World Wide Love

The beach boys were wrong about me

July 30, 2005

Byron Bay, NSW, Australia

7:12pm

Hi. Jason here.



A couple of points about the washroom facilities here in Australia.

Being somewhat of a connoisseur, I notice little things about the availability of washrooms and of the quality of their upkeep. With that in mind, I have to give the whole country a double thumbs up. Maybe thumbs up is not the appropriate rating system, maybe a swirling motion with my hand, or even better, a pushing down motion to represent flushing. Speaking of flushing, Australia, and Fiji for that matter, employ the half flush, full flush option for most of their toilets. There are literally two separate buttons with little full circle, half circle symbols. Half flush is for number one, the full flush is well, you get the point. Funny note, while we were in Melbourne I saw a commercial for water conservation extolling the virtue of the half flush. They even had a little motto,…”sometimes the half flush is enough”. What they are telling you, which I am sure you can conclude, but I am going to say it anyway, is that sometimes the mass of your excrement will flush with a simple half flush, instead of the full bodied full flush. I would love to make a mock commercial about the double flush…”when the full flush just won’t do” Or the flush and a half. Or the post Mexican food two-and-a-halfer.

The joke machine is on overload with this one.

My other point is that public bathrooms are commonplace everywhere. Not like the Parks and Recreation heroin holes in Toronto, nor like the cocaine huffing, hobo using washrooms in the financial district. These are fully functional, never once toilet paper lacking, bearable facilities that are conveniently dappled around major cities and in every small town we have ventured through, or stopped at. Yes there is simple graffiti scattered about. No there isn’t readily available towels or electric blow dryers in every location. But all of them give the impression they have been cleaned within the last decade, nor do they smell like a blind and deaf person’s worst nightmare. Sure they don’t smell like your partner’s neck before a Saturday night date, but your nostrils do remain scar free and not afraid to open. I notice these things because between my active system and Hud needing a bathroom the moment his mouth finishes the sentence, public toilets have been visited all along the eastern coast of Australia.

Today was a simple day. Opposed to the complex ones prior to this. We drove fifteen minutes into the hinterland to attend a small farmer’s market in a town called Bangalow. It was quaint, and we bought vine-ripened tomatoes picked that morning, organic strawberries and vegetable samosas and pumpkin donuts from the out of place Indian stall in the fifteen-stall market.

Bangalow is another one of those towns that combine country flavour with small stores selling chutney for $13 a small jar. The people are urban granola, with lots of brown and dark green clothes, wild dirt on their boots, and sparkling clean Mercedes SUV’s. Of course none of these people would place their organic food in plastic bags, tut tut no way, as the premium unleaded drips from their gas tank. Finally a place for Steph’s Gucci sunglasses to feel at home. And this was a small country town. In the middle of nowhere. I think it’s too close to Byron to escape the runaway ideals mixed with money.

After the market we went to a little oasis of a park that Steph took Hud to earlier in the week. A slow moving river, a small waterfall, a great playground with newly laid mulch, benches and picnic tables for watching parents, big boulders and stumps to climb on, and a wooden bridge spanning the waterfall. All open with no clandestine nooks for kids to disappear or hide in. We sat and read as Hud was roped into a pretend game with three other kids where he was actually assigned the role of captain. Hud was still shy and silent, but played along, and ran with them, his little arms pumping in over exaggerated glee. It was nice to watch.





We came home around 12:30 and had a lay out, the brilliantly named lunch of my youth. I cut carrots and celery, put out hummus, salami, ham, leftover green curry chicken, the fresh tomatoes we just bought, heated Turkish bread and the samosas, big glasses of water for Steph and I, glass of milk for Hud. It was tasty. Picking and choosing the flavours. Our own little deli. No pickles though. I have yet to see or taste a good pickle since being away. That’s it, I coming home.

The rest of the day was spent in lethargy. After the interrupted sleep from last night, we kept on waiting for Hud to nap so we could nap as well.



It did not happen so we went to the pool where Hud and I fought and I ended up flicking him in the chest harder then I wanted and made him cry. I went into the frigid pool as punishment.

Steph made a roast beef with carrots and potatoes for dinner. Another successful meal for Ms. White. We started talking about the future again today. It stopped as quickly as it started.

Tonight we are going to play cards or do a puzzle. We bought wine so it should be nice and relaxed. Opposed to the high tension of other nights. Feh. I have never been so in tune to another person in my life.

If we are not careful we maybe just one person when we come home.

Jasph? Steason?

Love to all,

J.


July 30, 2005

Byron Bay, NSW, Australia

7:54am

My sternum hurts. In my eagerness to be awful at surfing, I kept leaping onto the board and smashing my chest down, hollow thud ignored at the time, suffered right now.

Steph’s tailbone hurts as well. Serves her right for falling off because she could actually ride a wave. I kid. I joke. Even with a full day to think about it I am not bitter because Steph was a thousand times better than me at surfing. Of course I did challenge her to a game of one on one yesterday.

And yes I did beat her. 10-9. Moving on.

We laid low in the apartment yesterday morning, as it seems Hud is going through something right now. Last night was even worse as he woke up at 2am and did not fall back to sleep until after four. Its something emotional or he needs to go to the bathroom. He wanted to fully wake up and watch kids shows, or dad’s shows, he didn’t care. We didn’t want that so he kept moving back and forth between our bed and his, just making excuses to stay up. I played bad cop and eventually he fell back asleep in between us. It was creeping up to a point in the morning where my body was telling me I was waking up. Luckily the wave of sleep is easier to catch than a wave of water and I fell back into slumber until about 20 minutes ago.

Yesterday afternoon we did go for a walk to one of the smaller beaches we saw on a previous drive.



We did the tourist thing and stood on the most easterly point of Australia and snapped a couple of shots.



A pod of about 10 bottlenose dolphins were swimming, just beyond the break, about thirty feet from a number of surfers. It is a normal feeding route for them, as they follow smaller fish into the shallower water. The dolphins and the surfers seem to co-exist quite well here. It is quite spectacular to see these random nature offerings. Living near an ocean is such a treat, and at least here in Byron, with their hippie and earthy ideals, they really seem to recognize it. North of here, in Surfer’s Paradise, it is riddled with high rises, and I would imagine the beaches and ocean is just seen as a way to make money. Although admittedly, Byron’s real estate is becoming the hottest ticket in Australia, and it will be a difficult fight to keep it so serene and laid back.

You do notice the weird mixture of Mercedes and BMW’s with backpacker and surfer vans. My guess is some of the hippie and backpackers from the seventies and eighties have said to themselves, when was I at my happiest? Ah yes, the times I spent in Byron when I was 20. So they come back. Come back with money and purchase land or real estate and plant themselves. Problem is I bet that their ideals have changed a little, and they look at the backpackers and smell the sharp tang of the hippies and complain to each other at dinner parties, or in the playground with their young children. The stores here are a mix of new age crystal shops, travel and tour agents, big bars, and small boutique restaurants and cafes. But I bet as time progresses, the boutiquey stuff becomes more viable, as more and more yuppies from Brisbane choose to make Byron either their primary or secondary residence. It will never fade as spot on the backpacker circuit. It will fade as being a true hippie haven though. Just a guess mind you. A feeling if you will.

Last night I made green chicken curry with corn and broccoli. It was good, but the cooking of green curry smells like a foot after it’s been up someone’s bum. It is horrific and almost not worth the great taste. After Steph and I watched the first season of The Office, the BBC series that ran a couple of years ago, and that has since been replicated on North American television.

It is so funny and the writer/creator/star is so good at playing an asshole that is causes serious discomfort just to watch. I highly recommend it.

I am reading my first James Ellroy book. American Tabloid. He is known as one of the best crime writers ever.

So far.

Love to all,

J.

July 29, 2005

Byron Bay, NSW, Australia

9:17am

Steph and I just woke up. Hud still sleeps. I can honestly say with a big toothy smile and a 1950’s wink, what a life!

I am two days behind my journal mostly because I felt good about writing CMSG (that is Cubes Melted, Scotch Gone for those playing at home, my punky attempt a crime novel, that sits at 37 pages, 16,853 words, one ninth finished, I know, I know, pick up the pace, would you get off my back?) also because I had spoken to all of my parents on the phone and did not feel an urgent necessity to place my activities down on screen. It was nice to hear everyone’s voices, however brief. It was also odd to hear they’re voices and then mentally play back all the sticky drama poured out in this very journal. I felt a little uncomfortable and then really had nothing to say. I have said more about my life in the past 77 days then I ever have before to any of them. Or anyone else for that matter. Even the random who may have clicked here by mistake. Hi. How are you. I am Jason. My soul is on the beanbag on the chair in the corner. Care to see it? Scroll down.

Ah shit…do you want a couple of paragraphs from the novel? I will put it in italics so you know it’s not my life.

I live in a part of the city that is just on the edge of the edge. It’s almost becoming too popular with couples in their mid-twenties, and if I sleep for longer than two days, a new restaurant opens up. A restaurant with waiters with goatees. Fuck I hate goatees.

