A Phond Philosophical Pharewell

This is the final blog entry from my past four month stint deep in the heart of the South Pacific. Since September 1, 2009, I have traveled to three new countries, on twelve different flights, over a grand total of 29,314 miles (including the road trip to Sydney; 27,908 miles in the air). Despite those daunting numbers and cumulative count of over 78 hours aboard various aircrafts, it feels as if I have only been gone for a mere weekend trek around the globe. Looking back on my once-in-a-lifetime experience, all I can see is a massive blur of picturesque landscapes, crystal clear waters, mullets, Mohawks, rattails, and blue skies. From the pool of people I knew before this epic journey, very few have been lucky enough to feast their eyes on the Australian countryside, even less have seen the beauty of the islands of New Zealand, and barely a handful have buried their feet in the cools sands of a Fijian beach. The appreciation I have for the past four months of my life is unprecedented, and will never go forgotten. As this is my final blog, I would like any of you who have been interested in my travels to pat yourself on the back as a thank you from me to you for your support and interest. Some of you may be familiar with my hopes of attaining my dream job of getting hired for a job that allows me to travel to distant corners of the globe while documenting my progress. I have self-diagnosed myself with the travel bug, and your support could someday be a key factor on my résumé in acquiring my dream job, and I thank you for your following.

As previously stated, this is my final entry for my 2009 Australian endeavors, but hopefully not my final entry for my travel endeavors. It may not be as entertaining as my prior blogs, but it might serve as a valuable tool to some of you someday. Who knows? This particular blog can be used by any and all of you as a reference for your traveling queries. If you want to cook a nice meal of travel, consider this entry the ingredients and recipe for you to follow… Enjoy.

For those of you considering going or studying abroad:
Do it! I was reading a Lonely Planet book a few weeks ago before bedtime just outside of Sydney, and I stumbled upon the history of the company. This history is an interesting story, but the quote that seemed to resonate with me really seemed to encapsulate my newfound philosophy: “All you’ve got to do is decide to go and the hardest part is over. So go!” Now I know all of you naysayers out there may refute that philosophy with factors that you may accuse me of overlooking, because I have heard some bitching about it here and there before and I’m sick of it. I assure you, I haven’t overlooked the factors. I know it is expensive, I know it may be far from home, and I know some may argue that if you’re not making a dollar, you aren’t gaining anything from the experience. Untrue, and I will argue that to the death. Sacrifices need to be made for things to work sometimes. Finances, homesickness, and income are all curable. You just have to commit to doing something that you want to do, something that is going to make you happy. You don’t need to go to Australia, go to Egypt, buy yourself a $50 steak, what tickles your fancy is irrelevant. What I’m saying is that you need to do something in your life that is going to make you happy. Mine was studying abroad for four months. I just got back to America with zero dollars, chapped lips, and no work opportunities, but what I did was something I wanted to do. I am so happy I did it, I regret nothing, and I strongly encourage anyone who wants to experience another country, or even another state to do it. It will very likely set you back a pretty penny, but the connections you will make, the people you will meet, and the résumé lines you will have when you walk away for this experience will greatly make up for the expenses. I have come home from Australia with friends from all over not only the United States, but also the world. I have really great friends from coast to coast of the continental United States, some in Australia and even some from Germany. Just as MasterCard would argue, there are certain things that are priceless, and the connections I have made with some of these people are just that. There is a certain time frame in between graduating from high school and entering the real world that everyone has to be a kid and an adult at the same time. You are old enough to make your own decisions, but young enough to have a carefree experience. When I was a sophomore in high school, my sister studied in Galway, Ireland, and when I was a freshman in college, my brother lived in Madrid, Spain for a year. Both of them urged me to experience the world, and warned me of certain regret if I didn’t grab the opportunity by the horns and just do it. The amount of money does affect the experience, but that money can be replaced in time, the experience never can. I realize that this address may seem I am smiting some people, but I am certainly not. I just don’t agree with the closed-mindedness of some people and their beliefs that oppose alternative forms of education like studying abroad. I’m getting deep, I know.

For those of you considering going to or studying in Australia:
Do it! I am going to be blatantly honest with you, my favorite part of Australia… was New Zealand. But it is a tomato/tomahto argument. I don’t like onions, but my mom loves them. I don’t like red wine, but my mom LOVES it. I am certainly not arguing that I did not love Australia, I did. There is so much to do, so here is some real advice…
-People are going to say that you are going to see the deadliest creatures in the world. It may be true that they are there, but I saw zero sharks, zero snakes, zero deadly spiders, and zero jellyfish. Don’t understand this as they are not there, but they are not crawling up and down the sides of buildings and flooding the streets. The animal I seemed to have the most encounters with is the bat. Being the #1 Ace Ventura fan of all time, they facilitated the purchase of a clean pair of boxers once or twice. They are the size of pterodactyls, enormous. You can hear their wings flapping from 20 yards away. Reactions to them are always fun.
-I never heard someone say “shrimp on the barbie” once… stop using that joke.
-People are always interested in you. They lady at McDonald’s wants to know what you are studying. On the same token, don’t be the ugly American. Australian people generally love American people, but don’t give them a reason to change their mind. Remember, that although it is greatly Americanized, you are still in a foreign country. There are different rules there. You don’t come to my house and call my mom a bitch, do you? Oh wait… you might.
-Try to get to a Rugby or AFL game, I missed the season, but everyone raves about them. Australians love their sports.
-Guys: bring something other than sandals. You can go grocery shopping barefoot, but you have to be in you Sunday’s best for nightlife.
-If you are studying there, I strongly suggest taking “Australian History” if it is an option. It was super boring while I was taking it, but in retrospect, it is very interesting and I learned a lot.
-If you like buffalo sauce, bring some from home.
-Beware the effects of Tim Tams; addicting cookies.
-Bring a lot of deodorant because you will use a lot of it and Australian deodorant is weird.
-There is going to be more downtime than you expect, anticipate that.
-Travel as much as you possibly can. Australia itself has millions of places to enjoy: Sydney, Melbourne, Adelaide, Alice Springs, Ayer’s Rock, Brisbane, the Great Barrier Reef, the outback, Tasmania, etc. The South Pacific and southeast Asia has equally as many places to check out: New Zealand, Fiji, Vanuatu, Samoa, Bali, Malaysia, Indonesia, Thailand, etc. *Always inquire about boiling water before you drink it though.
-Remember to keep a close eye on the currency exchange rates.
-Use Skype; it is heaven-sent.
-Keep the amount of time you aren’t home in perspective. Four months seems long, but not in the grand scheme of things.
-Keep a journal. My sister bought me a small leather one before I left. You don’t need to write about your feelings, just write down what you do and funny things that happen. When you read them later, you’ll laugh when you realize you forgot what happened, like that time that girl fell over a bike.
-Force yourself to meet people; everyone is in the same boat as you.
-People may argue that you shouldn’t go abroad with someone. I think this belief is circumstantial. I met a number of people who came with someone they knew and neither of them were clinging to their hips.
-See the Great Barrier Reef. You have to.
-Eat at least one kebab a week.
-Look right, then left before crossing the street.
-Ask for student discounts on everything; the worst they can say is no.

For those of you who are studying at Bond University:
-I never ran into this problem, but if you have a meal plan, running out of your money quickly is a common occurrence.
-They grade on a bell curve, so when you get a 65% on one of your papers, you didn’t fail, it equates to an American “B.”
-Classes were not necessarily easy, so get any credit you can. Go to all of the classes you are available to go to.
-Don’s and CDB are the only two bars I went to that let me in wearing sandals.
-If you meet Tim Geeves or Marc Sirockman, be their friend, they are cool cats.
-Remember: “chicken focaccia, small Caesar salad, and a lift.”
-ch131.com can cater to all of you American entertainment needs (i.e. The Office, 30 Rock, Survivor, etc.)
-Talk Down Under is a great phone company, you’ll see offers from them the first week you are there.
-They use turnitin.com to catch plagiarism, just change every fourth word.
-Tell Natalie from Student Flights that Brendan and Zach say hi.
-Don’t be disheartened when you are the dumbest person in your class. Own it.
-If you use Student Flights as your travel agency, don’t always trust that the price they give you is going to be the cheapest. Do some of your own research.

