Patagonia; Not Just the Name of my Fleece

If you had asked me a year ago what "Patagonia" was, I would have said a pretty typical American answer, "a high-end outdoor clothing company?" Well today I know better. After having spent the last 3 weeks in Southern Argentina and Chile, in the actual Patagonia (and I imagine what the clothing company named their brand after) I have a whole different perspective on the word. Even though it is summer here, the temperatures are cold, the winds are brutal, and the snow is prevalent. The sun sets each day between 10:30 and 11:00pm, and rises around 4:00am. Sometimes we felt we were in the most plush ski town of Switzerland, and sometimes we would comment that we must be in Bahgdad with the barren, desert-like landscapes (minus the heat.) Despite all these things, Patagonia has been by far the best place I have seen so far in South America; with tons of wildlife like whales, sea lions, penguins, condors, guanacos (they look like llamas, and spit like them too), amazingly beautiful snow capped mountains, glaciers and ice fields, aqua colored lakes in every valley, and the most amazing hikes I have ever been on. If you can brave the weather, Patagonia is definitely a place to visit!


Three days in the coastal town of Puerto Madryn was too many. A city surrounded by sandy and barren landscapes, is the gateway to the Valdes Penninsula, where for 400 Pesos ($100USD) we went on a day trip, whale watching and to see penguin and sea lion colonies. On the second day we tried to take a 17km bike ride, but once we left the city and entered "Baghdad", we had more sandstorms than my eyes could handle. Mick wanted to press on for the adventure factor (as always), but I insisted we turn around, and still ended up pulling sand out of my hair for the next week.


We then took a bus to Gaiman, a Welsh colonized town thats claim to fame is serving Welsh teas and biscuits, and since we arrived during the Siesta hours (1pm-4pm) the only thing left to do was sleep in the park, until a places opened up, and then food was definitely eaten! We then headed to Rio Gallegos, where no pictures at all were taken, because there was nothing eventful to see. Apparently Butch Cassidy robbed a bank here back in the day, probbaly because no one would have noticed him.

After a night in Rio Gallegos, our next stop was El Calafate. This touristy town, by all apearrances, should have several ski resorts nearby, but it doesn't. The main street is lined with souvenier shops, restaurants, and disneyesque log cabin buildings. At the edge of town is the beautiful Laguna Nimez, a wetlands sanctuary surrounded by snow-capped mountains, and attached to an inlet lake with a beach. This was worth the 20 pesos. The following day we took a day trip to the Glaciar Perito Moreno, located 80km away in the Parque Nacional Los Glaciares. What a strange experience to come over a hill and see the biggest chunk of ice you'll ever see, resting on a lake. Floating in the water nearby are massive blue ice cubes that break off while you watch, and take only a few days to melt away; so each day the glacier is different. We took an up close boat ride, and then walked around the viewing platforms, waiting anxiously to catch a break (literally, waiting to watch ice break off the Glacier) which only happend a few times during the day.


We spent three days in El Chalten, a remote town 2 hours north of El Calafate, described as the trekking capital of Patagonia. Fortunately we had the BEST weather, and set out for a 6 hour hike the first afternoon we arrived. After several hiking games ("movies starring Bruce Willis", the Name game, the shopping list memory game, etc.) and lots of beautiful scenery, we came to the base of a mountain, with a massive glacier resting on a lake. The wind was so strong that I could barely stand, and birds were getting thrown around in the wind, but it was breathtaking (literally, it was hard to breathe.)


The next day we did an 8 hour hike to the Fitz Roy range, where after a long 3 hours, the trail went completely uphill for the last hour. It was exhausting, but as we climbed into the center of these two mountains, below was the most beautiful glacier pools - hands down one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. The third day was spent resting, and since it was snowy and cold, we didn't mind!





THE W TREK
After talking to some girl at a hostel weeks ago about it, Mick decided he wanted to do the W trek in the Torres del Paine national park in Chile.
When I agreed I didn't know exactly what I had gotten myself into, but after a scarily blunt introduction lecture from a local guy in Puerto Natales (the jump-off point for all hikers) I realized I was in for 5 days of pain (pun intended.) He said to expect 160kmh winds, torrential snow and rain, and hours of tiresome hikes. We packed up our backpacks with 5 days worth of food, cooking gear, sleeping bags, a tent, and limited clothing all packed up tight in trash bags, and even got lame hiking poles (which turned out to be amazingly helpful) and set out for the mountains. Luckily we had amazing weather, and met some really great people along the way. This was by far the most amazing experience of my life.