I keep the flat reasonably clean. Surprisingly clean. The thought of someone dropping by is the motivation, which is odd because in the three years I have lived there, no one has dropped by. I have no pets. The tenant upstairs is a pierced nose lesbian who wears black jeans with a chain hanging from her pocket. She says hi like she doesn’t hate me, but wishes she did. The basement apartment is a thin German immigrant who smells like cheese. He just purses his thin lips when he sees me, thinking he is smiling, but looking like, well, a German. We all rarely see each other, and are all very quiet. Barb, the trashy woman that owns the house, loves us so much she has never raised the rent. We pay her in cash every month. Feeding her horse track slot machine habit. She smokes the really long smokes. The 100’s. Looks like a hockey stick hanging from her grouper mouth. She always touches my forearm for two seconds two long. But then she leaves, polyester ass swaying like a pack mule.

Two days ago, Steph took Hud to an under five playgroup, while I slipped off to post, send a bunch of e-mails out to my friends, and to investigate where to stay in Tasmania. I am now a member of Global Gossip, an Internet, and phone card, traveler’s service that employs pert blonde women to try to sell you minutes on your phone card. The girl working this particularly day was wearing low riders so low, that bum cleavage was visible. There should be a better word for bum cleavage. Bumvage? Cleanal? Help me here.

After I was done online, I met Steph and Hud near the surfing school where we were to confirm yesterday’s lesson. She said Hud had fun, but he just concentrated on the toys and not on any of the other 15 kids. The playgroup is every Wednesday so maybe the slow introduction will help start some needed interaction. He has become so shy that he places his hands over his face at the playground when other kids talk to him. Steph did get the skinny on how much taller he his than other kids, and how advanced he is with his words and talking. He will be fine. He is too smart and beautiful not to be.

We had a quick Thai food (there are some benefits about being near a semi-hip town) lunch and then drove to Brunswick Heads, a small town north of Byron. This was a quiet beach town, with ice cream stores and two small cafés. There was a park by a river so we sat and watched Hud on the playground and then we had a quick wrestle on the grass. We walked over a footbridge that spanned the river and it lead us directly to the beach. Another isolated beach that only dog walkers and slackers like us seem to visit. I sat and read, while Steph and Hud went for a jaunt down the beach. A kind of a mom and son tradition. I always look up every five minutes to see where they are, how far away they have walked, or how close they are to coming back.

We piled back in the car and drove back through town and stopped at “the Pass” an infamous surf break right at the head of Byron Bay. The sun was coming down and the last of its hot heat was keeping us, and a number of other strollers and sitters warm. We climbed to a lookout and watched the surfers ride in. There is always at least 20 of them in each location, some riding the big ones, some riding the little ones. We descended and Hud played in the small pools of water that get filled by high tide. Steph sat cross-legged in the sun while I read my book and watched him with casual interest. A few moments later a man, probably about 10 years younger than me, walked towards Hud and I to climb the stairs to the lookout. He was wearing a floppy golfer hat and sunglasses. He was topless and looked to have a very similar body to my own. I watched the shake and jiggle. I saw the creases of fat underneath his stomach. I admired his brazen attitude towards being sans shirt. But I noticed he clenched and tightened everything the best he could as he quickly jogged back down the steps. He hit the ground and released the hounds. The flying flubber. It was unsettling and familiar.

We drove around after, looking at the various holiday homes that have spectacular views of the smaller beaches east of Byron CBD. And then we were home. I made a really nice salad and baked a store bought cheese pizza. Steph and I tried to watch a movie in bed, but I wanted to read instead. I finished Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane, my seventh book

These are the other six:

• The Street Lawyer and The Testament by John Grisham
• Fire Ice by Clive Cussler
• The Divinci Code by Dan Brown
• To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
• 1984 by George Orwell

I have also read about a third of Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond. I will finish it as I finish other books. It is a more difficult read than the others.

I fell asleep neither fast nor furious.

So. Here it is. The morning of our surf lesson. We meet Jason, the smallish instructor in front of the store at 9:15am. I think Steph and I are both more nervous about the process of all this, than the actual surfing. Jason as mentioned is about 5’6”, very tanned, 36 years old, and very much the laid back person you would expect him to be. He is teaching people to do what he already loves. He gets paid to do what he loves to do. I wish it were that easy. Anyway, he gives us all wetsuits to put on, even Hud so he can feel just as involved. I have never worn a wetsuit. I made sure to ask when we signed up to ensure there would be a wet suit to accept my girth. There was, but holy moly was it tight. Once the zipper in the back was done up I felt like a big black fleshy tube sausage. I was afraid my head would just suddenly explode like a teenage zit on a mirror. My chest cavity felt like the guy from the beach the previous day was sitting on it. A couple of quick stretches allowed me to at least get a stifled “I’m good” out and offer a thumbs up to let everyone know that just because my head was the colour of a grape tomato, I was going to be ok.

As we were leaving, I did get a quick look at myself in the window of the shop next door to the surfing school. Hello there slim I whispered in my best Burt Reynolds voice. I was so girdled I looked gaunt. Close your eyes and think of me looking gaunt for a second. Yep. There it is. Just like third grade.

We followed Jason in his van up to “the Pass” and unloaded all the gear. He brought Hud a little board as well, again ensuring that he felt involved. We found a little spot about thirty feet from the water, dropped our boards and dumped Hud’s sand toys out in front of him. He was fully enraptured within seconds so our lesson began.

Jason gave us all the terms of the board, and then made us draw a board in the sand and lie down. When he popped to his feet in about half a second, that I knew I was going to be in trouble. Your turn guys he yells, and I struggle to my feet in oh, about six minutes. Steph of course was much much more agile at getting to her feet. This is portent of what’s to come. So a couple of more tries and I was better, nowhere near competent, but better.



Lets get out there, Jason says with a grin and we grab our boards and make our way to the water. The idea is for us to get an appropriate depth, hop on our boards, paddle a little out to a standing Jason, where he sets us up on a wave and pushes us from behind to get us started. Because everyone who as tried surfing before knows, its not the standing that is the most difficult, it is the paddling.

Good plan. If I could stay on the board maybe I could paddle. These boards are much more wobbly than I expected, so I truly had to relax and focus on not rolling off. So Jason quickly left me and moved over to Steph.

Well, well, well, if isn’t a Betty in the midst. Steph on her second try got to her feet and surfed for about 10 metres. It was awesome. She was awesome. Seeing her stand and grab her board after falling and mesmerizing me with that big goofy high voltage smile that I fell in love with nine years ago in Vinnie’s, eating her boyfriend’s pizza, was enough to make my week.



I continued to try, and was almost successful a couple if times in standing, but this is not the sport for me. I will try it again if the opportunity presents itself, but I have to be less cumbersome, and more flexible, which are both at this point only mildly under my control.

But who cares about me. Steph continued to shine and get so much better she surprised even our coach. She stood and rode a wave right into shore, about 80 metres until falling and landing on her tail bone (ouch). She went out with Jason alone and they rode a wave together. It was spectacular. I have never been more proud of her. She took all his instructions perfectly and could easily be a competent, on-her-own surfer within a couple of weeks. It was so much fun to watch. And while feeling a little disappointed in my own laughable attempts, I did not feel bad or bitter at all. I was so impressed at Steph so quickly adept at something that I deemed so hard.

Mother, wife, lover, businesswoman, surf Betty. What a woman.

Jason also pushed Hud out on a board and let him ride a wee one in whilst sitting. He was not too pleased at that, but another experience to put under his belt.



Snorkler, surfer, toilet pooer. What a boy.

In a pretty good space right now. Pretty good indeed.


Love to all,

J.

posted by Jason @ 2:28 AM |

Surfing Tsunamis while flying kites

July 27, 2005

Byron Bay, NSW, Australia

12:22am

This is the pool in our complex.



This is our living room.



This is me driving Steph crazy.



Just banged out 3000 words into CMSG. Feel pretty good right now. Either it’s the euphoria of accomplishment or the six-pack and bottle of Pinot Noir, not really sure.

Today was a weird, good day. Steph found her yoga class, leaving Hud and I to muster about the apartment, popping out for a quick dip in the frigid pool. Steph came back and took Hud to investigate some of the smaller towns south of Byron. I lollygagged about, reading heaps, and then dipped into the novel as the sun went down. I had a beer and then a glass of wine which starts me a thinking’, gives me some gravy to start pounding out crime drama, starts me thinking like a boozy ex-cop. Good times.

We booked our surfing lesson. Thursday some time in the afternoon. High tide. I am so pumped. I am also wary about how much stock I am putting in enjoying it. I told Steph right off, that even if I were only 10 per cent good at it, I would spend money to spend the next couple of weeks getting better. Sure I am not the best swimmer, or the most athletic dummy on the planet, but if I can stand once, and have the inkling that I can stand again, then I know I will be hooked.

Yesterday, after the early morning city shenanigans, we went to the beach and I swam in the coarse water. It was rough and it tossed me, big fat me, all around with the rips and the big swells. It was chilly but I loved it. I loved the power and the helplessness of it all. I loved that you could watch the waves, watch the strength of the rip beneath and manage it a little, see where it could take you, guess where it would toss you. I came out of the water like big bad Neptune, imaginary trident in my hands, smile as big as a whale, feeling so fucking alive again. Steph warned me about placing too much emphasis on actual surfing, that trying it is what it is all about, but I can’t help picturing myself getting thrown off my soft board, smashing my shoulders into the sand, wincing, but still popping out and screaming out in pleasure. I am a giddy geek just thinking about it.

