I have days here that are better and worse, easier and harder. Yesterday was worse and harder. I was missing Andy particularly badly and feeling stressed about still not having found a job. Plus, I was already bored and faced a day frighteningly devoid of responsibilities or ideas on how to enjoy my leisure. The prospect of an entirely empty day spent by myself can make me anxious and uneasy for some reason. This was yet another in a long string of such days.
I eventually tried to kill some time by walking to Circular Quay, where the Opera House is located. My wanders there were plagued by discomfort and a frustratingly implacable discontent. It was the same unsettled feeling that has pervaded most of my days lately. Since I’ve already been to Circular Quay three or four times in the past two weeks, going there again didn’t help to change my dismal attitude. What did was reading my friend Erinn’s blog when I got home.
Erinn is a fellow expat. She relocated to Canada about a month before I left for Australia. She has also been facing a job search, displacement, and an unprecedented amount of free time. What she does with that free time is what particularly encouraged me. She writes, reads voraciously, ponders what she’s read, wanders, people-watches and makes plans for the future. A lot of that is what I have been doing in Sydney or used to do in London and Dublin.
Reading about her activities, and what interesting things have come out of them, made me realise that I’ve been looking at my Australian experience the wrong way. Having excessive free time isn’t bad. I just have to use it more constructively. I spoke with my parents yesterday, and my mom mused that if nothing else, this would be a good time for soul-searching. She’s right.
I have some soul-searching to catch up on. I’d postponed a lot of it while I was home, since I was wrapped up in my developing relationship with Andy and making logistical plans for Australia. I was disinclined to do a thorough examination of certain parts of my life that I was frustrated with—namely my job. I’m at a stage where I’m not really sure what I want to do for a career. I thought that would sort itself out once I arrived here. I had been looking at my time in Australia as an opportunity to find a job I loved and wanted to work in no matter where I lived.
But having clearance to work for one company for only six months is not conducive to being hired for a career-advancing job. The lack of responses I’ve received from the multitude of places I’ve applied is simply depressing. Even the temp agencies won’t contact me, and I get maddeningly fobbed off when I try to call and follow up. So my new plan is to take a more casual sort of job. It may not be the job of my dreams, but using my time here to figure out what the job of my dreams is would still be a worthwhile endeavour.
Andy encouraged this bud of an idea wholeheartedly. When I confessed my frequent thought of the day—that I almost hoped I wouldn’t find a job and would have to go home early—he was adamant that I shouldn’t give up. He said he could sense that I wasn’t fully engaged with my Sydney experience and suggested I do something immediately to make myself enjoy it more. Volunteering was one option he mentioned. I hadn’t thought about that before, but it’s a prospect I’ve become excited about. I could, for example, work at a café and use whatever day I have off to volunteer at an art museum.
After receiving so much indirect and direct encouragement, I have renewed energy for my job search. I also have a new attitude about being here. I’m on walkabout. I might as well follow the Australian example and enjoy it.
13 October, 2008
12 October, 2008
People and Place
I have frequently been at a loss lately. I really don’t know what I’m doing here. At first the whole point was to be anywhere but the US. Now I’m rethinking that, and reflecting on my previous abroad experiences. During my initial study abroad experience in London, I had unforgettable moments and developed an exhilarating independence. I also found closer friends than I’d ever had before. It wasn’t quite the same when I went back. I still loved the city, but I remember being lonely a lot.
I was desperately lonely in Dublin for a while as well. And though I never developed a particular affection for the place, I eventually solidified friendships that made my experience there a lot better. I was also still enchanted with the expat lifestyle. I was having incredible adventures, growing out of my shyness and developing my writing. I absolutely dreaded going home. So much so that I made a plan before I left Ireland to travel to Sydney in less than a year.
But I was taken by surprise. My life went in an unforseen new direction when I fell in love with Andy. And I realised that contentment has a lot less to do with where you live than I’d originally imagined. It’s all about connection. Having people that you care for in a place can change it entirely. That has a great deal to do with why I fell so hard for London initially. That eventually made the difference in Dublin. That completely upended my experience at home. That is what I’m lacking in Sydney.
As a result of my originally discovering it with flatmates I cared about, I have a tremendous affinity for London as a place. I’d often use that as a substitute for connection with people when I was lonely. I can do that a little bit with Sydney. It’s a cool city. But I’m lacking the absolute need to be here that I felt in London.
At first I thought that was just down to Andy not being here. A lot of it is. I miss him terribly, and our separation is, unfortunately, as difficult as I feared it would be. But it doesn’t have everything to do with Andy. A lot of it is just not having formed connections here yet. That will come.
For now I’m homesick. Wherever home may be. Part of it’s in England. Part of it’s in Ireland. Part of it’s in the US. And part of it’s in France. Because this has nothing to do with place. It’s the people that make it home.
I was desperately lonely in Dublin for a while as well. And though I never developed a particular affection for the place, I eventually solidified friendships that made my experience there a lot better. I was also still enchanted with the expat lifestyle. I was having incredible adventures, growing out of my shyness and developing my writing. I absolutely dreaded going home. So much so that I made a plan before I left Ireland to travel to Sydney in less than a year.
