USA or Bust!

Just because I find the international dateline a thing of hilarity and/or absurdity (and, oh alright, usefulness as well), I thought I would share my flight itinerary with you:

Melbourne to Sydney
Departure: Oct 21, 12:20 PM EST (afternoon)
Arrival: Oct 21, 1:45 PM EST (afternoon)

Sydney to San Francisco
Departure: Oct 21, 3:45 PM EST (afternoon)
Arrival: Oct 21, 11:11 AM PDT (morning)

Yes, that's right. I'm arriving in San Francisco 4 hours BEFORE I left Sydney. HOW CAN IT BE?????

San Francisco to Newark
Departure: Oct 21, 1:32 PM (afternoon)
Arrival: Oct 21, 9:59 PM (evening)

It's seriously like Groundhog Day. Should be interesting. At least I have two books, my iPod, and sleeping pills to keep me company.

By the way, Darcy has been inordinately lazy with her blog post about house sitting, but I told her she could have free reign of the blog while I'm gone, so maybe she can put something together for us. You should hassle Will about that!

Alright, friends-- I'm off!

Off to the Races!

With spring in Victoria comes inconsistent weather, floral dresses in shop windows that no one can wear without leggings and jumpers, and a plethora of horse races. That's right, it's racing season in Australia!

Being the Australian adventurers that we are, Will and I made our way to the Caulfield Racecourse on Saturday for a day of horse racing. The races in Victoria are huge events and are the height of fashion, gambling and champagne consumption. The Caulfield Cup is one of the biggest racing days of the season, perhaps second only to Melbourne Cup Day, which falls on the first Tuesday in November and is a public holiday in Victoria. That's right, the entire state gets the day off on behalf of a congregation of really fast four-legged animals.


As I mentioned, racing is all about the fashion. So before you ask what that giant thing in my hair is, let me introduce you to the concept of "the Fascinator." What the Terminator is to termination, the Fascinator is to fascination. Actually it's simply a hair accessory, like a scaled back version of a hat. Everyone wears them. I swear.

Up close and personal with the Fascinator

Requisite animal cruelty picture

Proof of the Fascinator's vast influence - even the Cup Girl wears them!

The races themselves were a good time as well, although they may have taken a back seat to the people watching. Our friends got there early and staked out a really good spot right next to the course. We had an amazing view of the final stretch, the better to see our horses lose.

Absolute Joy - I picked her because she shares my middle name, but she was unable to return my $5 investment.

Lining up for the start of the big race

And down the stretch they come!

The worst part of the day was possibly the weather. It started off cold and rainy, then warmed up for a few minutes, then got cold and rainy again, then warmed up and ... well, you get the picture. Even though we were chilly half the time, Will still managed to acquire quite the rosy shade of burned. Only in Melbourne can you freeze and fry at the same time.

Our first racing experience proved to be a success, despite our $10 gambling loss. Although we get the day off for the Melbourne Cup, we may forgo the races in favor of a more subdued viewing experience. I'm not sure the Fascinator is ready for another go just yet.

Speaking of Interruptions...

In my last post I discussed the interruption that house-sitting provided to our "Australian dream." Well, looming on the near horizon is yet another, more momentous interruption: my return to the Homeland.

This Wednesday I embark on my 25-hour-long journey to New York City for Carissa's wedding. I can't believe the time for my trip is already here. When I bought the ticket it seemed like such a distant, quasi-imaginary dream that I would ever actually be making my way back to the States, yet here I am, packing my bags, preparing for my one-and-a-half weeks in North America.

I'm not exactly sure what I want to say about this... there's such a mixture of thoughts and emotions that come with returning home. Will I survive the twenty-five hours on multiple planes without Will to keep me entertained? More importantly, will I be able to get back on a plane just 1.5 weeks later? Will my friends think I look the same? Will they remark on my charming new Australian accent? Will I max out my credit cards buying things I haven't seen in nine months? Will I be able to say goodbye to friends and family, not knowing when I'll see them again? Will I be able to be as happy with life in Australia upon my return after having been "awakened" from the dream before we're even halfway through?

Who knows? I'm not trying to sound over-dramatic here, but Lord knows that as great as Australia is, the US--even New York City--will always be home. And home is not something that's ever easy to leave behind.

Back to Reality

Is it seriously October already? Have three weeks really gone by since I've last blogged? I swear that the house we were sitting was really some type of time warp, sucking the present-tense into an infinite black hole of doom and despair.

Really.

But now we're back to reality, and though reality is not quite as luxurious and comfortable as the time-warp days were (Oh! Audi convertible, how I miss thee and thy opulence!), it is nice to be back to our tiny apartment in our little corner of South Yarra. I really missed being able to step out my door and find hundreds of cafes, restaurants, parks, and shops within a five-minute walk--a perk that the suburbs just can't give you.