I may have more advice, but you can ask me as you see fit. Brendan is my name and travel is my game. Please, use me as a resource. Other than that, this particular time spent in the blogosphere has come to an end for me. Once again, I thank each one of you for your time, readership, and attention, feel free to keep it comin’. I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas and will have a Happy New Year. See you in 2010 mates!

…P.S. I never found an authentic bloomin’ onion.

...P.P.S. All spelling and grammatical mistakes throughout all of my entries can be traced back to my mom or Mr. McKenna.

Cheers!
-Brendan/Sully/Dangy/Buddha

The Amazing Race Australia

I got burnt. I’m burnt now.



As the encroachment of finals, Christmas shopping, and making more realistic New Year’s resolutions comes closer, let me take some of the pressure off you all, as a holiday gift, because you’re probably not going to get a real one from me, unless you’re me, because I bought myself a lot of stuff. So stop telling yourself you are going to lose 20 pounds next year. Just tell yourself you will go to the gym once a week, grab yourself a back of M&M’s, sit back, relax, and enjoy reading one of my final Australian blogs…


Last week, on Jay-Z’s birthday, more commonly referred to as December 4th, six guys set out on a journey to travel south from Brisbane, Australia, highlighting points of particular interest along the eastern coast of the vast country, with the intent of seeing Australia’s biggest city: Sydney. They rented an RV in Brisbane from a company widely known as Apollo. The vehicle, which I will name Seymour, for the purpose of this blog, since it facilitated in us “seeing more of Australia,” came fully equipped with sleeping accommodation for six people, air conditioning, a sink, a refrigerator, a microwave, a TV, and more. The whole nine yards, or meters, or “metres,” whatever.


If any of you have read some of my previous entries, you may know that the Australian countryside has provided a more than generous setting for our travels to take place, however, it may be helpful for me to make you more familiar with the cast of this week-long hiatus.
-Me: the tannest, most physically fit, and wittiest person, not only on this trip, but also, the world. Hometown: Holyoke, Massachusetts (frequently made obvious by that one shirt I brought to Australia)
-Iain: my formerly bearded friend (he is still my friend, just not bearded); we have often been told we could pass as brothers… we’re not though; also one of our drivers, you may have seen Iain’s artwork, he specializes in drawing the tough stuff: sand dunes, rocks, lightning bolts, and subway foot-long sandwiches. Hometown: Traverse City, Michigan
-Dennis: haling from New Jersey, he is an avid surfer who wakes up really early, and rarely frequents the luxury of a shower; the second driver, as well as a great crossword puzzle teammate. Hometown: Facebook says Compton, California, but somewhere in New Jersey
-Marc: born in 1990 (I know) and a fellow ginger, Marc finished in second place in most hours of sleep accumulated, and only kicked me in the face once the whole week. Hometown: also somewhere in New Jersey
-Tilman: with the metabolism of something that has a really fast metabolism, this German was no stranger to week-long starvation every 20 minutes; world record holder in cigarette rolling speed competition. Hometown: Berlin, Germany
-Fabian: often referred to as Sleepy, Sleeping Beauty, Garfield, and Rip Van Winkle, Fabian’s talents include sleeping, eating, sleeping, smoking, and sleeping. Hometown: somewhere in Germany




Day #1: Friday, December 4, 2009
Route: Robina > Brisbane > Robina > Ballina > Coff’s Harbour




At 8am last Friday morning, I trekked my way over to Iain’s apartment. Drenched in sweat by 8:01, we awaited the arrival of Dennis and Marc, so we could begin our trip in Dennis’ car to get the RV rental squared away. We had to drive to Brisbane to make the final payments on our RV for the week, which was when we were introduced to Seymour. Clean as a whistle and as top heavy as Morticia, Seymour was a real trooper all week. By about 2pm, we had packed the RV back in Robina and picked up the German folk and were headed due south. Having been in the area before, Iain and Dennis made the decision to make our first stop in Ballina, not for the night, just to explore, fish, and catch some waves. While the two captains were surfing, Marc fished for a little while, while the Germans frolicked in the waves for about an hour. I got a chance to see some dolphins in the meantime. After board shorts were dried, surfboards were neatly stowed away, and the sun was set, we pulled in to Woolworth’s four our first of many trips to grocery stores. We made our first gas refuel and passed the world’s largest banana (it is probably not the world’s but it sounds better when I say it that way) before we pulled in to a secluded area known as Coff’s Harbour for the night. We stood at the ocean water’s edge and relished in the opportunity to witness a good old-fashioned thunderstorm a few miles out on the Pacific Ocean. Day #1 was already over… Distance traveled according to GoogleMaps: 485km (301.4 miles)




Day #2: Saturday, December 5, 2009
Route: Coff’s Harbour > South West Rocks > Crescent Head > Forster


Sleeping arrangements went as follows: Iain and Dennis spooned in the overhead bunk above the cockpit; Marc and I went head-to-toe with a didgeridoo as a divider just below them next to the door, and the Germans were seen canoodling in the back. We all awoke reasonably early to clear skies with scant clouds and superfluous sun. Dennis’ fancy was tickled as he wiped the sleep from his eyes to find out that there was a free surf board demo that day. What a co-winky-dink (I contemplated putting that word in here for about five minutes, but I went for it; I went for it, and I’m so glad I did). While Fabian needed some time to catch up on some sleep, having been up for a whole hour, the rest of us explored the area. We took a path up the north side of Coff’s Harbour’s beach and climbed our way over the rocks that formed the beach. Tilman and I ended our journey early, however, because I decided I wanted to live to see my 22nd birthday. Iain, Dennis, and Marc soldiered on to the next jetty. They say it was great; I’ll take their word for it. As I was wearing my lifeguard shirt, I couldn’t help but keep making references to the Germans about Baywatch and how all Germans love David Hasselhoff. Once Seymour was made travel-safe, we were back on the road again. The next stop we made was in a small town called South West Rocks. We didn’t do much here other than watch Tilman get perhaps too angry while waiting for a burger. This was also when we learned that in addition to David Hasselhoff, all Germans love to put mayonnaise on their fries. Like they love it. Perhaps more than a normal person should love anything. As another short thunderstorm swooped in, we drove down a road we were not sure would take us anywhere. I’ll tell you where it did take us though; it took us to a secluded beach no more than 50 meters long that was accompanied by few wild kangaroos. Iain and Dennis tried to surf, but it turns out that warning sign the size of a large truck was right, the currents were a little too strong, and I’m sure the thunderstorm that had just passed wasn’t helping anyone’s cause. I was still wearing my lifeguard shirt though for safety purposes, and because I didn’t change from the day before. After we departed South West Rocks, we drove until we arrived at Crescent Head, a surfing reserve. As the sun was setting, the captains grabbed their boards again and we all took the opportunity to have our first TBE of the week. I’m not explaining what that is to you. I will tell you that it is not a drug though, it’s totally legal. I explored the area on my own for some me-time while the Germans kicked around the Toys ‘R Us soccer ball. After a short stay in Crescent Head we drove some ways up the side of a mountain in Forster (where our Australian friend Tim is actually from) to catch some Z’s. Day #2 was already over… Distance traveled according to GoogleMaps: 319km (198.3 miles); Total overall distance traveled: 804km (499.7 miles)



Day #3: Sunday, December 6, 2009
Route: Forster (Booti Booti National Park/One Mile Beach) > Newcastle > The Entrance


