Put quite simply, cruises are fun. Very fun. We left Jacksonville on the M.S Celebration with high hopes and fanciful dreams of fun and adventure on the high seas.
The high seas turned out to be a little higher than we expected, and Dave instantly fell victim to sea sickness. While Dave took sea sickness tablets and slept, Corey and I soberly stumbled our way to the dining room. We met our servers, Kenneth and Raymund, as well as our Southern dining companions. Judging by their disapproving glances (we were drinking Foster’s from 750ml cans and wearing thongs and singlets), it seemed impossible to think that we would all be great friends by the end of the week.
The next week was spent drinking Foster’s and hanging out with our new found friends Jason, Andre, Ali and Shayna. We taught them as much as we could about Australian culture, and by the end of the week, they still couldn’t copy our accents.
We managed to sleep through a lot of our day at Key West, FL, but that was the ship’s fault for arriving at 7am; ridiculous. From our couple of hours on shore, it didn’t appear that we missed all that much.
Our day moored at Nassau, Bahamas was another matter entirely. The water was as clear as any I have ever seen before, and the day was packed with adventure. We hired some mopeds and proceeded to explore the island. This was when we found Cabbage Beach, or as I like to call it, ‘that awesome beach with the really nice water’. While leaving the beach, Unlucky Dave gave us a lesson in falling off a moped. So with some smiles, blood and anger, we all headed to the Atlantis resort.
Atlantis was impressive, as was its’ aquarium lobby. After some time and effort, we managed to get out of Atlantis and head towards the more touristy beach. Though more crowded, the water was just as nice as Cabbage Beach. More importantly, we hired jetskis. Jetskiing was amazingly good fun. I was a jetski ninja and enjoyed every minute of it.
Back on the cruise ship, we continued to eat and drink to excess. Most of the food was quite delicious, and there was heaps of variety. They had a $3/6 limit Hold’em table which I took advantage of to pay for a good deal of my drinks. I learned one of life’s important lessons; cruise ship passengers aren’t good at poker. Unfortunately, I also learned that limit Hold’em is pretty boring, so I didn’t really play all that much.
In summary, I can highly recommend the cruising lifestyle. It was a fun filled week and very cheap. Oh, there was also heaps of fun and adventure on the high seas.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Monday, October 1, 2007
Quick Quick Catch-Up
New Orleans, Louisiana
Hi to all our loyal fans, for if you're still checking this everyday for an update, being continually disappointed, but still checking, you are surely a loyal fan. I'm in an internet cafe in New Orleans at the moment, just off Bourbon Street. It's not an inexpensive cafe, so I'll keep this short. Hopefully I'll have the time to come back and fill in the gaps.
After we bought Bluely, our beige buick, in Portland, we took off to Philadelphia, home of the highest proportion of hot american chicks, american colonial history and the Philly Cheese Steak. In short, Philly Cheese Steaks are delicious, but better in New York.
From Philly - to Washington and the usual tourist stuff, White House, Lincoln Memorial, etc. From there to Raleigh, the capital of North Carolina to catch up with some friends of Angry Dave.
Washington to Gainesville, Florida. A big uni town and the home of my colleg football team, the Gators. I like college towns, cheap booze and a good night life.
Gainseville to Miami - which I'd describe as a city that was spewed up by Night at the Roxbury. The music, dress and club scene was exactly like the movie. It was a little too expensive for me ($12 a beer plus tip!) but lots of nicely dressed pretty people, lots of money and lots of topless chicks on the beach.
Miami to Orlando and home of some mouse. We went to Wet 'n' Wild water park, got really sunburnt and then went to Jacksonville.
Jacksonville I liked. An unassuming beach city, and nice nice people. From Jacksonville we went on what is easily the highlight of the trip - a cruise to Key West and the Bahamas. The cruise was awesome, and pretty cheap, except for alcohol. But we managed to smuggle some on board. Then we discovered that everyone else does exactly the same thing. The cruise consisted of sleeping, eating, drinking, eating, drinking, drinking, sleep. Nassau in the Bahamas is great, the nicest and clearest beaches I have seen, outside of Australia. I'm definitely going to have to go on a cruise again some other time. The other boys are in much agreement.
Back to Jacksonville after the cruise, dinner with some of the boys from the cruise - and then we were put into contact with a girl in Atlanta who is friends with another friend we made on the ship.
When we got to Atlanta, Angry Dave's wisdom tooth caused him great problems, and so he went off to hospital, while Hawkins and myself went to the Coke factory. It was surprisingly fun, and Angry Dave was then drugged up for the next few days.
From Atlanta, we went to New Orleans, and here I am now. Hopefully I'll fill in more details later, such as photos of the cruise and such, but for now, here is one of Bluely, of chariot of adventure on this great american roadtrip.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Buffalo to Boston
The problem with having so much adventure, is that it takes time to write down. This becomes more of a problem when you decide to leave your laptop in Maine, and from then on need to rely on internet cafes, which, unlike in Europe, are not all that common in the US. It also makes it harder to put up photos when you impulse stop to write up a blog, but hopefully I'll add some later.
Angry Dave and I arrived in Buffalo on what I think was a Tuesday night. Angry Dave had booked a hostel on Main Street and I had decided to just wing it and hope for the best. It worked for me in Europe, but unfortunately things are different in America. We were worried that we'd made a terrible mistake trying to find the hostel, as Main street was deserted. I'd never seen a more dying town. Even Garema Place in Canberra on a Sunday evening in winter has more action. After telling me that there was no room, the guy working in the hostel told me of some rooms he knew of above a pub a couple of blocks away. I left Angry Dave to check in, and I went over to check it out. It was the worse hotel I'd ever seen. Cats were roaming the corridors, and the man managing the pub told me he normally doesn't let it out for one night, it's normally for homeless people and druggies. I checked out what he said was the best room he had. As I went to unlock the door, it swung open, and I was greeted by a bare floor and a cupboard. There was no bed, and no lock on the door. I was done. I thanked the guy for his time and checked in at a cheap hotel a few more blocks away. Angry Dave and I went to where apparently the action happens in Buffalo on a Tuesday night. There wasn't much going on, except for one very awesome thing: $5 pitchers of beer. We'd been paying four times that much in New York City, here it was the same price as a pint but we got a whole pitcher. Needless to say, we got drunk. We also had Buffalo Wings - this was the town that invented them after all.
It didn't really matter about the bed, as I only got a few hours sleep in it. That night, while eating a late night slice of pizza with a co-hosteller, I met Moroccan royalty. He took us to some classy hotel lounges and got us some after hours drinks. He was pretty classy, and was known by all the hotel managers. He'd invited us to a party the following night, but we never made it, as we were too tired, and just played some lazy pool. I met back up with Angry Dave that day, and he crashed at the hostel too. We decided at that point that while the hostel scene is good, a hotel room for the same price is much better, and we'll just make friends the old fashion way - by getting drunk and talking in an aussie accent.
Buffalo, New York
21 August 2007
Angry Dave and I arrived in Buffalo on what I think was a Tuesday night. Angry Dave had booked a hostel on Main Street and I had decided to just wing it and hope for the best. It worked for me in Europe, but unfortunately things are different in America. We were worried that we'd made a terrible mistake trying to find the hostel, as Main street was deserted. I'd never seen a more dying town. Even Garema Place in Canberra on a Sunday evening in winter has more action. After telling me that there was no room, the guy working in the hostel told me of some rooms he knew of above a pub a couple of blocks away. I left Angry Dave to check in, and I went over to check it out. It was the worse hotel I'd ever seen. Cats were roaming the corridors, and the man managing the pub told me he normally doesn't let it out for one night, it's normally for homeless people and druggies. I checked out what he said was the best room he had. As I went to unlock the door, it swung open, and I was greeted by a bare floor and a cupboard. There was no bed, and no lock on the door. I was done. I thanked the guy for his time and checked in at a cheap hotel a few more blocks away. Angry Dave and I went to where apparently the action happens in Buffalo on a Tuesday night. There wasn't much going on, except for one very awesome thing: $5 pitchers of beer. We'd been paying four times that much in New York City, here it was the same price as a pint but we got a whole pitcher. Needless to say, we got drunk. We also had Buffalo Wings - this was the town that invented them after all. The next day we were hung over, but were resolved to visit Niagara Falls, only an hour bus ride away. It was definitely worth it. We jumped on the Maid of the Mist, a tug-boat which took people right into the middle of the falls. We got absolutely saturated, but were very refreshed. Niagara Falls were very impressive. Angry Dave and I then decided to walk to Canada for lunch. The Canadian side of the Falls was much better than the US side. It was like a mini-Atlantic City, but with Canadians. Angry Dave was very impressed with Canada, and happy with the new stamp in his passport.
Early the next morning, after I couldn't sleep, I decided to leave Angry Dave; he had booked a flight to Boston, and I walked down to the Bus Station. After checking the next bus departure time, I was on my way to Cleveland, Ohio.
Cleveland, Ohio
23 August 2007
Cleveland doesn't have any hostels, and so again I booked into a cheap motel. Cleveland was similar to Buffalo, it seems this whole area has a slowing economy, but it had one big advantage, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I checked it out, listened to some Hendrix and the Doors, and then ticked it off the list. It was time to get drunk in another town, this time by myself. I found a bar which was actually pretty good, with $2 beers and made some friends pretty quickly. Unfortunately, my thongs had been slowly breaking, and occasionally break when I walked, causing me to trip and then stop and fix them. This happened around 3am in the bar in front of the bouncer. He assumed I was hammered and kicked me out. Disaster. Oh well, time to go home.
I hired a rental car the next day, as I had to get to Boston in about 3 days time, and it was too expensive to fly. The Hertz rental woman was struck by my aussie accent and taste for adventure, and upgraded my car to a Mazda M6 - it was a nice ride. As an aside, I ended up returning the car late in Boston, and my aussie accent saved me again, this time the extra day rental charge.
