005
Happy Canada Day.
Machans Beach, Queensland, Australia
8:39am
I think we’re alone now. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.
Steph just left for a power walk. Hud is watching a spin off of Sesame Street. I am sitting in a “Sou-Wester” chair on the front porch, hoping the flimsy wooden knockoff will continue to support me until I am done writing.
I woke up last night at 2:00am and fell back asleep at 4:40am. I tried every room in the house, hoping to catch a wave of slumber. I think it was the homemade pizza that woke me up. Like a sausaugy oniony apparition, this gurgly ghost startled me to upright, and forced me to swallow back the acid making a surprise return appearance from the bubbling depths of my stomach. I picture my stomach like an acid soaked version of Hades, with little demons floating on pieces of salami or peanut butter on toast, sticking their pitchfork tines into the walls, making me suffer for what I chose to ingest.
I just made a pot of tea and when I returned to the computer, John, the next-door neighbour was sitting on his porch. He is shirtless, and man is he tanned. He makes George Hamilton look like the ghost of an albino in winter. I am pretty sure you could make a nice attaché case out of his torso. My guess is he is about 65 and been wondering Machans Beach with a smoke and some grog for the last 30 years or so. Good on ya mate.
Yesterday we all woke up at the same time and headed out to Cairns to see the actual city. It was interesting. It is the gateway to all the surrounding adventure, including the Great Barrier Reef and the rainforests further north. We were only able to walk along the esplanade, about six or seven blocks of hostels, tour operators, one-hour photo labs and cafes. It is a little obnoxious and a little cute. Its not like the operators were on the street, barking their separate adventures on a big bullhorn. We are going to do one maybe two days of adventure here. We are not going to rush into it, as we want to find out what the best part of the reef is to see, and do not want to be herded like cattle onto a giant boat and gift shopped to death.
So we gathered some brochures and I went to try to post at a café while Steph let Hud play in the Lagoon, a massive saltwater pool right on the Cairns coast. The reason for the pool is they do not have beach. They have kilometers and kilometers of low tide yuck, impossible for swimming. But the pool still attracted hoardes of people. A lot of these people being the many backpackers from all over the world that have chosen Cairns as a to do list city. Many of these backpackers, about 70 per cent, seem to be female, roughly between 20 and 25. Many of these females were clad in bikinis. Woe is me.
“I’ll play with Hud in the water Hun, why don’t you go drink your cappuccino over there, read some brochures, we’re fine.….” (insert dramatic hand gesture)
Needless to say, while the scenery was pretty spectacular, it did prevent me from taking off my shirt, feeling insecure surrounded by this fake sea of international polka dot bikinis. I shouldn’t care. But I do.
Around lunch we pried Hud’s feet from the pool and my eyes from the boobs and walked back to the car. We ate while driving, stopping at the Liquor Barn to pick up a six for me and three bottles of wine for Steph, including a six-dollar Chardonnay we have yet to open.
We drove up the coast past our turn off to Trinity Beach, one of the five beaches north of Cairns that are suitable for swimming. Swimming only between June and September that is, as Stingers (Jellyfish) invade the waters in the warmer months. That is nine months of these beautiful silky sand beaches desolate due to the plethora of Stingers, some of which are 3cm long and invisible and occasionally lethal. Nature is so fucked sometimes.
I carried sleeping Hud to a nice spot under the shade of a tree. He woke up but was very docile and remained lying beneath a towel, another towel under his head. He stared at me while I read, occasionally lifting his head to point at a plane or the buoy bobbing in the water. He eventually sat up and started playing in the giant sandbox to him, beach to us. Steph and I swam in the 70 degree water and watched him ignore us.
We dried off and read while he played, not once in an hour asking for help, or a playmate, complacent with his own active imagination. Eventually it was time to go, so I snatched Hud up and took him into the ocean, him complaining all the way. He stopped screaming once we started jumping the waves and waiting for a big one, him so long in my arms now.
We dried off and put Hud into dry warm gritty clothes and drove home. I made two pizzas, one sausage, onion and red pepper, the other tomato, basil, red pepperr and pineapple. We ate outside, waving to the many dog walkers walking past.
Hud went to sleep easy. Steph and I watched trashy television. Me feeling guilty for not writing my novel.
We went to bed at 10. You know the rest.
Love to all,
J.
June 29, 2005
Machans Beach, north of Cairns, Queensland, Australia
4:09 pm.
They say Cairns like Cannes as in the film festival location.
It was about 26 degrees Celsius when we stepped off the plane yesterday around 1:00pm. It’s wet heat, like Fiji. I welcomed the respite from the Fijian heat in Victoria, but there is something about getting off the plane and peeling off your clothes and letting the humidity sink into your pores like teeth into nougat. I am a balmy banana.
It is amazing how drastically the climate changed in traveling only 2800 miles. It feels like a tropical island here, and I guess it is literally. I guess I am just amazed at obvious things. Like palindromes and vulvas.
The baggage claiming and car rental retrieving went smooth. Hud was pretty decent on the plane, but started to hit the wall in the airport and become manic and hyper, not unlike a baboon. We crammed all our bags in the smaller and whiter car and followed the directions we were e-mailed to our new place just north of Cairns. With Steph at the wheel and me giving directions we were able to get to Birri Bana (our cottage) without her fingernails embedded in my throat and without my satanic sarcasm embedded her psyche. It was an easy 10-minute drive from the airport.
Well. Birri Bana is pretty great. We are now three for three in long distance domicile choosing. Of course this place could handle about six more people, so if anyone is considering a last minute vacation to Australia, there is definitely room here. It is a two story, 4 bedroom house directly facing the Pacific Ocean.
Way to much room for the three of us, but what are you going to do? We are literally 10 steps from the water. I am on the front porch right now listening to the surf. But we kind of figured it was going to be nice due to the amount of money we are paying. So our goal here is to see the sights yes, but spend some time hanging around the house. It is large enough to find a quiet nook and read or just revel in some alone time. Hud’s bedroom is attached to the indoor sun porch, which spans the back of the house. It is huge and all his toys are everywhere. The moment we unpacked, I held the knapsack containing his toys upside town and watched his sparkling face dance as each truck bounced off the spare futon and on to the floor.
Go nuts Hudder nudder fudder dudder butter bean, you’ve got the biggest room in the joint.
Our room and the spare room beside us face the ocean.
There is a large deck off both rooms with a small two-seat chair underneath a light. I can picture late nights reading, or out there pounding out cheesy alliteration for my novel. 20 pages in 20 days. That’s my goal.
So the place is nice, hearing the ocean is nice, but the actual beach (Machans Beach) is actually not great. It is only walkable for about two hours at low tide, all other times the water laps right up and onto the rock wall protecting the house across the small street. So we can hear it, but to just walk down to it and jump in may prove more difficult. Although I will attempt it, just cause I can, and therefore have to.
Keith, the owner of Birri Bana, was here when we arrived outlining all the dos and don’ts, the please nots, the please watch out fors, typical landlord crud. They are very organized about this rental, with all items in the house printed out on nice yellow personalized piece of paper for theirs, and I guess our protection. We have been instructed not to wear our shoes indoors as all the floors are hardwood. Maybe Keith old chum should have had a quick gander at the toe talons that were about a week away from scraping as I walked. I have since cut them, and my hands are sore from doing so.