But I was taken by surprise. My life went in an unforseen new direction when I fell in love with Andy. And I realised that contentment has a lot less to do with where you live than I’d originally imagined. It’s all about connection. Having people that you care for in a place can change it entirely. That has a great deal to do with why I fell so hard for London initially. That eventually made the difference in Dublin. That completely upended my experience at home. That is what I’m lacking in Sydney.
As a result of my originally discovering it with flatmates I cared about, I have a tremendous affinity for London as a place. I’d often use that as a substitute for connection with people when I was lonely. I can do that a little bit with Sydney. It’s a cool city. But I’m lacking the absolute need to be here that I felt in London.
At first I thought that was just down to Andy not being here. A lot of it is. I miss him terribly, and our separation is, unfortunately, as difficult as I feared it would be. But it doesn’t have everything to do with Andy. A lot of it is just not having formed connections here yet. That will come.
For now I’m homesick. Wherever home may be. Part of it’s in England. Part of it’s in Ireland. Part of it’s in the US. And part of it’s in France. Because this has nothing to do with place. It’s the people that make it home.
07 October, 2008
Gastric Lament
I have been eating on a budget in Sydney. And I have been eating some pretty bad food. Not intentionally. I harbour a great hatred of spending money on a bad meal. It’s so unsatisfying and disappointing. But food prices here seem ridiculously high, the facilities in my hostel discourage me from cooking anything more complicated than pasta, and I’m not making any money. So I’ve been opting for cheap. I thought I was doing a good job of being discriminating, but not so.
The most recent run-in with bad cuisine occurred today at a take-away salad shop in the mall near Bondi Beach. The salad part of the salad was fine. It was the chicken in this dish that was particularly offensive. The first piece I ate was normal. The second was un-chewable. I had to pull the mass of what was decidedly not consumable chicken out of my mouth. The third had a disconcerting fishy taste.
After this, I examined the poultry more carefully. It was unbelievably thin, and most of the pieces I looked at were veined with gristle. I pushed the remaining slices to one corner of the take-away box and concentrated on isolating the greens. Unfortunately the disgusting meat had contaminated either the salad or my tastebuds and left me craving anything that would banish the foul flavour from my mouth. A Cadbury Time Out bar served that purpose quite nicely.
I’ve had particularly bad luck with Indian fare. A lamb vindaloo I ordered has the distinction not only of being the worst curry I’ve ever had, but probably the worst food. I enjoy Indian dishes because they’re hot. A good curry makes me sweat and makes my nose run. I want a vindaloo that leaves me gulping down every liquid within arm’s length, desperate to salve the third-degree burns in my mouth. This vindaloo had no spice. Actually, it had no flavour aside from that of the lamb. And that was bordering on rancid. I ate as much of it as I could tolerate and then closed the container, gagging a little.
After this experience, I don’t know why I risked buying bottled madras sauce from the grocery store a few days later. I certainly regretted it. My faith rested on a bottled green curry sauce I’d bought in Ireland that was quite good. This is not Ireland. It turned into yet another meal that I had to choke down, wincing at the odd tang of the spices.
But I am not yet despairing of ever finding tasty cuisine in Sydney. There have been a few bright spots. I stopped at an unassuming chippie near the beach tonight for dinner and ate the best plate of fish and chips I’ve ever tasted. I don’t know what kind of fish it was, but it was hot and light and flaky. The tang of the lemon and vinegar offset the buttery batter flavour perfectly.
Then when I got home I had a few of the TimTam biscuits I bought yesterday. They’re chocolate wafers with chocolate filling covered with dark chocolate. They’re crispy and creamy and…chocolaty. I can already see myself coming home with a stockpile of them. And I think they’ll be my exclusive meal option from now on.
The most recent run-in with bad cuisine occurred today at a take-away salad shop in the mall near Bondi Beach. The salad part of the salad was fine. It was the chicken in this dish that was particularly offensive. The first piece I ate was normal. The second was un-chewable. I had to pull the mass of what was decidedly not consumable chicken out of my mouth. The third had a disconcerting fishy taste.
After this, I examined the poultry more carefully. It was unbelievably thin, and most of the pieces I looked at were veined with gristle. I pushed the remaining slices to one corner of the take-away box and concentrated on isolating the greens. Unfortunately the disgusting meat had contaminated either the salad or my tastebuds and left me craving anything that would banish the foul flavour from my mouth. A Cadbury Time Out bar served that purpose quite nicely.
I’ve had particularly bad luck with Indian fare. A lamb vindaloo I ordered has the distinction not only of being the worst curry I’ve ever had, but probably the worst food. I enjoy Indian dishes because they’re hot. A good curry makes me sweat and makes my nose run. I want a vindaloo that leaves me gulping down every liquid within arm’s length, desperate to salve the third-degree burns in my mouth. This vindaloo had no spice. Actually, it had no flavour aside from that of the lamb. And that was bordering on rancid. I ate as much of it as I could tolerate and then closed the container, gagging a little.
After this experience, I don’t know why I risked buying bottled madras sauce from the grocery store a few days later. I certainly regretted it. My faith rested on a bottled green curry sauce I’d bought in Ireland that was quite good. This is not Ireland. It turned into yet another meal that I had to choke down, wincing at the odd tang of the spices.