So I am starting to relax here in Byron. I should stop being amazed on how quickly all of us adapt at a new location, but it still takes me about three days to feel settled, and to stop worrying about the small things that could go wrong and to start being optimistic about the great things that well, could go great. I know I should live for the moment, but I am starting to think about NZ and how it will feel to be somewhere for two whole months. The idea of settling in somewhere for that long is so appealing to me after being so scattered in the last little while.

Anyway, the computer is almost dead after all my writing tonight. I feel spent and relaxed getting so much fantasy down on “paper”. The novel comes to me in blurts and blasts and fitting it all together will take some time. Especially the past tense, present tense problems that I encounter. It still reads back pretty fucking cool and I know I am bias, but some of the sentences almost make me giggle they are so good.

That’s enough of me feeling good. Tune in tomorrow for more appropriate angst.

Love to all,

J.



July 26, 2005

Byron Bay, NSW, Australia

7:49am

He was about my age, a couple of years either way; it’s hard to tell these days. He was scruffier and shorter than me, and had a great tuft of hair he was here to get rid of. He wore boots and big socks with old shorts leading me to believe he was a gardener or a construction worker or something outdoors. He had a good face, earnest, friendly, nothing too buried. Twice people popped their heads in to say hi as the female barber snipped away at his too long locks. He was local for sure, a hobby surfer if I had to guess, probably good at it, not afraid of the big ones. He also did not seem affected by the new age bullshit that strokes this town with an earthy hand. The barber, although I hesitate to call a woman a barber, was chatty. She talked this guy up and down, re-familiarizing herself with his life, while occasionally reminding him of hers. These two people, barber and customer, knew each other faintly and I listened to their conversation openly. Hiding eavesdropping in the store the size of a shoebox is useless.

The shop was narrow, with two chairs, but only she was working, her partner up the coast doing something unimportant. He’ll be back on Saturday she said, I assume their busiest day. She asked if he had been away. He said he had. He was in Thailand when the Boxing Day Tsunami hit.

I placed the magazine back on the rack and listened as he told this story:

“I was there with my wife, at a resort about an hour and half away from Phuket. We were taking some time off after she had just finished her last treatment for breast cancer”

“A celebration of sorts” said the barber too flippantly, like cancer was similar to an anniversary, or a child’s birthday.

“Yes, something like that. Anyway we were all standing on the beach, my wife and my friend Anton who was also there on holiday. The water was very calm, not what we were used to compared to here and then very quickly the water began receding into the ocean.”

“How far?” asked the bespectacled barber.

“As far as we could see, we figured later about four kilometers”

“Holy shit” I added, letting the two of them know I was really listening to them, not fake listening like the lady reading the magazine next to me.

“Yeah, well, as I stared out to sea, I went cold, I looked at Anton and he was staring as well. It was like watching the tide going out right before our eyes. This beach was so calm before, never a swell, never a wave. We realized right then what was happening and began running back through the resort yelling at everyone to get the hell out of there.”

“What did they do?”

“Well, the resort was full of Europeans, Danes, Fins, French, and they began running, not away from the beach, but towards it, their digital cameras high in their hands, wanting to capture this wave forever. The worst part was, it was boxing day, so lots of kids were already down on the beach digging with their spades and buckets, and at this point who knew if we were right, it sounded pretty crazy”

It would have sounded crazy, I thought.

“We had rented motorbikes so we just hopped on and started driving as fast as we could”

“Where was your wife?”

“She was on the back with me, Anton was alone on the other bike,” he stopped to look at himself in the mirror. “We heard the wave hit and could almost feel it sweep across the land, chasing us as we drove down the road. We stopped at a waterfall and scaled up the side, pulling ourselves up on vines until finding a spot we guessed was high enough. We spent the night up there, and in the morning we decided to go down to see what had happened. I thought things were just going to be really wet, but when I saw a French guy from our resort covered in blood, wandering around in his underwear, I knew something had gone terribly wrong.”

The barbershop went silent. The passing crowd outside became a silent curtain of no one.

“The Frenchman had lost his wife and daughter. He had watched them be carried out to sea. He was on top of a three story building holding on to his daughter, until he could not hold on anymore, he let her go and she drifted away from him screaming.”

“Jesus” I muttered.

“At this point the army had just started to arrive, they were piling dead bodies up in pyramids, and every pick up truck we saw was full of bodies. We made the decision right then to get on our bikes and leave,” his voice changed. “We wanted to stay and help, but in this country, at the best of times, the diseases you can catch….” He trailed off.

“You had enough petrol in the bikes?”

“Yes, just barely enough to get back to Phuket. We left everything, our bags, our passports; we just wanted to get the hell out of there. My wife had just been through breast cancer and the smell, I will never forget the smell.”

“I guess not,” I added. “Do you know how many people died?”

“In the area we were in 5,000 died, with still over 3,000 missing”

“Holy shit”

“And only 24 survived. We were three of them”

The statistic hung in the air like a noose. The barber whipped off the bib and he stood up, brushing away his old hair. He paid her the $17 with an easy smile and they resumed chatting about her recent sailing trip to the Whitsunday’s.

And then he was gone, telling us to have a nice haircut, the lady beside me next up in the chair.

Later that day I was flying a red and yellow kite with Hud and Steph at Tallow Beach.








An occasional eye on the ocean.

Shaking my head on how lucky I have it.

Love to all,

J.


July 25, 2005

Byron Bay, NSW, Australia

7:27am

So 100 pages of writing looks like this. How about that. Two months and three days. 47,000 words.

I think I am starting to come out of my funk. Today feels different for some reason. The coffee is weak sure, but I think I am less so. Maybe it was all the rat-faced kids running around with their canned bourbon and sodas making me nervous. Maybe travel day hit me one day late and my lemony remarks and general malaise will be gone. Maybe the urban skids with their greasy hair and dirty palms out are ruining my Byron experience. I did not travel halfway across the world to spend three weeks at Queen and Spadina. If one of them tries to clean our windshield I will snap like a dry twig in winter. I still at some point will venture out to some bar and sit on the end waiting for one of these skids to talk to me. The skids always want to talk.

Yesterday started with good intent, but quickly was squashed by a rapid fight between Steph and I. She stormed out leaving Hud and I to fend for ourselves. Steph and I go in waves. We recognize the best thing to do is leave each other be for a spell, let the opportunity to miss each other kick in, and then make fun of whatever we were fighting about. It seems to work.

I waited for about ten minutes to see if the drama of storming out was just that, drama. I was a little surprised she did not return, but then realized sitting in an armchair, staring at the door was no way for Hud to spend a morning. We walked to Tallow Beach again. It takes about half an hour. It would take ten minutes alone. I did the math this time. I also tried my best to do the whole walk without telling Hud to catch up, or hurry up, or get frustrated with him stopping and kneeling to stare at a leaf that looks nothing like a bug. I got about three quarters of the way there before telling him to catch up out of instinct. Damn I thought. We are not in a hurry. In fact we are basically killing time. So why am I trying to speed him up. Why can’t I be unconditionally patient for 30 minutes. Give him the freedom to walk along a pretty cool path, with birds making sounds so clear they sound digital. With sand so white it looks like snow. With so many different sizes of branches laying on the ground waiting to be used as swords, as big pencils to draw H for Hudson in the sand, as tree whackers. Maybe on they way back I thought.

We found a parcel of sand, again leaning against the flat wall of a dune so I could read while Hud played with his bag of sand toys. It was pretty empty, we saw only occasional black dots of a surfers bobbing in the water, or middle aged women with big floppy hats and bikinis bottoms saying hello to both Hudson and me. I finished 1984 in Noosa, so I have moved on to something more contemporary, Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane. I did like 1984. I have no political commentary to attach to my liking of the book. Just that it resonated for a couple of days. Maybe that was the recent pillow of depression smothering me. I never think anything external and inanimate can affect me like that. Just people. Or me.

So he played and I read. Then we played together. Building our mountain and then digging tunnels through it for the sole reason of wanton Hudzilla destruction. I kept a keen eye for any dark humps in the water, but there were none, making me feel all the more lucky to have seen the whale on Saturday. Around 12:30 we began walking home.

Hurry up Hud I said five minutes in. What a knob I am.

Steph was home when we arrived. We ate the sandwiches I made earlier for lunch in meek silence. Steph had done some shopping for her mother’s and Hud’s birthday. I think we will get Hud a bunch of little gifts and tell them they are from each of our immediate family. We will sell it so don’t worry, he will remember. He does remember everyone, and refers to everyone often. Grampy and Rowan getting the most references. Alice a close third.

In the afternoon we all went to town to find a park for Hud to play in. We found one near the main beach in Byron. What an odd collection of people in this town. I am interested to see how much influence the festival is having. By Monday afternoon they should all be gone, giving a more accurate flavour of Byron. The bars look like so much fun here. The big bars from my youth have the best memories for me. Small bars have small memories. Hud played and we watched. At one point a grandmother lost her three year old grandson. I could feel the terrified lilt in her voice and her bewilderment of why her grandson would just run off was palpable. She enlisted the help of another man and I was about to join in the fray when he was located, sitting comfortable at the other end of the park with the grandfather, safe as a kitten. Needless to say, when Hud disappeared behind the monkey bars for longer than two seconds, I was on him like a hawk.