So unpacked and comfortable we bolted to the grocery store to fill the fridge with our favourite thing in the world - food. Before we did, we met John, our tanned and old neighbour who was lit up like an Irishman on Friday night. He also smelled of smoke and I was not sure if I was disgusted or wanted to lick his skin. Needless to say, his skin remained dry and rank and we were off to the grocery store.
250 bones later we were fully stocked for at least the next twenty minutes. Hud of course fell asleep at around 5pm so we had to wake him for fries and salad twenty minutes later. He was not amused. But he calmed down after a couple of steak cut fries with tomato sauce. That’s ketchup for all you alternate hemispherians. I fell asleep putting Hud to bed and then woke up to watch CSI, wondering why I never watched this show at home. I went to bed a little bit before ten and woke up in Hud’s bed. His head on my stomach.
This morning we checked the budget and argued a little about life philosophies. We were civil this time and ended with some resolutions and mutual desires to not be home by October. As mentioned, no matter what, we will satisfy all our commitments to our scheduled itinerary. We will not be coming home early. Even if I have sell an ear or a testicle.
After lunch of cheese and crackers with apples, we walked five minutes down the road to a beach where Hud could build roads and we could read our books. I think we are afraid to start exploring the area for fear we are going to spend too much money. We are hoping we learned our lesson in Sorrento, with our one big trip costing too much, and ruining our allotted budget. It was awful though, having such a good time, and then coming back and clutching your heart adding up how much we spent on basically nothing. Alas, awareness is key, and one of us saying the word no every once and awhile might help.
Hud enjoyed the beach. Of course he did.
Occasionally I stare at him and get a hit of remorse, thinking us taking him away like we did was not a good idea. Taking him away from other kids, his extended family, stealing his house out from under him, his dog gone, his toy room surely painted over. But when he runs down the bank of the beach and trips over a wave landing headfirst into another wave, only to laugh like a high hyena and grab onto my leg for support, I think he’ll be all right.
I ferociously love him.
Him who is again asleep right now at 5:30.
Falling asleep after eating a small bowl of chips with a sip of Diet Coke to wash it down.
My boy Hud.
Love to all,
J.
June 28, 2005
In the air, 75 miles north of Melbourne Airport, 22,000 ft, Australia
10:00am
We made it. Just. Steph and I had one of those brief volcanic fights that stem from frustration and lack of sleep. We just make a bad driving/navigation team. Remind me never to enter the LeMans 24 hour drive through the desert with her. I can eat dessert with her, just no driving through deserts, or to airports for that matter. Luckily, Hud slept through all the vitriol and name calling. And now I am wedged into a Quantas domestic 727 airplane and I just might need a giant shoe horn to get me out.
The last day at the Daisy Cottage was as expected. Packing and going online to get some information. Then to the bank to get the cash for the Cairns house. And house it is. A four-bedroom house on the beach. Although the beaches in Cairns are supposed to be pretty cruddy. I know I know, poor baby.
The best part of yesterday was heading out to the back beach after running all the errands for one last look at the initial crag that I fell in love with the day we arrived. We left at around 3:30 and watched the amber sun sink quickly into the horizon. We took about 25 pictures of the sunset and of Hud buried up to his head in the soft sand.
It was a fitting end to a beautiful two weeks on the Mornington Peninsula. We spent too much money and we will have tighten up somewhere a long the way. But there is no chance we will be coming home before February, so all the home by Thanksgiving jokes can now slowly dissipate like turkey farts.
Sorrento and surrounding area had everything we loved about small towns, with the luxury of being 90 minutes away from a very cosmopolitan city. So all the gourmet foods and wines and amenities were available, with the quaintness of a salty seaside town still intact. It was lovely and if it was anywhere like this in Canada, with the corrsesponding15 degrees in the winter, it would be difficult not to take a long look at settling down for a spell.
I have nothing else. We were very organized in our packing at leaving. We were on the road at 5:15am and arrived at the airport just after 7:00. Hud slept in the car so he is nice and alert, where we could stand a little snoozer.
I still love Steph even though she punched me in the face. This time while fully awake.
Love to all,
J.
I reckon there will be heaps of tears when we leave Sorrento
June 27, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
5:33am
Another early morning.
Two things I realized one day before leaving this cottage. There are heating pads in our bed and we can see a bounty of stars if we leave the curtains open at night. These are two things I would have taken advantage of since day one had I knew. Listen to me, I am such a winger. That is winger as in “to winge”, an Aussie term for whining. They use this word a lot. Also “reckon” “heaps” and of course “mate”.
Here. Lets use them all in one sentence for kicks.
“I reckon that mate winges heaps” translates to “that guy whines a lot”.
Yesterday we went to three beaches and two parks in a six-hour span. Cramming it in I guess. Today we will be relatively close to home preparing for the trip to Cairns tomorrow. The weather here has been great for the last week or so, allowing easy adventure for the three ramblers. It has hovered between 16 and 18 degrees I reckon (acclimation alert) with not a cloud in the sky, allowing for postcard sunsets. And champagne dreams and caviar wishes. I don’t know why I just wrote that. It just felt right.
The day began with me reading in bed. I was wearing a burgundy silk robe, sipping a handful of cognac, and listening to Nana Mouskori. Poopsie, I said, shouldn’t we be getting a move on? To which Steph screeched, unfiltered cigarette hanging from her mouth, Shiraz spilling on the carpet;
“Stop bothering me when I am watching my damn shows!!” I do so love my poopsie.
The day began with me reading in bed. Steph was making bean salad and helping Hud with his colouring. Sunday morning, no television. I have adopted that rule from my sister, who I love with all my heart. Hud does not even seem to like television. He switches it off sometimes in the middle of what I deem to be pretty entertaining kid shows. What a weirdo.
With snacks in the knapsack we hopped in the car and drove to Flinders, a town we had been to before. We drank our cappuccinos and ate the best berry muffins ever created while watching Hud play in the park. It was Sunday morning, so a number of other kids were there with their respective parents. It is so white here; there aren’t even any hip mulatto kids. Just alabaster white and stunningly beautiful. Usually, even with my parental bias in check, I think Hud is pretty darn cute compared to the other kids, but, wow, there were some good looking kids running from slide to slide. And I scanned the adult crowd to see if anyone stood out. Nope. Normal mugs. Like me I suppose.
But I think Hud is beautiful because Steph is beautiful. Even if he looks more like me, his beauty is still from Steph.
With a pee behind the tree, and a fake poo in the café, we were back in the car. We stopped at Shoreham Beach first, a small beach riddled with sea grass and other kelp. It looked a little nasty, but when we stepped out of the car, Steph demanded we go for a walk. I got out and immediately knew why. It smelled amazing. The true salty fishy fresh redolence of the ocean. So we walked up the coast a short ways and around a big jetty. Hud found sticks and hit the water pooled on the black rocks from higher tide. Steph and I watched the hypnotic surf, discussing nothing, just accepting the scenery in relative silence. A couple of quick photos and we made our way back to the car.
Next up Port Leo. A surf beach. We parked right across the street from a small park, with a strange amount of kids and parents huddled right near the entrance. Hud bolted, I followed and suddenly we were cutting through the middle of a birthday party. I grimaced and pressed my lips and smiled, bowing a little sheepishly, avoiding the presents and coolers, until I was free from the circle of parents. I thought it was kind of funny. The parents did not. They had the “you weren’t invited to this party” look I remember so well from high school. I reckon these mates can bite me.
