Author: These Two Eyes

These Two Eyeshttp://www.thesetwoeyes.comI believe that experiences are the key to life and travelling shapes those experiences. I try and get away to experience somewhere, something, anything and everything new as often as I can, and it's typically the thought on my mind on a regular basis – so what’s next? Meeting people and hearing their stories, experiencing other cultures, and having a laugh along the way. Trying new food, marvelling at the similarities, the differences. Feeling anxious and scared, and excited and envious all at the same time. This is what it's all about. Thanks for listening to my stories. Eat, drink, explore, meet, laugh...it all makes living worth it.
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It is hot, hot, hot.


Each day during low tide as the sea drifts away from the mainland masses of tourists rush to the coastline. A shovel can be rented from the small general store for the sole purpose of pitching it deep into the sand, then chucking the fine grains over your shoulder, digging deeper and deeper until the water starts to rise from the ground. When it does, watch out, because it’s hot baby!

Welcome to Hot Water Beach, located on the east coast of the Coromandel Peninsula, New Zealand. Within two hours on either side of low tide, the water beneath the sand turns into hot pools, creating an exciting phenomenon drawing tourists and local families each day.

Before arriving I wasn’t sure what to expect. Really, what was all the fuss about? But as I walked from the car park to the beach, then rounded the corner to the left passing the large rocks forming off of the cliffs I was amazed to see the plethora of people. Many had already dug their pool and were sitting soaking in the geothermal haven. Others proudly did the dirty work, connecting one pool to another then another so others could share the thrill.

Steam rose from various pockets across the small area on the beach where the inquisitive visitors gathered. We only had 5 spades between 15 of us, so I let the boys do the digging. As I stood around, feeling a bit guilty and quite lazy, a Canadian girl from the group had struck gold on the far side of the beach and was sitting in a pool abandoned by its creators. I ran over, cautious not too draw too much attention to our sweet find, but to my ignorance was shocked as I stepped from the sand into the small pool.

Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch! Perhaps they should rename the beach Really Really Hot Water Beach. Man, in mere seconds of my feet touching the water, instantaneously I pulled them back, did a bit of a hop, skip sort of dance, and rushed them into the cool ocean which was less than a few feet away. After that I had my fair share and had lost interest in actually submerging my entire body into the pool, saving the few spots that were vacated for the more eager guests.

Past the masses lay a long stretch of empty beach. Carrying my flip flops in my hands, letting the scorch simmer in the refreshing ocean I walked along, spending a few moments to myself. As it began to turn dusk a few surfers made their way down the path and geared up for the evening swim. I positioned myself on the dunes, with the geothermal chaos to my right, the surfers paddling out in front of me, and endless beach to my left. Pretty neat little place.

Flashpacker Alert!


Slowly I’ve evolved into what can only be deemed as a flashpacker. It took 15 years of individual travel, nearly 30 countries, and a variety of food, accommodation and day tours but it was on my most recent trip over to the North Island of New Zealand that my flashpackerism came into full recognition.

Guilty Flashpacker

One part backpacker, sleeping in hostels, joining adventure tours, trekking solo through unchartered territory but also one part flash. Flashpackers have been described as independent backpackers who like to travel in style, according to the Sydney Morning Herald. Typically over the post-college buzz and have established careers which enable them to opt for alternative options. Put it this way, backpackers don’t habitually have options as it all revolves around the cheapest, which could also mean the longest route and unclean bed. I like having options.

I scanned the top shelf of my bedroom wardrobe contemplating which type of bag I should pack for my 10 day last minute trip over to New Zealand. A weekend over the shoulder bag would be too small, however packing my carry-on size Tumi wheelie would just scream flash, so as with my usual oversees trips I reached up and pulled down my backpack wheelie.

The backpack wheelie is the best invention on earth. You see, most backpackers typically travel for extended amounts of time with everything they own within that time allotment strapped onto their back. I’ve gone one step further, and made the decision 3 years ago before my trip to Thailand to purchase myself a backpack for the same convenience factor however mine comes with wheels. Genius. The thing with traveling is you never know before arriving if you will spend nonsensical amounts of time wandering around trying to figure out which way to go, can’t check in to accommodation for multiple hours, have inconvenient flight times, etc. so I never bring more than what I know that I can personally carry, and the flexibility of the backpack wheelie makes it even more suitable for all terrains.  There’s nothing worse than that friend who brings the BIG suitcase that they can’t maneuver up and down stairs, or drag around cobblestone streets in Italy’s small nooks and crannies. Don’t be that friend.

Arriving in Auckland my first decision to make was to get from the airport to downtown. With cabs costing around the $60 mark, I wasn’t too proud to opt for the $16 airport bus into the city. With luck a friend was in town on business so I was able to take full advantage of her company perks as well, and checked into the 2-story suite at Hotel De Brett, a 25 room luxury boutique hotel for two nights.  The extravagance of someone else’s work expense account meant that we could dine at renowned Ponsonby restaurant SPQR at night while visiting the wineries of Waiheke Island by day.

Saratoga Vineyard, Waiheke Island

But then the weekend arrived and it was time to move on. We rushed out of the hotel doors to discreetly meet Adventure Tours out front of Nomad’s hostel for our trip up to the Bay of Islands. On the 4 hour journey up north we stopped in Parry Kauri to hug a giant Kauri tree, Warkworth for breaky at a cafe, Goat Island  to snap some photos of gorgeous scenery, Whangarei for lunch, then to the famous Hundertwasser toilets in Kawakawa before arriving in Paihia. Once in Paihia our lovely guide was on a mission to find cheap eats for the night, but truthfully my friend and I wanted to relax, have a glass of wine and a decent meal so we opted to refrain from the group dining to treat ourselves to exactly that.