I decided to drive to Rochester. I had no maps, and no idea what was there, except I'd heard it was a university town. I had a vague idea where it was, and figured I'd wing it, if worse came to worse, I'd sleep in the car. On the way, I wanted to check out Amish country. After stopping a couple of times for directions, I ended up having lunch at an Amish restaurant. I ordered an Amish 'favourite', Noodles on Mash Potato. It tasted exactly like it sounds, and moved on, a little disappointed. Most Amish it appears have embraced the 21st century, and drive around in big Ford Pick-Ups, parked in their garage next to their buggy. They still dress traditionally, and make the best pretzels in America.
Rochester, New York
24 August 2007
I arrived in Rochester about 9pm, with no real struggles, except having to have a nap on the side of the highway for about half an hour. I drove around the town looking for an area that looked like it had some bars. Eventually I found a likely place, parked the car somewhere that looked safe but would be quiet enough if I needed to sleep. I'd been in the car all day, and was in desperate need for a shower and a beer. Unfortunately the shower was going to have to wait.
Within 10 minutes of arriving at the bar and ordering another bargain priced pitcher, I was offered a place to crash by some locals. I'd also been roped into playing a game of 'cricket'. Cricket in the US is a darts game, which scores a little like bowling. It took me all night to work out the subtleties, and just aimed for what my teammate told me. I hadn't played darts for a few years, but I didn't let my country down. The guys I was playing darts with were having a clam bake the next day, and I scored myself an invite. I also managed to get another offer of a place to crash - it was only a couch, but much better than sleeping in the backseat of the rental car.
The next day I made my way out to the suburbs of Rochester. The area is quite nice, big houses in quiet neighbourhoods. A clam bake is the Maine version of a barbie, but with clams and beer pong. Beer pong is massive over here, and I think I'm an addict. The Americans need to harden up though, and put more than just a couple of sips into each cup.
I had planned to drive to Boston that night, but the clam bake was good fun, and I was told that I was more than welcome to crash. I took them up on their offer, planning to set off at 5am to get to Boston in time to return the car. I woke at 8 - I hadn't had much sleep the last few days, and returned the car about 4 hours late. But as we know, it ended happily.
Boston, Massachusetts
26 August 2007
After I'd had my luck with returning the car, I was looking forward to Boston. It seemed my run of luck had turned good. How wrong I was. I arrived in Downtown Boston and spent the next two hours walking around from hostel to hostel trying to find a spare bed. Eventually I ended up just out of downtown at a place that used to be a hostel. They put me onto another place, and for the price of a hotel room, I had a shit bed in a crowded hostel.
It didn't really matter about the bed, as I only got a few hours sleep in it. That night, while eating a late night slice of pizza with a co-hosteller, I met Moroccan royalty. He took us to some classy hotel lounges and got us some after hours drinks. He was pretty classy, and was known by all the hotel managers. He'd invited us to a party the following night, but we never made it, as we were too tired, and just played some lazy pool. I met back up with Angry Dave that day, and he crashed at the hostel too. We decided at that point that while the hostel scene is good, a hotel room for the same price is much better, and we'll just make friends the old fashion way - by getting drunk and talking in an aussie accent. Boston as a city was quite nice. Very similar architecture to Brooklyn in the nice suburbs, but dripping with American history and Irish bars in downtown. But two days was enough. We went to the famous Cheers bar, got bad service and expensive beers. Boston - tick. It was time to go to Portland, Maine to meet back up with Hawkins and buy a car.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Hawkins buys $7 cargo shorts!
Team Hawketc buys a car.
After 2 days of often frustrating car shoppingin Portland, ME, the team (Hawkins, Corey, Angry Dave) managed to buy a car; let the road trip begin!
We had dreams of a soft-top Jeep Wrangler. Our dreams did not come true. We will be driving across the country in a triple-beige Buick Century. I think the average age of Buick Century drivers is about 75. We've dubbed the car "Bluey". Photos to follow.
After 2 days of often frustrating car shoppingin Portland, ME, the team (Hawkins, Corey, Angry Dave) managed to buy a car; let the road trip begin!
We had dreams of a soft-top Jeep Wrangler. Our dreams did not come true. We will be driving across the country in a triple-beige Buick Century. I think the average age of Buick Century drivers is about 75. We've dubbed the car "Bluey". Photos to follow.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
The AC - Part 2
Hawkins and Corey drink $7 cans of Corona all afternoon.
Hawkins plays poker in singlet, plays well but without luck, and is called "trailer trash" at one point. Hawkins plays a second tournament, comes 5th and breaks even for the night. Tries to find Corey. Corey is uncontactably intoxicated.
Corey runs shirtless down the boardwalk, and is turned down by numerous food vendors. Corey is finally given pizza and gatorade; he cannot hide his excitement.
Filthy room has no bathroom, but does have wash basin. Corey falls face first on floor. Begs for help. Corey is angered when Hawkins helps him up; he wanted to stay there. Hawkins drifts off to sleep. Hawkins wakes to Corey smashing plastic cup against wall. Hawkins drifts off to sleep. Hawkins wakes to Corey vomiting in basin.
Hawkins and Corey wake, and take short swim at the beach. There are old people everywhere. There are always old people everywhere in the AC. Hawkins loses money playing poker. Hawkins quits poker forever. Hawkins and Corey spend afternoon drinking. Hawkins and Corey spend evening drinking. Corey offends waitress. Waitress forgives Corey. Milosovic jokes - too soon.
Corey and Hawkins return to filthy hotel room. Corey and Hawkins vow to wake at 6:30am and leave the AC on the first bus.
Hawkins and Corey catch first bus out of AC.
The End.
Hawkins plays poker in singlet, plays well but without luck, and is called "trailer trash" at one point. Hawkins plays a second tournament, comes 5th and breaks even for the night. Tries to find Corey. Corey is uncontactably intoxicated.
Corey runs shirtless down the boardwalk, and is turned down by numerous food vendors. Corey is finally given pizza and gatorade; he cannot hide his excitement.
Filthy room has no bathroom, but does have wash basin. Corey falls face first on floor. Begs for help. Corey is angered when Hawkins helps him up; he wanted to stay there. Hawkins drifts off to sleep. Hawkins wakes to Corey smashing plastic cup against wall. Hawkins drifts off to sleep. Hawkins wakes to Corey vomiting in basin.
Hawkins and Corey wake, and take short swim at the beach. There are old people everywhere. There are always old people everywhere in the AC. Hawkins loses money playing poker. Hawkins quits poker forever. Hawkins and Corey spend afternoon drinking. Hawkins and Corey spend evening drinking. Corey offends waitress. Waitress forgives Corey. Milosovic jokes - too soon.
Corey and Hawkins return to filthy hotel room. Corey and Hawkins vow to wake at 6:30am and leave the AC on the first bus.
Hawkins and Corey catch first bus out of AC.
The End.
Friday, August 24, 2007
The Road Trip begins
Upstate New York
For the past few weeks, the members of the Hawketc Team had been living in spacious comfort in the family-friendly suburb of Park Slope, Brooklyn. The weather has been kind to us during our time here, and as Angry Dave and myself readied to leave for the last time what had been our home away from home, we expected today to be no different from any other.
Awkwardly balancing backpacks and our daypacks, we stepped outside into what we later realized was a result of New York being on the outer fringes of a hurricane which had been bashing the Caribbean for the past few days. Within seconds we were saturated through, with another ten blocks to walk to the subway. Walking in the rain is fun enough by itself, but when it’s windy, you’re carrying all your possessions on your back, and you cleverly chose to wear shorts and thongs, it makes the experience all the more special.
I collapsed into a seat between two typically thin Americans on the F train, and sat back expecting to get some rest in before we got off at Penn Station to catch the train to Buffalo, which is up near Niagara Falls. Amazingly, we were right on schedule, and were going to make it to Penn Station in plenty of time to get out tickets, buy and snack and get a good seat for the eight hour train ride to Upstate New York. And that’s when the subway train we were on stopped.
It turned out that the train ahead had some minor break problems. I turned to Angry Dave, who had replaced one of the Americans at the last stop in the seat beside me, and questioned whether there was ever such a thing as a ‘minor break problem’. That was when a Subway official came into our carriage and said that we’re better off getting off the train and catching another.
We arrived at Penn Station half an hour late, with little idea of where to head. Of course, the first person I ask for directions was from Sydney, and was looking for the station himself. We actually didn’t end up wasting much time, and found it pretty quickly. As we hurried to our platform, Angry Dave was true to form, and wondered why I was walking so slow. Unfortunately, thongs, slippery sidewalks and wet weather don’t go together so well. With only the occasional controlled slide, we jumped on the train, the last people to get on.
And so now, with Angry Dave gently snoring next to me, I’m writing the latest installment of Hawketc. Angry Dave, frustrated with the leisurely posting-style of the Hawketc Team, has started his own blog, after promises to let him post a guest blog failed to be fulfilled. We’ll put a link somewhere on our site, it seems only fair.
Now being on the, the regularity of new blog postings to Hawketc may be affected somewhat. I’ll try to update where we’re at along the way.
Angry Dave and Corey are outsmarted by the UN
In the past week, I’ve been seeing the sights of New York that I haven’t got around to seeing in the past few weeks I’ve been here. Top on the list includes the Empire State Building, which wasn’t too bad, except that I was in the grip of a terrible cold, and the batteries on my camera were mysteriously flat after having let Hawkins use it the day before. Angry Dave and I also checked out a few other famous sites, Central Park, the New York Public Library and the headquarters of the United Nations.
