Actually useful info on Raratonga

There isn't a phenomenal amount of information on internets about the Cook Islands.  Having spent some qt there, I thought I'd do a solid for internet world and provide some of the deets we would have found useful.

Where to stay: the beaches in Titikaveka are the nicest we saw. We got married at the Royale Takitumu and were there for 7 nights – we loved it and had the place virtually to ourselves. I wouldn't hesitate to stay here again, or to rent a bungalow near by.

Muri beach is over developed and the beach is severely eroded. The lagoon that it faces is beautiful to look at, but there is barely enough beach for a lounge chair and the hotels are smashed together. The benefit is lots of bars and restaurants within walking distance, but I wouldn't stay here.  Unless its the highest of tide, swimming is in knee or waist high water.

We stayed in Aroa for the 2nd half of our time and were super happy. Its a nice beach for swimming and snorkeling and there is a lot more retail-wise than in Titikaveka. We were walking distance from a DVD rental, bike and scooter rental, mini-golf course, and a couple of restaurants.

Since both the accommodations we stayed in were self-contained, we mainly cooked for ourselves. By which I mean that Ed mainly cooked for us and I drank rum. But we did hit most of the restaurants that were recommended or we were curious about.  Here's a wrap up.

Paw Paw Patch – don't go on Sunday night for the bbq buffet. Its lamezone tourist time where honeymooners, anniversaries, etc. are “wooooo'd” and slow jams are played by an island trio. But, the a la carte menu served other nights is amazeballs.

Rarotonga Fried Chicken – the ladies aren't very friendly, but if once served from a fresh batch of chicken, we didn't mind. Like everyone in Oceania, they are afraid of salt but this can be rectified.

Waterline – beautiful setting for cocktails, skip dinner.

Razi's Indian – good! And one of the best values on the island.

Tamarind House – everyone loves it, and for good reason. Set in a former NZ official's tropical home, it overlooks a gorgeous beach and the food is outrageously good. We went for lunch, which is a bit less spendy than dinner, and thoroughly enjoyed.

Vaima – we had our wedding dinner at Viama. Some dishes were outstanding, some were just ok. One of the only restaurants with tables in the sand just feet from the ocean. They also have an awesome DVD rental that opens sporadically but has a great selection.

Wigmore's – so much more than just a gas station, fantastic fish and chips. We ate them twice and didn't feel nearly as bad about ourselves as we should have.

Saltwater Cafe – a lot of locals love this place – the food is so slutty and so delicious. Probably our overall favorite meal.

 Thems the huevos.

Trader Jacks - to see how the locals pickle themselves, belly on up to Trader Jacks during daylight hours.  Some of the food is outstanding, other dishes are a hot mess.  The action is at the bar, which we stayed away from. 

The most complete info I found on the Cooks was here.  GO!

cookislandsatoz.com

Cook Islands Wrap Up

We didn't know that much about the Cook Islands when we decided to spend nearly a month there. We knew there were beaches, the google images were solid, and it was cheaper than Fiji. Choosing a spot for our wedding wasn't easy. I worked with a “wedding coordinator” (I'm using quotation marks properly) who really was just a shmo from Small Guide Travel who got kick backs for pointing people to resorts that her website had deals with. Having seen the place Mandi with an “I” recommended to us, I'm glad that we got wise to the jig with her and did it ourselves.

Rarotonga is the largest of the Cook Islands – it takes nearly an hour to circumnavigate its single road. The island is volcanic which means fantastic produce, a giant bump in the center than can be hiked over, and v. strange weather systems. We had nearly a week of full sun before the rains began. Some days in our bungalow I thought trees would be uprooted; some days they were.

Unlike other vacation destinations, Rarotonga isn't super built up. Most people that go are from NZ, and rent bungalows rather than staying in hotels. The biggest resort is tiny compared to a major chain hotel. The beaches are public and quiet: no one is selling sarongs, or hair braiding, banana boat rides, or herbs packaged as weed. There is just ocean, beach, jungle and the road to putt around on a scooter.

For climbing.

Which isn't to say we were bored. I snorkeled almost every day we were there. The island is surrounded by coral. On the downside, this means there are only some areas where the ocean floor is soft and sandy for wading. On the upside, one can snorkel from the shore anywhere on the island and see tropical fish that are beyond amazing.

Being on Rarotonga made me wonder why we ever lived in a city.  Waking up in the morning to the sound of the ocean, wandering to the beach to snorkel for an hour or two at a time, scootering to the local gas station/video rental/grocery store/fish and chippery in the afternoon, it makes one think about chucking it all. We came up with a fairly detailed business idea that is still being batted around.

