Am I jaded?

Damn, I'm TIRED. I got to my hotel room at 7, read for a bit and then figured I'd close my eyes for a few minutes before going out to dinner. Between 8 and 9, I had to repeatedly wrench myself out of increasingly deeper naps. I told myself all sorts of stuff like "the restaurants are going to close" and "you're messing with your sleep later tonight," but when I'm sleeping, my body pretty much does everything in its power to stay that way. I finally got myself up at 9 with the promise that I could just go downstairs to go online and then bring food back into the room. I've had enough people watching for a lifetime anyway, and what's vacation about if not relaxing with yet another trashy novel in bed?

So I started my day with the Harbour Bridge climb. Actually, my day started by trying to locate the meeting place, which went rather badly. I had the address and a map, but the streets got rather wonky around there and number 5 Cumberland Place was difficult to get to. I made the mistake of actually getting onto the bridge and walking along it until a security guard pointed me in the right direction, which turned out to be about 20 feet past the bridge entrance.

I have to say, the whole climb thing turned out to be rather lame. There was lots of preparation, including climbing into a stinky suit and clipping all sorts of gear and walking up a practice ladder. There was about 12 of us in the group, and our tour guide Doug who fancied himself a comedian until none of us laughed at his jokes. The guy also spent about half the introduction telling us all about himself, where he was from, all the other adventurous activities he does, offering discounted ski lesson rates and later on, a story that went on far too long about how he led the director Peter Weir on a bridge climb and what an honor that was. Oy.

The climb started off scary enough, as we were walking along catwalks several feet in the air. I discovered a new fear of heights, even though they assured us the strenght of the bridge that was built in 1928. I didn't like standing over the traffic and watching it zoom by below my feet. But the climbing part turned out to be basically one ladder, and the rest was rather easy steps and slopes. Nothing terribly strenuous, which was disappointing. And we Kept. On. Stopping. They let groups up 10 minutes apart, so I guess we were waiting for others to clear out, and maybe they feel that for $169 per person, they should stretch out the experience to make it worthwhile. But it was just so ridiculously boring. Take a few steps, stop, listen to Doug reel off incredibly dully commentary. I can't even remember any of it to prove my point. He was pretty knowledgeable about the view we were seeing, which was also pretty spectacular from that height. And he told a few good anecdotes about bridge builders, etc., but then he would try to get all bantery about "Aussie footie" and other such topics that made no sense to anyone but the three Australialians on the trip.

The height was impressive and I stopped being scared once we were up over the water, although that too is referred to as a "no survival zone." Falling from that distance is the equivalent of smacking onto concrete, but we were latched onto the railing and there were a few workers wandering around up there with no security at all so there seemed to be no cause for concern.

So three hours later with a rumbling tummy, I gratefully took off my stinky suit and headed out on a quest for a new book and a pub lunch. That too, took a very long time to find, but long story short, I picked up a trashy Candace Bushnell book and Annie Proulx's (sp?) collection of short stories that includes Brokeback Mountain. Guess which one I'm reading? The pub wound up being perfect- located on George Street (which I know intimately now since it's a main road and connects Darling Harbour, where I'm staying, with Circular Quay where most of the touristy stuff like the bridge and the Sydney Opera House are located. It's about a mile walk between the two and I haven't figured out the public transportation in this area). The pub only served sandwiches until 2:30 and it was 2:15, so I got a yummy grilled ham and cheese with all sorts of funny condiments like tomato relish. And a pint of beer which I think is called Tahooney, but I may be mixing up some letters there.

After much debate in my head (the beauty of traveling alone) I decided it was worth it to figure out how to get to Bondi (pronounced Bond-eye, which I still can't get used to) Beach. I'm not much of a beach person, and I'm definitely jaded from my family having a beach house since I was 8 and now living in Los Angeles. But I've always had this image of surfer dudes on a golden toned Australian beach that I haven't seen matched in Los Angeles, and I figured I'd never get this opportunity again. Good thing adventurous Sark beat out lazy Sark, because Bondi Beach is simply stunning. The Sydney information office was on trusty George Street, and they pointed me toward the public bus that would take me there in about 45 minutes. It was starting to get chilly, so once there, I didn't pressure myself to do anything but what I wanted. And that meant walking along the beach for a few minutes, taking in the dozens of surfer dudes that littered the waves (and boy, are those guys part of that stunning scenary I mentioned a minute ago) and then just read my book/people watched on a cafe patio while drinking a "skinny latte" (my other favorite is a "skinny flat white," which means no foam at all). I was back on the bus within the hour, feeling perfectly satisfied.

