TravelStream™ news feed for member chattermouth on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/chattermouth en-us Copyright ©2010 TravelPod.com Fri, 20 Jul 2007 15:46:39 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1184930760/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1184930760/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1184930760/tpod.html Fri, 20 Jul 2007 15:46:39 -0400 Chronicling the continuing saga of one man's trip in the land down under.

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Oakville, Ontario, Canada

Friday, July 20, 2007

Restless and irritated, I woke up a little after four in the morning. As much as I wanted to, I just couldn't get back to sleep. Apparently my body's still in the addled by jetlag. Resigned to waking life, I ambled downstairs after an hour of fruitless tossing and turning. With a fresh glass of OJ, I sat on the porch at five am smoking and cursing my sleep-deprived brain.

The sky was still dark, but the sunrise was flirting with the end of the night, blackness was slowly giving way to blue and purple. I thought to myself, I'm awake now so let's find a suitable vantage point and watch the sunrise.

I dashed inside, grabbed my camera and walked out into the brightening pre-dawn. After a few minutes of walking I found a clear meadow amongst the cardboard cut-out houses of my mother's subdivision in Oakville.

As the sun rose, bright and true into the sky I cued up a song and watched Nature's grandest performance. Just as the great orange globe poked out from the clouds, these lyrics tumbled into my ears:

So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten.
Songs are like birds, flying upwards over the mountain.

Suddenly all my doubt and paranoia, all my clouded judgments and misplaced worries washed away. I was bathed in the golden radiance of the dawn. Clarity hit me like a fist to the jaw: this is how I'm re-starting my life here. Right now, with the morning light all around me, I'm reborn.

With sunspots in my eyes, I walked back home chuckling to myself. That's just about the hippiest moment you've had in a long time, Geoff. I wouldn't have it any other way.

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1184896980/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1184896980/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1184896980/tpod.html Thu, 19 Jul 2007 22:06:56 -0400 Chronicling the continuing saga of one man's trip in the land down under.

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Toronto, Ontario, Canada

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Sprawled across three empty airline seats like a marooned walrus after a mighty feed, I thought to myself, "self, you've earned this." Other passengers eyed my unabashed freedom with a mix of contempt and envy. As people filed down the aisle to the toilets, shaking their heads at me, I just yawned loudly, rolled over and slipped into blissful unconsciousness. Enjoy your legroom, peasants.

If only the rest of my trip back home could have been half this savagely pleasant.

Fat chance.

I'd like to lie you, friends, and tell you otherwise, I really would. But I won't. My trip back home was littered with near misses, screaming children, endless stopovers, delayed flights and of course my favourite sport: Terminal Surfing, that mad march from one terminal to the next, praying you catch your connecting flight that's leaving in a half hour. Love that game.

I'm going to give you a brief, abridged version of my route back to the sunny shores of Canadia. As luck would have it I caught a cold the night before I left Melbourne. The Deliri-O-Meter tracks my ever-increasing levels of delirium.

7.30 am, Wednesday - Catch the bus in Melbourne to Avalon Airport.

10 am - Arrive at Avalon, sniffling.

11 am - Fly to Sydney.

Terminal Surf commences, part one. Deliri-O-Meter safely at 5.

2.40 pm - Fly to San Francisco. Thousands of snotty tissues fill every conceivable crevice in my tiny seating area: under my seat, behind the folded dining tray, in the magazine slot.

10 am, Wednesday - Travel back in time, arriving in San Fran. Deliri-O-Meter teeters at 7.

Dance the Terminal Surf cha-cha, adding on the extra fun of US Customs.

1 pm - Fly to Charlotte. Screaming children seated right beside me, I dream of burning tiny holes in the back of their little heads.

8 pm - Arrive in North Carolina, one more connecting flight and I'm home free.

Final round of Terminal Surfing, the terminal round, if you will.

10 pm - Flight Delayed, rumours of its imminent cancellation swirl. Deliri-O-Meter reaching critical levels.

