Name Change

My time in Australia is dwindling (my flight home is next Wednesday) and the thought of retiring this blog makes me strangely doleful so I've decided to change its purpose and thus its name.

There are so many neighborhoods, museums, shops and restaurants in my hometowns of New York and New Haven that have escaped my attention because I'm hubristically looking at them through the eyes of an insider. I realize now, after having fully embraced tourist status in Sydney, that my relationships with my hometowns are not as intimate as I have always deludedly believed they were.

Ergo, I aim to constantly maintain the tourist mindset. This does not mean that I plan to stock up on "I Heart ______" T-shirts everywhere I go or sleep in a fanny pack.

Instead it means that I aim to perpetually engage with my surroundings whether I'm at home in the Big Apple or traveling to the Big Pineapple (a town in Queensland, AUS which unfortunately didn't make the itinerary this trip.) The entries will probably be less frequent (a gals gotta relax sometime) but promise I will write!

To consecrate this vow, I've written a very original oath:

I solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of travel blogger and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the Travel Blogosphere.

If you Cairns stand the heat, get out of the kitchen

A quick thought on Melbourne that hadn’t fully formed the last time I posted – one of the reasons it appealed to me so much is that it felt very close to its convict past. The bounty of dark alleyways – perfect for felons on the run –made me feel like a bit of a fugitive myself. Melbourne also boasts many more preserved buildings than Sydney which gives it more of a historical aura. My opinion also could have been skewed by the fact that Nina, Julia and I were almost arrested by a police officer who looked like a gentrified version of Magwitch. We had hubristically thought we could beat the system and decided not to buy return tickets for our tram ride back from Fitzroy. Our arrogance was not entirely unfounded since of all of the trams I had ridden up to that last one, no one had ever come on to check tickets. In any case, of course right before we were supposed to get off a troop of officers boarded the tram and started inspecting tickets. It looked like what I picture a train stickups in the Wild West would look, except that the “bad guys” were really the good guys and we were the bad guys, but at the time that’s not how it seemed. In any case, after we handed them our expired, concession tickets from our previous ride (by the way, in Melbourne you have to be under age 11 to qualify for Concession ticket. Woops.) Officer Magwitch threatened us with a hefty fine but after much groveling let us off with a warning and ordered us to buy full fare tickets which we obediently did.

Anyway, lets move from Melbourne’s convict past and the Dickensian nature of their police force and onto the present.

Tuesday through Wednesday of last week were pretty unremarkable. Went to class, worked on pieced, work-shopped pieces – not much time to explore since Thursday night we were back to the airport and off to Cairns. Thursday afternoon was more notable since we got to meet with Anthony Dennis, the editor of the Australian branch of Travel and Leisure. Before touring us around the Fairfax office (Fairfax being Australia’s 2^nd largest publishing house), he talked about the workings of Australian Travel and Leisure and what he looks for in travel pieces (apparently the format is super important…) It was definitely interesting to talk to Anthony and see the T+L office, but most of the travel writing that goes into their magazine doesn’t really speak to me. It is filled with mostly service pieces on pricey resorts and restaurants with a few longer features that are also usually based on glitzy destinations. While I love flipping through the magazine for its stunning photographs, if I ever get involved in travel journalism I want whatever I write to have more substance. Its slightly disheartening that I have stumbled on very few publications other than National Geographic and the New Yorker that publish the type of travel writing I’m interested in. I would also love to write a travel memoir, but all 3 of those options are ambitious to say the least.

Guess, I should start by practicing…

Might as well begin with the action which started early Friday morning unless you count listening to my compadre Brendan snore all night as action. We were picked up bright and early by the “Jungle Tour” van which conveyed us to s

everal scenic lookouts along the coast. Queensland’s terrain is markedly different from that of NSW and Victoria. Whereas the only Palm Trees that I’ve seen in NSW were obviously planted, Queensland boasts a ton of natural palms that dot the beaches and roadsides. It is also much lusher; even the mountains are carpeted in green.

Queensland Terrain

Next it was onto the Mossman Rainforest Center where I finally got to hold a Koala! The furry little fellahs were so cute I had to seriously restrain myself from stuffing it under my shirt and making a run for it. But then I thought of my run-in with the terrifying police officer in Melbourne and thought better of it. Instead, I held Bailey (that was his name, another sign that we were meant to be: Bailey + Haley = eternal happiness) for the stringently timed 10 seconds – just enough time to get a few photos snapped – before begrudgingly handing him over to the handler.

