Posting in waves

I just posted three days' worth of stuff. Covers Tuesday and Wednesday of last week as well as Saturday. I understand that I'm missing Thursday and Friday, and I'm working on those - they were conference days so they will probably be reasonably short.

Also, I'm going to try to change the settings on this blog to only show the last two days' (of real time) posting(s). So if suddenly things seem shorter (ha ha - not likely), that's why.

Lastly, welcome home to Chris. I received word that she made it safely back to England, and although she is sleep deprived, she didn't indicate that any of her bags are missing. Her cigarettes, sadly, are also no longer ending up in the garbage can (Chris, that's "bin" to you) mysteriously, either. :P

My bag, meanwhile, has been "located", claims the internet tracking system, but it is doubtful that I will get it back before I hit the south island. I don't want to have to have them chase me with it, so am having it delivered here. I think, however, that if I call the airline tomorrow AM, since I will have been without it for 24+ hours, I can get NZ$100 reimbursement for any clothing I buy in replacement, regardless of the fact they've located it. So said the guy I talked to this morning. We'll see...

Saturday of hell

27 November 2004

Chapter 3 – The beginning of the end – Return of the King – The Empire Strikes Back – Oh go blow it out your ear

As you can see, I have many titles for today’s episode…

I have yet to finish writing up Wednesday (edit: Wednesday is now done and posted), not to mention Thursday and Friday, but now it’s Saturday, and today definitely needs to be on paper ASAP. Today was a horrible day. I’m holding together okay at the moment, but that’s later in the tale.

I woke up at 6:30, latest I ever managed to sleep in Brisbane where it gets light at 4 AM. This is a city that doesn’t do daylight savings because even if it did, it would be bright and sunny at 5 AM and how much better is that really? And besides which, waking early meant getting to go pee before Lyn and Tom took over the bathroom. I began packing, which meant unpacking first. My room had been a wreck anyway – too little time to keep things organized through several days of different activities needing different supplies and different bags. I sorted my stuff out, threw out the junk I’d accumulated. (Anyone want a magnet of a cab company in Brisbane? Didn’t think so.)

The plan was that Kakali and Dan were going to catch a taxi together, and then a bit later, Chris and me. The problem was that Kakali’s flight was at 11, Dan’s at 11:55, mine at 12:05, and Chris’ at 2 PM. But you can’t load four people plus all their luggage in one taxi (unless it’s a Maxi Taxi, but again, that’s a story for a different time, and I still think it sounds like some sort of feminine hygiene product), and I was concerned that no one be left by themselves. Chris wanted to go to the airport as late as possible, Kakali as early as possible. And Dan wanted to go with me, since our flights were so close to each other anyway… I convinced everyone that pairing was better, which put me with Chris, which is what I had wanted anyway. Kakali and Dan were having a cab come at 8:30. Chris and I decided we’d have one come around 9:45. Getting to the airport takes half an hour. This was cutting it close for me, but I think I’ve chilled out a little while on this trip, believe it or not!

Lyn and Tom got up around 7:30 and headed to breakfast, since their daughter was coming to pick them up at 9:30. Kakali and I continued packing. At 8:00, Kakali couldn’t find Dan. He wasn’t answering his phone, nor his door. (He was in a suite across the road from us.) Same at 8:15 when the Richards’ came back from breakfast. At 8:25, Kakali was getting a little panicked. The taxi showed up at 8:35, and still no Dan. Lyn called Reception to see if he was there instead. Nope. The taxi couldn’t wait, so it left. In the meantime, Kakali had run into one of the keynote speakers from the conference who had offered her the sharing of his cab, coming around 9. She accepted. When that cab showed up at 8:50, Dan had still not been found. I very much hope that there was some sort of miscommunication between Dan and Kakali because when stuff like that happens, the maternal instinct in me goes haywire, and I get simultaneously livid that he would blow her off while I fear he may be lying unconscious in the shower after slipping and hitting his head. (“You?! Maternal?!!” Chris teased me when I stated this to her this morning.)

Lyn and Tom’s daughter Naomi arrived with six month old Jake at 8:45, even earlier than anticipated. Jake, who hadn’t started crawling when last I saw him 12 hours ago, may indeed be crawling now. He had all the right movements – on hands and knees, rocking back and forth, lifting up a hand, a leg, falling over, splaying out on his stomach and kind of trying to “swim”. I swear the kid was about to take off crawling at any moment. I’ve never seen anything like it. In any case, I was getting a little “over-Richards’-ed”, so I politely made my exit at 9, and walked to Chris’, knocking on her door a full half hour earlier than we’d agreed the night before. She was almost done packing, so I sat on one of her beds, and she offered me some orange juice while she finished. When she was done, we just sort of sat on the bed together looking around and being quiet. Leaving is so hard. And, at least I was very aware that once we left the hotel, we were really on our way to parting company.

Around 9:20, we headed to Reception so she could check out and we could call a taxi. I squeaked my request into the phone. (I have about a third of my voice back, but I’m coughing like crazy.) The taxi showed up before she was done checking out. Our driver resembled an aged Elvis, but even though he said he was 49 (and had never seen snow except on TV), he talked as if he were 75 and had no teeth! It was a little weird.

It was also very very hot. Today in Brisbane must easily have going to have been 30 C. Even at 9, it was roasting, and the cab was boiling. As soon as we got on the road, we came to nearly a dead stop. There was a huge traffic jam. In fact, traffic on the M1 (big main highway 4 lanes going each direction and runs through Queensland) was simply not moving. One lane at a time would suddenly go though. It was very odd. We sat in nearly the same half mile for half an hour and watched the meter count up. The whole point of taking a cab was so we wouldn’t have to pay A$15 each for the airport shuttle. Both Chris and I had cabbed to the hotel from the airport for less than $30, so splitting that… Turned out the traffic problem was caused by a horrible accident in which a car had rolled over. Most of the car looked like a crumpled piece of foil when we passed it. A$60 and an hour later, we were at the airport.