Meeting so many formerly-corporate New Zealanders who've sold off and opened small businesses on the island makes one think. The men are thin from tennis playing and are so tan that the creases around their eyes are bright white when they aren't smiling, which happens rarely. They work outside on their property, or pour gin for their seasonal friends, or teach tourists how to sail. They're professionally relaxed.

Ed asked my when we were in Koh Lanta how long I thought I could stay at the beach and not get bored. I thought a month would do it. I was wrong. Apparently my tolerance for the slow paced life is virtually inexhaustible.

For looking.

Ed got new glasses in KL...

And now we ask ourselves, what would Stanley Tucci do?

 

 

Extremestown

I didn't have a chance to wrap up NZ properly while we were in the Cooks.  I was super busy with snorkeling, scootering, and trying out various sarong tying methods.  But I'd be remiss if I didn't include a little ditty on Queenstown, which is one of the most picturesque cities we've visited on this trip.

Queenstown is made for tourists.  Extreme tourists.  I imagine the expression "been there, done that, bought the tee-shirt" originated there.  There are almost endless ways to get one's adrenaline fix in Q-town, including but not limited to: bungy jumping (both the world's oldest and, separately, the world's highest), paragliding, parasailing, jet boating, downhill mountain biking, glacier climbing, heli-hiking, heli-skiing, heli-rafting, heli-biking, white water rafting, black water kayaking, canyong swinging, zip lining, skydiving, hot air ballooning, ATVing or snowmobiling.  The list continues, but it would seem that if one can jump off it, be launched over it, or ride on it in a dangerous way, someone in Queenstown has created the experience.

by choice.

Ed and I aren't the extreeemmmmeeee sorts and neither of us counts adrenaline among our vices.  But Queenstown is rad, even for those who don't want to be video taped screaming at 9.8.  We spent our week wandering the small town, drinking local wine, and hiking in the surrounding mountains.  I rented a bike for an afternoon and followed the lake trails to a nearby town.  We rode the luge and ate delicious cheese and soaked up the amazeballs autumn weather.

mountains for walking

cheese for lunch

I don't have a conclusive wrap up here.  What I do have is a petit hangover and another picture of Toby.  Fin.

travelin reading list, part VII

Being on the farm with no booze, transport or entertainment and subsequently on the beach with lots of daylight and no plans, I've read a LOT of books lately.  I've sort of enjoyed scavenging books at the places we've stayed.  At home I would have been more selective since I didn't have hours a day to read.  Now I'll pick up just about anything and almost always finish it, no matter how awful.

Oh, hott travel tip #54.  Always carry a paperback so you have something to trade on the book swap shelves in hotels and coffee shops.  We were able to save a small fortune in guidebooks this way and sometimes I even ended up reading something really super great as a result.

Survival of the Fittest by Jonathan Kellerman
I found this book in the cottage at the farm and selected because it was not covered in rat dung and did not appear to have been peed upon.  I've never been much of a crime reader, but now I'm learning about authors who have one protagonist that appears in a series of books.  In this one, that's Alex Delaware and he's as predictably handsome and wise cracking as all the crime stars.  I enjoyed this fluffy number; the killers are picking off the genetically inferior and a greedy WASPy family is involved.  Senators! Nazism! Disabilities (this was written when the word retard was still used by doctors)! I also find it entertaining to read books from the '80s, when the detective and his sidekick have to create a suspect list from several "print outs" from the "databases."  There are pencils to be sharpened and libraries to be visited while researching the crimes.  Old school solvation!

The Company She Keeps by Georgia Durante
The memoirs of a former model and mob wife turned stunt car driver and is fascinating if poorly written.  The story is long and winding; its obvious that the author isn't a writer by trade and her editor should be flogged.  The intrigue comes in having a peek into the psyche of an abused woman and a glimpse into the inner workings of the mafia.  The frustration at the authors' relentlessly poor choices in men and continued neglect of her kids is just grating.  If I hadn't been sitting on a beach for a month, I never would 't have finished it.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
Awesome recommendation from Burgie.  A SUPER charming and beautifully written book, its a series of letters between witty, hip characters at the end of the second world war.  The history lesson is revelatory, but what makes it a non-stop read is the cast of sweet and quirky characters that the main narrator, writer Juliet, meets during her time in Guernsey.  Definitely in my top 5 for the year.

