Home for now
August 30, 2005
Waiheke Island, North Island, New Zealand
6:16pm
Genius of Love by The Tom Tom Club. That is the background music right now, on the deck, sun gone, still light enough to see the sailboat moored in the bay, still light enough to see its hull is pale yellow, its windows black with vacancy.
Day four of New Zealand and we witnessed a landscape that made both Steph and I actually shiver in awe. We stood on an edge of a cliff, overlooking two houses, one of which with sheep boxed in, the other all shiny and proud of its location. They both overlooked a bay of multi-coloured water, behind the water more islands, behind the islands, a peninsula. All so lively and green, so bright and beautiful, so lush and mountainous.
It was like a model of what the earth should actually look like.
We looked at each other and just laughed. Other side of the planet. Looking at this visual treasure. Drunk on eye candy. We stood there staring and a car pulled up. An old man with light blue eyes stuck his wrinkled head and said:
“Quite the view we have here”
Our mouths agape we nodded, our pupils black and full, our grins as big as our love.
“Why don’t you come up the road and see it from my lawn…”
We looked at each other and nodded. “Sure, our boy is asleep in the car so we will follow you”
Steph turned the car around and we went back up the hill we just came down. He was idling at the top, waiting for us. He continued around one more corner and turned into a driveway. A large real estate sign was explaining the details of the property he was obviously selling. 18 acres. 3500 square foot home. $2.5 million. It was a bargain.
His name was John and he and his wife built the place 15 years ago. It had a 180-degree view out the north side of the island, toward the Pacific and back towards Auckland. We could see the Coramandel Peninsula to the east, the place we are staying for September and October. We could see the Skytower we climbed three days ago in downtown Auckland.
I think I saw a penguin squirting down an iceberg at the South Pole the view was so vast.
“You just have a look around, and leave when you’re done,” John said with a quiet smile as we stood on his green, recently mowed grass.
Hud slept on Steph’s shoulders as we walked around his house, pausing to take pictures of the flowers in John’s wife’s garden. The house had been on the market for just over a year. They are trying to sell it to have one last chance to travel the world. John had to be pushing eighty and wanted to be able to enjoy the trip standing up. His wife was nowhere to be found.
When we got back to our car he popped his head back out to say goodbye. His eyes were so soft he looked like a puppet. We thanked him and told him to hold out for his price. He explained there was overseas interest, but the Island has some strict rules about foreign investment. He did not seem overly concerned about it and I wonder if he was really ready to sell.
It must be hard to give up something that beautiful.
Love to all,
J.
August 29, 2005
Waiheke Island, North Island, New Zealand
3:58pm
I am one lucky rotund son of a bitch. Besides being married to one of the most beautiful women on the planet for six years and one day, besides having a smart, sweet Abercrombie and Fitch ad for a son, I am looking out over Oneara Beach on an island, thirty five minutes by ferry from downtown Auckland.
It’s these moments, where I sip local micro brew (Montkeith’s Pilsner Beer, malty, dry finish, good smallish flavour, not too belchy) and watch my wife sip New Zealand Shiraz in the Adirondack chair at our current three day cottage that I wonder what took me so long to escape the beige hell of cubicle farm.
Not that I would have the means to do this before life purge 2005, but at least there is some action in the scenery now. I feel like I am doing something with my life, instead of cowering in the corner, rehearsing my identical-from-yesterday answer in case the tyrannical President came roaring into my box. It may seem placid to some of my friends, the jet setters with magic wallets and lines and bumps for everything, but it so calm here, so pure, and give me the option of gazing at water in every vista I stumble across, it truly does it for me.
So Auckland yesterday was fine. It was our anniversary but with a three-year old hugging your leg begging for chocolate, romance is hard to come by. We both acknowledged this trip was the mutual gift and kissed more often. So there. We drove to a couple of the neighbourhoods we thought may be interesting, and they were, in a Summerhill station kind of way. The cafe’s, the expensive vegetable stores, the women in giant sunglasses budding in line for bakery sandwiches, you know, typical city affairs.
With our three sandwiches (two ham and salad and one panini with ham, camembert and tomato, lightly toasted) our strawberries, our pears, our apples, we made our way to Cornwall Park, the one park Steph chose to see in Auckland on our anniversary. We pulled into a parking lot across from fairgrounds with something going on as parking was a bit crazy. The goateed dude took our five bucks and Steph asked him where the playground was. He chortled and said we were in the wrong area for just the park. The Erotica show was on at the fairground, hence the wet tongued patrons excited to park their boners and get into the show. He gave us back our money and pointed us to the actual park entrance just up the street. My penis woke up for a second, but quickly went back to sleep as the show disappeared in our rear view mirror.
The park was sweet. It was about 18 degrees and sunny so all the families were out kicking soccer balls and bbqing among the just fallen magnolia flowers. The park sat on top of hill so you could look out over the suburbs and gaze at the couple of green dormant volcanoes that dapple the Auckland cityscape. We found a nice spot underneath one of the trees and sat on our jackets and ate our lunch. Hud wondered about, hiding behind a tree and staring at an older girl playing catch with her dad. Go play with her we egged, but he put his hands on his face and sat on my stomach.
There was a working farm within the park so we walked among the cows with the pooey asses and Hud chased the roosters. For the next half an hour he cockadoodledooed thinking he was the funniest three-year old in the park. Hell, he was the funniest. Although there was a four year old doing old Pryor material that was knocking them dead over by the gazebo.
Back at the hotel now, Steph went to read in the bar and I took Hud to the park for some good dad time. We played and then picked up some chips, a lollypop and some water at a Chinatown convienence store. The lady in the store gave Hud a free mint, enamoured by his fair hair and complexion, almost to the point of witch like creepiness, like she needed a blonde lock as the final ingredient to add to her giant ornate dragon caldron, bubbling behind the Ramen noodles in the back room.
Steph still wasn’t back so Hud and I almost fell asleep watching a thriller on television. Some guy had blood on his head so I had to tell Hud that it was just a pretend movie, and no one really bleeds like that from their temple. He believed me. What a sucker.
Steph returned and Hud and I went for a swim, or really a soak in the hot tub. Another Asian woman joined us in the tub and nodded hello, smiling at Hud, internally fearful I am sure of my huge body and my equally massive, recently shaved head. Her body was thin, but rounded at the hips, gaunt around the chest, ass flat as the prairies. I tried to imagine her in the throws of ectascy, but I could not do it, I kept on coming back to Pat Morita as Al in Happy Days. Bah ha ha hah…
We ate dinner at the hotel again. My last time ever I hope. The food sucked and the service sucked and cost more than our last two week grocery bill. I am a total sucker.
This morning we woke up and took care of some administration issues, mostly calling our long term stay for directions and setting up insurance for our car. I am trying to be more forthwith when it comes to dealing with all these crumbs of responsibility. Steph took care of a lot of them in Australia, and I retreated back into my shell. I need to have a bunch of small victories in NZ to bring my confidence level higher and higher. Taking care of business is a good start.
We checked out and drove to the port where we boarded a ferry with our new car. It runs really well. No pings or knocks or funny sounds when on the highway. It is a burly car, heavy, so it feels safe at high speeds. At around 180km/hr it starts to shake a little, but what car doesn’t.
The car ferry from Half Moon Bay to Waiheke takes about 45 minutes. Downtown Auckland looked like a space city, or a city beneath one of the snow globes you purchase in tourist shops. It was just surrounded by plush and looked out of place. Carol and Brian’s place, where we are staying was a short drive from the port on the Island. Both are transplanted North Islanders who vacationed here before retiring. She was quiet and gave us the basic rundown, he was not quiet and talked to us for about twenty minutes about all the things to do on the island. Him and his boys go out every Thursday night for pints and bullshit. Sadly we leave that morning. He is about 65 with a bald head and a big stomach and it would have been a crusty hoot to sit down with a bunch of men the likes of him. Regrets, I have few.
So Hud needs to be woken up and I need another microbrew. It’s beach walking time.
Love to all,
J.
August 28, 2005
Auckland, New Zealand
Dear,
Stephame
Encyclopedia Stephanica
Suzy Panties
Sugar booger
Kinky Slutson.
No one does the 24/7 better than us.
Happy 6th anniversary my love.
Love to all,
J.
I'm on a pilgrimage to see a moose.
August 27, 2005
Auckland, New Zealand
7:13pm
I am in a hotel bar drinking a cold beer brewed in Nelson, whose name escapes me at the moment. Nelson is where we will be staying come December and January. Right now, I am at the Druxton, a swank hotel just west of the Auckland CBD. We are able to stay here due to our budget increases for cities, and a last minute hotel room booking website that we have used twice now to feel like rock stars. At this very moment, there are way too many people around me. I feel like the doofus I usually make fun of with a laptop in a bar, and somewhere, strangely a bagpipe is playing.