Another early morning in the hot Australian sun showed us that our illegally parked RV was safe. Nestled at the base of a walking trail to the summit of Booti Booti National Park, all six of us climbed to the 420 meter summit. It was like real rock climbing, with benches. The views at the summit were spectacular. Yeah, I said that word, big whoop, wanna fight about it? As we sauntered back to the RV, we realized that they key we did have was the wrong one. We were locked out of our own illegally parked vehicle, and all of our cell phones were inside. Luckily, Dennis was agile and skinny enough to shimmy into the RV through one of the small windows on the roof. Obstacle averted. As we slowly rolled the RV down the face of the mountain, we rummaged through the streets of Forster until we stumbled upon One Mile Beach. It was a unanimous decision that this piece of sandy heaven and crystal clear waters was the best beach we have seen in Australia. The waves were the biggest I have seen and the sand dunes provided a beachgoer with a recreational option other than the standard water activities. Only applying sun screen once that day, my first Australian sunburn had been spawned. I had made it through 97 days without a make out session with the sun, and on December 6, 2009, my streak ended and my sweat capacity was instantly doubled. After a few hours at One Mile Beach, the lot of us grabbed some seat in the RV and merged back on to the black river of asphalt. After a few hours of driving, my sunburn was really starting to show. Once I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I was sure I was going to peel if I didn’t get some aloe all up in mah face. We stopped for a New York minute in the San Franciscan city of Newcastle. Set on a rolling hill, the city itself was in an expected Sunday daze, but the views were awesome. We were back on the road as soon as our drivers could pee on a bush and wolf down a mango or two. Our final stop of the day was at The Entrance. That’s the name of the city. Whatever. We finally got a chance to use a powered camp site as well. Pictures were uploaded, iPods were charged, showers were had, and yes, air conditioning. I went to the campground’s convenience store to get some aloe only to find out that it was closed. I asked one of the owners where I could get some aloe nearby, and when she looked up from watering her flowers and saw that I looked like Two Face from Batman, she opened the convenience store for me to remedy my facial leprosy. The soothing feeling of the gel and its kiwi scent kept me addicted to its application. As the sun set, Iain and Dennis headed to the beach for a short-lived surf. Dennis’ sixth sense was at work. In the river flowing in from the ocean there were fishermen. Fishermen fish for small fish. Big fish and sharks eat small fish. So, by the transitive property, surfing was nipped in the bud that night. After some of us finally made use of the small kitchen in our RV, and I got some pictures of Christmas trees because I’m a nerd, day #3 was already over on Jewfish Alley (where the Germans could sleep soundly)… Distance traveled according to GoogleMaps: 228km (141.7 miles); Total overall distance traveled: 1,032km (641.4 miles)



Day #4: Monday, December 7, 2009 (Happy Birthday, Stephen William!)
Route: The Entrance > Bondi Beach > Sydney > Coogee Beach


Sleeping in until 9am on this trip was a luxury that did not go unnoticed in my eyes. As Tracy Jordan would say on 30 Rock: “Did you know in the morning they got food, TV, almost everything. It’s pretty good.” We finally had arrived in Sydney. I was so excited to be there. We pulled in to Bondi Beach, one of Australia’s most iconic beaches. It was the birthplace of surf-lifesaving over a century ago, when over 250 people were saved after three massive rogue waves slammed in the Bondi’s coastline. We parked the RV and strolled down to the waterfront that was covered with people from jetty to jetty, even some 57s. Iain met up with one of his friends who was vacationing with his family and Dennis met up with one of his buddies who had just finished his semester studying in Sydney. The Germans and I headed across the street for a bite to eat. In my own natural fashion, I saw a massive tree in the median of the road and couldn’t help but walk directly into it. My TBOS shirt is ripped and I lightly lacerated my torso. I loved that shirt; I’m going to make it work somehow. We soon followed Dennis’ mate around as we hopped on a bus to Bondi Junction, where we transferred to the train to Martin Place. As we disembarked the train, we walked through the hustle and bustle of the Sydney city streets until we arrived at the lavish, harbor-side Royal Botanical Gardens. Contrary to most other publically beautified areas that are similar, the signs of the garden exclaim, “Please walk on the grass. We also invite you to smell the roses, hug the trees, talk to the birds, and picnic on the lawns.” Hippies. As we exited the Royal Botanical Gardens and saw the harbor, I knew that just around the bend was the prestige of the Sydney Opera House and the awe-inspiring masterpiece known as the Sydney Harbour Bridge. These pieces of iconic Australian architecture are truly too perfect to event attempt to describe. I was left speechless and sweaty the whole time. Whoever said a picture is worth 1,000 words was apparently too lazy to write a few more zeros. Did I just contradict myself? Get over it. I took a picture every five feet I walked. After too short of a stay and a quick beverage at the swanky bar adjacent to the Opera House, we trudged back to the train station and to our RV. As everyone sort of did their own thing for a little while, I explored the Bondi coast by myself for a little bit. I found the pool where Dawn Fraser used to train that is liteallt part of the rocks on the side of Bondi Beach. There are still rocks at the bottom of the pool and waves sometimes cave over the lanes… something to think about for next year’s training trip. Since we couldn’t legally park in the area we had left the RV, we took our whip over a few hills to Coogee Beach (pronounced Could-Gee). We grabbed some dinner at Subway (and maybe also McDonald’s an hour later) and settled in. Iain had a paper that was due the next day. Having trouble reaching 1,000 words, I helped him out a little bit. Never underestimate the power of unnecessary prepositional phrases. After Dennis had passed out, Marc, Iain, the Germans, and I headed to the top of the rocks at Coogee Beach to take some pictures and have some laughs. We passed a memorial for the 2002 Bali bombings as well. On a lighter note, Monday night was the night that Fabian introduced us to his understanding of Christmas. He suggested that Santa comes back every year for his son Jesus’ birthday party. They used to spend their time trying to fix the refrigerator in our RV, and eventually Jesus built the rest of the world around that refrigerator, but never got around to fixing it. At least not yet. I guess that’s how Christmas is done in Germany. Day #4 was already over… Distance traveled according to GoogleMaps: 132km (82 miles); Total overall distance traveled: 1,164km (732.4 miles)



Day #5: Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Route: Coogee Beach > Bondi Beach > Sydney > Forster (One Mile Beach)


Ya know how sometimes you smell something really, really bad and it kinda goes away after two or three whiffs? Well, 8am on December 8th is apparently Coogee Beach’s annual public septic tank cleaning day. Supposedly, advent is the perfect time to clear the bowels of an entire city. We literally couldn’t sit there for another second. We left Coogee Beach in a jiffy and parked the RV right in Bondi Beach where we had left it the day before. Fabian, Tilman, Marc, and I decided to take the city of Sydney by storm, while Iain and Dennis supposedly spent the better part of three hours scouring suburban Sydney for some internet access. The remaining four of us took the train back into the heart of the cosmopolitan city and began our day of walking. Our first stop was at the panoramic Sydney Tower. The building was high enough to slightly sway with the harbor’s winds, but the views from atop the building were worth the price of a clean pair of boxers. The views of the Opera House, the Harbour Bridge, Darling Harbour, metropolitan Sydney, and the Sydney Olympic Stadium were so perfect. A mere $20 student discount provided us with some priceless pictures. Once we landed back on earth, we grabbed a quick lunch and headed over towards Darling Harbour, where The Real World Sydney was. The house is gone though. The Sydney skyline was a picturesque collection of skyscrapers that shot out of the ground immediately juxtaposed to the ins and outs of Darling Harbour. Christmas decorations were everywhere. Maybe it’s bred in the bone, but a little bit of Bing Crosby and a lot bit of holiday garland is just a little piece of heaven for me. The bands along the edges of the water were orchestrating to the tunes of “Eye of the Tiger,” as I captured some pictures of massive ships, Olympic paraphernalia, and Asians taking pictures of other Asians (one of my favorite pastimes). We slowly walked across the bridge towards the city where we weaved through the streets of Sydney to find the Opera House from the opposite site as the day before. In our travels, we passed the building that apparently was the setting for a number of scenes from The Matrix, some historical landmarks from the first fleets that came to Australia, and what I think was a Detour in one of the previous seasons of The Amazing Race. I’m still researching that though. We passed a few Aboriginal performers and arrived at the other side of the Opera House. I sought out another Christmas tree as well. The tree seen here is made out of over 7,000 recycled soft drink bottles ‘rejected by the packaging company Visy before they were delivered to Coca-Cola Amatil.’ The tree stands about 8 meters tall and it is lit each night by GreenPower renewable energy. The four of us continued on to cross the Harbour Bridge. This architectural structure absolutely fascinates me. It is so big, and it provided me with some of the best views of any city I have ever seen in my entire life. After crossing the bridge, we boarded the train to go meet Iain and Dennis back at the RV in Bondi Beach. Wasting very little time, we unfortunately had to switch directions from south to north now, and traveled back to One Mile Beach in Forster. Day #5 was already over… Distance traveled according to GoogleMaps: 335km (208.2 miles); Total overall distance traveled: 1,499km (931.6 miles)