Sahara by Clive Cussler
This one was on the shelf of our bungalow in Raratonga.  The protagonist here is Dirk Pitt- also ruggedly handsome and handsomely rugged.  And wise cracking.  And tough and heroic.  I sort of loved this ridiculous but smart novel which incorporated the civil war, gold mining in Africa, the decades old story of a female Australian pilot, naughty big corporate conspiracy, toxic waste, cannibalism, slavery, and shipwrecks.  Getting into the crime genre, its hard not to notice how many salacious elements the authors manage to toss into the plot.  What Clive, no Khmer Rouge?  And what about theFreemasons? Perhaps in the next Dirk Pitt joint.

Bloodline by Tess Gerritsen
Also a paperback in the bungalow.  Also a crime novel.  More toxic waste, school shootings, witchcraft, big pharma, but in a small town setting.  It was sort of like that show "Everwood," but with 'roid rage.  Strange, but ultimately a fun read.

Wedding Video by Molly-san

My bff created this gorgeous vid for our nups.  I just got to stream it properly and hear the music this morning.  Watch and mist.

A Molly Simms' joint, y'all:

http://vimeo.com/23079403

Low, Lower, Highest!

Low: I might have cried on the way to the airport on Rarotonga. I'm not a prolific crier generally but leaving the paradise that had started to feel like home totally bummed me out. I'm pretty sure I lost half my tan on the plane to Auckland, where we slept for 5 hours at an airport motel until the next leg of our flight to Melbourne.

Lower: After spending several hours in the Melbourne airport we were tired and dirty and ready to check in to our shitacular airport motel for the rest of that layover. Our room was tiny but fine and I was planning to catch up on some blogging and Skyping. Then I opened my bag and realized my notebook was gone.  In my 5 am fog, I'd left it on the flight from Auckland to Melbourne. This isn't just any notebook. Its a calendar that I bought at Tokyu Hands and the cover reads “A Moderate Request.” In it, I've recorded what we've done every day of our trip since October 1^st when I bought it.  I made all of our lists, recorded our research, and jotted down all the hilarity in my head in its “notes” pages.  One of my favorite things to do at night when I filled in the day's activities was to say to Ed “Do you know what we did on this day in January?” And then fill him in on the details. Some nights I would read the entries from the same day of each month from the whole trip and we'd relive those countries and highlights. And it was in the seat back pocket of seat 60A.

I speed walked to the airport around 4:30 pm and talked to three ladies at three counters who didn't have it. They were all lovely and sympathetic but couldn't help. I returned to the motel and for the second time in as many days, got misty.

We slept poorly again and were up early for the last leg of our flight to KL. I'm sure this sounds highly convoluted (and is) but for monetary reasons these flights actually made some sense.  After checking in we were warned by the AirAsia folks to go directly to security because lines were crazy long. We didn't want to miss the flight but I wanted to check for my book one more time before we left Oz.  Ed heroically agreed and we split up to hit Quantas' baggage services, the Found property room, and the information desk. When I saw Ed & a Quantas employee walking toward Found property,  I intercepted them to say I'd already checked and not to waste their time.

Ed said “Oh, but this lady saw it in the system and its here.” And so it was. Filed happily away in a different part of the room. This goddess among women with her beehive hair and certain pack a day habit strolled out of the office with my memory filled Moderate Request held up for me to see.  I almost kissed her and very nearly cried again. I really need to get some sleep.

The book is sitting next to me on the plane as I type, and we're going to photocopy its pages when we get to KL, so we don't have to worry if its misplaced again. Tonight we'll going to play the longest game of “this day in our trip” in history. Thanks to Quantas lady, Air New Zealand, and the kind soul who turned it in rather than chucking in the garbage.  I care more about this calendar than anything else in my baggage.  Including my wedding dress.  Best.

Northern New Zealand is RAD!

I'm just going to say it. New Zealand is awesome.  Awesomer than Australia, in fact.  Its just a little more sophisticated, a little less blowhard, more tasteful all around.  And the Lord of the Rings scenery just keeps giving.

Most everyone we spoke to pooped all over the North island and encouraged us to head our heinies south and as quickly as possible. But I'm going to go ahead and stand up for the North Island. Auckland is a beautiful city with cool neighborhoods, every kind of Asian food solidly executed, a gorgeous harbor, and friendly people. Waiheke island, about a ½ hour ferry ride from Auckland is bougie paradise. Having a gorgeous day, we hiked all over it and ate at a fancy resto in our hikies.  People happily chatted to us about the local brew, the weather, their dogs, and which beaches to hit up.  From where I'm standing, the rep for snottiness was unfounded. 

And then there's the northern tip. We went up to Paihia expecting to spend a couple of nights and ended up staying for 5. The lady at the Sunseeker Cottages was endlessly obliging when, each morning, I waddled up to the main house clutching my CapitalOne card to play with her German shepherd and extend our stay for another night.