Kauri Tree hug

But oh how quickly the tables turned. After dinner we found ourselves in line for entry at the various backpacker bars in town, scoring cheap drinks and chatting with other friendly travelers before I tucked myself comfortably in to the top bunk of Salt Water Lodge hostel’s shared dorms. When responding to the tour guide’s question regarding where we ended up finding food the previous night she replied smugly, “Oh, the posh place.” Looks like we’re not off to a great start.

The next day however had us in full on adventure mode, after taking in the scenic Bay of Islands on the Dolphin Discoveries boat, in which we encountered heaps of dolphin pods, in addition to hyperactive school children, and then spent the night in cabins on Urupukapuka Island. There were less than 20 people who stayed on the island for the night which gave it a sense of a sleep away camp (something I was never fond of as a child). After a full day of hiking, kayaking, and soaking up the sun we had a lovely group dinner of fish and chips, and sat around sharing stories and sipping wine from the much appreciated bar.

Urupukapuka Accomodation, #14

It’s time to travel back to Auckland and the tour guide wants to know which hostel to book us in. Fortunately for us, or should I be more specific and say lucky me, we had one more night in Auckland on my friend’s expense account which meant a stopover at The Langham, another 5 star gem.  She even opted for the upgrade, which meant complimentary drinks and canapés in the Club Lounge.

The next morning it was time for me to move on and take on the next seven days of the North Island by myself, well, under the – can you even call it – supervision of Stray Travel, another backpacker tour company. Luckily it’s filled with mostly single travelers as well. Here’s the difficult part though, getting on the bus at 7 am after a night of fine wine in the Club Lounge had me feeling a bit hairy, but first impressions count, especially when I’m in dire need to make some friends for my next week-long adventure, so it was all smiles downing bottle after bottle of water.

As I built relationships with various travelers from the UK, Germany, Brazil, Canada, India…it dawned on me how unprepared I was for this trip. I was initially meant to be in Fiji and my head was still a bit in full on island mode – especially when I packed at 10 pm the night before my flight. I hadn’t mentally put myself in backpacker gear, and it slowly sunk in when I realized…they all have proper hiking boots… we’re in New Zealand…my Toms and flip flops will not cut it in this terrain. They have waterproof jackets…it’s raining…my pocket sized checkered Totes umbrella will not withstand this wind. They all have fleeces…its winter…my one pair of jeans and black hoodie will not be fresh by the end of this! Flashpacker alert.

Being economical while backpacking for weeks on end, most travelers cart around food in a reusable grocery bag after making a stop every few days at the grocery store. So, before arriving in the famous surf town of Raglan (a home to muscian Jack Johnson and featured in the film Endless Summer), our driver Oskar, aka Mud, stopped the bus at a large shopping center and told us we have twenty minutes if we want to pick anything up for lunch or dinner. Sure…so I hop out, as usual aimlessly wander around the store feeling anxiety over what I can buy that will cause me no effort to consume, and walk away with two apples and box of cereal bars. As we make our way away from town towards our accommodation Oskar tells us about the great place we are staying, Karioi Lodge, how it has both beach and mountain views, a famous surf school, and more or less, we’re set deep into the bush so if anyone wants to participate there will be trivia happening that evening as there’s not much else to do.

Um…like the bush, bush? Like the middle of nowhere, far removed from town? Hmmm, I kind of was hoping to take myself out for some sushi tonight, yeah, but all I have here is this apple. Yes, that bush! I made my way over to reception to kindly inquire if there were any shuttles going into town anytime that evening but the receptionist curtly replied that there were no more shuttles that day. So I went over to Oskar to inquire if he had any need to go into town. He looked at me, as I chomped away on my apple, and said, “Don’t tell me all you have to eat is that apple!” “It’s true!” I said. And so he asked, “Well, what do you normally do, what do you normally eat?” And I said, “Well, secretly I’m not a backpacker!”

Oskar takes me to town

Oskar gave in and took me to town, and better yet, I convinced him that I’ll buy the food if he cooks it. Win-win I tell ya. I learned my mistake from then on, and always bought extra snacks just in case!

There’s a reason why I straddle this double life, enjoying the luxuries that I’m fortunate enough to afford however crave the experience of what you encounter when it’s just about simplicity. There’s no need to talk work, or petty drama, or bills. It’s just experiencing great company, amongst beautiful scenery and endless opportunity. I’m just nervous for when I get too old for it to stay this way and I have to give up the backpacker part of the flashpacker.

Taking it all in.

Put It On The List


Thesetwoeyes.com was recently featured in Bucket List Publications. An exciting day for me, but as I got to thinking I wanted to return the favor and give BLP a proper shout out. You see, Leslie Carter turned what was once her travel blog into a publication that features other people dreams coming true, or what one would refer to as a their “Bucket List”.  Aside from taking submissions for articles, she also accepts submissions of bucket list requests, and works with donations to help conquer other people’s dreams.

Humph, a bucket list, ey. Now, my immediate thought was what kind of cool thing can I write about and ideally get for free. But then I realized, I’m not adventurous. I do not have sky diving, great white shark swimming, bungee jumping, river rafting, mountain climbing dreams on my horizon. I have respect for those who do, however let’s be realistic, I’m a huge wuss.

The thing is, lately I’ve been fairly content with my accomplishments. That’s not to say I don’t want more. I think the most difficult thing about traveling is knowing there is so much more you can do, so many more people you can meet, food to try, landscapes to see. I am not ungrateful for what I have already done mind you.