We got an ice cream and then drove home. I quickly bolted out to post and send some e-mails. When I returned Steph had made this wonderful orange beef and noodle stirfry. It was so good it should have been served on a huge white plate with cilantro scattered around it. I had three servings. It was the best meal we have had so far. Steph is an awesome cook. Who knew?

Hud went to bed around 7:30 and Steph and I made out for a while. Proving that we still love each other. We watched a movie, The United States of Leland, which I liked and Steph fell asleep halfway in.

Today we have some little details to iron out, including the renting of a car for the duration of our time in Australia. We have to do it. Our place is just a little too far to make it without one. I also need my haircut. Steph says there is an old school barber in town, so I am saving my five day beard just in case. We are also doing some mild investigation in enrolling Hud in some sort of class with other kids. He is just so shy and needs some exposure to real kids.

Not a couple of adults pretending to be.

Love to all,

J.

posted by Jason @ 5:06 PM |

From Swank to Hippie in four short hours

July 24, 2005

Byron Bay, NSW, Australia

7:50am

At this very moment I can hear the hungover murmur from all the kids up late partying last night. Why they are up I have no idea. Maybe they have yet to go to bed. Our complex is riddled with them, and last night after the festival, the woo hooing continued well into the wee hours in the morning. At one point, amidst the continual kidney shaking bass thumping from the apartment below us, an argument broke out between a guy and his girlfriend. I assume it was his girlfriend, because this dude was so mad his Australian accent sounded Irish, and only a drunken girlfriend can make a 25 year old that mad. He swore with such intense spittle, it made me uncomfortable, thinking that the sick sound of slap on flesh was about to accompany the bass. Alas, all I heard was the word fuck over and over again, descending down the volume level until he was almost whispering and I was almost asleep again. It was amazing how loud it was at one in the morning and then how quiet it was at four in the morning. I guess the drugs had worn off by then.

Yesterday we walked to Tallow Beach. The path to the beach is about a kilometre long, winding through a National Park that starts at the dead end of a neighbourhood road. About fifty different birds greet you at the beginning of the path, almost as loud as last night’s techno music. Hud dillied. Hud dallied. So about four hours later we made it to the actual beach. There was a river tributary so Hud immediately shed his shoes and shorts and began running through the shallow water. The tide was out so the river was up only to his thighs at the deepest point. There was a similar tributary in Cairns so this seemed very familiar for Hud, as he laughed and ran. Laughing simply because he was running.



Sadly, the running had to stop as an elderly fellow walking the beach informed us that river was actually an outflow for sewage. Nice.

The beach is beautiful. And the surf much more violent than the lazy lapping water in North Queensland. I am talking six or seven foot swells breaking in the centre, like a big foamy mouth chomping down on a cheeseburger. We walked down the beach a little and found a spot against the dunes and let Hud play with his sand toys. Two guys and a girl were just down the beach from us and I noticed they were standing on the dune and looking out at the water with a certain intent. I looked out myself and saw the black hump break the water and disappear again. Yep. A whale. I quickly boosted Steph and Hud up on the dune and they watched until the whale, or maybe even two, made a number quick appearances. A man walking down the beach informed us the whales were humpback and I remember reading in one of thousand brochures that this stretch of ocean was part of both the humpback and right whale’s life route.

So wild humpback whales. Check.



We also watched as three people next to us, changed clothes and jumped into the gnarly surf. I was immediately envious of their body surfing and general water playing. I had only brought pants, not knowing what to expect. The water here is about 70 degrees, which locals think is freezing and I think is manageable. I will be prepared the next trip to the beach. Steph did catch me trying to get a glimpse of the girl changing back into her clothes. I was doing the ol’ stare out the side of my sunglasses bit that all closet voyeurs try every once in a while. I quickly claimed I was watching Hud play along the edge of the dune, but secretly felt embarrassed for trying to catch a glimpse of a rocking set of boobs. Yes, I am 35 years old.



After the beach we came back to our apartment for lunch. Peanut butter and jam and cut up carrots, celery and red peppers. Hud seemed on the verge of nap so we tried to lay down with him, but no way, he wanted none of it, so we hopped in the car to get our big grocery order out of the way. Two minutes later, Hud fell asleep. We just shook our heads. What can you do? We ended up putting him one of the shopping carts with a couple of sweatshirts and the whole shopping experience was suddenly very peaceful and unhurried. Hud woke up right at the end and was much calmer after even only a 30-minute nap. We walked to the information centre to try to find out which was the best surf school. We found a couple that looked ok, and Steph will do the legwork on Monday as everything will be closed today. Also everything will calm down a bit once the festival is over and all the dread heads and rock and roll freaks have gone back to their city caves.

Holy macaroni. I am 35 years old.

Love to all,

J.


July 23, 2005

Byron Bay, New South Wales, Australia

7:23am

Bunch of gull darn hippies I tells ya.

We booked this portion of our trip sometime back in March. Online, of course and because it is low season we were able to secure a reasonable price for the three week duration of our stay. Faith, the owner of our apartment (which is totally nice) accepted our deposit gladly, happy to receive income for this time of year.

Initially we were having trouble getting people to commit to our time period in Byron, as the Splendor in the Grass festival announces their dates some time in April, and all the residents were holding off any confirmations until the date was announced. We had no idea what type of festival this was. Perhaps it was Whitman, or just a poetry festival, or some sort of tribute to the Redford/Wood movie in the sixties. We were clueless. Everyone who had been to Byron described it is as beautiful and full of backpackers. So even Faith, her name now ironic, came back to us in April and asked us if we could arrive on the Monday as she could charge for one weekend what we were paying for one week. We said sorry lady, we booked our trip around our three weeks in Byron, and besides why should we suffer because you were eager to get a long-term stay in your apartment.

So with that said, we arrived yesterday after a four-hour drive from Noosa, to be stuck in traffic on the long road approaching Byron. What we were able to find out getting a coffee in Noosa is that Splendor in the Grass festival is a huge music festival drawing the likes of Coldplay and Franz Ferdinand in the past, and Queens of the Stone Age and Moby this weekend. So needless to say the crowd, which I am guessing arrived from both Brisbane (2.5 hours away) and even Sydney (10 hours away) has infiltrated this relatively small town like ants at a picnic.

So finally we made it to our apartment. It is about three kilometers from the Byron CBD and a supposed 10-15 minute walk from Tallow Beach, a smaller beach away from the main drag in Byron. Our apartment is a clean one bedroom, open concept little number with a good size balcony over looking the street below. It is in a small complex with other similar apartments and two story townhouses lining the perimeter. Faith was pleasant and did not bring up the loss she was incurring by letting her apartment out to us. I of course, projected this hag of a lady, face all squirreled up, exulting how we were costing her money to stay here. I have a tendency to project anxious and uncomfortable moments about the smallest of things. I worry about parking spots, whether or not we are going to get a good spot at the beach, how crowded theatres are, and if the places we have booked are going to be rat infested little skank holes with gun toting neighbours. This of course has never happened, every rental has been gorgeous. I am fine once everything is underway, and it does not stop me from doing anything (which I hope will continue, agoraphobia never seemed that weird to me), so once I realized that Faith was a very pleasant and grateful woman, I settled down nicely.

I am actually quite happy about out place and its just-down-the-road location. Especially after going to Byron last night to pick some groceries and get a general feel for the town. It is about the size of Huntsville, or at least the downtown of Huntsville. It is dappled with the now familiar information centres and tour booking shops. But this is a party town, no doubt about it. There were a number of different and huge bars that look like a lot of fun. Fun if I was here with Mike and Sam, my brave party leaders, charming through crowds and up to the bar. And this particular weekend, the bars were packed at 5:00pm. The festival does not actually begin until today, so everyone was arriving and plying themselves with fast lovely pints. By everyone I mean thousands of hippies and alternative rockers between the ages of 18 and 28. So patchouli (no idea how to spell it) and pot are present and accounted for.

Byron is also a surf town, so there are a plethora of surf shops and surf wear shops. Steph and I are hoping this will be the place where we will try to learn how to surf. There are a number of places offering lessons. What I want to do is hire someone to teach Steph and I together, and we can alternate the actual surfing, while the other stays near Hud, who during the lesson on the sand, will entertain himself. Anyway, cost will determine if that indeed is possible. Cost and maximum wetsuit size availability.

To me the best part of last night was walking to main beach at sunset and watching the surfers, lots of surfers, ride the swells into the waiting beach. They looked like seals, peppered in the water, waiting for the next set. The sun was of course red and stunning and it added to the surfer allure and mystique.



However crowded, the energy is good here. This place is the beacon for alternative lifestyle choice, and however commercial that has become, it still is closer to me than the swank that Noosa was. So we shall see how we all adjust here. Hud could not care less where he is. We pulled a futon mattress in from the living room and put in the corner, so at least he will not be in same bed. He is really starting to enjoy his independence, so I was a little concerned he would be miffed that he doesn’t have his own room. But again my concern was alleviated by his goofy grin and head hug. And with Hud sleeping in the same room for us, the bonus for me comes in two words: Couch sex. Meow.