Chris seemed more concerned about my checking in ontime than I was. We queued (she was also flying Qantas, to Heathrow via Singapore) in the very long line and waited. Almost immediately, an announcement was made that the “fire alarm has been investigated, and the emergency is now over; wardens please stand down.” Just what we would have needed, right? A fire alarm. It was 10:30. Just shy of 11, an announcement was made about my flight – something along the lines of, please get your butts through security now. The guy in front of us muttered, “Love to help you, mate, really, but you see I’m in this line…” We were still at least half an hour from the front of it. A few minutes later, a woman in an official looking uniform disconnected the strap that forms the lane right next to us, and asked if Chris, myself, and the guy behind us would please follow her. I rolled my eyes in my head (you don’t do that to security guards). I think all of us were sure we were being selected for special security measures or something. “What did you do wrong?” the guy who was being called out with us asked quietly. The woman lead us around to the opposite side of the counter where she ushered us into empty check-in lanes. “Might be faster for you,” she said, and strode off. I checked in and found I was going to have pick up my luggage in Auckland to get it through customs and then put it back on the plane to Wellington. That didn’t thrill me, but what choice does one have in things like that, anyway? They told me to head straight to the gate; the plane was about to commence boarding. I waited about 60 seconds for Chris to finish checking in. Apparently her flight wasn’t quite ready for checking in yet, but she’d used her blond damsel-in-distress routine (“The woman told me to come here, and I’ve already been queued for 30 minutes; do I have to go requeue now? At the end of the line?” blink blink, puppy dog eyes) and they opened it for her. Unfortunately, the cup of coffee we both wanted to have together wasn’t going to happen, and she didn’t want to go through security and then not be able to walk the shops for the hours she was stuck at the airport. So we walked about ten feet to the stairs down which I had to go for security, and that was it. A quick hug, and I had to leave. It sucked. She was much more composed about it than I was. I handed over a postcard that I’d written and put a stamp on this morning, but that I now didn’t have time to mail and asked her if she’d send it for me please. She said how great it was to meet me, that she’d e-mail when she got home, and that she knew I’d have a great time in New Zealand, and that I shouldn’t be worried about it. I teared up, gave her a hug, said bye, wished her a safe trip, tried to smile a little, and ran down the stairs.

I got through security with no problems but I hadn’t filled out my middle name on the departure card which caused the customs official some consternation. (For the record, it only had two spaces. One said “surname”; the other said “given name”.) I ran to the gate, and as soon as I got there, I had a huge coughing spasm, causing tears to stream down my cheeks, and everyone in the crowded gate area to pretend not to be moving as far away from me as possible. All I could think about was Tom’s story about being very ill with a cold and flu-type thing when he had to travel once, right in the midst of the SARS epidemic.

We boarded the plane. Again, every seat was filled, and the guy sitting next to me, in the middle seat, decided he wanted to sprawl, so he was taking up much more room than he was due, with his arms hanging way over both arm rests and slouched in his seat, with his legs splaying into both me (at the window) and the kid on the aisle. Very annoying. The flight was okay, although my ears were killing me with the pressure changes. Particularly during landing. I became very concerned I was going to burst an eardrum since I couldn’t get my right one to clear. Finally finally I managed to clear it by holding my nose. I’m sure that’s the exact wrong way to do it, but it was that or extreme pressure. I worried about the Auckland – Wellington leg that I was boarding in an hour.

I knew I had little time in Auckland, so I hurried to Passport Control and on to baggage claim. Where I waited. And waited. And waited. Until I was the last person there and there was no bag for me. It was just shy of 7 PM, I had a flight to Wellington to catch that was leaving at 7:30 (boarding at 7:10), and I wasn’t through Customs in NZ yet, and I had to go file a “hey where’s my baggage?” report. I ran to the end of the baggage claim to “Baggage Services”. They radioed the request to the runway. No more bags. The woman at the counter filled out an “irregular baggage event report”. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the address of the B&B where I would be staying in Wellington. I hadn’t brought it with me because I knew Mary, the innkeeper, was going to be picking me up. I tried to convey my hurry to the Baggage Services clerk, but she wasn’t getting it. “If you miss the flight, you’ll just catch the next one,” she said. I said I’d REALLY rather avoid that option if possible. Finally she was done, and asked if I knew where the domestic terminal was. “Not a clue,” I said. Turns out it was in a different building. There was a bus shuttle, she explained, but then said I shouldn’t take it, but should probably walk instead, it was just a kilometer, ten or twelve minutes walk. But I wasn’t through Customs yet. I sprinted out of baggage claim and tried to look composed for Customs. They asked me if I had anything to declare in my lost bag. I thought they were asking for a monetary value, so I started trying to think about everything that was in it. What’s in the bag, the guy finally said. Clothes, toiletries… No fruit? No. Okay great. Go put your carry on through the x-ray machine. I ran my backpack and smaller blue bag through, grabbed it from the other side and ran down the hall. Entering the concourse of the airport, I saw a guy in uniform. “Domestic?” I asked him. He nodded. “Where?” I said. He seemed to be speaking very slowly, asking if I had anything to check. “No, they’ve lost it,” I panted. “Where’s the terminal?” I asked again. “Well, if you go out that door, there’s a shuttle that will take you there…” “No time for that,” I said, “I’m walking. Where is it?!” He contemplated me for a moment, “You could do that,” he said, “It’s a five minute walk.” “WHERE?!” I said, wondering if this slow, polite, roundabout response was some sort of kiwi custom I was horribly misinterpreting. Again he took forever to answer, but when I’d heard enough of the sentence, I took off, running out of the building, and following the signs. I charged into the domestic terminal (which was neither a 5 nor 10 minute walk, but about a 15 minute half trot, half run). I launched myself up the stairs, arriving heavily at the security checkpoint, looking, no doubt, very suspicious. The guard started to put my backpack on the belt, but I told him my laptop was in it. He seemed not to care. Both my bags went through without a problem, and a half step later, I was at the gate. The flight was delayed. Frustrated and unable to pace (too many people and too small a space), I looked around for a bathroom. None. I sat down on the ground, and made a list of everything I can remember that’s in my missing luggage. The worst things missing are, in no particular order: all my conference and QSR training materials and very important notes I scribbled over the past two weeks at those events, my Denali jacket, my double-sided red and black Chico’s silk top, and, absolute worst, the opal bracelet Glen gave me. Not to mention, ALL my clothes, my train case with most of my toiletries (and a brand new pair of contact lenses), my bathing suit and towel, my rain jacket, several books including guides to New Zealand that Julie S. loaned me, my reversible belt, my two favorite pairs of shoes including my absolutely awesome brown Bass pair… No amount of reimbursement will get all that stuff back. For the second time today, I held back tears.

