Way, Way Down Under: Tasmania

Alisa and I took a trip to Tasmania to visit my friend Morag. I met Morag while I was teaching in Tokyo ten years ago. I have thought about her a lot recently. When I met her in Japan I was fresh out of ZooMass, or, as some people like to call it, The University of Massachusetts. I was constantly trying to figure out where the hip kids hung out. Morag, who was a few years my senior, told me one night that she had to leave a bar because it was too loud and she had no place to sit. This sounded preposterous to my 23 year old ears. I was convinced that tired feet and loud music would never inspire me to make it an early night. Boy, was I wrong. For the last couple of years, ample seating has been one of my number one requirements in a nightspot.

When we arrived at the Hobart International Airport I began to wonder if Morag and I would recognize each other. Ten years is sorta a long time. People gain weight and change their hair color. I was afraid we might be the victims of some embarrassing I had no idea it was you because you look absolutely nothing like you used to episode. Luckily, when Morag and her manfriend Pete arrived to pick us up I spotted her easily from about 30 feet away since she looked exactly the same. We soon began chatting and it seemed as if we still liked each other as well, another stroke of good luck.

Morag and Pete were fantastic hosts and showed us around Hobart. They took us to the best place to get fish and chips by the water, told us how to get to the art cinema, introduced us to a friend's mother who told us about how she had been bitten by a Rottweiler and one week later the Rottweiler died, and served us delicious after dinner drinks. I was reminded of how cool Morag was which made me think that maybe I wasn't a complete idiot at 23 if she had agreed to hang out with me.

Alisa and I took a boat to Bruny Island off the coast of Hobart. We took the cheapest tour which was run by two very old men who served us a lunch of two boiled potatoes, cold cuts, and cheap wine. During the ride we learned that the Princess of Denmark was born in Tasmania [she met the Prince of Denmark at a bar in Sydney which tells me that I'm definitely doing the wrong thing when I go to bars since I've met zero princes in one recently] and saw some penguins. It was a pretty nice afternoon.

Also during our visit, Morag and Pete were nice enough to take is on a drive along the coast to Port Arthur. This was where one of the first Penal Colonies in Australia was built when Tasmania was called Van Diemen's Land. It seemed like it must have been a pretty no fun place. Some of the inmates had been sent there for pretty small crimes and had no hope of ever getting back home. It was, however, extremely beautiful.

Morag and Pete also took us to the top of Mount Wellington. It was actually nice to get to wear a jacket and hat after sweating all the time for the past four months. We even saw a tiny bit of snow. I realize that this might not sound too exciting to everyone back east who just had a blizzard. However, it didn't really seem like Christmas with none of the white stuff around.

Morag and Pete

I was confused when I saw these dolls at a gift shop in Hobart because I was pretty sure that Al Joleson inspired dolls would no longer be cool for little kids to play with. Morag told me that they are a traditional Australian doll called "Wollygogs" that are based on a popular series of children's books. Apparently, they are not racist. However, they were removed from all stores in Sydney before Oprah's arrival. I guess the Australians had some doubt that Oprah would be a big fan of them. I have a feeling they may have been on to something. I think I have finally found something on which Oprah and I can agree.

Morag and Pete were basically the best hosts ever and Alisa and I are hoping that they plan a trip to the States so we can return the favor and show them around Brooklyn and LA. We wouldn't be able to show them such dramatic and gorgeous scenery, but we could certainly introduce them to some burritos and bad attitudes.

Before I left, my friend Ali Wells suggested that I should try to show someone my Map of Tassie while in Hobart. What a fresh thing! Alas, it was not that kind of trip. [I would be lying if I had not contemplated the fact that I would be surrounded my fellows who were not half my size for a short time while on this trip. I will not go into details surrounding why a Muslim jungle is on some levels not them best match for a lady in her 30s whose uterus has begun to try and take over her brain out of respect for my readers with more delicate sensibilities.]

