white smiles and big cars

i'm sitting here in frances' silent and sleeping house, with a bowl of freshly picked plums to my left and a cup of coffee on my right. Although i'm not jetlagged, i'm finding it very difficult to achieve any kind of meaningful sleep-in, and I'm waking up as soon as the sun comes streaming in through Frances' bedroom window, approximately 6.15am. Which suits me just fine. I'm finally here in California and I doubt anything could piss on my parade right now.

I left Melbourne at midnight on Wednesday and arrived at 1.05pm on Thursday into Angeles. Which looks good on paper. But it was during my 16 hour stopover in Nadi, Fiji that I found out the real reason behind the basement bargain price of my airline ticket. I arrived there as the sun was coming up and already it was stinking hot and humid. I kicked around the air-conditioned airport a bit before deciding to head into town. The taxis were a rip-off, so I caught the "local" bus instead with the school kids and shift workers. The bus was windowless and played 1960s hits full-volume as it trundled along at a leisurly pace. Number One news item was about Fiji having their first democratic elections since the coup, which the population are ambivalent about - everyone I talked with prefers military dictatorship to the endemic corruption of the previous government.

Nadi is a dusty, dead-end town, thriving solely on the fact that an airport is located 9 km away. It's been a while since I've been to Asia and I wasn't really prepared for it (i.e. i thought people really did want me to have a cup of kava with them because they were showing me the true Fijian hospitality - i got smart pretty quick). I had a look around the Hindu temple and went to a beach - both legit, touristy, stop-over activities, but in the course of which I was approached with various offers of fruit, food, kava, free taxi rides, free horse rides, alcohol, sex and drugs. After five exhausting hours I hailed a taxi and was taken back to the safe haven of air-conditioned airport, feeling like a culural failure. The next 11 hours are so uneventful they're not worth mentioning but suffice to say I got back on board the plane and before long was touching down at Los Angeles International.

Airports used to fascinate me but now they just piss me off. I got through US Customs relatively unscathed, following pointed interrogation from the guard who asked "well, if you're a student, like you say you are, then how can you afford this trip?" I was all prepared to launch into my sob story (girl makes rash decision, girl overcomes obstacles and triumphs, etc) but i kept it brief. No reason to annoy the authorities before I've even entered the country. The transition from international to domestic teminals was smooth - with the swipe of a credit card I had my ticket to San Francisco in hand and two hours later I was screaming and running across the baggage collection area into Frances' awaiting arms.

With the Red Hot Chilli Peppers in high rotation in my brain, Frances and her friend Liz drove me to their shack in the student town of Santa Cruz. Their place is amazing. It's easily four times as big as my new abode in Brunswick, with a massive garden full of fruit trees and the obligatory crazy neighbours. On Friday Frances gave me the guided tour of Santa Cruz on bike - the coolest op-shops, the burrito resturants, the cafes where the hip kids and burnt-out hippies hang out, the beach and the boardwalk. At the end of the day we went to an art show in a co-op (a huge house where groups of students live commune-style on the cheap) and drove to stay overnight with Frances' mum Susan in suburban San Jose.

After a heartily cooked breakfast full of culinary delights such as hash browns and hickory smoked rissoles (i think?) we drove back to San Francisco International to pick up Nikki. We had swapped cars and were now driving a "van" or more correctly a "tank" - bigger is definitely better here in California when it comes to vehicles. At least now no-one was going to inadvertently drive over the top of us. C'mon, bring it on !! Nikki's plane was delayed so we went to the makeup shop to work on my American tan. With much screaming and hugging we collected a tired but estatic Nikki and drove downtown to the San Francisco Gay Pride Festival.

Wearing our matching God Bless America 2007 t-shirts, we wandered through the crowds being in turn delighted, amused and disgusted (mostly by the tanned fat man trying to hump the grass, and the glittery penis sunglasses - pictures soon!). Depending on which guidebook you consult, the gay population of SF is between 12 - 25% (the top figure according to Out And About In San Francisco). It seems like such a vibrant, open and in a way powerful community compared to anything in Melbourne, when it's rare to see gay people holding hands, let alone organising a massive city-wide celebration. We certainly had fun, especially Frances, who ate a Polish Sausage in a bun, but only realised the double entendre much, much later.