Once the travel bug bites it does not go away. Reading articles on Bucket List Publications makes me feel envious of those who write about safaris in Africa and treks through the Amazon. But I am too aware that others can say the same for my travels. That’s the hardest part. When you surround yourself with other travelers it’s all so every day. It’s easy to be less mindful that you are sharing experiences in a unique subset of society.

This past weekend I had casual conversations with a handful of people about Vietnam’s best travel spots. Vietnam did you say? I sure did. I could count on two hands people I’ve encountered in my life who swear up and down that Vietnam is a beautiful country, with rich history, culture, fabulous food and a price tag that would make you go, saaayyyy what? Cheap.

Telling your parents your spending thousands of dollars when you own not one item of value to your name to travel to Vietnam is like your child telling you in 20 years that they are vacationing in Iraq. See what I’m getting at?

So before I arrived on the continent of Australia you could say I had a “Bucket List” of things to accomplish. I’ve reached deep into my nightstand drawer to dust off my uhum journal from when I first arrived. I’ll tell you what it says, shhh.

  • New Zealand: Check
  • Uluru:
  • Melbourne: Check
  • Asia: Check
  • Quit Smoking: Check
  • Lose Weight: Check/Uncheck/Check/Uncheck
  • Byron Bay: Check
  • Western Australia:
  • Outback:
  • Friends: Check
  • Wineries: Check
  • Indonesia/Bali:

Looks like I’ve still got some work to do. But would I call these my official bucket list? Would I look back and have regrets for not booking the first flight to the middle of the country to climb a sacred red rock? Maybe a small amount.

So here I am again, ponder ponder, what do I truly desire, if I could go anywhere, try anything. And I think and I think and I come to the realization that, well, I want to live abroad; but I currently am. I want to live in London; I’ve done that twice. I want to travel the world; this year I will have reached 30 countries if I make it to South Africa in October. I want dear friends; I have plenty. I want a loving family; they love me too much.

So Leslie Carter, I guess as long as you keep publishing my blog posts while I’m lucky enough to actively live my bucket list I will be reading to see who’s dreams you’ve made come true and supporting it 100 percent with gratitude to you and envy of them.

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Living the dream. Stradbroke Island, Australia.

Wipe Out


They make it look so natural. Like it’s effortless to paddle yourself into a wave at the precise moment it begins to pick up momentum; then use all of your upper body muscles to stand, whilst balancing yourself and shifting your weight to the right proportions. Include a few sharp turns, 360 degree twirls and a flip in the air to top it all off before riding face first onto the shore to greet thousands of spectators applauding you and taking your photo.

The anticipation of who would be the 2012 Quiksilver Pro champion had been circulating in conversations on the Gold Coast for weeks. Kelly Slater, 11 time world champion, and at the ripe age of 40, was sensed to be the central cause of this. I read in Tracks, the official ASP (Association of Surf Professionals) tour guide that being able to say you’ve witnessed Kelly Slater surf is on the same par with saying you saw Ali fight. I’m unsure if this actually does carry that level of weight, however, I can at least say I saw it. Guess what though, he lost!

Today was the last day of the Quiksilver Pro, stop one of the ASP World Tour, held at Snapper Rocks on the Gold Coast. The past two weeks have been leading up to this day, with competitions going on between men, women (Roxy Pro) and grommets (children). The unfortunate weather of yesterday had everyone wondering if the semi-finals and finals would get pushed back, but thankfully this afternoon was full of blissful sunshine and surf.

Up until this morning the broadcasters would pepper Slater’s name into commentary, increasing the suspense amongst the crowd of when he would finally show. Loyal to their national surfers were the Aussies for big names like Taj Burrow, Joel Parkinson and Owen Wright along with Brazilians supporting Gabriel Medina and Adriano de Souza. Regardless of background though, no one would deny USA born Slater.

Brazilians

During the Pro the usually quiet beach town of Coolangatta becomes the hot ticket. Pop up stores line the beach along Snapper Rocks to include Quiksilver and Roxy merch, food stalls sell healthy snacks, and marketing sponsorships are evident in every crevice. During the evening those working behind the scenes come out to play at trendy nightspots like Komune and Neverland.

Another reason Coolly becomes a hot ticket? Because literally everyone is so damn hot! Beautiful, blond, and toned. Holy mother. Yeah, so when my feet were sinking into the sand and I wanted to rest I had plenty to rest my eyes on. Apparently surfing isn’t as effortless as I suspected. Whew.

I still refuse to go in the water past my knees, so my days of actually attempting to surf are limited. But, I would like to enviously congratulate Taj Burrow who just this afternoon received a check for $75,000 as the winner of the Quiksilver Pro.  Taj has never won a world title, however, this could be his year.

Scratch This


Listen all of y’all this is sabotage! Listen all of y’all this is sabotage! Apparently this popular Beastie Boys song was on repeat all day last Thursday at The Scratch, craft beer bar extraordinaire, in preparation for the Yeastie Boys event held that evening.

Spell Check is on mind you. That reads Yeastie Boys, the boutique New Zealand brewery specializing in taste bud exploding, nostril flaring nip.  Brew master Stu made a pit stop in good ole Brissy, somewhere he hasn’t been since the late 80’s, to share with us beer loving folk a tale or two to compliment his flavorful science experiments.

Now picture yourself in a basement. Start with four walls, hanging from are oddities like a horned animal skull set above an unpolished piano and an oversized old-school brass record player speaker cut in half. Now, in the far corner add in your grandmothers chez lounge, only it’s been in the garage unused for a few years. Then there is the green couch from your Aunt Myrtle’s tea room, complete with a plush velvet finish. A makeshift table is made from a solo snare drum; don’t tap too loud now. Toward the back of the room a miniature Asian table sits about two feet from the floor, with tiny chairs to go around it, to give your back an awesome hunch.