11:55 pm - After hours of agonized nail-biting my connecting flight to Buffalo departs. Enter the walrus.

3 am, Thursday - After crossing the boarder and a one-hour car ride, we pull into my Dad's laneway. Urge to kill dissipates.

When my brother, his girlfriend and my Dad came to meet me in Buffalo I was so certifiable crazy that when I saw them at first glance their faces didn't register. Why are these people looking at my like this? Who are they...? Oh yea, that's my family! God bless them.

Well, it's now almost ten in the evening and my body doesn't know what to do with itself. I'm jet-lagged, but I'm home at my mother's house and I couldn't be happier. I'm planning on heading out to Toronto this weekend.

I've got a cell phone. The service will be up and running tomorrow. You can reach me @ 647.500.9304, just ask for the walrus.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1184657040/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1184657040/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1184657040/tpod.html Tue, 17 Jul 2007 03:26:15 -0400 Chronicling the continuing saga of one man's trip in the land down under.

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Melbourne, Australia

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

By this tomorrow I'll be somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, beginning my long trek back home. I've done the math, I've got something close to 42 hours in-transit to look forward to. To say that I'm not looking forward to jetting through three countries, two continents and five airports would be a gross understatement.

To be totally honest, it's freaking me out a little bit. This is the part of traveling I hate-the actual traveling part, that is. Security checks, boarding passes, connecting flights, line-ups, fighting for leg space and sleep, crappy food. You get the idea. But it's all worth it in the end.

Because when the dust settles (or shall I say the jetlag settles), I'll be back home. I've been experiencing some serious trepidation for the last couple days; a nagging feeling of "am I doing the right thing?" just won't subside. I understand this kind of doubt is pretty common when you return home after a long absence and I presume it will ease off once I get on that first plane.

Leaving is never easy. Last night I said goodbye to Lily, and it sure as hell wasn't easy. I've lived with her for the past five weeks, and with each day we've grown closer, so frankly I'm not happy about leaving her out here. It's going to strange not having her around, I'm sad just thinking about it. But I also feel so blessed to have shared the time I did with her. Her friendship (and that hypnotic smile of hers) is most definitely one of the most important highlights of this trip. I'll be saying goodbye to Amy and Robbie soon, I'm not looking forward to that.

They say you can never come home again. I hope that's not true. I am a little worried that upon my return, home just won't be the same. While I'm sure it won't be, I'm looking forward to a fresh start in Toronto. What concerns me is the way I'm going feel after the initial high: after all the reconnections with my family and friends (all whom I miss so much), after the welcome back parties, once the excitement fades, how will I feel? Will I be bored with the same old Toronto? Will I long to be back on the road?

Don't let my thoughts trouble you, friends. Because I am so excited to get back. I can't wait to see everyone, to reconnect. I can't wait for some Tim Horton's coffee. For my Mom's cooking. For the Toronto sunshine... err, smog. For parties on the beach, and in dank subterranean clubs. For the look on my friend's faces when I finally see them again. God, I can't wait.

I'll see you all soon.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1183544580/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1183544580/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1183544580/tpod.html Wed, 04 Jul 2007 06:45:42 -0400 Chronicling the continuing saga of one man's trip in the land down under.

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Melbourne, Australia

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

It's exactly two weeks before I return home. It's a strange thought to be honest. I still don't think it's hit me yet that I'm coming back. I get little nervous flashes of excitement from time to time when I think about it, but otherwise life just chugs along nicely out here in St. Kilda.

A certain part of my traveler spirit has been zapped out me though. For last little while I haven't felt like exploring or taking pictures. That has to be a sign that I'm ready to return. Or, I'm just getting lazy. However with that in mind, I raced down to the beach this afternoon to take some pics.