The All Blacks are about to take on the South African Springboks in a rugby test that people here take very very seriously. The All Blacks are arguably the best rugby team in the world and for a nation with only about three million people, they are proud about producing such a rugby juggernaut.
Last I wrote we had just climbed a mountain. Since then we have stayed in swank airport hotel and taken two separate planes. The last plane being the one that crossed a border and dropped us off in the country where we will be staying for hopefully five to six months.
It all started at 5am on Thursday morning. We drove the 200kms from Coles Bay to Hobart in Tasmania with the sun chasing us the whole way. We saw maybe 10 cars and 60 carrion, mostly possum, in the two and half hours. We still soaked in the coastline with blurred eyes. All whipping passed us in a flurry of green and ocean blue and red rippled sky. The sheep stared at us. I honked once and they bolted away. Serves them right for staring at us. The lamb just shook their heads, knowing a distant cousin will soon be a certain chop melting away in my acidic stomach.
The 90-minute flight was beautiful. Hud fell asleep on take off and woke up pulling into the terminal in Sydney. We grabbed our luggage, our shuttle bus, and within minutes we were bouncing on the beds at the Stamford Sydney Airport Hotel. As we were checking in I noticed a bevy of multinational women all dressed like flight attendants. Flight attendants with red pillbox hats direct from the sixties. Emirates employees. About 30 of them. Not including the guys. The gay guys. Except for the pilots. Right Captain Dan? So mental note. Chicks in lobby.
We went down for dinner in the hotel and right away they asked us if we would be having the seafood buffet this evening. It was all ours for the low low price of $48 per person. Hud was free of course. I looked the maitre’d directly in the eye and said: “Will you be giving me the hand job or will Sparky, the waiter be the lucky one?”
Needless to say we ate off the menu. Hud played with the crab’s legs and crawfish and then almost gagged when we gave him actual crabmeat. A waste, but Hud’s exorbitance was funny; the hotel’s was offensive.
After Hud was reasonably tucked in, I slipped downstairs to the bar. AV8 was the name. Get it? Airport humour is so alive with razor like wit. I ordered really good James Squire Amber Ale on tap and watched all the flight attendants come in and request their discount. Their hats were gone, but the make up was out. They all huddled in the corner and I waited for the pilots to swagger in and order rounds. No one talked to me, or I to them, but from a people watching point of view it rocked.
I forgot to mention the $650 ding we took on the rental car for a dent on the rear. It’s funny, we were so concerned about the scratch we made on the front of the car, we kind of forgot about the dent on the back. We are covered through our credit card, but my guess the cheque will be sent by the time we get home.
The flight to Auckland was fine, a bigger plane, and the bulkhead for us, so more room and cool personal monitors so Hud watched Madagascar, Steph watched some silly romance and I watched Sin City, my favourite movie of 2005 so far.
The landscape from the air looked as expected. Volcanic, green and lots and lots of ocean. Yesterday we arrived basically at dinner, so had a quick roam and went for dinner at this small Greek café tucked in at the end of an alley. We are now 16 hours ahead of Toronto time, and two hours ahead of Sydney time. Needless to say, Hud went to bed around ten.
Auckland has a nice feel to it. Like Sydney’s down to earth older sister. The one with the cool earrings and that says fuck more often. The fashion is black or earthy fleeces with walking shoes. So we fit in. Stephanie still can pull off the Guccis. Damn her for looking cool in every city.
Today we walked to the harbour and then up the Sky Tower.
Hud was pretty taken by the Sky Tower. It’s 220 metres with glass floors. Vertigo crept in my bones at the beginning, but after a while, the dizziness subsided and I was money, jumping up on the glass floors to make myself feel better.
We checked out the casino and even Stephanie did a walk through. Her face when she came out was alive with wow. She looked like she finally understood the appeal of the shiny jingly indoor football fields.. Put her at $10 blackjack table for a couple of hands and we may have an addict on our hands. Would be kind of cool to have a gambling addict for a wife. Only blackjack though, not slots, slots are like casino heroin for women in polyester pants.
We came back after with takeaway kabobs. They were tasty and we promised ourselves to force feed Hud carrots and broccoli once we get to Onemana on the first. We all went for a swim and a soak and listened to the hotel guests on all the balconies getting ready for Saturday night. Somewhere I was jealous, but I am drinking beer in a bar, so what do I have to complain about.
We also picked up our car today! A 1991 Subaru Legacy with 192,398 kms on it. It’s our only asset! It’s a wagon. I finally have a wagon!
Clark Griswald eat your heart out.
Holiday road indeed.
Love to all,
J.
The Tasmaniacs
August 24, 2005
Coles Bay, Tasmania, Australia
8:34pm
Our second last day in Australia was spent lost in wonder. My words will be brief as the pictures we took today speak way more than 1000 words.
Steph, Hud and I climbed up and over a mountain and spent a couple hours in Wineglass Bay, one of Tasmania’s, and the world’s most renowned beaches. It took us ninety minutes one way to get there. The journey split literally between a steep ascent to get up to the look out,
and a steep descent to actually place our little piggies in the white sand and fell the icy aqua water wash over our feet.
Sure others made the journey, but it still felt like we were the only people on the planet as we sat mesmerized by the simple raw beauty of this hidden beach gem. Sure there was the lingering feeling of knowing eventually we would have to leave and endure the occasionally torturously steep climb back to the look out, but for the 90 minutes we spent on the beach, it was magic.
Hud was mostly into it as well. The visitor’s centre gave us a toddler backpack so he had the best seat in the house on the inclines.
On the descents, I held his little paw, and he basically repelled down the rocks, knowing there was no way in hell I would ever let him go. Oh to be that trusting.
Once we returned to the car, Steph and I high fived. We did not bail at the halfway point., where we gripped rocks and gasped for breath. But looking at the bay from the lookout was a total tease. If we committed to the downhill, to the actual beach, the only way we could leave was to come back up. And sometimes just looking at a beautiful beach from afar is not enough, especially if all it takes is a couple of sore muscles for the white sand to wedge between your toes and to feel almost claustrophobic by the intense colour blue, both from the cloudless sky and the endless ocean.
We were pretty stoked and could not think of a better way to end our trip to Tasmania, as well as Australia.
Australia has truly been great. Going through the almost 1200 pictures we snapped was like this big travel commercial. We both know New Zealand will more be about immersing ourselves in the small town of Onemana. Two months will feel like forever for a trio who thought three weeks was long.
Steph and I ran through our most memorable moments, and all of mine were either about being free or being so deeply in love with my wife and son. The freedom came from being halfway across the world. The love came from the time I was allowed to spend with my family.
Time is so valuable.
Love to all,
J.
August 23, 2005
Coles Bay, Tasmania, Australia
8:52pm
Dismal Swamp. Detention Falls. Convict Trail. This island has great names. And great rainbows. For the first time in my life I saw a full rainbow this morning.
The complete arc. With one end literally landing within fifty feet of our little veranda. There was no pot ‘o’ gold. Or a leprechaun. But it still was a magnificent sight. We scored some good photos. I will analyze them later for little green Irish eyes hidden in the bush.
I am clumsy. Or I’m getting clumsier. I pick up a spatula and the handle will hit the end of the counter and flip behind the stove. I will pour a handful of peanuts into my hand and somehow miss, causing little legume nuggets to splay across wooden floors, only to end up kicked behind the stove so I don’t have to bend down to pick them up. I stir a pasta sauce and globs will fly into the air and smack against the tiled wall. I honestly try to roll the toothpaste from the bottom, and in doing so, a blue gobby tube erupts and lands on my big toe, of course to be scraped off and used for the nightly brushing. It is my toe after all. Why do these things happen? I always thought I was pretty deft for a large man. My basketball skills and my chunky funky dance moves told me so. But lately I feel like the oaf I was always meant to be. I think I have gained weight and it is adding to my general clumsiness. New Zealand is the dawn of the new lighter day. Tonight we feast. Tomorrow we diet.
Yesterday was a bit of a wash. I woke up with Hud just after five in the morning, basically killing my day. We still went out and did things; saw The Nut up close, Steph and I kissed at the top of a scaffold lookout, overlooking Stanley and sheep and the ocean,
went to Dismal Swamp and skipped the forest walk due to rain and had lunch instead. Later on Steph and Hud saw the pony and played games while I tried to nap. I was grouchy all day, picking fights and poking Steph’s arm for attention. She knew I was just tired and did not let me pick a fight with her.
The highlight of the day was after Hud fell asleep, Steph and I filled two wine glasses full of a nice Hunter Valley Shiraz and sat in the big spa tub. We talked about how well we are getting along, and the reasons why we don’t get along sometimes. We praised our boy for being so flexible, especially during the Tasmanian two-nighters. We drank the wine and touched each other’s naked feet. It was nice, and much too brief.
