World Wide Love

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.

posted by Jason @ 3:35 AM