This is no basement. It sure feels like one to me though. You know, like where you hung out as a teenager sneaking beers and talking gossip with your friends. (Mine was actually a shed out back of a friend’s house, instead of underground but you get the point). The place gives you a sense of…I feel good, I’m with my friends, this furniture has seen its day, good times!

This is the best new bar to hit Brisbane, and of all unsuspecting suburbs, Milton. Upon walking in you’re greeted by what can only seem like old time buds, three dear friends who opened the place just a few months back, with a sampler of what’s on tap today. See that’s how it works here, there’s no fancy nitrogen tap system installed by big name distributers. The boys themselves wheel in the kegs of local microbrews from the alley out back, hook them up to one of the four taps, and when they go, they’re gone. Scratch one off the list and bring in another! I mean, that’s what the chalk board is for, right?

Clearly this is the new local for obvious reasons.

The Scratch

The boys were selling tickets to the Yeastie Boys event weeks in advance, and for $35 we couldn’t refuse their beer loving enticement.  The ticket included 5 healthy samples of Yeastie Boys offerings, including a surprise beer on the newly installed hand pump, in addition to a full crisp beer on arrival. Add to the fact that the boys were around making sure our complimentary shelled peanuts, a Scratch staple, we’re fully filled in between rounds of local cheeses being shared throughout the bar. They’re smart these boys, they’re cute too, but they’re damn smart.

The beer on arrival was the American style, super hoppy, Digital IPA from the tap, and so I was shocked when the first beer of the tasting was the Pot Kettle Black from a bottle. This delicious black IPA, or what others would describe as a hoppy porter, is Yeastie Boys’ biggest seller, bringing in 50% of sales. Mmmm, it’s fantastic, but why so dark so fast? What I had no idea in advance was that Stu himself had received hate mail in response to some of his brews being so alarmingly potent, and therefore, we were starting with the easy stuff. Yikes! I’m glad another advantage of this place is that you can bring in outside food, and with the number of takeaway joints lining Park Road, arriving early to snag a seat and munch down on some Thai was a good choice.

A quick rinse of our glasses and we moved on to the Red Rackham, named after the first movie Stu took his son to go see, which was a fruity Belgian style. You’ll notice a theme of pop culture reference to many of the brew’s names. This was a limited release, and more or less only exists because the wrong yeast was added to an already established beer they were trying to brew, however in the end they got this. Muah, it’s good. Stu tells us New Zealander brewers are more experimental then Australians. As he said this statement, I looked around the crowded bar as I was curious if anyone had taken offense.

Stu from Yeastie Boys telling us what we need to know

In between nibbles of goat cheese, oh my gosh, I question people who don’t know the value in a delicious goat cheese; we transitioned to His Majesty 2011. Served out of a magnum bottle, only one batch of both His and Her Majesty are brewed a year, and His is a more traditional, English IPA, more mild then the American style IPAs that tend to lean heavily on the hops.

It’s about time to get serious. And I mean serious. Up until this very moment, even the boys at The Scratch didn’t know what the mysterious beer in the hand pump was. It was about to be revealed, and I was a bit apprehensive. Whew, thank god the fresh Brie made its way around because holy tomato! All of 50 patrons, which is 10 people less than capacity mind you, however fit into the bar quite comfortably, lined up at the tap to get their taste of Rex Attitude. Even at first pour the smell, whew, the smell, made its way around the bar. To quote dear friend Jacqui, “if a hospital tasted like beer, it would taste like this”.

Aged for 12 months in a chardonnay barrel, the beer itself was only 7% alcohol however is made from 100% pure peated malts. It’s definitely an acquired taste. Interestingly enough though, the final beer of the night was the Imperial Rex; still had the potent, medicinal touch however was more drinkable, at least to me. It was obvious that the two were so intense, yet different enough from each other, that typically one will have a clear preference of one over the other. I think my nostrils still have that stench lingering on them.

The Outcome

So that was it, another great evening at The Scratch and a successful event that has inspired more like it to come. For those that could actually swallow down the Rex Attitude they were encouraged to drink the keg dry, awesome for them. I just can’t wait to see what gets put on the hand pump next. It took longer then I would have liked, but am damn happy to have found a place to call my local.

Born in the USA


Sometimes I’m cautious when I speak. The complexities of responding to innocent, and what one would think are common questions, is overwhelming. You’d be surprised by how troubling this could be; speaking out loud.

I was at a bar I frequent called Black Bear Lodge a few months back during a local music festival. I stood at the bar, debated the two beer taps, then the red verses the white. The music came to a lull between sets and I just hung there for a minute. A nice gentleman standing next to me began to make conversation.

“Hey, how you going?” That’s Australian for, what’s up, or how are you. He was a Kiwi though. That’s slang for New Zealander. Regardless, I think the “how you going” is common language. Tomato Tomato.

“Hi”, I responded.

“Have you seen them before?” (Referring to the band.) “Nah”…

“Are you in the industry?” An appropriate question considering the evening was part of the Big Sound conference. “Nope…”

So right when I thought things were getting quite awkward due to my one word responses, BOOM!

“So where in North America are you from?”

Seriously?! Seriously?! One word responses, was not in the mood, thought I could trick you. Ahhh, he’s good.

So this is where it begins to get even fiddlier. Perhaps if you’re a fellow comrade from New Jersey you can relate, however, for those who aren’t you will begin to see how this question could potentially have one debate their very existence.

A typical response could be, and get ready:

New Jersey; South Jersey; Philadelphia; New York; New Jersey just outside of Philadelphia; New Jersey/New York; or even just New York , but then I get “what part?” and that’s when I respond “the Jersey part”; or “like New York, New York?”, and I say “just across the river from Manhattan.”