I was confident after going through security at the UN that checking the place out was going to be a breeze. The line had been short, and the checks well organized (unlike the Statute of Liberty, for example). I should have known better. The only way to see the inside of the UN was in a tour, which I wasn’t really interested in, and of course the line to buy tickets for the tour was huge. Angry Dave and I had been waiting in the line for about 15 minutes when we heard an announcement from the ticket desk, “last call for the Japanese Tour”. There was no line for that. With no hesitation from myself, and some from Angry Dave, we had our Japanese tour tickets in hand, and were waiting at the UN tour entrance. It was then I realized that another non-Japanese tour was waiting at the same place, and we lined up in that tour instead. By now the Japanese tour had left, and it was looking like our plan was even more brilliant than I’d first hoped. But the UN is cleverer than that, and we were caught out as we tried to get in. We feigned ignorance, and the Japanese tour was called back for us to join on the back of. Despite not understanding anything said, the tour wasn’t too bad. Our tour guide spoke better English than Japanese, and during photo breaks, answered any questions Angry Dave and I had. As we finished the hour long tour, another group was just starting. I recognized a number of people in the new tour who had been standing in the line in front of us, and I regretted nothing.
One last thing…
You may have noticed that Hawkins didn’t make much of an appearance in the latest adventures. He did most of the New York tourist stuff when he was here this time last year. Hawkins has also decided to head to Miami, rather than coming to Buffalo, New York. We’ll all be joining back up, most likely, in a weeks time in Maine, where we’ll organize a car for the next step of the Exaggerated Adventures of Hawkins and Corey.
For the past few weeks, the members of the Hawketc Team had been living in spacious comfort in the family-friendly suburb of Park Slope, Brooklyn. The weather has been kind to us during our time here, and as Angry Dave and myself readied to leave for the last time what had been our home away from home, we expected today to be no different from any other.Awkwardly balancing backpacks and our daypacks, we stepped outside into what we later realized was a result of New York being on the outer fringes of a hurricane which had been bashing the Caribbean for the past few days. Within seconds we were saturated through, with another ten blocks to walk to the subway. Walking in the rain is fun enough by itself, but when it’s windy, you’re carrying all your possessions on your back, and you cleverly chose to wear shorts and thongs, it makes the experience all the more special.
I collapsed into a seat between two typically thin Americans on the F train, and sat back expecting to get some rest in before we got off at Penn Station to catch the train to Buffalo, which is up near Niagara Falls. Amazingly, we were right on schedule, and were going to make it to Penn Station in plenty of time to get out tickets, buy and snack and get a good seat for the eight hour train ride to Upstate New York. And that’s when the subway train we were on stopped.
It turned out that the train ahead had some minor break problems. I turned to Angry Dave, who had replaced one of the Americans at the last stop in the seat beside me, and questioned whether there was ever such a thing as a ‘minor break problem’. That was when a Subway official came into our carriage and said that we’re better off getting off the train and catching another.
We arrived at Penn Station half an hour late, with little idea of where to head. Of course, the first person I ask for directions was from Sydney, and was looking for the station himself. We actually didn’t end up wasting much time, and found it pretty quickly. As we hurried to our platform, Angry Dave was true to form, and wondered why I was walking so slow. Unfortunately, thongs, slippery sidewalks and wet weather don’t go together so well. With only the occasional controlled slide, we jumped on the train, the last people to get on.
And so now, with Angry Dave gently snoring next to me, I’m writing the latest installment of Hawketc. Angry Dave, frustrated with the leisurely posting-style of the Hawketc Team, has started his own blog, after promises to let him post a guest blog failed to be fulfilled. We’ll put a link somewhere on our site, it seems only fair.
Now being on the, the regularity of new blog postings to Hawketc may be affected somewhat. I’ll try to update where we’re at along the way.
Angry Dave and Corey are outsmarted by the UN
In the past week, I’ve been seeing the sights of New York that I haven’t got around to seeing in the past few weeks I’ve been here. Top on the list includes the Empire State Building, which wasn’t too bad, except that I was in the grip of a terrible cold, and the batteries on my camera were mysteriously flat after having let Hawkins use it the day before. Angry Dave and I also checked out a few other famous sites, Central Park, the New York Public Library and the headquarters of the United Nations.I was confident after going through security at the UN that checking the place out was going to be a breeze. The line had been short, and the checks well organized (unlike the Statute of Liberty, for example). I should have known better. The only way to see the inside of the UN was in a tour, which I wasn’t really interested in, and of course the line to buy tickets for the tour was huge. Angry Dave and I had been waiting in the line for about 15 minutes when we heard an announcement from the ticket desk, “last call for the Japanese Tour”. There was no line for that. With no hesitation from myself, and some from Angry Dave, we had our Japanese tour tickets in hand, and were waiting at the UN tour entrance. It was then I realized that another non-Japanese tour was waiting at the same place, and we lined up in that tour instead. By now the Japanese tour had left, and it was looking like our plan was even more brilliant than I’d first hoped. But the UN is cleverer than that, and we were caught out as we tried to get in. We feigned ignorance, and the Japanese tour was called back for us to join on the back of. Despite not understanding anything said, the tour wasn’t too bad. Our tour guide spoke better English than Japanese, and during photo breaks, answered any questions Angry Dave and I had. As we finished the hour long tour, another group was just starting. I recognized a number of people in the new tour who had been standing in the line in front of us, and I regretted nothing.
One last thing…
You may have noticed that Hawkins didn’t make much of an appearance in the latest adventures. He did most of the New York tourist stuff when he was here this time last year. Hawkins has also decided to head to Miami, rather than coming to Buffalo, New York. We’ll all be joining back up, most likely, in a weeks time in Maine, where we’ll organize a car for the next step of the Exaggerated Adventures of Hawkins and Corey.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Corey and Michael double-team a 151 foot chick
New York
Once we had finished studying for the exam we had always planned to add an element of adventure to our lives here in New York. I’d been living in Brooklyn, within view of the Manhattan skyline, for five weeks now but hadn’t seen anything of note in New York, except for a brief visit to Times Square. After another week of procrastinating and sleeping in, it was decided a trip to the Statue of Liberty was in order.
Visiting Liberty Island, home of the statue, is a simple matter of buying a ferry ticket at Battery Point, lining up for an hour in the humid, hundred degree weather before getting on the ferry, waiting another half hour until the ferry fills up so much that the other large annoying sweaty tourists are forced to press up against you, and then a short 10 minute ride to disembark at Liberty Island dock.
This is where most people come unstuck. A little-advertised fact about visiting the Statue is that to go up to the base, you need a ticket, which is ordered online at least two days in advance. Hawkins and I had done our research, and felt superior to the other furious tourists yelling at the guard as we strolled into the large white security tent at the entrance to the base. That was where our feeling of superiority dissipated.
The air in the tent was thick; thick with waiting. A lonely fan turned in the middle of the tent, cooling the air for the small percentage of the dozens of people who were lucky enough to wait under it. For the rest of us, it was a torturous wait, worse than any previous wait we’d had during the day. After what seemed like an hour and a half, but was closer to an eternity, we went though the final set of metal detectors and penetrated the lady of liberty.
For what it is worth, I’d say it was worthwhile. It was a great view, and now I can stay I’ve been there. For Hawkins, who had been struggling with the lack of adequate facilities, it wasn’t quite as pleasant, but we both decided it was worth it.
On our way out, we saw that where there was once lines stretching back into the distance, there was nothing but bored security guards. My advice for anyone wanting to visit New York’s most famous landmark, do it after three in the afternoon, you’ll stroll straight in.
Angry Dave arrives in Brooklyn, wakes Corey up
The Tuesday after our adventure in Atlantic City (see Hawkins’ blog), I was have a pleasant morning lie in when I was awakened by a furious knocking on the door. Angry Dave had arrived from Australia, ten hours later than planned. He was saying he was furious, as his plane had been delayed in Los Angeles, or something like that. I was only half listening, as I was looking for something to substitute for pants. Maybe it’s unusual, but I feel uncomfortable talking to a guy while pantless.
We went to our local café for breakfast, afterwards Angry Dave passed out on my bed.
Four hours later, Hawkins and I had decided Angry Dave had slept enough, and that he needed alcohol. We bundled him into a shower while we sipped a couple of eighty cent Coronas from our local supermarket. Once we was done, we headed off to Lombardi’s pizza restaurant in Little Italy.
As usual, there was a wait at Lombardi’s, even after nine on a Tuesday night. We sat at the bar, having a refreshing beer, when a group of four came in asking for a table. Angry Dave and Hawkins both kept looking over at the group waiting nearby, while I sneakily poured the rest of the pitcher of beer into my glass.
Angry Dave: Is that who I think it is?
Hawkins: I’m pretty sure that’s Kirsten Dunst!
I was dubious, but after a couple of subtle (but obvious) stares, I had to agree with the boys. Our table was then called, and as our waitress led us away, Kirsten and her crew took our seats at the bar. I’m pretty sure she deliberately took my stool.
Lines such as “When else are you going to get a chance to bone Kirsten Dunst?”, “I hear she loves Aussie guys,” and “Just go say something to her,” were constantly thrown at me during the meal, which was delicious by the way. It would be nice to have friends that either didn’t rely on me for laying the groundwork with the ladies, or once I had done all the lead in work, then didn’t proceed to cut me down in front of them. There was little incentive to go through the whole process again, this time with a celebrity. Finally I said I would, but stalled for time by going to the bathroom, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make me sound retarded. Unfortunately, I didn’t come up with anything, and decided to wing it. We walked through the main room of the restaurant, looking for Kirsten, but alas, they had gone.
And that was the time I almost shagged Kirsten Dunst.