INSERT KOALA + ME PIC

A quick musing: While observing some Koalas up in their treehouses I came to the conclusion that in a past life my Dad was a Koala. The physical resemblance is uncanny (especially the fluffy hair, eyebrows and sizable nose...) and both of them are perpetually in alternate state of minds. Of course, Koala’s have an excuse –they’re constantly stoned on the toxins from the eucalyptus leaves they ingest. Hopefully my Dad has a different excuse.

Fazsha

Koala

But I digress, back on topic.

After meticulously purel-ing my hands and arms (Weird Fact: Koalas often carry Chlamydia. Strange right? I don’t know enough about the disease to know if you can catch it asexually, but I was also not keen to find out and accordingly drowned myself in gallons of purel) we moved on to a swampy, croc-infested river where we went swimming with pieces of bloody steak taped around our limbs and torsos. I jest, in actuality we jumped on a huge paddleboat and cruised up and down the river looking for crocs. I would have been perfectly happy seeing any old croc, so stumbling upon Fat Albert, a 300 Kilo monster of a crocodile was a special, if unnecessary, bonus like when a vending machine accidentally dispenses 2 bags of Lays instead of 1

AHH, FAT ALBERT!

When we’d gotten our fill of pointing and laughing at blubbery Albert, we jumped back on the van and drove to Cape Tribulation, a beautiful preserved rainforest where we wandered around aimlessly for about 20 minutes before our guide informed us we had to get a move on back to Cairns.

Cape Tribulation

While the landscape was stunning and I might’ve committed suicide if I went back to the states without having held a Koala first, Friday’s “jungle adventure” was a bit meandering and unadventurous for my taste. I thought we were going to get to do some heavy trekking in the rainforest which definitely didn’t happen. In fact we didn’t really do anything.

After our long day of lazing around on the van we were surprisingly tuckered out and didn’t get up to much besides strolling around the Cairns Night Market. It was much like the Queen Victoria Market – hawking mostly australiana and uggs – but I also stumbled upon some odder selections such as Emu and Crocodile Jerkeys, Facial Cream labeled “Placenta Silk” whose main ingredient was, you guessed it, placenta (someone should let Michael McCoughnagghey know, im sure he’d be interested) and lastly Salmon Flavored, Koala shaped pasta.

Methinks it tries to do too much.

7/11 – SCUBA

Thankfully, yesterday’s inaction was countered by today’s excitement. The sun was hardly up when we woke up and rushed to Cairns Marina where we boarded the “Passions of Paradise” Catamaran – our transport to the Great Barrier Reef.

It took about 2 and a half hours to slog out to Michelman’s Cay, supposedly one of the most pristine and colorful diving spots on the reef and the whole time I was like a little kid on a road trip:

Me: Are we there yet?

Crew Member: No.

Me 2 minutes later: Are we there yet?

Crew Member: No.

Me 2 minutes after that: Are we there yet?

Crew Member: BUGGER OFF.

Right before we finally were there, the instructors gave a briefing on how to Scuba Dive which definitely lived up to its name. Having taken a Scuba Diving Class in February I was shocked at how little they explained to us. Since I still haven’t done my open water certification I was on an introductory dive meant for people with no diving background and I guess their reasoning was the less they taught us the less there was to screw up. As opposed to the dive class where we learned all about our computers, how to calculate an appropriate ascent rate, and mastered inflating and deflating our BCs, the “Passions” lecture could be boiled down into two simple rules: 1) Keep Breathing. 2) Don’t touch anything.

After I was all geared-up I asked one of the instructors to confirm that the computer calculates your ideal ascent rate and he said: “Don’t be silly, it measures smiles and I can see that you have been very smiley today.” While my inner voice was screaming: “No it doesn’t! It tells me how slow to ascend so I don’t implode you liar!”, I smiled and looked down at my computer and said : “Oh yep, now I’m at 8 billion and 1 for the day.”

This Disney does Grimm Brothers take on Scuba Diving heightened my nervousness since I did know how much could potentially go wrong while diving. But any anxiousness I felt was trumped by excitement. Diving in the pool was one of the coolest sensations I had ever felt so the thought of adding marine life (and the Great Barrier Reef!) to the equation made me want to explode.