Whew, see what I mean? Complications. Now you may be asking yourself, what’s with all the fluff? Again, I bring you back to the statement two sentences up; perhaps this is something that someone who’s only lived in both North and South Jersey can attest to. Here we go…

It basically comes down to who’s asking. I wouldn’t expect a non-Australian resident to be familiar with every state or city in this country, so it really depends on who’s asking about mine. If I assume they’re going to go the Jersey Shore route, I avoid the word “Jersey” at all costs. Then there’s the whole phony “joysy” nonsense if I do decide to speak the word, and I normally respond with, yeah, because clearly that’s how I talk. The whole Jersey Shore fiasco, have I been there? Is it really like that? Are your friends like “the Situation”? My response is, I grew up going to the jersey shore, however it’s not like that, but that does exist.

I feel like I’m back in college in Baltimore, or should I be more specific to avoid any further confusion, Towson, MD, defending the fact that I’m from South Jersey, not North Jersey and they’re totally two different worlds! Anyone can tell you that. But that was also at a time that anything north of Trenton was considered North Jersey and all of Central Jersey got left out of the equation all together.

Then I moved North. I think I wrote a blog about it back when MySpace was still an active medium of communication, and that was when I first moved to <insert relative excuse for living in North Jersey>, I’ll be more specific, Hoboken, that I felt inspired to write about that fact that yes, I actually now live in North Jersey. Perhaps you don’t feel the impact yet.

Let me clarify. South Jersey is where people who support Philadelphia sports teams live. Suburbia is filled with summers “down the shore”, but to be more exact, the Atlantic City to Cape May coastline. South Jerseyians eat cheese steaks while watching the Phillies, get hoagies from Wawa before going to concerts in Camden, the 2nd most dangerous city in the whole country, and get fresh produce from roadside farm stands. In South Jerseyian eyes, North Jersey folk speak with funny accents only seen in TV, they’re filled with muscled up Guido’s, and support New York Sports teams, the enemy. I will admit that some of the above is stereotypical, and some of the above is also reality. These worlds are vastly different, and both think the other has it all wrong. This is coming from a state whose population is a bit under 9 million however you can drive the distance top to bottom in less than 5 hours.

Having newly famous, thank you reality TV, Cake Boss’ Carlos Bakery a block from my office and the birthplace of Frank Sinatra under my doorstep (not literally) didn’t help my cause. And get this; rumors are that the Jersey Shore cast is coming to Jersey City – stop ruining it for us all, please!

Now, I’d like to disclaim that I’m not saying I’m not “proud” of growing up in New Jersey. I had a fun filled childhood in middle class suburbia on a street with a kid around the same age in every house on the block and summer nights spent playing jailbreak, however, what I am left with while traveling the globe is the sour taste of the only association with the word Jersey is Jersey Shore; Philadelphia, poor sportsmanship; and New York, tourist haven Time Square. For example, I just Googled the statements “Jersey”, “Jersey quotes” and “famous New Jersey phrases” to be inspired for a title for this blog, and the first two pages of entries were specific to the show Jersey Shore. See what I’m getting at? What happened to Bruce Springsteen and Bon Jovi people?

So the conversation will typically start like this: Where are you from? And, to keep it simple before all of the above comes in to play, it’s a darn hard task of responding awkwardly “America”, “the US”, or “the States”. Regardless of which association I choose, I am undoubtedly greeted with, “Well obviously, but which part?” Yes, my accent usually gets me brownie points.  I’m just grateful when I don’t get the “Oh, I thought you were Canadian”, because, don’t get me started there.

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I’m only happy when it rains


Oh, the rain! Rain rain rain. It’s almost painful without being touched. For the past handful of nights I lay with my window open, falling asleep to the mad rush of rain pellets against the roof, the windows, the pavement, slashing against the trees, car tires screeching, sirens blaring, running water rising higher in the corners of the streets; it’s almost a constant whipping sound. I just think to myself, dear god, not the floods.

I arrived back from the US a mere two weeks ago and immediately the cabbie was reminding me that it is officially one year since “the floods” as it is most commonly referred to.

I can tell you exactly what I was doing this time last year as the water peaked at 14.6 feet in Brisbane city. I was sitting in another city who just years before fought a very similar devastating battle, New Orleans. In between po boy sandwiches and late night shenanigans on Bourbon Street, mixed amongst all day work meetings of course, it was confirmed that I would be moving to Brisbane pending visa approval. Sold on a city that was under water.

And so I’ve returned from a 3 week work/holiday stint in New York ready to take on summer full swing, but I’m met with the damn road block of constant rain! I’ll give it to you straight.

Big Day Out

Big Day Out is a multi-city all day festival. It has a reputation of being for those youngins because it’s a 15+ show, however when I saw the lineup I said myself, of all the new music I’ve exposed myself to the 7 months I’ve been here, how can I deny myself a hard core rage to My Chemical Romance and a nostalgic sing along with long time idol Noel Gallagher? Cleary impossible. So I paid the $175 to go.

I arranged for my Sunday best. I braided my hair the evening before to result in perfect crimps, I removed the packing from my shinny new fanny pack (which have I mentioned has a whole different conotation here?), and I pulled up my socks to the knees and stepped into my gum boots (uhum rain boots). I then knocked on new roomie Kelvin’s door, a manager at a top of the line fashion distributor, to get confirmation that my attire was suiting. What I received in response was a huge laugh. I defended myself stating, perhaps you don’t know I dress for comfort and convenience, over style. So off I went.