Besides our awesome day in Russell and sailing in the Bay of Islands, we did a fair amount of driving.  We drove to Manganui to eat famous fish and chips (worth the hype) and visited the largest living Kauri tree.  We hiked by the coast and wandered the adorable shops in Paihia. We visited the grounds where the treaty between the Maori and the colonists was signed and saw the ancient war canoes the Maori used to attack the whities. 

World famous, says so right on the sign. 

bigasstreeandme

 attaque.

The South island is amazing, but when we go back to NZ (and we will), I would be hesitant to skip the north.  It has ever so much to offer.  NZ is at the top of our list of places we want to visit again, and for longer next time. The smaller, hipper, thinner version of Australia, the Kiwis got it going on.

WWOOFin.

This is a little overdue, but I'd be remiss if I didn't include the tale of one of the most bizarre weeks we've had on this trip. At my insistence, Ed and I spent a week “working” on an organic farm 30 minutes from Dunedin on the south island of NZ.

The week we spent with our hosts, a couple in their 60's (we'll call them Ann and James) who moved from the city 20 years back to take up a back-to-nature lifestyle was 50% strange, 20% awkward, 10% fun, and 10% other. We spent an exhaustive amount of time on the Worldwide Organization of Organic Farming's website, trying to identify folks that didn't look crazy and accommodation with them that didn't look ranky janky. We did our best to vet them, but she was an absolute nutter and the cottage we stayed in was filthy, vermin infested and unheated. 

On the shelf in the "kitchen" area of the cottage.  I'm guessing expired. 

We worked about 4 hours a day in exchange for our narsty room and, actually, quite delicious board. The lady of the house fancies herself a gourmand. She's a good cook and seems to enjoy having an excuse to overeat which her WWOOFers happily provide. Our days consisted of weeding, feeding the animals, clearing brush, and prepping for the weekly farmers market. Oh, and listening to James talk about what he was going to do and then taking naps in a rocker. 

I actually quite enjoyed the work. Weeding for hours on end was hypnotic I just had one fundamental problem with the arrangement that took me a few days hurdle. The farm is horribly mismanaged and a sickening money loser. Ann has “diversified” potential earnings and now the farm raises pigs, sheep & chickens, breeds Jack Russell Terriers, grows lettuces, fruit, saffron, edible flowers & nut trees, has 25 planted acres for logging, makes beer, cultivates honey, etc., etc., etc....... As you may have guessed, none of these ventures is profitable and continually investing in Ann's new ideas has forced her to keep working past retirement age and James to talk about working and also to take out a reverse mortgage on their home.

James is a certified builder. He and Ann both talk about the home they've lived in for 20 years as if they moved in last month. Out of 15 generously sized rooms only 4 or 5 are inhabitable. The rest are collapsing, unfinished (no insulation), have holes in the floors or walls, or are stacked with junk. The gorgeous, 100 year old home and cottage have fallen into ruinous squalor in the hands of these two. There are rats in the walls, animal feces on the rugs, and a cluster fly infestation in the bedrooms.  She's a candidate for hoarders without a doubt.  If it were our house we'd burn it down and take the insurance money.

Perhaps I would be less critical if Ann wasn't also a giant bitch. At first, I thought they were just wacky hippy anti-establishment farmers. That was until night number two, when I got into a dinner-long argument with the lady of the house. She began to lecture us on the massive conspiracy behind Western medicine – how Dr.'s push people toward unnecessary, risky surgery because it “makes them feel clever,” that the entire medical profession is already aware of what causes cancer but doesn't want to out the truth because it would diminish profits for the industry (plastic is the cause, in case you didn't know), and that even in life-threatening situations emergency room staff should consider holistic medicine before prescribing drugs. I held my tongue for about 15 minutes before I couldn't resist the bait any longer and then the joust began. 

Lest I paint too grim a picture there were some good moments. James is a lovely, if lazy Scottsman who's company we really enjoyed. When he could get a word in or wasn't being berated by Ann for his very existence he entertained us, ran interference, and taught us dirty Scottish folk songs. He played the accordion, was handy with a chainsaw and seemed genuinely saddened when we left.

The other best part was the puppy from the most recent litter that they were looking after while the new owner was on holiday.  Toby followed us from garden to garden, played in our cottage, and could be found in my arms anytime I wasn't holding a shovel or a hoe. Only 9 weeks old, he still had that puppy head smell of melting rubber and was happy exploring the world with his puppy teeth or sleeping on my lap. 

Oh, Toby.