Once back on George Street and walking to the hotel, I did a little impulse shopping and picked up yet another- oh jeez, I just realized it's not a hoodie. Okay, I picked up a hoodless sweatshirt jacket. Oh well, it's cute because it's black with a pink color and cuffs and a little crest on the chest. Well, it's either totally cute or incredibly dorky. Plus a shirt and a cheapie necklace, cursing myself for all the money I've spent today but really enjoying the atmosphere. It was chilly out and getting dark, and I was navigating through bustling city crowds, and the whole feeling just reminded me of being in New York again. Cold weather and foot traffic and impulse shopping on the way home aren't part of normal LA life.

So all in all, Sydney seems like a lovely city that I could easily live in, but I'm also very happy to move on and explore other regions now. I look forward to Monday when I can wander around Melbourne's city center, and of course 5 weeks of getting to know Wellington. But for now, I think food and sleep are my primary goals of the night.

Addendum

Not much later, but $50 poorer...
I had my dinner by the harbo(u)r. I spent a good several minutes walking up and down on street looking at menus, and finally settled on a bar for a glass of wine. It was a tasty shiraz, but once I was done, there wasn't much else to do. So I walked back to the restaurant that had crab ravioli on the menu. Once I read the words "crab ravioli," I was pretty much hooked.

Of course, it was then that I realized that solo travelers don't have it easy. The place was crowded and I wanted to sit outdoors. There was a table for two sitting empty, but the waitress told me it was a 15-20 minute wait and to "just come back." I confirmed the "come back" strategy with another waiter, and sat by the water reading. Thank god for trashy Jeffrey Archer novels. This one has kept me entertained during my free time over two days, and I'm crushed that I'm almost done. I went back into the restaurant about 12 minutes later and got the table that was still sitting empty.

I think I made a mistake getting the crab ravioli in cream sauce, as there was a crab linguini in tomato pesto sauce as well. I know, impossible choice, right? (insert random thought here: I once met a woman named Sophia and she named her PR company Sophia's Choice. Isn't that just terrible?) But I had ravioli in mind, so what the heck? So many questions. And it wound up costing me $33 just for a few measly ravioli because it was actually an appetizer that they made into a larger plate for me, but, you know, whatever. The waiter basically served me my wine, garlic bread and food within 10 minutes, and within 20, I was totally done. So completely done that I lingered over my book just to make the wait time for my table worth it. I dunno. I guess I wasn't totally discriminated, but I certainly didn't feel pampered. I guess having a conversation over dinner tends to eat up some time. Ooh, was that a pun? Sorta.

In any case, I gave up on making my time worth it, because I figured that was all in my own head. And I stopped by the convenience store where I picked up my newly coveted cookie dough Kit Kat. Yes, you read that correctly. As soon as I finish this one last glass of wine (a hotel bar chardonnay...not bad), I shall finish aforementioned trashy novel and majorly trashy Kit Kat and be asleep before anyone can even read this blog.

A Sydney Day

Yay hotel internet! Okay, I'm paying 10 Australian cents a minute, but at least I have internet access that isn't monitered by other people's internationally recognized companies. I would be awfully embarrassed if my cousin got canned because her work tracked me Googling "gay Melbourne."

So I'm in Sydney. I've had a wonderful day so far, and I'm about to get myself a glass of wine which can only make it more wonderful. I've come to terms with the fact that I've completely lost touch with the value of the dollar (as I just inserted another dollar coin into the internet terminal) so I'm going to take myself out for an obscenely expensive dinner. Well, maybe not obscene, but certainly not frugal. I've completely lost track of what I've spent as of late. This morning at the airport in Melbourne, I realized my watch battery had died. So I bought a new ($20) watch. Then I bought a plug adaptor so I can finally turn on my own computer and charge up my Game Boy, which I'm sure will delight my little cousin to no end.

