Trip Blog, the early going.
Here are some of my train-of-thought impressions of travelling to Australia and day 1 here. They're behind the cut.
March 15, 8:00PM PST
I left the house exhausted this morning, working off of roughly 4 and a half hours of sleep. It wasn't because I couldn't fall asleep due to the palpable excitement of leaving home behind in spite of home always being where I hang my hat. In fact, it seemed business-like, mechanical, unblinking and automatic. It will most assuredly have been the last time I slept in the family house, which, with my brother and I leaving, will be put up for sale soon. I thought that leaving the house for the last time, I'd start to feel the reality of this being a big deal sinking in, nervousness, an outbreak of sentimentality. I didn't.
My sister and her boyfriend joined my brother, mother, and myself for breakfast. Mom had been flipping her lid all of the day before because of the combination of me starting my packing late and a visit from friends who drove out from Ottawa to say goodbye running longer than anyone expected. It was heartwarming, if a bit frustrating scheduling-wise. Whereas mom was flipping out about how I coulnd't possibly get everything packed on time without staying up way late, I maintained a level of composure that surprised me both in doing the packing and dealing with her. She recovered nicely after sleeping it off, which is good, she didn't want to poison my last memories of Monreal with rage brought on by her difficulty dealing with most anything, but especially my leaving. She made waffles, and then we zipped off to the airport where we'd meet my dad and have warm familial goodbyes. I thought that leaving the house for the last time, that I'd start to feel the reality of this being a big deal sinking in, nertvousness, an outbreak of sentimentality. I didn't.
Perhaps when I'm tired, I become a bit colder to things like that, driven analytically rather than emotionally. Maybe I'm like that wide awake to some extent. At any rate, I thought that when we drove up to the departure terminal, that then, the enormity of the event would sink in, that I'd feel nervous, sentimental, not about the house but about missing my family and friends who weren't there. I didn't.
Dad wanted to take pictures of me with the family because who knows when the next time would be. When the two of us were in the frame and Dad wanted to retake the shot for the 4th time, I lost my patience, which is fragile that early in the morning and on little sleep and snapped at him a bit. We reconciled, finished snapping pictures, and checked me in. The guy at the check-in said to go through security immediately as they had a big line. So much for a halfhour of hanging out with the family, time that I should have felt terribly sorry to have missed out on. I didn't.
Hugging the family, saying goodbye, disappearing around a corner and behind the frosted glass doors to the security zone, turning around to wave and say one more, final goodbye, at the very point I thought I'd really feel it if at any point at all, I didn't. Taking off, I didn't. Landing in Chicago, I didn't. Taking off from there, I didn't. Landing in LA, I didn't.
And so here I am charging my iPod and tapping this out, taken by how unresponsive and impassive I've been about leaving and wondering if I actually should have felt what I thought I should have felt. I'm afraid that landing in Melbourne, all I might feel will be relief at the end of air travel for a while, rather than the joy to be back that I thought I'd feel. I do feel remarkably out of touch with myself, and it's not a huge cause of malaise. I guess that as I redefine myself away from the social pressures I've come to know, I'll get back in touch with myself, or failing that, the self I want to be.
Getting to the dorm is going to be a bit of adventure on arrival. Hopefully it's a small series of pleasant ones.
Not all air travel has served to make me mopey and existential, though my selection of on-board reading material, Dostoevsky's "The Idiot", may not have been the most helpful choice in that respect in spite of it being an amazing book so far as I've read into it (about 150 pages, and what a choice for a book to get back into reading for pleasure with. It says something.) My layover in Chicago was immensely pleasant thanks to meeting a pair of old friends for the first time, commisserating over a nice lunch (a recipe I'll need to crib for my own use), and then back through airport security and onto another plane, having had some joy injected into the travel experience, which is generally every bit as dreary as I remember. I've still got 2 and a half hours before the flight to Sydney and I have no idea what the hell to do now after dishing out $14 on a 7" pizza and 250 mls of Tropicana apple juice at "Wolfgang Puck's Cafe" in LAX. I'll admit, it was a good if ultimately tiny pizza, but Puck should quit being a douche and start being more discerning about the stuff he puts his name on. Not only is travel embittering because it's boring, airports are embittering because they're a fucking rip-off. Thank goodness that the security personnel have been nice so far, becuase it could have been a whole lot worse. The flight leaves here around the equivalent of 1:30 AM EST, so maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to fall asleep for a decent amount of time early in the flight. It won't make things last any less long of a time, and my legs will probably still be board stiff by the end of it (and me bored stiff), but it'll afford me some rest, a nice illusion, and a bit more energy with which to face the rest of it. Maybe an emotional revival, who can say?