Once we had finished studying for the exam we had always planned to add an element of adventure to our lives here in New York. I’d been living in Brooklyn, within view of the Manhattan skyline, for five weeks now but hadn’t seen anything of note in New York, except for a brief visit to Times Square. After another week of procrastinating and sleeping in, it was decided a trip to the Statue of Liberty was in order.
Visiting Liberty Island, home of the statue, is a simple matter of buying a ferry ticket at Battery Point, lining up for an hour in the humid, hundred degree weather before getting on the ferry, waiting another half hour until the ferry fills up so much that the other large annoying sweaty tourists are forced to press up against you, and then a short 10 minute ride to disembark at Liberty Island dock.This is where most people come unstuck. A little-advertised fact about visiting the Statue is that to go up to the base, you need a ticket, which is ordered online at least two days in advance. Hawkins and I had done our research, and felt superior to the other furious tourists yelling at the guard as we strolled into the large white security tent at the entrance to the base. That was where our feeling of superiority dissipated.
The air in the tent was thick; thick with waiting. A lonely fan turned in the middle of the tent, cooling the air for the small percentage of the dozens of people who were lucky enough to wait under it. For the rest of us, it was a torturous wait, worse than any previous wait we’d had during the day. After what seemed like an hour and a half, but was closer to an eternity, we went though the final set of metal detectors and penetrated the lady of liberty.For what it is worth, I’d say it was worthwhile. It was a great view, and now I can stay I’ve been there. For Hawkins, who had been struggling with the lack of adequate facilities, it wasn’t quite as pleasant, but we both decided it was worth it.
On our way out, we saw that where there was once lines stretching back into the distance, there was nothing but bored security guards. My advice for anyone wanting to visit New York’s most famous landmark, do it after three in the afternoon, you’ll stroll straight in.
Angry Dave arrives in Brooklyn, wakes Corey up
The Tuesday after our adventure in Atlantic City (see Hawkins’ blog), I was have a pleasant morning lie in when I was awakened by a furious knocking on the door. Angry Dave had arrived from Australia, ten hours later than planned. He was saying he was furious, as his plane had been delayed in Los Angeles, or something like that. I was only half listening, as I was looking for something to substitute for pants. Maybe it’s unusual, but I feel uncomfortable talking to a guy while pantless.
We went to our local café for breakfast, afterwards Angry Dave passed out on my bed.
Four hours later, Hawkins and I had decided Angry Dave had slept enough, and that he needed alcohol. We bundled him into a shower while we sipped a couple of eighty cent Coronas from our local supermarket. Once we was done, we headed off to Lombardi’s pizza restaurant in Little Italy.
As usual, there was a wait at Lombardi’s, even after nine on a Tuesday night. We sat at the bar, having a refreshing beer, when a group of four came in asking for a table. Angry Dave and Hawkins both kept looking over at the group waiting nearby, while I sneakily poured the rest of the pitcher of beer into my glass.
Angry Dave: Is that who I think it is?
Hawkins: I’m pretty sure that’s Kirsten Dunst!
I was dubious, but after a couple of subtle (but obvious) stares, I had to agree with the boys. Our table was then called, and as our waitress led us away, Kirsten and her crew took our seats at the bar. I’m pretty sure she deliberately took my stool.
Lines such as “When else are you going to get a chance to bone Kirsten Dunst?”, “I hear she loves Aussie guys,” and “Just go say something to her,” were constantly thrown at me during the meal, which was delicious by the way. It would be nice to have friends that either didn’t rely on me for laying the groundwork with the ladies, or once I had done all the lead in work, then didn’t proceed to cut me down in front of them. There was little incentive to go through the whole process again, this time with a celebrity. Finally I said I would, but stalled for time by going to the bathroom, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make me sound retarded. Unfortunately, I didn’t come up with anything, and decided to wing it. We walked through the main room of the restaurant, looking for Kirsten, but alas, they had gone.And that was the time I almost shagged Kirsten Dunst.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
The AC - Part 1
Over the years, I had heard stories about a magical city. The stories told of a place where everyone is welcome, and where most would leave with fond memories, as well as tales of excitement, adventure, romance and great riches. While some cities are nothing more than the buildings which they encompass, this is a place with a heart and soul that is inextricably entwined with the rich tapestry of human history upon which its foundations are set. I had a feeling that any sentiments I had for London, New York, Vienna, or even Sydney would soon pale into insignificance; I was going to Atlantic City.
It was a particularly hot Friday in August, and minutes of meticulous planning were about to come to fruition as Corey and I each packed a change of clothes and strolled out of the house towards the subway station. To the casual onlooker, we may have looked our jovial selves, loudly and sporadically singing snippets of ‘White Stripes’ songs, but we were also somewhat humbled by the thought that in a few short hours we would be in the AC.
We reached the Port Authority bus terminal at about 12:25pm. After finding a timetable, we worked out that the next bus was due to leave at 12:30pm. At 12:29pm we had tickets, and set about running, in thongs (flip-flops), to the next building and up two flights of stairs to our bus’s departure gate. Luck was on our side, and we reached the bus with a very comfortable 5 or 10 seconds to spare.
Once on the bus, we realised that the chance of us sitting together was slim, and the people already seated were not nearly so slim. At least they realised this:
Corey: Excuse me mate? Mind if I sit here?
Large Gentleman: Are you kidding? I’ve got to be the biggest guy on this f^&king bus!
Eventually, we found a couple of seats, and settled in for the bus ride.
About 15 minutes into the journey, I had a startling realisation:
Michael: Hey Corey, I don’t want to alarm you, but we’re driving on the wrong side of the road. Should I tell the driver?
As it turns out, everyone in the USA drives on the wrong side of the road, and so with the chance of imminent death somewhat reduced, I relaxed and listened to some music.
There was only one short stop in the trip, at a place called Tom’s River. I would be lying if I said I saw any redeeming quality about this place. However, I was obviously in the minority, because once we boarded the bus again, there was only about 3 other passengers continuing through to AC. The attraction of Tom’s River will forever remain a mystery.
We arrived at AC at about 3pm, and set about getting checked in to our accommodation. Lots of people who visit AC choose to stay in the elaborately decorated themed hotels that dot the boardwalk alongside the beach. Corey and I had considered that option, but instead had elected for a more rustic AC experience. After getting some directions, we headed off towards the “Inn of the Irish Pub”, our home away from home for the next two days.
Before seeing our room, we ventured into the Irish Pub itself. I’m not sure what exactly made the pub Irish, unless Ireland is always dark and smells really bad, in which case it was very authentic. After seeing the pub, we had high hopes for the quality of our room, and we weren’t disappointed. It was everything we could have asked for; warm, unventilated, damp and with a faint odour that was hard to describe, yet nonetheless unpleasant. Our two single beds were fully equipped with ill-fitting sheets, uncomfortable mattresses as well as ever-important plastic mattress protectors. Now was not the time to explore whether our shared bathroom facilities would match the plush decadence of our room, so we left our bags, and walked very briskly away from the Irish Pub. With sleeping out of the question, we had just added a few valuable hours to our AC time.
It was a particularly hot Friday in August, and minutes of meticulous planning were about to come to fruition as Corey and I each packed a change of clothes and strolled out of the house towards the subway station. To the casual onlooker, we may have looked our jovial selves, loudly and sporadically singing snippets of ‘White Stripes’ songs, but we were also somewhat humbled by the thought that in a few short hours we would be in the AC.
We reached the Port Authority bus terminal at about 12:25pm. After finding a timetable, we worked out that the next bus was due to leave at 12:30pm. At 12:29pm we had tickets, and set about running, in thongs (flip-flops), to the next building and up two flights of stairs to our bus’s departure gate. Luck was on our side, and we reached the bus with a very comfortable 5 or 10 seconds to spare.
Once on the bus, we realised that the chance of us sitting together was slim, and the people already seated were not nearly so slim. At least they realised this:
Corey: Excuse me mate? Mind if I sit here?
Large Gentleman: Are you kidding? I’ve got to be the biggest guy on this f^&king bus!
Eventually, we found a couple of seats, and settled in for the bus ride.
About 15 minutes into the journey, I had a startling realisation:
Michael: Hey Corey, I don’t want to alarm you, but we’re driving on the wrong side of the road. Should I tell the driver?
As it turns out, everyone in the USA drives on the wrong side of the road, and so with the chance of imminent death somewhat reduced, I relaxed and listened to some music.
There was only one short stop in the trip, at a place called Tom’s River. I would be lying if I said I saw any redeeming quality about this place. However, I was obviously in the minority, because once we boarded the bus again, there was only about 3 other passengers continuing through to AC. The attraction of Tom’s River will forever remain a mystery.
We arrived at AC at about 3pm, and set about getting checked in to our accommodation. Lots of people who visit AC choose to stay in the elaborately decorated themed hotels that dot the boardwalk alongside the beach. Corey and I had considered that option, but instead had elected for a more rustic AC experience. After getting some directions, we headed off towards the “Inn of the Irish Pub”, our home away from home for the next two days.
Before seeing our room, we ventured into the Irish Pub itself. I’m not sure what exactly made the pub Irish, unless Ireland is always dark and smells really bad, in which case it was very authentic. After seeing the pub, we had high hopes for the quality of our room, and we weren’t disappointed. It was everything we could have asked for; warm, unventilated, damp and with a faint odour that was hard to describe, yet nonetheless unpleasant. Our two single beds were fully equipped with ill-fitting sheets, uncomfortable mattresses as well as ever-important plastic mattress protectors. Now was not the time to explore whether our shared bathroom facilities would match the plush decadence of our room, so we left our bags, and walked very briskly away from the Irish Pub. With sleeping out of the question, we had just added a few valuable hours to our AC time.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
The Aftermath of the New York Bar Exam
Brooklyn, New York
There’s two things that I learnt from taking the New York Bar Exam. The first is that it’s a lot harder than I thought to learn the entire legal system of another country in only a month. The second, and much more interesting, is that apparently I have a very special skill of making friends with the Irish.