Here is a run-down of our 5 days:
Number of miles hiked: 62
Number of times I fell down: 8
Number of times I got blown over by the wind: 2
Number of granola bars consumed: 38
Number of showers taken: 0
Number of times we used a whole salami stick as a substitue for butter in our dinner: 1

After arriving back at the main lodge on the 5th day, we ate our moneys worth at a buffet breakfast, and vegged out for the rest of the day.

Now we are currently in the southern most city in the world, Ushuaia Argentina for 4 days!!

Get back in the Saddle

Some people will tell you that when you fall off a horse, you need to get back on. Most use it as a metaphoric rally for encouragment, a way to say "no matter what, never give up". Well I am pretty sure most of the people who say this have never ACTUALLY fallen off a horse, because if they have, they would know that it's not that easy to get back on, especially if the horse is bleeding, missing a horseshoe and kind of pissed off. A Thanksgiving day horseback riding adventure through a small town just outside Cordoba, was an amazing experience. We began by drinking the traditional Argentinian drink, Mate, which according to history was created by the Gaucho (an Argentinian Cowboy) who, having very little money, picked the leaves and shared this new drink, and long conversations, with the travellers he'd meet on the "road". Then after some cheeky conversations with our guide, Marcello, he said "I know which horse I am going to give you", with a laugh (although I'd like to think the crash was just coincidence.) All my years of owning our childhood horse, April Fools my Pepsi Pony, and taking riding lessons came flooding back to me; it was a breeze (and besides these horses are trained to just follow one another anyway, lets be honest here.) We went through the barren hills, waving to homes as we passed, through the rocky terrain and even forged through the river twice. On a fairly routine climb up a rock path, my horse went to follow Marcello's, but instead put its foot directly into a rock crevice, got stuck, went to put its other leg up, and began to lose its balance. At this point as the horse begins to roll to the left, I did what Mick (who was behind me) called "a ninja roll" off the front - abonding ship before my little pony took a pretty nasty spill down the rocks. After watching in what I could only describe later as a big tree, falling hard, and of course realizing that I was unscratched, I cried out "oh no, the poor horse. In the end, she has a lot of bleeding on her legs, and over her eye, but I got back on the horse (because I knew they wouldn't have created that saying for nothing), and finished my amazing journey. When we got back, instead of turkey we had a gluttonous Argentinian BBQ, where I ate so much steak and bread from the grill, that I felt at one with my fellow stuffed American people.



After Port Iguazu, and a 20 hour bus ride, where I had more bad luck of a shockingly soaked bag, which stunk for almost a week after arrival, we got into Cordoba. Our first day we thought it was a ghost town, but turns out it was just a national holiday.On our second day we took a 1/2 hour bus ride to Alta Gracia, the hometown of the well-known freedom fighter Che Gueverra. By the time we got off the bus, it was around lunchtime, and we couldn't believe the ghost town we found, again! Through my broken spanish I figured out that Siestas (afternoon rests) are not a myth; this entire town shuts down from 1-4.Apparently it is quite common all over South America, so now there is actually an excuse for my overhwhelming find food NOW sense of urgency, so we get something to eat before everyone retreats to their homes. Another thing that is funny about South America is that it is filled with what I call "classics" - really old cars, some I remember from back in the 80's and some that I have never seen, but it does make for a great game of punchbuggy. While in Alta Gracia we also visited a beautiful old Jesuit building that had been turned into a museum about Alta Gracia, which was possibly the most boring museum ever, even more so since we couldn't understand any of what they were saying.


On our third day in Cordoba we checked out a couple of museums, and took a walking tour to see all the other sites. The city population is made up of mostly college students which makes for a great vibe - lots of hopping bars, restaurants and shops on every corner. In between the modern architecutre are the most beautiful spanish churches, some made of stucco and some of stone, but enough to finally make me feel like I am really in "South America." That night we followed the young guy who works at our hostel, Phillippe, to his college to watch a final presentation him and his classmates were performing on traditional Argentinian practices. They fed us free empanadas (delicious dough filled with different kinds of meat) and danced the Folklore. They loved our attempts at speaking spanish and laughed at our dancing skills, when we tried to partake.
After a day on the horses, the next day we decided to go on a trek to the Parque Nacional Quebrada Del Condorito, where we hoped to catch a glimpse of some Condors (as you might has deduced from the name.) We picked up a new dutch friend, Jasper, and boarded a local bus. Before we got on we asked the bus driver if this would take us to the park, and he said yes. As we climbed steadily into the Argentinan hills, going further and further into the middle of nowhere, the bus abruptly pulled over, the driver waved at us, told us to get off, and we couldn't help but think that this must be the wrong place. We literally were at the end of a dirt rode going into the middle of nowhere, thinking that all the locals were having a good laugh as they peeled away. In the end we hiked for 2 1/2 hours into the national park and got to see amazing landscape and lots of Condors, and a bus actually picked us up on its way back into the city.