I arrived at Roma Street bus station, where I pre-purchased a round trip bus fair to save myself or others the inconvenience of organizing transportation, amongst the plethora of 16 years olds attending the show. I caught my reflection in the mirror and thought two things, holy shnikes my outfit does not look good in one bit, and secondly, am I getting a rush of being too old for this? Shnikes is right! Luckily the bus ride was calm and quiet.

I arrived a good 1.5 hours before my friends so opted for some lunch, a decent scope of the arena, and a first up jam out to the Medics, an unique Aussie indigenous band who’s bassist rocks out like no one I’ve ever seen, seriously! After a quick stop off at Calling All Cars and the Cairo’s my friends have finally arrived and we tango’d with some heavy metal sooo not my speed before I removed my gum boots to relax to California natives Best Coast.

Jacqui and I at BDO

I secretly (I think I just changed the secrecy aspect of it all)  just went to the show for two reasons, amongst some other decent acts I wouldn’t mind having on my score card (Foster the People, Kasabian, Kimbra, Architecture & Helsinki and more), but ideally, it was a hard core rock out to My Chemical Romance and a nod and shake to Noel Gallagher and the High Flying Birds. But holy what, MCR was a disappointment! I’ve seen their shows in London, New York and Philadelphia and they are always a literal pee-in-your-pants raging good time. But on the Gold Coast this energy was low and sound quality bad. I thought it was just them but as I danced my way to Kasabian it was the same, nooooo way, this crowd should be rocking out to this way harder despite the downpour, but no avail.

So when my friends waited in the pouring down rain for Kayne West I walked away to see Noel G, shuffled myself to the second row from the stage and it all came rushing back. I was 13 again belting out Oasis B-sides, known classics, and the good stuff from his new album. Here he was, Noel Gallagher mere meters (whatever that is in feet) from my face. And after all the rain (yes, my gum boots finally came in handy), and after all the running from stage to stage, this was it, just me, myself and I, raging out to Noel Gallagher, my teen idol, and taking the bus back to Brissy with a huge yawn and smile on my face. Yeah, yeah. It may never go away.

Noel Gallagher

Say It Ain’t So


The existence of tomato sauce flavored chips is about as foreign to me as tomato sauce flavored chips. Gross! Apparently lots of things come in tomato sauce, aka ketchup, flavor.

I just found this new delicious restaurant slash craft beer bar not too far from my apartment called Bitter Suite. Beers are awesome, and expensive, and awesome. Yum Sunshine Coast Brewery Porter! Also, the food ain’t too shabby. Pork belly with succulent crackle, mmm whah (like a smack on the tip of your fingers). I just returned from there. Love that the owner recognized me and my love for Porter’s from a few weeks back. Yeah girlfriend.

I fly to New York in less than one week from today. I was hoping my killer tan would impress everyone, I’m not sure if it’s so killer anymore. I was told to not forget my roots when inquiring about how freezing the temperature actually is. Damn’it, its freezing! Back to the beach. Not sure if I can squeeze a last minute sesh in, however would like to point out that the last two occasions I was at the beach, my bathing suit bottoms, known in Aussie slang as togs, were on inside out. Twice! Yes, twice I’ve been lazily tanning and minding my tanning business to have someone point out, “Oh hey dude, you know your bottoms are on inside out!” Uh…twice, really?!?!

There is a rule many folk may be familiar with which states “no shirt, no shoes, no service”. I would like to tell you that that rule does not apparently apply in Australia. No shirt, no problem. Boys don’t wear shirts, a lot. Actually, if they do, it’s probably a singlet, which is what they call a tank top. Which I hear only Californian surfer boys wear, and FYI no one on the US East coast would ever be caught dead in. There is also a tendency to not wear shoes. Like a lot, again. Most often I see this in grocery stores. Service is all of a different standard, so no problem.

I’m back in time a bit, but as the much anticipated Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part I was released, I was pleasantly entertained at the Blue Room Cinebar in Rosalie, a cute suburb crawling with eateries of all cuisine and alfresco seating, displaying much cuteness in every direction (apparently I’m not one with words this evening). Anyways, Blue Room, tickets cost an appreciated $11 in advance, they have a swinging bar to socialize in before the show, and you order bevies and food prior to taking your assigned seat in the small 50 person theatre and they feed you as you watch the movie. Another wine? Press the button and it magically appears while I stare into Edward Cullen’s dreamy eyes and imagine running my hands through his bouffant.

In the US there is this fabulous reality TV show called Beauty and the Geek where they pair “beauties” of super hot chicks who aren’t meant to be fairly intellectually challenged with even the basics of life, with a “geek” who has most likely never a kissed a girl and is unaware of pop culture phenomenon’s. Heaven must love TV series creators! They were smart enough to run Season 2 of Beauty and the Geek Australia, thank G, and although it has expired I had intentions of blogging about its addictive nature months ago, as the Geeks got sweet makeovers and all the sudden turned hot. Just saying, download that for some amusing entertainment, hello Gilly!

Spike, the damn lizard who has lots of relatives that sprawl all over Brisbane, is technically a Goanna. Just thought everyone should know.

While working in Hoboken, New Jersey from 2007 to 2011 my local bar was called The Dubliner. It was an Irish pub that served awesome cole slaw till the management changed and annoyingly took the cole slaw off the menu. I would just say to Ben, the bartender, side of slaw and Yeungling please! And could sit there for hours. Things changed over the years, but that was the gist of it.