When I was over in Europe this time last year (actually this time last year I was going through the grueling rehabilitation process of learning to walk with no functioning ribs, so shortly after this time last year) I made good pals with a couple of Irish lads in Budapest. We hung out, got kicked out of a few clubs due to Donal’s ridiculous red pants, our terribly bad karaoke and various other reasons, as well as breaking many a young Hungarian lady’s heart. We then went on Bratislava (worst…city…ever) and Vienna (best…Austrian capital…ever), before arriving in Munich for Oktoberfest. But I’ve gone off track. Back to the point of this blog, my power to befriend the Irish.
Further evidence (admissible under the excited utterance exception to hearsay – sorry, law joke) comes from a visit by Hawkins and myself for a quiet drink at a local pub a couple of weeks before the exam. I had left Hawkins to himself for a minute to see to the undertaking of some very important business. After completing my work, I ran into another couple of Irish lads, and long story short, it was not a quiet night after all.
On the Tuesday, the first day of the bar exam, I arrived at Pier 90, alone, as Hawkins was doing his exam at a different venue. Being friendless, I looked around for the nearest attractive chick who looked like she wanted to be friends with an extremely attractive Aussie guy, and failing that, would be happy to settle for me. Alas, any chick who was even a remote possibility was worryingly flicking through notes in last minute revision and so I walked over to a couple of guys just chatting nearby. It turned out that, surely enough, they were Irish. We immediately got on, and hung out over the next two days while I wasted my time attempting the exam.
The Exam itself was tough, real tough. If I studied as much as I had in this last month at any time in my undergraduate degree, I would have dominated, and probably finished off my degree with a year to spare. At no stage in the exam did I have no idea about how to answer a question, but whether my answers were of the 67% quality needed to pass, I’m not so sure. I guess I’ll find out in four months. Unlike law exams at the Australian National University, the New York Bar Exam is not open book, and they test you on the small finicky things, not just broad concepts. Many of the multiple choice questions were situations where the exception to the exception applies.
Hawkins and myself went out for a few drinks after the exam with my new Irish pals, and a guy Hawkins had picked up where he did his exam. It was a quiet night, but it felt good to have the exam behind us, at least for a couple of weeks before we have another Professional Ethics exam here in New York, and then the re-sit in February next year.
Because I know you all like pictures…
There’s two things that I learnt from taking the New York Bar Exam. The first is that it’s a lot harder than I thought to learn the entire legal system of another country in only a month. The second, and much more interesting, is that apparently I have a very special skill of making friends with the Irish.
When I was over in Europe this time last year (actually this time last year I was going through the grueling rehabilitation process of learning to walk with no functioning ribs, so shortly after this time last year) I made good pals with a couple of Irish lads in Budapest. We hung out, got kicked out of a few clubs due to Donal’s ridiculous red pants, our terribly bad karaoke and various other reasons, as well as breaking many a young Hungarian lady’s heart. We then went on Bratislava (worst…city…ever) and Vienna (best…Austrian capital…ever), before arriving in Munich for Oktoberfest. But I’ve gone off track. Back to the point of this blog, my power to befriend the Irish.
Further evidence (admissible under the excited utterance exception to hearsay – sorry, law joke) comes from a visit by Hawkins and myself for a quiet drink at a local pub a couple of weeks before the exam. I had left Hawkins to himself for a minute to see to the undertaking of some very important business. After completing my work, I ran into another couple of Irish lads, and long story short, it was not a quiet night after all.
On the Tuesday, the first day of the bar exam, I arrived at Pier 90, alone, as Hawkins was doing his exam at a different venue. Being friendless, I looked around for the nearest attractive chick who looked like she wanted to be friends with an extremely attractive Aussie guy, and failing that, would be happy to settle for me. Alas, any chick who was even a remote possibility was worryingly flicking through notes in last minute revision and so I walked over to a couple of guys just chatting nearby. It turned out that, surely enough, they were Irish. We immediately got on, and hung out over the next two days while I wasted my time attempting the exam.
The Exam itself was tough, real tough. If I studied as much as I had in this last month at any time in my undergraduate degree, I would have dominated, and probably finished off my degree with a year to spare. At no stage in the exam did I have no idea about how to answer a question, but whether my answers were of the 67% quality needed to pass, I’m not so sure. I guess I’ll find out in four months. Unlike law exams at the Australian National University, the New York Bar Exam is not open book, and they test you on the small finicky things, not just broad concepts. Many of the multiple choice questions were situations where the exception to the exception applies.
Hawkins and myself went out for a few drinks after the exam with my new Irish pals, and a guy Hawkins had picked up where he did his exam. It was a quiet night, but it felt good to have the exam behind us, at least for a couple of weeks before we have another Professional Ethics exam here in New York, and then the re-sit in February next year.
Because I know you all like pictures…
Friday, July 20, 2007
A typical day - pre New York Bar Exam
Brooklyn, New York
It’s another late start in the Hawketc household. The alarm on my phone is going off on the floor beside the bed, beeping incessantly, just out of arms reach. I give up and collapse back into my pillow and close my eyes, attempting to get just one more minute of sleep. I’m still so tired, and my mouth feels furry, unusual as I didn’t have anything to drink last night. I haven’t had a sweet delicious sip of beer for over a month now. I try to swallow, but the feeling doesn’t go away, it gets worse. I open my eyes, the harsh light making me instantly regret the decision, and sit up. The white sheets are covered in fur, my pillow is covered in fur, my tongue is covered in fur. There is cat fur everywhere. Missy must have somehow got into my room during the night. I see her then curled up, peacefully sleeping on the floor near the door, the closed door. I must have accidentally shut her in my room when I went to bed. I guess as she couldn’t get out, she’s probably shat somewhere in here too. I’ll worry about that later.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and turn off my alarm. I look to where the pile of clothes I use to show off my excellent fashion sense usually resides. A damp towel, a little too short to be acceptable to change out of boardies at a beach, is all that I see. It’ll have to do. I wrap it around me, the towel stopping half a foot above the knee, and patter over to the bathroom to splash water on myself to wake up. I look at my reflection in the mirror, and consider shaving. I decide against it after realizing that I won’t meet anyone today whose opinion I care enough about.
I wander downstairs and into the dining room, currently cluttered with New York Law textbooks, empty diet Pepsi cans and discarded Bagel-World wrappers. Hawkins mustn’t be up yet, but it’s not surprising, it is only quarter past noon. In the kitchen I find the coffee pot half full, the remains from last night’s midnight study session. There’s no clean mugs in the cupboard, but there’s plenty of dirty wet mugs in the sink. I grab one and clean it out with a tea towel and pour what’s left of the coffee pot into it. Thirty seconds later the microwave beeps and breakfast is served. The coffee is still a little cold, but it’ll do.
Instinctively sipping my coffee, even though it couldn’t possibly burn me, I go in search of clothes. I’d put some in the washing machine last night and asked Hawkins to put them in the dryer when they were done. Clean clothes. I get a little excited at the thought. There’s nothing in the dryer, and so I open up the washing machine. There are my clothes, clumped together in a soggy mess at the bottom of the machine. I drop the lid with a clang and go back into the dining room. I’m not really surprised, just disappointed.
I sit down at the dining table and pull over one of the text books, opening it up to where’d I gotten last night. “Rules of Usury: New York Exceptions to the Federal Rules”. I take another sip of my coffee and begin reading. I’ve got a long fun-filled day of study ahead of me.
It’s another late start in the Hawketc household. The alarm on my phone is going off on the floor beside the bed, beeping incessantly, just out of arms reach. I give up and collapse back into my pillow and close my eyes, attempting to get just one more minute of sleep. I’m still so tired, and my mouth feels furry, unusual as I didn’t have anything to drink last night. I haven’t had a sweet delicious sip of beer for over a month now. I try to swallow, but the feeling doesn’t go away, it gets worse. I open my eyes, the harsh light making me instantly regret the decision, and sit up. The white sheets are covered in fur, my pillow is covered in fur, my tongue is covered in fur. There is cat fur everywhere. Missy must have somehow got into my room during the night. I see her then curled up, peacefully sleeping on the floor near the door, the closed door. I must have accidentally shut her in my room when I went to bed. I guess as she couldn’t get out, she’s probably shat somewhere in here too. I’ll worry about that later.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and turn off my alarm. I look to where the pile of clothes I use to show off my excellent fashion sense usually resides. A damp towel, a little too short to be acceptable to change out of boardies at a beach, is all that I see. It’ll have to do. I wrap it around me, the towel stopping half a foot above the knee, and patter over to the bathroom to splash water on myself to wake up. I look at my reflection in the mirror, and consider shaving. I decide against it after realizing that I won’t meet anyone today whose opinion I care enough about.
I wander downstairs and into the dining room, currently cluttered with New York Law textbooks, empty diet Pepsi cans and discarded Bagel-World wrappers. Hawkins mustn’t be up yet, but it’s not surprising, it is only quarter past noon. In the kitchen I find the coffee pot half full, the remains from last night’s midnight study session. There’s no clean mugs in the cupboard, but there’s plenty of dirty wet mugs in the sink. I grab one and clean it out with a tea towel and pour what’s left of the coffee pot into it. Thirty seconds later the microwave beeps and breakfast is served. The coffee is still a little cold, but it’ll do.
Instinctively sipping my coffee, even though it couldn’t possibly burn me, I go in search of clothes. I’d put some in the washing machine last night and asked Hawkins to put them in the dryer when they were done. Clean clothes. I get a little excited at the thought. There’s nothing in the dryer, and so I open up the washing machine. There are my clothes, clumped together in a soggy mess at the bottom of the machine. I drop the lid with a clang and go back into the dining room. I’m not really surprised, just disappointed.