After another 20 hours bus trip we are currently in Port Madryn, Argentina, in the area known as Patagonia. It's barren, cold, expensive and filled with lots of wildlife!! Will keep you updated on our trip south to the "End of the World."

If only we could dance like no one's watching

One of my favorite things about visiting my parents in The Villages, a colossal city of "active-adults" awkwardly transplanted in the middle of central hicksville Florida, is going to one of the town squares around 5:00pm when the festivities begin, and do so this early because everything closes at 10pm, apropos to the age group. Everynight, rain or shine, a band blares music from the gazebo, sometimes oldies, sometimes classic rock, but it always draws a crowd, and this is when the old folks come out to dance. Whether it is a bunch of women square dancing, the local dance club doing the electric slide, or an adorably old couple decked out in beautiful attire dancing the tango, it is a sight. It always leaves me wondering, what has happened to dancing? Hundreds of years ago, a dance hall is where you would meet your husband, and up until a few decades ago people's nightlife centered around the foxtrot, the waltz or the hand jive. Today if people say they are going dancing, it means getting as drunk as possible and sweating on eachother in a dimly lit room. After our first salsa lesson in Montevideo, Uruguay Mick and I left wondering; when we get home, where can we do this dance without people making fun of us? Wouldn't it be great to have organized dancing again? I think so.

After Buenos Aires Mick and I headed to (as my friend Timmy used to like to say in his travel blog) a "UNESCO protected site" called Colonia del Sacramento in Uruguay. The Portuguese founded Colonia in 1680 to smuggle goods across the Rio de la Plata into Buenos Aires, and it still has all its historic charm.The old town is a small peninsula surrounded by the ocean, with cobblestone streets, an old lighthouse, and charming tile-and-stucco homes.

Unfortunately we spent our first afternoon there searching for an ATM that worked, and after a few hours of panic and conversations about what are we going to eat without any money (and a lecture to Mick from the newly nicknamed "The General" (yours truly) about how it is important to have a back-up plan), I exchanged a $100 bill and we went out to eat.

The next day we rented bicycles and rode along the coast to get out of the main tourist area. All along the sidewalk were locals sipping their national drink, Mate, a ceramic mug filled with what looks like oregano (but tastes like a green tea on steroids), a metal straw coming out the side (with a filter on the bottom) and a large thermos filled with hot water, which they pour in every couple of minutes. It isn't exactly a practical drink to carry around, but every single group had their Mate (hundreds), some even with special Mate carrying cases.

On our bike trip we saw an old bull ring shut down by the government decades ago, stopped in at an horse racing ring where I tried to feed an angry horse an apple (which provided Mick with much entertainment, as it began to kick and I subsequently ran away as fast as I could), and sat near the beach while reading his and her books. Later that night we took an evening stroll through the beautifully lit old town.

Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay, was next on our sites. After a 2 hour bus ride we arrived at the bus station and I used by Spanish skills to ask "cual numero autobus necessito viejar de el cuidad?". Ok so to any real Spanish speaking people, that probably makes no sense, but basically I was asking which bus do we take to get into the city. After the intial question people seemed to think I knew Spanish, and would answer a million words per minute. As we walked away Mick would say "well, what did they say?", to which I would answer, "I have no idea." We continued this same process with 5 or 6 people, and eventually seeking to have an "adventure" Mick wanted to try and walk. So 1 hour and 40 minutes later with our heavy backpacks on and the feeling of murdering someone, we arrived at our Hostel.

The next day we walked all around Montevideo which we thought was pretty dirty, with garbage everywhere and the constant smell of urine (or so Mick thought). We checked out the Plaza Independence, the Mercado del Puerto (housing a bunch of cute restaurants), an old jail that had been turned into a shopping center, and ate lunch at a craperia (like crapes, not crap). The city's redeeming quality was how laid back it was. It seemed none of the shops opened up until later in the day, and everyone worked to live, instead of the other way around. People moved slow. Cars let you walk across the street with a nice wave. It was completely chill.