This morning we packed the car and said goodbye to Gateforth Cottages and The Nut. This was after the rainbow watch, which I first noticed when I slipped outside to drink my instant coffee (not as bad as I remember) and eat a fried egg sandwich.
The drive to Coles Bay took five hours, including a stop at Anvers Chocolate Factory to watch chocolates being made and have an espresso and lox on a baguette. Steph drove while Hud and I watched Shrek 2 on the computer. Well he watched, and I thought about all the friends I have back home. I miss them. Even the silly ones.
Coles Bay is on the Eastern side of Tasmania, right outside the entrance to Freycinet National Park. The Park houses Wineglass Bay, one of the most photographed beaches in the world. Our cottage is the bottom floor of a large house, two bedroom, with Ikea furnishings and very new kitchen appliances. It is not the quaint country charm we were just getting used to. The blinds are a combination of blood red, pink, orange and Kelly green. It’s giving me a headache just looking at them. But it is roomy, and offers us the basic conveniences of a home.
After unpacking we walked to the local store to plug in the items we were missing. Coles Bay is a plastic bag free town so we had to slug our water; fruit, matches, Tasmanian Pinot Noir and six-pack of Boag’s Draught home in our pockets. We dropped the stuff off and immediately drove to the National Park to talk to the rangers about the various walks and get a few shots of the park at sunset. A caravan of Asians joined us at Honeymoon Bay. You just got to laugh.
It would be difficult for my words to do this location justice. There are medium sized mountains surrounding little coves of the clearest seawater you could ever imagine. We are doing the 2-½ hour walk to Wineglass Bay tomorrow and we can’t wait, even if we have to rent a backpack for Hud. The walk is described as medium difficulty, so I hope my added bulk will not cause me to seize my upper left arm in complete heart trauma. If there are no posts after this, then you know why.
Thursday we fly back to Sydney for our last night in Australia.
At a posh airport hotel at that.
Woo hoo.
Love to all,
J.
UPDATE: 10:05pm.
Went outside to look at the stars and knocked my beer in a wineglass over into the garden.
August 21, 2005
Stanley, Tasmania, Australia
9:49pm
The day after a birthday is always a letdown. Sure the balloons are still full and lying on the ground. Sure there is a huge chocolate cake in the fridge with only three pieces gon…er, four pieces gone. Sure the toys are still new, but they are not as fresh out of the package. The dragon doesn’t feel as stiff and the blue car doesn’t growl the way it first did when it vrroomed across the cottage kitchen floor. Ah well. Lessons of life for a three year and one day old young boy.
At least he slept in a little. My original plan was to leave the house at six, as the drive was a suggested four to five hours. I did not want to waste an entire day driving. The next two stops are two days each so to arrive earlier on the first day allows us some time to poke around. This whole plan was marred by the fact that Hud decided to sleep in a little, meaning later than 6:30. I knew at exactly that moment we would not leave the house before eight, meaning we would arrive no earlier than two, with most of the day shot.
Here, in bed typing at five to ten, I can only wonder what arriving at two felt like, as we arrived at 5:17pm, making the nine hours behind the wheel a new individual record I hope I never break.
On the first decision, at the first crossroads, we went in the wrong direction, thereby eliminating this travel day as error free. This was an indication of things to come. Although some of the sights on this multi-hour extravaganza were exactly the reasons why we came to Tasmania in the first place.
The first portion of the drive was through rolling green hills and sheep peppered farmland. The grass here is so green it looks fake, like the Skydome on Sunday. Some of the sheep are wooly, like rastas, and some are stone cold bald, like the top of my own bulbous noggin. It was lightly raining as I drove and within the first hour we witnessed the brightest and most colourful rainbow I had ever seen. It looked like a water colour painting. It was thick, chewy even, not transparent like other rainbows I have seen. And as quickly as it appeared, hovering over the horizon like an indication of luck, it disappeared and we continued zipping through the farmland.
We were driving from Hobart to Stanley. We chose a route that seemed more direct, but on a lesser road, with more turns and curves, through a mountain range, and through Queenstown, a small copper mining town on the western half of Tasmania. So I was topping out around 90km/hr on the straightaways, and almost that on the curves. The rain picked up, falling in sheets, and we started ascending one of the mountains. What came next was just a matter of science. We ascended, the air got colder, the rain turned into a full on snowstorm.
A snowstorm in the middle of August for us Canadians. It went from rainbow to blizzard in about an hour. Hud thought this was pretty cool. Crud I thought it was pretty cool as well. We even stopped and peed in the snow. Not me and Hud. Me and squatting Steph. Got to love a woman that will pee on the side of the road in a full snowstorm in the middle of a mountain range in western Tasmania.
The fun in the snow soon ended as the Pulsar hatchback mostly likely never felt snow beneath its wheels before and responded by sliding out a couple of times. I reduced my speed to a level where Steph could catch her breath. Meanwhile, in the backseat, Hud ate a piece of cold pizza, his stomach gurgling, bubbling, swishing from side to side with each treacherous turn.
Once we started our descent back down the mountain, the snow turned back to rain, and I turned back into Mario Andretti to try and gain some of time we lost in the snowstorm. This is when we started to notice all the waterfalls. Due to the heavy rain, the mountain all around us, was streaming down water in all different locations. Some trickles, some straight out gushes teamed down sides of rocks, through trees and dirt, and into the ditches beside the road. It was like the mountain was bawling. Around every new corner, there was another cascade of Tasmanian mountain rainwater. It was like we were all trapped inside a Wella Balsam commercial. It was truly magnificent.
We finally reached what seemed like a bit of civilization. Or was it. Queenstown is an old copper mining town and to get to it, you literally have to go up and over a mountain. This is when it started to look like we were on a different planet. Huge rocks and red stones with barely any fauna. We kept waiting to see the astronaut leap 30 feet across the surface and land on the hood of our car. Hud sat in the back eating chips from the floor, his stomach shouting out for him to stop. He ignored it and kept on picking up the crumbs with his wee little sausage fingers.
We stopped at the public toilets in Queenstown and I knew we were in for a treat because in the ceiling, burned in with a handheld lighter read: Q-town sux. Elequent no, accurate yes, as the copper mining business has seemed to have dried up. It was an almost ghost town, with only an occasional store without boards covering the windows. We quickly found the only touristy place to stop for a quick bite to eat.
Hud only had a bite of the meat pie, and a small spoon of the soup. He did however eat all the Smarties off a cookie. You may wonder why I am so accurately describing what my son had to eat that day. Well lucky for us, about twenty minutes after leaving Queenstown, we got to see it again. Yes. Hud was sick. And why wouldn’t he be really. All the crap we let him eat and driving winding roads for five hours. He should have puked directly on us and yelled: “Where is my damn broccoli you fat bastards!”
Action Stephanie stripped our weeping boy as I tried to scrape the pink gunk from the car seat. This parenting is all glamour all the time. We succeeded in cleaning him up and re-clothing him all in a record 8 minutes. Back on the road he seemed fine until the moaning and groaning started. Steph caught the next upheaval in the plastic Lego container Hud received for his birthday. We pulled over again and I was able to rinse the container with rainwater. We were off again, Steph now lamenting that we had no water to offer our boy. Wait one second I said, pulling the car to the side of the road. I took our water bottle and held it under one of the waterfalls screaming off the side of the mountain.
I’ll give you water!!! I screamed, rainwater covering my face. I give you the freshest water on the earth!!
I was the only one who took a sip. Steph was afraid of parasites. I am still convinced that rainwater from the top of a mountain in Western Tasmania is the cleanest water you will ever find.
The next portion of the trip was all about getting to Stanley. We rolled into the Gateforth Cottages at 5:17pm, nine hours and four minutes after we left Otago Bay. The cottage is again beautiful. Out the front you can see rolling green farmland, the ocean and then The Nut. The Nut is a large rock formation very similar to Ayer’s Rock in the red centre. We will be venturing there at some point.
The Nut. I’ll show you the nut.
Love to all,
J.
August 20, 2005
Otago Bay, Tasmania, Australia
8:01pm
Hudson’s 3rd Birthday.
Phew. A big day in the land of the Graham/White clan. Everything went according to plan and our dear boy now sits very content on the couch watching The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. He is full of chocolate cake, pizza and a day full of adventure and gift receiving.
All the immediate family will be happy to know all your gifts were received very well. We did a recap on the computer at the end, making sure he put a face or faces to the Wiggle board game, (Mitch and gang), the Rescue Hero (Grandma), the Matchbox push ‘n’ go Bigfoot Truck (Brie and gang), the talking Emergency Rescue Vehicle (Papa and Oma), the plastic container full of Lego (Nana and Grandad), and dinosaur that turns into a fighter guy (Grampy). He thanks you all very much.