I sit down at the dining table and pull over one of the text books, opening it up to where’d I gotten last night. “Rules of Usury: New York Exceptions to the Federal Rules”. I take another sip of my coffee and begin reading. I’ve got a long fun-filled day of study ahead of me.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Hot dogs, a chestnut, and the pursuit of happiness
4th of July
To Corey and I, a couple of humble (yet proud) Australians, it was just another day. However, from the moment I woke up, I could tell there was something special about this day. There was a peculiar feeling in the air; a feeling of celebration, a feeling of achievement, but most of all, a feeling of independence. Today was a day to sit back and reflect on a time when a nation had the courage to stand on its own two feet and laugh in the face of its English captors. In searching for a place sacred enough to celebrate a day of this magnitude, a few options came to mind; the Washington Monument, Mt Rushmore or maybe even the Lincoln Memorial. Obviously, we chose Coney Island.
For those unaware, Coney Island, on the 4th of July, is home to the Nathan’s Famous Fourth of July International Hot Dog Eating Contest. This was my first exposure to the sport of competitive eating. Obviously, every sport has its detractors, and competitive eating is no different. Some people claim it glorifies gluttony, whereas others suggest that it promotes excessive and inhumane consumption of animal products. I ignored these protestors, peddling their narrow-minded and ill-informed propaganda, and settled in to appreciate the spectacle that was about to unfold. Not only is competitive eating an exploration into willpower, determination and the human spirit, but it’s a sport for us all. Who hasn’t, in their time, tested their intestinal fortitude, by cramming in that extra morsel when it seemed impossible, gone back for thirds when seconds was more than enough, or laughed in the face of one whose eating skills paled in comparison to their own? I know I have.
So there I was, crammed in amongst 50,000 passionate fans, jostling for position in the desperate hope of catching a glimpse at even one of the world-class athletes that were assembled before us; the best the world had to offer in the only truly universal sport. However, in a field of worthy contenders, only two men had captured the hearts and minds of the crowd. Takeru Kobayashi, hailing from Japan, had won the last 6 titles, and was considered by many to be the best eater of them all. His only recent defeat was at the hands of an Alaskan Kodiak bear; and while a strong competitor, the bear was noticeably shaken when confronted with the icy stare of this Japanese eating machine. Today, however, was the 4th of July; America’s day. If ever the USA needed a patriot, it was now. This man was Joey Chestnut. Chestnut moved across the stage with an air of confidence, and this confidence quickly spread amongst the crowd, and, via ESPN, throughout a nation. The stage was set, and the atmosphere was thick with anticipation, the aroma of hot dogs, and most of all, a sense of destiny.
A hotdog eating competition goes for 12 minutes. For 12 minutes, not a murmur could be heard in a crowd that was 50,000 strong. For 12 minutes, not a breath was taken. Without disrespect to the calibre of athletes present, it was, from the outset, a battle of two men. Within a minute, Chestnut and Kobayashi had each eaten more than 10 hotdogs, with buns. Upon seeing the prowess of these two men; the jaw strength, the finely honed hand-to-mouth coordination and the mental strength to keep eating when it didn’t seem humanly possible, even the staunchest animal-rights protestor was soon converted. Shouts of ‘no more meat’ quickly turned to impassioned cries of ‘eat, Joey, eat!’ For 12 minutes, time seemed to stand still, and a nation dared to hope.
‘5…4…3…2…1!’ The crowd counted down. The scores were tied. The commentator announced that a plate count would be necessary. Both athletes appeared to have eaten 63 hotdogs. On recount, and by virtue of a Kobayashi ‘reversal’ (a competitive eating term used to describe vomiting), the official score of 66 hotdogs for Chestnut and 63 for Kobayashi was announced. The ‘Mustard yellow belt’ was returning home to the shores of Coney Island. One man had carried the hopes and appetites of a nation on his shoulders, and triumphed against the best in the world. Names like Neil Armstrong, Lance Armstrong and Louie Armstrong faded into obscurity, buried in the annals of forgotten history. America had a new hero. Joey Chestnut stood tall and proud, the Stars and Stripes draped across his shoulders. He took the microphone, and yelled words that echoed the sentiments of each and every red-blooded, hot-dog eating American; ‘I feel pretty freaking good.”
To Corey and I, a couple of humble (yet proud) Australians, it was just another day. However, from the moment I woke up, I could tell there was something special about this day. There was a peculiar feeling in the air; a feeling of celebration, a feeling of achievement, but most of all, a feeling of independence. Today was a day to sit back and reflect on a time when a nation had the courage to stand on its own two feet and laugh in the face of its English captors. In searching for a place sacred enough to celebrate a day of this magnitude, a few options came to mind; the Washington Monument, Mt Rushmore or maybe even the Lincoln Memorial. Obviously, we chose Coney Island.For those unaware, Coney Island, on the 4th of July, is home to the Nathan’s Famous Fourth of July International Hot Dog Eating Contest. This was my first exposure to the sport of competitive eating. Obviously, every sport has its detractors, and competitive eating is no different. Some people claim it glorifies gluttony, whereas others suggest that it promotes excessive and inhumane consumption of animal products. I ignored these protestors, peddling their narrow-minded and ill-informed propaganda, and settled in to appreciate the spectacle that was about to unfold. Not only is competitive eating an exploration into willpower, determination and the human spirit, but it’s a sport for us all. Who hasn’t, in their time, tested their intestinal fortitude, by cramming in that extra morsel when it seemed impossible, gone back for thirds when seconds was more than enough, or laughed in the face of one whose eating skills paled in comparison to their own? I know I have.
So there I was, crammed in amongst 50,000 passionate fans, jostling for position in the desperate hope of catching a glimpse at even one of the world-class athletes that were assembled before us; the best the world had to offer in the only truly universal sport. However, in a field of worthy contenders, only two men had captured the hearts and minds of the crowd. Takeru Kobayashi, hailing from Japan, had won the last 6 titles, and was considered by many to be the best eater of them all. His only recent defeat was at the hands of an Alaskan Kodiak bear; and while a strong competitor, the bear was noticeably shaken when confronted with the icy stare of this Japanese eating machine. Today, however, was the 4th of July; America’s day. If ever the USA needed a patriot, it was now. This man was Joey Chestnut. Chestnut moved across the stage with an air of confidence, and this confidence quickly spread amongst the crowd, and, via ESPN, throughout a nation. The stage was set, and the atmosphere was thick with anticipation, the aroma of hot dogs, and most of all, a sense of destiny.A hotdog eating competition goes for 12 minutes. For 12 minutes, not a murmur could be heard in a crowd that was 50,000 strong. For 12 minutes, not a breath was taken. Without disrespect to the calibre of athletes present, it was, from the outset, a battle of two men. Within a minute, Chestnut and Kobayashi had each eaten more than 10 hotdogs, with buns. Upon seeing the prowess of these two men; the jaw strength, the finely honed hand-to-mouth coordination and the mental strength to keep eating when it didn’t seem humanly possible, even the staunchest animal-rights protestor was soon converted. Shouts of ‘no more meat’ quickly turned to impassioned cries of ‘eat, Joey, eat!’ For 12 minutes, time seemed to stand still, and a nation dared to hope.
‘5…4…3…2…1!’ The crowd counted down. The scores were tied. The commentator announced that a plate count would be necessary. Both athletes appeared to have eaten 63 hotdogs. On recount, and by virtue of a Kobayashi ‘reversal’ (a competitive eating term used to describe vomiting), the official score of 66 hotdogs for Chestnut and 63 for Kobayashi was announced. The ‘Mustard yellow belt’ was returning home to the shores of Coney Island. One man had carried the hopes and appetites of a nation on his shoulders, and triumphed against the best in the world. Names like Neil Armstrong, Lance Armstrong and Louie Armstrong faded into obscurity, buried in the annals of forgotten history. America had a new hero. Joey Chestnut stood tall and proud, the Stars and Stripes draped across his shoulders. He took the microphone, and yelled words that echoed the sentiments of each and every red-blooded, hot-dog eating American; ‘I feel pretty freaking good.”
The Hawketc Team reunite
22 June to 3rd July: Brooklyn, New York
Without major incident I arrived at a three-story brownstone house in the nicer part of Brooklyn, New York which was to be the home of the Hawketc Team for the next two months. It has been a half hour walk with my pack, an hour and a half subway ride, and a sleepless eight hour flight from Calgary. I always struggle sleeping on planes, especially with such quality movies like ‘Wild Hogs’ and ‘Speed 2’ tempting me to stay awake. But I was finally here. New York, according to the tag line of the David Letterman show, the greatest city in the world.
Hawkins, who had arrived the day before gave me a quick tour of the house and introduced me to our third housemate, who has turned out to be more trouble than you’d think for her small stature, Missi.
I spend the first day sleeping and then checking out a local bar which sells only imported or homebrewed beers that night. Since then, I’m afraid to say, little has happened of note. Hawkins and I joined a gym, discovered a great place for bagels near the gym for a post-workout meal, and studied.
It has been nothing but study since I got here. I suppose with the New York Bar Exam being less than a month away and it being the primary reason for this caper, it makes sense that I should be doing nothing but studying. It is the hardest exam in the world. But I haven’t even seen the Statue of Liberty yet.
A brief break
Last Friday night Hawkins and I decided that a night off from the study was well deserved. We arranged to meet up in SeaPort with a friend of Hawkins and a few of her friends. A few outdoor beers, some music from a local band, the Ra Ra Riots, and the night quickly went down the path of shenanigans.
