Australia Week 1

Now, normally with this blog, I recap an entire trip or event in one post. It's always a challenge for me to do so, because I struggle to force myself to omit certain details so that my post isn't rambling on and on until I suddenly reach a staggering 5,000 words. Then you all just get bored and stop reading. That's definitely not my goal. Just like with a good meal, I want every bite of what I right to be something new and interesting, a taste so surprising that my diners want to keep reaching back for another bite until all of a sudden, the plate is completely empty of any meat, grain, vegetable or sauce.

I don't think I could confine this trip to Australia with my friend from Boston, Brianna, to even an eleven-course meal at the famous fish restaurant in NYC, Per Se, in one sitting. It is longer than any trip I have ever been on, and, more importantly, not like anything I have ever done before. As I talked over with my parents how I could document it properly, the conclusion I always reverted back to was a weekly post as opposed to one giant one in which my readers grow so intimidated by the length of the piece that all the events of the second half of the trip would get wash away in the details of the first. I like to think I take advantage of every moment, particularly in an adventure such as this, and would feel ashamed if I allowed certain parts to aggressively dominate my story. So, here's part one.

After months of telling friends who planned to spend their summers working of my plans, after weeks of convincing my mom that we didn't necessarily need a day-by-day schedule and after what felt like days of packing miscellaneous items in my 75 liter Osprey pack, I'm finally here. My long-time family friend from Boston, Brianna, also managed to arrive despite a delayed flight to New York and a lopsided, near-explosive pack stuffed with all the clothes and medical supplies necessary for any situation that towered at least eight inches over her head. We teetered in and out of the train, down the street and to our first hostel, exhausted from over 25 hours of traveling and a fourteen hour time change. Neither of us knew what day it was nor how many meals we had missed on the plane while we were sleeping. Despite our mental haze, we knew one thing for sure: we had made it to Australia.

The backpacker hostel system in Australia, particularly on the east coast where we would be traveling for the next five weeks, is extremely accessible to foreigners, so we planned to rely solely on the YHAs until meeting with our parents the fourth week of our trip in Cairns. We spent the first three nights of our trip in the Railway Square Youth Hostel in Sydney. Upon arrival at 11:00 am, we threw our packs in the corner of the room next to our bunk beds. The dorms in this particular YHA are actually renovated railway cars from the mid 1800s that were painted maroon, and are adjacent to the current Central Railway Station. We shared our cart with six other backpackers, one of whom disrupted our already disturbed sleep cycle with some of the most aggressive snoring I have ever heard. 

With only a map as our tour guide, we walked through what I would call Asia-town. To our surprise, Australia, especially Sydney, has a large Asian population due to its proximity to, well, Asia. Their Chinatown is quite similar to that of New York, except with fewer knock-off shops and more authentic Asian restaurants and food stalls. We were lured into a restaurant by a neon green sign that read “Emperor Palace.” By USA standards, it looked like a C-grade restaurant, but the cries of our stomachs overtook any mental hesitation. 

We were led upstairs by the hostess, and entered the magical world of dim sung, of which both of us had yet to experience. Asian women push silver carts stacked with bamboo steamer pots and plates of fried fish. We said yes to practically everything until our table was full, since we had no idea what any of it was. Before we could fully comprehend what had just happened those past thirty seconds of bombardment, we had already dove into golden fried wontons filled with pork, rice paper rolls filled with plump prawns bathing in a pool of soy sauce, toasted sesame rolls filled with prawns, green beans, and, of course, steamed pork buns. The buns always have been and always will be my personal favorite. The exterior of these was a thick layer of dough that was airy enough inside to not sit heavily in my stomach. The pork inside was cared for so well by the steam circulating in the bun that they reach a perfect level of melting tenderness, while the browned bottoms provided the perfect textural balance. I wanted to say yes to more of the dishes, but we were so full and not at all willing to push a bill over $50 since there were no prices on anything.

After lunch, we wandered into a market that sold the usual Chinatown junk and knockoffs, but also a plethora of Asian spice blends, local mushrooms, whole fish, and exotic fruits and vegetables. I was in heaven picking through curry powders, oyster mushrooms, and durian. I wanted to buy, and even more so cook, it all.