However, this is the only kind of Tasmanian Devil I encountered on my trip:

Luckily, this is not a problem. Before I left for Australia my Auntie June [who is not really my auntie, but my best friend's mom and my mom's best friend] asked me what I wanted her to send me for Christmas. I told her what I wanted her to wrap up and send me was a smart, funny, handsome youngish man to hang out with me in Borneo. This way I could have someone to take on dates to Pizza Hut and french kiss. He should be waiting on my doorstep covered in festive wrapping paper and a big red bow by the time I get back to Samarinda. I sure hope she packed him enough snacks for the long trip and poked some air holes in the box.

For Christmas I had an Animal Party

This is a picture of Tootsie. She is probably the only animal I have ever liked. Every time I go to visit my friend Carley, I want Tootsie on my lap. If she sits on another lap, I start to feel jealous. I volunteer to take her for walks and give her baths. I talk to her. I have never acted this way around any animal. It might be because Tootsie is more like a stuffed animal with a heartbeat than a dog. She doesn't bark. She doesn't even move around too much. She hates going to the dog park and often has to be carried home. Tootsie likes to rest and watch television. She is a dog I can relate to. I also like my friend Matt's dog Toby. He is a hotdog dog and a very good lap warmer when Matt's house is chilly.

I used to try to pretend that I didn't hate most dogs, or that I had some sort of affection for cats. However, this was pretty much a lie. I tried to hide it for a while because I thought it made me seem cold and mean. In the end, there was no point. I couldn't fool anybody. I'm a terrible liar and there was no way to disguise the fact that I am just not an animal person. I don't like the way they smell and I don't like animal hair on my clothes. I don't usually want them on my lap and I certainly don't want them to lick my face.

My feelings were not improved by the fact that my parents' dog tried to eat my sister a few Christmases ago. I'm pretty sure that if she had not been wearing her Uggs, she would have lost a foot. It seemed to prove every negative thought I'd ever had about dogs. They are not actually your best friend or loyal companion. They are wild animals that might attack you if the mood strikes them. I have never wanted a pet that might try to eat me. Tootsie and Toby don't have the size or energy for that sort of thing, which is one of the reasons I like them.

Given my feelings about the animal kingdom, it was pretty ironic that I spent Christmas having an Animal Party. Alisa, Noreen, and I started off at Phillips Island outside of Melbourne. After leaving our hotel, our first stop was a koala reserve.

This car was parked at out hotel. The message on the back made me happy I am currently in hiatus as a driver.

The koalas were pretty cute. They were a couple of mothers and babies who were hanging out in the trees together. Apparently, koalas are a pretty low energy bunch. The Eucalyptus they eat all day doesn't provide them with a lot of energy. It is the equivalent of a person eating only a single bowl of cornflakes each day. As a result, koalas must spend about 20 hours of each day napping and resting to conserve their energy. This sorta reminded me of Tootsie and helped me to develop a bit of a soft spot for them. They also don't like to be disturbed. They were starting to sound like an animal that I could really get behind.

However, when I returned inside I began reading some more information about the cuddly koala bears outside. I learned that part of the reason they have low numbers of koalas is because many, many of them have Koala Chlamydia. Suddenly, they were starting to sound much less cute. I also remembered that joke my Australian roommate in Japan used to tell and it started to make a lot more sense:

Why did the koala fall out of the tree?

Because it was dead.

Of course the koala fell out of the tree! It obviously fell out of the tree because it was a victim of killer koala Chlamydia! Gross! The koalas were starting to sound less and less like my beloved Tootsie.

After visiting the STD riddle koalas, we went to watch the little fairy penguins march up the beach at sunset. They were pretty adorable. It was like watching a real life version of Happy Feat as they waddled through the dunes to go and feed their babies. They also appeared to be STD free. I was in the process of finding another animal cute and lovable.