Day #6: Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Route: Forster (One Mile Beach) > Yamba


Our sixth day in the RV was not a glamorous as previous ones. We awoke from our slumber right outside of One Mile Beach. Surfing was once again on the agenda for some, while other tried some sand boarding down the massive dunes at the beach. As noon encroached, the overcast skies provided us with an opportunity to get a good chunk of our driving done in the direction of school. However, before we left, Tilman couldn’t pass up a chance to shower in the outdoor shower of the One Mile Beach parking lot, completely naked, with familes pulling in for a day at the beach, a golf course no more than 100 meters away, and houses immediately across the street. We were headed for Yamba, just under two hours outside of school, in an attempt to soften the blow of having to drive too far on our last day. We pulled in to Yamba just as dusk was upon us. Another powered site meant another night with air conditioning. Before the night ended, we looked through all of the week’s pictures, and the Germans, Iain, and I played some soccer slash golf slash bocce type game. This was when we found some crazy space alien frog. It was pretty sweet and possibly poisonous but maybe probably not except if you sorta kinda licked it. I didn’t lick a frog. It was a temptation that was hard to resist, but I managed. Some of us laid out under the stars for another hour or so and discussed the previous week and life after Australia before hitting the hay. Day #6 was already over and only one day left… Distance traveled according to GoogleMaps: 396km (246.1 miles); Total overall distance traveled: 1,895km (1,177.8 miles)



Day #7: Thursday, December 10, 2009 (Happy Birthday, K8!)
Route: Yamba > Robina > Brisbane > Robina


Perhaps the most lackluster day of our holiday, was the final one. We got an early start on the drive back to Robina, knowing cleaning the RV and restoring it back to the condition in which it was given to us was a task that could not be neglected. We were back at University Place by around noon and after Dennis swept the floor to a spotless shine, we cleaned everything else, and had to sweep it again. Sorry, Dennis. I understand and appreciate your hard work. Day #7 and the week was over as Iain and Dennis returned the RV back to Brisbane later that afternoon… Distance traveled according to GoogleMaps: 367km (228 miles); Grand total overall distance traveled: 2,262km (1,405.8 miles)

As much fun as I had on this trip, a good part of me was in ecstasy when I walked back in to my cave on campus, where I can use air conditioning and electricity at my own disposal. This week was such a great vacation. I had an awesome time. It was the perfect cherry on top of an already awesome Australian experience. I still have just over a week left in Australia, so I am making the most of it, by primarily completely neglecting my finals and taking advantage of having the room to myself for the rest of the time here. I have pushed my roommate’s bed and mine together to make a super bed and I love it. Keep in touch friends! I miss you all and I will see you very soon!!!

-Brendan/Sully/Dangy/Buddha/Bren/$

A Week in the Life of Buddha Down Under

Happy Black Friday, everyone. I hope you all had an enjoyable Thanksgiving, and none of your relatives got their eyes taken out by the button on your pants shooting across the dinner table. I figured since some of you might have some downtime this weekend, I should seize the opportunity to make sure none of my attention is diverted to your friends and family. If the conversation you’re ever participating in takes a turn for the worse or becomes static silence, just talk about me.

Nothing I have done in the past two weeks (or past 20 years, for that matter) can even begin to measure up to the fun and excitement of my New Zealand and Fiji journeys, but I think it’s time to finally divulge some information on what a week in the life of an American in Australia is like. We’ll start with Monday, because that just makes sense. As I arise from my slumber to the sun reflecting off of the South Accommodation Center directly into my face, my ears are perked every day to the sound of some absurdly annoying birds having their daily water cooler conversations. After I begrudgingly roll out of bed and check my e-mail, I slap on some horribly ineffective Australian deodorant (Rexona) and head to class. Call me a pessimist, but there are some days I wake up and say a quick little prayer for some overcast skies. Apparently, such a luxury is overlooked at God and Mother Nature’s breakfast table. Maybe they’re too busy reading the Classifieds. Back to my day. On my way to class, you could find me ever-so-meticulously balancing in the small shroud of shade that is offered by the “Arch Building.” Class is no more than a mere three minute walk from my dorm, but I only need about three seconds and some crappy deodorant to really get the sweat glands goin’. My first class is a three hour lecture for Australian Pop Culture. If you saw the professor, or “teaching fellow,” as she is so called, you would assume she missed her calling as a Sturbridge village butter churner or cobbler. Dr. Emily Wilson is a gem. After about one hour of her flapping her gums about who knows what, she usually (and often unsuccessfully) pops in a movie pertaining to what was discussed during her rambling. This is when most people just leave. Myself, on the other hand, can never pass up a good chance to sit in a dark room that has air conditioning while watching people surf. In the wake of this new vampire business, I’m starting to reconsider the possibilities of my past life. At 2:00, we are released from the Cerum Theater and usually take the time to grab some lunch from Bond Café. My standard meal consists of a small Caesar salad, a chicken focaccia sandwich, and a nice, cold Lift (sparkling lemonade, don’t judge me). After the hunger is satisfied, I relish in the four hour break I have ahead of me before my next lecture, which is when I get the chance to swim and stalk all of you on Facebook. By 6:00, I am sitting in my International Relations lecture, drenched in the sweat I have accrued in my endeavor to muscle through three flights of stairs. This class was taught by Anne Cullen, but then she just stopped coming to lectures, so her teaching fellow, Jackson Ewing took over. He is a great guy. I think he is roughly 13 or 14 feet tall, and hales from the state of Tennessee. Member how boring Al Gore’s voice was? Somthin’ to think about. It is nice to hear an American voice at the head of the class though. At 8:00 I usually grab a light dinner and head back to my sub-Arctic temperature room for some YouTubing, more Facebooking, and Snickers eating. Side note: the Snickers here are awesome. There’s 10% more nuts in the bars. I don’t understand what that means, but I’m way into it.

Tuesday is after Monday, so we’ll go there next. No classes for this guy on Tuesdays. It’s a rough life. Here is what is rough about Tuesdays though: it’s cleaning day. By about 11:00 on Tuesday morning, you can usually count on the cleaning ladies and one cleaning guy (haha) to knock on the door, say “housekeeping,” and then barge in like they’re there to save you. In these types of situations, I always find a way to make it as awkward as possible for everyone involved, including myself. It often follows the storyline of me “pretending I was leaving anyways,” then doing that awkward face-to-face shuffle in deciding how the cleaning lady and I want to get around each other, followed by her making a joke that I don’t understand because Australians speak really fast and I have my iPod in. All this, while fervently trying to avoid face planting because I run the risk of tripping on her vacuum chord. It happens, I’m just saying. I usually head to Bond Café while they’re cleaning my room and eat the standard lunch. As the day goes by and the sun begins to set, I head to the pool for a dip in an effort to stay as ghostly white as humanly possible.