We continued through Chinatown until we reached the steps up to the bridge at Darling Bay. Darling Bay is home to the National Martime Museum, Hyde Park Walkway, a boardwalk lined with upscale cafes and restaurants, and the day-cruise ships. We walked down the boardwalk, shaking our heads at all the entrees and beers over $20 that we in no way could afford at the time but would convince our parents to share with us when we were all in Sydney at the end of June. From the end of the boardwalk, we had a spectacular view of the small, residential islands dotted with giant houses owned by celebrities, government officials, and big businessmen. The pairing of the new skyscrapers built entirely out of windows with the ocean and the mansions removed from the main land reminded me so much of South Beach in Miami. 

 

I noticed this similarity even more so as Brianna and I passed by the bars bustling with the youthful corporate culture dressed in pencil skirts and blazers later that night. Unlike in New York City, where people in their mid-20s are the minority in the urban, corporate environment due to the aftermath of the economic recession, in Sydney, this age group seems to dominate both during the morning hours and in the nightlife scene. Many of them, us included, had ventured to Circular Bay downtown to watch the Vivid Sydney exhibition. 

The exhibition was produced by Australian, German, and Japanese artists, and sought to utilize bright colors projected onto different sights throughout the city to blend an environment generally dominated by greys with vivacity. We squatted on the boardwalk in Circular Bay directly across from the Syndey Opera House until, at 6 PM, a set of lights projected from the Sydney Harbor Bridge onto the Opera House. For the next twenty minutes, the projections morphed into different designs while the speakers on the dock played Ratatat and Explosions in the Sky. As I watched the Opera House transform from its natural state to yet another artistic piece, the reality that I was finally in Australia finally hit me. Maybe it was the jet lag temporarily fading, but I like to attribute it to the contrast of two very opposite components of Sydney culture: the iconic, historic Opera House,and the very modernist, abstract medium of art displayed through Vivid that is starkly reflective of the youthful, hip business class emerging in this city. I closed my eyes and let the autumn breeze detach me for a moment from the bustle of Circular Bay. I could not for even a split second deny the blossoming happiness that always flowers just at the right moments whenever I travel. 

The next morning was our real introduction to jet lag beyond just not knowing what day of the week it was. I woke up at 12 AM when I heard the whistle of the train just outside our train car. My first delusional conclusion was that the hostel had a breakfast bell or something at 8 AM. Besides the bell, our other cart-mates were rummaging around and whispering to each other. When I looked at my clock though, 12:00 AM blinded me. I couldn't believe it. First of all, it felt like I had been asleep for hours, even though it had only been two. Secondly, I swear it was the morning. Thankfully I fell back asleep, but only until 3 AM when the infamous snorer shook the room with his symphony of guttural instruments. I sleep on and (mostly) off until 6:30 AM when I got the sudden urge to run.

Running turned out to be one of the best decisions of our first two days. It was lightly drizzling when I started, and just warm enough for it to be comfortable. I ran towards Darling Bay the same route we had traveled the day before, hoping it would take at least 20 minutes to get to the end of the boardwalk. The streets were vacant; barely a soul dared to challenge the hangover from their Friday nights at the bar to enjoy the overcast chill. That emptiness was by no means eerie, but rather quite soothing. The boats adjacent to the boardwalk rocked gently in the waves as they waited for their captains to steer them into the ocean for the day; and the seagulls perched themselves on the signs for the dock numbers to watch the pigeons below peck at the air. I ran with ease, breathing in the salted air without the slightest strain to my lungs or my legs. Just like in Belgrade, my run soon turned into an exploration of the areas I had yet to see.

I followed the pattern of the stop-lights. When I thought it time to head back to the hostel, I caught sight of a statue of a medieval soldier on a horse with its back legs on the ground and front legs billowing at its chest in the air and set that as my turning point. Behind it was the Convict Building, which I later learned was where prisoners from other countries would be locked away. The Irish used to intentionally break the law so they would be sent to this prison for seven years, then granted their green cards to live in Australia to escape the corruption in Ireland. I continued parallel to George Street and passed by the Cathedral, the Hospital of Sydney, the Australian Rotary House, the World War I Memorial and other government buildings. Never before had I seen an area so concentrated with historical buildings.They were all gated, made out of smooth, elegant stone, and adorned with white trimmed windows and pillars. I was particularly impressed by the Hospital which looked more like the ornate US Embassy buildings in foreign countries than a city hospital. In fact, many of the buildings throughout Sydney resembled such a style that was not necessarily old looking, but rather held an air of prestige and sophistication over the contemporary glass sky scrapers.