After being won over by the teeny penguins, our guide began to tell us a bit more about them. He told us how usually each penguin only lays one egg. However, on occasion, they will lay two and two chicks will survive. But both chicks will not go on to become adult penguins. Only one penguin will survive the season by stealing all of the food from it's sibling until they starve to death. I looked over and saw two baby chicks fighting over a single peace of fish. One chick was much larger than the other. The smaller one was clearly losing this sibling death match. This made me wonder if animals are really that cute after all. Noreen had called my Christmas Animal Party a kind of Animal Therapy meant to change my feeling about them. I'm not sure it worked out this way. In the end I'm pretty sure I just like Tootsie, and sometimes Toby.

Australia is beautiful and it was great to take a break from the developing world and drink some wine and speak some fast English. However, I would be a liar if I said that I did not feel a little homesick on Christmas and not just because I learned that the cute little penguins were actually engaged in a death match. I missed watching movies at my Mom's house and making jokes about why she has decided to stop putting up a Christmas tree [because Christmas is for babies, mom has decided to play hardball until someone presents her with a grandchild]. Christmas just doesn't feel like Christmas unless your family is driving you crazy and you are doing the same to them.

I hope Santa was very good to everyone. I'll be back to annoy everyone in The Lucey Family next year.

XOXOXO

Why, Hello There Old Friend

Since I arrived in Melbourne a few days ago, I have been thrilled to be able to walk on sidewalks, visit a bookstore, and go see a Sophia Coppola movie. I have also gotten to once again order food using words instead of pointing at a picture in a menu and I haven't had the need to shake my head to signify that I have absolutely no idea what in the name of God someone is trying to say to me. Basically, I've gotten to feel like a normal person again and this has been pretty good.

The other thing I have gotten to do is drink some wine with dinner. My friend Noreen came from Indonesia on Monday and Alisa flew in to meet us from LA yesterday. Today, we celebrated our visit to Australia and Noreen's birthday by a trip to the Yarra Valley. I would be lying if I said I knew anything about wine except for the fact that I like to drink it. When people in the know talk about nosiness, headiness, or a full body I really have no idea what any of that means. All I know is that I like it to be red and not made by Boone's Farm and if you don't drink some with dinner, I'll probably trust you just a little bit less.

We spent the day sampling delicious wines and looking at some really pretty scenery. The weird part is that it looked almost exactly like Northern California. In my head I know that I'm on the other side of the world, but it felt like I spent the day in Napa. It was pretty great to say goodbye to being a Bule [white person in Indonesian] for a while and get to do some of the things I used to do all the time, but have now become rare treats. It was also pretty nice to spend some time with my long, lost friend red wine. We still get along just great.

I made sure not to finish every sample since I know that Santa is watching and I have no intention of earning a place on the Naughty List after so many months of being such a very good girl.

Cheers.

Kuta Beach

Despite, my misgivings about solo travel I arrived in Bali yesterday afternoon where I will stay until tonight sans copilot. I did this for two reasons. One, my flight from Samarinda was on the local Lion Air which is notoriously undependable and much delayed. I wanted to make sure there was absolutely no chance that I could miss my non-refundable and non-changeable flight to the land down under [Indonesia is interesting and exotic and everything, but it is also exhausting and smells bad and I could really use a little break that includes wine, a best friend from LA, and at least looking at gentleman I could not comfortably fit in my back pocket]. Secondly, I actually don't mind my new nightlife that consists of Pizza Hut and bootleg DVDs, but I was too dazzled by the prospect of eating at a different chain restaurant and doing some yoga to pass up an extra day away from the dusty mining town in Borneo I call home for now.

I decided to book a hotel in Kuta even though it is a lot like the Jersey Shore of Bali, except for the fact that it is filed with Germans and Australians instead of Italian Americans. I figured if people are constantly talking about how tacky and awful it is, I should see for myself. It is also where The Bikram Yoga Studio is [which in one of only two in the entire archipelago]. Besides, I didn't really feel like going to see any breathtaking temples on my own. That would go on my What I Don't Like To Do While Traveling Alone List. On the other hand, I figured that I would have no problem doing yoga, enjoying some lunch at the Hard Rock cafe, and stocking up on bootleg DVDs without a partner in crime.

