Movie Night

So I was sitting quietly in my room reading when I just so happened to hear an announcement blaring outside my door over the hostel's loud speaker. Apparently, it was a movie night and the movie for tonight was "The Blindside" starring Sandra Bullock. Free popcorn was to be served... Free Popcorn!... Being that I am trying to maintain a budget and (since I may have skipped dinner that night, because) I am trying not to eat myself out of a bank account, I figured I could not pass up the chance for some free snacks. Besides I had never seen "The Blindside" and I was actually interested. So I put the book aside and wandered down to the 3rd floor TV lounge to check out what was going on.

I didn't think about it at first, but it gradually dawned on me as the opening credits began to roll in the darkened TV room. "The Blindside," when you come right down to it, is a very American movie. Think about it. It has to do with racial divisions of the South, American professional and collegiate athletics, and of course football. So as I sat there and watched, I looked around at my fellow viewers. There was one very lively Aussie, who could not stop talking about how the popcorn was not buttered, two Chinese sisters, a very silent man who walked with cane and gave away no hint of his nationality, a young French couple, and two rather old British women, one of which sat next to me. It was quite a surreal experience and a good movie.

Of course, the first time I opened my mouth I was pegged as the American in the room. This led to many questions, most of which revolved around the holiday of Thanksgiving (as there is a Thanksgiving scene in the movie). Most people thought it must be some sort of religious holiday. I could only reply with, "Only if you are devoted to football, which many are..." I also found myself explaining the geography of the American South, as the movie takes place in Memphis.

All and all it was an interesting night. I mean when else can you start out just going to get some free popcorn, and end up taking part in a cultural exchange.

Walking in Melbourne

My first day in Melbourne I spent mostly trying to get settled. However, I did arrive at the hostel around 2 PM and even after an hour nap, it left me some considerable time to kill before I would allow myself to go to sleep for the day. I spent a good part of that time reading "In a Sunburned Country," by Bill Bryson. He is a very hilarious and entertaining travel writer who never fails to disappoint with interesting facts and antidotes of his time in places. This book, as you can guess, was dedicated to his travels around Australia and is forming the basis for a lot of my travel goals while in the country. Mr. Bryson, however, has a propensity to go wandering around exotic cities and locales when he has nothing better to do, and so on my first day in Melbourne I felt inspired to do likewise.

Australia, when experienced for the first time is a country apart from others. Bryson himself describes it as "an American-like society hung on a European frame." What I discovered for myself in my wanderings that day and since is that it is a place filled with both the familiar and the exotic. Melbourne is a city, much like any other. I have come to accustom it to a "less-angry" Philadelphia (and I say that with the utmost fondness to the city of brotherly love). Melbourne has a lot of pride about itself, parking in the center of the street, no major subway system, and many back alley streets that look like even a smart car would not be able to fit through. So in that sense the whole place has a strange familiarity to it. It is an English speaking city, after all, with street signs, road-rage, shopping centers, world class restaurants, and a fervor for sports, but there is an unknown strangeness about it as well. For example, here the populace is in love with cricket, horse racing, and a sport called "Footy," which is unlike soccer, rugby, or American football. (I will explain more about the sport in later posts, once I figure it out myself.) The trees are not elm or pine but gum. The parks have even more exotic plants and trees. The bird calls you hear while you walk around are those of birds with funny sounding names like Kookaburra. They do not make the kind of noises and sounds one would hear walking through any city in North America. The street signs are confusing, cars drive on the wrong side of the road, and a public tram system runs down the center of most major streets. That means that when crossing you not only have to make sure you look out for cars coming from unfamiliar directions, but be aware of trams. It is something I am still learning and more than once I have had to quickly move to avoid an unexpected car or tram, (Watch the tram car please).

Even the cars have to give way to the trams and they do so by making a hook turn. This was explained to me by my favorite Aussie, Loz, as a car, when making a right-hand turn (remember that means the car must cross traffic, like one does when making a left in America), that at first the car must pull as far left as possible, so as not to be on the tram tracks, and then proceed to make the right turn when the way is clear. This of course, Loz further explained to me, is why she refuses to drive in the city, which seems a reasonable argument in my opinion.