From SeaPort we went to a pub in the Financial District. The gang had a table reserved, and Ilana, a member of the gang, had a company credit card. Expensive foreign beers and shots followed. I tried to remember the ingredients to the Gladiator shot which I’d had a week earlier at Cowboys in Calgary over three or four rounds. For the record, I didn’t come close – the answer was half a shot of Amaretto, half a shot of Southern Comfort, depth charged into half lemonade half OJ.
From there we hit the karaoke scene. Hawkins and myself dazzled in usual style, putting the Americans to shame with our soulful rendition of Bryan Adam’s Summer of ’69. I made some friends with some locals impressed with my work, and headed home, another successful night on the town.
And then back to the study
Since then, it’s been back to the study. July 4 is coming up, and so Team Hawketc may take the afternoon off to bask in American Patriotism. We’ll have to see.
Without major incident I arrived at a three-story brownstone house in the nicer part of Brooklyn, New York which was to be the home of the Hawketc Team for the next two months. It has been a half hour walk with my pack, an hour and a half subway ride, and a sleepless eight hour flight from Calgary. I always struggle sleeping on planes, especially with such quality movies like ‘Wild Hogs’ and ‘Speed 2’ tempting me to stay awake. But I was finally here. New York, according to the tag line of the David Letterman show, the greatest city in the world.Hawkins, who had arrived the day before gave me a quick tour of the house and introduced me to our third housemate, who has turned out to be more trouble than you’d think for her small stature, Missi.
I spend the first day sleeping and then checking out a local bar which sells only imported or homebrewed beers that night. Since then, I’m afraid to say, little has happened of note. Hawkins and I joined a gym, discovered a great place for bagels near the gym for a post-workout meal, and studied.
It has been nothing but study since I got here. I suppose with the New York Bar Exam being less than a month away and it being the primary reason for this caper, it makes sense that I should be doing nothing but studying. It is the hardest exam in the world. But I haven’t even seen the Statue of Liberty yet.
A brief break
Last Friday night Hawkins and I decided that a night off from the study was well deserved. We arranged to meet up in SeaPort with a friend of Hawkins and a few of her friends. A few outdoor beers, some music from a local band, the Ra Ra Riots, and the night quickly went down the path of shenanigans.
From SeaPort we went to a pub in the Financial District. The gang had a table reserved, and Ilana, a member of the gang, had a company credit card. Expensive foreign beers and shots followed. I tried to remember the ingredients to the Gladiator shot which I’d had a week earlier at Cowboys in Calgary over three or four rounds. For the record, I didn’t come close – the answer was half a shot of Amaretto, half a shot of Southern Comfort, depth charged into half lemonade half OJ.
From there we hit the karaoke scene. Hawkins and myself dazzled in usual style, putting the Americans to shame with our soulful rendition of Bryan Adam’s Summer of ’69. I made some friends with some locals impressed with my work, and headed home, another successful night on the town.And then back to the study
Since then, it’s been back to the study. July 4 is coming up, and so Team Hawketc may take the afternoon off to bask in American Patriotism. We’ll have to see.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Corey visits Calgaria
Day 6 to Day 8 (19 June to 21 June 2007): Calgary, Canada
Calgary I found is a town a lot like Texas. Or more appropriately, a town a lot like what I imagine Texas would be like, as I’ve never been to Texas. It’s a big oil town. Most employees are employed by the oil companies, and most oil companies give their employees Friday off work. There’s also a bit of a cowboy, wild west feel to Calgary. Here, it’s not only acceptable to wear cowboy hats, it’s encouraged. There’s clubs with mechanical bulls, a club called Cowboys which, like Prince Harry, I decided to pay a visit, wide open plains, and of course, Stampede. Stampede is the biggest calendar event of the year in Calgary, and the biggest Rodeo-festival in the world. Unfortunately I was in Calgary a fortnight too early, and so missed out.
In Calgary itself, I didn’t do too much. I took the time to do some study which I had been sorely neglecting, and to catch up on some sleep. I also paid a visit to a gym. I may have mentioned this previously, but the people of Canada on average are of a higher attractiveness standard than most other countries I have been to. I think it might be in part because of the hugeness of their gyms. The gym I visited was out in the suburbs, and was massive, but apparently not as big as some of the other gyms in Calgary. It had swimming pool, an ice skating rink, an indoor running track and two floors of weights and cardio machines. I only spent a short time there, because Yvonne said she was going to pick me up by 3pm, and I didn’t want to upset her again. Last time I was late meeting her somewhere, I was physically beaten. I was a little scared she might do it again. And I had tried to fight back…
Corey visits the wild outlands of Alberta (and some of British Columbia)
Tuesday greeted us with clear blue skies and perfect t-shirt weather. We decided to drive out country out towards Banff, a little ski resort town. I took control of the driving, and with only a few minor incidents while I got use to everyone driving on the wrong side of the road, we arrived relatively unharmed in Banff. After a leisurely beer and an Elk Burger (okay but not great), we set off to Radium, another small town about an hour away in search of more wild animals to eat. On the highway we were lucky enough to see a black bear, wild goats and a flock of deer, but was unlucky not to have even clipped one with the car.
Calgary I found is a town a lot like Texas. Or more appropriately, a town a lot like what I imagine Texas would be like, as I’ve never been to Texas. It’s a big oil town. Most employees are employed by the oil companies, and most oil companies give their employees Friday off work. There’s also a bit of a cowboy, wild west feel to Calgary. Here, it’s not only acceptable to wear cowboy hats, it’s encouraged. There’s clubs with mechanical bulls, a club called Cowboys which, like Prince Harry, I decided to pay a visit, wide open plains, and of course, Stampede. Stampede is the biggest calendar event of the year in Calgary, and the biggest Rodeo-festival in the world. Unfortunately I was in Calgary a fortnight too early, and so missed out.In Calgary itself, I didn’t do too much. I took the time to do some study which I had been sorely neglecting, and to catch up on some sleep. I also paid a visit to a gym. I may have mentioned this previously, but the people of Canada on average are of a higher attractiveness standard than most other countries I have been to. I think it might be in part because of the hugeness of their gyms. The gym I visited was out in the suburbs, and was massive, but apparently not as big as some of the other gyms in Calgary. It had swimming pool, an ice skating rink, an indoor running track and two floors of weights and cardio machines. I only spent a short time there, because Yvonne said she was going to pick me up by 3pm, and I didn’t want to upset her again. Last time I was late meeting her somewhere, I was physically beaten. I was a little scared she might do it again. And I had tried to fight back…
Corey visits the wild outlands of Alberta (and some of British Columbia)
Tuesday greeted us with clear blue skies and perfect t-shirt weather. We decided to drive out country out towards Banff, a little ski resort town. I took control of the driving, and with only a few minor incidents while I got use to everyone driving on the wrong side of the road, we arrived relatively unharmed in Banff. After a leisurely beer and an Elk Burger (okay but not great), we set off to Radium, another small town about an hour away in search of more wild animals to eat. On the highway we were lucky enough to see a black bear, wild goats and a flock of deer, but was unlucky not to have even clipped one with the car.
Radium is more famous for its hot springs than its wild animal burgers, and I had come prepared with boardies and a towel. Yvonne was not so well prepared, and after borrowed a ridiculous blue body condom, we went for a dive with the fat people. There was not one attractive thin person (apart from ourselves of course) swimming in the springs. Quickly losing interest looking at ugly retired Camper Van folk and German tourists, we decided to head back to Banff for a delicious steak, and then head back home the Calgary.
People from New Zealand aren’t from Down Under
Prince Harry, in his role as a British Army Officer, is stationed in Calgary. The week before I arrived, Harry and a few of his army buddies decided to visit a famous Calgarian nightclub by the name of Cowboys. You can check out the full story here: http://www.ctv.ca/servlet/ArticleNews/story/CTVNews/20070614/cowboys_harry_070614/20070614?hub=Entertainment.
Deciding that what’s good enough for British royalty is good enough for me, I let Yvonne force me out to get drunk on a Wednesday night. Wednesday night at Cowboys is ladies night, and so after paying the $20 cover to get in and buying a surprising not too expensive drink for Yvonne (and for myself), Yvonne leaves to check out the male strippers in the ladies only room. Being a little lonely, I make friends with a couple of ridiculous shots, but they quickly disappear. Yvonne finally returns once the ‘Thunder from Down Under’ boys have finished their show, and we check out upstairs. Getting to the top, I’m a little surprised to be greeted by a huge pair of naked breasts bouncing on a catwalk in the middle of the room. Connected to the naked breasts was a naked woman passing out t-shirts and hats. Clubs here are certainly different to those back home. She’s apparently at the end of her show, and we head back down stairs. I head to the toilet, and am accosted by drunken girls on my way out who try violently to make out with me. I consider it, but then see Yvonne staring furiously at me, and quickly brush past. I’m never this lucky when I’m out with the boys.
A girl walks past with Tequila bottles in holsters at her waist, and offers me a shot for the bargain price of $8. Always looking for a good deal, I fork over the cash, and take a shot. Eight dollars gets you more than the shot I realise, as my face is pushed between her breasts. She giggles around a little, and then moves on, looking to spread more of her love around
.
We head up to a bar, and ask the bargirl for some photos. I order another ridiculous drink, a Gladiator, which I think from memory is a Jaeger depth charge into orange juice and redbull. Delicious and healthy.
It turns out the Down Under strippers are drinking at the same bar, and I introduce myself as a fellow Aussie. One of them tells me he’s Kiwi, and I begin to get furious. New Zealanders aren't from Down Under! This is another example of the Kiwis stealing all their famous assets from Aussieland.
Yvonne grabs me by the arm, steering me aside. I grab the Kiwis beer as we go and wander out to the dance floor. I think this makes us even.