After a day at the Taronga Zoo, where we caught our first glimpse of kangaroos and koalas, as well as a snow leopard, lions, elephants, exotic bird, zebras and mountain goats, we were determined to quell our jet lag and go out to dinner and a bar. For dinner, we returned to Chinatown where we tried our luck at one of the “Food Arcades.” We walked downstairs until a basement filled with yells of order numbers, walls cluttered with pictures of meat and race plates, and an endless supply of chopsticks. We began our lap around the arcade, and as soon as I saw pho, I knew I wouldn't need to scan through the pictures of food either from the 1980s, from Google, or both. I order a bowl of chicken pho and the local 'piss' beer as I would call it at home, and drowned my face in pho noodles spiced aggressively with the chili flake-chili oil paste the old woman working the stove made herself. I got a bit nervous when I spooned up a grey hunk of what I think was supposed to be some type of meat with the bean sprouts and onions, but I figured I shouldn't expect much more from an underground food arcade and should just avoid the mystery meat all together. 

Just a warning, this is a little gross but so hilarious that Brianna and I knew I had to include it in my post. At one point, I rubbed my now tearing eyes from the heat of the chili paste, and my contact fell out. Instinctively, I tried to put it back in, forgetting that my fingers had repeatedly touched the firey, chili-soaked broth I had been slurping for the past 15 minutes. The edge hit my eyeball, and poof! my eyeball was bloodshot and burning more than my throat. I tried again a couple minutes later and blinked to secure my contact in place, only to hear “Holy shit...” and a burst of laughter from across the table. “Your contact just fell in your pho.” “No way. It's in my eye.” I shut my left eye, and everything was blurry. “Oh my god it did...” Brianna and I kneeled down to the level of the broth and searched for the light blue piece of plastic. There it was, resting on a single chili-flake. No way was I sticking that piece of hazardous material anywhere near my eye. Oh, and that's not the worst of it. Somehow, my contact managed to float from the napkin on the side of my plate into Brianna's rice. Thankfully, neither Brianna nor I extracted anything but pure humor from the situation, and laughed of the vulgarity as we finished our meals. We paid $15 for each. Why waste it?

The receptionist at our hostel had told us about a stand owned by the Emperor Palace restaurant that sold these magnificent mini cream puffs for 25 cents a piece. He said the line would inevitably be long, but the wait would be well worth it. So, we acted against all our normal, impatient inhibitions and waited for what we would learn to be little puff balls of lightly lemony goodness. They looked and tasted somewhat like a Boston Creme doughnut without the chocolate glaze and with a sprtiz of lemon. We got 7 for $2 (which is a steal for Sydney) and gobbled them down as we watched two girls in sequin skirts and black shirts model in front of the Emperor Palace restaurant. Somehow, we made it to the Sidebar backpackers bar, but only lasted until about 8:30 before we accepted the control of jet lag and nearly crawled back to our hostel.

The next day, Sunday June 1^st, we flew from Sydney to Brisbane. After seeing a chain food stall called Pie Face, that sells hand pies stuffed with various meats and vegetables that are a staple in Australia, we finally stopped there for breakfast in the airport. The pies are made out of croissant dough and finished with a brown, pie face smile. We grabbed forks and knives from the Pie Face stall. They proved to be useless since the pies come wrapped in a brown paper bag with quote bubbles reading “I'm pie faced.” Needless to say the only time my fork came in handy was to scrape the thick, salty chicken and mushroom filling that had squeezed out of the back of the pie from the inside of the bag.

When we arrived at the Brisbane City hostel, we figured we should ask the reception desk about bus tickets to Byron Bay, bus passes for the rest of the trip and tickets to the Lone Pine Animal Sanctuary for the next day. The receptionist and our new friend, Nick, not only booked all three sets of tickets on one bill, but also explained the different beer sizes (jub is two pints, a schooner is a ½ a pint, and a pot is a 1/3 of a pint for areas that get really hot), clarified why everything is so god damn expensive in Australia (the minimum wage is $18!), convinced us to try the Australian wafer cookies called Tim-Tams, corrected our “vulgur” use of liquor store instead of bottle shop, and recommended an amazing burger place called FAB- fish and burgers- where we could get a late lunch before the Brisbane Broncos-Manly Sea Hawks rugby game we had tickets for later that afternoon.