The day began at 5am with the announcement of having to poo by the birthday boy himself. I raced down and placed him on the seat only to hear the familiar windy explosion that sometimes masks itself as a BM. Back upstairs and into bed only to hear the now really familiar announcement of having to poo again! This time we were all not so lucky as he almost made it to the toilet.
Almost.
Needless to say Hud was nice enough to give us a little present on his birthday..
We left his first present from us on the bed and he was pleased with Donkey from Shrek. It even came with a little waffle that smelled like syrup. Not unlike his cousins, or perhaps because of his cousins, Hud says the now famous Donkey line “And tomorrow, I’m making waffles!” very, very often. It’s funny every time.
Steph made French Toast in lieu of waffles with lemon and sugar in lieu of syrup. It was as tasty as I remember. Steph made up stickies with clues to where all the presents were located around our cottage du jour. We did two of them in the morning before heading off to the Salmanca Market in downtown Hobart.
I bought socks, Steph looked for gloves for Hud and we all shared a blackberry muffin. It was a great market. Full of the requisite interesting junk intermingled with organic food and Tasminia “It’s wild!” t-shirts. I have come to love the markets we have seen on this trip.
Next, off to Port Arthur, a Tasmanian historic site where some of the oldest prisons in Australia are still located. This is quite the statistic, realizing that Australia in general, and Tasmania specifically were colonized by the British and their convicted felons. The prisons here are not in operation, but the silhouettes of the buildings remain. We did not pay the $24 to actually peruse through the old cells and whatnot. It would have been interesting for us, but this day was for Hud. So it was back in the car to the Tasmanian Devil Park!
$20 per adult. Ouch. I was skeptical, it looked a little rundown, but we were kind of stuck for activities, so we committed and I am glad we did. The Tasmanian Devil, like a badger with an attitude, was being fed as we arrived. It gnawed upon a possum I believe, and we watched its strong jaws tear at the sinewy muscle like we tear at butter. Not an animal I would like to corner and share a meal with.
Next up were the cockatoos. And this would have been pretty basic if not for the one sassy cockatoo that kept saying hello in a mildy British accent, perhaps a reincarnation of one of the convicts. Well if you ever want to please a three year-old, have a bird say something to him, or around him. Hud giggled and laughed thinking this bird was basically all the cartoons he watches come to life. It was a bird that said hello. I mean how cool is that. We all laughed and mimicked the bird like freaks on a leash.
Good times. Good times.
We saw some more birds and then suddenly we were in front of a cage door leading to the kangaroo area. It was fifteen minutes before feeding time and the park employee was stacking wood on the other side of the pen. We stood at the door, the kangaroo food in a bucket in front of us. A wire fence separated us from about fifty kangaroos and wallabies. We were unsure what to do. Finally Steph called out to the ranger and he waved us into the pen. We did. With apprehension.
As we opened the door the kangaroos came right up to us thinking we were going to feed them. Hud cowered into Steph’s leg and I moved forward further into the pen. Luckily the ranger dude came over and told us they were harmless. Still, one of the males stood taller than me on its back legs and with his snout inches from my jugular, it was intimidating even for such a macho guy like me. The ranger gave us all some food and suddenly all the kangaroos were eating out of the palms of our hands. We had done this before at the Brisbane Zoo, but because of the much higher traffic, the kangaroos there were so fat and bloated, they did not want one pellet from us, or the two thousand Asians shoving their palms in their faces. Here the kangaroos were hungry and loved us. It was great.
More birds and more devils and we were off. We stopped at a couple of wicked rock formations for quick pictures and then at the grocery store to pick up a couple pizzas.
We ate and then shut the lights for the big cake and candles extravaganza. Hud loved it all and had a big piece of chocolate cake that he is just now coming down from. We gave him his final gift after dinner. A big dragon with flying wings. He has been talking about it for weeks. Steph found the perfect gift.
So a great day for our boy. A great day for us, minus a huge scratch on our rental car. I don’t want to talk about it.
Last night before bed I thought about what I would write for Hud’s birthday. I wanted to lay tribute to him in words, an ode of some sort. I am still torn a little about what to say. He means so much to me that words won’t do it justice, and I wonder why I would be writing them down anyway.
In the last three years I have watched him transform from a completely helpless red, puffy creature to this golden haired, liquid blue-eyed boy who I honestly feel is a great friend to me. He listens to what I say (most of the time!), he honestly cares about how I feel, he tries so hard to make me laugh and he loves me with such ferocity, such honesty, it scares the hell out of me sometimes.
What more do you want from a friend? What more do you want from a son?
I only can offer him the same amount of friendship, the same amount love of that he has given me every minute of his three years of life.
That is my ultimate birthday gift.
I love you Hudson. Happy Birthday.
Love to all,
J.
August 19, 2005
Otago Bay, 15kms north of Hobart, Tasmania, Australia
7:20am
Sydney is not a dirty city. Cleaner than Toronto, with both cities being of equitable size. But as I sit looking out at the Derwent River, Mount Wellington looming large behind it, and the boxy houses of the inhabitants of Glenorchy and Hobart peppered up the mountain, I feel so much more relaxed than fighting the good fight in Sydney.
Last night I slipped out to post and found a quiet pub down the street from our hotel for a quick quartet of pints. Once again I talked to no one, but I people watched and that was good enough for me. I watched four men down from Queensland, all single for the night it would seem, all around my age. All the requisite dynamics of four guys with a past were in place. There was the big quiet guy, dressed in a cardigan, looking mildly out of place, most likely married and happy to stay at the pub all night. There were the two players, with striped shirts jeans and way too shiny shoes. These were action guys, laughing too loud, chatting up any woman with a pulse, rapidly downing cocktails to increase their brevity level for the club they were too hit after the pub. Lastly was the charmer, quiet, well quieter, better looking and dressed like he didn’t care, probably married, but also probably willing to forget that fact for the night. He was chatting up the German girl the other two had enticed with bad jokes and quick drinks to come over and play pool. They circled her and she looked like the worm that had fallen off a hook; only to realize the hook was the only hope for survival.
The only reason I watched these men with such interest is they kind of looked like my group of cads, on a typical Thursday, Friday or Saturday night. Out at a pub having gallons of drinks before heading out to a more appropriate well lighted venue. Sure they were having fun, but they did look old. Not too old. Just old. Old in their sassy clothes. Old in their too quick Cheshire cat grins. Old in their used too many times lines.
Needless to say, I would like to think their fun was harmless, but I am sure by the end of the night, there would be victims.
Our travel day went well. We found a hotel near the airport to store half of our luggage during our weeklong jaunt to Tasmania. It’s a nice hotel and priced accordingly, but because we fly in from Taz and out to Auckland within 22 hours we decided the cab fare both ways from a hotel downtown would be the same as staying in nice hotel near the airport. Besides, we kind of wanted a little pampering before leaving Australia. We are full of stupid logic.
So. Tasmania. Here we are. The Otago Cottage. A three bedroom, two floor cottage about fifty feet from River Derwent, about fifteen minutes from downtown Hobart.
It’s beautiful, and the owners live in a mansion about twenty feet from us. But we are behind their garage, so seclusion is still ours. The plan today is to find a toy store and let Hud peruse, as will we, noticing what he really likes, and then one of us will purchase it after the other leaves with Hud. We need to buy four more to cover off all the gift givers. We also have to get a cake and wrapping paper and candles. Tomorrow we are going to the market in the morning and then to Port Arthur where they have a small steam train to go on and then off to a Tasmanian Devil Park.
Pretty cool birthday for a three-year old.
Three years old. Holy macaroni.
Love to all,
J.
Moo damn you, Moo!
August 17, 2005
Sydney, NSW, Australia
3:41pm.
Oh yeah, city life, I remember now.
From being nestled between vineyards and dairy cows on slow rivers, to being run over by chicks in big sunglasses and guys with more product in their hair then rock stars. All in the last 36 hours.
Obviously our drive to the big city was without incident, although I did go through I mild case of highway anxiety that I used to suffer when I first got behind the wheel. Probably not used to the three lanes, or the concrete splitting such vast landscape. I fought through it though, not letting Steph take over, even after I told her my folly, and listened to her nervously ask me if I was ok every fifteen minutes. I should have kept my mouth shut.