The plane finally boarded, half an hour late. Apparently there’d been technical problems in Wellington before they departed. The flight was the emptiest one I’ve been on yet, and I was one of a few people to have three seats to myself. Of course, it’s only an hour flight, so it’s not like you can make much use of it. I did cry on the plane. My ears hurt, I had no luggage, Chris was on her way home, I was flying to someplace I didn’t know, I was going to be late and had no way to tell the person who I knew was already waiting to pick me up, I wanted to go home, I wanted to feel better, I just wanted to be anywhere else that would have been happier. And I kept choking back how I was feeling because the plane was so small the flight crew was constantly offering tea and coffee and water and picking up empty cups, etc. So even pressing my head against the window and turning as far away as possible, they kept tapping me on the shoulder to ask if I wanted this, that, or the other thing. This is stupid, Jen, I kept thinking. You’re going to NEW ZEALAND. You’re gonna go kayaking! You’re going to get over this sudden loneliness and be just fine. You feel like this all the time when you do this type of traveling. It’s all going to pass, just like it always does, and you’ll have a great time. Come on! You’ve already had a great time! I tried to think of all the good times I’ve had in the last two weeks, but whenever I heard Chris’ voice in my head which was for most of the good stuff, it brought me to tears. Finally, we were landing, and the only thing I had to cry about was the pressure in my ears.

We walked off the plane and up the jetway to find the door to the building locked. Several security people later, they couldn’t get it open either. Maybe if we stand here long enough, I joked to the woman next to me, my luggage will catch up with me. (I was pretty sure it was on its way to LA, since the plane to Auckland was going through to LA, which is fantastic… but I need that next week, not this week.) Finally they got the door open, and we all cheered, and the crowd surged forward ten feet to find another sealed door. Gee, kiwi security is REALLY good, I said to the same woman, but I think you’ve got it backward… She laughed. The door opened and we pressed through. I stopped at the restroom, which I hadn’t had time to do in either the Brisbane or Auckland airports, and then hurried on to meet up with Mary. At least I’m traveling light and I don’t have to make her wait for my bag, I told myself sarcastically.

Coming down the stairs to the baggage claim and exit, I found Mary instantly, wearing her yellow sunglasses on her head, just like she said she would. I walked up to her and we confirmed each other’s identity. I explained I had no luggage, and we went out to her car. It was quite cold and windy. “This is worse than winter,” said Mary, “It gets to be 10 or 11 in winter. It was 6 this morning, plus a windchill.” She took me “the tourist way” to the B&B. This meant we drove all around the harbor. It was pretty dark, but I could occasionally see the water lapping at the shore. It’s such an unusual thing for me to see the ocean at night. I think we often assume that the waves must just stop when we’re not looking at them. One of those “if a tree falls and there’s no one to hear it” things. And yet there it was. Doing its ocean thing. The harbor was pretty with all the lights of houses and such around it. As we drove through the city, Mary played tour guide, pointing out landmarks, Te Papa (the national museum), the shops, the ferry docks, etc. It was very nice of her and I tried hard to pay attention but I was still feeling miserable, I was trying not to cough, and things always look different in the dark anyway.

Mary explained she’d given me the double room so I’d have more space (still charging single rate prices, I think) and more privacy. She said she’d also already turned on the heater, and that the bed had electric blankets so I shouldn’t worry about being cold, that she’d make sure I had a jacket tomorrow, what was I wearing on my feet (sneakers, good), and on and on about the unusual weather, how terrible lost luggage is, her husband Neil, her daughter who is a pediatric trauma physician in Auckland but who just loves Africa and tropical medicine… I let her talk.

When we got to the B&B she showed me my room. It’s huge. There’s a double bed, dual control electric blankets, fresh flowers, biscotti and chocolates laid out, tea and coffee service and when I expressed interest in tea, she offered to fetch special peach-mint-green tea which I accepted. She showed me how to work the TV, introduced me to the walk-in closet, which would be nice, except for the fact I have no clothes to put in it. Terry cloth bathrobes were in there for my use, though. Gazillions of towels. And right outside my bedroom door, an indoor hot tub and sauna. I made appreciative noises at the hot tub (“spa” as she calls it), and she opened it up, declaring it all ready for me. The shower is right next to it, toilet area right across from it, and there’s a separate sink and vanity in my room. I was starting to begin to think I might be okay here after all. She also offered me e-mail access which I eagerly accepted, hopping online to try to post to my blog and check my e-mail. The latter was accomplished, but Blogger seemed to be down. So I wrote some of you a brief e-mail to let you know I’d made it here. Then, I called Air New Zealand with the address and phone number here to update their records because if they can find my bag, they’ll deliver it to the door. Of course, I only have a tiny voice at the moment, and I had to leave the message on their voicemail, so I’ll call back tomorrow during the day to make sure they were able to understand me. I am so desperately hoping my bag turns up.

Mary came down with a plate of fruit and silk pajamas. I thanked her very much for everything, and we talked about what time I might want breakfast tomorrow. I said 8:30, and she said that was fine, no worries if I overslept. I didn’t think that that would be possible, but now I realize the time difference between here and Brisbane means that it’s three hours later here than Brisbane, so 8:30 will feel like 5:30… (Yup, I’m now 18 hours ahead of EST.) I went back into my room and started some tea brewing, since the peach-mint concoction was loose leaves. I set up towels strategically and brought the tea out to the hot tub area too. I stripped and climbed in. It was wonderful. Sat in it for fifteen minutes or so, drank a few cups of tea, and then took a shower, bringing in my socks and underwear with me to wash. I had a quick laugh about Amee, one of the conference participants who, I forget why, randomly told Kakali, Chris, and me that one time when her luggage went missing it came back with “only half my underpants… And the ones missing weren’t clean. They’d been worn four times – forward, backward, inside, and outside.” We’d all had a good laugh at that point, although later, Chris wondered aloud why you’d tell strangers about how you wear your “knickers”, not to mention in such a weird way – inside/outside, okay, but forwards and backwards?! Kakali added, “Maybe that’s the type of thing you can ONLY tell strangers!”