This afternoon was one of the few clear days in weeks. I've vaguely made plans with myself to get down to the water to catch the sunset for weeks now except winter out here is grey, cold and almost always rainy. If Australia is suffering a drought, there's absolutely no sign of that right now, which I guess is a good thing. But today, mercifully, it was clear and I forced myself to take some damn snapshots.

(How many sunset pics have I posted in these pages? I shudder to even guess...)

I've also added some rather peculiar shots of our weekly Friday night ritual here in St. Kilda: copious bottles of excellent Australian red wine and whole lot of silliness. This week's installment featured tree climbing, a spirited game of dress-up and general numbskullery.

Enjoy!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1182490320/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1182490320/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1182490320/tpod.html Fri, 22 Jun 2007 01:33:25 -0400 Chronicling the continuing saga of one man's trip in the land down under.

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Melbourne, Australia

Thursday, June 21, 2007

I've waited a little while to write this entry in hopes of gleaning some perspective on what it means to turn thirty. When you leave your twenties behind do you instantly accrue some bonus wisdom points? Am I somehow inherently enriched by the experience? At the very least, do I get a key to some secret Dirty Thirty Club?

The answer friends, sadly, is a big, fat no.

I'd like to say that I'm cool with that but I was really hoping for the key. Maybe it's lost in the mail. I have been changing addresses a lot lately.

Instead, all I've gotten is a catastrophic bout of "good lord, save me I'm old" neurosis. Everywhere I look there's some new sign of my rapid aging laughing at me, taunting me... tormenting me. Today, for example, I noticed a patch of fresh grey hair poking out from behind my ears. I've never had grey hair before. I inspected, obsessed closely, I'm almost too scared to admit it to myself: those hairs were actually white! Gasp. Are those new wrinkles on my forehead? I think they are...

But that's not all, friends. My body is failing me. That fryer oil burn I got a few weeks ago doesn't seem to be healing as quickly as it should be. After I finished showering my palms were very dry, dead white skin was flaking off (gross, I know). That never used to happen. I even seem to be making a Norman Rockwell-esque whistle every time I pronounce an S sound. S(whistle)-hit! Prep the geriatric ward people! I'm sure adult diapers and Alzheimer's is on the horizon.

Before the details totally fade to nothing in my sleepy, elderly brain-as that my memory sure ain't what it once was-I'd like to say that I had a great birthday. Amy, Jerrod and Ang joined me for dinner at a Balinese restaurant (I can't even pronounce the name, let alone spell it) and we dined in style.

The first thing I liked about the place was that it had a canopy bed in the front right beside our table. Little Balinese children were playing on it. I distinctly recall one particular round-faced child staring at me when I entered; he must have thought I was old or something because he kinda frowned at me.

The meal was sensational. Gourmet, exotic dishes. And spicy too. There was a seemingly innocent looking orange sauce on the table, I was warned about it, but I tried it anyway. When Amy saw how much I sloshed onto my rice all she could say was "You're insane!" It was a slow, slow burn. I tried to hide the fact that my whole mouth, eyes and throat were on fire, but it was no use.

Later on that evening we once again made a trek out to Revolver. We danced the night away. All of a sudden it was noon, and thus time to head home. What a great birthday, spent with wonderful people.

In the days after my thirtieth, I moved out to St. Kilda to live with Lily. I'm so grateful to her and her roommate Alex (the man hardly knows me, but he's welcomed me into his home) for taking me in. It's been such a smooth transition; like I've been here all along. We've been making some delicious meals, and just generally been enjoying each other's company. They're raking up serious karma points.

I've found a job out here as well in a café, cooking breakfast. I'm at the point where I'm simply treading water, waiting to return home. That's not to say that I'm not enjoying myself. Living with Alex and Lily right in the heart of St. Kilda is proving to be a fun, comfortable experience, however, I'm ready to come home. Just under four weeks to go!

Hold on a second... is that a new kink in my knee? Yep, it never used to make that sound when I walked...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1181869560/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1181869560/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1181869560/tpod.html Thu, 14 Jun 2007 21:08:38 -0400 Chronicling the continuing saga of one man's trip in the land down under.