Not that living in the suburbs wasn't a nice break from the "Australian dream," a term I coined to describe the scaled-back, minimalist lifestyle that we have adopted since moving to this fair continent (contrary to how it may sound, it has nothing to do with the real Australian dream, which I imagine would be quite different). These past few weeks Will and I spent many an evening eating dinner on our [borrowed] deck, reminiscing about our own townhome so many thousands of miles away, recalling the good memories of dinners with friends, neighbors that yelled at us (and had our gas turned off), and the overall feeling of permanence and stability that it gave us (goes to show you that feelings of permanence and stability shouldn't always be believed!). And don't get me started on the cars-- it was so nice to be able to drive everywhere we wanted to go again, and leave the city on weekends, and have a way to transport your dog that doesn't involve her clawing your eyes out because she happens to be scared of trains.

It was a well-deserved time out.

But I'm also glad that this is not how we decided to experience Australia. I love the nitty-grittiness of roaming the streets of Melbourne by foot, which sometimes leads to the discovery of a funky new cafe or a second-hand bookshop, and riding the train, which gives you an insight into all sorts of lifestyles. Cars can be rented, houses are waiting for us upon our trip home, but our current corner of the world, and the lifestyle we have adopted, still has much more to offer us.

And that's my take on house-sitting.

P.S. Darcy is working on her own version of her Pascoe Vale experience with her friend Tofu. She'll be able to give you a better account than I ever could.

X-Sitting

Wow, it's been a long time. I apologize for my lax blog behavior, but let me assure you that lots of fun things have been going on here. The most notable: Will and I are acting as professional X-sitters! What does the X mean, you may ask? It means we're sitting for so many things that you may as well just fill in the blank. House-sitting? Check. Car-sitting? Check. Plant-sitting? Check. Dog-sitting? Oh my, yes.

Our friends Deborah and Wayne (formally mentioned on this blog as the Quarantine Friends) are on holiday in Europe for two-and-a-half weeks and needed a couple of reliable, responsible people to take care of their assets. When they couldn't find any of those, they settled for two people with the same kind of dog as they have. That's right-- we are currently the proud caretakers of two little Westies. As astoundingly adorable as a double dose of Westie may sound, it is also most definitely double the trouble.

Take for example Friday night. Deborah and Wayne had just departed the country, and Tofu came to our apartment while Will and I finished packing for our 2.5 week vacation. Tofu, presented with an entirely new environment without the safety of her parents, made her displeasure known. The whining and crawling up Will's lap set Darcy's discomfort-meter on edge, and she joined in the chorus of yips. They continued to feed off each others' paranoia until Will and I couldn't stand the apartment one second longer, closed our half-packed bags, and headed for the burbs. Upon arrival to her home, Tofu settled down considerably and even got comfortable around us... which in turn set off Darcy's jealousy. She couldn't understand why another little white dog was sitting on her daddy's lap, and occasionally even tried to push her off. Thankfully the jealousy and whining are now in the past. All we have left to worry about is that one of the dogs will knock a hole in the wall or fall down the stairs while they're chasing each other around the house.

Of course, to off-set the Westie troubles we have a brand-new, beautiful townhome (with Brazilian cleaners once a week! Some of you know how obsessed I am with Brazilian cleaners), a fabulous barbeque area, and two cars, including an Audi convertible.

All suffering in the name of friendship, of course. Updates of our trials and travails to come.

Darcy Down Under Goes to the Yarra Valley

Hi there! Sorry it’s been awhile since I’ve updated you on what you’re really interested in—ME—but Mom’s been hogging the blog lately. I finally told her I’d pee on her head if she didn’t let me write something. That seemed to get her attention.

Anyway, I’ve been out of special agent training (Dad calls it “quarantine,” but that’s kind of a long word for me) for several months, and last weekend was my first big adventure. Well, except for the Great Ocean Road and Philip Island, but Grandma and Grandpa were with me, and they’re civilians, so I had to be on good behavior. First rule of special agent training: never let civilians get caught in the cross fire. (Which was kind of hard when I saw a killer koala in the trees that Grandpa kept taking pictures of, but it was asleep, so I determined the threat to be neutralized.)

By the way, I keep talking about Grandpa. Wanna see a picture of him?

Mom tells me I get my hair color from him.

Anyway, back to my adventure. Last weekend Mom, Dad, and I went to the Yarra Valley for something called an anniversary. I’m not really sure what that is, but I’m pretty confident it has something to do with me.

I hated the first day. It was cold and wet and I kept finding myself tied to posts outside of nice, warm-looking buildings. How was I supposed to enjoy an adventure tied to a post? (Sometimes I get the feeling Mom and Dad aren’t too bright.) Don’t worry, they got what was coming to them when I got in the car and made it smell like wet dog. Thankfully Mom and Dad didn’t seem to enjoy the weather that much more than I did, so we went back to our new house kind of early and I ran around and around and around sniffing everything. Finally, after I ascertained that the perimeter was secure, Mom and Dad felt safe enough to go to sleep.

The next day was heaps better. It started off on the right foot when Dad opened the blinds of our room and there were horses in the field. I barked and barked, just to let them know that I was keeping an eye on them. After hearing my warning, Dad shut the blinds so that the horses couldn’t see us. I’m sure glad I let him know they were there, though. Second rule of special agent training: danger is always right outside your door.