That night we took our salsa lesson. During the warm-up we were like two escaped monkeys, jumping around in the back of the room. Everytime the group would turn around and see us I would be embarrassed and want to leave, but then one of the teachers spent the entire lesson teaching us the basics. And it turned out to be a ton of fun!!



After another night in Buenos Aries, and an 18 hour bus ride, we arrived in Port Iguazu Argentina, the gateway to Igazu falls. Since the bedbugs had returned and wrecked havoc on my body, out first job was to exterminate, by dunking all my clothes in boiling water. Then we spent an entire day checking out the falls, and it was completely breathtaking!!! We hiked down to the bottom, across the top, and did a 6K walk to the "Devils Mouth", where the water debris can be seen hundreds of meters away, and the noise sounds like an oncoming freight train. We even payed an extra $50 to see the falls in a full-moon walk. There are no pictures to prove it (since it was pretty dark) but the whole experience was magical.



Last night we took a 20 hour bus ride to Cordoba where we will stay for about 5 days!

Buenos Aires? I think Malo Aires!

For those of you not so Spanish inclined (Mick), Bueno in Spanish means "good", and Malo means "bad", and even though I googled Aires, I don't think it menas anything in English. So after having spent 3 days in the Argentinan capital, Buenos Aires, I have decided to rename it, with a more negative connotation. For my faithful readers, you know that I have NEVER written anything bad about travelling, cities, or my experience on the road (so far anyway), and would tell just about everyone I know to sell their posessions and head off into the world. So to what do I owe this new found negativism?; maybe i can blame it on 3 months in a cozy apartment (without living out of a backpack, owning lots of clothes, and eating Mick-cooked meals nearly everynight), or maybe it is just the Buenos Aires Experience I have had so far, but either way I am hoping my desire to "go home" leaves as quickly as my departure out of this city.

Getting out of Melbourne was sad, more so for me than for Mick, as I had about $600 worth of clothing and shoes that I had accumulated over the 3 months, that I was devestated to donate to some ungrateful people, and the "Sophie's Choice" process of consolidating the rest to fit into my backpack was shockingly pathetic. But after all was said and done we hopped on the plane, first with an 8 hour flight to Kuala Lampur, a 5 hour layover, a 12 hour flight to Capetown, a 2 hour layover, and a 10 hour flight to Buenos Aries.

Plane productivity included: 5 sleeping tablets, several hours of coma induced sleep interrupted only by the passing of a food cart (no matter what hour in the morning or night) two episodes of Glee, all of Braveheart, an episode of the office, all of the 3rd Twighlight move (which I have no idea what it was called, but I am definitely on Team Edward), some heated Tetris battles against Mick, 200 pages of "The Girl who kicked a Hornet's Nest", and LOTS of amazingly good airplane food (Malaysian Air food seriously kicks butt).

Upon arrival I cracked out my spanish skills to ask when the next bus will leave and how much a ticket is. I didn't really understand their response (which seems to be the trend), but I looked pretty impressive in front of Mick. We then began our nearly 1 hour walk (with my 25lb bag, and 10lb purse) to find a place to stay. Eventually we settled for the Goya hotel, which although it boasted a particularly impressive breakfast spread in the morning, was nothing special for nearly $60 a night. Since we arrived at 12:30pm Buenos Aires time, and 2:30am Australia time, we forced ourselves to stay awake, by walking around the city looking for a cheaper hostel to stay in the following night. After a quick meal, we were passed out by 8:30 BA time.


The next morning we hopped on a big yellow, open top, double-decker, tourist trap, I mean bus, to begin our 2 1/2 hour loop around the city. Buenos Aires doesn't have the chaos of the asian cities, nor the motorbikes or constant beeping, but it does still have a lot of traffic (including a 14 lane highway running through the center of the city), and lots of people selling you things. As we walk down Florida avenue people are selling tickets to Tango shows, city tours, money exchange (because we all want to exchange our money with some sketchy guy on the corner), leather jackets and dinner deals. They speak spanish to you, which reminds me that I don't stand out like sore thumb, as I did in Asia. The downtown street is lined with shops selling clothes, gifts and books, and of course lots of Macdonalds, Burgerkings, Subways and other Western shops.

Buenos Aires is split up into 12 districts and thanksfully the tourist bus showed us some of the more cultural sites and buildings, and some of their beautiful architecture (which ussually has some sort of graffiti on it.)

We hopped off the bus in the area called "La Boca" which sits on an inlet of water (which is really more polluted brown sludge), and although it was very touristy, the colorfully painted building facades and paper machete characters from Argentinan history coming out of building windows and standing in doorways was nothing but fun. We then got off at the "Reserva Ecological" which is a large ecological preserve, where people bike, run and one group (clearly of westerners) bird watch.