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Melbourne, Australia

Thursday, June 14, 2007

It's 6:20pm at 620 Spencer Street. Amy's late, but at least we're on time. The three of us-Robbie, Jerrod (two of the housemates of this address) and I-are milling around, sipping some beer. Robbie's phone buzzes in six minute intervals, worried time checks from Amy; the speed of her speech and tone of voice heighten with each call.

Amy bursts through the door. No hellos or even any kind of acknowledgement of our meager existence; she races to her room. Literally seconds later she emerges as portrait of grace and style, decked out in a chic outfit ready to conquer the world. She looks stunning, glamourous as always.

"I'm so fucking nervous," Amy's never been one to shy away from the truth. We've got eight minutes to get to one of the most important moments in her life: the launch party for her first book Every Last Drop.

In the car Amy regales us of the Manicure From Hell, the source of her less than punctual arrival. It was a snail-paced nail-painting nightmare. The stylist apparently fancied herself a bit of a guru, confusing the manicure appointment with some kind of ultra-modern Zen meditation. I could almost hear the soft, bamboo flute music in the background as Amy mocked the lady's painfully slow approach and dreadful new-age sloganeering: "Now I'm going to take you on a sensory journey..." Just paint the friggin' nails!

Mercifully, we arrived in time to spare. The event was held at a bookstore called Readings (a Melbourne institution), her co-writer Craig was out front smoking. The place was abuzz, brimming with friends, industry folks and other invitees. When it was time for the speeches this little bookstore was rammed. A good sign, to be sure.

I've been fortunate to share many powerful moments with Amy in the past, but that night tops the list. There's nothing more gratifying for a writer than a book launch. It's the pinnacle of countless hours of hard, hard work, writing, researching, editing and re-writing. I've never been so proud-and inspired-and secretly jealous-of someone than that night. On June 13, 2007 my dear friend became an author. I was beaming like a proud papa, and Amy was shinning brighter than anything I've ever seen before.

When it was her time to speak any nervous tension she was exhibiting earlier melted away. Her voice never faltered, she never tripped over her words. She was poised, confident and grateful. And everyone knew they were witnessing something special, we knew this wouldn't be the last time Amy Carmichael would grace this stage.

Her book (it still amazes me every time I read those words), Every Last Drop, is a timely release about water. It's a guide on saving water at home written from two distinct perspectives: the knowledgeable expert (Craig) and the everyday citizen (Amy). It's not full of graphs or pie charts or daunting numbers about Australia's water crisis, this isn't a textbook.
Its simplicity is its strength; from chapter to chapter you learn easy and valuable ways to save water. And 620 Spencer is all over the book, from photos of Jerrod's boxers on the laundry line to anecdotes about the household's water bill spiking dramatically the minute Amy moved in (because coming from Canada she wasn't particularly water-conscious).

At a time like this, when water is such a hot issue, the book is bound to succeed.

After the speeches I watched Amy for a moment. When the first person came up to her to sign Every Last Drop, I watched her face closely. She was glowing, smiling so brightly that I could nothing but just smile with her. It's a moment I won't soon forget.

Later on, after all the mingling and frantic signing of books and toasts to the authors, it was time for me to go. I didn't spend much time with Amy that night, she was in too high demand. Right before I left I cornered her and congratulated her. I proudly held out my copy for her to sign. She handed it back a few moments later and I dashed out the door. I didn't read the inscription right away; I read it when I got back home:

"Wonderful Geoff,
It means so much to me to have you here."

Me too, Amy, me too.







]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1181106300/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1181106300/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1181106300/tpod.html Wed, 06 Jun 2007 02:50:19 -0400 Chronicling the continuing saga of one man's trip in the land down under.