I savored as quickly as I could a chicken burger with an avocado-pesto spread on sourdough (one of the best burgers I've ever had) and a Summer Ale beer from Queensland so that we wouldn't miss the crowd of maroon and gold Broncos jerseys walking to Suncorp Stadium. First order of business: jerseys. We knew we stood out because of our style of dress in all areas of Australia, so we figured we would fit in at least at the game if we wore the home jerseys. We wandered around the stadium searching for a merchandise table to buy jerseys until we convinced ourselves they didn't sell any inside the standium, and pushed one another towards one of the stadium employees to ask. Brianna stepped towards her, anticipating a condescending scoff that said, “You stupid Americans...We don't sell inside the stadium!” Much to our relief, though, she happily pointed out the stand (next to the beloved beer counter) that sold the...wait for it...$170 jerseys. Now, Brianna and I both agreed we'd spluge on jerseys, but $170 for one item on one day in a five week trip was asking a bit much. In my beer-buzzed haze, I pointed to the cheapest t-shirt, handed over $25, and threw it on over my shirt. Finally I looked the slightest bit Australian. 

We got to our seats just as the game started, and for the next eighty minutes, devoured every tackle, every sprint, and every pass made by each team. The stands roared with cheers as the Broncos slid by the Sea Hawks, and exploded with “F*** you, ref” and “Manly sucks!” when a play favored the opposition. The Broncos managed to minimize the belligerent banter, and crushed the Sea Hawks 36-10. Part of me would've loved a closer, more competitive game, but, regardless, I'm a sucker for fast-pace, high-intensity sports (just look at my obsession with hockey), especially if a beer or two is involved.

Then we experienced the infamous Tim-Tams Nick had felt insulted that we hadn't tried yet. All I can say is that they are a whole lot of chocolate, as in a chocolate filled chocolate wafer covered in a chocolate ganache glaze. As someone who doesn't eat a lot of chocolate, I gobbled down three and still wanted more. 

The next morning, we grabbed the bus to the Lone Pine Sanctuary, where both of our Australian dreams would come true. We immediately flocked to the koala center with our passes in hand, and ooo-ed and aww-ed at the koalas sleeping in the trees adjacent to the photo area. When our time came, the trainer introduced the koala I was to hold as Kai Kai, and told me to hold my hands one on top of the other next to my belly. I smiled and laughed giddily as he placed Kai-Kai in my hands. He immediately latched his claws onto my shoulders and looked up into my eyes. His fur was nearly as soft as I had imagined, and was coarse and slightly dry. His nose looked like an enormous black, oval button, and his ears were like tiny half moons with white rays spewing outwards. Brianna and the photographers snapped plenty of pictures until Kai-Kai turned around towards the trainer with wide eyes that longer for his adoptive father. Needless to say, my life ambition to hold a koala was complete. I mean, it was Facebook official within two hours.

Next was Brianna's dream. We pushed the grey fence open with bags of food pellets in our hands, and entered a world of kangaroos and wallabies. All the kangaroos laid on their sides quite blasé and indifferent to the parades of humans, pigeons and ducks passing by; that is until someone held out a palm full of food in front of their faces. The red and grey kangaroos would lick the food slowly out of our hands, then turn away to gaze into the open space of their enclosure until we produced more. The younger kangaroos and the wallabies, though, would hop towards us and paw at our hands with their short, scrawny arms. One even held onto my hand with both of his as he ate, hoping I would never leave. Brianna was in heaven, especially when she managed to (half) hug one of the younger kangaroos that followed her for at least ten minutes. Her smile in the picture may seem posed and exaggerated, but was really candid and only a fraction of her true, explosive excitement at her new friends.

The rest of the day we saw more koalas, exotic birds, dingos (which we learned are identical to dogs but are actually Australia's largest carnivore!), lizards, Tasmanian devils and a platypus (which are in fact very, very small and love to constantly swim without a break in pace). We hopped on the bus back to our hostel in Brisbane, hauled our packs onto our backs, and trekked to the Greyhound Station for the bus to Byron Bay. After only four days in cities, we were ready for swimsuits, sand and surf.