Instead of exploding, I opted to jump into the water directly into a school of batfish keen on the food the Passions crew feeds them. After quickly running through how to clear our respirators and masks, we started our descent to the ocean floor.

First stop on our sub-aqueous adventure was a giant clam that I ever-so-cleverly named Happy. Our instructor Rob demonstrated how if you pressed on the clam’s flesh, its mammoth shell would snap closed. This might sound like a recipe for disaster but the clam’s tissue walls are so soft and thick that the shell can’t close completely and instead of excruciating pain, the sensation is almost like getting a hand massage from a very clammy pair of hands. (har har)

After we got our fill of the clam, we swam on and settled in front of a patch of anemone. At first I thought Rob had led us there only to see the see grass sway with the currents – a beautiful sight for sure – but then I saw a flash of orange and realized WE’D FOUND NEMO!

Nemoooo

I watched enthralled as he tentatively flitted in and out of the oscillating field of dreadlocks he calls home (or maybe not, I’m not sure how “home” translates to fish-ish).

Rob had to drag me involuntarily from my perch in front of Nemo but I’m glad that he did because immediately upon turning around we were faced with the most dramatic turtle I’ve ever seen. When I say the turtle was dramatic I don’t mean to imply he got down on one knee with a skull in his left hand and delivered a soliloquy from Hamlet, though that would have been awesome. What I mean is that all of his features were exaggerated. Not only was he as bigger than a tire on a monster truck but the colors and textures of his skin and shell were more vivid and defined than any picture could ever do justice. He seemed to know he was striking and be keen to show it off because he was anything but shy. Several times he swam straight at my camera, posing as deftly as Tyra’s chicks on America’s Next Top Model. He was even content to eat sea grass straight from my hand.

Mugging for the Camera

Blue Steel

Before I knew it, our time down under was up and it was time to relinquish our artificial gills and start breathing real O2 again. Thankfully I wasn’t forced to stay above water for long. After slamming down a delicious lunch it was back in my wetsuit for round 2.

Quick Gross Sidenote: I don’t recommend “slamming” down 3 servings of lunch right before diving which is exactly what I did. Apparently vomiting into your respirator is totally fine, and luckily I never had to find out whether the rumor was truthful but I definitely thought it was a possibility right before I jumped back in for my second dive.

The second dive, which we took off of the Outer Reef, was markedly different from the first. The water was considerably deeper and the reef was even more diverse. My favorite varities of coral were the type that looks like a witches spindly, misshapen fingers and the kind that looks like a miniature maze carved into a smooth rock face. The marine life was also unlike what we saw in the 1^st dive. In addition to a few new species of fish, I got to hold a feather star (a creature that looks like a cross between an octopus and starfish, covered in grass), poke at Christmas tree worms (little spikey creatures who live in holes in rocks which they vanish into as soon as you touch them) (see video) and soak up the homeliness that is a Groper fish.

Feather Star

Yes, groper fish. At first I thought I had misunderstood Rob’s heavy Australian accent, but as soon as he did the underwater sign for Groper sighting (Directions: Reach arms forward, pretend to cop a feel) it became very clear that I had not. Thankfully, I did not fall prey to PerveMcPerveFish’s ribald antics and made it safely back to the Catamaran, where I collapsed into a bench, glowing like a lantern fish (which unfortunately I didn’t get to see) for the entire ride back to Cairns.

Spindly Reef

Maze Like Reef

In closing, it is safe to say I am absolutely hooked (sorry…) on scuba diving and want to continue to dive as much as I possibly can. It is totally surreal – to the point that I sometimes felt as though I was swimming in an IMAX movie instead of reality. I’m a little worried that no dives will ever match up (such is the curse of having my first dive at the Great Barrier Reef) but somehow I think I will always find it just exhilarating.

7/12/09 –

“If the Rocks don’t get you, the crocs certainly will,” our river guide Tim so comfortingly informed us as we floated closer and closer to our first level 4 rapid. “Just don’t fall out, then we have no problems, ya?”

