Life Regarding Australia (Part 6 of 137)

The first icebreaker of my job was a Wednesday afternoon. I had stayed in my hotel room all day, venturing out only once to walk around. I even swam on the roof and took photos. I had all my lost bags now (they were delivered to my room). I wore my best-looking shirt and expensive shorts (I bought from the mall in Ft. Smith a few weeks before).

I walk to the office, which is in a weird mall-like complex and I try to pull open the door. Everything is not as it seems. I try the door again and Cherryn opens it from the inside, telling me to push. I smile and probably go red in the face... good at first impressions. I sit down with all of the employees of Reef Check Australia (all waiting for me). There is my boss, a beautiful thirtysomething with fair skin; a blue-eyed blond; and a dirty brunette with long, curly hair and nice legs. I don't remember what is said, but I remember trying to make eye contact with everyone I could. I remember Tara looking away in a coy way. She was young, I guess. Jo, when I looked at her, was more of a shark.

We go out for drinks across the seaway. There is going to be a lot of walking in Australia, but I do not know this yet. On Palmer Street, the bar is called Rhino, and all of us sit at a sidewalk table. Jos (my boss) tells us we "interns" need to find some good college parties and meet people. "Goat parties" or "pig parties" are occasions where said animal is thrown on a fire (to be consumed or desecrated). It seems that Jo has already met a guy-friend, and Tara is too destitute to explore. I never hear about any of these parties during my stay...

We eventually leave Rhino and head toward the yacht club (not far). I see a man who looks just like one of my best friends... beard, height and eyes. I tell him this, not realizing until much later that it is Jos' main squeeze. I meet a few others, and then we interns decide to go to Tara's hostel. We are all drunk by this time. It's pitch black, and the swimming pool is darkened. Tara swims while we watch.

Suddenly, it starts raining. Hard. There are no places to take shelter on the rooftop pool (a theme?) above the Indian restaurant and we are all soaked. It is a good hostel, and I plan on moving there.

Jo and I leave the walk to her hostel in the pouring rain. We skip down Palmer, past the upscale pubs and restaurants. I yell to some older people having trouble with their umbrellas. "It's raining, who cares?" They reply under their breath about hoonish behavior.

Jo and I walk and walk to her hostel, which is downtown across the bridge. We finally make it, and she tells me she has a television. She says "hi" to some big Islander looking neighbors and opens her room. Me and Jo shake hands, laughing (both cross-eyed drunk) and part ways at her door. It's 1 AM.

Life Regarding Australia (Part 2 of 137)

When I got to Townsville, I took a cab. I was sans-luggage (read about the flights in a separate piece), and I wanted to go to sleep. I was booked at the "Sugar Shaker", the name of the Holiday Inn right in the central business district.

It is bright as hell and hot when I hail a cab, and I try to chat with the driver, but he's not really interested and neither am I. He takes me on a 5 minute drive around Castle Hill to the CBD. I hand him a red $20 bill and tell him to keep the change. He looks at me oddly and just takes the money somewhat disgusted. I could tell I did something wrong, but I walk into the hotel lobby and forget about it until later. I need a shower.

The girl helping me with at the desk is cute as hell. She has dark straight hair put up and a flawless complexion. I don't remember our conversation but I think everything is OK with the room. It's on the sixth floor.

I get into the room and think I should call someone. I pick up the phone and hear weird static, like the line is fried. But, this is Australia. This is a normal dial tone. I hang up. I use the bathroom and want to flush. There are two buttons on the top of the comode. This is normal. I hit the wrong one, and water continues to flow for minutes. I finally hit the right one and all is well. I shower and shave.

I turn on the TV and wait about 20 seconds for it to power-up. I watch music videos for a few hours, because my sleep patterns are screwed up. This channel (I found) plays music videos every Saturday morning. And, good ones. It's Saturday morning and I haven't slept yet. Eventually I sleep.

I wake up when I hear a lightning strike (one of the only ones heard in Australia). It's dark outside and I look at the lights to try and figure out my bearings. I haven't left the hotel yet. It's raining from what I can tell. Tomorrow is for exploration.

(continued...)

Life Regarding Australia (Part 3 of 137)

There are a few things I will remember about my time at Adventurers Backpackers Resort. One is the noise. Two is the boredom. Three is the pain. The hostel was an old three-story motel, complete with a pool on the 3rd floor. It was sparsely populated in January (the dead part of the season), and the people who lived there were construction workers and miners who were too cheap to live in an apartment. There was a large open rec' room and a gigantic kitchen with gas pilots. All in all, not bad and basically quiet unless you were in the "inner ring" (the rooms facing the parking area). My first room there was a single (in the outer ring), facing the bus stop and the railroad.

The hostel was in the beginnings of the bad part of town. The backpackers was on trendy Palmer Street. This was not a bad street, it just *became* bad about 50 m (learn metric!) from the last fish 'n chips shop. Seedy characters, who did or did not live in the hostel were always roaming around. Resident miners and workers would get shitfaced every night, and sing anthems like soccer hooligans. Being a foreigner in a foreign land, it was kind of frightening. Sometimes it was as scary as Flinders Mall at night (I'll explain later). Palmer St. also had a "men's hostel" nearby that was unbecoming, and parallel was the Railway Estates. The construction workers felt right at home, maybe because at 6 AM they would walk next door and resume hammering and banging on a new condo project. The noise.

Basically I worked 9-5, and the rest of the time was free. I didn't make any friends (it wasn't the friendliest hostel), so I was sure glad I brought my Gameboy Advance. There was not much to do if you didn't have a car or bike. Taxis weren't cheap, and the city had a tendency to favour those with wheels. The malls were too far away. The beach was a 30-min walk, Flinders St was 10-min, the cinema was 20-min, the ferry was 30-min (explained later) and the rock pool was a solid hour. The first few days in the hostel, I walked around in my beloved Van skate shoes. Those started to hurt me, so I bought some thongs (sandals) and figured I would be good. Not so. There was a lot of fucking walking without wheels. Eventually, I got the stamina and the callouses, but in the meantime, I had to bide my time staring at cinder block walls in my room, and try to write a little and read a little. I played Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow, Metroid Fusion and Legend of Zelda: The Minish Cap all the way through. The boredom and the pain.

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Life Regarding Australia (Part 1 of 137)

Tonight, before I settled down to bed with a cup of tea and a ratty novel, I told my friend that there is no such thing as nonfiction. History books, scientific journals, autobiographies--they can't be 100% truthful. We are human and we embellish; we lie to save ourselves. I'm worried about the audience on this one. I want to entertain.

Before I over-reflect on my statement, I must go on and do this before it gets replaced by new adventures. I must write about the beginning, the middle and the climax (hopefully not in that order). I must write about Life Regarding Australia. Everything from here on is "nonfiction". Where do I start?

(continued...)