Off Into the Outback

Blacktress' Log, Star date 7 March 2009.

I am in my room in Lilyfield and it's mostly packed. The two large suitcases I arrived with are filled to the brim, and my third excess bag has books and Buffy DVDs, and some shoes. I feel like I did the last couple days of college, when your parents take your stuff, but you still stick around for Senior Week in hopes of making out with your crush from Intro Psych.

Tomorrow at 6:30am, I begin a Sojourn unlike any other that Sojourner has seen. For the next 5 weeks I will explore this sunburnt country in all its glory. I will visit a glacier in New Zealand, sleep under the stars in the outback, and do all of this while carrying all my necessities in a backpack.

I am becoming a BLACKpacker.

My fear is palpable.

I've never just up and gone, and my lack of physical fitness makes carrying 20 pounds on my back as I trek a bit of a worry. I just feel like I'll be wearing a large sign that says "swindle and mug me, good sir"--and I'll end up with a herniated disk.

But this is what I wanted to do. I am dying to see the country, get out of Sydney, and really explore. And I'm not doing the typical backpacker route, which is up the East Coast all the way to Cairns, enjoying 6 weeks of beaches and booze. No, no--the blacktress is going into the middle, into the Northern Territory. Where the sand is red, the roads are empty, and the animals are deadly.

I am so frickin' nervous and excited!!!

I will start in Adelaide, the capital city in South Australia, where I'll chill for 3 days seeing the sights. Everyone says Adelaide is boring and that 3 days is too long, but one of those days will involve a winery tour in the Barossa Valley--you know how I love my wine! I also have an acquaintance there who will gladly show me some things, so that should take the edge off as well.
From Adelaide, I hop on a 6-day/5-night bus tour that will take me into the Northern Territory. Being the outback and all, travel is expensive and difficult, and driving is the only way to get around. Considering I'm a New Yorker who can't really drive, and certainly can't handle the wrong side of the road and 90-degree weather in a beat-up truck, this bus tour was the perfect way to see everything and be safe. We stop at Coober Pedy, a town that's underground because it's so damn hot in the desert (I wonder if it has an underground railroad?). It's also the opal capital of the world, and my mom has already asked that I bring her back something "unique."

From there we continue up north, stopping at all the major sights--Uluru, Kings Canyon, the Olgas. All this lovely nature-y stuff that I would never be able to get to or see on my own. I'll even be CAMPING, guys!! AAHHHH!! Under the outback stars!!
Yes, I bought bug spray.

I spend a couple days in Alice Springs, where the bus lands. I'm excited to see actual Aboriginals and learn some things about their culture in land they inhabit. From there I'll fly to Darwin, at the very very top of the Northern Territory, where it's the wet season and it'll be 90 degress with humidity when it's not pouring rain. They also have jellyfish warnings, so going into the ocean is not advised. YAY!!!

I plan to wrestle a crocodile while I'm there.

From there I'll fly over to Cape Tribulation, on the Great Barrier Reef. I will snorkel in an attempt to find Nemo.

From there I fly to Wellington, NZ, where my hunt for Bret and Jemaine from Flight of the Conchords will begin. I will also go on a Lord of the Rings tour unironically, and learn to speak Elvish.

For you visual folks, here's the route:




After 2 weeks in NZ, I will return to Sydney for a few days, before hopping on a Qantas flight back to NYC.

Yes, people. The blacktress is coming BACK(tress)!

So, this may be my last post for a little while--I'm going to be broke-ass, and paying $3-8 bucks for internet doesn't seem sensible. I'll try to find public libraries and keep everyone abreast, but don't be angry if it's few and far between. Most likely I will write a fuck-ton while I'm on the road and then put it all up when I get back. I'll try to take tons of pictures because I'm sure most of you will simply be amused to see me wearing a huge backpack. The photos will mostly be of landscapes, though, seeing as I'll be wearing the same clothes over and over, and end up looking a hot mess.

Wish me luck, and don't hesitate to email or comment. I'll need to know I'm not alone as I begin this journey.

xoxo,
Sojo

Tales From a Table For One

WARNING: The following post is totally random and makes no sense. Hopefully I'll have better stuff when I get to Melbourne.

Yesterday I walked about ¾ of a mile to get to Norton Street, the closest strip of activities to my new place in Lilyfield. Technically, Norton Street is in Leichhardt, a neighboring suburb known for its Italian restaurants and dubbed “Little Italy” in all my aussie guidebooks. Being a foodie, I am dying to try one of these fine establishments, but also being a solo diner, I prefer to attend eateries with the fewest amount of people.

So there I was, en route to Bombay Grill, the only Indian restaurant in Little Italy.

And it was 4:15pm

Sure enough, there was no one inside. In fact, the only staff member to be seen was mopping the floor, and I wondered if this was one of those quaint places that closed between lunch and dinner hours to “prepare.” Frankly, those types of places annoy me, as I don’t think a restaurant’s responsibilities should involve telling me when I can and cannot be hungry and decide to satiate that hunger. As I hesitantly crossed the threshold, he waved me in, but warned me to be careful of the wet floor.