Today Johana, Brendan, Julia and I white water rafted down a 14km (croc-infested) stretch of the Tully river. One of the guides spotted a croc along our stretch of river this morning, and the rocks jutted out of the swift river like gravestones but somehow rafting down the Tully felt very safe. That’s not to say we didn’t get jostled around, thrown from the boat, and soaked to the bone but somehow I (probably stupidly) trusted that nature was not against me today.

Perhaps my comfort was also due to the fact that we were in control of very little. As we were about to enter a rapid, and even on the calm flat bits of the river, we were constantly following Tim’s instructions like little monkey slaves. “Down!” Tim would shout and we would jump obediently into a low crouch in the middle of the boat. “Left!” he yelled and we jumped to the left. “Overboard!’ and we mindlessly jumped overboard to swim with Lyle and co.

In addition to acting as drill sargent, Tim also enlightened us about the river and surrounding rainforest. One especially notable tidbit is that he rainforest contains a species of plant that can cure any disease known to man including the “hangover.” Hmmm…

In addition to nifty “facts” Tim also taught us the names of all the rapids which I’ve attached below:

Alarm clock

2-15: can take two or 15 minutes to get down

double waterfall

staircase

castle rock

foreplay

wet and moisty

lunch spot

doors of deception

corkscrew

midnight rock

pipeline

lava flows

rock garden

disappearing falls

heli pad

double “d” cup

divine rapid

jabba the hut

flip Wilson

sharks tooth

zig zag

mine field

take out

little rapid

big rapid

look out rapid

junction road

sweeper rapid

In this case, I feel as though the pictures and videos describe the day better than I can in words so here is a photo/video montage.

X-treme

Halfway down I decided to become one with the boat

Yipe!

If you turn your computer to the left this video makes much more sense.

Nobbies and Penguins and Fitzroy, Oh My

After a big night Saturday, we begrudgingly woke up at 1030, grabbed coffee and rushed to Town Hall where we boarded the tour van that would take us to Phillip Island - a small island about 140 km south of Melbourne which is home to the worlds largest colony of Fairy Penguins, now called "Little" Penguins for the sake of political correctness. Surprisingly, the island is also a bastion for auto and motorcycle racing as evidenced by the 20 porches zooming around a track we passed on the way to the Penguin Parade Center.

Nina and I with our Penguin Pals en route to Phillip Island

On the way to Phillip Island we also stopped at a Wildlife Center where we each picked up a tupperware full of dried alfalfa and pellets to feed to the resident Kangaroos, Wallabies, Emus, and Koalas (though Victorian law being, well, Victorian we weren't allowed to pet or even touch the furry fellas). There i saw my first Joey - which i wasn't expecting to be as odd as an experience as it was. The leg poking out of the Mamma Roo's pouch looked long enough to belong to a fullsize Kangaroo so I half expected another kangaroo only slightly smaller than the mother to pop out almost like a Marsupial Bubushka Doll.

This Kangaroo does not in fact have legs coming out of its stomach, its a Joey!

Post-pondering the absurdity of the Marsupial species, we hopped back on the Van and crossed the bridge to Phillip Island where we headed straight for the Nobbies. The word "Nobbie" led me to believe that we were going to be seeing impish weasels or seals or whatever but I was pretty sure we were going to get to observe something living and small and evil. No such luck. The Nobbies are rocks. Beautiful rocks, but rocks nonetheless. If I ever sit down with the Phillips Island naming board I will definitely suggest that they change the names of the Nobbies to something a little less animate, devilish and diminutive especially as the rocks are GI-NORMOUS.

Nobbies

At last it was on to the long awaited Penguin Parade! As we pulled into the huge concrete Penguin Center, I sensed I was once again in for a different experience than I had in mind. I knew there would be bleachers but I wasn't expecting it to be quite so commercial. I was also expecting it to be more intimate - just me and the penguins. Turns out, the center boasted a cafe, lolly shop, and gift shop and almost 2,000 people a night show up to see the little guys dash from the ocean to the land.

Despite my disappointment about the business oriented Penguin Center, the penguins themselves did not disappoint although like the Nobbies, the experience was misrepresented. The penguins do not so much "parade" as they do tentatively scamper out in clots, sometimes rushing back into the ocean if they feel that it hasn't become dark enough for them to be safe from predators on land. But i guess Penguin "Dash-like-bats-out-of-hell" doesn't quite have the same ring as "Penguin Parade" and depressingly it all comes back to dollars. Unfortunately, I wasn't allowed to take pictures of the affair (they say because the flashes hurt the penguins, and they don't trust tourists not to use flash but i suspect its so they can get you to buy their morbidly overpriced pictures) but I've inserted a picture of a fairy penguin, sorry "little" penguin below so you can try to imagine how adorable it was to see little clans of them warily run up the beach, then get scared and run back and then restart the whole process from square 1.