Things got off to a bumpy start. I was reminded of why it is not really a good idea to book the cheapest hotel on Orbitz. Oddly, Orbitz had forgotten to mention that there was no cable, no WiFi, and that The Champlung Hotel was sandwiched in between two very active construction sights. The place was real dingy, the man at the front desk had crossed eyes, and the bathroom was about as nice as the one I refuse to use for showering in my little house in Borneo. The number of hotel guests in the restaurant? Zero. The number of hotel guests by the pool? Zero. The number of hotel guests at the pool bar? Zero. The Champlung Hotel sorta made me wish that I had packed a rape whistle and a body bag to avoid possibly contracting scabies.

Forget it, I thought. I am only here to do some yoga before my trip. So I walked to the studio which was pleasantly located in an under construction shopping center where most of the stores seemed to be closed and there were almost no other people. However, I went in and found three very nice and helpful people at the front desk. I went upstairs to change thinking that things had begun to turn around. However, I, of course, realized I had forgotten my yoga pants. There was one pair for sale by the front desk, but they were $120 USD. This was a little bit more than I was looking to spend. They gave me directions to a nearby surf shop. On the way, I passed a big, dead cat. Shit, I thought. I'm not an animal person, but that just can't be a good omen. My mellow was really starting to get pretty harshed.

The first shop had only children's clothes. The second shop showed my 3 pairs of shorts they claimed were for a full grown person but looked as though they would have fit one of my thighs, and not that comfortably. Even though the shop girl assured me they had nothing else, I spied a pair in another section that looked like they might fit. I scooped them up, paid, and ran to the yoga studio.

Luckily, I made it in time and begun the standing series. Usually, after a long hiatus from Bikram you feel like you understand how people feel in the desert just before they give up and die during the 90 minute class in 110 degree heat. Apparently, however, after pretty much giving up drinking, quitting smoking, and loosing a few pounds [literally, just a few], and living on the Equator for 4 months the heat and the yoga combination become a little easier. The teacher was a handsome Chilean who told me after he used to teach at my favorite Bikram studio on The Lower East Side. I was relaxed. My day was saved. I then went back to the hotel, drank a diet coke [which had the hotel initials written on the top, I'm guessing as proof it came from the mini fridge in case I tried to deny drinking anything at check out time], and watched the only channel with something in English. It was some sort of Viking movie that made me think of Johnny Drama from Entourage.

Yes, the hotel was still gross. Yes, there was the mysterious sound of hammering and sawing outside my room at 9pm. Yes, there was an unidentifiable animal scratching somewhere in the walls. But the door was locked and I knew the chances of someone coming to try to and human traffic me were very slim [one of the benefits of being on the wrong side of 30]. Besides, one time during a road trip of the Pacific Northwest with a frugal friend I stayed here:

The Hometel Inn in Tacoma, Washington was a truck stop. It was by far the scariest place in the world. There appeared to be a party of 5 ex-cons spending the night in the room next to us, not sleeping. There also seemed to be holes in the wall and other signs of a recent struggle. Most disturbingly, there seemed to be a booming business for lot lizards since several rooms had the door wide open with truckers standing in the doorway looking like we had come to sell ourselves to them as we made our way to our room after checking in very late. Since I made it through the night at the Hometel Inn unscathed, I don't scare so easily at less than luxurious accommodations anymore. [However, when my same friend tried the same shenanigans on a road trip to Baltimore he was overruled by me and the rest of the group. We were all avid fans of The Wire and had no intentions of waking up in the vacants with Chris and Snoop.]

As for the rest of Kuta... Well, my feelings could be the result of two possibilities. The first possibility is that going to prep school [which mainly taught me I'm not actually that preppy] and a fancy European university for my Junior Year Abroad, failed to give me a sense of economic ambition or a love for men in Polo shirts and boat shoes [the kind really for boats, not the ironic hipster kind], but did in fact leave me a little bit of a cultural elitist. The second possibility, is that Kuta actually is just as gross as everybody says. These are some of the tourist items for sale down the block from my hotel. I'll let you decide for yourself.