I have even learned that people here are accustomed to walking on the left as opposed to the right. It was another small detail that takes some getting used to. When walking down the street and approaching another human being coming at me, my initial tendency is to go right (as I am American). My oncoming friend, however, has the initial tendency to go let, which leaves us in a bit of problem as we are still heading for a collision. So I have had to adjust not just the direction I look when crossing a street, but also my habits when walking in general. This is also compounded by the fact that apparently jay-walking in enforced in the city of Melbourne. People can and have gotten fined for not using cross walks, or going while the little red man on the street-light tells you not to. So in other words, I cannot walk like I am in New York City. I cannot afford it.

Victoria, the Garden State? The More things are the same
the more they are different.

Melbourne is also a very cosmopolitan city. It has a large population of immigrant Australians, mostly Indian, Chinese, Vietnamese, and Korean. That makes it a decidedly diverse city, and it also means that I have a lot of other accents to contend with when when ordering dinner. (Interestingly enough, a Chinese-Australian accent sounds similar but slightly different than a Chinese-American accent.) As for my own opinions, I have come to accept it as sort of mixed blessing. It is always great to see such diversity in the world, as I have always believed that in such diversity lies the key to humanity's success, but on the same token I did come to a country expecting to be surrounded by English spoken in that almost hypnotic Australian accent. I mean if I had wanted to go to a city to experience cultural variety, I could have stayed in New York. After all, my first official meal in Australia was Chinese food... and to answer the questions, it tasted like regular "American" Chinese food, except I could not find any General Tso's chicken... Apparently I am not the only one who has mixed emotions over the situation as, much like America, there is a lot of talk about the immigrant population. Many signs and announcements are written in several languages to cater to the non-English speaking population. The arguments are almost the same that I have heard for years in the States. "Immigrants should be made to learn English." As an outsider from a nation of immigrants, I find it almost amusing, as this discussion seems both familiar and all new. The complaint seems almost universal. However, unlike in America, the arguments here are more likely made over the speaking of Vietnamese rather than Spanish. The variety does give the place a very worldly feel, and as much as I joke it only lends to the feeling of a place with the intermingled familiar and exotic... Besides, maybe this country still needs a bit more diversity, at least until they get a decent General Tso's chicken.

Open Hostelities

A very shakey picture of the Melbourne skyline taken at
night from the YHA rooftop lounge.

I did meet my first Aussie on this trip and ironically enough, it was the guy driving the transfer shuttle at San Fransisco airport. However, since my arrival I have obviously met several more, and my overwhelming first impression of Australians, as a whole, seems to boil down to one observation. I think they are all blonde, or at least dirty blonde. They all have a vague british surfer look to them that is strangely endearing. However, more than anything the thing I notice most about Aussies is that they are generally happy people, and not just in that momentary happiness one may feel when opening a birthday present or in some other superficial manner. I mean that they are content and just generally happy with life. I have had several thoughts on this and my biggest theory on this cheery state is the lack of what in the States we call the American Dream. I am not suggesting that the Aussies have no drive to succeed or improve themselves or even aquire wealth, but I think that it is not so ingrained in their cultural identities that they feel such a constant pressure to always desire more and more. They have a quiet contentedness with life, which I think a lot more of the world could do with.

Still I miss America and its familiarities. I am only here a few days now and I know I am still in those initial stages of homesickness, and uncertainty. As I sit here writing this it is pouring outside the window. I am in the lounge of the Melbourne Metro YHA (Youth Hostel Association), but do not let the name fool you. Just because it is called a "Youth" hostel, I have met people ranging in age from 8 to 80 staying here. Mostly, I have come to learn that staying at a hostel in Australia is a cheap alternative to a hotel. I must confess that staying in a hostel is a sureal experience. I am inhabiting a room with three others, most of which, so far, have not been as fluent in Enlgish as I would prefer. Actually, I think that defines the majority of the clientel of the hostel. Even as I sit here and write, I am hearing conversations in Russian, German, and Chinese. At first I wasn't sure if my American sensibilities could stand staying in the hostel for very long, as it is a place where I am continually out of my comfort zone. I must keep my valuables locked up at all times  and I have no real personal space... but the place is starting to grow on me. It is interesting to meet and talk with so many diverse people, even if our conversations are sometimes small and carried out mostly in broken English.
My first night was a bit hectic and frightening, but thankfully my jet lag forced me to not really care as I passed out in my bunk fully dressed. My original roomates (roomates change sometimes on a daily basis) was a German and Swiss. Ironcially enough, the German had annexed two of the locker spaces for himself. As an American I was unsure if I should correct the prolblem. I assumed I would wait for the Japanese kid down the hall to attack me while I slept before I was spurred into action. The Swiss of course remained neutral in the whole thing... but very quickly things were cleared up and I was able to get my own space with very little problems.