"Little" Penguin

Morbid Sign at the morbidly developed Penguin Center

We got back to the city late Sunday night and immediately conked out (my dreams were rife with scampering penguins, by the way). Monday, after checking out of the hostel promptly at 10 (we learned from Dan who had the previous day gotten locked out of the room when he decided to shower before checking out late and had to make his way up to reception in nothing but his towel) we grabbed a quick breakfast in one of the many alleys off of Flinders Lane and headed across the Yarra to Eureka Tower, the tallest residential building in the southern hemisphere and home to "the edge" a glass cube (with a glass floor) that protrudes 3 meters from the building facade.

Going to Eureka itself was totally worth it for the perspective it gave on Melbourne and to imagine what it would be like to live that high. The Edge, however, was similar to the Ice Lounge in that it sounded awesomely extreme and turned out to be awesomely laughable in its tameness. First tip off that we were about to be disillusioned was the exorbitantly dramatic music they blared in the cube. Hearing it you couldn't help but think they were compensating for something. Then came the glass effects, which were probably the coolest part of the whole thing. Essentially different glass panes would switch from being frosted to clear in the space of a second. Click! Suddenly all of melbourne lay below your feet. Click! Then it was gone.

They wouldn't let me take my camera in "The Edge" either but I managed to surreptitiously (although, not even. I think the guys were just nice) snag photos of the overprices photos that they took of us and have attached the best one below.

Eureka Tower. In case you were wondering, its vertical in real life.

View of Melbourne's CBD from Eureka

We survived the edge!

After returning to ground level, we jumped on the tram to Fitzroy, a bohemian, mildly grungy area of Melbourne, and poked around some shops and used bookstores. I felt it was a bit commercial which was odd considering there wasn't a chain in sight. I was also confused by the extent of its diversity - with musty vintage shops abutting grimy looking fry-shacks, sandwiched between an organic coffee shop and a store hawking american designers at jacked up prices. It just didn't seem to fit together into a cohesive whole like many of the other more bohemian strongholds I've visited like Newtown, Surrey Hills and Glebe in Sydney. Not to mention it was super quiet which i found strange in such an eclectic area. Perhaps I'm not being fair because it was monday and one of the shopkeepers told us that Monday a lot of the shops in the area are closed. But then again, a lot of the shops in the area were open and it was still quiet so I don't think I'm completely unmerited in saying Fitzroy was bizarrely calm.

I was still glad to have visited Fitzroy because I felt like we did a lot of touristy things this weekend and I was keen to get out of CBD and see some of the other neighborhoods - but to be honest Fitzroy was not my favorite and I even felt it was a bit sinister.

"Welcome to Sunny Fitzroy". This sign would be more accurate if you substituted a C-A-R for the middle letters.

Well, that pretty much covers what I got upto in Melbourne this weekend. I probably wont update between now and next monday after I return from Cairns but you can be assured that it'll be an action-packed post as my plans in Cairns are as follows:

1. Hike in the Rainforest at Cape Tribulation
2. FIND NEMO while scuba diving at the Great Barrier Reef
3. Struggle down Level 5 Rapids in a raft with other nutjobs who chose the "extreme" whitewater rafting option without ever having rafted before
4. Avoid becoming chow for the Crocodiles at a beach frequented by them

Speaking of crocs...Later Gators!

Melbourne - Keeping it Surreal

Yarra River in Melbourne with the iconic Eureka Tower on the Left

Just walked in the door back from Melbourne where I spent the extended weekend (though every one of my weekends has been extended...) with the Travel Writing crew, Dan and Nina. For those who don't want to read through exactly what i did I'll sum up the weekend in 3 words: I love Melbs. It is delectably edgy while remaining livable and has a certain mystery about it thanks to its many alleyways often filled with quaint cafes and shops or blanketed in incredible graffiti. The architecture is a cool mix of old warehouses and hotels preserved from the late 19th century, and clean, heavily-glazed skyscrapers with lots of balconies and rooftop gardens. The main form of public transportation is a tram-way which i thought was incredibly efficient and easy to navigate (which for me, a girl born with a hippocampus the size of a shriveled raisin, is saying something).