We also really loved our day at the farmer's market which we spent half of wandering the other stalls and sampling the merch. We bought an outstanding pinot noir from the Otago Valley that we cracked open in our cottage that afternoon and Ed became expert at lighting roaring fires from wet lumber in our freezing cottage.

Given my urge all week to put together a proper business plan for the couple, and Ed's wont to get their business online and budgeted properly I'm not sure we're cut out to be farmers. But we did learn that we can sell the crap out of anything that grows if you put us behind a farmer's market table. We also confirmed our love of puppies. Oh, and that large pigs are really quite scary. 

 So. Effing. Big.

I was never such a slacker when I had a job.

I have seriously been on island time since, like, April.  I'm counting New Zealand as an island.  Or two.  Anywho, I have oods to catch up on and now have reliable Rarotongan internet as my blogging steed. 

I'd like to blame wedding prep and subsequent marrying for my off the gridedness, but that would be unfair to the institution and to the good folks at our bungalow resort that actually did the work.  To be honest, I've just been incredibly lazy.  I've also found that the longer we're gone the fewer times each day that I'm like "hey, look at this crazy thing, I wonder what this means?" and more like "do you want to rent a DVD?"

I guess at some point (month 9?) the novelty of travel wears off.  Which isn't to say its less fun.  In some ways, I prefer this phase because now it all feels like bonus time.  We're relaxed about what we do and see each day.  Rather than buying tickets to go to "Island Night" for traditional dance and barbequed pig or whatever, we're psyched to take long walk on the islands' back roads.  An evening of home made dinner in our bungalow (spaghetti & champagne tonight) rates as highly as finding a hidden bar that serves cobra hearts.  Its not less fun than it was before, its just less intense. 

There is a quote in "We Need to Talk About Kevin" where the narrator, a former travel book author, writes "Countries all have different weather, but they all have weather of some sort, architecture of some sort, a disposition toward burping at the dinner table that regards it as flattering or rude.  Hence, I had begun to attend less to whether one was expected to leave one's sandals at the door in Morocco than to the constant that, wherever I was, its culture would have a custom about shoes."  Sing out, girl.

Hitched.

Its the weekiversary* of our teensy wedding in the Cook Islands.   It was awesome.  And reading the super lovely responses from all our peeps was almost as special as the afternoon itself.  So best.

Ed loves feather pens

 tropical flowers smell good

not going

 

 dancing with myself

* I promise to never use this word again. 

Travel tally

We've been on the road for almost 10 months and, at some point, I naturally started categorizing "visitor's stuff to do" into like and dislike columns.  This way, when wandering into a new city/town/organic farming situation, we can quickly separate the shit from the chaff and plan our assault.  Perhaps in the future I can apply this method to my task list at work and invite lists for social gatherings.

Again!	Enough!
Sand Dunes	Desert
Ruins	Tribal Villages
Mountains	Caves
Beaches	Hot springs
College towns & neighborhoods	Government centers
Traditional Massage	Traditional Dance
Mausoleums	Cemeteries
Markets	Wet Markets
Malls	Shopping Streets
Street food	Street Performers
Temples	Churches
Walking	Taxis
Tuk Tuks	Vans
Trains	Buses
Animal Conservancies	Zoos
Art Museums	Folk museums
Galleries	Local Handicrafts
Big Rocks	Monuments

From the animal conservancy archives:
This is a Tasmanian Devil.  They're dying in droves because they carry a form of cancer that is contagious among the species, transferred through biting (which they a lot).  Also, they aren't as cute as I thought they'd be.  This one is chewing through bone.

Never gets old.  Want for pet:

Its going to be weird when we come home and the lists I make shift from the above to endless and inane to do's.  My brain will again be chocker with appointments that need keeping, correspondence that needs returning and the practically mundane.  Dislike.

Lest you're getting misty at this last point, weep not.  I'm in the Auckland airport waiting to board our flight to Rarotonga.  Like.

Insert pirate joke here.

Boating in Australia and New Zealand is incredibly popular and often the best way to see the sights.  Surrounded by water, the good people of Oceania have figured out how to incorporate boats into tourism, entertainment, and daily transport.  I've always loved being on boats, and we've been super jazzed to be afloat exponentially more than usual since being down here.

Our last night in Sydney, we stayed with the Brightons in Cronulla.  Barb is the big sis of one of my besties from SU.  We went out for a sail and a dip; wine, cheese, and sunset included.  It was awesome! Only Dave had the stones to dive in from the mast. Made us want a sailboat.  And to know how to sail a sailboat.