The shower was stocked with organic shampoo and conditioner, and this fantastic lavender-lemon herbal bar soap. I’m almost glad I didn’t have my own stuff to use. (In fact, the only toiletries I had brought on the plane with me were my toothbrush, toothpaste, hair brush, deodorant, and contact lens fluid. Unfortunately, I neglected to bring a contact lens case, so currently, my lenses are in the lid from my water bottle. This is a bit of an improvise, and I hope all the fluid doesn’t evaporate out before tomorrow morning.) After the shower, I wrapped up in the bathrobe, and set about pressing all the water I could out of my undergarments, and then setting them out as close to the heater as I dare to hang them. Then, I helped myself to two of the kiwi fruit in the bowl (yummy, fresh, golden ones), changed into the silk PJs, and set up the computer to write this. The soundtrack to Garden State has been playing while I type this up. It had made me sad on the plane, but it is familiar, and easy to listen to. It will definitely always remind me of November, moving into our new office, and this trip.

Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day. Mary has offered to bring me into town when she goes, and I will take her up on that offer. I haven’t even managed to stop at an ATM yet, so I have no NZ money. And I have way too much Aussie money left over. I wouldn’t have wanted to have any less on me while in the country, but I was hoping to spend it on the cab (but dammit, Chris paid for me again! She’s been way too generous with stuff like that.) and in the duty free shops at the Brisbane airport, but as stated above, there just wasn’t time.

And next Saturday, when I wake up, I’ll be home.

Why not to get drunk on red wine

24 November 2004, Wednesday (written 26 November 2004)

Lyn, on Tuesday night, had asked my plans for Wednesday. When I told her we were going to the Gold Coast, she grimaced. “Ugh, why?” she asked. “Because I’ve never been there,” I replied. “Ever been to Miami?” she said, obviously making a comparison. “No,” I said. “Why not?” she said. “Because I can’t drive there, or take a bus,” I said. “Most Australians consider the Gold Coast to be a blot on the continent,” she said. “I’ll let you know if I agree with them tomorrow night,” I replied.

Although I related the story to Chris on Wednesday morning, it did not put us off our day trip. We called a cab from reception to take us to the place from which Chris had rented a car for us, and soon after, found ourselves in a car smelling very much of B.O. The driver didn’t speak very good English and seemed to not know where he was going. Chris had a map and the two of us in the backseat kept referring to it to try to figure out if we were at all headed in the right direction. The cab driver pulled into a building parking lot and said he wanted to change cabs, something wasn’t working right in that one, and indicated we should get out and wait at the curb. We got out and he drove into a big garage, which I now noticed did have the name of the cab company on it. “Thought something really dodgy was about to happen there!” Chris laughed to me. A few moments later, the driver came back in a different car that smelled a little less, and we climbed back in. The rental place ended up being not as close as Chris had thought, and we paid about A$30 just to cab there.

The rental place co-existed with an Ampol gas station. I wandered around inside while Chris filled out the paperwork. Our car was a little white thing of a variety I have never seen before. With less than 500K on it. (That would be 500 kilometers, not 500,000.) For a “new” car, it certainly drove loudly. It was a manual, which was all good with Chris, except for the fact that the directional lever was on the opposite side from what she was used to, so several times, she turned on the windshield wipers instead, much to her surprise, and my continual amusement. I was to be the navigator so we consulted the thick book of maps we’d gotten from the rental place, and chose our route: down the M1 to the Gold Coast Highway, which would take us within blocks of the beach, and then pulling over to see whatever beaches struck our fancy.

This week had the disadvantage to be “schoolies week”, meaning all the “schoolies are on leave”. This translates in English to the senior high school class being on break. This causes an annual traditional rush of the 18 year olds to the Gold Coast, generally with them getting plastered every night (drinking age here is 18) and spending all day tearing up beaches on the Gold Coast. Surfer’s Paradise is their center of operations, and that was precisely where we were heading.

I got us on the M1 and we soon found the Gold Coast Highway. Both of us were badly in need of coffee, but decided to drive to a beach first and get coffee and watch the ocean. We stopped at nearly the first beach we came to, Harrington, parked the car, paid extortionate prices for two coffees, and sat in the sand marveling at our good fortune with the weather (not hot, but warm and mostly sunny), and remarking on the colors of the water. The beach seemed to be moderately active, with maybe 20 people in our sightline. This is the definition of a crowded beach in Australia.

We got back in the car, and meandered along the main road a block out from the ocean, keeping the beach to our left until we reached Surfer’s Paradise. By this point, we were both quite hungry, so once we found the center, we parked the car as soon as we could, and walked back to see what we could do about breakfast. Surfer’s Paradise was definitely hopping. The average age was probably 18.5, and that would have been the mode too! Schoolies everywhere. The “main drag” in Surfer’s Paradise is a short, sort of half block that is pedestrian only. It ends on the beach with the famous Surfer’s Paradise sign (which you’ll see in my pictures). We got some money from the ATM, and found an outdoor café from which to get breakfast, both of us selecting the typical Aussie breakfast of eggs, toast, and bacon which was the special. (Yeah, yeah, I know. Bacon.) We also had fresh squeezed orange juice. We sat people-watching and got into a very interesting discussion about racism.

After breakfast, we walked along the beach for a few blocks back to the car. We had already decided to keep driving to find a quieter spot to spend an hour or so, and we dodged schoolies left and right as we trudged along the beach. Although we were not interested in fighting them off now that we’re o-l-d, how cool must it be to be 18 here, out of school, rent a cheap apartment with five or six friends, and spend a week on the beaches?