We stopped in at San Jose for a home-cooked meal and then drove back to Santa Cruz to to get Nikki into a shower and a bed. Today we're just going to do some serious chilling and planning our next couple of weeks. We don't know much for certain yet, except that our Swedish accents are going strong, and that our anthem will be As Long As You Love Me by the Backstreet Boys. More news as it comes to hand.

the final countdown

I’ve only got one sleep to go until the States, and the stress is starting to set in. So little time, so much to do. I’ve started doing about ten things on them in the last two hours, and barely finished one. There’s this feeling that I remember from before I went away to Sweden – time seems to exponentially speed up, until there’s this moment where you let go and just, well, go. I think I’ve got the basics covered though. Unless I do something incredibly dumb such as leaving my contact lenses in the bathroom or forgetting to pack my passport, everything should be fine.

These last two weeks I’ve been temping full-time to bump up my balance. I managed to score a very cushy (read: boring) job as a receptionist/switch bitch at a magazine company in South Yarra for one week, and this week I’ve been working at this accountancy firm conducting surveys with people in government housing about their water usage. Either the water conservation message is hitting home or everyone is telling filthy lies, because it appears that I’m the only one in Victoria who selfishly, wantonly indulges in daily 10-minute shower. Working as a temp also gives you an insight into the eccentricities of corporate culture – that particular firm are very into writing equations and graphs and plans directly onto their walls. But accountants do have a light side: spotted scrawled on a wall near the toilets “e = mc (hammer)” LOL.

I’m trying desperately to get some more information about my destinations. It’s hard without the internet, so I have to resort to 20^th century means. In my lunch break I ran across the Yarra to the City Library and borrowed out a swag of books, the best find being “Eccentric America” where I discovered that there is a July 4 Pillow Fighting Championship in a town a bit north of San Francisco. That isn’t even scratching the surface of the craziness, which I am very happy about - I guess the US doesn’t lend itself to the museums-churches-and-old-towns trinity that is the staple of sightseeing in Europe. Today I am heading into uni to book some hostels and find out what I can do on my 15 hr stopover in Fiji. All I can remember about Fiji past palm trees and coconuts is that they had a coup a few years ago. So yes, research.

I’m sitting in my new room in Crisp Avenue, Brunswick, trying my hardest to ignore the baby-pink walls which are offensive to my tastes and general interior design logic in every possible way. This new house is a considerable step down from mine and Miffy’s dual-level bachelorette pad, but I’m happy – I’m living with one of my besties Kate, I’m back in eclectic, multicultural, rags-and-riches Brunswick, and I’m paying $50 less in rent per week. I’m subletting my room out while I’m overseas to some students who need a halfway place while they find some more permanent places to live. Unfortunately, it isn’t as “spacious” as I advertised. I think “cosy” might be generous. But dammit, I’m happy and I’m looking forward to living here when I return.

Travel has definitely given me a more spartan lifestyle. Not only has saving for this trip forced me to drop out of consumer culture almost entirely, but I don’t tend to hoard stuff, or keep anything that I don’t use on a regular basis. There’s nothing like living out of a backpack to help you realise how little you actually need. I eventually would like to have more to my name than a badly painted chest of drawers, a second-hand fridge and a jewellery box of sets of earrings all missing one of the pair. But not when I’m a tight-arse student who changes addresses every six months. I’m glad that Kate shares this ethos – the furniture we bought yesterday was all second hand, and all as ugly as all heck. But we’ll make it a home.

I better head to uni to scab some wireless internet. My flight leaves at nearly midnight tomorrow, and for the next two days I go into this weird date-and-time defying two day long period, eventually being spat out the other side to arrive in San Francisco about 12 hrs after I departed Melbourne. I’m not going to even attempt to understand it. See you in SF.

howdy!

