The Beginning of..... The BLACKpacker Diaries

Sometimes I feel like I’ve barely been gone at all. Like 6 months was barely anything and I have no excuse for being so jarred, drained, or awkward in the NYC-world I was dying to come back to when I was on the road. On the other hand, I am….jarred, drained, and feel like my Asperger’s/awkwardness is flaring up, especially when friends ask me about my trip.

“We have to catch up, I want to hear your stories!” one friend wrote me.
I wrote her back, assuring her there was nothing special. What did I have to say? I just hung out, did some stuff, met some randoms, spent too much time thinking about a gingerbread man, and learned that the world is both huge and miniscule--which I guess I already knew in this age of social networking sites. On the other hand, I now speak in slang that comes from a foreign land, have journeyed into Middle Earth, and jumped off a canyon of my own volition.

I’ve been back from Europe for a week, and finally have to accept that I am back home for the long haul. And I’ve been going out, trying to get myself into the social world that I missed so much, and find I don’t know what to say or where to begin. I know my trip was amazing, but I’m not even sure what to make of it. I want to share it, but am not sure how much anyone really wants to know. So I've decided to tell some stories in the easiest way I know how—via bloggery. For those who wondered where I was those 5 weeks when I was traipsing about on the other side of the world, or why I'm being so weird now, here are pages from the blacktress’ actual diary. It’s the real deal. My thoughts, plans, randomness, issues I thought about each day. It’s raw and uncut—okay, well, cut a little bit—but it’s not neat and tidy, and may not be appropriate for sensitive readers. (Note my NC-17 rating to the right) I will post a new installment each day, in hopes of sharing, entertaining, and clarifying for myself what it was all about. Tuck in, gentle reader, as I begin….

The BLACKpacker Diaries

“I’ve never seen anything like you before. You’re so… black.”
– James from Barrytown, New Zealand

Sunday 8 March 2009

I’m in Adelaide!!! YAY!!

Oh god, who am I kidding? I’m in a city of less than 1 million people, 999,900 of whom seem to be hiding from me, and I keep showing up ½ an hour early for everything (for more on that, check out my first post from Adelaide). On an up-note, I got to hang out with Justin, a friend of mine who was my primary reason for visiting the city.
Well, maybe ‘friend’ is an exaggeration.

I met Justin in a hostel in New Orleans back in ’05, where my fascination with traveling Aussies and their backpacking lifestyle began—although I couldn’t quite understand the desire to travel to such places as West Virginia and Oklahoma when they were from such exotic lands as, um, Staffordshire. I mean, hello—a a shire! Justin was just shy of 21, but with the crazy way Aussies list the date (dd/mm/yy), he was able to pass for 21, and got drunk off his ass the first night I met him in the Big Easy. Most of the night he kept asking me to show him my boobs in exchange for beads, and while I admired his tenacity, I repeatedly declined. Thanks to F-book, we were put back in touch, and knowing so few people in Oz, I reached out to everyone I could when I first landed. Although I’d heard Adelaide was boring and lame, I wanted to get off the beaten path, and figured getting a local’s perspective would give the city a bit more life.

Although I hadn’t seen him in nearly 4 years and barely knew him to begin with, we instantly started chatting and hanging out, and had a nice day, soaking in the great weather. It felt really nice to reconnect with someone, and know that you can spend years apart and have there be no awkwardness. I also sometimes feel that, being on my own so often, my social skills get rusty and I’m not quite sure what’s appropriate. After not talking to anyone face-to-face for a few days, I have a tendency to word-vomit, and then feel a bit guilty, but Justin didn’t seem to mind. He explained that the city appeared post-apocalyptic because it was a holiday weekend and most people were away. Because the Adelaide Fringe Festival was on, we tried to get tickets to a show at the box office in the “Garden of Earthly Delights,” which is a basically a carnival that runs the entire month of the Fringe. They’d set up rides and stalls, and children were running around like Tasmanian devils, hyped up on sugar and delirious from heat stroke. After getting tickets to a random show, we wandered inside the Garden, barely able to move. I was instantly drawn to the tent that touted “Fun Freaks,” such as a bearded lady and a man with flippers, because it’d be like a real-life discovery channel, which you know I heart. Nothing keeps my petty whining in perspective like watching a documentary about someone with a genetic anomaly who learns to live and love, or who gets cured through a nail-biting, grotesque surgery.

Unfortunately, the tent was charging $10, which just seemed ri-goddamn-diculous, no matter how bearded the lady is. Justin also appeared mildly frightened by my enthusiasm, so we just decided to leave. As we waited in a crazy-long line to exit, we had to listen to a man on a bullhorn try to get kids—well, their parents, really—to come into “the Spiegeltent,” where actors put on kiddie shows. He was doing the used-car salesman ramble, speaking so fast that anyone mildly interested would be worn down by his barrage of words and simply pay up. I was trying my best to tune out when he said, clear as crystal:

“Remember kids: If your parents don’t get you a ticket to the Spiegeltent, they don’t love you.”

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA.

Best marketing tool ever. It made me want to have a kid (or, better yet, steal one that was wandering around) and take it inside, just to prove I was capable of love.

Justin and I then headed to the Botanical Gardens, where I tried to hold up my end of the conversation, but literally kept falling asleep during our conversation because I was so knackered from my 8am flight. For some reason, I decided it was a brilliant idea to simply not sleep the night before, seeing as I’d have to get up so early anyway. Justin, ever the summer peach, didn’t seem to mind, and just rambled on. Most of it was a blur, but I do recall a trio of ducks walking around us, and him taking a keen interest in them. “I like those ducks,” he said casually. “They’re very plump and don’t seem scared of people. They’re plump and trusting.”
“Is that how you like your women?” I asked, momentarily roused by his random comment.
“And how.”

I think I’ve found a new back-up husband.

Oh, and as for the show we saw later that night: Couldn't tell you a damn thing about it. I fell asleep after about 5 minutes.