But I am not yet despairing of ever finding tasty cuisine in Sydney. There have been a few bright spots. I stopped at an unassuming chippie near the beach tonight for dinner and ate the best plate of fish and chips I’ve ever tasted. I don’t know what kind of fish it was, but it was hot and light and flaky. The tang of the lemon and vinegar offset the buttery batter flavour perfectly.
Then when I got home I had a few of the TimTam biscuits I bought yesterday. They’re chocolate wafers with chocolate filling covered with dark chocolate. They’re crispy and creamy and…chocolaty. I can already see myself coming home with a stockpile of them. And I think they’ll be my exclusive meal option from now on.
06 October, 2008
Slightly Down Down Under
I love being an expat. I think. I’m not so sure at this point of my antipodean adventure. I forgot all the hard work and stress involved in establishing myself in a different country. I forgot how much of a confidence-shaker having no job and no home really is. I forgot the boredom and the loneliness.
This initial shock reminds me of my first few weeks in London. How I’m feeling now mirrors that experience nearly exactly. It involved frantically searching for jobs and flats and panicking at the prospect of not finding one or the other soon enough. That was combined with the boredom of not having a job to go to and not wanting to spend money I’m not earning on going out. That gave me a lot of time to dwell on missing people back home.
My experience in Sydney so far is pretty much the same. Except this time there are additional factors thrown in. I knew London. I had connections there. I had a friend there who met me at the airport and let me stay with her for two weeks. The same was true in Dublin. Here, I know no one and I’ve never even visited Australia before. And now I have a boyfriend on the other side of the world.
The last bit has proven more difficult than I anticipated. My communications with Andy have been uncertain. We are both having Internet troubles. The free wireless my hostel promised has only worked one day out of the seven I’ve been there. Andy has found Skype and gchat blocked in most places where he can access the Internet. But we’ve both bought our own wireless services now and should be able to talk more easily. And when we can talk, Andy has been a great source of encouragement.
This is, I hope, the worst stretch. Though it seems slow, I have made progress. I found a flat this week and will move in on 9 October. This is the first time that my flat search has gone so smoothly. It’s never been particularly hard; I’ve never had to look at more than three places before finding something suitable. But this time I loved the very first place I saw. The room I will have is huge and extends to my own private deck.
And, Sydney is awesome. Once I become fully settled I think I will absolutely love it here. On my first day I went to the Opera House. That was not the earth-moving experience I thought it would be, but the neighbouring Royal Botanic Gardens were. All the plants and wildlife are so new and interesting to me. I’ve yet to see any kangaroos, koalas, wallabies or platypi, but the cockatoos, small parrots and gigantic fruit bats flying around are amazing to see.
If I forgot how difficult it was to start over in a new country, I also forgot the full extent of the thrill I get from doing just that. I forgot the excitement of seeing a place that is entirely new. I forgot the sense of possibility that comes from getting lost. I forgot how fulfilling it is to meet new people and new friends. These are the things that will make this uncomfortable time worthwhile. They will also make me sure: I love being an expat.
This initial shock reminds me of my first few weeks in London. How I’m feeling now mirrors that experience nearly exactly. It involved frantically searching for jobs and flats and panicking at the prospect of not finding one or the other soon enough. That was combined with the boredom of not having a job to go to and not wanting to spend money I’m not earning on going out. That gave me a lot of time to dwell on missing people back home.
My experience in Sydney so far is pretty much the same. Except this time there are additional factors thrown in. I knew London. I had connections there. I had a friend there who met me at the airport and let me stay with her for two weeks. The same was true in Dublin. Here, I know no one and I’ve never even visited Australia before. And now I have a boyfriend on the other side of the world.
The last bit has proven more difficult than I anticipated. My communications with Andy have been uncertain. We are both having Internet troubles. The free wireless my hostel promised has only worked one day out of the seven I’ve been there. Andy has found Skype and gchat blocked in most places where he can access the Internet. But we’ve both bought our own wireless services now and should be able to talk more easily. And when we can talk, Andy has been a great source of encouragement.
This is, I hope, the worst stretch. Though it seems slow, I have made progress. I found a flat this week and will move in on 9 October. This is the first time that my flat search has gone so smoothly. It’s never been particularly hard; I’ve never had to look at more than three places before finding something suitable. But this time I loved the very first place I saw. The room I will have is huge and extends to my own private deck.
And, Sydney is awesome. Once I become fully settled I think I will absolutely love it here. On my first day I went to the Opera House. That was not the earth-moving experience I thought it would be, but the neighbouring Royal Botanic Gardens were. All the plants and wildlife are so new and interesting to me. I’ve yet to see any kangaroos, koalas, wallabies or platypi, but the cockatoos, small parrots and gigantic fruit bats flying around are amazing to see.
If I forgot how difficult it was to start over in a new country, I also forgot the full extent of the thrill I get from doing just that. I forgot the excitement of seeing a place that is entirely new. I forgot the sense of possibility that comes from getting lost. I forgot how fulfilling it is to meet new people and new friends. These are the things that will make this uncomfortable time worthwhile. They will also make me sure: I love being an expat.