On my first trip solo overseas, I got infected with a travel bug so fatal that within three weeks of my return to Australia, I'd bought a ticket to get the hell out of here. An inspired flash decision, a bizarre way of dealing with reverse culture shock, or a foreboding glimpse of the future? Stick around and find out!

This blog is a record of my five weeks away in the great US of A. I managed to keep a semi-regular blog during my footloose & fancy free student exchange in Sweden. Being the narcissistic and easily amused upstart I am, writing it gave me much pleasure. Especially so when I got comments from my friends or random blow-ins, and even when I inadvertently caused the occasional scandal (it's the last time I mention casual sex when my extended family are reading!) it was good to know that at least some people were reading. But due to the brevity of my trip and the uncertainty of where i'll be from day to day (yay!) I can't offer any guarantees of regular posting or quality posts but I'll give it my best shot.

My engagement with the US goes way back to primary school, where Dad hated The Simpsons with a passion so ferocious that it made it, by default, the coolest thing on TV. In high school, me and my friends skipped class and hid out in an empty classroom to watch George Bush's State of the Union address where he launched his policy of pre-emptive strikes. And at uni, when I lived next to pot-smoking, hard-partying American boys in my second year at college, and "USA" has become synonymous with "cultural imperialism" throughout my entire Media and Communications degree.

But the US started to mean something personal to me when I met Frances from California in Lund, Sweden during my exchange. The Californian kids were quite notorious around the international student circuit - when asked where they were from, they'd answer "California" whereas kids from the other 49 states would say "America." I met Frances through my friend Nikki (who is going to be my travelling buddy) at the Welcome to Sweden party, where she danced in a manner so uninhibitedly provocative that for the rest of the semester men would ask whether she had a boyfriend, and then promptly disregard the answer and continue to try to catch her attention. But Frances is not all the $2 hussy she appears to be! On a weekender I did with Nikki and Frances down to Berlin, I didn't get to see half the sights because I was doubled over with laughter, even at the more sombre moments. She's a lady more than worthwhile making the trip for, especially with the added bonus of seeing my corridor mate Brad from Oregon, if he can tear himself away from the baseball and grundle finessing he's famous for.

The other reason I'm going to the States is to see my boyf. I met Murray from Scotland in Sweden, and we went holidaying around Morocco. International. When it was time for me to come back to Aus, there were a million reasons for us to go our separate ways (the most convincing: past experience, rationality, sanity) but a few incredibly convincingly ones to stay together. Now, I want to be honest. I hate it when people turn all lovey-dovey on blogs, who waste entire posts in the form of unabashed hymns of praise. You can go to the Myspace teen-scene if you need to vent those feelings inside. Also, I understand what it's like. I've been suffering intensely violent feelings whenever I see couples smooching or holding hands or gazing into each others eyes or buying groceries; even when they're having a row in the Safeway carpark, it's enough to melt my icy heart. So, in short, it's not going to be like that, kays?

In my hurry to pay for my airfare, I didn't exactly consider the financial ramifications of saving. For these last four and a bit months I've been living in self-imposed student poverty, the kind which stagnates your wardrobe and bans you from pre-lecture lattes, that forces you off public transport unless it's absolutely necessary, and makes you fall back on goon and $5 bottles of sherry even though you swore to yourself you were beyond such self-abuse. It also makes you seek dubious employment opportunities - while I haven't been forced to "exotic dancer" it up, I am working for a boss who is embroiled in a case/crusade against the tax office. He's got a bit of a shady past but he's legit now, the work is law-related and he pays cash in hand so it's a happy trade-off.

I've got a week and a half left in Australia and a very long list of things to get through. My priorities are buying travel insurance, moving all my shit from my abode in Carlton to my one in Brunswick, paying the bond, earning some more dosh, picking up my passport from my country home, haircut, new underwear, and setting aside an afternoon to get my winter body appropriately groomed for San Francisco's beaches (if there are any?). I'm also frantically trying to find out as much as I can about San Francisco and New York, my main destinations, as I can. From now till the 20th, you'll find me most mornings and evenings on the number 8 tram with Nikki's Lonely Planet Guide to San Francisco propped up on my knees and highlighter in hand.