If I happen to feel more awake, I'll update this from somewhere over the Pacific. It'll help pass the time even if I don't have any deep soul-searching stuff to add.
Signing off for now, and g'day,
Mike
March 17, 6:30 PM AEST (March 16, 3:30 AM EST)
The trip went off without a hitch, save one. I slept for a good chunk of the flight from LA to Sydney, about 7 and a half hours worth, maybe more since I sure didn't feel conscious the whole time. When I was awake, I was walking the cabin, hitting up the airplane lavatories far too often, but I think that had something to do with the air pressure differential, and I read another 100 or so pages of The Idiot, which I am really enjoying. I landed in Melbourne eventually, and caught the Skybus from the airport at Tullamarine into the city, from which I had planned to take a taxi to the university's dorms, where I'm staying temporarily. I forgot the sheet of paper with the address on it in Canada. Fortunately, internet access was available at Traveller's Aid and I was able to get it, and take an overpriced taxi ride out to the place. I'll get a picture of it, just so you can see what $300 per week, without phone or internet, will get you if you're a huge sucker who goes for semestral or annual leases. Holy crap.
By all rights, I should have been exhausted, but after all the sleeping I did on the flight and the emergence of some excitement, I was downright energetic. A shower later, and I was out to pick up some things. Shaving cream, a plug converter for the laptop (in spite of the lack of a good place to use it for most of its purposes, it is currently a rather expensive iPod charger unless I happen to find free wireless near here, as my university access is a couple of weeks away.) I walked around the campus, which was smaller and uglier than I expected it to be, but met with my dissertation supervisor and came away feeling pretty good about things. It was at that point where I had my first 'holy crap, I'm in for it now', moment, when I realized that I was indeed starting on a path that is going to take me through a long time filled with hard work.
The weather in Melbourne is as tempermental as ever, it was cool and cloudy (still t-shirt weather for me) when I arrived, and it gave way to warm, maybe 24 degrees, and sunny a while later. Still t-shirt weather for me, s that was pleasant enough of a transition from Montreal. I was out and about walking for a long while, some of it not even purposive, just walking because I could, in rebellion against myself for the long time I was forced to spend sitting on airplanes. Tomorrow's goals are simple. Get a cellphone, perhaps even reactivating my old SIM. Open a pair of bank accounts, perhaps including the old one from the last time I was here that I closed. Get to a free wi-fi hotspot (A Borders store near my old haunt in Carlton) tomorrow afternoon so I can simultaneously let people back home know I've arrived OK and so that I can try to make arrangements to meet people and collect the mobile phone numbers waiting in my Facebook inbox and check into housing that's not this place. The afternoon seems good for that. 2 PM here is 11 PM the previous day back home, which is one of those times a lot of my friends are online.
The iPod Touch is already proving somewhat useful, but perhaps moreso after the jailbreaking I'm considering putting it through. Offline access to mapping would have been handy, and again, it would be more useful with more wi-fi hotspots actually available. Don't get me wrong, though, as a music player, it's fine.
10:50 PM AEST (7:50 AM EST)
It's a Saint Patrick's Day party at the residences, and while I did, perhaps against my better judgment, buy a couple of bottles of cider to drink in the lounge where it was being held and generally holding myself back enjoying the amusements of the proceedings. I could only feel nostalgic about the residents, just about all first year undergrads going wild, without having even done that myself. At this point, my days of trying to keep up with 19 year-olds at drinking, if they ever were, have passed. A drunken game of spin-the-bottle ensued, which made me feel old because the last time I'd seen anyone do that was when I was 14 or 15. Among the residents I've met, I seem to have established myself as a pretty decent guy, but most of them will forget the day and me by morning.
At any rate, I'll be social, drink some water, and be off to sleep by 11:30 so as to have a chance at a lag-free day tomorrow. There's much to do.Type your cut contents here.