From Auckland, we took a day trip to Waiheke island and hiked all over it, often through private property, which the locals graciously endorse.  Its beautiful and WASPy and nautically themed.  Apparently there are also white sand beaches there, but we hoofed it to the south shore where there were ruins of old boats, an equestrian club, and plenty of strangers' dogs to accost. 

After Auckland, we headed north to the Bay of Islands.  We stayed in an amazing cottage (Sunseeker Cottages in Paihia, if ever you're in the 'hood) overlooking a valley and tooled around the area for a few days.  We saw a ton of stuff and really dug it up there, so perhaps that bit merits a separate post.  One of the days, we went out on the boat pictured below for a day-long sail around the islands.  We anchored in a bay for a swim, a hike to a bluff vista, and a picnic lunch on deck. 

Once on the South Island of NZ our first itinerary item was a trip to Milford Sound.  About 4 hours from Queenstown on the windy-est roads since Pai, we took the early boat out because we'd read there would be less traffic on the water.  We basically had the joint to ourselves.  It was a quiet and nature-filled few hours as we traveled through the sound and were reunited with our old buddy, the Tasman Sea. 

We'll likely only be land lubbers for a few more days before we head to the Cook Islands, where we'll be in and on water for almost a month.  We'll be taking a break from cultural exploration and replacing visits to temples and climbing up shit with snorkeling and competitive seafood eating.  Expect scintillating tales of tan lines from the South Pacific...

The one where I complain about Australian food, or, first world problems

We're in New Zealand now, where people can not only identify raw vegetables, but also enjoy eating them. Our 2+ months in Oz sometimes felt like a great pre-slaughter fatten up. We didn't love Australian food (save a few outstanding meals), and were told on many occasions that the Aussies weren't too fond of American fare neither. Which poses a question about taste. We all started off as Brits eating, presumably, gruel and salted meats. Have the intervening hundreds of years changed our taste buds so drastically that we can't even recognize the same things as “good”?

My beef with Australian food (pun intended) is the same issue I've had on occasion in the mid-west (no offense Chicagoans, but I think if you dig deep you'll know where I'm coming from). Vegetables are rare and when available, they're cooked, fried, or flavorless. Salads in Australia are often a pile of toppings – bacon, cheese, meats, on a bed of lettuce. “Veg” as defined in the pubs is boiled root vegetables in boiling water juice on a plate. Its gross and my jeans are too tight. Which would be okay if I'd eaten lots of lovely foods. Said jeans were too tight at the end of Tokyo but I earned those 5 lbs through competitive izakaya visiting and shochu cocktailing. After Australia, I just feel used.

Australian food also tends to be criminally under seasoned. There must a hyper effective anti-salt marketing machine at work on the island. The belief is widely held, and was explained to us more than once (unprompted), that fish n' chips is alright unless you add salt at the table. To be clear, deep fried food is okay, salt is not okay. In fact, having gone to MacDonald's at the airport I was surprised to note that the McChicken, with its breading, cheese, mayo, and single lettuce leaf, is a government approved “healthy meal.” Unless, I would suppose, you added salt. Because otherwise there's none in there and you're looking hot like OG Richard Simmons.

And back on the Mid-western tip... The Aussies enjoy their mayo. Its a sweet concoction (more Miracle Whip than Hellman's) and can be used as a substitute for any sauce a chef has included in his menu but never tasted. I had sugary mayonnaise served both as Caesar salad dressing and as Hollandaise.  Just. Why.

As an American, I'm not one to throw stones on the dietary leanings of another country. But when a nation that prides itself on beef chooses not to season or dry age at even the fanciest of steak houses, my vote is going to have to be for the Outback Steak house chain of America. Rather than, say, an actual steak house in the outback.  Which we ate at.  They served "veg."

The Big Rock in the Middle

Before we split from Ozland, we made it to the middle to see Uluru, aka Ayer's Rock.  The tourist industry that's been built in the outback surrounding this giant hunk of earth is astounding. The “Ayers Rock Resort” is the only game in town, encompassing 5 or 6 hotels, car rental service, a jillion restaurants and as many ways to see/attack that rock as a room full of ad execs could've come up with in a brainstorming sesh. 

To wit, you may experience Uluru on foot either on your own or led by an Aboriginal guide. One can ride to it on camel or horse back, over it in a helicopter, around it on an ATV or in tour bus, or dine next to it as the sun sets. These folks are squeezing the figurative blood from the rock that tourists can't get enough of.

Alice Springs is the nearest outback town, about a 5 hour drive from the rock. We'd originally planned to fly there and rent a car but after seeing broadcasts about unrest in the aboriginal camps there and some low grade rioting on the street, we were rethinking.  After a German tourist was stabbed to death and a city wide curfew of 9 pm enstated, we crossed it off the list entirely.