There was a row of several hot options already prepared, which often turns me off--I mean, how long has that daal been simmering, and is it even fresh? However, in this lonely awkward state, I appreciated having my food immediately ready, avoiding the awkward wait for my entrée that sometimes makes me so nervous that I lose my appetite. I took a seat facing away from the street so that I wouldn't have to endure looks of pity from passersby.

Not content to simply eat my food, I immediately took out my latest book—one of the many I’d brought with me for moments such as this. As I re-read David Sedaris for the umpteenth time (he helps puts my own insecurities in perspective), I start cutting my chicken tikka massala with one hand while holding my paperback with the other. Suddenly, my fork decided I was not going to sit in peace, but rather embarrass myself completely. It was as if it was fighting my direction and said, “you know, you may want to appear nonchalant and comfortable being alone, but I know the truth, and I am going to out you.”

My fork slipped from my hand, fell into my plate, which was piled high with rice and sauce, causing some of my meal to splatter onto my lap, shirt, and even my glasses.As I began to wipe myself up, I thought, Thank god this place is empty and I’m alone. At least I can suffer shame in peace.

I then look up and see that the waiter, who I thought was in the kitchen, was actually staring at me from the back of the restaurant. Apparently, I’d caused quite a commotion, with the clatter of cutlery and all.

Great. Not only did I look like a toddler who’d just thrown a tantrum, but my klutziness was now real, having been seen by another party.

He brought me over new cutlery and napkins, and I thanked him sheepishly. Sometimes, I feel about as awkward as a middle school dance.
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Today, an aussie friend of mine called me and asked if I wanted to see some stand-up comedy at a pub close to where I live. Even though I'd just gotten home, I raced back out the door to try to catch the next bus so that I could make the 7pm start time.

I end up arriving 30 minutes early.

I'm sitting at the bar, enjoying the rare chance to actually chat with the bartender (they don't do barstools in Oz--I think by making it unpleasant and awkward to sit alone, they're doing what they can to curb alcoholism). I'm not too worried about my friend and her BF showing up, and just grab a drink and chill. At 10 minutes to 7pm, I order food, so that it's ready by the time they arrive.

At 7:05, I get my meal and go to the back room where the performance is to take place.
I am still alone.

At 7:10, the show starts, and I'm sitting at my 4-person table, trying to eat my sandwich and provide moral support to the comedians. For some reason, when it comes to watching stand up comedy, I'm a total mom, smiling and nodding intently at each performer as though they're performing in their school's production of A Christmas Carol.

At 7:24, my friend and her bf arrive. I do not hide my annoyance, but I shake it off and proceed to watch the insane shitshow that was the Sunday night open mic at the Roxbury. Her bf takes a seat on the couch behind us, which I think is odd, but try not to overanalyze. My friend sits next to me for a few minutes, and then she gets up and joins her boyfriend on the couch.
I am confused.
I stay at my table for 4, which also happens to be under a glaring light, and finish my tofu burger.
Yes, tofu burger.

During moments of hilarity, I crane my neck in an almost Exorcist-like turn to make faces at the two people who had asked me to attend this event, but at some point on the way over decided that sitting with me wasn't part of the bargain. It seems, even when I am with friends, I am still at a table for one.

At 7:48, I left. The show sucked, and if I wanted to sit alone, I would have stayed in my room in Lilyfield. You that old saying, "I can do bad all by myself"? Well, quite frankly, the blacktress can do awkward all by her lonesome--even in an Indian restaurant while having an early-bird special.

The Lady of Lilyfield!

Today's a big day, guys. I'm writing this post in my pajamas while eating cereal....in my own place!!!

I moved into my place in Lilyfield 2 days ago, and so far so good. Well, except for the fact that I don't have a comforter and have been sleeping in 3 layers. Other than that, it's perfectly fine.
I'm in a part of a house that has been made into a precious apartment by an older couple. They rent out 2 bedrooms--one to a blacktress, and another to a cute German guy who has been here studying for 6 months.

I have never lived with a guy. It makes me fearful of being seen with morning breath and makes it near impossible to make a tooty--if you know what i mean. Luckily, I think I've scared him, too, because he doesn't hang out much and keeps his bedroom door closed. Yesterday, I got in at almost midnight (after helping BCB style the cast and extras for a TV pilot), and was shortly followed by the German boy, who clearly likes to hit the streets.

Lilyfield is a suburb in the "inner west," connected to the city by bus and light rail (a tram, basically). It's very quiet and boring, but I tried to see the bright side and remind myself that back home in Harlem, I journeyed at least 20 minutes when trying to see friends and have good times. However, the biggest difference is that I could get a train or bus 24 hours a day back home, and here, I have to rely on cabs after midnight.

And no cabs know where I live.
And, being foreign and new and all, I can't give them directions.

It makes for a really high fare and great frustration on the part of the blacktress.

I think the hardest thing about moving to another land is the little things--not knowing where to shop, not knowing how to get places, and not being able to just find a nice, cheap place to grab lunch. Making new friends is always rough, and being lonely isn't a shock. Neither is not having a job, or the fact that it will likely take me a while to get one; these things are rough whether I'm in NYC or NSW.
But when I'm searching on the internet for a grocery store and can't find anything closer than a mile, I lace up my walking shoes and wonder how the hell I'm going to make it a whole year here.

Okay, off to buy food and shampoo--nothing too heavy, though--I have a long walk back.