So last night we rented a bunch of movies, and bought some right away groceries. Hud fell asleep watching The Rescuers and I fell asleep watching Suspect Zero. Steph made it all the way through which is impressive as it was a thriller with scary music. She turns the volume down as she says it’s the music that actually scares her, not the bloody scenes.

Today we will walk to the beach just to see how long it will take. We have a car until Tuesday and we are desperate to not have to rent one for the remaining time her in Byron. Bikes maybe, but hopefully no car.

In other good news, I have slowly started writing my novel again. I had finished a chapter in the last days in Cairns, and started a new one in Noosa, the mild booze buzz the instigator.

I am writing as Dexter again. Dex is my favourite.

Love to all

J.


July 21, 2005

9:55pm.

Noosa Heads, Qld, Australia

So it’s torment I am allowed now. Welcome to the next stage of my life. Thanks for coming. Try the veal.

I appreciate all the kind, familiar, secretive comments and e-mails regarding the angst-ridden post from a couple of days ago. I am now on the balcony of our self-contained apartment in Noosa Heads, a highbrow beach community serving random tourists and Brisbane money regulars. This is our last night here before heading off to the eastern most part of Australia, Byron Bay. Here was just a stopover, a replacement for what initially was supposed to be Brisbane. We thought to hell with a city, go north young man, and spend a trio of days in a restaurant laden beach town swaddled in resorts and mid range self contained apartments. If I told you how much we are spending for this place you may choke on your peanuts and raisins, but alas, we do love the luxury and I do love the drama.

Yesterday was spent getting to know the area through information brochures and very short and wrinkly information booth ladies. We walked the walk and saw all the t-shirt places intermingled with the boutique child fashion stores. Later on Hud and I spent some quality time playing with helicopters and planes as Steph searched for a gift for her mother’s upcoming birthday. Dinner was steaks on the bbq as we all soaked in the mini hot tub near the designated grilling area. Hud fell asleep on time and Steph and I submerged ourselves in crime drama television. Sleep was restless and dream filled.

This morning we bolted off to the Australia Zoo. This is the home zoo of the crocodile hunter Steve Irwin, so we were pretty stoked to say crikey over and over again. It was a great zoo with interaction all over the place. Lets see….Hud fed an elephant, a goat and a kangaroo. Pretty awesome stuff for an almost three year old.









We left around 2:30 and made it home for a couple of naps and a really ordinary self-service episode. I tell you this cause I love you. I really really love you.

We went out for dinner as we were under budget. We all had pasta, some creamy, some meaty and then made out way back to our 2000 square foot apartment to bask in our life all over again. Hud took awhile to go to bed, but after, Steph and I sat on the balcony and analyzed my battles and my wars between sips of Shiraz and Coopers Sparkling Ale. I slipped out for a pack of butts as it’s been three weeks and that seems to be my pattern. I praise the patience of my wife, but dislike her stubborn whiteness. We had a good chat though and my love for her remains intense and stupid.

As I said to her between sips of my beer in a wine glass, I am glad my little (or big) clouds of anxiety are happening now and not in at the end of our trip. Maybe this hopeful metamorphosis of Jason is just at the beginning, and the answers will start to fill in like pouring mercury on a flat surface. Perhaps I am that spread out. Perhaps I am complete, just in quiet blobs, waiting to suck together. Oh feh. Maybe the answer sits in the bottom of this glass.

This beautiful beautiful glass.

Love to all,


J.

posted by Jason @ 12:22 AM |

Magnum has left the building

July 19, 2005

Machans Beach, Qld, Australia

The mustache is gone.



Weeping will not be tolerated.

Love to all,

J.

Ok one more….hee hee.





July 18, 2005

Machans Beach Qld, Australia

10:39am

It’s the day before we leave Cairns.

I always want to come up with something profound and introspective on the last day about the things I learned on my quest to be someone different. Alas all I have is the memories of the things I saw and the things we did. Steph suggested that life is all about building memories. A definitive episodic string of events that help define the person you are or at least the person you strive to be. You choose the opportunity to experience things, whether that’s skydiving from 14,000 feet or looking at large fig trees that resemble curtains. You choose that tour bus or that white compact rental car. You stop in that restaurant for takeaway, or that bar for sixteen pints and a broken nose. You choose to watch your blonde-haired boy dip his face into the ocean to see a real live Nemo. You choose to swim in testicle shrinking ice water just to let the weight of thousands of tons of water hit you in the back as you dive through a water fall. You choose to sit in sand, watching your wife read, thinking how she just keeps getting prettier.

I have these moments, etched in my brain like fingers in new concrete. They are hardening as I write this. I can feel the old, less valuable memories disappearing, red bandanna and stick in hand, kicking dusty rocks as the horizon eats them like cake.

There is so much time to think here, or anywhere when you do not have the rigorous splatter of a life we had back home. I get lost in it sometimes, staring off in the distance, replacing my supposed quiet time when I tiptoe off somewhere to read. I still feel somewhat lost, as I did back home, here there is just better scenery. It’s not like I had this goal of finding myself on this trip. This is not the seventies. I am not a recently divorced woman. To find one’s self you have to have some idea of what to look for. I still just exist, not attacking life, its still happening to me, instead of me happening to it.

There are things I know for sure. The love I have for my wife. The love I have for my son. These are immediate, apparent and I use them as armor. I figure if I have these massive feelings, these oppressive burdens of joy, then I can get by. I can rely on these feelings to take me through the day with a guarantee of multiple smiles, of laughter, of comfortable warmth.









So I am happy. I am happy right? I am happy. Right? This is what it feels like sometimes. I have created basically a perfect scenario to feel happy. Climate is ideal, culture is so laid back and wistful that its almost somnambulant. My immediate and dear family is never more than a dinner call away. I have money, not lots of it, but enough to make sure the next year is covered with bounty and safety. I have the absolute love and geographically conditional support of my umpteen parents and siblings. I am relatively healthy, minus the blubber and the somewhat dramatic need to harm myself with random intoxicants. So why do I feel sometimes half done, a forgotten puzzle underneath some cottage couch, chunks complete, but so many pieces still scattered about. Why is there a constant ball of anxiety crouched, biting its nails in the cellar of my stomach? Is this my nervous destiny? Or maybe I am just not cut out for this type of lifestyle. Maybe I am better suited sitting in a cubicle surfing movie quote websites, licking my lips cause its payday. Maybe it’s not knowing what one’s destiny is, or even having a hint of what it is. Or maybe I am just chicken and lazy and using all this self-analytical crud as an excuse to watch television, hand draped over the edge of couch, submerged in a bag of salty snacks. Maybe I am just afraid of it all. Career success, a sense of true completion, is foreign things to me. I have never completed anything serious in my life. I have left everything hanging. I am like the first up the mountain to base camp, and instead of using it as a place to get warm and gear up for the rest of the ascent, the harder part, I stay there, steaming cup of hot chocolate in my hand, saying I’m good here thanks.

That is why the novel is so important to me. I truly don’t see it as the light at the end of the tunnel. My pragmatism is too stifling. I do potentially see it as a personal victory. To have an actual completed novel, in a stack of double spaced sheets of paper no doubt, would mean something to me, and me alone. But already I am disappointed in myself. I have written maybe 2000 words in two months. The 44,398 words I have written in this journal are an accomplishment, but it’s too feathery, too flaky to ever submit anywhere.

It’s too personal for that matter as well.

I guess it is a diary after all.

Next stop, Noosa Heads, 150km north of Brisbane for three days. Then Byron Bay for three weeks. Then four days traveling the east coast and Sydney. And then Tasmania for a week. We booked it. Neat.

Love to all,


J.

July 17, 2005

Machans Beach, Qld, Australia

7:14am

There was peanut butter on the fridge handle this morning. There is no doubt who left it there. I will always be the kind of guy that leaves smears of peanut butter in random locations around the house. It’s like the sun and the stars and the black soil that helps things grow. It’s just the way it is.

Sleep is an issue again. Or at least last night it was. It’s always near the end of a rental period, so there is no big Scooby doo mystery. Last night I stayed up late and this morning I woke up early. I was frustrated I could not fall back asleep, knowing that later today I will lash out or make some caustic remark to Stephanie just because I am tired. The fact that I just wrote that down is hopefully enough to stop me from committing this common relationship crime. It’s amazing how one’s partner bares the brunt of such mild internal struggles.

This morning, after sighing and harrumphing, I rose from Hud’s bed (he was in ours, so I tried his) and grabbed the camera to take a picture of the sunrise. I crept down the silent stairs and looked out the window at a magnificent crimson sky. Light from the sun was just starting to throw light through the clouds. Camera in hand, I went for the door when a rumble beneath the equator told me there was a morning ritual to take care off before Ansel Adamsing across the street to the bench facing the sunrise and ocean. No worries I thought, what could change in a couple of minutes? Flush. Open door. Red sky completely gone. Once again foiled by my all too regular system.

Needless to say, the sky was still streaked with tinges of pink and grey faraway clouds. Barges ached along the horizon, sea birds flew into frame on cue and I was able to take a few nice pictures for the sunrise series.



I brought my book to read in between shots. I am reading 1984 now, and liking Winston Smith and his meager, yet furiously hopeful existence.