Hump Day: Wednesday. The third day of my week once again, begins at 11:00 with my tutorial for Australian Sport in the Modern Era. Tutorials, or “toots,” are basically a smaller meeting of the class to supplement the material covered in lectures. This class is led by Glen Tunks, a thirty-something surfer who could talk a dog off a meat wagon. The tangents this guy goes off on are insane in the membrane. He is a great guy, always fun to talk to walking around campus, but has less than stellar Power Point abilities. After we’re let out of the Health and Medical Sciences building, we make our way over to Lake Orr, the lake in the middle of campus with a very blunt fountain that spews water out all day. This is the “Wednesday by the Water Sizzle,” where veteran Bond Uni students grill up some burgers and dogs for everyone to enjoy, fo’ free. The food is exceptional, but you know what’s not? The fact that Australia has no buns conducive to what you’re eating. Call me a spoiled eater, but a hot dog on a piece of bread was something I gave up in third grade. It gets the job done though. There is also usually some guy singing some sing-a-long tunes while lunch is served. Last week they were playing the didgeridoo. Sweet stuff. At 2:00, I have my final class of the day: a lecture for Australian History. The class is pretty interesting, but the teacher is even more interesting. Dr. Shirleene Robinson is another thirty-something professor who loves her Red Bull. She takes the train from Brisbane (almost 2 hours) every morning at like 6:00, so it is a rare occasion to not see her indulging in some form of caffeine. Her frizzed hair and 8,000 words per minute reflect her energy every day. Gives her wings, I guess. After released by 4:00, Bond Café is on the menu again for a light meal before my night swim.

Thursdays, the only day I have to ever see a single digit time in Australia, unless I sleep past noon, which, I never do. 8:00 is my one hour toot for Australian history that is filled with silence you couldn’t buy. After passing in my weekly summaries of the class readings, I am off to the lecture version of Australian Sport in the Modern Era. This class is looooong. I take the opportunity to do some work on one of my favorite hobbies: making lists. Lists of current and previous members of SNL, lists of every teacher I have had since Ms. Hebert, or lists of food I want to eat… The options are endless. A 2 hour break is in store for me after this lecture before my 1:00 toot for Australian Pop Culture. Easy, laid-back class, I just sit in the back and watch everyone Skype their friends and write on other people’s walls. I’m learning a lot here. Finally, my last class meeting for the week is my toot for International Relations. It is the most intimidating class I have ever been a part of. I am, by a landslide, the dumbest person in the class. Don’t pity me, I embrace it. Everyone’s so interested and asks like, real questions about globalization and stuff. Everyone speaks in paragraph form and uses unnecessarily massive words, while I’m sittin’ in the back row doing that thing where you draw a house with an X through it without picking the pen off the paper or retracing any lines. Funny story here: each week there is a case study in this class where a student is to analyze it, present it to the class, and lead a class discussion about the case. Mine was last week. I was terrified. As luck would have it, “that guy” who participates way too much didn’t show up, so I was out before it even began. After 45 minutes of talking about I think the Bali bombings in 2002, I patted myself on the back for wearing a black shirt to class because I was sweating a lot. During my presentation, people were asking me questions about stuff, and then I would just answer with whatever I wanted to talk about and wasn’t really too concerned if the question was adequately answered or not. You ask me about global terrorism, don’t be surprised if I just start talkin’ about taxes. A meal and a swim is a good way to relieve the stress of being severely inferior to my international peers. See Steve? I mentioned swimming.

This past Thursday was Thanksgiving, in case none of you were aware. It also, coincidentally, marked the last day of toots. Some professors brought candy, but my professor brought the class three bottles of wine to down over a nice conversation about Australia and the Vietnam War. Most of my AustraLearn group and a few others celebrated by having a huge feast over at University Place, a 5 minute walk from campus. The meal was a special treat. We also played a game some broad introduced us to, in which you place a piece of turkey on your shoulder, and whoever keeps their turkey there the longest wins. You’re reading the blog of the winner of the Turkey Shoulder Championships of Thanksgiving 2009. Makin’ the ‘rents proud…

Thursday’s International Relations toot marks the end of my academic week and the beginning of my totally non-academic weekend. Don’s Tavern, the on-campus bar always offers a night for the students to enjoy some adult beverages and blow off some steam. Themes are also a common event at Don’s on Thursday nights, including Tight & Bright, Movember Awards, and Duct Tape Parties. Friday is another classless day for me. As the weekends draw near, there are usually plans made to head to Surfers Paradise for some nightlife. The favored music usually tends to sway towards the techno end of the spectrum, lights flash as if everywhere you go is a haunted house, and the fashion statements are usually more along the lines of fashion exclamations. Some of the jeans the guys wear here are grossly absurd. Painted on. But once again, as I’ve said before, the kebabs make it all worth it.

The kebabs provide me with a nice segue for me to discuss my favorite topic: food. Australian cuisine is interesting. My infamous chicken focaccia sandwich is, shockingly enough, served on focaccia bread. In between the slabs of bread, you’ll find a wonderful combination of chicken, cheese, lettuce, cucumbers, and carrots. Get it toasted, too. You won’t regret it. As is similar to my life at home, a week without Mexican food is unacceptable. So a quesadilla at least once a week at Los Hombres Mexican Restaurant is always an option. No onions, extra sour cream. I still have yet to try any authentic “Australian” cuisine, as the Indian, Thai, Chinese, and Japanese influences on the food seem to be overwhelming. I have, however, found a restaurant that I am excited to go to so I can get my first helping of kangaroo, crocodile, and emu meat. Should be interesting. And finally, back to the kebabs. I just want to share with you my perfect kebab. I go for the large combo kebab that includes chicken and lamb as the base meats. Lettuce, and tomatoes are the next ingredient, not onions. Garlic yoghurt sauce is the preferred option after a heaping pile of cheese and jalapenos are added to the mix. Grilled up to perfection and served in a wrapper, you got yourself the Brendan kebab. Serves 3-4. Enjoy.

For now, that’s all I got for you. Just under a month left here in Australia. It is flying by. Hopefully I will be able to get to Sydney next week. Thanksgiving’s over, Black Friday’s getting there… Next stop: Christmas.

I miss you and love you all! See you soon! Keep giving me attention!

-Brendan/Bren/Sully/Dangy/Buddha

Fiji

Bula!

Now folks, I’m certainly no marketing major, but it seems to me that if I were on the executive board of a wildly successful bottled water company, and I wanted to name it after a country, I would more than likely start with somewhere that has drinkable tap water. Needless to say, I never received the memo that one is to boil the tap water in Fiji before he drinks it. I drank it. Remember that scene that follows the dinner scene in The Wedding Crashers after one of the guys got eye solution put in his water? Just somethin’ for you to think about.

Last Friday I left for Fiji at 4am. Those of you who know me might understand that I rarely am awake to see the number 4 preceded by the letters “am,” and when I am, I am less than thrilled. I left my dorm and caught a cab to the train station at 4:30, and was embarrassingly early. Almost an hour later, I boarded the train with my knapsack (ha) and was headed for Brisbane International Airport. My flight departed at 9:00am and landed in Nadi, Fiji at about 3:00pm. The flight was just a little over three hours, but due to annoying time differences and stupid daylight savings, everything was all screwy. I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the recent sensation of “Movember,” but, in a nutshell, it is a fad in which men abstain from shaving their moustaches for the month of November. Unbeknownst to me, some of the Fijian women were taking part as well. The lady (or possibly man) at customs had a full-fledged, Monopoly guy moustache. Her facial hair, accompanied by her thick accent and quiet voice got me all discombobulated as I struggled my way through security.