The “pub” next to my work now is called The Coro. There is no weekly Thursday HH (happy hour) like there was in Hoboken, but on the occasion that we do go there all bottled beers are only $5, even deliciousness like Leffe. The toilets are see-through until you press the lock, then it goes cloudy so people can’t see you doing your business. These are the vast differences of the Dubliner verses the Coro. I still secretly favor the Dubliner in the old days, where you could sit there with a pint of Guinness by yourself and listen to the Fratellis. Luckily a new boutique beer bar called Scratch just opened in the Milton neighborhood that may soon to be the Coro replacement.

I’m going to quote my friend Anthony who said at the Coro “I’m pretty sure Australia created the plastic currency that’s now used around the world, except in America because your money is made from paper.” Have a think about that.

Finding Nemo


If you’ve been to the Caribbean, a common pastime of east coasters, you may or may not know that there are about 40 species of fish you can encounter while snorkeling through its tropical blue water. The Great Barrier Reef has over 400. This made my odds of finding Nemo a lot more in his favor.

The GBR

Another fun fact: The Great Barrier Reef, or what I like to refer to as the GBR, is the only living thing that can be seen from space. It’s true.

Stinger season is in session!

One may perceive Cairns (pronounced ‘cans’), Queensland’s gateway to the GBR, to be filled with long sandy beaches and palm trees swaying amongst coconut groves. But interestingly enough, you cannot swim in Cairns. The beach is sanctioned off in the center of the city as the odds of getting stung by a jellyfish known as a stinger, or crossing paths with a saltwater crocodile, are high. Instead they built a manmade lagoon, with sand and palm trees and public toilets and the works, directly next to the ocean. It’s basically a big public pool with not as much of the skeevy jeevies that you would get in an inner city public pool because the sun is shining brightly and you’re looking at a beautiful ocean – the gateway to the GBR people.

The Lagoon in Cairns

The city of Cairns is a crossroads of tourist shops, tourist restaurants, and tour companies. It’s a town that thrives on tourism. It’s also a town full of backpackers. No trip would be complete without a night out a Gilligan’s, hostel slash club, with friends Diana and Sean who trekked all the way across the world from sunny Arizona and cold weather turning New York. Stepping out from the airport and into the lobby, flashbacks of being there exactly one year to the date got me excited for what was ahead.  I was in horror when I heard the Macarena played later on out on the patio bar, not because I’m a Cha Cha Slide advocate, but because who seriously plays the Macarena in 2011? It was nothing an inevitable stop off at Pie Face wouldn’t cure. We ended the night with Sean and I, what we thought was whispering, doing calculations of the time difference on his iPhone to set the alarm for the early rise to Port Douglas in the morning.

Gilligans, where class happens

So, although Cairns is characteristically the gateway to the GBR, recommendations from friends advised that because of the masses of tourists, the part of the reef most often visited from the Cairns jump off point is fairly damaged and less exotic. That just meant I could have an excuse to visit somewhere I haven’t been before, beautiful Port Douglas.

All the guide books say that Port Dougie is where the celebs and fancy pants rich people like to go. It’s also where laid back hippies and backpackers on no sort of time allotment go too. We didn’t fit into either of those categories however decided to journey the hour north, sandwiched between the coast on our right and the Daintree Rainforest on our left.

Arriving in Port Dougie I wasn’t sure what to expect. Strung along Four Mile Beach sit exclusive beach havens mixed amongst low budget rooms for rent. The town is a strip of high end restaurants serving fresh fish and relaxed pubs with cover bands. There are two gelaterias. There are also a handful of tourist shops and tour companies. Apparently back in the day Port Douglas used to be the biggest port that far north, now its Cairns. Regardless the whole vibe of the town screams relaxation station.

Four Mile Beach, Port Douglas

We pull in to Dougies, what a place. Firstly, they provide a free bus from Cairns all the way up the coast. They’re a five minute walk to the beach, and a twenty minute walk into town. On first impression I see people reading books in canvas hammocks hanging from palm trees, knapping on wooden beach recliners and cooling off from the scorching heat in the pool. We got escorted to our 3 person room, tv and air con a plus, and walk through the lounge where Jack Johnson plays in the background, the aroma from couples cooking lunch in the large kitchen fills the room, as a few young backpackers play Snooker in the corner while drinking $9 pitchers of beer. I decided at that moment that life was awesome.

For about $1 an hour we rented bikes from the friendly staff and rode fifteen minutes or so, away from town, to the Wildlife Habitat. Sean was on a mission to feed a kangaroo and damnit we were gonna see some roo! The combination of hangover, coupled with 90 degree heat, coupled with what I thought was going to be a leisurely bike ride turned strenuous,  had me on the verge of passing out. Luckily there was a cheap sausage sizzle happening at the grocery store next to the park. For those who don’t know what a sausage sizzle is, it’s basically sausages from the grill thrown in a piece of bread, and can often times be organized to raise money for charity or provide cheap eats. Right, Gatorade and sizzle, I’m ready to feed some roo.

Entry to the Wildlife Habitat costs a steep $32 but we deemed it worth it since we booked a cheaper snorkel trip for the following day. Plus, this was Sean and Diana’s one shot to see a live kangaroo and Koala. We arrived just in time for the Koala presentation where we learned heaps, a very commonly and overused Australian slang for “lots of”, information about the cute creatures. Yes, they bite. Yes, they are known for getting Chlamydia, and yes they are native to Australia because they only eat Eucalyptus, which is poisonous too them if they intake too much. So much for “cute”.

Diana meets Koala

After the Koala presentation we stuck around to pet a baby crocodile while learning about the key differences of that and the American alligator. Considering saltwater crocs have been known to be found in the ocean from time to time, I inquired about who would win a croc-shark showdown. May the bigger man win it seems, however, put one of each equally qualified in a tank and then let’s see what goes down.