A quick park play and then down to the beach, where the sun was soon to disappear over the horizon. This was obviously a morning beach. There were no surfers either. But Hud and I built a wicked volcano tunnel track for his trucks. I was saying to Steph, that I start these little Hud/Dad moments sometimes out of obligation, and then, minutes later, I am elbow deep in the sand, making truck noises myself, suddenly realizing that Hud is not even beside me anymore and I am the only one playing. Like Peter Pan I am.
The tide forced us to leave Port Leo, as we were lying there and the encroaching surf hit our feet, shocking us into movement. The water is cold, but doable. I have been in Ontario lakes on May 24 and on thanksgiving so this is nothing. I did not go in.
Last stop, and the best one really, was part of the National Park that entered off the highway. I thought it was going to be more a farm, nature type walk, so I stopped the car begrudgingly, wanting to go to the back beach near our cottage to see the sunset. But it turned out to be a walk to another, very lush, black stone dappled beach. It was downhill about a kilometere, and a bit muddy, so we all had to watch our steps. We reached the pretty and raw beach and a couple teenagers were sand surfing down a big dune, one of them trying to do a handstand backwards going down. He made it about halfway, enough for his friend to film it. Steph walked on along the coastline
as Hud wanted to play in the sand. I watched him for a while until I could stand it any longer and climbed to the top holding Hud’s hand.
On my knees at the top now, I tucked, and we rolled and laughed down the sandy bank, granules entering every orifice. Every orifice.
Coburn and I knew a girl named Sarah Orvis growing up. Guess what we called her.
Steph returned and we made our way back up the hill to the car, arteries pumping very fast doing so.
I was sure Hud would fall asleep, but he did not, eating the rest of his bean salad in the back seat, singing his own made up songs.
We dropped off the movie in Sorrento and came home and made dinner. I barbequed some chicken breasts with a honey mustard glaze and Steph made a salad with walnuts and apples and the parmesan cheese we bought from CheeseWorld (Edam! It was good).
Hud went to bed pretty shortly after dinner, his bedtime earlier now that he does not nap.
Steph and I watched television until nine and then we went to bed to read.
Read yeah right.
Oh poopsie……
Love to all,
J.
June 26, 2005
10:14am
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
Yesterday was Steph’s solo day. Mine was the golf day. We understand the need for these days. What couple is used to spending 164 hours a week together? Particularly after our tag team parenting, pass each other in the night relationship back in Toronto.
It is working so far. Minus the one brawl things are grooving along peacefully. We take turns with the responsibilities and do not let any resentment build. We let each other parent without the other stepping in to be the good or bad cop. Hud goes to each of us equally for consoling or shame. We are more affectionate and loving. Romance is easy staring at different sunsets every night. Hud seems balanced and more responsible for himself everyday. He is loving and sweet and honest. So far so good.
Steph left at 10 to walk the 5km to Sorrento for some cappuccinos and window shopping. Hud and I grabbed the laundry bags and made our way to the Rye launderette to get everything clean for the next stage of our trip. We leave for Cairns early Tuesday morning, so everything has to be packed and ready tomorrow night.
Hud and I went to a park during the wash cycle and to the front beach for the dry cycle. He played with some kids tentatively at the park, still quite shy and happy to just run instead of see saw with another kids his age. I am wary of the lack of time he spends with other kids. He gets a ton of parental attention and needs to interact with other snotty, gross kids. The last thing I wanted to accomplish in this year was to accidentally produce a spoiled child. Come September, when we are settled in for a couple of months, Steph and I vowed to seek out some programs that allows Hud to be without us and with other children.
The beach was sweet again. Hud played with his trucks and I leaned back and read. The front beach(Bay side) is smooth as a countertop. No waves, no ripples, no boats really. Just my son making a racetrack in the sand and me holding my book in front of the intense sun so I can see.
We picked up the laundry and drove to Sorrento to find somewhere to eat. It's right around two weeks in one location that you begin to feel a little like a local. The shopkeepers recognize you and are a little more apt to make conversation.
With the weather being so great, Sorrento on Saturday was pretty busy. People must make the day trip down from Melbourne for the fresh produce and cute cafes. Hud and I weaved through all the day trippers and suddenly, karma, we bump into Steph. She of course declined our invitation for lunch as she did not like our choice of restaurants, and I think she secretly wanted some more Steph time. Good on her.
She did hook up with us after lunch, and we bought the last of what we should need until Tuesday.
So of course we went out for dinner. An awful Chinese food place that squeezed us in with no reservation, as this was their last night of operation. Well we know why. The food was shit and expensive. I guess we were due for a bad food experience.
We watched The Aviator snuggled on the couch after Hud went to bed. Saturday night and all. Date night.
I thought Cate Blanchett was great as I have always been a Hepburn fan. Leo (that’s what his friends call him) was pretty great also and would have won the Oscar in any other year.
This post was pretty humourless. I can’t be funny all the time.
Although I think I should be.
Love to all,
J.
Wine, cheese and 12 big apostles
June 24, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia,
7:21 pm
Back at the Daisy Cottage after a similarly wonderful day. It ended with a sunset ferry back from Queenscliff, and after some grilled cheese and soup, we are grimacing about the amount of money we spent.
But whatever, I am coming to terms with trying not to be as pragmatic after we spend the money, while being such a loose goose during the spending sprees. I also have to perhaps seek out ways to help our financial cause while we are here. It still feels like a big vacation and I have to change my way of thinking. Problem with Australia is it seems we are not in one place long enough to actively look for some work. I may try and pitch a story back at home. Any suggestions from people back home are appreciated and welcomed.
Today we woke up and got on the road quickly, our goal just to get to Port Fairy, have lunch and make our way home. On the highway this time, not along the windy ocean road or we would never made it back for the last ferry. Yes I used the words fairy and ferry in the same paragraph. I am a writer you know.
We stopped at another rock formation, the Arch, and it was hardly as magnificent as the apostles or we are truly being spoiled by our daily views. What goofs we are.
Our next stop was one you just cannot turn down. It was Cheese World. Yes Cheese World. Where everything is cheese and cheese is everything. I had visions of people walking around saying “How are you today?”
“I am pretty Gouda, but I was cheddar yesterday” Tee hee.
We bought a small Parmesan and a nice spiced cheddar and some crackers along with some fudge for good measure.
Port Fairy was yes another quaint town along the coast, although we could not see the ocean from Rebecca’s, a local café where we had lunch. Steph has a fettuccine with braised spinach and roasted pumpkin. I had a cheddar and salami melt with mixed greens and Hud had a vegetable soup with bread. Everything was so fresh and wonderful. I can’t tell you how great the food is here.
The drive back was boring farmland, Hud not sleeping and but being very funny and not complaining one bit of the three hour drive. We ate our fudge and cheese and crackers and drank bottled water. Steph sang and cows and sheep toppled in ear pain. I tried to sleep but it was in vain with all the car activity going on.
We made the 5:00pm ferry and watched the sun set over Queenscliff on the top.
We retired to the inside of the ferry. I had a tea and sat next to my wife near the window.
Hud ran around in circles, not unlike a psychotic dog.
What a journey.
Love to all,
J.
June 24, 2005
Port Campbell, Victoria, Australia
4:46am
A road entry.
Yesterday was a day of complete wonder and awe.