I also did have a lengthy conversation with my Swiss roomate (who is here to attend an English speaking school and did so because he was unhappy with his job at home) and learned that I was the first American he had ever met. Apparently not many of us make down under. (This of course made me feel a bit proud and alarmed at the same time.) I did meet one Canadian today, my first North American. they seem to be more of a common sighting as I am coming to learn. However, the only other fellow Yankee I met was the guy juggling fire for money near Flinder's Street in downtown Melbourne.

Overall though, in response to many questions and comments I received in regards to the movie "Hostel," I can assure you it is nothing like that. The Melbourne Metro YHA is very clean, has excellent facilities, and most people I have met here are very friendly. It even has a rooftop lounge where you get a really awesome breeze and you can see the Melbourne skyline. It is my favorite spot to take book to and read. My only complaint is the lack of AC in the rooms themselves (it reminds me of my freshman dorm room), but life is beginning to settle into a sort of normalcy for me. I am still planning on looking for a flat or apartment, but I have realized that staying in the hostel a few more weeks may not be a bad option, especially since it is cheap.

The Customs of Customs

1-8-11: For some reason my biggest fear throughout my entire trip was Australian customs. For the last few hours of my flight time, this was my one and all consuming thought. I was prepared... I was over-prepared. I had every sort of document t you can think of, ranging from my birth certificate to my bank statements to my 2nd grade report cards. I suppose living in the United States you grow accustom to a certain amount of state-sponsored paranoia toward immigrants and I just sort of expected it from the Australian government. My mental images consisted mostly of being led into a dimly lit room where I would be asked to prove that I was not a terrorist or would be a drain on the Australian social economy with the most suspicious part being my lack of a return plane ticket and my attempt to smuggle a box of pop-tarts into the country (a gift for a friend).

So eventually I disembarked my rather uneventful flight from Sydney to Melbourne. The only thing to report from the flight being that I ordered a Coca-Cola and surprisingly discovered that it tasted funny. On further inspection I realized it was an Aussie Coke bearing the tag line: "Real Taste. Uplifting Refreshment." My best description is that it has a sort of Diet Coke twang to it...

Regardless, I stepped off from my flight and immediately proceeded to customs. I first had to fill out an Australian customs slip and report where I was coming from, where I was going, and declare any foreign products (like pop-tarts). I filled out the form dutifully and proceeded to talk to the customs agent. I started with a friendly greeting and an apology for my lack of skill with paperwork. He very deftly countered by saying it was okay since I am from New Jersey; (He was looking at my passport.) The next revelation came when he checked my visa and realized that my surname and my given name were reversed on the paper work, (effectively I was Brunner Adam). This made me a bit nervous and I was asked to step aside into a small waiting area where another person already stood. Another customs agent then took my paperwork and disappeared into a back room.

Meanwhile two more customs agents in rubber gloves approached the person I was standing with. The first words the lead agent spoke were, "So you might have Yellow Fever."

After overhearing this, I very noticeably jerked my head to look at the man and then slid as faraway from him as possible. Soon enough though, my customs agent returned, handed me back my papers, and said, "Welcome to Australia, Mr. Brunner."

I felt almost giddy walking away, and the feeling continued as I discovered that my checked bag had not been lost in transit (as I assumed it probably would have). My stomach again dropped as I got into a line where bags were being inspected, my thoughts turned again to the box of wheat and processed sugar I had in my bag. Soon enough I was approached by another customs agent who took my paperwork and looked it over.

She then looked at me, "What sort of food are you carrying?"

"Pop-Tarts," was my reply.

"That's it?" She gave me a look like, why would you even waste my time and stamped my slip of paper with a green stamp. She handed it back to me. She did not even ask me to open the bag to make sure that I was telling the truth. She just okayed my paperwork and the next thing I knew I was out among the general population wondering why I was so nervous about the whole damn thing.