The real reason we got off here wasn't to enjoy nature; the promenade was lined with churizo stands that looked amazing, and I was hungry. We then went then drove through the ritzy area and hopped off near the Japenese and botanical gardens, taking a quick stroll through.


That night we got back to our hostel, grabbed some yogurts from the grocery store, since the pork-churizo from lunch was still lining my stomach, and spent our first night apart in 3 months sleeping in seperate dorm rooms.

After spending the morning planning our upcoming days, and finding another place to stay for the night, we walked to the train station, and headed to Tigre, a place where apparently the more affluent Argentians spend their weekends. Although the area was nice, we didn't find anything special. The inlets of water, a common rowing area, was again brown sludge and the screams of the local amusement park could be heard. We had a walk around the small town, a bite to eat, and a lie on the grass and called it a day.

Ok, so you are probably wondering why I don't like Buenos Aries. Here goes:

1.) Well first off it is expensive, some things are more expensive than Australia! A night in a 6 bed dorm is $15, a 200g box of cereal is about $6, a meal is $15-$20, a bus ticket is $100+ dollars and the list goes on. I had assumed things would be cheap, and they aren't!!!

2.) On our second night we stayed at a hostel in seperate dorm rooms. When I first climbed into my bed, I pulled up the covers and noticed a little black bug in the sheets. I flicked it down onto the bed below me (which some spanish girl had stolen from me, even though my stuff was on it already). I fell asleep but had an itchy sleep for the next couple of hours. At about 2am, I woke up and with my flashflight found them. Black bugs on my pillow and in my sheets, little baby black bugs crawling all over everything. I started smashing the babies, leaving blood splatter all over the sheets. At this point I couldn't switch rooms, so I dealt with it, by turning my flashlight on every time I felt something and either killing it, or looking like a crazy person when there was nothing there. I have stayed at some sketchy places, all over the world, but never had an experience like this. Needless to say I got very little sleep, and an immediate hatred for Malo Aires.

3.) Everything is booked! In Asia, I could navigate on the no plan plan, and roll up to place without a reservation. Here all the hostels are booked, and if you don't book 5-6 days in advance, you are going to spend your days looking for a place to say, which we did. On the first day we went to a hostel to check it out, and as we left Mick goes "this is what you call a DIVE". Little did we know that two days and 200 bed bugs later, we would be crawling back to The Dive begging for a room, which turned out to be fine.

4.) There aren't a lot of travellers. Everyone in Asia on the very clear backpacker route, was from Europe, spoke English and wanted to make friends with you. Here, most of the people in hostels are from South America and just staying in the hostel because it's cheap. Which doesn't make for a great atmosphere.

5.) There are random holes in the road (one of which I fell into) dog poop everywhere, graffitt on everything (including many historical buildings) and the city is dirty. Now as we walk down the street we yell "hole" or "poop" depening on what it is we need to avoid.



6.) The food isn't great. Granted we have been eating at the middle of the road priced restaurants, but one night I ordered a waldorf salad, and they brought out a chopped up apple, 2 walnuts and some celery, with creme on the side? We ordered a pizza last night and there was so much cheese on it, I am surprised we didn't go into immediate cardiac arrest. Maybe there are some good Argentian restaurnts around, but we can't find them? The one place that looked good, was about $40 a plate.


Well enough negativity. Yesterday we arrived in Uruguay, or "U R GAY" as Mick likes to call it. I will write more about it in a couple of days, but lets just say, I no longer want to pack up my things and head back to the USA! Uruguay is great!

Mick, The Boonies and An American Experience

I recently got back to Melbourne from a 5-day adventure to "the boonies" (a word I got to teach to my new Australian friends), travelling to Port Rickaby Australia, in the state of South Australia (I bet you didn't know Australia had states; there are 6 of them!) My boyfriend Mick, who I met in Vietnam 3 months ago, grew up in this farm town herding cows, harvesting cereals, sheering sheep, dirt-biking on the beach, and chasing kangaroos. To those of you who didn't know about Mick, I apologize. I figured it needed to stand the test of time (at least 2 months) before I announced it to my worldwide audience. For those of you who are interested, here is what Chuck Woolrey would say about him if we were on The Love Connection: "Mick is a 28 year old pharmacist, who loves olives, economics, Australian Footie and sailing. He is 5'11", with big blue eyes, longish curly blonde hair and an abnormally large mouth (think Mick Jagger here folks). He is a Libra who always thinks before he speaks and weighs the scales before he makes a decision. And even though Mick looks like an Australia surfer, don't be fooled Ladies, he is a smarty pants, graduating as the valedictorian of his senior high school class!"