The sun was out by the time we left the room. We drove around to different farms, many of which had dogs like me. While Mom and Dad went inside to talk with the grape farmers, I interrogated the farm dogs.

ME: So, what do you guys do for fun around here?

FARM DOG: You’re pretty.

ME: You guys see a lot of trouble in the region?

FARM DOG: Err… there are wombats by the river. We stick our heads in their holes sometimes.

ME: Well, sounds like you have that threat under control. Just keep running regular perimeter checks and you should be fine.

FARM DOG: You’re pretty.

ME: Well you have a funny accent.

The farm dogs kept chasing me around everywhere I went. They tried to play some wrestling game where they jumped on top of me, but I kept dodging them. Mom says it’s because they’re not “fixed,” which I didn’t understand because they sure didn’t seem broken to me.

The day quickly took on quite a routine: drive to farm, play with dogs, dodge dog advances, play with Mom and Dad and advancing dogs, drive to other farm, repeat.

More farms, more dogs

Repeat

Everything in the Yarra Valley seemed to be well under control—until we returned to the room, that is. Mom and Dad, being the untrained, slightly dim people that they are, didn’t notice that in our absence, the horses had closed in upon the room using the simple but effective Seabiscuit maneuver, a commonly used technique in hostile equestrian takeovers. Taking one look at my parents’ oblivious faces, I knew it was up to me to make the world safe again.

Now, my dad doesn’t like taking me outside—he always mutters something about learning to use a toilet—so I knew it was going to take every ounce of cuteness that I possessed to get him to open the sliding glass door. After several minutes of pleading puppy-dog eyes, wagging tail, and a few solid licks for good measure, he finally relented, and I dashed to the nearest bushes, ever-conscious of the horse eyes upon me.

Matters were even worse than I suspected. I had to utilize every Horses 101 technique they taught during special agent training (better believe I was glad they made us read the chapter on Horse Manure and Five Deadly Ways to Use It).

The Undercover Maneuver, made famous by Special Agent Toto

The Stealth Maneuver, made famous by Special Agent Benji

The Rabid Dog Maneuver, made famous by special agent Old Yeller (note to posterity: I discovered this has no effect in Australia, seeing as rabies does not exist)

The Super Sonic Speed Maneuver, made famous by Special Agent Greyhound Bus

After exhausting my repertoire of special agent moves to no avail, I finally had to settle for the tried-and-true maneuver made famous by Special Double Agent Mr. Ed: Talking.

ME: Time to move along, giant and robust villains! Find another pasture to acquire, scallywags!

HORSES: Neigh.

ME: I’m serious! How dare you defy me, you neigh-sayers! Do you want a piece of this?

HORSES: Neigh.

ME: I thought not, for I am fifteen pounds of highly trained special agent muscle.

HORSES: Neigh.

ME: Fine, seven kilos.

Despite our heated debate, I finally made the hostile equestrians see reason and gained back the pasture-land for my family. However, I still had to stand guard all night to make sure no rogue horse returned.

We returned to Melbourne the following day. All in all, it was quite a successful weekend of ridding the world of dangerous threats to freedom and liberty and justice and peace.

Although I can’t say I wasn’t glad to get back to my life as a civilian… at least until the next time. Third rule of special agent training: never get too comfortable, because you don’t know when duty will call on you next.

Happy Australian Father's Day!

Many people do not realize that Father's Day (and its illustrious counterpart, Mother's Day) falls on different dates around the world. According to Wikipedia, there are more than twenty-five documented dates celebrating the parental Father Figure in countries world-wide... meaning, if you plan your trip right, you could celebrate Father's Day every other weekend for months on end! Keep that in mind, Fathers.

But how can this be, you may be asking. I thought Father and Mother's Days were sacred holidays decreed from the beginning of time and MUST be celebrated on the third Saturday in June and the second Sunday in May, respectively!

Well, my friends, this may come as a shock to you, but they can be celebrated on different dates because they are MADE UP HOLIDAYS!!!

Will's interjection: Don't mind her. She's just bitter that she loses a birthday every few years to said "made up holiday." Pay no mind to the bitterness spewing from this blog.

Be that as it may, though I may not be happy about the date that America and Australia decided to celebrate Mother's Day (really, I just need to move to a country that has a nice February celebration... Greece, anyone?), I am quite happy to celebrate the institution of mother and fatherhood... no matter what country in which it is being celebrated. So in honor of the venerable day of father's, we celebrated Will's "fatherhood" yesterday with a nice day outdoors. Will, Darcy, and I went on a four mile run that took us down to the beach, then ate lunch at a restaurant on the water while Darcy played in the sand. We then proceeded to walk the four miles back to our house (we thought we were so smart-- we figured out how to get to the beach, but forgot that you had to get back). Oh well, at least it tired out our "child."

The happy family after our four-mile run. Will had on this cute little red backpack and totally looked like on of those fathers who carries all of his kids' stuff while they're exercising.

So happy Father's Day to fathers everywhere, regardless of your country or the species that may have elevated you to such a level!

P.S. Love you, Dad! Even though I said it in June, happy Father's Day once again.