Nadi is pronounced “Nandi,” why don’t you just put the N in there. I hate subliminal phonetics. Now personally, I was anticipating Fiji to be a picturesque south pacific version of Sandals, Jamaica, one of Michael Scott’s most deeply acclaimed destinations. I was incorrect. Much of Fiji is rather impoverished. Pregnant dogs, malnourished horses, and untamed fires provide the decor of the Fijian countryside. After I landed, the only thing I could smell was the overwhelming scent of steaming tar. I hopped in a cab and made my way to Yatule Beach Resort on Natadola Beach. I didn’t think the cab was going to make it. We miraculously found our destination and the pregnant dogs were replaced by pristine sandy beaches and the friendly people of Fiji. I headed to reception and met the lady there. She and the rest of the Fijian citizenry account for some of the friendliest and most pleasant people I have ever come across in my travels. There’s something about the south pacific that just generally makes people more amiable. “Bula (Hello)!” was yelled every five seconds by someone to me. Apparently, white people are revered in Fiji, I wonder if it was exponentially maximized for someone as white as myself. I often wondered how they knew I even was white. Was it my skin the color of Casper the Friendly Ghost? Maybe it was the wig I was wearing that I stole from Annie’s dressing room. Or it could have been my “swagger?” More than likely “all of the above.” Anyways, I checked into my “bure” and settled in. My friend, Mike, from Bridgewater has been studying in Fiji for the past four months, and was the means by which this trip was possible for me. The good people at the Yatule Beach Resort were gracious enough to give myself, Mike, and his two friends a great deal on our bure. We got a family one that included two separate units, which even included a $50 discount. It was so nice. I think I got the parents’ unit, since I was the first to arrive. If the cathedral ceilings and air conditioning weren’t enough, two full action-packed hours of the Powerpuff Girls were just the taste of television I needed (Am I materialistic? Don’t answer that.). At home, I am a television connoisseur, and that void needed to be filled by Cartoon Network, Time Warp, and hours upon hours of Madonna and Lady Gaga videos. In the time I was anticipating Mike’s arrival, thirst and hunger were my arch nemeses. In my kitchenette one would find the sink. A sink is a simple, everyday kitchen appliance that can be used for the most common purposes. Also, a life ruiner; it ruins people’s lives. This sink held the fate of my intestinal health in its faucet, and as I took a few swigs of its water, I was unknowingly planning out the next week of my life. Details unnecessary and inappropriate for the blogosphere.

Due to a failed attempt to trust their transportation, Mike and company didn’t arrive to Natadola Beach until about 7:00pm. I thought they were dead. Just kidding. They finally arrived at our bure and we headed to the resort next door for some dinner. A Tandoori chicken pizza and a margarita were on the menu. The food was good, and let’s just say that in case you thought you’d find a great margarita in Fiji, you won’t. It got the job done though. The ambience of the restaurant was flanked with “bumping” tunes that made me feel like I was in an Abercrombie & Fitch, and middle-aged women with cornrows, a combination that called for hilarity. After dinner I got to experience my first kava bowl session. This was an opportunity for Mike, Jordan, and myself to sit Indian-style around a large “kava bowl” with about fifteen other Fijian people. They ferment a root called “kava” and squeeze it into a bowl of water. They then fill up half of a coconut with the “grog” and hand it to you. As is customary, you clap once, chug the grog, hand the cup back, and clap twice. It was a lot of fun. A custom worth bringing home. We got to hear some Fijian tunes played on the guitar as well. Contrary to what we originally thought, grog doesn’t make you drunk. There is a numbing agent in it, however, that makes your tongue feel fuzzy, kinda like novocaine. It’s great. As the late night encroached, we made our way back on the beach, caught a great show on the Discovery Channel about people getting brainwashed in Jonestown, Guyana (really interesting), and hit the hay.

Due to jetlag and time differential, I slept in for some of the day on Saturday. When I arose from hibernation, Mike and I took the opportunity to go explore our surroundings for a little while. As we crossed treacherous, chest-high waters to arrive on another island, we were able to catch up on some of each other’s respective foreign cultural immersions. We got some good pictures of hanging rocks and mysterious huts before we headed back to the resort. The four of us grabbed dinner with some more of Mike’s pals and soon arranged for a “mini-bus” to Mango Bay resort. There were eight of us now, and we rolled into camp just as the rain did. We were taken to our orphanage slash hostel before we took the opportunity to go have some drinks by the fire with some of the other clientele from the resort. I made fast friends with some Australians, but I remember 0.00% percent of their names or anything about them. They might not have even been Australian.

Sunday morning was a bit of a struggle, as we sauntered our way to breakfast, followed by about a 2 hour nap on the beach for everyone else, and a two hour nap for me nestled in the safety under a shady tree. Trees... SPF: Infinity. After taking a few pictures of the scenery and grabbing some lunch, Mike, his friends Jordan, and Theresa, and I hopped on a bus that was headed to the city of Lautoka. We didn’t arrive until about 8:00pm and found our way to our humble abode of the night: Auschwitz, I mean Cathay Hotel. After we were checked in by the mentally incompetent desk clerk, we were led to our room for the night. If the salamanders crawling up and down the wall weren’t enough to make me want to stay, the howling cats, chain-link door guards, and sturdy Holocaust bunk beds made the sale. Mike’s top bunk dipped down enough for it to be considered a hammock. Funny stuff. Jordan, Mike, and I ordered a cab to take us to dinner. After no more than ten seconds of driving, we made it. Should have walked. It was pizza once again for this guy, and it was surprisingly good. We were back in bed by about 10:30 and were awake and exploring the city of Lautoka by 10am. Affluence is rare in Lautoka, but it was, weirdly enough, nice to see an ounce of reality apart from the Fijian resorts. After venturing through the town for a little while, we arranged for transportation to the mud pools, located somewhere in between Lautoka and Nadi.

Our cab driver got us there in about a half hour. We pulled in and convinced him to stay with us for the hour and continue driving us to our next destination. When he said he would stay, we thought he was going to wait in or near his cab, not creepily watch us bathe in mud pools and hot springs. He was useful for pictures though. The mud pools were interesting. We followed the lead of a Taiwanese broad in coating ourselves in the mud, letting it dry, and then wiping it of... $10. Whatever, it was cool, get over it. Now I knew the hot springs were going to be hot, but my heat threshold rivals that of an Inuit Alaskan tribe member. It literally took me fifteen minutes to get my shoulders even close to the surface of the water. After all of the mud had been cleansed from my almost-Santa’s-length beard, we got back in the cab and were driven to our final destination: Port Denarau.

Port Denarau was a mythical arrangement of resorts set across an island of tourist hot spots. It was couples galore. Young, old, Asian, not Asian, they were everywhere (peace signs included). We dropped our bags in our ocean view room, and planned out the agenda for the rest of the night. Eventually, we decided on dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe (haha) and resort hopping for the rest of the night. As many of you may know, I am chain food restaurant fanatic. There’s something about knowing what you’re going to get when you walk in that comforts me. Call me a romantic, but free refills, obnoxiously sized servings, and unnecessary garnishes are just my calling I guess. After heaping portion of the Hard Rock Cafe’s sampler platter, we headed back and went from resort to resort until we arrived back at the Sofitel. The first option had a 2-for-1 drink special starting at 9:00pm. So after waiting for fifteen minutes for the clock to strike the right time, our stingy wallets paid for two piña coladas, four “illusions” (ha), and two mai-tais. On to the next resort it was. As closing times encroached on our night, we took a cab to a bar off of Port Denarau, got over it, and came back to bed.

Tuesday morning was my final morning there. After purchasing a few final souvenirs from the Fijian empire, I was heading back to the Nadi airport by noon. My flight was at 3:30. There’s something about travelling by yourself that makes you realize how much you talk to yourself. Or at least I do. And I don’t just talk to myself in my head, I talk out loud to myself, in public places. On a number of occasions, I got caught talking to myself, and then thinking quickly, I had to immediately repeat the movement of my mouth repeatedly to make it seem like I had a facial tick, because something about a facial tick seemed more socially acceptable to me than talking to myself, I guess. After a three and a half hour flight back to Brisbane, I got on the wrong train because I’m smart. Don’t worry, Matt, this would never happen when it matters.