My next step was to approach the airports information desk and present my voucher for my shuttle ride. The desk clerk gave it a once over and summoned a shuttle which took about 20 minutes to arrive. When it did I was directed to Bus Port 2, where the shuttle driver informed me that I was not in the right bus port as he was heading in the opposite direction. He pointed me to Bus Port 5 where I presented the voucher to another bus driver. He looked at it in confusion and asked for my ticket. I responded with saying that the voucher was all I had. He simply shrugged and loaded my luggage. That is the thing I am coming to discover about Australians, in general. They are very easy going. I have no idea if I was even on the right shuttle for that voucher to be valid, but the driver accepted it with hardly any question. It was something that in America, I am sure probably would have elicited a lot of huffing and puffing and maybe even a radio call back to headquarters followed by a 15 minute wait for confirmation. In Australia, all I got was a simple shrug. I found myself thinking -and not for the first or last time- that Australia really is a remarkable country.

Theories of Relativity

The farmland surrounding Melbourne as seen from the air.

1-8-11: I am now into the second leg of my trip, cruising at 33,000 feet above the black and unforgiving Pacific Ocean. Surely, if we were to crash into the dark, shark-infested depths we would all be lost forever. On the brighter side, my pilot's name is Captain Sullivan. I am sure it is not THE Captain "Sully" Sullivan, but it is still comforting to know that if this plane needs to make quick u-turn, head 8,000 miles in the opposite direction and make an emergency landing in the Hudson River, we will all be fine. You know, it is those small comforts that I need to hold onto when the plane hits those extreme pockets of turbulence. Mostly, however, I have been trying to not think about it as my main goal has become to combat my sleepiness. I have set all my clocks to Australian time and my goal is to hold off sleeping till a decent and respectable Aussie bed time. By my current count that is still at least 3 hours away, even though it is nearing 4 in the morning on the east coast of the United States.

Crossing an International Dateline is an odd thing. I understand the principle behind it and I get that there has to be a dividing line somewhere on the globe that separates it all, but speaking in strictly rational terms... it's an odd thing. Its what might happen when one enters a wormhole or travels faster than 88 miles per hour in certain cars. I mean how else can a person cease to exist for a single day, and vice-versa. For the majority of the world January 7, 2011 has come and went like any other day. For me it will never. So to anyone who has celebrated a birthday, an anniversary, or other special occasion deserving of well-wishing, I do apologize as I was just not in existence on that day to express to you my congratulations on your joyous day. You know, according to Einstein's theory of relativity, the closer to the speed of light you travel the more time slows for you, but it still remains a constant for the rest of the universe. Thus, you live one day while several may pass for your friends and family back at home... I think Einstein must have taken frequent trips to Australia...

For me, however, one trip is enough. I am growing weary and frustrated with this entire process and I am not even halfway through this daunting trip. I suppose it could be worse. At the height of Australian immigration in the 1950's a flight to Australia from England took 3 days to complete and a round trip ticket cost nearly as much as modest house. Even when Qantas (the premiere aussie airline) introduced their new Constellation-class plane (warp factor 6), the trip still cost as much as purchasing a new car. So, understandably, most immigrants traveled the 12,000 mile journey by boat. Imagine a trip where you spent every waking moment for weeks on the deck of a ship slowly watching the familiar sights of countries and continents drift away one by one, till you found yourself arriving on the almost forgotten continent of Australia. And of course what makes it even crazier is that this happened not in 1880 or 1902, but in the 1950's. When the rest of the world was being introduced to rock n' roll, James Dean, and was preoccupied with thoughts of the great Red Menace, there were still people on freight liners steaming their way toward a new continent in search of a better life. It seems an experience that would be almost out of place in the mid twentieth century, but as I am coming to realize Australia runs on its own sort of timeline. Time zone speaking it is a country ahead of the world, but in a lot of ways it remains a country comfortably settled in an idyllic past. Australia really is a strange and wondrous place when you think about.

I can almost relate to those early immigrants. I feel as if there is still so far to go and still so many challenges ahead, many things yet to accomplish.

Safety First

During my long flight I was reviewing the safety manual given to all passengers. I cannot speak for all my fellow passangers but I found some of the pictures to be not as universal as maybe the authors originally intended.

On some aircraft: you may be killed in a horrible watery crash...

Note: The floor may become slightly radioactive.