We drove directly to our hotel upon arriving. I booked this hotel online through a travel website we had used too much success previously. The rate was excellent for being right in the heart of the city, within walking distance to all the touristy things we wanted to accomplish in the 48 hours we are here before leaving for Tasmania. Well, first off, they put us in a smoking room, on a smoking floor, things I did not think existed anymore. I know what you are thinking. Sure I indulge once in a blue moon, but it felt like we were all curled up in the bottom of an ashtray. It was repulsive, but I thought to myself, Hud did not even notice, and Steph wasn’t even complaining that badly. We will suffer it for a couple of nights; the rate makes it worth it.
After check in we had to drop our car off at Hertz in another part of Sydney. We parked and the girl at the check in (with a lips bleeding out the bottom of her sentences) informed us that, after her perusal, she noticed a scratch on the bumper. We all gruffly went back to the car and she pointed at the scratch. It’s mud, Steph said immediately and began scratching most of it off with her nail. What she could not scratch off was the smallest of scratches, and what this idiot was going to make us pay the $3,000 deductible and let us fight it out with Visa. Well Steph was about to erupt and bring the wrath of God down on this “I am just doing my job” cherk (chick jerk), so I went out with the Manager to see if his second opinion was going to be the same as hers. Well he shook it off and said it was ok. It took all my gentlemanly power to not do a little nyah nyah jig in front of her forced smiling face. The Manager did ding us for a steam clean, which I know was for the sole reason of saving his employees integrity. For an immediate difference of $2940, I kept my full lips tight as ….well tight.
Flustered and frustrated by Hertz, we immediately flagged a taxi and went straight to the Sydney Aquarium. Yay! We all love aquariums and we spent the next three and half hours watching sea creatures of all shapes and sizes swim all around us. They have the underwater tunnels where 12 foot lemon sharks and huge rays with wingspans the size of Cessna, swim right over your heads. We watched seals beg for food and jellyfish look like nature’s answer to hypnosis. It forced all the city angst out of us with one flutter of a fin, one mellifluous stroke of a tail. Almost made us forget where we were, until the thousands of other tourists reminded us with each poke of a rude, sharp elbow.
After the aquarium we walked through china town and stopped at a restaurant for some dinner and Cascade Premium Beer. We actually did not choose the restaurant, but the three female Asian barkers out front chose us. They wave at you like they recognize you and once you wonder over; they force you to look at the menu. We did not care, we wanted cheap grub and that is what we got. Tasty, but as per normal, we were starving when we left.
Back in our small room, we shut off all the lights to let Hud fall asleep. He did. Eventually and we were pretty exhausted so we fell asleep, me with a massive headache from the awful smoke smell drifting in and out of my nostrils.
Today I went to Starbucks to get away from the lack of sleep I was getting angry at. I had a familiar Danforth coffee and looked for a place to stay in Sydney and Auckland.
The rest of the day was spent in traditional touristy fashion. We took a ferry from harbour to harbour, saw the Opera House, walked through the Botanical Gardens, through Hyde Park, and then right up George Street. Sydney is beautiful. Like an outdoorsy version of Toronto.
Toronto seems like the lazy, apathetic sister of Sydney. Both trying to be the perfect mix of concrete and grass. But when concrete starts to take over in Toronto, she just says, ahhh, it was going to happen eventually anyway. Sydney never lets concrete to cross the line. No you don’t, she says, waving its Jerry Springer finger, adding another acre of parkland. Strange analogy yes, but you get my drift.
Tonight we chill. I may slip out for a pint, but I am pretty tired. Tomorrow is Tasmania and I am stoked. It must be so raw compared to this big, lively city.
I love the contrast.
I love the position we put ourselves in.
Love to all,
J.
August 16, 2005
Hunter Valley, NSW, Australia
6:49am
Within about 20 square kilometers from where I sit right now, there are over 90 wineries and at least one brewery. Actually where I sit right now is at the back of our self-contained cottage, on green plastic lawn furniture, watching the sun peel across the horizon. A small lake, more like a rainwater collection plate, sits behind row after row of grape vines. Picked bald of course, as this is pretty much winter for Thalgara Estate, the boutique winery where we chose to stay. The actual accommodations are a bit lackluster, but functional. Too pricey in my estimation, and if we had done a little more investigation, we would have found better value elsewhere. But we were due for a bit of stinker, after the oil painting we stayed at the last couple of nights.
Yesterday we tried our best to combine pleasure of Hud and pleasure for us. We even started the day at McDonalds. Not for the food, however I did manage to have an egg Mcmuffin, pure research mind you, to see if they taste different in a different hemisphere, and guess what, they don’t. We went to McDonalds because about a month ago, driving from Noosa Heads to Byron, we stopped for gas at highway station that included a McDonalds. The restaurant housed a wonderful playground that captured Hud’s imagination and lodged itself in his powerful memory banks to be brought to our attention periodically, if not incessantly. On our way to Hunter, in Cessnock, I noticed a similar playground and promised myself I would take him there before we leave. We did, and he loved it. And if I have to force a little grease down for the happiness of my boy, well, guldarnit, I am going to do it!
Next we stopped at the one brewery I mentioned above. Potters Brewery, where for $1.50 a glass, I tasted the three beers they had on tap. I liked the dark Bock the best, where Steph liked the clean lager. They had another playground on site so I drank a pint while Hud and Steph played. It was around 11 in the morning, but I did not care, it went down smooth, like pouring heavy cream over a peeled birch tree, and I loved it. After we went into the small candy shop and got into a conversation with the man running it. He was around my age, a little older and he waxed on about a backpacker trip he did in North America I guess around 20 years ago. How he just missed a chance to stay at this ice hockey player Wayne Gretzky’s house, how he and his mate had to use the female showers at a caravan park in Thunder Bay, how he and his mate refused to wear gloves playing softball in Toronto (haven’t you seen cricket!), on and on, until I finally cut him short, otherwise Steph would still be there talking to him, or even over at his house for dinner.
Next was a pop in at the information centre to get the skinny on where to have lunch. Hud was as sour as limejuice cocktail at this point, not wanting to participate in anything other than a playground. At the centre I signed the guest book, putting “I’m drunk” in the comments section.
Winery humour.
The young lady gave us some suggestions so back in the car with my wife and blubbering son. The first location would have cost us our entire daily food budget and no one else was there, so we nixed it. The next spot, Oakvale Estate had a small café, with a couch and two large benches that would look nice in our rich fantasy house dining room. Hud was pretty much bawling at this point so Steph, and her magic, took over and satiated our boy with cuddles and his sticker book. His ham and pineapple pizza came and he seemed fine after that, once again affirming my belief that hunger, or his sugar level, cause his rare meltdowns. Steph had a basil, semi-dried tomato, caramelized onion, cheese tart with a big salad, and I had Thai Beef salad. Both were excellent. Steph did the tasting at the winery and choked down two bug glasses of white over lunch. Perhaps I have found the reason for her such even demeanor. I quickly checked her purse for a flask full of wine.
Off to the little Hunter Valley mock village. Another playground for Hud, and a small bench for Steph and I to contemplate our future. We both want another child so that gets bandied about quite regularly now. We are basically stuck on geography so I will leave it at that.
Off to the Pokolbin mock village, where we did a stinky cheese tasting and purchased triple cream Brie and another herb and garlic soft cheese. We drove back to Thalgara Estate and went to their Cellar Door for a tasting of their five different wines.
Three Chardonnays and two Shiraz. All were good, but we decided at $25 a bottle, it would dip into our budget too aggressively.
We walked back to our room around the vines, Hud lagging behind the two of us holding hands. It was really romantic. The sun was going down, it was windy so Steph’s hair was blowing away and then back in her beautiful face.
We stopped and kissed in that field. Surrounded by yellow grass, and bald vineyards, the afternoon sun fighting its way through the high clouds.
These are the moments I will remember.
Love to all,
J.
August 15, 2005
Bellingen/ Hunter Valley, NSW, Australia
7:21am
You can call me the dudester, or the duderino if you’re not into that whole brevity thing.
The Big Lebowski was on television the other night. Total classic.
I could not sleep. Hud and Steph were snuggled away on the queen with the heating pads, and I was in the living room, on the bottom bunk, with an excellent duvet, giggling at Jeff Bridges’ almost perfect performance as a California slacker. I chucked peanuts into my open mouth and drank swigs of recently frozen Diet Coke to complete the image. Oh with a pink long sleeve t-shirt and green pajama bottoms, both from The Gap.
Got it yet? Gorgeous no?
Here is a condensed version of events on August 13th, spent in the Bellingen Shire.
Woke up and went outside on our little balcony to look at the river. The dairy cows from the farm on the other side all moved closer, some even braving the bank to come down to the water for a sip. I did not moo, although I secretly wanted to. Hud ate cottage provided cereal while I wrote the 12th’s entry. The diary is becoming a bit of a task, but what’s to say writing should be fun all the time. What’s to say anything should be fun all the time. What am I a pixie?