Fortunately, our handy American Airlines miles (virtually useless in the US) allowed us to fly directly into the little airport (called Yuluru) that's been built to service the rock. As the plane bumped its way through and along the runway, I wondered allowed if this whole thing would be a disappointment. Before deplaning, I said to Ed: I think we should prepare ourselves that this could be underwhelming. I mean, its just a rock. Being on the road for this long and seeing top ten itinerary items on a near-daily basis, I thought it important to acknowledge our own jadedness. We're not so easily impressed these days. Mongolia was a long time ago.

After checking into the resort, we wandered about the complex and had a few cocktails at the various bars. We walked to one of the lookout points and had our first real look at the thing. The earlier rain was still streaming down it, making it appear bluish and multi-colored. It seemed almost to pulse on the horizon.  It was fucking huge.

The next morning we collected our little car and drove to the rock. When it came into view in the park, it nearly took my breath away. We pulled the car over about every 45 seconds to stare at it. Once we arrived, we parked and hiked around it. Seeing the huge caves and waterholes and rolling changes in its face up close was surprising, it looks smooth from far away. Every angle gave a new perspective and we giggled our way around it in the outback heat. In short, we fell in love with the rock.

We returned that evening to watch the sunset behind it, and the following morning to see it come back up in front of it. Ed took a ton of gorgeous photos, I've just included this one because you can see the rainbow that appeared during sunrise. Something about Uluru seems animated, or anamorphic. Dippy as it sounds, the hunk of dirt seems to have the personality of a wise and kind old soul. Its so inexplicably huge, and so surrounded by nothing, that its mesmerizing. It kept appearing in the side view mirror, or reflecting itself in Ed's sunglasses. Even when I wasn't looking at it, it seemed to follow me.

On a practical level, if anyone out there ever plans to go, don't book anything through the resort. The prices they quote, and their claims to be the only way are boolsheet. I booked our hotel and rental car online for less than half the price quoted to me by Voyages; apparently their talent for screwing people extends beyond the local tribes. 

We spent less than 48 hours near the rock, and that was probably about enough for us. The overpriced food and false cruise ship atmosphere of the resort felt strangely inappropriate. We could have stayed and stared at that thing for days, but having a limited time together meant appreciating it and filling our eyes with intensity.

Uluru was one of my favorite parts of our trip. I don't know what that thing is, but it is, most certainly, not just a rock. 

Why so quiet, you ask?

It's well into April, and nary a post from moi.  I'm sure you're all pacing the floor in anticipation.

Turns out, New Zealand hates the internet.  I mean I don't know if, as a country, New Zealand has a stance.  But what I do know is that buying a dongle (ha) was stoopit expensive and free wifi is rare as unicorns.  Also, we've been doing a LOT of stuff, which I'll tell ya about real soon.

Also, and more importantly: Happy Happy Birthday to Katie!  Wonderful wishes for my mom-in-law to be.

Winos

We've recently worked our way back to Sydney from South Australia. We stayed in Victor Harbor, Adelaide and the Barossa Valley. The Barossa area is well known for wine and widely considered to be the premier producer of Shiraz in Australia, if not the world. Ed and I love wine and have, on several occasions, planned trips around visiting wineries and tasting rooms both in the States and afar. We were psyched.

The Barossa lived up to the hype. There is a huge variety of wine produced throughout the region. The folks serving, particularly at the smaller wineries were awesome. The only assholes we ran across were at Peter Lehmann, a major player in the region. That is, the only assholes behind the bar.

By far the most painful folks we ran across while in the Barossa were North Americans. At Torbreck (amazing, if pricey, reds) a couple from Montana were tasting next to us. The dude owned a Vitamin company and was so obnoxious (in anticipation of a glass he'd had before, he said, out loud “this will be like an old friend”) that I was embarrassed for the cellar door worker who had to indulge him.

At Taste of Eden, a gorgeous tasting room for several of the micro-vintners who don't produce enough to have their own room, we were served wine by a gorgeous and fun former ballerina. We so enjoyed talking with her about the wine, and life, and her dog Max, that we were there for almost 2 hours. That is until the most obnoxious Canadian woman (I know, suprising!) showed up. As the husband sweetly tried to chat Ed and I up about New York and our trip, his wife barked “are we tasting or are we just going to talk?” about every 30 seconds. We quickly cut the convo short, said our good byes, and bolted.

In Australia, wine people aren't necessarily wine snobs. A lot of the cellar doors don't have distribution in restaurants or bottle shops, so folks come to taste and to shop. Most of the people working in the tasting rooms seem to love drinking wine more than talking about it, and very few people spit. This is a swallowing country, where its okay to get a little pissed on a bottle. The winemakers consider themselves farmers and the whole vibe is a super laid back rural feeling.