When I stepped off the plane in Adelaide I was greeted by Mick's smiling parents Mark and Leonie, and escorted to his baby, a white 2006 Ford XR8 Boss outfitted with tinted windows and "Aussie Pride" seat covers. Mick's mom is the principal of the local school and his dad is a 4th generation farmer; Mick is the youngest of three brothers, his oldest brother Tommy has now become the 5th generation. I had told Mick I grew up in the "country", but I guess being 1 1/2 hours from New York City isn't the same as the York peninsula, a Italy shaped boot off the coast of Southern Australia. For 2 hours we drove farther and farther into the countryside, with rolling green fields in every direction sometimes spattered with the little white fluffy sheep or bigger slow moving cows, and the blue ocean in the distance.


At last we arrived in "town" - one road lined with a supermarket, and several other shops. In the center is a war monument where 10 different "Crosers" are honorably listed (Croser is Mick's last name), in the town museum is the "Croser Collection"; antique farm tools donated by Mick's grandfather, and practically the whole town waves to us as we drive through. Another 10 minutes out of town is the farm, on 3,000 acres of cereal (when they told me this originally I got pretty excited, I love cereal, but they meant Wheat, Barley, Beans, etc.), and grazing paddocks for the 1,000+ sheep and cows. At the edge of their farm land are rolling sand dunes, covered in different colored bushes and spiky plants, and then what Mick calls "his beach", with white sand and bright blue waters, running for miles along his property; and since it isn't accessible except by motorbike, there is rarely ever anyone there.



His father's 25 year collection of what I called "modern art" is strewn around the house and barn - old farming equipment, old cars, and even an old treadmill buried in the ground! With three sailboats, a motorbike, tons of tractors, a 4x4 landcruiser called Slug, a yute (half sedan, half truck) and even a 16-wheeler on site, I knew this was going to be a fun couple of days!


Mick, Pop, Tommy and I immediately headed out to play 9 holes of golf (because I wanted to show off my skills). Since golf is a winter sport here in Australia, and it is now spring, we got the place all to ourselves, with the exception of the occasional blue tongued lizard. Instead of greens they use black tar circles which they freshen up with used motor oil - kind of strange.

Although I didn't win the NAGA award, which they give to the worst player (the acronym stands for "Not A Golfer's A**hole"), but after my first (and only) amazing shot I did spend most of the day searching for my lost balls in the woods. Luckily Mick was pretty bad too. That night Leonie cooked up steaks the size of my head (literally), mashed potatoes and salad, and a delicious cheesecake, to which we subsequently went food comatose on the couch to a VHS of Dances with Wolves.


The next morning we headed out in Slug for a crop inspection, where we drove around the fields looking at the different plantings and talking about them. We talked about the difference between last year and this years crops, how the weather has affected the growth, what the number of little things on the sides of the stalks mean, and how to properly put the nitrogen back into the soil. Well, the crops didn't look so different to me, and after a couple of hours, I fell asleep on Mick's shoulder in the front seat.



I had decided the day before on the car ride to the farm, when I learned they didn't have any horses, that I was going to ride a sheep - why not? So after my snooze, Mark woke me up and pointed to about 100+ sheep, one of which was lying down, facing the other direction. I tried sneaking up on him, but in the last minute he looked up at his buddies running in every direction and figured it out. After what felt like marathon sprinting without even a touch of wool I realized I had failed, at least this time. We then drove past the sand dunes and spotted some kangaroos, so we jumped the fence and chased after them, until we reached the top of the sand dunes overlooking the ocean. Amazing. I just couldn't believe someone grew up in a place as beautiful as this!



The next morning, Pop banged on the bedroom door telling me "it was my chance to ride a sheep". They recently purchased 300 sheep that were being delivered in 15 minutes. I threw on some pants and a wool sweater (maybe I would fit in better?) and went to the paddock. As the 300 sheep poured off the 16-wheeler into the small enclosure I thought, no problem, this should be easy. Needless to say, the sheep didn't like me, and anytime I got close they parted like the red sea to Moses. Finally Mick grabbed one, pinned it down and I got to sit on it, but it wouldn't stand up. So in the end, I guess I never actually rode a sheep, but I did sit on one! Just doesn't sound as glamorous, does it?