The first arc of the sun made its appearance around 6:45. I opened the camera to get a couple more shots. The bench I was sitting on is built on a small strip of grass right on top of the large, sharp rocks that serve as a break wall. If you look close enough, on one of the rocks, you can see the pink skin from the nose bridge of one drunken, husky fucker. Beneath this break wall, the waves lap against the shore or against the rocks, depending on the tide. This morning it was about midway between the two tides. I recognize this only because I make a habit of looking where the surf strikes at different points of the day.

So I am taking pictures. At different angles and different zooms when I hear the unmistaken rustle of fish in water to my immediate left. I look down and see, about fifteen feet offshore, in I think only about 10 feet of water, two dolphins trying to snag a fish. My eyes bulge, my stomach heaves and I watch them play with this fish for a couple of seconds before I realize what was in my hand. A camera you idiot! The dolphins had caught their fish and were now heading off down the coast. I was lucky enough to get a couple of dorsal fin shots as they periodically surfaced and bananad along the horizon. They are not great shots, but it was proof that they were indeed there, for Steph and for myself, hoping this was not some acid flashback from the eighties.



So wild dolphins. Check.

Yesterday Steph went to Cairns to do three hours of investigation regarding the 10-day gap between Byron Bay and Sydney that we have yet to book. We were trying to find three locations on the coast that would be worthwhile to stay and investigate. But. Something is brewing in our heads about what we want to do for that time period. It has something to do with the devil.

Oh I am such a cheeky chimp, we are thinking of going to Tasmania for that period instead. Just do the drive to Sydney in two days instead of 10 and hop on a flight from Sydney for the two-hour flight to Hobart. We did the math and it’s doable, without much cause for belt tightening either. So it’s snowballing, this idea, which is an appropriate term as it will be quite chilly on the island this time of year. But we are hearty Canadians. We can take a little Antarctic wind.

It just seems like the kind of place that we want to experience. It is more about the landscape and the scenery than the available, and expensive activities.

Anyway, we shall see. Saying you are going to Tasmania is one thing. Going there is another.

It would be nice to be face to face with the devil for a spell I reckon.

Love to all,

J.

posted by Jason @ 7:10 PM |

Hey there naughty girl....

Hey there naughty girl.
Have you been naughty?
You look like you’ve been naughty.
You haven’t been naughty have you?
Look at the naughty girl being naughty.
You are so naughty you naughty little girl.
Naughty girl is so naughty!
Naughty girl seems like she needs something.
I know what the naughty girl needs.

She needs a mustache moment.

posted by Jason @ 5:31 PM |

Blackjack J and other tales of mild debauchery

July 15, 2005

Machans Beach, Qld, Australia

7:39am

Two months we have been away.

Last we spoke, I was in Cairns, posting and researching future destination points. Very soon after accomplishing these tasks, I shut the powerbook down and contemplated what mild debauchery I could dive into while alone. I settled on visiting the local casino to see what was what.

It was big, loud with mostly Asians at the tables, and mostly locals at the slots. There was roulette, blackjack, baccarat, and a few other games that were foreign to me and my vast casino experience. I went to the bar and ordered a pint, a liquid perusal if you would. I circled the floor like a vulture and because I looked so darn cool with my mustache the pit boss was eyeing me for a card counter. Ok, deep down I wanted to be thought of someone that mathematically devious, but I am sure I looked like the mook that actually am.

Finally, after one of the female dealers actually said to me, “it’s ok darling, we’re not going to bite”, I sat down at one of the $10 minimum blackjack tables. I hit three aces on my first three hands, none of them turning up blackjack, but winning them all. Of course this is the point where I start thinking of a gambling run that will allow us to continue this adventure for another couple of years, but of course, casinos were not built on winners and I lost the next hand. I went in with the idea of losing $50, a comfortable enough amount to sheepishly tell Steph I lost. I actually got up to $100 and almost had the sense to walk away with a meager victory, but no, I whittled $50 away faster than you can say Jack Robinson, before quickly disembarking from my stool with my original $50 still intact. And just to say I lost something, on the way out, I slid a sawbuck into a slot machine and lost that in about fifteen seconds. So a beer and a sawbuck later and I was back in the fresh air. Away from the cacophony and cigarette smoke. Neither the pit boss, nor the Asians, noticed I was gone.

The next two days were very quiet. Wednesday we spent at Palm Cove, what used to be our favourite beach until we realized how loud it was. Not loud enough to wake up the mighty Hud, but loud.



This is because we had been up to Cape Tribulation the day before, where the beaches are so serene and unfettered. That’s if you hit it in between tour buses of course. It’s so easy to complain about something. Excuse me while I punch myself in the pancreas.

Wednesday night Steph went to Yoga and I made fajitas. I did not like the fajitas as much as the burritos. Yeah. Ok. Well. Moving on.

Thursday we spent near Birri Bana, our lovely home.





We have really lucked out in our rentals so far, and the next one looks ok as well. We have heard Byron Bay is busy and full of backpackers and hippies, but I am sure we can handle that. Lots of our friends recommended Byron, but I think it is because they were in Byron when they were backpackers and/or hippies. So we will see how a mustached 35 year old and his wife and his son can mix with the gang. By the looks of it, our apartment is about 10 minutes away from the hub of Byron, probably tucked into some little quiet area like our present place is. In any event, Steph and I will be conscience of our anxiety this time, as it’s usually about two days before we start to relax and settle into a mild routine. Hud of course, being a superhero, just Cheshire grins and says what’s next? We have three nights in Noosa Heads, north of Brisbane before Byron, which is also supposed to be nice. If it isn’t? Whatever. I am as flexible as Olga Korbet baybee.

Last night we went out for dinner. We realized, that while over budget, we were not over budget that much, so we deserved a night out. Compared to our last two destinations, we did very well in Cairns. We ate out only twice (including last night) in three weeks. We made every lunch and every breakfast and we were very aware of the daily knick knacks, diet cokes, cappacianios, that add up and can destroy a budget. So Sonya’s by the Sea it was, and it was nice. This of course was the location of my drinking to excess a couple of weeks ago, so I was cowering a little, hoping I did not pee in the tip jar. But alas, the bartender did recognize me, but only as the guy staying at the big house down the road, not the guy who got in a fistfight with the waitress ( all speculation, all the time). We each had a thin crust pizza, mine with lamb, rosemary and olives, Steph’s with Thai chicken, red capsicum and cashews. Hud had chicken nuggets, his favourite as he says about everything now.

So pretty light fare for the next couple of days. Really sticking around our pad to appreciate it and get value from it. We will go to Cairns today to let Hud play by that big pool he so likes. I will stare out my mirrored glasses, looking somewhat moronic with my stache and all. But that was part of it. It is an exercise in not caring what people think and it is working. It works.

Whatever works.

Love to all,

J.

posted by Jason @ 5:24 PM |

Big City J and tales from the Cape

July 12, 2005

Cairns CBD, Australia

7:06pm

On my own and in the big city. It will be a short post because I have a number of things to accomplish tonight. None of which include drinking until my head hits pavement.

Yesterday we stayed at home. Ahhh how nice. Just relaxed and read and played with the Hudder. At 4, I walked with him to the beach down the road and he played in the lowtide river bed. He loves the warm water left over from high tide. I watched and then joined him, slowly not caring anymore about my bowling pin body.

And yes I grew a mustache, which you know or not depending on what order you read the posts.

Today was more interesting. Our last big road trip. We drove to Cape Tribulation. The furthest north you can go on this coast without a 4WD. It is the only place in the world where two world heritage locations meet. The Great Barrier Reef and the Daintree Rainforest. Needless to say the scenery was pretty great. Although it was marred by the myriad of tour groups hustled in and out of locations.

I am seeking adventure and am getting a little restless regarding the sometimes vanilla things we are doing. I understand there are limitations with a three year old, but I am bursting a little. Like a long needle going slowly through a balloon. Steph knows, and can sense my edginess. And I feel bad because some of the serene moments I am ruining with my ill timed barbs and stabs. I am sure it will pass. Steph reminds me that we are going to spend two months in relative isolation come September, so I better start adjusting accordingly.

The best part again today was of course Hud’s confidence in the water.







This time we actually got pictures of it. Us being idiots, we were so excited that Hud agreed to go snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef, we forgot to take any pictures. Not one. Not one in his little wetsuit, not one of him actually putting his head underwater to see the fish, not one of him in all his gear and glory. So I apologize, because it is so firmly etched in my brain I feel that I do not need a picture at all.

Six more days in Cairns and then off to Noosa Heads just outside of Brisbane. Fraser Island is looking unrealistic from a cost point of view, so we are going to see about single day trips out of Noosa. I am disappointed but happy we are being rational.

This post is too boring read the next one.

Love to all,

J.

posted by Jason @ 2:51 AM |

Sometimes you get a little lonely

Sometimes you get a little lonely.
Sometimes you sneak down to the couch and stare at the pattern of your afghan.
Sometimes the empty red wine glass sitting on your hand-me-down coffee table makes you want to cry.
You flip on the television.
There is nothing on.
You try to read but the main character’s problems remind you of your own.
You think of someone to call and realize everyone is asleep.
The radio is full of songs reminding you of lost love and memories of times gone by.
Sometimes you sit on a couch molded to your sagging body and think about what could have been and what will never be.
It’s at these times where there might be one thing that could get you back to bed and through the night.
Sometimes there is only one thing that can make all your troubles go away.
Sometimes you just need one thing to make you feel a little bit less lonely.