I directed us to Nobby Beach, partially because I liked the name, and partially because it looked a little smaller than some of the other beaches on our route, so I thought it might be less crowded. It turned out to be beautiful. Three guys were para-surfing, and a few other people were around, but all in all it was lovely. We lathered up with sunscreen and tested the water temperature. WARM. After a few minutes, we stripped off our shirts and waded in, Chris a lot faster than me because, on that walk to the water, I’d spotted a jellyfish on the shore, about the size of a tennis ball. “Oh, it’s just a baby,” Chris had said, and went on in. I rationalized, “Well, there’s only one, so it probably just got lost.” Eventually, the water won me over and we spent a little while wave jumping and mucking about. Proper swimming was impossible since the current was too strong and the surf too high. The other strange thing was that the level of the sandy bottom changed constantly. You’d be up high so that the water was only ankle height, and then take a step and fall in to your waist. It was very strange. But that still meant that we didn’t venture too far out because the signs warned about getting too far out of your “depth”. (And yes, we were taking care to stay within the lifeguard flags.)

Eventually, we got out, wrapped up in our towels and took a bit of a walk up the beach. Suddenly, we were passing loads of beached jellyfish, some small blueies, most the tennis ball sized clear ones like we’d seen before, and then we came along a melon-sized blue one. I was very glad we’d gone in the water before we took our walk, or else I knew I wouldn’t have gone in!! We walked back to car, pulled on some clothes, dropped our towels in the trunk, and walked to the store on the corner to get a cold drink. As we sipped our beverages, we walked a block further inland and wandered up the road along the highway, stopping in a second-hand bookstore, and briefly contemplating postcards in a window. As we walked back to the car, Chris said she’d like to drive inland to see the countryside. That was fine with me; I was just happy to be out and about. As I tossed some trash into the bin, she browsed the map, and selected the destination, a lake 40-ish kilometers inland. We chose the route, and my navigating began again. We drove through beautiful country vistas on rolling hills for the next half an hour. It was amazing how quickly the scenery changed from beach to lush green. Intrigued by a road called “Panorama”, we turned off our route and found ourselves on a very steep incline. Up and up we drove, until we could see the most amazing skyline of the buildings in the towns along the Gold Coast. The view was incredible. We pulled over several times to take tons of pictures.

After a brief debate about how much time we had left (we needed to be back by 5, we figured, so we could shower and attend the pre-conference reception at 6), we drove on to the lake, having lunch at a café overlooking it. Right on schedule at 3:30, we got back in the car, and drove over the dam, to take a different route back. After a while, we were back on the M1 heading north toward Brisbane. Chris had wanted to take a bigger loop to get back, but time constraints didn’t permit it. We stopped at the supermarket across from the car rental place and I bought the groceries Lyn had suggested (bread, milk, OJ, tea). Then, we dropped the car off, had a taxi called, and were back at the hotel minutes shy of 5 PM. It had been a great day. Chris said it was her favorite day since she’d arrived.

We headed back to our own rooms, showered, and then met up to sit by the pool for a few minutes. We each had a beer from Chris’ mini-fridge. Shortly, we joined Kakali and Kakali’s mother and headed to the reception. The reception was at Griffith University, the site of the conference, which is five minutes down the road from the hotel and across the street. Apparently, we’d just missed the shuttle going there, so we decided to walk. Once on campus however, we found ourselves walking on a steep path through the bush, and had no idea where to go. We found a security office with no one in it, and called security on an information phone. They didn’t know where the reception was. No signs were posted either. We used the payphone to call the hotel, who had, 20 minutes previous, not known where the reception was either, but now the shuttle bus had come back and said that it was in the “Club Room”. Asking people on campus where that was was no use, so we called security again, and they directed us. We arrived around 7.

Beautiful bags with various junk and conference information were distributed. I chose the last with sulfur-crested cockatoos on it, stealing it out from under Chris’ hands. She took one with other birds, although I know she had wanted the cockatoos, but had complained to me earlier in the week that she was never going to use the bag anyway (since it promotes QSR), and so therefore, I felt justified! I will use mine!

The initial idea had been to go out to dinner with Supriya, the woman chairing our panel, but already Chris and I knew we didn’t want to do that, having been out all day. So when that idea surfaced again, we politely declined, agreeing instead to a “huddle” later on. We accepted glasses of red wine, grabbed some hors d’oeuvres and attempted to socialize. We met Jenine, the conference organizer with whom I’ve corresponded a lot. She was completely unlike I’d envisioned her, much younger and more smiley. I quizzed her about my set-up for the presentation the next day, and Chris cornered her for other things. I met Leonie Daws, whose name I’ve always heard tossed around, but who I had never actually met. It is some of Leonie’s data that made the Bush Schooling tutorial in NVivo. Our huddle was less than satisfactory, since, although I was able to tear Dan away from Tom, Lyn seemed reluctant to join us, and came into the conversation late. Finally Supriya agreed to give Chris seven minutes to present her paper, the basis of our panel discussion, for Kakali to have five minutes, and for the rest of us to have two minutes. The order would be Chris, Kakali, myself, Dan, and then Lyn. Remember the details of this because this will reappear in tomorrow’s journaling.