Add on a harbour cruise, a ticket to the zoo, foodstuff and what I hope will be a yummy dinner, perhaps involving some sort of crab, and there I've spent more money than I can fathom. But it's all been worth it. The Sydney harbour is just gorgeous and the zoo...oh the zoo. I mean, I know I just saw all those animals yesterday, and really, once you've seen one koala hanging off a tree ignoring you, you've seen them all. But there's such a difference in seeing them in what at least masquerades as a natural environment. I have dozens of what I imagine to be the most amazing pictures from today. An d I maintain that there's just no way anyone could ever doubt evolution after watching a family of gorillas chilling out. There was a big breasted momma nursing and snuggling with her tiny baby, whle daddy sat against the wall obliviously chewing on some leaves and two older kids took turns knocking each other off a hammock.

Tomorrow I'm going to climb the Harbour Bridge, which promises to be a 3.5 hour excursion, although I think only one of those hours involves climbing up. There's an orientation and of course, one has to get back down. The bridge is huge so I'm a little apprehensive of a) falling off and b) my kneecaps. But since I'm only now just easing myself into being an adventurous traveler, I figure this is a good way to start. I realized today that this is really the first time I've ever traveled to a city on my own with no purpose except to learn about that city. No school, not work, no companions. Just me and my recently developed ability to read a map.

I promise pictures soon. Once I can hook up my camera to my computer and my computer to the net, I should be all set. And then all those who have asked can see my lesbian-ish hair. It's getting longer, and a 45-minute harbour cruise did wonders to the styling that most hairdressers can only dream of creating.

Okay, off to find the perfect pinot in the ideal setting. More tomorrow.

Aussie Power

I haven't been eaten by a dingo. In fact, I petted a dingo today. My email access is sporadic so I may not have a chance to really sit down and write about my adventures until a bit later. But rest assured, Gentle Reader, I am in Melbourne, which is strangely similar to Los Angeles. Today involved catching sight of all the Aussie animals that have captivated my imagination for years. Just think of Australian-only animals and how oddly they evolved because of their isolation from the rest of the world. If the platypus doesn't prove that god has a sense of humor, I don't know what does.

So long story short, today I fed kangaroos, pet a dingo, saw a koala scratching its head which was freaking adorable, and got creeped out by tasmanian devils. At night I sat on a beach and watch teensy weensy fairy penguins march from the ocean up the beach to their nesting areas. I'll deal with the details later, but while it wasn't exactly as much as everyone made it out to be, it was worth it afterward to walk alongside the trail where the penguins were waddling along to their beds.

Okay, freaking exhausted and I'm heading to Sydney tomorrow for a couple of days. I promise I'll be more detail-ful in later posts. And pictures. Lots of pictures.

Damn, swallowed up by blogger my last post was. I was trying to figure out how to add a picture.

Well, long story short: luxuriating in my last alone time for a while, with my trusty tomato soup and TV. I'm currently watching Child Stars on A&E. At least it's not on E! They're doing it intellectual-style by having former child stars sit in a round table. There's Laura, Wally, Tootie, Darlene and some really old people I've never heard of except in these kind of specials.

Had my last improv show last night. They're so awesome, I do love my group. Here's our new poster- this is what cause me hella issues in my last post, so let's see how this goes:

Huh, well, not exactly where I thought it would be placed, but that's cool.

I got sort of hit on at the gym today. I was already showered and dressed and had returned to put a hold on my membership, so I wasn't a total mess, but pretty darned close. The dude was all over it. I was mostly surprised since I was wearing a hat to cover up the ridiculousness that my hair is today and we were just discussing how to get rid of my arm flab. It's nice to know I've still got it, even with a wedding ring and a lesbian-ish haircut.

Almost there...

Whew, I'm tired today. Errands and social obligations leave little space for alone time. Yesterday only involved a few errands, and the rest of the day was spent slothing around with my husband who was preparing for his own flight to New Zealand. He was in a stressed-out mode that involved much questioning of his career and choices, so as Faithful Wife I listened, sympathized and offered my opinions. It's a tough thing, relationships. You have to learn when the other is simply venting or needing a legitimate feedback or requiring whack in the head. I usually save the last for dire situations but sometimes it adds a little levity to the situation.