Sometimes all you need is a mustache moment.

posted by Jason @ 2:47 AM |

Reef meet the Hud

July 11, 2005

Machans Beach, Qld, Australia

7:47am.

I am skipping a day. Well, not really. We went to Cairns CBD (central business district duh) on Saturday to post and let Hud play in the big pool. Pert areolas aside, it was pretty uninteresting. I will go on the record and say that I bought the worst lunch ever. It was a takeaway (take out duh) restaurant displaying their wares in a glass-heated cage. All sorts of deep fried goodies to sucker beauhunks like me into purchase. I bought a chicken broccoli cheese puck, a Dagwood dog (a pogo duh), a spring roll and some chips (fries duh). Thinking I had done good (accomplished buying lunch duh), I walked back to the playground where Steph sat, hungry, waiting to see what delicious bounty I had found.

First bite…the Pogo…well the pink dye from the hotdog had bled into the weak batter…so it looked and kind of felt like the hotdog was bleeding into your mouth as you ate it. Next bite…the chicken puck…like a big nugget with a centre full of gooey old broccoli, and you know how well broccoli ages. Next up? The spring roll. One bite for Steph…look of utter disgust….one bite from Jason….spat back into the bag. It was like deep fried cabbage that had been in a blender. It poured out like a milkshake. Last but not least. The fries. They were soggy. And I think about three weeks old. A complete ten dollar wash.

So after I ate it all I was really mad. Only joking. Just kidding. Although I gave the pogo one more bite and paid for it later. It sat in my stomach like a fat man waiting for a bus. And then the bus came. It was an express bus. You know what I mean.

So that was the highlight of Saturday. Not really a highlight, but something to at least talk about. We did have a nice pork dinner with vegetables and couscous. I finished To Kill a Mockingbird and loved it. It was rich and real and startling. It haunts me sitting here.

I slept with Hud on Saturday as the Mossie Princess has put the mosquito net around our bed and I can’t sleep surrounded by hanging gauze. It makes me feel like I’ve been bitten by a vampire and the sickle wielding mob are waiting for my own metamorphosis. So the sleep was restless, as the stinker kept putting his jasonesque feet into my face. I was also anxious for yesterday to begin. So at 6:15 I woke Steph up and flicked on Hud’s light.

It was Great Barrier Reef day, and I was excited.

Fast forward past the packing, the parking, the check in and now on the 80ft catamaran, filling out our disclaimer forms. There were tea and chocolate muffins to sate our stomachs as each member of the crew introduced themselves very loudly, with very over-exaggerated hand gestures and mannerisms. One German crewmember, the scuba instructor, was either a little effeminate or a lot gay, and his face bounced around like a superball. He acted like an aerobics instructor, with a permanent smile and eyes like a ventriliquist dummy. I wish his name was Hans or something equally stereotypical, but it was like Steve or Todd or something like that. But it sure was fun just watching him talk with his limp hands and his cheery voice.

The boat held eighty passengers and six crew, and we were maxed out. What started out as a beautiful day was now overcast with wind upwards around 20 knots. We were off, to the outer parts of the reef, over two hours away. Eighty people on an eighty foot boat is right at the point where it seems crowded, but not claustrophobic. I immediately checked out the bathroom situation under the ruse of being a concerned parent of a newly toilet trained boy. There were two of them and they were fine. I could now relax and unclench. We sat on the bow, huddled on the net between the pontoons, a little chilly with the foul weather. Around 10:15 the crew began bustling about, getting ready to moor near our reef for the day. We signed up for the glass bottom boat tour to at least give Hud the opportunity to see the fish and the reef. I was convinced that he would not take part in snorkeling and even bet Steph $2 to the effect.



We moored the big boat and boarded the 15 ft glass bottom boat. Now at 20 knots, the waves were rolling in quite nicely thank you and we had to keep a firm grip on the Hud to keep him from flying overboard. Troy, the first mate of the big boat, gave us a thirty minute tour of our particular reef, explaining the different types of hard and soft coral and the over 8,000 different types of fish that call the reef home. Hud was pretty interested, seeing an actual Nemo and a giant clam, amongst all the other marine entities. So back to the big boat now and we pose the question to Hud. Do you want to go in and see the fish yourself? Yes, he nodded and we jumped all over it. We got fins and a mask and snorkel and even a little wetsuit to ensure warmth. We decked out as well and went down the ladder onto the platform. The idea was to put Hud on top of a red ring buoy and let him dip his head in at his leisure. Any moment now I was sure he would not want to go. There were white crests on three-foot swells bouncing everyone around the reef. It was not the serene, placid water I had pictured in my head. So Steph jumped in first and there was my little Jacque Cousteau, looking about thirteen years old, standing on the platform. If he was scared I could not see it through his mask or hear him through the snorkel, so I picked him up and placed him in Steph’s waiting arms. Still no freak out so I quickly jumped in. We placed him on the life preserver and we were off. Steph doing most of the pushing as our fins kept hitting each other.



Well I have never been happier losing a bet in my life. And never prouder as a parent, as this little boy, not even three years of age, stuck his face underwater, breathed through the snorkel and saw fish and coral on the Great Barrier Reef in Australia. It was amazing. He was amazing. And he lasted about 15 minutes before a couple of big waves crashed into us and he was done. His muffled panic and wild eyes told us so. Steph took him back and I continued my own snorkel adventure. It was pretty amazing. A different world of fluorescent creatures and wild coral. I went back after a while and Steph jumped in. I hugged Hud so hard and he was shy in receiving my praise. This tells me that somewhere in his little brain and body, he was beaming in self-pride as well. He knew he conquered a fear. He knew that we somewhere very new and different and may possibly not happen again soon. Carpe Diem he thought. All right maybe not, but if you could see his little face telling me that there were no sharks in there dad, you would agree that something clicked inside him that moment. And while I know there are more important things in life than overcoming fear and seizing moments, at this moment I wanted to hold Hud up in the air and make the rest of the passengers bask in his brilliant glory. What a boy!!

After the snorkeling and lunch we ventured to another spot on the reef. Hud refused the opportunity this time, seizing one moment a day it would seem. So I kissed his head for the thousandth time and jumped in, going first. This portion of the reef was different, mostly sand, with spots of coral leading up to a sand island. I puttered about, trying to get to the island, but petered out, wanting to leave enough time for Steph. I did see about 15 Parrotfish picking and poking at a piece of coral. Parrotfish are about 18 inches long and very colourful. Like they were dipped in five different buckets of fluorescent paint. Very cool.

Steph was next and she saw a sea turtle and a stingray, and being a much better swimmer, she made it to the island. She said it was ok, but it would have been better if we were there together. I thank her for that.

Hud and I were waiting on the bow in the mesh net, basking in the now perfect sun that joined us halfway through the first swim. The boat started moving and we were on our way back home. As a lark, the captain sped up a little and we hit some waves that soaked the three of us through the mesh. Us and others but the captain was gunning for us, as we were looking so cozy and comfortable. So we changed clothes and sat underneath until Steph needed some fresh air and Hud needed to nap. We sat on the starboard side, Hud now asleep, Steph suffering the non-stop rocking. I sat on the floor and almost fell asleep watching the sun. We arrived safely back in port and exited the boat, shaking the crews’ hands, German dude being last and most animated.

So that was that.

We have been to and snorkeled The Great Barrier Reef.

All of us.

Love to all,

J

posted by Jason @ 2:45 AM |

Value added adventure

July 8, 2005

Machans Beach, Qld, Australia

8:07pm.

I have fallen into a bit of a routine. Writing every other day, recapping both days the night of the second. Maybe because the down days, the days we just go to a local beach and try not to spend money, are lacking in anecdotal value. Maybe because I am wary of describing another day of sunshine and sand and surf. Wary because I am feeling a little guilty of the bohemian life I have chosen. Guilty because I am find difficulty locating anecdotal value from it.

That circular paragraph was brought to you by Confused and Anxious, a future novel by Jason Kyle Graham Esq. Your advance copy will be mailed to you upon your payment. Please send cheque or money order to Nowhere, P.O. Box Who the hell knows.

There was some value to yesterday’s jaunt to Palm Cove. Hud is slowly conquering his fear of the ocean. Prior to yesterday, if the approaching water washed over his mosquito bitten toes he would run screaming like a horror movie prom queen. Yesterday, with some initial prodding, he eventually realized that rolling about it in the waves can be much more entertaining than throwing sand at your parents. So he rolled and fell and coughed up saltwater, and panicked just a little and rolled and fell again.



I spent a good deal of time jumping waves and body surfing as well. Lucky me, my doughy body works quite well as a mock surfboard. In fact, little Aussie kids with blonde curly hair and Billabong body suits kept jumping on my back screeching kowabunga dude. The things I put up with.

Dinner yesterday was Green Thai Chicken and rice from a package. And I swear when Steph added the paste to the oil in the pan I thought I was going to pass out. It smelled like cooked ass. All three ceiling fans were spinning at their highest levels to rid the downstairs of the fetid redolence. Even Hud scrunched up his knows and ran upstairs to his playroom. We were all ready to pack it up and walk to the restaurant until I clothes pinned my nose and braved a piece of the chicken. Hmph. Not bad. Actually quite good. And spicy. So we ate it, even Hud. Gulping water after every bite. Afterwards we sat there, hands resting on our stomachs, singing our favourite man in black song.