Even though the weather wasn't perfect, it was better than the frigid temperatures we had been having in Melbourne (the coldest September in 20 years!) One day was so warm that we took Slug down to the beach and lay out on towels for the day, enjoying the beach all to ourselves. On another day we drove about an hour to the southern tip of the boot called Corny point, where we took photos of the beautiful lighthouse, jutting cliffs and peaceful beaches. One another day we hopped on the motorbike and corralled a flock of sheep and cows into another paddock - I felt like a cowboy, just with a mechanical horse!





The trip to the country was amazing, both relaxing and adventurous. Leonie fed us like royalty and Pop thoroughly entertained us. This was the longest Mick's family had ever really spent with an "Yank", and when I asked Mick's dad if he would ever want to go to America, he replied "Why, I've already had my American Experience, this whole weekend!" So hopefully they had as much fun with me as I did with them. In just 30 short days Mick and I are off to South America. Ole!

Back to Australia, Back to an unfriendly Reality

As I commuted "home" today, business suit-clad and bundled up, on the Melbourne city tram, listening to head phones to drowned out the background noise and slightly wet from the seemingly constant cold rain, exhausted from my 8:45am-5:15pm job as an Executive Assistant, I got excited. Sitting next to me was someone reading a South America Lonely Planet; the bible. Too many times in my travels I would bump into people reading the bible, and befriend them over conversations about the best restaurants, guesthouses, or just simple directions, only to find out that they are going the same way I am going, and immediately we would become best buds. Well the girl on the tram didn't share my excitement, said "yeah" a few times, and proceeded to get off at the next stop. It was then that I began to realize that people in the "normal" world just aren't very friendly. As I rush to my tram and shuttle through city life, passing other people in all black outfits, I feel like I am attending a fast moving funeral, but there isn't a body. Why is it so hard to smile at someone else, or have a welcoming conversation? People are too busy playing with their iPhones, reading their electronic books or are most of the time, just blatantly avoiding you, and in doing so are missing what makes us human - connections. It is unbelievable how beautiful the world is, not only because of the beautiful mountains or beaches or other scenery's, but because of the people I have met. And it all started with a simple smile and a hello. The quote on my daily calendar today ironically read: Every time you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing. – Mother Teresa


I have only been back in Australia for a little over two weeks, but already I am going through travelling withdrawals. As my tan peels away and my body freezes in the Melbourne weather, I realize how much I miss Asia: the chaotic driving, the kind smiley people, (and even the pestering salespeople) sticky rice, noodle soup, cheap accommodation, but especially the other travellers. After I left Tasikoki Wildlife Center I headed to the island of Bunkanen off the northern coast of Sulawesi Island, Indonesia.

I didn't really know what to expect, except that another traveller, who I can't even remember now, had told me along the way that the scuba diving there was beautiful, so I had written the word "bunaken" down on a piece of paper and decided to venture there. I had accidentally left my lonely planet on the airplane so I went to the first guesthouse near the boat dock.

As it turned out, Bunaken did have the most amazing scuba diving i have ever seen, but what it didn't have was a lot of people. Luckily in the two rooms next to me were a dutch family of 5 who "adopted" me for the week and pretty much let me tag along in everything the did, play in every board game they played, and ultimately probably thought I was stalking them, when we coincidentally shared the same outgoing flight to Jakarta.

The highlights on my time in Bunkanen consisted of a "dolphin watch" tour, which turned out to be more than I ever expected, as literally hundreds of dolphins dove, flipped and swam around us; when some friends I had met came back from their fishing trip and had caught a 300lb black marlin, which tasted delicious too; and of course because the sheer coral wall which surrounded the island was so amazingly beautiful, I scuba dove 4 times.


I had to spend one slightly scary night alone in the city of Manado before my flight to Australia. When I say scary, I just mean that Manado, a city on the northern tip of Sulawesi Island, isn't a place spoiled by tourism, so I was clearly the only white person for miles. Not to mention my hotel room had mildew on the walls, smelt of cigarettes, didn't have one window, and had the type of bed I knew I was going to get bedbugs from, so I sat at the desk chair for hours. In the streets, people would stop me and say "my friend" and ask me questions about where I am from, and others would just point or laugh. I did a good amount of shopping, buying up cheap clothes before I head back to expensive OZ, and then retreated back to my hotel room. The next morning I met up with my Dutch family at the airport and hung out with them until we parted in the Jakarta airport. I had my last cheap massage and boarded my plane.