Hud and Steph then ate toast with cottage provided honey. Bees make honey you know.
What does the daily jaunt have in store for us today? First up, Dorrigo National Park, where Hud soured and demanded we not participate in any of the walks through the park. My patience has worn thin in regards to these new power struggles. Steph remains the patience beacon leading the way. And she gave him a chocolate chip granola bar to sate him for the time being. Such a simple, beautiful creature our son is.
We did the 2.2km circuit through the park, where a boardwalk leads you high above the rainforest to “walk with the birds”. At the midway point there is beautiful picnic oasis called The Glade. There is also another lookout at this point where, on a clear day, you can see through to the ocean. The bathrooms here were natural compost toilets, which I think just means outhouse. But these were particularly ripe and gaggy.
On the way to The Glade, we came across a dead animal, a curled tail made us guess that it was a possum. Another older (everyone is ancient on this trip) couple came up and we all contemplated what type of animal this was, and what type of animal committed this murder. The older man had really small straight teeth, a lovely shade of pipe tobacco yellow. His wife was so indescribable that I forget her face already. He concluded it was a fox that killed this possum. The foxes are not well liked here in the land of Oz. They are not indigenous and due to their taste for killing, killing anything, they are regarded as highly as we regard the rat. You can hunt them at will, and will be heartily slapped on the back for doing so. Ol’ yellow teeth told us a story of his son’s farm, where one morning the son found a dozen chooks with their heads ripped clean off. What the hell is a chook we said to this man sans profanity. A chicken. Of course. A short form. Another annoying Australian habit. They short form a lot of words. A bathing suit is called a cossie. A short form for swim costume. They even short form the word gossip to goss. As if the second syllable is difficult to pronounce and takes too long to say. Lets all say it together shall we? Ip. There. Was that so hard?
After purchasing two stretchy plastic frogs for Hud, we got back in the car and drove to Dorrigo to see what this small town had to offer three wild Canadians. We stopped and had lunch, kebabs in a pita, chicken, or chooks if I may. Skinny fries with less salt then the pucker inducing places we have had fries before.
We walked around Dorrigo and quickly noticed almost everything was closed. Saturday afternoon at 1:30pm. Not like the small towns back home, where everyone is dying for someone to come in and purchase something. Here, a weekend is made for relaxing. Sunday nothing is open. Well maybe a milk bar. What? Yes. A milk bar is a convenience store. Not a place to order White Russians.
After Dorrigo we took the windy road back to Bellingen. Steph wanted to visit the Yellow Shed, a craft store mentioned in our Fodor’s Australia book. We passed a bathroom on the way and we asked Hud if he had to pee. Nope. All good. The moment we crossed the threshold of the store, Hud turned to me and said with crotch grabbing urgency: “I have to go pee”. So much for the Yellow Shed. Back to the bathrooms and now off to the grocery store where we picked up some basil, Parmesan, garlic, Turkish bread, some sun dried tomatoes and a couple Chorizo sausages for the penne pasta we had back at the cottage.
Back at the cottage now, around four, I took Hud out for a little canoe ride up the river. We did not go out for long as there were no life jackets, but it was still a nice feeling to have my little man at the bow as I struggled to keep the canoe straight. We saw some ducks and then came back, Steph ready with the camera to document my outdoorsy man and son moment.
Steph looked nice sipping a glass of Pinot on the banks of the Bellingen. We disembarked, me of course getting a soaker in the process. I sat on the bench with Steph, hugging her shoulder as Hud played around us. Suddenly, Steph shook me off and said “Is that a dead cow across the river?”
Here I thought she was just buttering me up with some odd, but effective dirty talk, when I glanced across the river to see the familiar black and white jersey markings of a diary cow, sessile, against the bank. How sad we thought, a trapped hoof perhaps, or a slippery bank. But then it’s head moved and we realized that this cow was indeed still alive.
Steph jumped into action and raced back to the car to find the owner of this obviously in trouble cow. She drove to the farm next door where a man and two kids basically ignored her. She drove through town and found what looked like the right farm, and the right farmer (it was hard to judge, as the river was winding and about thirty feet wide). He nodded to her and told her he would take care of it, if indeed it were their cow.
Steph came back, not quite satisfied with the response she received. No one really seemed to care about this animal, which, she thought logically, at least maybe worth some money to someone, let alone the whole living creature debate. I coldly, and perhaps wrongly reminded her that farmer’s do not view animals in the same light as us city folk. Just as the words rolled off my tongue, the next-door neighbour appeared at the top of the hill. He saw the cow and instructed me to get back in the canoe to try and turn the cow around to a more accessible incline. He quickly gave me the once over and said he would come with, accurately recognizing that I am just a city dork that would dip the paddle in the wrong way.
Hop in the front he said casually and I did. Let me tell you, if I was three ounces heavier the water would have screamed over the bow to leave me, the farmer, and especially the cow up shit’s creek, without a canoe, much less a paddle.
I think I better do this myself, he quickly said, and I hopped out, saddened by my lack of involvement in cow rescue 2005. Graeme (the farmer) paddled across and with a couple of hahs! And getoutoftheirs!! The cow did turn around, but could not muster enough strength to pull out of the water. She had obviously been in the cold for too long, and what looked like a simple exercise became a little more panicked. The sun was long in the sky and it was getting colder, faster. We are going to need some rope and some men, Graeme said. My hand quickly went up as did Bob’s, one half of the couple staying in the other cottage overlooking the bank. Graeme’s wife, and their friend and their collective three kids had come down to watch, so Hud had some playmates for a while.
Graeme left to get some rope, so Bob and I hopped in the two kayaks and made our way across the river. This of course was the first time I had ever been in a kayak, so I ignored the pedals (which control the rudder) and wondered out loud why kept going in circles. I finally made it to the other side and Bob and I got out and went over to wait near the cow.
This poor creature was shivering, bug eyed on the muddy bank, her hind still submerged in the water. Freaked out cow is not a good look. It is the kind of thing you wake up screaming from in the middle of the night. Like psycho clown. Or come to life gargoyle.
Graeme returned with a flimsy piece of rope and we tried to move this three quarter ton animal to no avail. It was valiant, but fruitless, the old girl was too weak and could not get up herself. Three men, one around sixty, one around six hundred pounds and one stoic farmer were not enough to entice her out of the frigid river. Graeme began plodding off to go find the owner of the farm to get a tractor. Needless to say the farmer was approaching as he left, so within minutes he assessed the situation and said he would come back and just drag the cow out of the river with his tractor. Sore neck is better than dead being his edict as we walked away.
We all said our goodbyes and went back to our cottages. Bob and Judy invited us over for wine and apps, so we did, and they were nice, even if twenty-five years our senior. Get this, they were both relationship counselors, and jokes, both bad and good, gathered in my brain, ready to spill out at the appropriate moments. Those moments never arrived, we had just met after all, and so we left with handshakes and goodtomeetyous, and went back home to make our pasta.
During our visit next door, we heard the tractor hoisting the cow up out of the river. We were relieved. The next morning we woke up and saw the cow lying in the grass, not moving an inch. We were saddened. The farmer and another man walked up to it about an hour later. It moved. We were elated.
We packed to leave and before we left we noticed the cow’s head was now up, chewing from the red bucket of food next to her. We were beaming.
We left and drove five hours to Hunter Valley, wine country, where it is 8:00am the next day, where I sit now, overlooking the grape vines, telling you the story of saving a cow.
But truly it was Steph, and her earnest spreading of the word, that saved the cow from certain death.
Love to all,
J.
August 13, 2005
Bellingen, NSW, Australia
8:33am
Bye bye Byron. Hardly knew ya.
Of course on our last day in Byron we went to a new beach that a woman from the playgroup told Steph about. Of course it was probably the closest beach to our house. Our course it was stunning. Of course there were numerous topless women. Of course.
Hud liked that it was called Broken Head Beach. Made him laugh. His laugh is an adult laugh, the sucking in of air, combined with a very astute “that’s funny dad” or “that’s funny right?”. This kid will know comedy that I can guarantee. The good comedy, the dark, smart comedy, with of course a mild appreciation for the slip on the banana peel shtick and the punch line; it’s a knick knack, Patti Black, give the frog a loan.
After the beach we went home for a quick lunch. Grilled cheese and cut up vegetables. Steph and I agreed there is nothing healthy about grilled cheese. Fried bread, cheese and butter. Makes me drool just thinking about it. I wonder if you could just dip a smushed together pre-cooked grilled cheese into a deep fryer. Only for a moment, then the moments gone. Oops, slipped into a Kansas lyric. I think the cheese would liquefy too fast and burn your esophagus. I guess that’s the price you pay for eating liquefied cheese. Or drinking liquefied cheese. Little cheese shooters. Give me an Edam and a havarti with caraway, with a beer chaser, and make it snappy barkeep. I think I may be babbling. Lost in a cheese dream.