29 September, 2008
Already Jet Lagged
The most dreaded part is over. I dropped Andy off at the airport on Tuesday morning. I was not as inconsolable as I was hoping I wouldn’t be. But it was ridiculously difficult to break the hug and walk away. I couldn’t look back, fearing that if I did I would break down beyond the tears I’d already shed. I was able to make it to the bathroom and lock myself away in a stall before doing that. I stayed in the confined space long enough to pull myself together and walk back to where Andy was just about to go through security. I drew as near as I dared to a TSA official, who looked up warily when I called Andy’s name from his side. All I could do under such an ominous gaze was wave, but it helped a great deal.
Despite all of the preparations I needed to undertake for my own departure, I’ve felt empty this week. Empty and a little lonely. Luckily, my friends have helped to alleviate, or at least suspend, my longing for Andy. Phone calls and face-to-face chats over pints and coffee have kept me in fairly high spirits. So have a few strangers in the medical profession, who gave me reduced-price dental exams and free contact solution when they learnt of my upcoming travel. It makes the transition a lot easier knowing that I have so much support from…well, everyone.
What did NOT make leaving easier was my mom’s decision to buy a new puppy two days before I left. I needed to go to a particular mall in order to visit an eyewear store that could complete a new pair of glasses on time. Mom decided to come along and suggested we go to the pet store after I’d finished picking out my new frames. We always go to the pet store, but we usually don’t come home with a dog. The fact that we did this time was due to a combination of circumstances. He’s a Shih-Tzu, the same breed as the two dogs we already have. He has the colouring my mom likes. He was half-price. And, probably most importantly, Noelle moved to Dinkytown and I’m moving to Australia. The dog is our replacement. And he’s a pretty cute replacement.
I haven’t had time to form a strong attachment to Yet-to-be-Named, so his presence did not outweigh my excitement to get out of here. Andy’s been doing quite well in France, and I can’t wait to go and begin my own adventures. They’ll made being away from him easier, and, of course, they’ll be incredible in their own right. They’d better be, as I’m writing this in the San Francisco airport. I left Minneapolis at 2.55pm, landed in Chicago at 4 something, left from there at 6.45 and arrived at San Francisco at 11pm Central/9pm Pacific. I’m sick of airports. I’m exhausted. And I still have a 13-hour flight ahead of me. For all this, Sydney better be pretty bloody amazing.
Despite all of the preparations I needed to undertake for my own departure, I’ve felt empty this week. Empty and a little lonely. Luckily, my friends have helped to alleviate, or at least suspend, my longing for Andy. Phone calls and face-to-face chats over pints and coffee have kept me in fairly high spirits. So have a few strangers in the medical profession, who gave me reduced-price dental exams and free contact solution when they learnt of my upcoming travel. It makes the transition a lot easier knowing that I have so much support from…well, everyone.
What did NOT make leaving easier was my mom’s decision to buy a new puppy two days before I left. I needed to go to a particular mall in order to visit an eyewear store that could complete a new pair of glasses on time. Mom decided to come along and suggested we go to the pet store after I’d finished picking out my new frames. We always go to the pet store, but we usually don’t come home with a dog. The fact that we did this time was due to a combination of circumstances. He’s a Shih-Tzu, the same breed as the two dogs we already have. He has the colouring my mom likes. He was half-price. And, probably most importantly, Noelle moved to Dinkytown and I’m moving to Australia. The dog is our replacement. And he’s a pretty cute replacement.
I haven’t had time to form a strong attachment to Yet-to-be-Named, so his presence did not outweigh my excitement to get out of here. Andy’s been doing quite well in France, and I can’t wait to go and begin my own adventures. They’ll made being away from him easier, and, of course, they’ll be incredible in their own right. They’d better be, as I’m writing this in the San Francisco airport. I left Minneapolis at 2.55pm, landed in Chicago at 4 something, left from there at 6.45 and arrived at San Francisco at 11pm Central/9pm Pacific. I’m sick of airports. I’m exhausted. And I still have a 13-hour flight ahead of me. For all this, Sydney better be pretty bloody amazing.
01 August, 2008
Duluth, Australia
Finding accommodations in Duluth was eerily easy. It required only one phone call as we were driving out of Copper Harbour on Saturday morning. The only difficult part about it was me trying to remember how to drive a manual through the maze of Houghton streets that suddenly emerged while Andy was on the phone making the reservation. He resumed the wheel after we'd stopped for lunch, and we arrived at our hotel early in the evening.
And what a hotel it was. It was gigantic and included a couch, a table and a proliferation of downy pillows such that I'd never seen before (the table and couch proved to be quite useful in eating the waffle Andy made the next morning). After taking in our luxurious settings, Andy went down to the front desk to retrieve an Ethernet cable (old school) so we could research our dinner options. He returned with a pair of surprise gin & tonics, and we unwound from the drive. I tried my best to forget lingering images of the hokey lawn decoration I'd seen just before we crossed the border from Wisconsin into Minnesota. A plot of flowers had been planted between an iron headboard and footrest, and a sign affixed to the headboard had proclaimed, "Yes, this is a flowerbed!"