Since my return home from the one out of the 333 islands of Fiji, I have been finally getting back into the routine of school and life at Bond Uni. I feel like I haven’t been here in weeks. It was nice to have some me time and rest up from all of my travels. There’s already just a little over a month left here. Hard to believe! I gotta find more ways to spend more money before I leave. Side note: the Australian dollar is almost equivalent to the American dollar now. That sucks. If you could all do what you can to boost the American economy, it would be greatly appreciated. Gonna be a rough dollar next semester, Sara, G-Ma, and Savannah.

Anyways, Fiji was great. I’m still not sunburnt! I miss you all! Don’t forget to comment! Watch 30 Rock! Peace and blessings...

-Brendan/Sully/Buddha/Bren/Dangy

New Zealand!

Here’s a thought… Let’s heavily consider eradicating New Jersey from the United States of America, and replacing it with New Zealand. Now, some of you folks might read that and think, “Oh, that Brendan and his caustic wit, at it again.” Well don’t think that. I’m serious. We all know how people feel about New Jersey: it’s the armpit of America. So let’s take a heaping portion of New Zealand deodorant and make everybody happy. Who’s with me?

I would now say “but in all seriousness,” but I was dead serious about what I said before. Anyways, I now know where I want my ashes spread when I die. They are to be effervescently sprinkled in the melted glaciers of the beautiful nation of New Zealand. Many Australians say that they treat New Zealand like the United States treats Canada. Well if that’s the case, then consider my next stop America’s hat because New Zealand is the place for me. I loved every second of the five days we spent there. From the food to the views, and from the activities we did to the drunk people I laughed at, not a single moment passed that I didn’t savor until the very last drop. I like to refer to it as an Irishman’s Florida. It’s cold, often cloudy, and there’s no Miami. It’s a win-win situation. Another great part about it was the trash can abundance. I could stand on one street corner and count five trash cans within a five second walk from where I was standing. There was even one in the cemetery. We didn’t go in there, we were just observing. Normal.

Last Wednesday, my friends Zach, Brandon (more commonly referred to as “Coop,” on account of our annoyingly similar names), Iain, and myself met up near campus around 1pm. It was a stark, rainy, gloomy day that was blanketed with a horrendous humidity that made my shirt wetter than a glass of water. We took a cab to the train station with a jolly old driver and hopped on the train for our approximately two hour train ride to the international terminal of Brisbane Airport. As we got our carry-on luggage weighed, Zach had to unfortunately sacrifice comfort for weight, when he was forced to layer on three t-shirts, and shove all of his toiletries into his over-pocketed jacket. Let the fun begin!

After a bite to eat in the airport and a few short games of Skip-Bo, the four of us boarded the plane and were taking off for the city of Christchurch, New Zealand. Because we were traveling with time, it was about 1am by the time we landed and made it through security. The New Zealand dollar works even more in the American dollar’s favor too, so that was a perk for sure. We made our way over to the Hertz Car Rental desk and got everything into place. As we walked out into the frigid “Kiwi” (adjectival form of something from New Zealand) air and saw our breath for the first time since last March, we knew we had made it. That’s when we laid eyes on Gloria, our beautiful lady in red. Gloria was a 2009 Toyota Corolla hatchback. She was such a gem. I miss her. We threw our luggage in the trunk, put the car in drive and we were off the Base Backpackers, our hostel for the night. After about a half hour of searching for a street that did not exist on our map, we followed a cab driver to the hostel, Amazing Race style. This hostel was hurtin’ for certain. It was a dilapidated old building with squeaky floors, leaky roofs, gender-bending clientele, and some raunchy graffiti that I won’t detail.

We took a few moments to soak in the culture that was seeping through the oversized cracks on the walls, and went to bed. We slept for the length of a moderately long movie, and were up and on the road by 7am. We grabbed a quick bite to eat at a fancy lookin’ McDonald’s and we were officially on our way down the South Island of New Zealand to Queenstown. It was about a 6 hour drive to our destination that was jam-packed with views you see on postcards and a playlist one could only dream of creating on his own. Let me just enlighten you on some of the Grammy hungry radio tunes our ears were kissed with while in New Zealand:
-“Party in the USA” by Miley Cyrus
-“Ignition (Remix)” by R. Kelly
-“Love Shack” by The B-52’s
-“Soul to Squeeze” by The Red Hot Chili Peppers
-“Call Me” by Blondie
-“Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” by The Police
-“You Can Call Me Al” by Paul Simon
-“Play That Funky Music” by Wild Cherry
-“Life After Love” by Cher
-“Bailamos” by Enrique Iglesias
-“Truly, Madly, Deeply” by Savage Garden
-“When Doves Cry” by Prince
-“Karma Chameleon” by Culture Club
I know, just when you think one song in this compilation of crooners is enough, the next one tops it. We really had a great time with Gloria’s radio. We stopped about once every hour to take pictures of the seemingly fake views and to stretch our legs. We eventually drove to Lake Tekapo. It was a lake that we figured out was filled with the melted snow from the exiting winter. The water was as blue as Gatorade Frost Glacier Freeze. It was literally the same exact color. Nestled in the towering mountains of the Kiwi landscape, the lake provided us with an opportunity to take a ridiculous amount of pictures in a very short period of time. I think I had already over 80 pictures before we even arrived in Queenstown.

We rolled into the city by about 2pm and found our hostel. It was another Base Backpackers right in the heart of Queenstown that was exponentially better than our previous hostel, except for the elevator that was decorated like a torture chamber from one of the Saw movies. Once we walked in our room our jaws dropped with our bags when we saw that we got a corner office with a view you couldn’t even make up on your own. Another good thing was that the gym was right next door, so we… looked at it all week. We grabbed some pizza from the local pie shop and were getting ready for our first activity. If any of you are familiar with the most recent installment of “The Dual II” on the MTV the kids are watchin’ these days, you might remember a few of the activities the cast did that we also got to do. The luge was our first one. The two course options (scenic and advanced) sent us swerving and curving around hairpin turns to a finish line at the base of the chairlift that brought us back up. We got five rides included in our package, and I’d pay for 50 more. It was so much fun and a great way to get a jump start on our fun filled week of extreme stuff. I think if everywhere that had an airport in the world had a luge by the runways, there would be a lot less jet-lagged people on the roads. Food for thought, world. After our luge rides were over we took about 500 pictures and headed back down for some leftover pizza and a movie called “Taken” before we went to bed before our next even bigger day.

Friday was finally here and I was in love. We were awake and heading to “The Station” two blocks down by 10am. We arrived and checked in for out A.J. Hackett bungy jump package. They weighed us and gave us each questionnaires about our health conditions and all that hoopla. Knowing I was going to be bungy jumping from a high platform, I felt compelled to ask how close I was going to be to the sun, as some health issues may have risen depending on the answer, but I found the strength to refrain from such a question. By about 10:30 were on a bus heading to the bungy site about 40 minutes away. We got to revisit some of the countryside from our drive in on the way before turning off the main road onto a gravel path that took us up the side of a mountain. I don’t know how high we were but we were up there when we arrived at the bungy site. They wasted no time briefing us and we were on the basket thingy slowly moving out to the bungy “pod” in no time. Iain was up first. Without an ounce of hesitation he pounced off the platform like a leopard on its prey. I was next. I made quick friends with the guy who was strapping me in, as his name was Sully as well. I thought, “Really? Your name is Sully too? Well why don’t you shut up and make sure I don’t die, sir.” I didn’t say it, but I thought it. I smiled for one last picture before Sully had me waddle my way over to the jumping platform. Pringle, you might be happy to know that I got to work on my starts in New Zealand, except instead of diving into a pool, it was into a 140 meter deep abyss of nothing but air. Sully counted down from “3”… “2”… “1…” and then my whole life flashed before my eyes and I was like, “I’ve never been to Disneyland… not yet Jesus…” and then I came to and I was falling 140 meters straight down to the earth, with nothing but a bungy chord tied to my ankles and liiiiittle bit of pee in my pants. Just kidding, I didn’t really pee myself. I actually wasn’t even nervous. I just did it (Nike). I don’t know how familiar some of you are with distances and depth perception, but let me enlighten you. When Michael Phelps whizzes down the pool once during the Olympics, that’s 50 meters. Twice? That’s 100 meters. I think you understand the gist of it now. We plummeted to the bowels of this canyon almost three times the length of an Olympic-sized pool. It was insane. I would do it again in a heartbeat. By far, it was one of the coolest things I have ever done, and it wasn’t even noon!