What happened between that point and the end of the evening I don’t have a good memory of, so the following are just impressions I had, with some very specific things that I do recall. I ended up outside with Chris who was having a cigarette, and we tried to make plans for Thursday and Friday. Except it turned out that as soon as we made plans, we had to change them because of the conference schedule not working the way we needed! We’d originally thought about bailing on the conference after lunch on Friday, missing just a couple paper sessions to head into Brisbane instead. But then it turned out that Kakali’s paper was on Friday afternoon, so we didn’t want to not be there. (My paper, btw, was FIRST up on Thursday morning.) Second plan was to bail on Thursday, after the panel, only missing one session, and go into the city, have dinner there. But we’d forgotten about the conference dinner in Brisbane on Thursday night for which we were all registered. So we decided we’d go into the city after the panel and meet up with the group again for dinner. I got the information from Jenine (who seemed a bit drunk) while Chris got us more wine. At some point, Kakali came out to join us, and we were all pretty buzzed. I had decided at that point that I probably should stop drinking, estimating that I’d had three glasses of wine (plus the beer earlier). But somehow, that didn’t happen, and Chris kept using her blond wiles to get more wine from the bartender. We had originally intended to leave the reception early so we all could work on our presentations… but that plan got scrapped when it became obvious we were all more into the wine. I stayed about one glass behind Kakali and Chris, and we had a rollicking evening. I kept stealing Chris’ cigarettes and lighter, which gave me great amusement, and frustrated her in (what seemed) a hilarious way, particularly the first time when she tore her purse apart for twenty minutes before accusing me of nicking them. I gave them back, but not her lighter. J When she came around the table to get her cigarettes and was reaching for my pockets, I remember carefully grabbing her hand in a wristlock and pinning her up against the wall! (WARNING: I DO NOT ADVISE THIS AT ALL. DO NOT USE KARATE WHEN DRUNK.)

Another part I recall is that somehow, both Chris and Kakali had decided that I don’t swear enough, so were trying to get me to say “fuck” all evening. I think I swear plenty, and I’m sure I’d sworn in front of them, even, but the fact that suddenly they were trying to get me to swear was a challenge to keep my language really clean and this became a joke for the rest of the week, actually. Every time I said something… erm… colorful… they would shoot significant looks at each other.

When the bartender came over to clear glasses, both Chris and Kakali flirted with him, giving him their business cards, and Chris started telling him that she’s a DJ, were their good clubs in Brisbane, and could she get drugs there(!!!!). I couldn’t tell if she was serious or just putting him on. He obviously recognized the fact that all of us were drunk, and when they asked him for another glass of wine (having not finished what they had), he asked if they wanted water instead. They said no, but I said yes, please, water would be great. He brought water over, much to their disappointment. Right about then, the only other people sitting outside, a table of women including Jenine, also all drunk, invited us to join them, so we did. One woman commented to Chris that she had finally found a fellow smoker, and I took the woman’s pack of cigarettes when she wasn’t looking. I had already taken Chris’ again.

(Continued 28 November 2004)

(I asked Chris if yesterday (Saturday) if she remembered any of what led us to be drunk on Wednesday night, and she said that she had just gone in for one more glass of wine and was going to have one more cigarette and then we were going to go, but when she got to the bar, Tom pulled her aside and told her how much he really liked her paper. And in the 15 minutes he was talking to her, she had drunk her glass of wine, so grabbed another one for her and for me, and came back outside, but then Kakali was there, and we just kept going.)

But now back to the story…

Chris and Kakali went inside to go the bathroom, but neither of them made it out of the room, since Chris started talking with Tom again and Kakali with Lyn. After ten minutes of unusually gregariousness from me with the group of women I didn’t know, many of whom had flown in that day, so were repeating that they weren’t drunk, just jetlagged, I excused myself, collected Kakali and Chris’ bags and belongings and went to find them to just go back to the hotel. It was easily 11:30 at this point. I grabbed Chris’ arm and said “Come on; we’re going,” and she said something about wanting to shake Tom’s hand, but that Tom had said handshakes weren’t her style – so they hugged. (This was later a source of slight embarrassment to Chris, I think…) I joked to Tom, “Do not tell Michael about this [my being drunk].” “Tell what to Michael who?” he said. I escorted Chris out the door, despite her protest that she had 3/4s of a glass of wine not yet finished. I told her she had finished it. We detached Kakali from Lyn and both Chris and Kakali stopped at the bathroom. I stood in the hall with their stuff. I wanted to go to the bathroom too, but was worried they’d wander off if I wasn’t there!

Thus began the stumbling journey home. I was hoping that being outside in fresh air might clear my head some, but no luck. I was clinging to the last edges of sobriety, and trying to herd them both home. Chris repeated a few times that her shoes were “lesbian academic” shoes, and she kept stopping to show us them, so I told her that that was all fine, but now we were headed to the “lesbian academic bedroom” just to keep her moving! She counted each stair on the way down on the path, holding on to the rails on both sides. Kakali was complaining her bag was heavy so I took it from her. All I wanted to do was get everyone home safely. We approached the highway we needed to cross, and I warned them that there were cars and it was dangerous so we’d have to proceed carefully. Chris told us that we’d wait for the “green man” (on the crossing sign) and we agreed that was a good idea. We held hands crossing the street. I felt like they were little kids. Got across the street and headed toward the hotel, me walking on the outside nearest the traffic, just in case. Kakali kept stopping to pick flowers from the gorgeous huge bushes peeking over the fence on the other side of the sidewalk (footpath).

We took Chris to her room, and she and Kakali collapsed on the bed as I rushed into the bathroom. I heard this tremendous crash and hurriedly came out to find Chris on the floor after having fallen off the bed! I grabbed her camera and took a picture. She managed to get back on the bed, and, unable to find cups, I took two bottles of water out of the minibar and gave one to each of them, demanding they drink. Both took one mouthful and lay back down. No no, I said, have more water. They refused, so I said okay, each of them needed to have one more big drink and then I’d leave them alone about it. They did, and I suggested to Kakali we leave Chris to go to sleep. That took some convincing since Kakali had decided she was going to stay at Chris’, but I said that wasn’t an option and finally she got herself off the bed and toward the door. I agreed with Chris that I should take her room key, just in case I needed to get in in the morning – or later that night if something went wrong, I thought. I left the bottle of water for her next to the bed, said goodnight, and turned off the light.