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Melbourne, Australia

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

And if you're strung out like a kite
Or stung awake in the night
It's alright to be frightened

When there's a light (what light)
There's a light (one light)
There's a light (white light)
What Light, by Wilco

The headphones were wrapped tight around my ears as I walked along Errol Street in North Melbourne near Amy's house. As always, the volume was high. The music boomed, crisp and clear. The song opened with a clean acoustic riff, the notes drifted gently building to the verse. My thoughts drifted as well.

My mood's been heavy lately. I did not take the decision to leave here early very lightly at all; truthfully, I agonized over it. In the end, I know I'm right but there's a lingering feeling of collapse that comes with cutting this trip short. However, that's not what's been bothering me.

Once again I've found myself out of a job (it's a long story, basically they weren't happy with my decision to leave early) and consequently, I've again found myself empty-pocketed. Once again, I've had to swing into full damage control mode-thank god for my friends out here, I'd be adrift without them.

I'm not a man who's afraid to ask for help, but I've doing it a lot lately. Amy and Robbie have again opened their home to me as I sort things out. Lily and Thom have also jumped at the chance to help. So, between the two camps, I've got free accommodation for the duration of my time here. I'm not sure how many times I can say "Thank you" without the words losing meaning. I've been saying those two words a lot lately as well.

I've definitely accumulated some good karma in the past, but I fear I've drained the barrel now. With all these people going totally out of their way to help me I'm constantly amazed by their selflessness. But I'm also feeling a little helpless too. Like I can't get this thing done on my own terms and the more help I need the more guilt I feel. I don't want my friendship with these wonderful people to turn into a burden. (I know they'd never say it is, I just wish there was a way to repay this debt.)

This is what's been on my mind as walk down Errol Street, as the song booms in my ears, as the verse opens. Then I start listening to the lyrics. Jeff Tweedy croons "there's a light... what light, There's a light, white light." The more I listen, the more I'm captivated, inspired by it's theme of perseverance. Second verse:

If you think you might need somebody
To pick you up when you drag
Don't loose sight of yourself
Don't let anyone change your bag

I start smiling, widely. Of course! There's no shame in needing a little help sometimes. I was so blinded by own whiney self-doubt to realize that friendships can help you heal. In fact, it feels good to be there for someone you care about. Every time you do it you shine a little brighter.

And if the whole world's singing your songs
And all of your paintings have been hung
Just remember what was yours is everyone's from now on

And that's not wrong or right
But you can struggle with it all you like
You'll only get uptight

By now I'm literally skipping down the streets.

Because there's a light (what light)
There's a light (one light)
There's a light (white light)
There's a light (what light)
There's a light (one light)
Inside of you

Before I even realize I'm doing it, I'm singing along. Not quietly either, I'm bellowing, chanting the lyrics. "There's a light... what light. There's a light... one light." The poor people eating their lunches on the patios as I passed them bore witness to my tuneless scampering. More than a few heads turned, ears covered.

I wish I could have stepped out of the scene and watched this lumbering Canuck skip down the sidewalk, roaring those lyrics. It was cathartic and perhaps a little silly, but my heavy mood has lifted. Maybe the next time I schedule an epiphany I'll turn the volume down.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1180677660/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1180677660/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1180677660/tpod.html Fri, 01 Jun 2007 02:02:45 -0400 Chronicling the continuing saga of one man's trip in the land down under.

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Melbourne, Australia

Friday, June 01, 2007

All right class, tell me what's wrong with this sentence: the first of June marks the beginning of winter. I know I'm in the southern hemisphere, and the seasons are reversed and everything, but no matter how hard I try to acclimate down here I just can't seem to grasp this simple, irreversible fact. Sorry folks, call me old-fashioned but winter in June is plain wrong, period. (Of course, summer in December is fine by me, but let's not dwell on the past shall we?)

My body doesn't know what to do with itself right now. Every molecule has been conditioned to think "Yippee, it's June, time to bust out the shorts!" Listen, I was born in June, in the summer, so there's something in my DNA that instinctively awakens around this time year, expecting-no, demanding!-warm weather. It's not me, it's the genes, honest.