As far as its restaurant selection, Duluth surprised me by resembling a mini Minneapolis. Restaurants that I thought only existed in Minneapolis, such as Pizza Luce and Hell's Kitchen, also had a location in Duluth. We opted for neither of these, instead choosing to try the Lake Ave Cafe. It was a short walk down the lake shore from our hotel, and the menu online looked delicious. We were initially put off by the emptiness of the place. Only one or two other checker-tableclothed tables were occupied when we entered. But we quickly decided it was everyone else's loss. The food was fantastic, especially after the Pringles and suspiciously-smothered-in-sauce whitefish we'd consumed the previous few days. Our waitress was charmingly unrehearsed with the night's specials, but provided us with warm, fuzzy feelings and some good suggestions for touring Duluth.
We attempted to settle our disgustingly full stomachs by taking a walk to the Aerial Bridge after dinner. It was growing dark, and we stood for a long time marvelling at the bridge from a pair of lighthouses that glowed red and green. We were able to admire the lift element of the bridge up close as we were about to cross it on our way back to the hotel. A device that resembled an old school bell began to clang above our heads and a warning sign blinked red. A disembodied voice told us to clear the bridge, and a section of it slowly started to rise into the air. Like the cogs that powered Split Rock lighthouse, this mechanical miracle absolutely fascinated me. I was stupefied at the enormous counterbalance and the slightly disturbing sight of a bridge that dropped off suddenly and perilously into the water. That event was the extent of the excitement in Duluth that night. But I was so happy to be able to relax with Andy in a beautiful setting.
That somehow translated into a very melancholy Sunday. Not only was the long weekend coming to a close, but it fully hit me that my time back in the US is quickly coming to a close as well. This is a good thing overall, but it's never easy to move country. And this time I have a new factor to consider. I've never before been in a relationship when facing a prolonged period abroad. In fact, the thing that largely spurred me into going abroad the first time was a desire to escape the aftereffects of a relationship that had ended. This is going to be hard. I'm trying not to dwell on it too far in advance, but it's inevitable for me at times. Everything has had a bittersweet quality about it recently. Somber waves often follow in the wake of a carefree moment because I suddenly remember that the time we have left for such moments is short.
I've had an especially difficult time which this element of my departure the past week. Since coming home from our trip, I've had my work visa approved and Andy and I have booked our flights. He leaves for France 23 September, and I leave for Australia 27 September. Having a final, definite date attached to the beginning of my adventure makes it suddenly concrete. It had been a comfortably vague plan up until then. Now I have less than two months to pull all the pieces together and see everyone I care about, including Andy, as much as I can before I leave. It's stressful and it's scary. Sometimes I wonder why I put myself through this.
Then I remember how wonderful it is to travel and how rewarding it is to find your niche in a new place. Nothing worthwhile is ever easy or safe. All the unique experiences and adventures that I had in England and Ireland made everything that went into creating those moments entirely worthwhile. The downs while abroad can be dismal, and there will be no exception this time. I won't see Andy for a year. I don't know anyone in Australia. I've never even visited before. I don't have anywhere to stay. I have no idea where I might work. But the ups are incredibly exhilarating. I'll see kangaroos. I can learn how to scuba dive. It will be summer in winter. The water drains in the opposite direction. I'll invent several excuses for avoiding Vegemite. And it's quite likely I'll muddle my accent again.
I will make it. Andy will make it. We will both make the absolute most of our time abroad. And then we can come back and use what we know when we travel together, whether we're scrounging for lodgings in the UP, luxuriating in Duluth or adventuring somewhere else entirely. It's amazingly scary, but, regardless of what happens, it will be amazing.
And what a hotel it was. It was gigantic and included a couch, a table and a proliferation of downy pillows such that I'd never seen before (the table and couch proved to be quite useful in eating the waffle Andy made the next morning). After taking in our luxurious settings, Andy went down to the front desk to retrieve an Ethernet cable (old school) so we could research our dinner options. He returned with a pair of surprise gin & tonics, and we unwound from the drive. I tried my best to forget lingering images of the hokey lawn decoration I'd seen just before we crossed the border from Wisconsin into Minnesota. A plot of flowers had been planted between an iron headboard and footrest, and a sign affixed to the headboard had proclaimed, "Yes, this is a flowerbed!"
As far as its restaurant selection, Duluth surprised me by resembling a mini Minneapolis. Restaurants that I thought only existed in Minneapolis, such as Pizza Luce and Hell's Kitchen, also had a location in Duluth. We opted for neither of these, instead choosing to try the Lake Ave Cafe. It was a short walk down the lake shore from our hotel, and the menu online looked delicious. We were initially put off by the emptiness of the place. Only one or two other checker-tableclothed tables were occupied when we entered. But we quickly decided it was everyone else's loss. The food was fantastic, especially after the Pringles and suspiciously-smothered-in-sauce whitefish we'd consumed the previous few days. Our waitress was charmingly unrehearsed with the night's specials, but provided us with warm, fuzzy feelings and some good suggestions for touring Duluth.