It started at 6:45am, Hud waking us up and me convincing Steph that we take the 8:00am ferry to Queenscliff instead of the 9am one as originally planned. She agreed, sacrificing basically nine more minutes of quality sleep. So the mad dash began. Getting dressed and packing bags. My packing consisted of pulling a pair of sweat pants from the bumoire and stuffing it in a knapsack. Steph is wearing them right now as she forgot pajamas. So I will be repeating yesterday’s outfit sans boxers.
Today I will go commando and Australia will be better because of it. Prrrrowrrr.
A ferry between Sorrento and Queenscliff runs every hour for both cars and passengers. It covers the distance between the two heads in only 45 minutes, so Port Phillp Bay is actually quite protected from the mean and nasty ocean. This is another reason why the coastline of the Bay is quite popular, both with humans and all sorts of sea creatures, dolphins and seals included.
So basically the day began by watching the sun begin. We huddled on top of the ferry and witnessed the peninsula we have discovered by land, pass us by sea. Hud was pretty thrilled by it all, although his sea legs took a while to kick in, and demanded we hold his wee little hand.
Before we knew it, the announcement went off for us to return to the car. And with couple of shakes and clanks, we were driving off the boat and through Queenscliff to hook up with The Great Ocean Road to begin our adventure.
The Great Ocean Road is a road, that goes along the ocean, and is great.
Our goal was to travel this road to Port Fairy, about 300 km from Queenscliff, stopping at various locations along the way, the highlight being the 12 apostles, massive rock formations that sit together on the coastline.
The first stop was Torquay, surf capital of the world. We drove to the beach (Port Danger, oooooo) and watched kite surfers do their thing. What an amazing sight. These guys motor at about 20 knots attached to what looks basically like parachute attached to a surfboard. They hit the waves at this speed and get serious air. There were four of them, tacking back and forth with ease, falling into the water and letting the air whip them back upright, to cut through the water once again. You could almost feel the giddy adrenalin chugging through their veins like an impossible train.
This was today’s first moment of awe.
After the first beach we went to Surf City, a touristy shopping area that houses some of the surf shops that originated in Torquay. Billibong, Quicksliver, RipCurl to name a few. Steph bought a t-shirt, beginning her slow transformation to a surf Betty. Hud danced to the hip-hop in front of the store while I longed for an egg and bacon sandwich and a coffee.
After my egg and bacon sandwich and a coffee we drove to Bells Beach, one of the most famous surf beaches in the world. There were a couple of surfers on small swells so I got Steph to take the most touristy picture possible and we were back in the car to gain some more ground on our destination.
Now I have driven some windy roads in my five long years of being a licensed driver. But nothing will compare with the hairpin, coastline action of the 50km between Torquay and Apollo Bay. It was insane. Up and down, back and forth, it was like being on an amusement park ride with an evil operator who won’t let it end. Steph was as nervous as I have ever seen her, telling me to watch my left every six or seven seconds. It was pretty hairy. And somewhat fun to drive after you get the feel for it. We stopped at some of the more beautiful vantage points and soaked the scenes in. Hud slept through the whole thing, his head moving side to side with each sharp turn. What a funny egg.
The drive eases away from the coastline after Apollo Bay. We were going to stop in this beach town for lunch, but Hud was just waking up and not complaining so we ventured on. The landscape changed to farmland. Cows and sheep peppering the green. The air so clean you wanted to lick it off a spoon. And then trees started to hover over us and we entered Ottway National Park and suddenly the foliage felt very familiar, like driving through Algonquin, or northern Vancouver Island.
We stopped at Mait’s Forest, an Australian rainforest with trees as big as life, and prehistoric ferns surrounding us like street gangs. Hud was awake and vibrant, hiding in the caves carved out of these massive trees. Sadly we arrived at the rainforest at the exact same time as a tour group, so it didn’t feel like we were only three people on the planet.
The path is a big circle and as we were finishing another tour group was starting. Hud stood at the entrance and hissed like a dragon at everyone entering the rainforest. Like he was guarding it like a cute, not scary at all, troll. Even the Asians laughed at him.
Back in the car now, all of us very hungry, we found a small café about 40km from the 12 apostles so we stopped for a late lunch. Steph had grilled fish and chips, I had a foccicia with ham, cheese and tomato, Hud had a vegetable soup and a scone. Steph also had her glass of red and I had a cold Coopers Pale Ale. Hud stuck to milk.
Suddenly we were there. A national park sign told us so. We pulled into the parking lot with some tour buses and other cars with passengers already holding their digital cameras. Down a ramp and over a hill and there they stood. Limestone rock formations the size of buildings. There are twelve of them but not all are visible from the vantage points and lookouts offered by the park service. We stood and stared at these massive hunks of rock, the sun just starting its descent. Sure others were there, sure it’s a little vanilla, as secretly I wanted to climb over the rails and stand on one of the cliffs screaming until my retinas popped. But it is still one of things I will remember seeing as Hud holds my hand in the hospital bed.
Steph felt the same sense of awe. Hud of course was fascinated by the taste of the wooden railing. Funny, after about an hour of looking out at these apostles, Hud stopped running around in circles and came over and sat right between us.
“Hey look at the rock!” He said. Duh I thought and kissed his forehead.
Off to Port Campbell to find a room, which we did with relative ease. Another quaint town with general stores to spend money in. We ordered a pizza and got settled in our motel room. A motel room with brick walls and a wooden paneled ceiling. A little jail-like, but the television worked and we all were sound asleep by 11:00pm.
I, of course woke up to talk to you.
I had to tell someone about what I saw today.
Love to all,
J.
June 22, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
I shot a 117. A net 97.
Once, I was stuck in gnarled fescue so deep that I took four swings at it before squirting it off the toe across the fairway into more rough. Another time I hit my second shot out of a deep pot bunker and landed it on the green, only to have it roll back and stop in the rough about six inches from rolling back into the bunker. The next shot I duffed the chip and it traveled far enough up the slope to gain enough inertia coming back to actually make it through the rough this time, and land back to the bottom of the pot bunker. I cut under the sand two more times before finally hitting an ok bunker shot on my fourth try.
An eight on an easy par three.
An appropriate snowman from the Canadian chuckled my playing partner.
Ha ha very funny fuckball.
It was actually great. The course was spectacular. A true dunes course. Grass planted in sand. Near, but not on the ocean. You could smell the fish in the air. It was all rolling countryside, with black cows grazing, and greens the size of postage stamps tucked into corners and bends.
I played with Joe, our Irish cottage host, and Barry, a retired insurance man who lives in Melbourne, but has a holiday home on the peninsula. One thing about this trip, we do hang around a lot of old people. There were numerous conversations about groin tumors, and goiters, and thyroid cancer. Barry informed us both that the club’s flag was hanging at half-mast for the third time this year. I nodded and secretly longed for some bubble gum to pop and a sprinkler to run through.
Needless to say, the old guys beat the hell out of me on the course, so my longing to be 13 again has nothing to do with golf.
I had a beer after with the gang, and I refrained from explaining my recent ear infection just to be cool. I did meet the club president who had eyebrows like the caterpillars that infest trees. He was off to NZ to golf in the summer. The guy beside him was at least 80 and would giggle randomly and girly at things that were not that funny. I laughed along with him once, but really, I was laughing at him.
I bet he posted a better score than I did.
Love to all,
J.
June 22, 2005
Portsea, Victoria, Australia
I just wanted to add to Mr. Graham’s golf report, that Hudson and I also had a marvelous day in Portsea. This is the next town over and the last on this side of the peninsula.