You know the one.

“I went through a burning ring of fire…”

Needless to say, none of us were looking forward to the next verse as it were.

So today. Today was adventure day. Or exploration day is more appropriate. We went back to the Atherton Tablelands to finish the tour we started on Wednesday. After the magic of the Paronella Park (all the billboards on the way to the park read: The Dream Continues….It was awesome cheese), we ran out of time, so today we finished what we started.

We started off at Lake Barraine, a crater made lake about 45 minutes southwest of Cairns. The drive was another hairy curvy road right up the side of a mountain. The views were spectacular, but some of the edges of the roads cuddled right up to a severe drop off. Steph held her breath for the 18kms of curves. I focused intensely on the road. Hud played with his poo nuts.

So the lake was nice and all, but to us Canadians, it was just a lake. So we ate Devonshire Teas and relished in the occasional heat of the sun. I told Steph that I have no fear of growing old with her, because sometimes on this trip, I know exactly what it will be like. We did mosy down to the edge of the lake and there was a place to swim. I relieved myself of all my extra clothes and jumped in. It was cold, but manageable so I gathered Hud up and brought him in as well. He was not as fond as the chilly water so I quickly put him back on land to continue feeding the ducks. Steph could not let me have any adventure leg up (yes after the dangerous Devonshire Tea, swimming was the adventure) so she jumped in for a quick dip as well. One thing about crater made lakes is they are so clear and clean. It was like swimming in a glass of lemonade.

Next stop was another lake, Lake Eechem, just down the road. This one was smaller, a little bit warmer and not a café to be found. There was a simple swim platform with water deep enough to dive into. It was a nice experience. And of course to add to the experience, what’s that swarming down the hill onto the platform? Yep. A tour busload of Asians. Asian teenage girls at that. There were 10 of them and all asked Hud to be in a picture with them. Steph seriously contemplated charging them each a dollar. Their next squeal of excitement was when I jumped back into the water. They all ran to the edge and began taking pictures of me.

Now this is a future scene I wish I could watch. A teenage Asian girl going through her digital slide show for her parents and their friends, and her explaining as my pink fleshy body splashes all over their 90 inch high definition television…

“And here is when the fat round eye jumped in the freezing cold water, bah ha ha ha…his penis must be in his throat right now…”

Enter Asian titter here.

Next stop, The Curtain Fig Tree. What? Huh? He quit his job and life for what? A tree? Actually this was interesting, if not a tad bizarre. Deep in the Tablelands rainforest sits a one thousand year old tree. Over the years the tree and its roots have transformed into what can only be described as a curtain.



Originally, a tree rooted in another and eventually knocked it over onto another tree. All the roots sought the ground and created a wall of roots and eventually the original tree died, leaving a curtain of roots attached to another 70 foot tree. Oh yeah, it has figs. Hence the Curtain Fig Tree.

Don’t tell me I don’t know how to party.

Last stop today was the Milaa Milaa Falls. And this was nice and simple. 40 foot waterfalls with a pool at the bottom you could swim in.



Perfect. This is what I want to see and do. And I did. And holy fucking shit was it cold. It was about a 100 metre swim to the actual falls and about half way I started talking to myself. “I don’t think I can do this; This is way too cold; I can’t feel my legs” But, as I was saying all this, I was pretty much there, so I crawled out and actually got behind the falls, something I never done in my life before.

But then I had never seen a Curtain Fig Tree or drank Devonshire Tea either.


Love to all,

J.


July 6, 2006

Machans Beach, Qld, Australia

7:36pm.

Let the insomnia begin!

I just choked down pretty much a whole sausage and onion pizza after a very busy day exploring Queensland, so I expect I shall drift off fine, only to awake with a fire in my esophagus and love in my heart.

Yesterday was a wash, with nary an anecdote to be found. We went to Cairns city, found a great internet/travel agent, inquired about a Fraser Island tour and booked the Reef trip for this coming Sunday. We popped our head into the one and only mall, bought Hud some new science toys, including magnets and a robot claw. We contemplated the food court for about seven seconds before we gave each other the look. We went home and napped until dinner. Dinner was a vegetable pasta dish with chicken. As opposed to chicken pasta with vegetables. Hud watched a movie in bed; we watched a tiny bit of television before retiring to our books. It was good banal pleasure. Yes I am aware there is an adult film title imbedded in that last sentence.

Today was adventure day! We are alternating our days instead of cramming all the “fun” in at the beginning and suddenly looking down to see the whites of our pockets hanging out. Our onerous goal for today was to travel to four separate outdoor tourist type areas. Touristy due to their natural beauty.

We left at 8:15am, lunch and snack bag packed, and drove one hour to our first destination, the Babinda boulders. This little nook was special because of the massive boulders in the middle of a run off that were smoothed down from the millenniums of rapid water washing over them.



The boulders were big, dinosaur big, and smooth, porn star cookie smooth, and I just love watching big ass rapids scream down a gorge. So that kilometere walk took about an hour, and luckily near the entrance to the path was a spot to go swimming. And even luckier, after I jumped in the cool, clear water, Hud was eager to come in with me. Luckier still, Steph decided what the heck, I will come in too!



So we all swam at the Babinda boulder watering hole. There was another couple there, young, pert, good skin, and great wearehereforthesamereason smiles. They loved that Hud was screaming for fun, not annoyed by it like others would be. I love meeting people like that.

A quick dry off and towel wrap and we were back in the car. We had a schedule to keep as per Steph’s day timer, so no time for lollygagging. Next stop Josephine Falls; another three tiered set of falls tucked in the wet rainforest. I had also read somewhere there was a swimming hole at the base of the falls called the “Golden Hole”. Oh my, there is another probable adult film title. Seems to be a theme to this post. We went to all three tiers, and at the final, the base of the falls, I searched for a spot to go in. It was too dangerous. It had been raining off and on for about six weeks so the water level was high and fast. What did happen was the sky cleared for about ten minutes, and shined split rays of sunshine down the centre of the falls. Just for us. It was like magic. I tells ya. Something good is going to happen.



Hud got to play in the mini rapids and even fell in the water and scraped his knee.



Usually major drama would follow, but we convinced him that he was a water rock climber and everyone would be really impressed. He sucked in his lip and majored on.

We ate lunch in the car cause our next stop was quite far and we were unsure of its exact location. We found it. Oh goodie. Paronella Park. The parking lot was full of tour buses. And it was a little costly. But I let Steph make the call, no input. Hud had fallen asleep so he never would have known we were even there. Well, Steph said lets do it and I cringed. I am such a sour puss sometimes. We entered and the first thing they made us do was put a bright green fluorescent sticker on our shirts. The next thing they did was direct us to the white board to see when the next guided tour was happening. Uh no thanks old bitty, us self drive rebels won’t be suckered into your mass tour group hysteria. We will travel through your little park by ourselves. Feh,

Paronella Park is the former grounds of a Spanish man who came to Australia in 1913, became rich I am sure by exploiting the aborigines and jumping all over the lucrative sugar cane market. He built a castle right at the base of a fifty-foot waterfall. He surrounded the castle with other buildings and tennis courts and fountains, all in the Spanish theme. He died in 1948 and the Park lived on through his kids until they sold it to its present owners in 1992. There were fires and floods over the years leaving the grounds and castle in various states of disarray. It still looked a little shabby to me. But I am a cantankerous dork sometimes.

So, no tours for us, until we stumbled into one with one other couple. A fast talking teenager with a pension for small swear words led us through the park. He said damn, hell and I think shit once and I thought that odd for someone to say in front of two elderly folks and one toddler. Whatever. He gave us some free bookmarks.

Wait a second. I left out the coolest part. At the front desk they gave Hud a bag of fish food. At the base of the falls, at the bottom of rock stairs that descended right into water were fish. Lots of fish and eels. Fish and eels that would almost leap into your palm to get the food. You could imagine how thrilled Hud was at all this. I was almost giddy with excitement. Hud was truly bursting.

So, our mini tour ended. We saw a cluster of bats in a tunnel Spanish dude made.



He called it the tunnel of love. It was wide enough to let two people walk down holding hands. Smarmy, but still romantic. After the tunnel we found another feedhole along the stream. This time it was for turtles, about forty of them, and if they didn’t get the food, the fish did. It was a constant frenzy and it was a total blast for all the almost three year olds in the group.

So we were done. Or so I thought. The aborigine dance started in 10 minutes. So we waited, and were led, along with the Asians and the blue hairs, to an amphitheatre of sand. They then performed a number of dances that were interesting enough, the only problem being they smelled like a room full old onions, like a submarine sandwich maker at closing time, like a full on fat Parisian woman’s armpit. It was body odour with capital BO. It was almost unbearable. And then it was over.

We only shoved Hud to get his picture taken with him, and luckily, thankfully, he did not say out loud “what stinks??”



We drove home in relative silence. I secretly liked the Park, but could not let Steph know it. It started to rain on the way home. It was hot and wet.

Hot and wet. I have seen that movie. And all its 45 sequels.

Number 18 was the best.

Love to all,


J.

posted by Jason @ 7:49 PM |