Melbourne doesn't handle winter particularly well-perhaps it's worse off than I am. The last 48 hours have been a maelstrom of paroxysmal, miserable weather. Violent winds swept the streets bare, followed by unremitting rain. The city's been grey for most of the week in apparent anticipation of this dreary season.

However, it's the cold that kills you. Believe me, I never thought I'd say this about Australia, but it's damn cold out here right now. I thought that after enduring so many frozen Canadian winters that an Aussie winter would be laughable. At least back home we have this little thing called central heating; it appears that technology hasn't made its way down here yet. So when it gets cold, it stays cold, chilling your bones like steaks in the freezer.

Laugh while you can, friends. Because I'll be home soon.

Sooner than you think.

Yes, I've decided to come home early, the date's set: July 18, 2007.

The changing of the seasons is not the only factor in my decision. I have been ignoring some telltale signs that's it's time to leave. First of all, I've found myself checking up on Toronto a whole lot more lately. I've been perusing thestar.com, tribe.ca, even Now and Eye's sites a little too much lately. I've been looking at pictures of friends from back home all the time. All in all, I just can't ignore it anymore: I miss Toronto. I miss Toronto in the summer. God, I miss all of you. My friends, my family, everyone.

On top of all that, as I've explained in past posts, it's been a real grind out here in Melbourne. While I've finally found somewhat gainful employment, I'm just getting tired of the grind.

To tell you the truth, now that I've made this decision, I feel good about it. The weight of trying to make it work out here has been lifted. It's such a relief; I can just ride it out for the next six weeks.

Best of all, I have something wonderful to look forward to: seeing all of you. I wouldn't trade this experience for anything, nor would I change any of it if I could, however, it's been long enough. It's time to come home. Wow, those for five words I just wrote really hit me. Hard. I'm coming home!

Don't start summer without me. I'll see you all soon.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1179129600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1179129600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1179129600/tpod.html Mon, 14 May 2007 04:01:05 -0400 Chronicling the continuing saga of one man's trip in the land down under.

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Melbourne, Australia

Where do we go from here
The words are coming out all weird
Where are you now
When I need you
The Bends, Radiohead

I'll tell you where my friends are. They're all around me, everywhere, no matter how far away they're always close at hand. Friendship, old and new, has the power to heal, to build you up when you're broken. No medicine or therapy or surgery can do that.

So yes, my friends were most definitely in Swan Hill.

Robby's family home straddles the Murray River, a vast lifeline stretching across three states, nursing the very fabric of this country's southern agriculture. It's dying, drying up after years of drought. But it's not dead yet. It's still gives life to the people on its riverbeds and the countless varieties of fish, mussels, wildlife and even crayfish (a tasty river water lobster).

Chefro was in full effect in Swan Hill. I happily helped Robby's mother Yvonne, the family's patriarch, in the kitchen, chopping away. She had me carve the giant pork roast for the evening's feast-an honour I don't think she's give out to just anyone. (She was so pleased with my help that whenever she introduced me to someone, she'd proudly add "Chefro carved the pork roast tonight!")

As the party got under way it occurred to me that I was Amy's lone Canadian representative. It also occurred to me how brave she truly was to pack up her entire life in Canada, leave it all behind to follow her heart down under. After meeting Robby's family and friends I began to understand why she feels so at home out here; these people would do anything for Amy, they're lucky to have each other. And I was beginning to feel very blessed to be a part of it.

Across the Murray is an abattoir, and as the party raged well into the night I walked away just far enough from the music to take it all in. I began to feel noticeably lighter, as if a great weight was lifted from me. Then I heard the cows moan, echoing off the water, mixed in with the hoots and yelps from the party. It was a very strange moment-a distinctly Swan Hill moment.

When it was all over I felt refreshed, reborn. Any concerns about getting on in Melbourne were stomped out emphatically over the course of that weekend. As I was getting dropped off, I turned to say goodbye to Sam.