No cigarettes, no briefcase, no shoes, no service...

In my opinion, this is just kind of suggestive.

First try to use your laser vision to break open the window.

Remember, when hiding the key to lift the mat first.

In case of the plane diving head first into the ground, your dead. In case of the plane diving head first into the water, your still probably dead



Do not sit. Do squat thrusts.

No lighters, no cellphones or AM/FM radios made before 1985, and most importantly no remote-controled cars. I can only imagine the chaos that must have ensued on flights before the "no remote-controled cars" rule was enacted. Curiously though, the use of remote-controlled helicopters is perfectly fine.

When floating in the middle of the ocean with nothing but a life-vest, only a bright-idea will probably save you.

Leaving on a Jet Plane...

1-6-2010: And so we have come to it at last. I am currently somewhere over the United States, (Missouri, if I were to wager a guess), winging my way to sunny San Fransisco on the first leg of my journey. Before sitting down to write I was contemplating how I should approach writing this blog as I begin my journey. The answer I came up with, was simple honesty. So far I have had an emotional journey, and quite frankly I have only been in the air less than an hour. In the most general sense I am tired, nervous, excited, and hungry. Of all those emotions, my hunger seems to be most prevalent. Mostly because my seat mate (a blond woman who has a passion for cross words and with at least one child waiting for her at the end of this flight -As I surmised from evesdropping on her phone conversation- just ate a grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich and it smelled very good, even though I am not a jelly fan. It also raises the question of how she snuck a homemade sandwich in a plastic bag past airport security. This is a major concern, as what if had turned out to be a C4 and jelly sandwich.) As for myself, my meal options are fairly slim. There is a brochure featuring overpriced and undercooked airline food which I am debating, but there seems to be nothing truly appetizing, other than the chocolate dipped cheesecake. If there is time I will try to grab a quick bite of food in San Fransisco... if there is time.

This of course brings me to my other emotional states. In accordance with Adam's Law, less than two hours before departing for the airport I discovered that United Flight 95, my flight to the Golden Gate City, no longer existed. Instead I received a cryptic response from United as I checked in electronically. All they advised was that I talk to Continental. Of course, a talk with United's home office in Mumbai, India, revealed no answers. So after 25 minutes on hold I finally reached a representative at Continental, and after another 10 minutes of heated discussion in a thick Indian accent (his not mine), I was finally able to determine I was scheduled on a Continental Airline's flight out of Newark. All this was accomplished while the family (mine not his) yelled suggestions and questions in my ear. Thankfully, I am the one that caught this little oversight, because if it was up to United and Continental, they would never had notified me. However, what kind of story would it be if it stopped there. I next spent an hour at the Continental check-in counter rehashing out the problem with several airline representatives. (To their credit they were very nice and helpful, it not a bit stressed.) After straightening the mess out a second time, I finally received my boarding pass, checked my bag, and made my way to the correct terminal... to wait as the flight was delayed. Apparently the plane was just fresh back from a foreign land (It was either, Belfast, Costa Rica, Portugal, or Cybertron, I cannot really remember.) So the plane had to be cleaned; inspected by customs for dangerous materials and Decepticons; loaded with food and baggage; and finally boarded. All of this took time. I occupied myself with reading a magazine I found. Apparently, TV Land president Larry Jones, feels that true TV success comes from targeting the 40 to 65 demographic with classic TV and contemporary sitcoms created in the classic manner. According to the article it is working very well.

My last view of New Jersey, lovely Newark Airport. You
can see the smoke plumes of pollution if you look hard
enough.

I think I am digressing a bit, but I will try to head toward a point. I am on a plane heading toward the west coast... and I think the person in front of my is stealing food from the food cart... Also I am using one of those U-shaped airline pillows, and I do not quite yet know what I think of it. Regardless, I am nervous for the coming journey. There is still so much that can go wrong. What if Australian Customs decides that I am not welcome? I can be thrown out the country before I even arrive. Maybe I should just stay in California... I hear it is kind of like Australia. However, I think an even bigger worry looming in my mind... What if I make it past customs and everything goes as planned? What if I actually make it into Australia? What next?... For now it seems that everything is still very much "up in the air" (if you pardon my pun), so I will continue to write, though I cannot know when I will get a chance to actually post these thoughts.