We were driven back to our hostel by 12:30 when we grabbed some grub. In that it was fish and chips Friday, a fish burger was on the menu for lunch. Furthermore, considering I was a little timid to eat something for breakfast in an attempt not to barf all over myself, the lunch was gone in a matter of five minutes. By 3, we were awaiting out next activity: The Shotover Jet boat. This was one of the “Fast Forwards” a few seasons ago for all of you fellow “Amazing Race” enthusiasts. It is essentially a super fast boat that can travel up to 80 kilometers per hour. The driver takes the riders through the pristine waters, just barely dodging fallen trees and rocks that jetted out into the boat’s path. Throw in there some splashes from the water below and some 360 degree turns and you got yourself the ingredients for a recipe I like to call a good time. Our eyes and mouths were a little dry after the ride from the wind blowing in our faces and through our luscious locks of hair. The ride itself was a little short for my liking, but the length of the ride was completely full of thrills. It was great. Day number two was coming to an end, so we headed back to the room and caught “88 Minutes” on the movie channel before we passed out.

On Saturday morning, Zach and I were scheduled to do a canyon swing. This activity was also on “The Dual II” on the MTV. Explaining it is a little tricky, but you essentially are a pendulum after you fall off a ledge into a canyon. There are certain “types” or “styles” of jumps the crew offers you to choose from before your turn comes. I decided I wanted to go first, and I was going to do “The Chair.” After you are all harnessed up, they strapped me into one of those white plastic backyard chairs and slid me over to the edge of the platform. They explained the technique of successfully maneuvering the fall. After all of the information was relayed to me, they had me lean back for a picture that was taken above my head. While I was looking at the camera, one of the blokes tased my hand with an electric shock that ran up my arm. The noise I made as a result was something I’m not certain I could ever repeat. It was really something special. After the picture they began a cordial conversation with me. They seem to want to be friends! Score! I fell for it. They tell me to lean back one more time to make sure I got the technique down and I do. They say “Good…” and just as they get to “job,” they let go and I’m gone. I did a back flip or two and I’m falling down swinging to and fro in the depths of a canyon. It was awesome. I thought my hands were going to fall off though. But any canyons swing is certainly worth gangrenous limbs. Who needs ‘em? Zach’s turn was a few minutes after mine. He chose to do the backwards jump accompanied by a little disco flair on the way down.

After we had all done our jumps and made our purchases, the Scottish lad drove us back into Queenstown. Zach and I headed to the hostel and got a quick rest in before our final organized activity. At 2pm we were picked up to go river boarding. For all of you swimmers out there, river boarding is basically an hour and a half kick set, with fins, a full body suit, and a helmet. We were all given a boogie board each, and went through the training in about 20 minutes. After that we were off and down the river dodging treacherous rocks and soldiering through rough rapids. One of the coolest parts about rover boarding is called a “spit,” which is when you push down on your board right before a rapid and if you catch it right, you are shot forward under water before you even know what hit you. River boarding was quite the workout, so Coop and I took every opportunity we had to take a few gulps of the water we were submerged in. I’m sure Iain would have enjoyed it too if he wasn’t so busy trying to get Zach off his legs so he could kick. When river boarding was over the leader asked us if we wanted to go to the “hot springs.” Naturally we all said yes. They took us on about a half hour drive and dropped us off at a little Colorado-like hot tub place. It was awesome. We walked into our room and saw a hot tub that was overlooking the Kiwi mountains. There was a garage door that retracted so the crisp. Mountain air was at our nostrils. It was the perfect finish to something as tiring as river boarding. As many of you may know, I loathe hot tubs, but I took one for the team. When in Rome… After drying off and getting dressed, there were hot dogs waiting for us upstairs. They might have been waiting for about two hours, but food was food at that point. I would have eaten anything, as long as it came with, yup, you guessed it… AMERICAN MUSATARD. You never really know how much you miss something until you don’t have it anymore. As much as I miss my family, friends, and my dog, there’s something about a hot dog smothered in mustard that trumps everything else.

Saturday night was our night to go out on the town. We got back to the room, showered, and pounded a Red Bull before any feelings of tired could overcome us. We went to dinner at Sombrero’s, because if you go to New Zealand, you should try their Mexican food. That motto is pretty much echoed in the back of my head when I go anywhere ever. You wanna hear a small world story do ya? Well here you go. When our waitress asked us where we were from we all said Massachusetts, Oregon, Chicago, and Iain said Michigan. The waitress replied with a “Oh, I know some people from Traverse City.” I don’t know if it was the margarita talking for me but I got pretty excited, maybe too excited. That’s where Iain’s from. Small world! Who knew!? After dinner, we went to a bar called The Thirsty Ram and had ourselves some beers and laughs. Most of these laughs came from watching people. There’s something about drunk people that has always made me laugh. My favorite thing to see while out on the town is a really drunk person who is being helped by his equally as drunk friend. That’s funny, but it gets funnier. Imagine that same situation, but drunky #1 is dressed up as the guy from “Scream,” and drunky #2 is wearing a tight, bright pink VeggieTales t-shirt and a tutu. It was a real knee-slapper. The rest of my night was sprinkled with losing games of pool, winning games of pool that I cheated in, and a whole can of Pringles.

Sunday was our day to do whatever we want. We woke up at around 11am and headed to the infamous Fergburger for lunch. The burgers were amazing. White Hut still has my heart, but these guys were definitely top five. Zach eventually decided to go on a bike ride, while Iain, Coop, and I decided to go exploring. We wanted to get as high as we could (in terms of elevation). We found a road that went up the side of a mountain to a ski area and we drove it. We drove it like it’s never been driven before. We got a good amount of the way up when we realized we were losing the view so we took the opportunity to take some pictures of where “The Dual II” eliminations were and do some graffiti on some contraption we found. The roads were windy and the weather was… windy, so we headed back down for some dinner and packing before our departure the next morning.

“Valkyrie” was the night’s movie, and I spent most of it buried in my pillow. We all did our packing as the credits rolled across the screen and we nodded off to sleep. Monday morning we made the drive from Queenstown to Christchurch in five hours. If any of you are looking for a good oblique workout, I suggest you take a ride through the countryside of New Zealand. They really haven’t grasped the geometric concept of “that fastest way from point A to point B is a straight line.” We boarded our flight at about 4:30pm. I think this flight was the designated trans-Tasman Sea flight of baby transportation. There were 4 babies within an arms length of our seats, none of those 4 babies being quiet ones. The awesome part was they were fine the whole flight, and only cried when we had to turn off our electrical devices. I love kids, and MYOPs. We were back on the Gold Coast by about 8:30pm. As we hadn’t had Mexican food in 18 hours, we headed to our favorite hole in the wall Mexican cantina for dinner and headed our separate ways before we had to get back into the routine of things the next day.

New Zealand is made for me. I loved every single moment we were there. Even when Zach ruined the end of “Taken” for me. Just kidding. But seriously. I loved it. I want to go back right meow. I never thought I would ever be upset to be on a plane that landed in Australia. Oh well, good thing I won’t be here for long. I’m leaving for Fiji Friday morning suckaaaaaas. I miss you all! Don’t forget to comment! Don’t forget to vote! Swim fast Bears!

I love you!

-Bren/Sully/Dangy/Buddha/Brendan