We spent the say at the park, beach and then a walk on the pier where we saw a baby seal! Hud spotted it first, saying, “mom, what’s that?”
The baby seal played by the pier for about fifteen minutes and then on his way off, he did a jump and a wave of the flipper right in front of Hud.
It was indeed a cool moment.
S & H xoxo
June 21, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
7:19 pm.
It’s not that you have a small ________ it’s that you have huge _______.
Words just uttered from my wife’s mouth. The blanks are yours to fill.
Today is the shortest day of the year in Australia. At home I am sure it’s one of those patio nights, where it starts to get dark around 9:30pm. The air is thick and wet and hot. The pints are clear and cold and sweaty. I would have my feet on the chair across from me, about six pints in, piling in the smoky darts at a rapid pace, my throat raw and red, my speech slurred, profanity spilling from my mouth like saliva before vomit, more animated, less inhibited, smiling too hard, eyes arcane and bloody.
This was my life. On top of the world Ma.
Here the sun went down around 5:40pm. We had just returned from Sorrento after picking up various additions for tonight’s dinner of Chicken burritos. They were awesome and now I am stuffed. I am slurping the Chardonnay given to us by Joe and Ellen, the owners of the cottage. There are no darts, no gathered profanity, no tense smiling. I am relaxed and relatively toxin free, minus my returned affection for Diet Coke.
You hear that? That was Coca Cola’s head office in Atlanta high fiving.
Today we went to the beach in the morning, as we are both never tired of hearing and watching the aggressive waves smash into the sand. A great part about living close to an ocean is the ability to return, at different times of the day, and witness different tidal sequences, and therefore different waves slapping different areas of the shore. You would think it is mostly the same, but the four times I have now been to our particular beach, I have witnessed the squirting and ejaculating of water as it finds a new cranny to rumble through. It is so real and raw and random. Although the tides are predicted months in advance. There is so much to learn.
Lunch was spinach and ricotta ravioli with basil, Parmesan, and broccoli. Yes it’s a familiar meal in the house of carb. But we all like it and we needed some hearty fuel before heading out for our afternoon of wine tasting. We planned on hitting three vineyards and then find a place for a dinner, maybe one of the vineyards.
First up, T’Gallant Vineyards, about 30 minutes northeast of our cottage in a small town called Red Hill. We had no idea what to expect. Neither Steph nor I had ever been to a winery before, although I am pretty sure we have drank twenty times our weight in wine at random dinner parties and at my mothers.
So we know what we like. We know that you are supposed to swish the wine around the glass and then place your nose into the glass to experience the bouquet. We know to hold it in our mouths for longer than a second to let the wine fill the nooks. So when Gabby, the handsome host of our tasting, poured us five different types of wine, we nodded and asked good questions, while not feeling too ignorant of the whole process. She talked of the acid level, the good cellaring, the fall harvest, the vibrancy, the bursting, and the hollowness of all the flavours.
We talked of our vacation, our selling of the house, our quitting of the job, our basking in the glow of the unemployed. Gabby beamed and poured us a Pinot Gris, a wonderful white that is harvested later than the Pinot Grigio and is bolder and heavier than the traditional Italian afternoon wine. We loved this one and dished out thirty bones to have her wrap it in tissue and put the same sticker to seal it as the one she gave Hud to stick on his head.
Gabby and Steph exchanged Yoga experiences and she gave Steph a name to look up in Byron Bay. Hud and I played with a cat that looked a lot like Charlie, a cat we had back on Glenforest. The one that died of a brain tumour. It waved its tail like it was going to attack, but it didn’t, and Hud remained fascinated by its feline ways.
Next up, Tuck’s Ridge, a winery down the road about ten minutes for another round of tasting. This one had a nice, big sandbox for Hud so we slipped in the Cellar Door and were greeted by Pat, a broad women who looked like Steph’s mother’s friend Wendy. She was expressive and friendly as she poured different wines and described them with colourful bon mot as “Tastes like the bottom of a forest floor”. Or “So vibrant, the moment you take a sip you want to burst into song” Pure gold. Their tasting menus were equally descriptive and made me think there is a job for me in this region.
Another couple slipped in at the end of our tasting and we were able to sneak out without feeling obligated to buy a bottle of wine. Especially since Steph’s favourite wine was a Chardonnay that cost $50 a bottle.
Hud was getting wingy, so we passed on the last planned winery visit and started driving around looking for a restaurant that was not closed on a Tuesday. We failed, but we did find a number of little shops that sell little cheeses, and little jars of jams and chutney. This area, and Melbourne in general, is built for people that like wine, cheese, bread and fresh produce. Mom, seriously, get here, it is a foodie’s fridge door’s wet dream. We bought a local cheese that cost nine dollars, but it melted in your mouth like meringue. Expensive, but so good it becomes the cheese you compare others too. So worth it.
The shortest day is ending soon. We read way more books in Fiji with two channels. Now we have four channels, with all the shows, and we are reveling in them.
Oh well. Whatever.
I am sure it will be over soon. And we can go back to being passively pseudo intellectual.
Love to all,
J.
Smells like bum, looks like heaven
June 20, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
5:00 pm.
The armoire in our bedroom smells a little bit like bum. We think it’s the wood it is made from. Cedar maybe. I know it sounds like I am passing the blame on inanimate wood paneling. But it smelled that way when we arrived, not after we packed our clothes in it. So now when I reach for a pair of socks or a jumper (Yes, I wrote jumper, isn’t it crazy?), I get a good whiff of Jason’s room circa 1987-89, the sweaty days. Where boxers and socks lay hidden closets until they were stiff.
Misty water coloured memories.
Steph is chopping wax beans and drinking red wine as I write this. What a little rummy Ms. White is becoming. As you may or may not know we are staying in a huge wine region. A wine region with a number of vineyards that produce excellent Shiraz. The bold, biting Shiraz being a particular favourite of Steph’s. So the combination of all these factors has lead to the almost daily announcement of:
“We have to stop and get a bottle of wine” or
“I can’t wait to have a glass of wine” or my personal favourite,
“I would sell Hud into slavery for a glass of Shiraz right now”
I guess to put up with me for 24/7 I would find a deliciously bountiful vice too.
Today was fun. We drove to Port Nepean and rented bikes for the 15km round trip to head of the Mornington Peninsula, a former Australian army post. It started off sunny and brisk, the hilly ride keeping us warm and seeking oxygen. Steph and I gave each other the ‘I can’t believe how out of shape we are’ bulge of the eyes. Hud of course sipped his latte on the back, legs crossed, reading The New Yorker.
The army post was built in the late 19th century, serving as a watch post for the early Australian paranoia and then as an actually military post in both of the Great wars. It fired the first Allied shot in both wars. At a German ship trying to escape Port Phillip Bay in 1939 and at another boat that just didn’t understand the signals in 1919. These were the only two shots of aggression ever fired from this post.
There were underground tunnels, and bomb-proof rooms (where we ate our picnic lunch as it started to rain), and other gunnery and magazine rooms, including where they kept all their shells and explosive mixtures. It was all kind of interesting, kind of boring. Two buses full of grade nine kids were there on a field trip, screaming up and down the tunnels. They were full of zits and bad hair, sectioned off in all different cliques, which both Steph and I analyzed. Hud ran around flapping his sweatshirt sleeves like wings, trying to impress the teenagers.
Because it was poring they gave us a lift back to our bikes to at least cut our ride by a kilometer. We still ended up soaked and winded by the time we got back to the visitor centre.