It was disappointing to witness our fellow countrymen taking pains to demonstrate their knowledge of wine to Aussies who really just wanted to pour it and sell it.  Note to visiting Americans: use your grape holes wisely - more drinky, less talky.  Alright?

Australia Hotness on the Internets

As we'll soon be leaving the land down under, I wanted to pass along my hott tips on travel websites for anyone who might travel to this part of the earth.

Hotel Accommodation
wotif.com
lastminute.com.au
roamfree.com
hostelworld.com

Apartment Rentals
airbnb.com - this is where we met our new loveliest friends Ruth & Loren who we stayed with and subsequently missed terribly.  It combines vacation rental with social networking - genius

Car Rentals
discoverycarhire.com.au


Sydney Transportation App for iPhone
tripview.com

Airfare Compare
webjet.com.au

Also, don't be afraid of Vegemite.  Its salty and delicious when taken in small doses.

RBT

Scare tactics are big in Australia. Popular reality TV shows include Bondi Beach Rescue, which follows lifeguards as they pull the nearly lifeless from the surf, RBT (Random Breath Test), which follows cops at a drunk driving check point breathalizing and drug testing drivers, and Border Patrol, where the viewer gets to watch airport interrogations by customs officers. Government sponsored cautionary commercials tend toward the visceral; a smoker coughing in various scenarios until he hacks up blood and is diagnosed with lung cancer; a prisoner in a jumpsuit behind a glass panel inviting viewers to put their hand on the TV screen to experience the closest they'll get to friends and family if convicted of drug-driving (that's a thing); a children's birthday party where Nicky is noticed missing while the candles are being blown out only to find him drowned in the family pool. And, perhaps most randomly, a lengthy illustrated explanation of how, and how not, to store home-use petrol tanks.

The message here is, if you fuck up, we will most definitely catch you. Which is weird, because I've seen virtually no cops on patrol, especially in the smaller cities and towns we've visited. I sort of guessed the hyperbole was pro-active advertising, until we were cruising out of the Grapians National Park after a hot and vertical 10K hike, only to be pulled over. I knew I wasn't speeding (we've already learned our lesson on that front) and was amused and delighted when asked to blow into a tube! I think the officer knew by my hiking gear and sweat crystals that I hadn't been boozing, and I was somewhat disappointed that the whole interaction lasted less than 30 seconds. I just thought we were going to bro, like he'd congratulate me on my choice of vitamin water over wine or at least offer a fist bump?  He just mumbled G'day and off we went.  Mere minutes later we were checked in to the next motel, car parked, and cracking open a bottle of Tasmanian Rose.

Tasman Island Cruises

I've started to “like” pages on Facebook. This is new for moi, as I've really only been a passive FB user in past and never understood the point of liking until this trip, when our podcast lifelines pointed us to their tweets and FB posts. Now having liked a scant few podcasts, bands, and personalities, I get it: they tell me what's going on, so I don't have to remember to check in on what's going on. Genius!

Just yesterday, I “liked” the Tasman Island Cruise page. Not because I need to receive updates about what's happening on the east coast of Tasmania, but because I want to give them due PR. 

During our time in OZ, people have hammered home a ton of “MUST DOS” - a helicopter ride above Cradle Mountain, harness climbing the Sydney Bridge, ferrying to the Kangaroo Island, I could go on... This is one of the few tourist offerings that we've taken up. And it was worth every penny.

Ed and I were last to board the 40 ft, super maneuverable boat with rubber bumpers because we were, as usual, peeing it forward. As a result, we ended up in the front two seats; the otherwise tough Aussies didn't want to be dampened by sea spray.  Bundled and poncho'd, we were thrilled to be crammed right up front. No heads in Ed's picture, no voices in our ears.

The boat went crazy fast, and soon we were pulling into the rock caves we had glimpsed from above. Each time the skipper steered toward a white water filled hole in the 10 story high rock cliff, my heart pounded. My brain was screaming - “don't go in there” and then, immediately, “go in there."  What came out of my mouth was “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

We reached Tasman Island to see hundreds of fur seals draped across the rocks and dozens more playing in the water alongside the boat. An albatross with a 6 foot wing span flew past us, and the whole group went nuts.

Our adorable co-captains looked like surfer/models and happily talked about the birds, phyto plankton, and currents throughout the ride. They also handed out Timtams and high fives at the end of the tour. Not one of us disembarked without a smile on our face. Happy as the seals.