June 29, 2009 § 4 Comments
Does buying a bed before having a place to live sound weird to anyone? Over the weekend I saw the most beautiful bed. I have been dreaming of a bed like this for about a year. Before I left Sydney I sold my old bed and slept on a mattress on the floor for months. Then I went travelling and hardly slept on a bed since September last year. It’s almost July now and since I’ve been back in Sydney, I’ve been sleeping on my friend’s air mattress. The flat-hunting has been quite depressing. All the places within my price range are dirty shit-holes with dead roaches scattered elegantly about the room. All the decent livable places are out of my price range and apparently I’m not a ‘strong’ enough applicant since I’m not currently employed. But, there was this beautiful bed on sale which ends July 12th. I want that damn bed.
June 25, 2009 § 3 Comments
Like many unexplainable phenomena in this strange world of ours, Facebook belongs in the category that both delivers things good and evil. Without fail it’s a great source of networking and sticking our noses into other people’s business but mostly it’s an excellent way to waste time. In the beginning I was on a friend collection frenzy and added them like sugar addicts dropped cubes into their coffee. Lately I’ve developed Facebook snobbery, and not only have I been deleting dozens of people who I don’t care about and vice versa, I’ve been letting friend requests sit at the top right hand corner for weeks before finally deleting them anyway.
As I sit at my friend’s computer mooching off her internets and her room and her cats, my feet are cold and I really need a job. Since I’ve been back I have no home, no car, and no work. But things I have done:
– Bought delicious sheets, a warm quilt, and an electric blanket, although I have no bed to put them on.
– Played tourist and visited the Opera Bar and Orbit Bar at Australia Square.
– Went to my beloved Newtown and ate at my favourite Asakusa and drank at my favourite Kuleto’s.
In the next week I’m planning to buy a bed. But first I would need a place to put it in. Doesn’t matter, I’m just bloody excited to be back.
June 20, 2009 § 4 Comments
For a desert, it wasn’t as hot as I had thought. The temperature outside had been a sizzling 35 degrees but the eternally air-conditioned Abu Dhabi buildings felt like ice. It was to be my final stop before returning home. Home, that word just feels good.
My trusty friend H had already booked a table at Oceans, one of many hip and glitzy nightclubs in the Emirates, where the beautiful see and are seen. Despite my protests that I was to board a 12-hour flight early next morning, somehow I was told sternly that I wasn’t the pilot and therefore getting wasted the night before was apparently a rule, not an exception. As I walked into the chilly atmosphere of the club, I tried to hide my badly torn jeans and slippered feet from the shiny pretty dresses all the other girls were wearing.
It was ladies night, and ladies night in the Emirates means free cocktails all night long. On top of that, another friend M had brought along his gang of Italian mafia buddies who bought us girls countless shots of a luminous blue drink. The name of it was unknown to me but the taste and effect became known a little too quickly for my liking. The long island tea I was sipping was extremely long, so by the end of it without sense or judgement all that bright liquid found its way down my throat.
By early morning we retired, and after another cold night, I dragged myself to the airport. My head was heavy and I remember being relieved at snagging the best cab driver in the world. In my opinion that means a cab driver who only speaks when asking for the destination and fare. Beyond that I really try to avoid any kind of verbal contact with cabbies. Call me stuck-up, but I have absolutely nothing to contribute to a conversation involving cricket and Pakistan. He did have a weird phone ring tone which sounded like a crazed bird call, plus he didn’t smell as bad.
The flight home was rather uneventful. I scored for once and sat next to a cute, blond, tall, blue-eyed Aussie boy from Coogee, though I doubt he would have appreciated talking to a hung-over grump. I didn’t even try and distracted myself by watching movie after movie. After what seemed like the longest flight I’ve ever been on, the plane landed, finally. I’ve never been so happy to hear Kyle and Jackie O.
June 17, 2009 § 2 Comments
Back in the desert for a short transit, mental preparation begins today. Physical preparation begins tomorrow. I think I did everything I wanted to do, saw all the places I wanted to see, and met all the people I wanted to meet, including the most important one. I’m ready to go home. I can almost feel it. Bali was the last parade, and this picture is how I want to remember the last 9 months. It already feels like I dreamed a big old dream. Sunrise, sunset.
June 17, 2009 § 4 Comments
The past is not something I like to dwell on but for this post I have no choice but to bring it up. On a trip to Coffs Harbour around 4 or 5 years ago a dreadful event occurred. As mentioned in the post below I fear I am hardly an outdoors enthusiast and this applies to land and sea. Although I am very happy to watch dophins dodge around waves from the confines of a ship once in a while and go kayaking in a small calm river, any more extreme attempts would immediately incur feelings of dread. Knowing that about myself unfortunately doesn’t stop me from my occassional moments of crazy (see below), and on that fateful day at Coffs Harbour I decided to go snorkelling for the first time.