Kakali needed to get stuff from her parents’ room, which I thought wasn’t a great idea, given her state, but she said she could act sober (yeah right). We arranged to meet again in five minutes on the stairs, and I went up to Reception to book our shuttle for the next morning. I didn’t realize how inebriated I was until I was trying my best to pretend I wasn’t in order to get the shuttle arranged with the clerk there. I did manage it, but I was suddenly noticing I was having problems seeing straight; my eyes felt like I didn’t have them open all the way, and they felt dry, whereas my jaw was really hurting whenever I tried to talk. (Mom, Dad – I’m sure you’re both horrified right about now, but believe me when I tell you this is TOTALLY unlike me and not something I’m likely to do a lot in future. I didn’t drink at all in college, and this experience, which generally happens to everyone else much earlier in life, probably had to happen to me eventually!) I met Kakali again and we walked to our suite, me releasing my grip on sobriety for the walk so I could ramble to Kakali, exaggerating my shuttle arrangement experience just to crack her up. We entered the suite quietly so as not to wake Lyn and Tom, but they weren’t back yet. Kakali crashed onto her bed, and I got her a glass of water, putting it on her nightstand and telling her to drink it. She grabbed my hand and thanked me for taking care of her, and I turned out her light and closed her door.

I brushed my teeth and washed my face, thinking how strange it was that the two girls had just wound up in bed, and here I was doing my evening ritual like everything was normal. Lyn and Tom came in, and my first thought was to just avoid them and go to bed, so I said goodnight and slipped into my room. Then I had this thought that maybe they’d want to know we were okay, so I went back out into the hall, and walked up to Tom. I have this impression that I was standing much closer to him than usual, looking up at him. I phrased my words carefully and slowly, “I just thought you’d like to know,” I said, “That we’re all here and safe.” “Thank you for telling us,” he nodded solemnly, “Goodnight.” I went into my room, opened my bottle of water, procured from my plane flight weeks ago, and had a big drink, then lay down, room spinning.

I slept a few hours, but woke up at 2:15 feeling very ill. Worse, I knew that even getting sick at that point wasn’t going to clear the alcohol from my system. I drank more water and made a few trips to the bathroom, sitting up in my bed in between. I couldn’t find a washcloth and my head was hurting so I drenched a towel and put that on my head. At one point, I was in the bathroom thinking maybe I’d just have a little lie down on the floor since the tile looked so cool and inviting. (Later, Chris would tell me that that’s a really good way to know that you’re definitely not okay – at no other time would lying on the bathroom floor seem like an attractive thing to do.) I also wondered if the platelet donation system would be able to be set up to filter alcohol out of one arm and give me back the clean blood in the other. Unfortunately, I hardly slept again that night.

The real Tuesday post (23 November 2004)

Finally, I'm catching up. Just a little bit. Here goes:

23 November 2004

Last night was the first night at Barb and Peter’s that I actually woke up in the middle of the night and needed to negotiate my way back to the house to go to the bathroom. It was 3:30 AM. Peter had already left for his shift. I woke up again at 8:30, forced myself to stay in bed until 9:15, then got up and took a shower. Had some breakfast (toast and generic nutella, with two halves of a mango done up Aussie style – cubed and inside out on the peel), and then got on e-mail for a bit to post a new blog chapter and respond back to the slew of Monday work e-mail. Pretty soon after that, it was time to go to the airport. I said my farewells to Bernie and the cats. Barb said Bernie was likely to sulk for 24 hours once I left.

We’d left a bit early so on the way in, we could stop at Troy’s bakery. (Troy was Barb’s apprentice baker. She’s known him for 20-some-odd years.) She needed to pick up some plum pudding bowls that he had borrowed. The bakery looked and smelled great, and I instantly bought an apple scroll (a not too sweet rolled up bun with apples and raisins in it). Troy, however, was nowhere to be found, and the girls in the shop didn’t know what Barb was talking about. Barb finally managed to phone Troy and he said he was home, about to shower, but he’d come back right after that. Barb told him we’d wait and have a cup of coffee. She asked the girl for two cappuccinos which the girl made for us, while asking, “Did you reach him?” Barb said she had and that he was on his way back. When the girl went to ring up the coffees, Barb shook her head and said, “No, no, don’t you worry about that.” To my amazement, the girl only looked slightly confused, but she said okay, so we took the coffee outside and sat down. In the states, you’d instantly be told off if you instructed the cashier to not ring an item up! I noticed a post office across the way, so headed in that direction to get a few more postcards and stamps. When I came back, Barb was gone (inside with Troy, I assumed) so I sat down and waited for her until she reappeared with Troy, the plum pudding bowls, and six packs of gluten-free bread starter.

We drove the remaining half hour to the airport past some interesting billboards including one that read, in big red letters: “SEX”. Underneath it said, “You don’t need flowers. You don’t need chocolate.” But where or what exactly it was advertising I’m not sure. Still, I’m certain you wouldn’t find that in the U.S. At the airport, the restroom doors each sported pictures of condoms with various slogans like “Fly the flag!” and “Travel insurance for just $1*” (I don’t know what the asterisk was for.)

The Melbourne to Brisbane flight was, for the first time this trip, delightfully uncrowded and I had three seats to myself except for the woman in front of me who put her seat all the way back, and the two girls behind me who kept kicking (what seemed to me to be) all three chairs in my row constantly. As soon as I was able, I set up my laptop and watched one of the movies that Barb had loaned me, Brother Bear. It was cute and Disney and I’m a sap so I cried at all the sad stuff. My Brisbane airport experience was the most expedient one I think I’ve ever had. I stopped at the restroom briefly and then made my way down to baggage claim where I instantly spotted my bag and hauled it off the belt. I was outside looking for a taxi in all of ten minutes.

I got to the hotel where we’re staying and presented myself at the reception desk as “one of the Richards’ party”. They asked who I was and seemed to have a note with my name on it as legitimate, so they gave me a key. No one else in this suite had checked in yet. I asked what room I might find Christina Silver and was told they didn’t have a record of anyone of that name. I repeated it and spelled it. They were quite certain. No one by that name staying here. Okay, fine, I told them, she’s probably just under her company’s name or something. I found our suite and checked it out. Three bedrooms – one with one single bed, one with two single beds, and one with a double bed. Obviously the last one would be Lyn and Tom’s, but what about the other two. How many of us were going to be here? I was severely tempted to take the single room, but was polite and put my stuff in half of the two single bed room. I figured Kakali and I would share again because the chances that our other visitor would be female and in her 20s was slim, so she or he would probably want their own room. We’re in dorm-like housing really. There’s a kitchen, living room, and small bathroom, but it’s minimal; there is indoor/outdoor carpet and concrete block walls. I sat outside and read for an hour, and then came inside to mess with my computer a bit.