But now he's off, and hopefully has reached Wellington safe and sound. I hope he can spend the rest of the weekend re-acclimating and avoiding work. This is the third time he's flown to New Zealand in three months, so I can see why he's over it. Me, I'm all sorts of excited.

I'm down to just a couple more errands, my last improv show tonight and thinking about packing. Everyone I talk to asks if I'm packed yet. I never pack in advance because then I can't find my stuff. I figure whatever I wear here is what I'll be wearing in Australia/New Zealand, so I already know what to pack. Is that weird? People have been looking at me like I'm insane when I say I'm a)not packed and b)not stressed.

The good news is that I now have four publications interested in articles while I'm traveling. Two gay print, one non-gay web, and most excitingly, one non-gay, travel-oriented print. Having worked for a well-known travel journalist has been a huge help in getting editors to actually give me a chance, and it's given me renewed vigor to pursue a freelance career. Since my husband's jobs requires the utmost flexibility from me, I need to develop a career that can move with me. Plus I work well when I'm at home in my PJs. Go figure.

Being Productive is Overrated

I think that my productivity levels are inversely proportionate to the amount of time I have off. The past two days have been a flurry of phone calls, meeting, socializing and shopping. Yesterday I managed to drive to nearly every corner of LA, and then spent two hours and $118 at Target, purchasing various sundries and continuing my ever-lasting search for the perfect pair of travel pants.

Last night, however, ended up with an oddball mix of alcohol and foodstuffs that are now causing me to sit on the sofa staring at Leave it to Beaver, wondering what else is on but not having the energy to start flipping channels. My dinner with a friend last night involved some lovely French-Asian tapas, although I can't say I understand what is so French or Asian about beets with shaved cheese, lamb with shaved cheese or ravioli filled with salmon mousse. I'll buy the fusion aspect, but not so much on the actual nationalities. In any case, I drank two glasses of a very lovely wine. Then we followed it up at a bar with my husband and his friends, who were already well into their night. Apparently my husband was on a mission to find the gayest drinks possible, so I found myself sipping a Sex on the Beach and a Mai Tai where the citrus levels are as high as the sheer drinkability factor.

We walked home, being the responsible adults that we are, and made a pit stop at 7/11 for their all-American, non-fusion hot dogs. It was a mistake, I know, but my defenses were down. And boy oh boy are those hot dogs tasty. But as a result, today I feel like my insides have been pickled and preserved. A few more minutes on the sofa to recover, that's all I need. And maybe some banana chocolate chip bread. Or a yogurt smoothie. Mmm, yes.

Uh oh, Beaver has a new pet frog and his mom wants to get rid of it. Must see how this is going to resolve itself in 22 minutes.

Unemployment

It's day one of unemployment. I haven't been unemployed...like, ever. In both of my major job changes, I left one company on a Tuesday and began the new one on Wednesday. The only time I've ever been out of work was when I first moved to LA, and even then I found myself in an employment agency the day after I arrived. So basically, since graduating college, I've either always worked or been looking for work.

I"m taking a week off before going to Australia so I can deal with little things like canceling subscriptions, dealing with inexplicable charges from Verizon for DSL equipment that I totally returned (albeit 2 months late, but still, I returned it) and trying to arrange for at least a couple of potential magazine articles while I'm traveling. That last one is really difficult and I don't really know what I'm doing, but the Verizon argument is actually the one thing that I've been putting off forever.

Part of me wishes I had forgotten that I don't have to work, so I could have woken up, gotten dressed, walked out the front door and then turned around and gone back to sleep. Because that's pretty much the scenario that played in my head every day I've ever gone to work. But instead I woke up at 9:30, giggled like a girl who's all a'twitter and rolled back over for a few more snoozy minutes.

Welcome

Rest in peace old diary and long live the blog. I'm fortunate enough to be doing some traveling over the next few weeks into Australia and New Zealand, so I figure why not chronicle my tales? And in the meantime, why not indulge in my need for attention and let other people read about me? And thus, a Sarktales is born.