Legs like rubber, lungs on fire, we hopped in the car and drove to this week’s home.
The owners of our cottage arrived back from Perth and gave us a bottle of wine. She is Danish and we think he may be British. I am playing golf with him on Wednesday.
I told him my handicap was 20. I should have told him my handicap is that my legs feel like slinkies and I have a tendency to shank multiple balls into the woods.
Oh well, he will soon find out.
I think we are playing in a tournament. Oh goodie,
Love to all,
J.
June 19, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
7:45 pm.
Do you know what today is? You bet….. as my good husband reminded me, subtly no less, at around 9:30 A.M. this morning, that it was in fact Father’s Day. Being the self-centered person that I am, I had completely forgotten. Shit. He had gotten up with Hud, made him breakfast and then came back into bed at 9:30. I was still lazing about and he reminded me that we should get a phone card to call our dads. It still didn’t hit me…..until…..oh shit, shit shit. My excuse was that it actually not Father’s Day in Aussie. It’s not till September.
The day got better for Jase though, cause he got to go to the movies solo and have popcorn. He went to the afternoon showing of Star Wars. Hud and dropped him off at the theatre and went home to drop off the groceries, make a quick sammy and off to the beach. After a fifteen minute walk through the craggly, dark woods, we arrived at the sand dunes and the edge of the ocean. There were lots of surfers out today. We parked ourselves next to a few surfer onlookers and played in the sand. Hud played in the sand and I watched the surfers, wondering if I could attempt it before I leave Aussie. At the same time wondering if my contacts would get wrecked or if I would get gobbled up by a tiger shark. Or which would happen first. Note to self…..get over phobias.
My daydream is broken by the call of Hud, saying, “mom I have to poo”. Shit. Of coarse there are no toilets, washrooms, loos, potties, etc….. on or near the beach. Just as I was trying to mix in with the 20-something surfers, the reality of having a just-toilet trained boy sets in. Quickly, I whisk Hud over to the rocky caves and find a good nook for him to squat. Luckily it was a clean break and it only took one wipe. I tightly knotted the poop bag and went back to the beach. It was an Alice moment for sure.
Went to Sorrento to pick up Jase, quickly bought him a soft copy of Da Vinci’s Code to further suck up. Then we went for fish and chips at the pier and an almost sunset walk
on the beach. Evening routine has set in. Hud is almost in bed. Jase is flicking the channels (only about 11) in between Big Brother (Aussie version). Yes, we seem to be getting hooked on reality TV and the weekly rag, Women’s Day. I only buy them for the crossword puzzles. Okay, and for the Hollywood gossip. Anyway, should end. All in all, a very good day on the coast.
Hugs and kisses, Steph
June 18, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
8:05 pm.
Sipping a chilly Coopers Brewery Original Pale Ale, one of the six I bought yesterday, one of the three I have had tonight, and the night, as they say, is still young. If I was one of the remaining Coopers, lying down on the upper rack in the fridge, I would be nudging the other two closer to the door, coaxing them to make it easy on themselves, to extend my liquid life, oh, another seven minutes.
Yesterday’s beach tramp with Hud was a success, although we lost a blue shovel. He played with his new toys, while I leaned against the dune, backpack as a pillow and listened. Listened to Hud’s imagination and the ocean and thought about things I had not thought about in years. A clutter free mind brings things down from the attic. Remembering the car my father and I were in when he told me that he would not be living with us anymore. Or the target wall mural at the Vantage apartment. Apartment #356 or 365 I can’t remember exactly. It’s all bizarre.
We returned full of sand and smiles, to Stephanie, who was limber and relaxed after her 105 minute yoga class. I had a sandwich, Hud had some left over pasta and then we were off to Sorrento to return the movie and post the most recent post, which you have all read and commented on. It is great to able to add photos to the journal. We have over 500 pictures so far, in less than a month. You realize that is a 6000-picture slide show when we return. We’ll have a party. Mom if you could make the sausages and meatballs that would be great.
We checked out the pier and the ferry in Sorrento as we are planning to take our car over the ferry, between the two heads (Queenscliff is on the other side for the geography buffs) for an overnighter near the twelve apostles. The twelve apostles are rock formations that line the Victorian coast further west from we are now. It is a popular tourist attraction that is supposed to be spectacular, bus tour parking and all. We just want to do the Great Ocean Road drive, which includes the apostle stop, but only as one of the many things to see on the southern coast of Australia.
Later on that night we went for pizza and took Hud to see Madagascar. We all enjoyed it immensely although we think Hud ate too much junk, as he woke up at three a.m. that night, fell back asleep at 6:45, and then woke up for good at eight. Needless to say, Steph and I were sharpening our claws, waiting for a good reason to lash out at each other.
And then they receded. Our plan was to do our laundry at the coin op and have a coffee in Rye. It was raining and we were waiting for Hud to begin his transformation into the Omen. We then would take him back home and let him sleep the demon away, and sneak in our own needed naps. It is amazing how lack of sleep can turn someone so evil. And by someone I mean myself.
Well an amazing thing happened, the rain cleared and a beautiful sunny day appeared above us. Laundry was a snap with the guy working there chatting us up like we were long lost friends. He told us which washers to use, which dryers to use, how is ex-wife stayed in a camper across the road for three months after they divorced and that is something she didn’t want to do while they were married. Lets just say this guy was lonely. I was going to ask him what was a good spot to pop in for a pint, but it sounded too much like an invitation, and I couldn’t see myself listening to Baldy, the Wonder Talker, drone on all night about what a skank his ex-wife was. Needless to say, we smiled and nodded, and were very polite about the whole exchange.
Hud looked up to it, so with all our clothes now clean and folded, we headed out to Flinders, a small town on the ocean side of the Peninsula, recommended to us by pothead Liz the other day. The drive was beautiful and it kind of reminded me of PEI with fields of grazing cows with an oceanic backdrop. We drove down through valleys with hairpin turns and passed kangaroo warning signs. Thirty minutes later, we arrived in Flinders. And of course there were two things we had to do upon arrival. Find a cappuccino for Steph, and a washroom for me. We found a café that solved both dilemmas, and even I had a cappuccino to celebrate the locating of a toilet. They say word toilet here like we use the term washroom. Toilet to us is a bit of a dirty word. I am going to the toilet. Well good for you mate.
So with take away (takeout) cups in one hand, and pistachio orange cookies in the other, we went across the street to a park to let Hud have his run of things for awhile. We started talking to South African couple with a three-year-old daughter named Taylor who had lived in London for a bit before moving to Melbourne for good. Just last year they stayed in Toronto at his Aunt’s place at Danforth and Broadview. Small world indeed.
The woman was also a bit chatty, revealing their financial situation without us baiting her one bit and how Taylor had a small bladder and had to wee 12 times a hour. The mother had straight teeth, but they were a grayish yellow colour, and after a while it was all I could look at. So before leaving, I handed her a tube of Crest and slapped her on the ass. Good luck with the Chiclets I laughed, before she stormed away. Toothpaste in hand I might add. Ahhh life. So kooky sometimes.
Back in the car now. Boneless chicken, blue slushee, tawdry magazine all purchased for the drive back home at the general store. I love snacking on the boneless chicken. Slithery and chock full of protein. Can you tell I am even getting bored writing now?
Anyway, on to the good stuff. Checking the map, we realized on the way home was a place called Cape Schanck, another location Cheech, I mean Liz had recommended. I’d like to shanck you I growled at Steph. I am so money sometimes.