For unknown reasons whenever someone mentions snorkelling I always conjure images of myself in knee-deep water, by the sandy beach, admiring colourful fishies and corals merely meters from the safety of the shore. Surely everyone knows this is not the case, and by the time I realized this the boat was already on its speedy way across the deep blue sea. And what do we know about the deep blue sea? It’s choppy as hell. And what did I find out about myself that day? I get very very sea-sick. Easily. So not 10 minutes into the boat ride with kids and adults excitedly chattering away, the combination of the smell of old wet-suit, the rough waves, and cleverly having a full lunch right before going, I puked my guts out. While everyone jumped and splashed in the water snorkelling away, I got so sick that I had to get out of the water after less than a minute and stay on the boat. Apparently they saw a baby shark. Whatever.
Anyway the point is I attempted snorkelling a second time in Bali, almost putting that incident out of my mind forever thinking time would heal all wounds. Not really, but the short of it is, I managed to successfully snorkel for about 15 minutes without throwing up my guts. The sea was less choppy but as I chewed on a handful of mints to keep nausea away, I made a mental note not to go snorkelling again. At least not without taking anti-nausea medication.
June 13, 2009 § 2 Comments
As far as I can remember my childhood was not one filled with much physical activity. In schools where brains were considered superior to braun, I always saw P.E (Physical Exercise) class as a waste of time and I would usually lie and tell the teacher it was the painful time of the month to opt out of doing anything other than sit on my lazy ass. Outside of school, ‘exercise’ was limited to:
– Walking to the front porch to get into the car.
– Playing badminton with my brother over the front gate of our house.
– Riding my bike about three blocks from my house.
When I moved to America, imagine my horror when Gym class was introduced to my lackluster body and I was later even more horrified when I discovered that it didn’t even include real gym. So in my years there, the hardest thing my body ever had to do was run a 2km stretch every week, cleverly engineered by the ex-army teacher who thoroughly enjoyed telling me I was running all wrong. Beyond that all my future attempts at ‘sport’ has been complete and utter fail. I have tried all manners of it – archery, basketball, netball, volleyball, bush-walking et cetera but the only thing I ever succeeded in finding out was how poorly I was in all of them.
Now in 30 years of my body being so allergic to physical activity, how on earth I convinced myself to scale a volcano I do not quite comprehend. In a moment of madness filled with an alien vigour I set the alarm clock for the ungodly hour of 1am in order to be able to start the ascent at 4am. It was a 2 hour drive from the hotel and it was essential we began at that time so that we could catch the sunrise from the peak. And so with sleepy eyes and a small prick of nervousness, we began our climb of Mount Batur.
Along with a cheery Indonesian guide Peter and my equally enthusiastic climbing companion, we set off in the pitch black darkness of the jungle with a couple of other small groups. Not half an hour into the trek, I began to question my earlier enthusiasm. After about an hour groping in the dark and trying to catch up with everyone else (so as not to be the last – too many ghost stories), all excitement had but vanished into thin air. In the end Peter literally had to pull me up the rest of the volcano. The sunrise was almost at hand. It took more than 2 hours since I had to stop about a million times. My companions were patient. We finally made it to the top, just barely to see a sunrise masked by clouds, but spectacular nonetheless. With a mixture of pity and amusement, Peter presented me with a breakfast of eggs and bananas cooked by the heat of the volcano. It was surreal.
By around 8am we decided to descend, which I harboured renewed happiness about as I foolishly thought it would be a breeze going down. However my legs and feet had totally disengaged themselves from my body by that time, and amidst struggling not to tumble head over heels down the steep black rocks, poor Peter had to give me a helping hand once more. Although my stopping was less frequent, I trailed so far behind that at moments I was quite alone in the deathly silence of Mount Batur. I could vaguely hear my (subtle) companion and Peter snickering way ahead but I took my time and in utmost physical pain I dragged my jelly feet along kilometres of unruly paths and beaten roads filled with awful smells. Finally civilization in the form of some huts began to emerge and all I could think about was the nice white fluffy hotel bed.
Anyway that’s the story of the first mountain/volcano I’ve ever scaled. So for a true city girl, I think I did ok, though it would have been nice if my lovely companion hadn’t been making fun of me the entire trek. Next time, the story of my second attempt at snorkelling.
June 7, 2009 § 3 Comments
Just when I’m having one of the best vacations ever, my voice has also decided to take a vacation. I don’t know where it’s gone, but it’s definitely not here. Maybe it’s because I’ve been indulging in so much lobster and nasi goreng and desserts and arak. Maybe it’s because I’ve been having too many Bintang beers. Maybe it’s because of that damn monkey who tried to eat my finger. And my voice just said, I’ve had enough, I’m pissing off somewhere and I don’t know when to get back. Great. My throat is itchy. When I try to speak a croaky sound comes out. My voice thinks it’s funny to replace itself with a frog. So I’m on vacation, but I sure would like my voice to come back. Come back! I promise to eat less chilli today.