After lunch we went to town to return movies and check on our accommodation enquiries in Auckland. Waiheke Island is firmed up for the 29-31st, but we have nothing for the actual city for the 26-28th. Waiheke Island is basically a vacation destination for Aucklanders. It is only half an hour ferry from downtown to the island. It is off-season, so we are able to secure what seems to be a nice cottage for a reasonable amount.
Our car is set up as well. We just have to tell them where we are staying in Auckland and they will come and pick us up and take us to a bank to get the remainder of their money. We bought a 1994 Subaru wagon with 188k on it. All online. It is a tad daunting, but the safety net is this company will buy back the car at the end for a pre-established price. And why would they want to buy back a lemon. This is of course what I keep telling myself. My only caveat is that Kit, the eager contact from Cartrek, mentions the bank and payment before everything else. In every e-mail. I am sure everything is fine. She is just protecting their interest as well. Besides, anyone named Kit can’t be all bad. In less it’s short for Tool Kit, and that’s the way she kills people, with a new tool every time. Or it’s short for Kit Kat, a moniker she received after snapping a person in two.
The car is supposedly a nice shade of blue.
Our last night in Byron was like any other. An easy dinner, bath time for Hud, story time for Hud, and then downtime for Hud. Steph read while I watched television. I am quickly losing interest in my novel. Crime fiction may not be my forte. I should be writing about things I know about. Emotions and feelings and friends and family. I will give it one last stab in NZ before starting something else. If that saddens anyone out there, know that it saddens me more. I love the story, but cops and bad guys? I have been neither. Write what you know. An edict I have read and listened to all my life.
Yesterday morning was simple. We were so organized the night before the tetrising of luggage into the car took a mere fifteen minutes. We packed a road lunch and we were off, saying goodbye to Faith and our little one bedroom apartment with melancholy, but eager to get the next leg of our adventure underway. As previously mentioned, I really liked Byron, felt happy here. And for different reasons than my friends I am sure. They were 20 when they were here. I am 35. But there are other 35 year olds, with kids, and problems; surfboard under their tanned arms being the difference. And the lazy, constant smiles. The latter I am learning.
We stopped in Woolgoolga, a moderate sized coastal town halfway between Byron and Bellingen. We ate cold pizza and peanut butter sammys, as Hud played in a park shaped like a boat. Australians really love their parks. Beautiful picnic areas, electric BBQ’s, and elaborate designed playgrounds. The added bonus is a number of them are right next to miles and miles of rolling beach. Nice. The other added bonus is they all have public bathrooms. A subject I have already covered in detail.
We arrived in the town of Bellingen at 1:30. Bellingen is about 20kms east of Coff’s Harbour, which is pretty much the halfway point between Sydney and Brisbane. Coff’s is covered in resorts and aggressive fast food joints. It resembles Florida, and it must be a fly-in weekend vacation spot, or for weeklong family vacations. We contemplated staying there, but I am glad we are not. Because presently, we are staying in a little piece of heaven.
2kms from the town of Bellingen is about a twenty-acre hobby farm that sits quietly on the banks of the Bellingen River. Two simple one-bedroom cottages sit overlooking the river. We are renting one of them. It is stunning and can be added to our list of successful accommodations we have booked online. Fresh lavender flowers were laid out on our folded towels in the bedroom when we arrived. A basket with lemons and oranges picked from their trees sat on the table with a note attached. The owners had to go to Sydney for the weekend so we should relax and make ourselves comfortable. It really is quite beautiful and all the fixtures, and the Red Gum hardwood floors, are immaculate. There is a wooden bunk bed in the main area with sky blue bedding. The one bedroom looks out over the river, grazing cows on the other side. The queen bed with a lemon coloured duvet and the one armoire are simple, classic designs. Things I would claim to not even notice in the past have become important to me now.
Sometimes aging is not that bad.
Bellingen the town is quaint, but as with seeing so many beaches, they do start to look the same. Beautiful, but very similar to all the other small towns we have seen on this trip. We have become spoiled by accident.
Today we will drive to the National Park and do a walk. I hope we will come back here early so we can appreciate the stunning vistas and go on a longer canoe ride up the river. Yesterday we went out at sunset and our breath was stolen as the sun disappeared over the horizon.
We are in eight different locations in the next 18 days. Should be some exciting tales ahead.
Love to all,
J.
Me Tarzan, you husband
August 9, 2005
Byron Bay, NSW, Australia
10:27pm
Nothing funny has happened lately. I mean everyday there are new jokes that fly between Steph and I, the most recent being me telling her she looks like a man, Christopher Lambert from Tarzan, The Legend of Greystoke, to be specific. But no large event giving me enough fodder to write about, or at least ponder in the ol’ cranium for a few internal yuks.
It’s odd thinking Hud is almost three. Everything about him is three. His gait, his inappropriate use of mild curse words, his vivid, eclectic imagination. His puffy red face when he was born still looms large though, as does all the little trigger moments that a parent stores away for nostalgia waxing. I will leave that for his actual birthday however, where I will offer tribute to him in my own text-based way.
I am loving the ocean lately. The beaches here are so incredible. I venture out at least once a day to let the waves kick my saggy ass for a spell. There are times when a wave of considerable size will catch me off guard and pin me to the sand. It hits in all directions, the rip pulling me out, the surf pounding me in. I think it’s the weightlessness that I enjoy. It is not often that I feel so light and available to be moved. Steph always keeps an eye on me. As I do her, as she chases our wee boy up the coast.
The last couple of days here felt like we were locals. Markets, Steph’s yoga class, parks with a toddler. Stopping for milk and bread at the smaller, more organic grocery store. Finding faster ways home as the routes become more familiar. Byron Bay has the charm of a coastal town, with contradictory mania of a backpacker stopover and surfing Mecca. We picked the right time to be here, still at least 21 degrees everyday, water still swimable in my opinion, beaches barely occupied. But still with busloads of young punks stopping everyday, where hostel employees wait to lure unsuspecting Irish girls to come stay in their $20 a night bunk beds. The nightlife must be good in town, but I have yet to be in town after eight o’ clock so I wouldn’t know. I did enjoy my quiet pints at the local bar the other day though, even if the waitress was the only person I talked to.
The last couple of days have been better with Hud as well. Our sternness and discipline having taken hold, and he is much more apt to listen to us now, instead of the conscience ignoring he experimented with for a while. I had a great day with him today. We went to the park while Steph was at Yoga, and then walked along the beach, then through town where I bought him a t-shirt and an ice cream. We browsed through all the shops and he only left my side for short little jaunts to look at the more colourful items in each store. Later we picked Steph up and drove home for lunch, another successful leftover of vegetable pasta with a really tasty tomato basil sauce Steph the previous night. After that we drove to Little Watego’s beach, found a little cove, and set up camp. Hud and I went for a walk near the rocks and also near a little photo shoot for Wicked Weasel bikinis, whose perfect motto is:
“Barley covering women since 1994”
I think the bottoms cover the inner labia, but not the outer. Needless to say Hud ignored the ass floss, but I had to look, because sometimes, you just have to look. The model smiled at me, or Hud, so her objectification was not a secret. After which Hud led me into the water, which is a reversal of roles. He asked me to push him into the water over and over again. I acquiesced, getting a kick out of him not committing to swimming, still needing a push. I guess we all need a push now and again.
Later more families showed up, as this is the perfect little beach to let kids wander around. It traps them on either side with rock formations. A natural playpen. With built-in sand to boot! We all watched the sunset and then hustled back to the car. It gets cold fast after the sun disappears behind the mountains. I am outside right now with my Patagonia on and I am still a bit cold.
Tomorrow I have my nice little morning of a good walk to town (about 3km) and then coffee and a bacon and egg roll at the 24-hour café. I will then post and check mails to see how many people responded to Steph’s queries regarding our accommodation in Auckland. Steph takes Hud to a playgroup on Wednesday mornings, so Hud can interact with new toys, while ignoring other kids.
That is it. No smarmy sign off this time either.
Love to all,
J.
Tigers eat pretty bunnies
August 8, 2005
Byron Bay, NSW, Austrailia
6:19am
Steph and I alternate the wake ups with Hud. Today is my morning to wake up with the little bugger. Note the time. Yesterday I got to sleep in. I woke up at ten to six. A bit hungover. Whatever.
Went to the Byron market yesterday. The sky was as blue as the winter blue we get back home.
The market was a combination Farmer’s market with stalls upon stalls of organic produce. The rest of the stalls were new age therapy and massage tables, second hand clothing, bad art and vegetarian food stands. It was actually all very interesting, but the incense starts to make both Steph and I naseous after a while.