It was 3:30 when we arrived at the gate. Hud had fallen asleep. It cost $4 to get in. I said lets do it. Steph said lets go another time, during a winery visit (get out the balloons and kazoos for that afternoon of madness). I turned the car around and started to sulk. Which I am good at. 300 metres later, after me explaining to her that even if we just park the car and lean on the hood and look at the ocean it would be worth it, Steph changed her mind and we went back. Yay Steph!
Well, we are so glad we did. We were not able to park the car and see anything, so we wrapped Hud in his blanket and carried him to a lookout point with a small bench. Wow.
Another notch in the scenery belt.
The ocean, green farmland, a lighthouse, massive rocks and boulders, black sand and a boardwalk that led from the top of where we stood, right down to the ocean. This of course was unattainable as there was a kid asleep on my head.
But, again, life is blessed sometimes, because Huddy woke up and immediately snapped out of his grog. Who wouldn’t when surrounded by such beauty?
Sidenote: When Hud is nice and cuddly before bed, Steph will go to see him and he will say, unprovoked: “Mom, you’re beautiful”. So sweet.
With Hud now eager, we made the kilometer trip down to the water, stopping every chance we could get to bask in the luxury of our surroundings. This is why we took this trip we agreed, this is why we quit our jobs and sold our house. I could not even think about the other reasons as I watched the sun creep down the horizon line, reflecting off the forever ocean, silky purple clouds hovering beneath it.
This was exactly why.
The whole Cape Schanck walk took about two hours. We walked through a cove of grey rocks that were so smooth from being washed over billions and trillions of times by the waves. We climbed bigger, bolder rocks to get a better look at the gnarled surf as it crept closer and closer as the tide came in. We walked back up the stairs, not tired one bit, our bodies overloaded with vigor and spirit.
We got back in the car, all of us beaming, chatty as the laundrymat guy and the South African girl.
Steph passed me the $4 dollars as we approached the gate.
It was open. And no one was there.
Brilliant. We would have paid fifty.
Love to all,
J.
I'll have a Sorrento and Portsea on Rye, hold the Blairgowrie
June 17, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
9:13 am.
There there. That’s better.
Yesterday was a great day. I guess I have come to realize that the roller coaster does not stop just cause you change tracks. Some days are great, some days are not. Some days you are at the front of the coaster, screaming, happy, wind making you cry, some days you are at the back, waiting for the ride to end, or at least go into a spiral or a loop.
Ok. Bad analogy over in five, four, three, two, now.
Yesterday we got in the car and drove to Arthurs Seat. Sure it sounds like a tourist trap to see a folding chair once housing the bum of a middle aged, brown polyester panted man, but its actually a whisper of a town that overlooks a number of small seaside communities. It also is the home of the Arthurs Seat Maze. Four acres of various hedge mazes and sculptures. Sure it’s not Sea World, sure it’s not an arduous hike along the hissing beach, but we were looking for something light and fluffy after the previous day’s histrionics.
Well it turned out to be great. The moment we entered the first hedge maze, Hud and I took off on Steph. Muh ha ha. Good times. We weaved and ran along the narrow paths, eight –foot hedges standing like sentries, blocking the sun. Three minutes later we hear the shaky voice of Steph, asking us where we are. We of course have no idea after randomly taking lefts and rights, a three-year old leading the way. So after a serious twenty minutes we finally reunited, nervous laughter our immediate tonic. This is of course where Steph and I tried to reenact the snowy scene from The Shining.
All work and no play make Steph and Jason go crazy.
There were a numerous mazes and flower gardens. Hud sat on a tractor.
We sat in the middle of the forest, surrounded by carvings of aboriginals in stumps and ate our lunch. A lunch of three different sandwiches and a nice fruit salad that Steph concocted prior to departure. We are getting better at not eating out.
It started to rain a little, so we said goodbye to the hedge reindeer and got back in the car. In Arthurs Seat there is a chairlift, which I had read about in one of the tourist magazines that the owners left for us. The article was an interview with the owner of the chairlift, who for two years, was mired in a liability lawsuit in regards to some accident on the lift. I understand this man is trying to work his tourist attraction back into the rotation, but reading this article did not want me to take my son and leap on the chair, no matter how he professed about the new safety guidelines. Sometimes the best PR is not to say anything at all. Just let the tourists find out after they take the ride in the café next door.
So, after high fiving about the lack of money we spent, we drove to Sorrento and spent a whack of money. Movies for Hud and us, fresh bread, garlic, basil, parmesan cheese, Italian sausages, shortbread cookies, chocolates, two bottles of wine, a six pack of beer, and of course, a cuppacino.
Hello line of credit? It’s me Jason. Get ready.
Back at home now, and Liz, the daughter-in-law of our hosts came by to collect the money and see if we had settled in okay. Of course the cottage looked like we had lived here for a couple of years, so Liz sat for a spot of tea (please read the past five words aloud in an over exaggerated British accent, its much more fun) and outlined some of the best and inexpensive things to do in and around the Mornington Peninsula. She was sweet, nature girl, wearing Ugs and speaking as she just finished off a big fat roach in her Range Rover. Get this. They are trying to sell there house. Been on the market for eight months. We told her ours sold in four days. She almost choked on her biscuit. That was the name of my first punk album. Choked on a biscuit. How odd.
She left, I made aglinotti stuffed with ricotta and spinach with fresh basil and parmesan and Italian sausage. We had a couple of glasses of red wine and put Hud to bed.
We watched Oceans 12 in bed and I thought it was stupid, accept for the Kashmir and Miller’s Crossing references.
Hud has gone a week with no diaper at night and no accidents.
This morning I woke up and went for an hour walk along the coast. Got some good pictures. Got some good heart rate. Walking in thick sand is challenging.
I came back and made Hud and I an egg on toast.
Strong Bodem coffee next to me. New rubber frog next to Hud.
Steph went off to Yoga. Hud and I are off to the beach to test out his new beach toys.
It feels like the rollercoaster has stopped, at least for a spell.
Love to all,
J.
June 16, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
7:31 am.
Dust up between Steph and I yesterday. Our first real row. We were both tired and cranky and ended up arguing in front of Hud, who started crying. And when Hud went outside, I screamed and swore like a Kowalski version of myself. It left me sullen and meek for the rest of the day. We are fine now; both realizing what set it off, and how to prevent it in the future. We reassured Hud that it had nothing to do with him. He had forgotten it already. We went for a long drive and watched surfers surf. We ate homemade carrot cake and sunflower bread. Hud and I rolled in the sand. We’re good.
Yesterday began with a walk to the ocean. Through a winding path, trees overhanging, crowding us, until we came to a fork in the road.
An arrow was drawn into the ground, pointing to our right. We followed it, hoping it was a nice person before us, not a troll licking his lips and rubbing his palms. Up a hill, up some wooden steps, and then fwop!
The ocean, as powerful and majestic as I imagined, right in front of us.
The path had led us to a point, Spray Point to be accurate, about fifty feet overlooking the pounding surf. The rock cliffs were formed years of being slapped by the froth and the tremendous weight of rolling water. Thousands of years ago, the water level was as high as we stood, so the cliffs and banks were peppered with nooks and pockets where water once smacked. You could walk to the edge and look down, seeing the water hit the rock, spitting up the white.