I would like to point out that I am not even sure what all of those stickers even mean.

Why I'm Not That Into Solo Traveling

In some respects, I'm a lot like Ally MacBeal if she forgot to be anorexic and go to law school. Luckily, I've had no hallucinations of dancing babies. Well, at least not yet. Given this fact, it would be understandable to assume that I probably like traveling by myself, that I probably see it as some sort of testament to my Independence and power over my own destiny. Instead, I hate it. All of the things I like to do when I travel suddenly become unappealing. I don't want to eat dinner alone or stare at gorgeous sunset by myself. In addition to this, the joking around I like so much and the chit chatting I relish become pretty impossible, too. Ironically, while I am a bigmouth who loves constant chatter, I don't like talking to strangers and usually don't.

Not everyone agrees with me. I see many independent travelers out and about. At the risk of sounding alarmist, I must confess that it is the female alone travelers who are in their 40s and 50s that consistently send shivers up and down my spine. They are usually wearing bright colors and whimsical hats. They attend dinner armed with books that they seem extremely engrossed in while they eat silently. Perhaps unfairly, I have always assumed that if you travel alone and bring a book out to a restaurant you have probably already purchased your third or your fourth cat. You probably even plan parties for them and try to dress them up in novelty costumes.The whole scene always makes me pretty certain that if this guy came around wanting to put a ring on it, I'd have to give it some serious thought despite my extreme fear of clowns.

Traveling alone does not make me feel sexy or feisty like Shirley Valentine. I'm sure she had a great time meeting a handsome Greek with a serious moustache with the sparkling blue ocean in the background. However, when I watched part of that movie I couldn't help thinking that I had seen way too much of Shirley Valentine. It's not that would class myself as not sex positive [when one of my uncles suggested making buttons that said No Sex For Seniors because he felt it was gross and unnecessary, I did not support the idea.] However, I also didn't have a big need to see Shirley Valentine in her birthday suit. I came away from that movie feeling like I hoped I would not be tooting around Greece looking to score when I'm old enough to be a Nana. It did not make me want to book a trip for one to any sexy islands.

Traveling alone makes me feel a lot more like Steve Martin in The Jerk. The few times I have had to eat alone in an actual restaurant I always feel like I'm in that scene where the spotlight is on him as he eats alone at a table for two. I have many friends who always talked about how great traveling alone was and I have just never understood it. I feel like I know myself pretty well. Me and me do not need a week or two weeks to get to know each other any better. At the end of the day, it is probably because I'm just not a loner. I don't play solitaire or do crossword puzzles. In fact, in reaction to my presently reduced social life I have begun to openly laugh and respond out loud to emails and facebook postings as if they are part of an actual conversation. I both love and hate Mark Zuckerberg for this.

I mention all of this because I am about to spend two days in Bali before leaving for Australia. My hotel is booked. I have found a Bikram Yoga studio. I have not packed any hats and will not be reading any novels over dinner. I also refuse to adopt any cats while I'm there. this should be made easier by the fact that most of the cats here are pretty terrifying looking and seem like they really want to scratch your eyes out.

Maybe my feelings about solo traveling are not totally valid. Maybe I am just buying into age old female stereotypes I'm supposed to be too smart to believe in after reading both The Second Sex and The Female Eunuch. Be that as it may, I still think that getting too comfortable reading books at dinner in silence just can't be a good idea.

When I was in high school one of my English teachers whose husband had left her used to describe the special book stand she had purchased which would enable her to turn the pages of her books while she ate dinner alone at her house. This image still haunts me.

That same year I had a history teacher who was for some reason always sweating. He made up for this fact by being hilarious. He would show us slides from his trips to Europe that would include lots of scantily clad beach goers and then ask us how we liked the view. The man sure knew how to freak out a room full of private school geeks and virgins. I appreciated this even though I was a bit of both myself. He also played the sax and had a big, sexy Italian girlfriend. One day after class he told me that we had more in common than I knew. I still have no idea what the hell is was talking about. However, it still makes me feel a little bit relieved.