Now into more specifics.

Arriving in Melbourne, early Friday morning, we dropped off our bags at the Greenhouse Backpacker Hostel located conveniently smack dab in the middle of Melbourne's CBD (central business district). After throwing our bags on our bunk beds we charged up the street to Hosier lane, a small alleyway that I'd read on Trip Advisor has one of the best displays of gallery sanctioned graffiti in the city. We certainly weren't misled. Every inch of the alleyway was covered in intricate monsters, bombshells, and unidentifiable animals in vivid magentas, greens, blues and yellows. There was also a fantastic interpretation of the Taj Mahal painted over one of the doorways and a tapas restaurant where the color scheme was limited to deep reds and blacks.

A Sub-alley in Hosier Lane

From street art it was on to more conventionally displayed art at the Ian Potter Center - though thats not to say the building or the art it housed were conventional. The building itself was very original with two of the wings made out of multi-tonal stone while the center, constructed solely out of steel beams and glass, resembled a skeleton. The inside was clean and uncluttered besides long strings of flower lights that streamed down from the ceiling.

Ian Potter Art Center

Flower Lights at Ian Potter Art Center

After spending a good hour in the Aboriginal Art section, oohing and aahing at traditional earth-toned spot paintings and contemporary examples of Aboriginal art, we walked the 3 blocks to the National Gallery of Victoria to see the Dali exhibit. Having always been a fan of what Dali I had seen, but admittedly not knowing a ton about him I was awestruck by how prolific and versatile he was. The exhibit quickly shed light on this as I got to see his paintings, sketches, film, photography, sculpture and even the jewelry which he designed. My favorite was a painting towards the end of the exhibit which he painted as Dali was getting on in years called "Othello dreaming of Venice" which supposedly signifies regret about his love life and not living in Italy (if i can remember correctly but that could be totally off). I also really enjoyed the plaques that the Museum put up for the benefit of the children going through the exhibit because the juxtaposition between them and the adult plaques were often pretty funny. I remember one in particular where the adult one was something like "The tubas signify the receptive female genetalia while the flacid violins represent sexual difficulties on the male's part" and the children's read "This painting is about dreams. Dali is dreaming of instruments. Do you ever have dreams?"

Othello Dreaming of Venice

My Favorite Dali Gift Shop Find that ended up being $90 which in my mind was about $85 too many

Funny side note: in addition to being incredibly interesting, the Dali exhibit was incredibly extensive and maze-like with many nooks and cranies. We ended up losing Cathy and waiting for her for about an hour at the exit until enlisting the help of gallery security. They emerged 10 minutes later, looking very proud of themselves and announced "We found Cathy!" To which the other 20-something blonde girl that they were dragging out of the exhibit responded "I'm not Cathy..." We finally found her about half an hour later in one of the video rooms where she'd been entranced by one of the gruesome scenes from Un Chien Andalou which I'd skipped over, being too much of a ninny to stomach watching some chick getting her eyes slit open.

After a much needed nap, Dan, Nina, Julia and I joined Dan's friend Andrew (aka. Fraiser) at the Esplanade on the South Bank for Dinner at a Greek Restaurant on the Yarra. Supposedly Melbourne has the largest Greek population outside of Greece and Cyprus so the food was delectable. After scarfing down an impressive amount of Mezes, Feta, and Pita we head to the Casino at the Crown Complex where Dan was keen to steal Nina's gambling virginity. After she valiantly lost $2 at Roulette we made our way to the Greyhound Racing station where i insisted we bet on a little bitch (im allowed to say it because its the technical term...) called "Yo Paulie!" . The boys tried to argue because she was ceded almost last but I stood my ground and low and behold coming down to the last stretch "Yo Paulie!" broke away from the pack and finished at least 2 lengths before the other bitches and pimps (definitely not the technical term). My betting secret? I liked her name and her hot pink singlet. So what if its not scientific? Betting's all about gut instinct right?

We've got a Golden Ticket!

We decided to quit while we were ahead and called it a night soon after.