We attempted to settle our disgustingly full stomachs by taking a walk to the Aerial Bridge after dinner. It was growing dark, and we stood for a long time marvelling at the bridge from a pair of lighthouses that glowed red and green. We were able to admire the lift element of the bridge up close as we were about to cross it on our way back to the hotel. A device that resembled an old school bell began to clang above our heads and a warning sign blinked red. A disembodied voice told us to clear the bridge, and a section of it slowly started to rise into the air. Like the cogs that powered Split Rock lighthouse, this mechanical miracle absolutely fascinated me. I was stupefied at the enormous counterbalance and the slightly disturbing sight of a bridge that dropped off suddenly and perilously into the water. That event was the extent of the excitement in Duluth that night. But I was so happy to be able to relax with Andy in a beautiful setting.
That somehow translated into a very melancholy Sunday. Not only was the long weekend coming to a close, but it fully hit me that my time back in the US is quickly coming to a close as well. This is a good thing overall, but it's never easy to move country. And this time I have a new factor to consider. I've never before been in a relationship when facing a prolonged period abroad. In fact, the thing that largely spurred me into going abroad the first time was a desire to escape the aftereffects of a relationship that had ended. This is going to be hard. I'm trying not to dwell on it too far in advance, but it's inevitable for me at times. Everything has had a bittersweet quality about it recently. Somber waves often follow in the wake of a carefree moment because I suddenly remember that the time we have left for such moments is short.
I've had an especially difficult time which this element of my departure the past week. Since coming home from our trip, I've had my work visa approved and Andy and I have booked our flights. He leaves for France 23 September, and I leave for Australia 27 September. Having a final, definite date attached to the beginning of my adventure makes it suddenly concrete. It had been a comfortably vague plan up until then. Now I have less than two months to pull all the pieces together and see everyone I care about, including Andy, as much as I can before I leave. It's stressful and it's scary. Sometimes I wonder why I put myself through this.
Then I remember how wonderful it is to travel and how rewarding it is to find your niche in a new place. Nothing worthwhile is ever easy or safe. All the unique experiences and adventures that I had in England and Ireland made everything that went into creating those moments entirely worthwhile. The downs while abroad can be dismal, and there will be no exception this time. I won't see Andy for a year. I don't know anyone in Australia. I've never even visited before. I don't have anywhere to stay. I have no idea where I might work. But the ups are incredibly exhilarating. I'll see kangaroos. I can learn how to scuba dive. It will be summer in winter. The water drains in the opposite direction. I'll invent several excuses for avoiding Vegemite. And it's quite likely I'll muddle my accent again.
I will make it. Andy will make it. We will both make the absolute most of our time abroad. And then we can come back and use what we know when we travel together, whether we're scrounging for lodgings in the UP, luxuriating in Duluth or adventuring somewhere else entirely. It's amazingly scary, but, regardless of what happens, it will be amazing.
20 July, 2008
The War for Independent Lodging, Part II: The Outcome
There were about three hours remaining before Andy and I needed to go back to Keweenaw Mountain Lodge to finalise our clandestine room arrangements. With a sharp eye on the time, we hiked a little way though the woods and climbed down to a cluster of large rocks protruding steeply from the waters of Lake Superior. The toe-numbing temperature of the lake helped us to keep our minds off of the potential disaster that could still ensue regarding our lodging. The sun-warmed rocks were incredibly comfortable by contrast, and we took some time to let the stress of the search evaporate by lying about on them.
But the tension didn't entirely dissipate, and we allowed a significant amount of time to travel back to the car and up the hill to the lodge. We arrived in the parking lot at 8.40, surprisingly nervous. We discussed what our plan would be should our receptionist connection be unable to give us the room she'd promised. Given the unrewarding day we'd spent pursuing a place to sleep and our unwillingness to increase the Sunday drive home by venturing further East, we decided to leave the UP regardless of how we fared at Keweenaw. Duluth sounded alluring, so we set our sights on that for the next day. But we needed to resolve situation at hand before making further plans.
At 8.45, we walked into the reception area. Our receptionist was still there, and she seemed to recognise us. As soon as she was through helping the person who'd been in front of her when we entered, she executed a covert look around the area to make sure her flouting of the rules would not be discovered. She needed no reintroduction to us or our situation. She immediately set a registration card before us, quickly eliminating our fears that something had gone awry in our conspirational plans. When I handed back the completed card, she noted that my name was Nicole and said that was her name, too. "Do you go by Nicole or Nikki?" she asked. I revealed that I went by Nikki, and she exclaimed, "Me, too! How do you spell it?"
"N-I-K-K-I," I recited.
"Me too!" she cried, even more excited. "I'm going to be geeking out about that all night!"
We then made our way to our hard-won lodgings. Despite Nikki's apologetic warning that it was a smoking room, nothing but the ash tray on the dresser hinted at the truth of her statement. We detected only the scent of new carpeting when we went in to dump our belongings. Our investigation of the room's lingering smells was not very thorough, though. We desperately wanted ice cream, and the stated closing time of the place where we'd intended to buy it was fast approaching. As we made our way back to Andy's Subaru, we crossed paths with a woman heading the opposite direction. She must have been able to detect that we were no longer desperate room seekers because she greeted us with a warm smile and friendly hello. Our stigma had vanished. We returned her greeting, but I couldn't help thinking, Where were you three hours ago when all we wanted was someone to be nice to us?