The layout of the place was well organized, as were the animal presentations, so when we took our bag of roo feed over to the grasslands area to see the little hopping guys in action, boy were we surprised! Firstly, attack of the birds! Holy moley, these birds knew when we opened the gate that people meant food, and with that, these birds meant business. Next thing I knew I was on one side of the park avoiding the masses while Diana and Sean were on the other. I found myself face to face with the largest kangaroo I’ve ever seen, and he just stood there, for a long long time. He must have been 4 foot high. He was definitely alive, but he didn’t move much.  He was either as zoned out as the hippies who frequent Port Douglas, or was just as much trying to avoid the annoying birds as I was.

The largest Kangaroo in the world!

After a chilled out evening and early rise, I was finally ready to go find Nemo. We booked our snorkel and intro dive tour on Calypso, one of the popular tour companies in the area. Rushing to get prime seating of reclining chairs on the top deck, we lubed up on sun screen as we headed an hour and half so away from mainland into the outer reef.  Sean and Diana bravely attempted their first ever scuba dive down to the bottom of the coral floor, while I contemplated way too long to wear a wetsuit before nervously jumping in to snorkel solo until they returned. We stopped at two more reef sites where I saw amazing things like giant clams the size of a small child, coral in every color of the rainbow, and most excitingly, a sea turtle! He just was super chilled out as he swam his way past our group and let us follow him along the reef.  I have to give Calypso props for their professionalism on the water, knowledge base of the reef, and beer selection for the ride home.

Calypso and the GBR

We had another quick wander through town just as the sun was setting and the bats started to come out for the bat party. Now, there are bats here in Brissy, I see them from my balcony, but up in Cairns and Port Dougie there is a serious bat coven happening. Right at dusk and dawn you will begin to hear them screeching, tons of them, and if you look up the sky just swarms with them – all on their way to the bat party I suppose.

There’s a serious bat problem in these parts

To add to the odds of random things we encountered all weekend, freakishly tall roos and bat parties included, with exhaustion from the sun we decided to pick up some pizzas and have a quiet one in the lounge. To our surprise, as the place was crawling with backpackers who apparently didn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon, we had assumed the kitchen was equipped with an oven. Nope. Its 7 pm on a Sunday night, we’re in Australia, we’re in very rural Australia, our options of things being open are slim to none. Time to improvise.

Sean attempts to cook the pizza in a frying pan over the stove. I slice bread and serve it out of a spaghetti strainer. Diana mixes salad into a soup pot. We have one fork to share. As the pizza cooks we notice the invisible ants that seem to be crawling everywhere in the place. A cockroach shimmies across the counter. We pour salsa in a pot lid to dip our chips in. Don’t worry, this $9 pitcher round is on me. But the big question is should I have it with the delicacy of pepperoni and ants or cheese and mosquito? Mmm, exquisite.

Fine Dining

So after reading this whole long big entry your insides must be screaming, but did you ever see Nemo? I did, I saw him, a few of him actually and of bunch of other amazingly looking fish. I went to bed Sunday evening spraying around my bed with insect repellent and journeyed back to Cairns the next day to hang by myself at the lagoon while Diana and Sean drove down to the Whitsundays.  It was a weekend I expected to just be a quick fling to the GBR but in the end it turned out to be a true a vacation, alas.

I’ve got! I’ve got!


I’m staring into the face if a 250 lb pound man. He’s running toward me at top speed. He wiggles to the left, then the right really fast but I just stand there and stare back. Touch. He has to stop and walk over the ball. I run backwards 10 meters thinking to myself, those shorts are pretty short for a big scary man.

This is my Monday night routine for the next 17 weeks. We’re the Milton Magic, a mixed touch rugby (football) team. I’m in it for the cute jerseys. Maybe the boys too. Also was feeling pressure to obtain that Australian hobby I’ve been promising myself and I’ve just hit my 6 month mark so needed to get cracking. Oh, and frankly, it’s fun!

I’ve got ponytail! I’ve got yellow shorts! I’ve got the big one? The scary looking one? No, you can’t say that, keep it polite when you’re screaming who you’re covering while running around like maniacs for quick 20 minute halves.

We’ve played 3 games to date and haven’t won one yet, but I swear we’re getting better. I haven’t scored a try aka goal and don’t see that in my near future, however I feel proud of learning a new sport and getting out there all team spirit and rah rah. Plus, it was a good excuse to buy new pair of sneakers from the Adidas store. Fellow Americans – I call to you – are you aware that we are apparently the only people in the world who pronounce Adidas as Uh-dee-dis as opposed to Ah-de-dahs? Humph, thanks for making me the laughing stock English teacher!

I would love to explain all the rules but will spare you the ignorance as well as love to give you the fine details of the differences between rugby league, rugby union, Aussie rules, and touch – can you believe there are so many types of rugby here! However, frankly, my eyes only see big men vs. lean men, touches vs. tackles, kicks vs. backwards throws etc. I’d say the hardest part for me is remembering to run backwards, not forwards! Whew.

Since I’m in the wild world of sports I’d also like to comment on my attendance at the Brisbane Bandits vs. Sydney Blue Sox in the ABL (Australian Baseball League) – what a joke. Played in Brissy at the RNA Show Grounds turned baseball diamond, the seats were empty, the food stalls Japanese, and the commentators American. Oh the classic American pastime brought a slight sense of reminisce but only a slight. For this one I was in it for the beer. And maybe the boys again. I’ll give the league credit for trying though. Between each pitch a small clip of the Cha Cha Cha slide “everybody clap your hands” was on repeat. They must have known it’s my classic dance party jam.

And you wonder why I was so bitter at being dubbed Sporty Spice when portraying members of the iconic group in our youth.

The true Brisbane Bandits