March 15, 8:00PM PST
I left the house exhausted this morning, working off of roughly 4 and a half hours of sleep. It wasn't because I couldn't fall asleep due to the palpable excitement of leaving home behind in spite of home always being where I hang my hat. In fact, it seemed business-like, mechanical, unblinking and automatic. It will most assuredly have been the last time I slept in the family house, which, with my brother and I leaving, will be put up for sale soon. I thought that leaving the house for the last time, I'd start to feel the reality of this being a big deal sinking in, nervousness, an outbreak of sentimentality. I didn't.
My sister and her boyfriend joined my brother, mother, and myself for breakfast. Mom had been flipping her lid all of the day before because of the combination of me starting my packing late and a visit from friends who drove out from Ottawa to say goodbye running longer than anyone expected. It was heartwarming, if a bit frustrating scheduling-wise. Whereas mom was flipping out about how I coulnd't possibly get everything packed on time without staying up way late, I maintained a level of composure that surprised me both in doing the packing and dealing with her. She recovered nicely after sleeping it off, which is good, she didn't want to poison my last memories of Monreal with rage brought on by her difficulty dealing with most anything, but especially my leaving. She made waffles, and then we zipped off to the airport where we'd meet my dad and have warm familial goodbyes. I thought that leaving the house for the last time, that I'd start to feel the reality of this being a big deal sinking in, nertvousness, an outbreak of sentimentality. I didn't.
Perhaps when I'm tired, I become a bit colder to things like that, driven analytically rather than emotionally. Maybe I'm like that wide awake to some extent. At any rate, I thought that when we drove up to the departure terminal, that then, the enormity of the event would sink in, that I'd feel nervous, sentimental, not about the house but about missing my family and friends who weren't there. I didn't.
Dad wanted to take pictures of me with the family because who knows when the next time would be. When the two of us were in the frame and Dad wanted to retake the shot for the 4th time, I lost my patience, which is fragile that early in the morning and on little sleep and snapped at him a bit. We reconciled, finished snapping pictures, and checked me in. The guy at the check-in said to go through security immediately as they had a big line. So much for a halfhour of hanging out with the family, time that I should have felt terribly sorry to have missed out on. I didn't.
Hugging the family, saying goodbye, disappearing around a corner and behind the frosted glass doors to the security zone, turning around to wave and say one more, final goodbye, at the very point I thought I'd really feel it if at any point at all, I didn't. Taking off, I didn't. Landing in Chicago, I didn't. Taking off from there, I didn't. Landing in LA, I didn't.
And so here I am charging my iPod and tapping this out, taken by how unresponsive and impassive I've been about leaving and wondering if I actually should have felt what I thought I should have felt. I'm afraid that landing in Melbourne, all I might feel will be relief at the end of air travel for a while, rather than the joy to be back that I thought I'd feel. I do feel remarkably out of touch with myself, and it's not a huge cause of malaise. I guess that as I redefine myself away from the social pressures I've come to know, I'll get back in touch with myself, or failing that, the self I want to be.
Getting to the dorm is going to be a bit of adventure on arrival. Hopefully it's a small series of pleasant ones.
Not all air travel has served to make me mopey and existential, though my selection of on-board reading material, Dostoevsky's "The Idiot", may not have been the most helpful choice in that respect in spite of it being an amazing book so far as I've read into it (about 150 pages, and what a choice for a book to get back into reading for pleasure with. It says something.) My layover in Chicago was immensely pleasant thanks to meeting a pair of old friends for the first time, commisserating over a nice lunch (a recipe I'll need to crib for my own use), and then back through airport security and onto another plane, having had some joy injected into the travel experience, which is generally every bit as dreary as I remember. I've still got 2 and a half hours before the flight to Sydney and I have no idea what the hell to do now after dishing out $14 on a 7" pizza and 250 mls of Tropicana apple juice at "Wolfgang Puck's Cafe" in LAX. I'll admit, it was a good if ultimately tiny pizza, but Puck should quit being a douche and start being more discerning about the stuff he puts his name on. Not only is travel embittering because it's boring, airports are embittering because they're a fucking rip-off. Thank goodness that the security personnel have been nice so far, becuase it could have been a whole lot worse. The flight leaves here around the equivalent of 1:30 AM EST, so maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to fall asleep for a decent amount of time early in the flight. It won't make things last any less long of a time, and my legs will probably still be board stiff by the end of it (and me bored stiff), but it'll afford me some rest, a nice illusion, and a bit more energy with which to face the rest of it. Maybe an emotional revival, who can say?