The phone rang. I answered and it was reception. The message was convoluted, said the receptionist. Lyn had called and said they would be late, not making it for dinner, but a Dr. Kaczynski (that would be Dan) and a Dr. Silver (Chris) were going to be meeting in the lobby at 6:30, and would I like to talk to Dr. Kaczynski about it? Sure, I said, and started to ask about Chris, but I was transferred to Dan. We agreed that I would meet them, as previously planned, at 6:30 in the lobby. “Are you in the same place as Chris?” he asked. “I don’t know!” I said. “Well, I just talked to her,” he said, and I quickly realized we must not be in the same place if she was in her room already. “What about Kakali?” he asked. “Yes, she’s going to be with me, but there’s no one here yet,” I said. (In truth, I didn’t know where Kakali was going to be. There was discussion (her and me) of her bailing on staying here when we were still in Melbourne just because of how things had gotten a bit out of hand at the Richards’ house.) “Where are you?” I asked Dan. 314. I was in 312. And Chris? He didn’t know. I met up with Dan outside our rooms – we’re across the street from each other – and we started to walk up to the lobby. He then decided he wanted a jacket, so he turned and went back while I continued walking. Chris was standing outside having a cigarette. “I was so worried about you!” she said. Turns out she had just run into Kakali, and having heard Lyn wasn’t here yet, Chris had gotten concerned about my well-being and whereabouts. “You’ve stopped rolling your own,” I noted. “Nah, I just nicked this from someone,” she said, “I got worried about you.” “Don’t smoke on my behalf!” I joked. “Oh no,” she said, “I’m smoking on account of Lyn!”

The four of us (Kakali soon joined us) walked half an hour or so to an Irish pub Dan knew of in the middle of a shopping mall. The walk was along a highway and conversation between the four of us was impossible given the noise so I walked half the way with Chris, then dropped back to walk with Kakali. Chris had had a great weekend with her cousin, roaming the bush, and visiting old gold and copper mines. Talking more quietly she said, “I hired a car for tomorrow.” I could have hugged her on the spot. We’re going to the Gold Coast. I have no idea where that is, nor how to get there, but Chris had said previously we could take a bus or something. I had half a thought to checking out our options when I got here, but ended up letting it go, thinking we’d work it out tomorrow or, more likely, it would fall through and we’d do something else. “You drive,” I said to her, “’Cuz I’d get us killed!” She laughed. I was so thrilled she’d check out the possibilities and then act on something. Hooray for someone being decisive!! She said the bus would have cost $20 each EACH way, plus the taxi to the bus station here and the taxi to the beach there. Renting a car was $50 for the day.

Kakali had had a less great weekend with her mother and step-father. Her mother had been ill much of the time, which had made Sydney exploring prospects bleak. Worse, Kakali and her step-father were having not entirely unexpected difficulties.

We finally reached the pub. Most of it was in a courtyard outside, so we ordered our food and beer (VB for me) at the counter and grabbed a table. We attempted to talk about how the panel would go, but Dan seemed more interested in sitting back and watching us hash it out than actually providing any structure or help, so soon the conversation lapsed into the rules and idiosyncracies of cricket. (To me, all rules in cricket are idiosyncratic!) A 1-2 beer night for each of us, we caught a cab back to the hotel, and Dan picked up the fare, a whole $8. Dan headed immediately for his room, but Kakali stopped us in the parking lot. She had a lot of family shit going on, and was still debating “the rock and the hard place” between staying with her mother and step-father or staying at Lyn’s. There’s obviously much more to this story, but not something to be shared on a blog. Chris and I gave her a hug and I repeated my/Lyn and Tom’s suite number to her, should she wish to come stay with us.

Lyn and Tom passed by at just that moment, on a run to catch the restaurant before the kitchen closed. When I got back to the suite, I showered, and got on the computer to do more fiddling. Kakali called and came over to figure out what room she’d be in so as not to walk into Lyn and Tom’s in the middle of the night. She was in rough shape, nearly in tears, as she described what had happened most recently with her parents. Lyn and Tom came back in right then, though, and Lyn went off on her usual “We have a problem” proclamations over virtually nothing at all. I wrote a page plus about that particular sentiment, and then started writing this. The idea was to stay up long enough for Kakali to return so we could watch the beginning of a funny movie, and chill out a bit. But it’s near midnight (btw, Brisbane is one hour earlier than Melbourne, so it’s 9 AM for you guys EST and midnight for me now), and she’s not back, so I’m giving up.

I’m meeting Chris at 8:15 tomorrow. Despite Lyn’s announcement that she would be up and out before all the rest of us at 8:30 (not asking when the rest of us were leaving) so no one should “cross” her in the bathroom because she got first dibs and that was that. Both Kakali and I will be out of the suite by then but Lyn didn’t ask for that information. If I’d known other people before I got here, things would have been different.

A sort of return to posting

First, go read the comment made on my previous post. It's the e-mail I sent yesterday to a few people that someone was kind enough to copy and paste in. That will give you a good sense of how things are going at the moment.

I spent a couple hours last night typing up my trip yesterday for real, but I want to finish doing Wednesday's description, as well as Thursday and Friday, and get those posted here (hopefully tomorrow) so you have things in pseudochronological order. I have to figure out how to do that, though, since getting my laptop online again seems unlikely.

Right now, I'm finishing a now lukewarm cup of tea, trying to cough stuff up so I have more of a voice instead of my larynx (pharynx? trachea?) being glued in my chest, and I have to get offline and call Air New Zealand about my bags... Yes, I flew Qantas, but somehow I ended up filing the claim through ANZ. Don't ask. I don't know. I just want my stuff back.

It's good to talk to Glen online, though. Makes me feel a little more grounded and a little less alone out here. Except we keep losing the connection. And I really need to get off the computer and get on the phone.

More later, I hope...