When we came upon a line of cars newly parked along the hill leading to town, we decided to preempt what we guessed would have turned into an intensive search for parking by joining it. "How do you feel about a short jog?" Andy asked when we realised how little time we had to make it to the ice cream shop. We sprinted. It was, thankfully, mostly downhill. A woman coming from the direction of the shop recognised our urgency and guessed our destination. "Going for ice cream?" she called. Our breathless nods prompted her to warn us that it would be at least a twenty minute wait. As the shop came into sight, we saw that she was right and that our effort had been expended needlessly. A line extended beyond the door of the tiny building and well out into the lawn. But we would not be deterred.
We joined the queue, panting. It was a beautiful night, and the only thing that would ruin it for us was if, after spending a prolonged period in line, the shop closed just as we reached the threshold of the entrance. No-one seemed to mind the wait. The promise of sweet, delicious ice cream kept everyone in good spirits, and the atmosphere amongst the queuers was jovial. It seemed a major accomplishment when we finally advanced as far as the wooden porch that extended about 10 feet in front of the entrance. I jumped onto the slightly elevated surface as triumphantly as if I'd just conquered a new land. As we drew ever nearer to the door, I tried to peek through the windows of the shop, now lighted against the dusk, to discern what the promised 36 flavours were and which I would possibly choose. It was an easy decision in the end. Amaretto Cherry Mackinac Island Fudge.
It was well past the closing time chalked on a blackboard outside the establishment, but the proprietors didn't seem to mind in the slightest. They were an elderly couple both dressed in stars-and-stripes themed shirts, and they smiled and chatted happily with the eager ice cream loving hordes as they laboured over their scoops and tills. "This is the busiest we've been all year," the woman said. Despite my worries, Andy and I both had double scoop waffle cones securely in hand long before the shop finally decided to end their impromptu extended hours. And it was well worth the wait. It was, with no exaggeration, the best ice cream I have ever had the fortune to lick. That includes the pieces of chocolate embedded in it. They were not the stale, wax-coated pieces of chocolate that I'm used to finding in ice cream, but chewy, bittersweet chunks.
I was completely absorbed in the delicious endeavor of catching the streaks of melted ice cream dribbling down the cone as we walked to the site of the legendary fireworks that were soon to begin. The charmed nature of the day held out, and we found ample space on a dock that extended into the lake directly across from where the fireworks were to be launched. As we were waiting for it to start, Andy began to muse about how the officials of the UP had spread the word about the expanded fireworks display. They would have needed to be careful not to incite undue commotion amongst the residents of Copper Harbor. A code was essential for seeding the information amongst key members of the hospitality industry, who could discreetly spread the word as they saw fit. Andy recited what he imagined the Copper Harbor code had been: "Albatross is bringing a bigger sandwich this year! Pastrami on rye. With mustard on one side. OK, maybe two sides. But don't say anything."
After much anticipation, the first rocket whistled into the air and exploded into arms of light and colour that radiated outward in bright shimmers. Sharp cracks and deep booms shook the air, and I could feel the sonic reverberations in the deck beneath me. Copper Harbor had a right to be proud of the show they produced. The display drew collective shouts and sounds of awed wonder from the gathered crowd. And it was a crowd. We were certain that the population of the town had at least quadrupled that day. The thunderous finale drew an equally noisy response of applause and cheers from the ground as everyone demonstrated their appreciation for this even longer celebration of the country's independence.
But as soon as the fireworks ended, so did the festive atmosphere. Whereas before everyone had enjoyed sharing the collective experience of watching the fireworks, families quickly turned against each other as they turned their attentions to reaching their cars before everyone else. Spectators folded up their canvas camping chairs with an efficient and hurried snap. Parents herded and towed their children in the necessary direction. The dock emptied within minutes. Andy and I watched. We were in no hurry. With our tummies full of ice cream and a room secured and waiting for us, nothing could bother us. We definitely didn't win the race back to our vehicle and faced some traffic as a consequence. But we made it back eventually, extremely content with the outcome of the day and excited to see what the next would hold for us in Duluth.
But the tension didn't entirely dissipate, and we allowed a significant amount of time to travel back to the car and up the hill to the lodge. We arrived in the parking lot at 8.40, surprisingly nervous. We discussed what our plan would be should our receptionist connection be unable to give us the room she'd promised. Given the unrewarding day we'd spent pursuing a place to sleep and our unwillingness to increase the Sunday drive home by venturing further East, we decided to leave the UP regardless of how we fared at Keweenaw. Duluth sounded alluring, so we set our sights on that for the next day. But we needed to resolve situation at hand before making further plans.
At 8.45, we walked into the reception area. Our receptionist was still there, and she seemed to recognise us. As soon as she was through helping the person who'd been in front of her when we entered, she executed a covert look around the area to make sure her flouting of the rules would not be discovered. She needed no reintroduction to us or our situation. She immediately set a registration card before us, quickly eliminating our fears that something had gone awry in our conspirational plans. When I handed back the completed card, she noted that my name was Nicole and said that was her name, too. "Do you go by Nicole or Nikki?" she asked. I revealed that I went by Nikki, and she exclaimed, "Me, too! How do you spell it?"