If I happen to feel more awake, I'll update this from somewhere over the Pacific. It'll help pass the time even if I don't have any deep soul-searching stuff to add.
Signing off for now, and g'day,
Mike
March 17, 6:30 PM AEST (March 16, 3:30 AM EST)
The trip went off without a hitch, save one. I slept for a good chunk of the flight from LA to Sydney, about 7 and a half hours worth, maybe more since I sure didn't feel conscious the whole time. When I was awake, I was walking the cabin, hitting up the airplane lavatories far too often, but I think that had something to do with the air pressure differential, and I read another 100 or so pages of The Idiot, which I am really enjoying. I landed in Melbourne eventually, and caught the Skybus from the airport at Tullamarine into the city, from which I had planned to take a taxi to the university's dorms, where I'm staying temporarily. I forgot the sheet of paper with the address on it in Canada. Fortunately, internet access was available at Traveller's Aid and I was able to get it, and take an overpriced taxi ride out to the place. I'll get a picture of it, just so you can see what $300 per week, without phone or internet, will get you if you're a huge sucker who goes for semestral or annual leases. Holy crap.
By all rights, I should have been exhausted, but after all the sleeping I did on the flight and the emergence of some excitement, I was downright energetic. A shower later, and I was out to pick up some things. Shaving cream, a plug converter for the laptop (in spite of the lack of a good place to use it for most of its purposes, it is currently a rather expensive iPod charger unless I happen to find free wireless near here, as my university access is a couple of weeks away.) I walked around the campus, which was smaller and uglier than I expected it to be, but met with my dissertation supervisor and came away feeling pretty good about things. It was at that point where I had my first 'holy crap, I'm in for it now', moment, when I realized that I was indeed starting on a path that is going to take me through a long time filled with hard work.
The weather in Melbourne is as tempermental as ever, it was cool and cloudy (still t-shirt weather for me) when I arrived, and it gave way to warm, maybe 24 degrees, and sunny a while later. Still t-shirt weather for me, s that was pleasant enough of a transition from Montreal. I was out and about walking for a long while, some of it not even purposive, just walking because I could, in rebellion against myself for the long time I was forced to spend sitting on airplanes. Tomorrow's goals are simple. Get a cellphone, perhaps even reactivating my old SIM. Open a pair of bank accounts, perhaps including the old one from the last time I was here that I closed. Get to a free wi-fi hotspot (A Borders store near my old haunt in Carlton) tomorrow afternoon so I can simultaneously let people back home know I've arrived OK and so that I can try to make arrangements to meet people and collect the mobile phone numbers waiting in my Facebook inbox and check into housing that's not this place. The afternoon seems good for that. 2 PM here is 11 PM the previous day back home, which is one of those times a lot of my friends are online.
The iPod Touch is already proving somewhat useful, but perhaps moreso after the jailbreaking I'm considering putting it through. Offline access to mapping would have been handy, and again, it would be more useful with more wi-fi hotspots actually available. Don't get me wrong, though, as a music player, it's fine.
10:50 PM AEST (7:50 AM EST)
It's a Saint Patrick's Day party at the residences, and while I did, perhaps against my better judgment, buy a couple of bottles of cider to drink in the lounge where it was being held and generally holding myself back enjoying the amusements of the proceedings. I could only feel nostalgic about the residents, just about all first year undergrads going wild, without having even done that myself. At this point, my days of trying to keep up with 19 year-olds at drinking, if they ever were, have passed. A drunken game of spin-the-bottle ensued, which made me feel old because the last time I'd seen anyone do that was when I was 14 or 15. Among the residents I've met, I seem to have established myself as a pretty decent guy, but most of them will forget the day and me by morning.
At any rate, I'll be social, drink some water, and be off to sleep by 11:30 so as to have a chance at a lag-free day tomorrow. There's much to do.Type your cut contents here.