"Things are looking up for you this week, Geoffro, I can feel it," Sam said to me. All weekend that guy was sympathetic to my problems. He genuinely wanted to see me succeed out here, and I thanked him for his noble support.

"No vacancies, mate," he said.

I couldn't hide the grin.

When I got home I turned on my mobile. One message. It was the Grace Darling Hotel. They've offered me the job, I start on Tuesday.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1179129180/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1179129180/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/chattermouth/oz_with_a_g/1179129180/tpod.html Mon, 14 May 2007 03:55:09 -0400 Chronicling the continuing saga of one man's trip in the land down under.

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Swan Hill, Australia

Monday, May 14, 2007

For those who have lost track, let's recap here, shall we? So far, I've lost one job, found another, discovered that it was just trial, blew a whole stack of cash thinking I had an income only to wake up finding myself broke, unemployed, panicked and generally miserable.

Got it?

Good.

I don't want to crank the tragedy-o-meter any higher, however it's a safe bet to classify my headspace over last week as "severely dejected." I moped around, thinking once again that I've failed in this journey. I started getting way ahead of myself, worrying needlessly about when I return early from this trip, defanged and defeated, where would I go? Where would I live? Can it get any worse? Woe is me.

For the first time, I was forced to call home for some money. It was the most embarrassing, humbling experience. I felt like a child asking for more allowance so he can buy that shiny new bike in the Sears window. Like always, Mom came through. I can't begin to express my gratitude.

Once again, I blanketed Melbourne with my resume. Since winter is approaching, this isn't exactly the high season for the hospitality business; the job market was scarce-I was ready to apply to Hungry Jack's (the Aussie equivalent to Burger King). In addition to all this stress, I couldn't write. Every time I turned on the computer I stared at the blank screen feeling sorry for myself. Somebody should have just slapped me. In a way, that's exactly what happened.

This past weekend was Amy and Robby's engagement party in Swan Hill. I was invited, but I was feeling serious trepidation about attending. In my foolish, depressed mental state I nearly convinced myself that I wouldn't have a good time. I didn't really know anyone going. I didn't know how I was getting there. Plus it was a semi-formal party and I didn't have any clothing that remotely resembled dressy, nor did have any cash to even go thrift shopping for something.

Then it dawned on me. This isn't about me. This is about Amy and Robby: two people who have selflessly opened their doors to me out here, gone above and beyond to make me feel totally at home. They've become my adopted family in many ways. Of course I was going, plus escaping my worries in the city could be exactly what the doctor ordered.

Amy arranged a ride for me on Friday. I joined Lee, his fiancé Angela and another friend Sam. I had met these people a week earlier at Prudence, and they turned out to be the perfect reflection of Amy and Robby: generous, genuine and welcoming. We road tripped it up to Swan Hill, Robby's family home about four hours north of Melbourne.

What's a road trip without a couple silly inside jokes, right? I tried to start a new expression, a take on the famous "no worries": no vacancies, mate. Everyone in the car vowed to try to use it, I hoped that by the end of the weekend someone completely removed from the joke would casually slip in "no vacancies, mate" to a conversation. It was worth a try.

Allow me to illustrate a fundamental difference between Aussies and Canadians: during the drive Sam turned to me and asked if I had any nicknames. I rhymed off a laundry list of aliases: The Bulk, Ranger Danger, Snoop Geoff, Geoff with a G.... "Do you have any short nicknames?" Sam asked. Oh right, forgetting that it's Australia's national past time to shorten as many terms as possible, I offered the classic Geoffro. "Perfect," he smiled. When they learned I was a cook the name quickly evolved to Chefro. I was officially in with this group.

When we arrived at Swan Hill it was well into the evening, the night sky was painted with stars so clear and vivid that you could see the Milky Way-a vision I won't soon forget. We sat by the fire and drank a few beers too many. My worries melted away under the firelight and stars.
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