I have heard Melbourne is a great city, in the summer. What I didn't realize as I got off the plane in my flip-flops (Australians call them thongs) and a tank-top (these are called vests) is that I had arrived in the middle of winter. I still haven't come up with some masterful equation to convert Celsius to Fahrenheit, but its around 13degrees Celsius everyday, which required me to spend a ton of money on boots (maybe I should change my blog to walkamileinmywinterboots?), jackets, gloves, etc. I did quickly got a studio apartment in a suburb called St. Kilda, and started a temp job in the business district of the city. I am still getting used to the Australian sayings like, "too easy", "how ya going" and "heaps", and the expensive cost of just about everything. I have been to an Australian footy game which is a combination of soccer, rugby and American football, and out to dinner a couple of times, but for the most part have been trying to save money.


Although it is nice to be settled for more than a couple of days in a westernized culture, I am eager to get back on the road. Only 3 more months and I am on to South America. Wooo hooo!!!

Cleaning up the World's Mess, One Shovel at a Time

If you'd asked me a couple of months ago I would have said "you couldn't pay me enough to shovel bear poop", so today I am wondering why I paid to scoop up a poo-trifecta of bear, monkey and bird droppings!! "Volunteering" here at the Tasikoki Wildlife Center in Northern Sulawesi Island, Indonesia, isn't exactly volunteering, it costs money (about $1,000 for two weeks.) This money goes to pay for my room, food and of course is a donation to help the animals they are so desperately trying to release back into the wildlife. My first night I was sure I made a mistake; there was a spider the size of my hand in the bathroom (which I wasn't allowed to kill, because the animal lovers also love insects); I was told I had to be up at 5:45 to work for 8 hours shovelling poop, scrubbing the algae of the inside of concrete ponds and cleaning out all the monkey enclosures, our entire dinner conversation consisted of talking sadly about the plight of animals; and I was also told there would be no meat served, because if we loved animals we wouldn't eat them.

I came back into my room and said to one of my roommates, "I think this place is far too 'hippy' for me!" Little did I know that in just two short weeks I would make some amazing friends, laugh more than I have in a long time, enjoy every laborious task (well kind of), and feel passionately about saving our world's wildlife and ecosystems. I never thought it would happen to me, but it has.


When my parents asked me what I was doing for work at Tasikoki I told them jokingly "feeding the animals papayas in the morning, and cleaning up papaya poop in the afternoon", but it does pretty much sum things up. I have been working 6 days a week, 8 hours a day, feeding, cleaning, scrubbing, and plucking branches for the animals to eat.

I have gotten dirty, sweaty, covered in substances I don't want to think about and bitten by more bugs than I can count (every time I look there is either a mosquito sucking my blood or an ant with its head buried into my foot, or on a couple occasions partying in my pants.) I also said to my parents in the beginning, "I am not sure I even like animals enough to do all this", but I never did mind a little hard work, so I pressed on with my duties.

Eventually, I grew to love the two orangutangs Iz and Bento who had the habit of peeing on me through their cage every time I walked by, the sun bears Binbin and Bonbon who had the nastiest poops, Betty the noisy Siamang always screaming for a mate, and the other 30 primates and hundreds of birds the center has. What I started to understand was that my money, and my hard work, was helping these animals to live a better life, and hopefully with mine and future funding be released back into the Indonesian wildlife. I probably complained more than any volunteer Tasikoki has ever had, I will admit that, but at least I kept everyone laughing.



Living in my American Bubble, I often forget that the world is suffering in so many ways or that there actually are people willing to fight for it. Willie Smits, the man who opened Tasikoki, is an inspirational man who has devoted his life to saving the world. Seeing that the animal trafficking problem was not the fault of the poor man who needed to feed his family he created a solution that, until I visited his factory and saw it functioning, was beyond my one-tiered thinking. He bought up land around northern Sulawesi, planted palm trees (which when tapped daily, will produce gallons of juice a day, which in turn can be used for making palm sugar and also can be turned into ethanol which can be used for electricity for their homes), and watched as people protected the forrest growing around their crops. Now this area is thriving not only economically, but also ecologically, and of course the orangutan population is no longer in danger. If you have time check out the talk he gave (in the link at the top of the page), it is truly inspiring!!!
I suggest everyone get involved in Willie's plan to help save the world, whether it is buying palm sugar (which also has some amazing health benefits as compared to white sugar), donating food or money to Tasikoki or just getting educated on what can be done. We can change the world on step at a time, even if you start by shovelling poop!!





Today I am off to Bunaken, an island north of here to lounge on the beach and scuba dive for a couple of days before I head back to Australia.




Me and Bemo, the center's loved dog










The view from the center