They are big on their organics here. It’s a barker selling point. Of course we had completed our last grocery shop last week. We really needed nothing. So we bought a sawbuck worth of strawberries and an organic doughnut. No, I didn’t make that up.
Hud wanted to be a tiger. The aging hippie with a pierced nose made it so. He looked great. He stared in every mirror we walked by.
Everything was rosy. And then, Hud became grouchy and aggressive. A pattern lately. Very frustrating. He wanted the tiger make-up off immediately. He wanted a toy train. He wanted sugar. He tells us he hates us. He stole our morning at the market with his general disobediance. All we did was rush through each row to at least say we saw everything. But really we could not leave fast enough to hopefully quell the incessant whiny tang of one Hudson Taylor Graham.
At home now, with Hud enduring a timeout for hitting Steph and being a basic jerk. We think we may be spoiling him, and his expectations for treats are due to our need for his love and approval. What a strange trip this whole parenting things is.
We had a nice lunch of leftover curry chicken and pork stir-fry. A feeling of comfortable satisfaction washes over me when we eat leftovers. Food is such a major part of my life. Hence the many chins. Hud calmed down and we started tossing around the theory that maybe its hunger that makes him so wingy. We are just guessing.
Off to the Wategos Beach. Steph’s favourite. It is nice. A quiet cove away from the main part of town. There are small rock formations adding to the already killer scenery. Grey and white rocks lay mixed at the top of the beach. Hud likes the rocks. I use them as a place to lay my head. Steph reads. Hud dump trucks. I revel in the last days of Byron sun.
Swimming is nice. Water a little warmer than cold. The tide is out so I wave to wade far to cover my belly. The waves are small, but still fun to try and ride in. I watch Hud runaway from Steph along the beach. His arms pumping like a steam train. I lay down to dry off, watching a topless woman do a handstand. Down the beach, Hud is buck and running through the ankle deep water.
Smiling so hard it must hurt. I wander over and chase him, kicking water, soaking his laughter. Back to liking him again.
Later on, we eat fajitas in our comfortable triangular seating positions. Hud watches a movie in bed, needing the down time. Us needing the us time. We kiss, gently, closed mouth.
Steph goes to bed after awhile to read.
Too early for me.
I watch crime television.
I slip in bed later, hugging the comforter.
I fall asleep thinking about opening a bar.
Love to all,
J.
August 6, 2005
Byron Bay, NSW, Australia
9:21pm
Aw crud, I hate the bookend entries.
One in the morning so spry and quiet, depressing the keys so lightly so Hud doesn’t wake up to rip through the silence and now, on the balcony, half gunned, hot sausage and cracker crumbs infiltrating the keyboard, prose now active and aggressive, me fish eyed and alert, trying to type the correct letter on to the page. Especially since my beloved sibling has identified that she can identify my moods by the time I am typing. Well I’ve got news for you Spike, maybe I am faking the time, and maybe, just maybe I wish I was cheersing you right now. Or thinking about how bad your farts smell. Or just watching our kids play together. Wondering if they will ever be as good at tetherball. Did you hear that? That was a tear hitting the green tablecloth ya big jerk.
Today was simple. Simple in the fact that all we did was go to small towns and waltz through the markets. Markets are big here in the Byron shire. Every weekend is a different one. Farmer’s markets every weekend, and other markets, the second hand clothing kind, once a month. Today’s was Bangalow’s weekly market, and Brunswick Head’s monthly. The Bangalow market is all fresh organic produce, including vine ripened tomatoes that I could eat like apples. And strawberries that teeter the line between tart and sweet.
We also snarfed down pita crisps baked with homemade pesto. Pretty tasty stuff. It was all stopped short however, by Hudson, and his new found disobedience, and our desire to snuff it at the source. So regrettably I had to tote my screaming son back to the car, with nary a facial expression, and place him in his car seat and ignore him until he stopped lashing out with fists and feet. It was difficult but you have to follow through. Him and I are at a crossroads about who is boss.
And it wavers between him and me daily. Today was my day of reckoning. Feel the wrath of this big bad father with the full beard and soft heart. We made up later with hugs and toy airplanes. He loves me like there is no tomorrow. He wants me to love him back so much it makes him breathless. An indicator of love I hate.
At around three, Steph left me in town because I was done with fathering, and husbanding for that matter, and wanted a cool pint and some new Ellroy words that I bought at the market. Steph left me with the bowed grin and glare of a woman wary of her man slipping off to drink in the vast unknown. Fair enough I thought as I rubbed the bridge of my nose, wishing there was a scar.
Well six pints later, no one talked to me, so I snatched a bottle of white and took a cab ride home. Half lit, I ate the pizza and salad and wrestled Hud back to loving me like a friend and not just his father. Steph and I played rummy and she won, amidst the scathing sarcasm and liquid love of yours truly. And now, here I sit, smoldering smoke eeking up my nostrils, and white wine soothing all that ails me.
What ails me?
Pure numb nothing.
Love to all,
J.
August 6, 2005
Byron Bay, NSW, Australia
6:50am
The problem with bouncing around from different location to different location, is right about now, you start looking forward to the next location. You get in an alternate mindset. That something better is just around the corner. Something better than poking around interesting small towns, lying on empty beaches with your son watching whales and dolphins swim by, eating new and different tasting dinners with your family, having dream filled naps and afternoon quickies, waking up early and drinking strong, black coffee and writing in a journal. What could be better?
The unknown could be better. It also could be worse.
No no, I am not about to fall into another pit of who am I and what am I doing with my life. I have abandoned that thought process until at least the money runs out. I have become comfortably settled with the notion that everything is going to be ok. And as long as I have the love of my family and friends and the comfort of their various pull out couches, things will work out.
So the last couple of days were pretty full. Full of finalizing our plans right up until our first two-month place in New Zealand. Full of new beaches and ocean front cafes serving really good beef curry and just ok steak sandwiches. Full of watching two whales, either humping or just simply playing in the water, about 100 feet off the coast. Full of watching Hud run along the wet sand in his tighty whiteys, looking back every thirty steps or so to make sure I was there. Full of 100 metere waterfalls with paths through the forest where wiry plants reach out to slash your fingers.
I finished American Tabloid, by James Ellroy, (Dad, you would like it. Very raw, rich writing. Not for the politically correct). He also wrote The Black Dahalia and L.A. Confidential. I liked it a lot and now have moved on to American Pastoral by Phillip Roth, which, if I am not mistaken, my father told me about earlier this year. The luxury of having time gives you the luxury to read books. I am enjoying it very much, and am comfortable in my selection so far. I will continue to alternate between the banal and the beautiful to keep my own writing voice inspired by both spirit and commerce.
After Byron we are staying in six different places in the next two weeks. The locations are as follows:
• Two days in Bellingen, a small town near Coff’s Harbour that Nikki from Fiji told us about.
• Two days in Hunter Valley, a wine region two hours northwest of Sydney.
• Two days in Sydney, right in the heart of Chinatown.
• Three days in Otago Bay, outside of Hobart, Tasmania. This is where we will spending Hudson’s 3rd birthday, probably at the Cadbury Chocolate Factory.
• Two days in Stanley, right at the Northwest tip of Tasmania (look at a map, holy isolation)
• Two days in Coles Bay, near the Freycinet National Park in Tasmania.
• One night back in Sydney, fly out to NZ the next day.
• Five nights in Auckland and surrounding areas. (yet to book)
And then finally to our cottage on the Coromandel Peninsula for September and October.
Phew.
Love to all,
J.
August 4, 2005
Byron Bay, NSW, Australia
7:13am
Happy Birthday Alice. You are five today. 35 in human years. We are the same age.
A day does not go by where I do not think of your droopy eyes and the way you shuffled your paws with impatience because I had yet to give you a bite of my salami sandwich.
Every time a dog barks on this trip I hear the trail of howl in your bark as you sat on the green couch, watching the world go by from our front window.
I think about your bitchy groan if I had to move you in the middle of the night so I did not have to sleep on the side table.
I think about your paws pinning my shoulders down so you could manically lick my face before I could even get my tie off when I came home from work.
I think about the way you would sneak off and lie down at the dog park, tennis ball very close to you, when you were tired, because you knew if you brought it back to me, and I threw it, no matter how tired you were, you still would go get it.
Mostly I think about those rare times when Steph and Hud were away, and the house would be just a little lonely, but there you were, cuddled into a ball on the red couch upstairs, right beside me, one eye always on me, waiting for the intermittent affection.
I know you are safe and having an adventure on your own with Andy, Tara and especially Ike. But I miss you very much.
We can say it to each other, but I truly believe only a dog knows unconditional love.
Happy Birthday my sweet pretty bunny
My beautiful beautiful dog Alice.