"N-I-K-K-I," I recited.
"Me too!" she cried, even more excited. "I'm going to be geeking out about that all night!"
We then made our way to our hard-won lodgings. Despite Nikki's apologetic warning that it was a smoking room, nothing but the ash tray on the dresser hinted at the truth of her statement. We detected only the scent of new carpeting when we went in to dump our belongings. Our investigation of the room's lingering smells was not very thorough, though. We desperately wanted ice cream, and the stated closing time of the place where we'd intended to buy it was fast approaching. As we made our way back to Andy's Subaru, we crossed paths with a woman heading the opposite direction. She must have been able to detect that we were no longer desperate room seekers because she greeted us with a warm smile and friendly hello. Our stigma had vanished. We returned her greeting, but I couldn't help thinking, Where were you three hours ago when all we wanted was someone to be nice to us?
When we came upon a line of cars newly parked along the hill leading to town, we decided to preempt what we guessed would have turned into an intensive search for parking by joining it. "How do you feel about a short jog?" Andy asked when we realised how little time we had to make it to the ice cream shop. We sprinted. It was, thankfully, mostly downhill. A woman coming from the direction of the shop recognised our urgency and guessed our destination. "Going for ice cream?" she called. Our breathless nods prompted her to warn us that it would be at least a twenty minute wait. As the shop came into sight, we saw that she was right and that our effort had been expended needlessly. A line extended beyond the door of the tiny building and well out into the lawn. But we would not be deterred.
We joined the queue, panting. It was a beautiful night, and the only thing that would ruin it for us was if, after spending a prolonged period in line, the shop closed just as we reached the threshold of the entrance. No-one seemed to mind the wait. The promise of sweet, delicious ice cream kept everyone in good spirits, and the atmosphere amongst the queuers was jovial. It seemed a major accomplishment when we finally advanced as far as the wooden porch that extended about 10 feet in front of the entrance. I jumped onto the slightly elevated surface as triumphantly as if I'd just conquered a new land. As we drew ever nearer to the door, I tried to peek through the windows of the shop, now lighted against the dusk, to discern what the promised 36 flavours were and which I would possibly choose. It was an easy decision in the end. Amaretto Cherry Mackinac Island Fudge.
It was well past the closing time chalked on a blackboard outside the establishment, but the proprietors didn't seem to mind in the slightest. They were an elderly couple both dressed in stars-and-stripes themed shirts, and they smiled and chatted happily with the eager ice cream loving hordes as they laboured over their scoops and tills. "This is the busiest we've been all year," the woman said. Despite my worries, Andy and I both had double scoop waffle cones securely in hand long before the shop finally decided to end their impromptu extended hours. And it was well worth the wait. It was, with no exaggeration, the best ice cream I have ever had the fortune to lick. That includes the pieces of chocolate embedded in it. They were not the stale, wax-coated pieces of chocolate that I'm used to finding in ice cream, but chewy, bittersweet chunks.
I was completely absorbed in the delicious endeavor of catching the streaks of melted ice cream dribbling down the cone as we walked to the site of the legendary fireworks that were soon to begin. The charmed nature of the day held out, and we found ample space on a dock that extended into the lake directly across from where the fireworks were to be launched. As we were waiting for it to start, Andy began to muse about how the officials of the UP had spread the word about the expanded fireworks display. They would have needed to be careful not to incite undue commotion amongst the residents of Copper Harbor. A code was essential for seeding the information amongst key members of the hospitality industry, who could discreetly spread the word as they saw fit. Andy recited what he imagined the Copper Harbor code had been: "Albatross is bringing a bigger sandwich this year! Pastrami on rye. With mustard on one side. OK, maybe two sides. But don't say anything."
After much anticipation, the first rocket whistled into the air and exploded into arms of light and colour that radiated outward in bright shimmers. Sharp cracks and deep booms shook the air, and I could feel the sonic reverberations in the deck beneath me. Copper Harbor had a right to be proud of the show they produced. The display drew collective shouts and sounds of awed wonder from the gathered crowd. And it was a crowd. We were certain that the population of the town had at least quadrupled that day. The thunderous finale drew an equally noisy response of applause and cheers from the ground as everyone demonstrated their appreciation for this even longer celebration of the country's independence.
But as soon as the fireworks ended, so did the festive atmosphere. Whereas before everyone had enjoyed sharing the collective experience of watching the fireworks, families quickly turned against each other as they turned their attentions to reaching their cars before everyone else. Spectators folded up their canvas camping chairs with an efficient and hurried snap. Parents herded and towed their children in the necessary direction. The dock emptied within minutes. Andy and I watched. We were in no hurry. With our tummies full of ice cream and a room secured and waiting for us, nothing could bother us. We definitely didn't win the race back to our vehicle and faced some traffic as a consequence. But we made it back eventually, extremely content with the outcome of the day and excited to see what the next would hold for us in Duluth.
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