The following morning, Nina and I happened to wake up at similar times and took our rumbling tummies to Cafe Lorca - an adorable cafe tucked into one of the many alleys jutting off of Flinders Lane. Melbourne has a reputation for having some of the best coffee in Australia - a lofty feat in a place where as i've mentioned has some of the best java of anywhere i've ever been - and I was definitely impressed by my long black (essentially two shots of espresso and a little bit of water).

Post-breakfast we picked up Dan who got a bit of a slower start than we had and jumped on the tram to St. Kilda where we got our adrenaline pumping (well, sort of...) at Luna Park - a mildly creepy, endearingly run-down amusement park that reminds me a lot of what I picture Coney Island to be like (embarrassingly, I've never been). The rides were totally underwhelming (there was maybe 1 dip and sharp turn on the roller coaster) but it was totally worth going to see.

The 3 Stooges about to Enter Luna's Maw

Apparently My Companions didn't get the Memo that we were going to at least fake being exhilarated

Trekking out to Luna also allowed us to see St. Kilda - a bayside suburb that formerly served as Melbourne's Red Light district. It has since been gentrified but has definitely retained a bohemian feel with tons of leather shops, used book stores and hole-in-the-wall fish and chips shops.

After we walked up and back down the main drag and out to the beach, we caught the tram back into the center of the city where we moved on to Queen Victoria Market - supposedly the largest open air market in the Southern Hemisphere. It was absolutely humongous with stand after stand selling fresh produce, meat, clothing and Australiana (stuffed animal koalas and kangaroo pencil cases, one of which i purchased for my youngest brother). The only disappointing thing was that a lot of the stalls seemed to be selling the same things (I can't even tell you how many boomerangs I saw) but if travelling has taught me anything its that every country tends to have an authentic-seeming standardized set of souvenirs. In Nepal it was Guhrka Knifes, Prayer Bowls and Hindu Figurines in Ghana it was Batik and long strands of beads in China it was Jade anything and in Australia its boomerangs and Australian Animal memorabilia.

After we scoured the aisles looking for more original wares, Dan, Nina and I headed back to the hostel to change quickly before heading to meet Fraiser and his footy friends to go to the Bulldogs vs. Hawks footy match. Footy in Victoria refers to Australian Rules Football, a sport that I'm not even going to pretend to understand. All I understand is that causes very tall dudes prance around in shorts that are far too short for them and try to kick a rugby ball through the center 2 posts out of a 4 post set-up. Apparently it is also powerful enough to inspire mothers with two-year olds sitting on their laps scream "YOU DICKWAD, CATCH THE FUCKING BALL!"

Maybe Wikipedia's Definition will be more helpful:

It is a football variant played between two teams of 18 players plus 4 interchange players outdoors on large oval-shaped grass fields (often modified cricket fields), with a ball in the shape of a prolate spheroid.

The primary aim of the game is to score goals by kicking the ball between the middle two posts of the opposing goal. The winner is the team who has the higher total score at the end of the fourth quarter.^[4] Except for special circumstances,^[5] if the score is tied then a draw is declared.

Players may use any part of their body to advance the ball. The primary methods are kicking, handballing and running with the ball. There are restrictions on how the ball can be handled, for example players running with the ball must intermittently bounce or touch it on the ground, throwing the ball is not allowed and players must not get caught holding the ball. Unlike most similar sports, there is no offside rule and players can roam the field freely. Possession of the ball is in dispute at all times except when a free kick is paid. A distinctive feature of the game is the mark, where players anywhere on the field who catch a ball from a kick (with specific conditions), are awarded a free kick.^[6] Australian rules is a contact sport in which players can tackle using their hands or use their whole body to obstructopponents. Dangerous physical contact (such as a pushing an opponent in the back), interference when marking and deliberately slowing the play are discouraged with free kicks, distance penalties or suspension, depending on the seriousness of the infringement. Frequent physical contests, aerial marking or "speckies", fast movement of both players and the ball and high scoring are the game's main attributes as a spectator sport.

Hehe "spekies". In any case, the Hawks, to whom Fraiser and his pals were hopelessly devoted were mauled by the Bulldogs by an almost 100 point margin.

Frasier Mourning his Beloved Hawks' Loss while Dan looks on, blase as always

I'm going to have to have to report on what i got upto Sunday and Monday tomorrow because i am BEAT and must hit the hay. G'Night!