It was low tide, so only the really big waves would make it over this one level, filling the small caves and pools, normally underwater during high tide. It was awesome; smelling the brackish air, watching ten foot breakers, in sets of three or four, topple into the banks. Down the coast a little you could see the dots of surfers, braving the chilly water, waiting for the next big one. It was exactly what we wanted to see coming to this section of Australia.
We continued up the coast a little to a deserted beach. All of the ocean side of the Mornington Peninsula is part of a national park, so there is no commercial aspect, or even evidence of anyone around.
I am sure it is different in the middle of their summer, but right now, as in Fiji, we only saw one other person the entire time on the beach.
A little later we had to leave, as Hud jumped into the water up to his knees, giggling while doing so. It was only about 13 or 14 degrees with a brisk wind, so we had to start our way home to avoid him getting cold.
We had lunch. We had our fight. We went for a drive.
Hud fell asleep in the car, as we knew he would, so we took in the scenery. We drove to Rye, a town a bit larger than Sorrento, to try to find yoga, a laundry mat and an Internet café respectively. We drove through Blairgowrie, a town smaller than Sorrento, and Steph was able to snag a cappuccino. We drove to the edge of the peninsula, to a town called Portsea, which has a number of old monster homes that were built in the 19th and early 20th century for the Melbourne elite to vacation. We drove to Sorrento, bought the fresh bread and ate it in the car. We drove back down towards Rye to another surf beach and got a much closer look at the surfers riding these fairly big waves in.
We watched a woman catch a fish. Hud and I rolled down a big sand path. We drove home.
Dinner was lemon pepper chicken, and a rice dish that Steph made with walnuts, broccoli, carrots and pineapple. I loved it.
I love her.
The fight was not portent of anything. It was environmental. It was inevitable.
Love to all,
J.
June 14, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
7:34 pm.
Melbourne disappeared quicker than pipe smoke in a fan store. We are now comfortably settled in our 700 square foot, two bedroom cottage 90 minutes south of Melbourne on the Mornington Peninsula, the closest town being Sorrento.
We were done with the big city. Melbourne is spectacular though, the exact kind of city I would want to live in. The people are beautiful and friendly. The pockets of cool places are numerous and spread out. The ocean is twenty minutes from anywhere. The two hip streets we perused were riddled with restaurants, bars and cafes, or bars that turn into cafes in the morning, or cafes that turn into restaurants in the evening that turn into bars at night. They mostly are narrow, with chalkboard menus, and lots of wine by the glass and numerous pints or pots of beer. The waitresses are the cute Goth girls with so much indifference in their eyes I am sure you could chop off a toe and they would just sigh, wishing they were somewhere else. But the food we had everywhere was pretty awesome. Including the Mongolian beef noodle stir-fry take away I had last night. Hud had the bbq pork. I can’t remember what Steph had.
So that was that. Walking the streets that looked like home, picking up camera cords and new DVD’s for the little man. Eating our boxed take out in the hotel room, and falling asleep listening to each other’s snores.
This morning I slipped out to and got my head shaved by a Russian barber with a butchy, lesbian sidekick. I debated getting the straight razor shave, watching the Russian delicately slice the gravelly beard from the man in front of me in line. Then the gruff dyke burst in and I watched her sheer her first customer like a frightened sheep. I thought, stick to the head and move on. The Russian and I compared winter stories and he did a great quick head shave for 13 bucks. I picked up a cappuccino for Steph and two croissants from one of the 421 cafés in the three blocks back to the hotel.
We packed and walked to the bank to draw money to pay for the cottage rental where I am writing from right now. We had lunch and I secretly longed for and hated our indifferent waitress. She was about 15 pounds overweight, mostly in the hips, but still she wore the midriff baring shirt. She wore low rider black sweat pants and a black t-shirt. She looked like she was hungover from the previous night and the edge of her day two pink panties made an appearance as she leaned over to wipe away drink sweat. She was bored and bothered that her dark dive, her Nick Cave haven, was now serving lunch to Canadian tourists with their rambunctious three-year-old son. Man did I hate her. And want her. And probably want to be her somewhere.
Moving on. We decided to ship our Ipod back to Canada to see if Dad could work the warranty angle for us. What a pain. Bought in April, broken by June. It was a luxury, so it was not something we could rush out and repurchase. Like we did with the computer. Another Apple product. Thanks Steve “hand” Jobs.
David, our quirky and blinky redheaded concierge was nice enough to assist in the shipping of the Ipod back home. He raced and rushed around getting the appropriate paperwork together, fucking it up a couple of times, while we waited in the lobby entertaining Hud with free apples and candies. Davey boy eventually came through, so I slipped him a fin, and he bowed like a thankful Asian.
We were off, on the road, using our rental car for the first time since we arrived, meaning we spent $84 for two days rental and another $20 for two days of parking for our beige beast. And with Steph finding a new knack for navigation we arrived at our destination surviving the left hand side driving and four roundabouts.
The Mornington Peninsula begins about 45 kilometres south of Melbourne, curving around the bottom of Port Phillip Bay, and ending about 120 kilometres in total very close to Sorrento, where we are now. Our small cottage is about a seven-minute walk from the beach and about a seven-minute drive from Sorrento. We made the drive to Sorrento after unpacking to stock up on supplies, which included some great fresh produce, two porterhouse steaks, lemon pepper chicken and some ground beef amongst other sundries.
The town itself is really cute. Old fashioned stores lining the streets, parking separating the two sides, and an old movie house right in the centre. There is as mentioned a fresh produce store, a butcher, two bakeries, and get this, four bottle shops or liquor stores. It is like the town of Lakefield, Ontario having four liquor stores. Reedickerus. But hey, as I sip my bottle of James Squire Pilsner, a deliciously cold microbrew, I can’t complain.
So here we are. Daisy Cottage
We have self-prescribed this portion of our trip to be more active. There is a huge National Park with a number of marked out circuit trails, all under 5 kms very close to our cottage. We know with Hud it will be difficult, but as long as we are not under any time constraints, we can conquer these supposed scenically orgasmic tramps with red-faced passion.
So we have to stop every five minutes to watch Hud hover a piece of leaf and tell us it’s a bug.
“Hey guys, lookitthisbug!!”
So what.
Love to all,
J.
A thousand words
June 13, 2005
St. Kilda, Melbourne, Australia.
3:54 pm
Pictures! Woo hoo! Camera cord recovery in Melbourne was successful.
And yes, today, I will let the pictures do the talking. In random order.
Hud today in St. Kilda.
Goofballs today in St. Kilda.
Hud happy just cause he is running. Still.
Hud and Steph going down fast!! This was at Luna Park just down the road from our hotel in St. Kilda.
Note Dan and everyone the masculine plane Steph chose for our future pilot….
Steph looking pretty on Yanuca Island, Fiji
Hud learning to play pool. Somewhat pensively I might add.
Gareth, Nicki, Isabella and Mercedes. Warm and wonderful
Hud macking on the older chick.
Mercedes. Hud should have gone after her. What a peach. A month younger than Hud.
Hud climbing on Yanuca.
Me looking like the poster of dad he gave to mitch. I’m cooler though.
Don’t show Alice this one Tara. Pricilla. Neighbourhood mooch in Fiji
The boat we took from Pac Harbour to Yanuca
A future framed picture in our one bedroom basement apartment beneath Sam and Mike.
Hud looking like a Gap ad.
Hud close up.
That’s it. Words to continue at a later date.
Off to Sorrento tomorrow.
Love to all,
J.