We leave after final drinks have been called, and we walk out into a quiet pre-sunrise Calgary street. As I’m ordering a hotdog I’m propositioned for a threesome. But I am very hungry…
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Orange Mocha Frappuccino
Day 5 (18 June 2007): Vancouver to Calgary, Canada
The flight from Vancouver to Yvonne’s home town of Calgary was uneventful, except for one huge event. In the airport getting a coffee at Starbucks, I spied an advertisement for Orange Mochas. Now, we’ve all seen Zoolander and we remember the scene just prior to the tragic gasoline flight accident where his brothers (but we don’t mean actual brothers) and Derek go out for Orange Mocha Frappuccinos, to help Derek sort through his important issues. Since that day I have dreamed of an Orange Mocha Frappuccino, and so with trembling hands, I asked the girl behind the counter if they made them.
It was delicious.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Vancouver: The land of no Summer
Including the incredible story of when I fell 40 metres and survived
Despite all the odds, I have arrived in Canada. I was grilled by the Customs official, who requested to see proof of my onward flights out of Canada. After I said I’m not sure I had any, he started fishing around his rubber glove drawer for an unused set while I hastily found the crumpled web receipt for Calgary to New York I’d printed out as an afterthought. As I handed the bundle to him, I dropped my Canadian Working Visa, which I didn’t want yet activated as it is only valid for one year. Fortunately his eyes were busy looking over my flight details seeking an excuse to not let me in to the country and so it went unnoticed. A few more questions about my intentions in Canada with the friend I was meeting, and I was through. Once again I’d managed to deceive another Customs official.
I’d left the Taiwan adventure boys behind at baggage claim after a few manly hugs, and wandered into the Arrivals lounge. Yvonne, a friend I’d made last year in Greece, was flying in on an earlier flight from Calgary to meet me when I landed. A moment of panic went through me as I looked around the lounge without seeing her. Has she tricked me and was going to leave me to fend for myself in a strange foreign land? Or had I walked right past her and completely forgotten how she looked? I grabbed out the phone and called her number, with no response. It was official, she wasn’t going to meet me. Cursing her, and all her traitorous country folk I saw Anthony wandering over to the bar. He pissed himself when I told him I’d been betrayed, and then got me my first Canadian beer, a pint of Kokanee. It was 9am in Vancouver, we were surprisingly not the only ones in the bar, but we were on Taiwan time, which was 1am the next day. As I sipped a flattish, but pleasant tasting beer, I saw a girl checking her phone matching the vague description I had in my mind of my friend. I gave Yvonne a call on the mobile, and the girl answered. I waved and she came over. My lift had arrived. I no longer hated Canada.
I spent the day eating, drinking and walking around Vancouver. It’s a real pretty place. Nice green gardens and well kept houses, with snow capped mountains on the horizon, all with an ocean view. I later found out that the reason it’s all so green is that it never stops raining, except for a brief period when planes fly in from Taiwan. I also spent the day looking like a had a small mental problem. People didn’t understand what I was saying, I had trouble ordering food as they kept asking me questions about what dressing I wanted, how I wanted my potatoes, and other food options (this was all translated for me by Yvonne), and I kept tipping all wrong. I’d tip too much, then not enough, tip when I wasn’t suppose to (apparently you don’t tip at Starbucks) and then getting in trouble for tipping with change. I’ve decided I’ll just play up the dumb aussie routine until I work it all out.
I’m a fearful man. When there is a large change of death (such as flying - I don’t really believe in it) I get scared. As well as being a fearful man, I believe in facing my fears. Because of all this, I never want to go bungee jumping, but have always wanted to do it and tick it off the list of life. There’s many things on this metaphorical list, but bungee jumping has been right at the top for some time.
Yvonne had scouted out a bungee jump on Vancouver Island, only a half hour walk, hour bus ride and then a two hour ferry ride away. From there, the bungee jump was only another half an hour away. It was going to be an all day trip if we were going to do it. Four hours later I was standing in the rain overlooking a raging river 40 metres below.
Yvonne had wanted to go first. I figured that if the rope was going to break, it was going to break for the first person, so I readily agreed. From when she walked out onto the platform, with the bungee cord around her ankles, it was another 15 minutes until she decided she wouldn’t do it. I’m not sure what happened next, she claims she jumped (more accurately let herself fall off) or whether the operator pushed her, but she was falling, eerily silent towards the water. Her eyes were squeezed tight and she was falling like how I imagine a roll of carpet would fall if it was pushed off a bridge. It was strange to watch. But then the cord snapped tight and she bounced back up. It had worked. I guess I was up next.
The weather didn’t improve while I was in Vancouver. I did some sight seeing, drunk a few drinks and a good time was had. But now, it was time to travel inland.
Day 1 to 4 (14 June to 17 June 2007): Vancouver, Canada
Despite all the odds, I have arrived in Canada. I was grilled by the Customs official, who requested to see proof of my onward flights out of Canada. After I said I’m not sure I had any, he started fishing around his rubber glove drawer for an unused set while I hastily found the crumpled web receipt for Calgary to New York I’d printed out as an afterthought. As I handed the bundle to him, I dropped my Canadian Working Visa, which I didn’t want yet activated as it is only valid for one year. Fortunately his eyes were busy looking over my flight details seeking an excuse to not let me in to the country and so it went unnoticed. A few more questions about my intentions in Canada with the friend I was meeting, and I was through. Once again I’d managed to deceive another Customs official.I’d left the Taiwan adventure boys behind at baggage claim after a few manly hugs, and wandered into the Arrivals lounge. Yvonne, a friend I’d made last year in Greece, was flying in on an earlier flight from Calgary to meet me when I landed. A moment of panic went through me as I looked around the lounge without seeing her. Has she tricked me and was going to leave me to fend for myself in a strange foreign land? Or had I walked right past her and completely forgotten how she looked? I grabbed out the phone and called her number, with no response. It was official, she wasn’t going to meet me. Cursing her, and all her traitorous country folk I saw Anthony wandering over to the bar. He pissed himself when I told him I’d been betrayed, and then got me my first Canadian beer, a pint of Kokanee. It was 9am in Vancouver, we were surprisingly not the only ones in the bar, but we were on Taiwan time, which was 1am the next day. As I sipped a flattish, but pleasant tasting beer, I saw a girl checking her phone matching the vague description I had in my mind of my friend. I gave Yvonne a call on the mobile, and the girl answered. I waved and she came over. My lift had arrived. I no longer hated Canada.
I spent the day eating, drinking and walking around Vancouver. It’s a real pretty place. Nice green gardens and well kept houses, with snow capped mountains on the horizon, all with an ocean view. I later found out that the reason it’s all so green is that it never stops raining, except for a brief period when planes fly in from Taiwan. I also spent the day looking like a had a small mental problem. People didn’t understand what I was saying, I had trouble ordering food as they kept asking me questions about what dressing I wanted, how I wanted my potatoes, and other food options (this was all translated for me by Yvonne), and I kept tipping all wrong. I’d tip too much, then not enough, tip when I wasn’t suppose to (apparently you don’t tip at Starbucks) and then getting in trouble for tipping with change. I’ve decided I’ll just play up the dumb aussie routine until I work it all out.When I fell 40 metres and lived to tell the tale
I’m a fearful man. When there is a large change of death (such as flying - I don’t really believe in it) I get scared. As well as being a fearful man, I believe in facing my fears. Because of all this, I never want to go bungee jumping, but have always wanted to do it and tick it off the list of life. There’s many things on this metaphorical list, but bungee jumping has been right at the top for some time.
Yvonne had scouted out a bungee jump on Vancouver Island, only a half hour walk, hour bus ride and then a two hour ferry ride away. From there, the bungee jump was only another half an hour away. It was going to be an all day trip if we were going to do it. Four hours later I was standing in the rain overlooking a raging river 40 metres below.
Yvonne had wanted to go first. I figured that if the rope was going to break, it was going to break for the first person, so I readily agreed. From when she walked out onto the platform, with the bungee cord around her ankles, it was another 15 minutes until she decided she wouldn’t do it. I’m not sure what happened next, she claims she jumped (more accurately let herself fall off) or whether the operator pushed her, but she was falling, eerily silent towards the water. Her eyes were squeezed tight and she was falling like how I imagine a roll of carpet would fall if it was pushed off a bridge. It was strange to watch. But then the cord snapped tight and she bounced back up. It had worked. I guess I was up next. I had always thought there would be back-up ropes and all kinds of harnesses with bungee jumping. I was wrong. A towel was loosely wrapped around my ankles, and a strap was equally loosely wrapped around. To that was connected the bungee cord. I had waddled my way out to the edge of the platform and looked over the edge. The idea of free falling, with nothing slowing me down until the cord pulled tight scared the shit out of me. The looseness of the strap around my ankles worried me a little. It had loosened up on the walk out, and I felt like my foot could slide out of it. I was about to question the operator about it when he started the countdown.
Three! Two! One! Bungee! Not wanted to look soft I jumped, falling headfirst so I would get the extra length I was told I needed to hit the water before bouncing up. The first 30 metres were fucked. I was the most scared I’d ever been in my life. The cord began to catch. I didn’t hear a snap, and the fear was gone. I splashed down into the water up to my chest before bouncing back up. This was awesome!
After I’d finished my jump, I realized I should have taken off my shirt. I can’t believe I wasted an opportunity! Worse still, I was to be wet and cold for the four hour trip back. But I didn’t care. It was awesome, and it was a BIG tick off my list.
Three! Two! One! Bungee! Not wanted to look soft I jumped, falling headfirst so I would get the extra length I was told I needed to hit the water before bouncing up. The first 30 metres were fucked. I was the most scared I’d ever been in my life. The cord began to catch. I didn’t hear a snap, and the fear was gone. I splashed down into the water up to my chest before bouncing back up. This was awesome!After I’d finished my jump, I realized I should have taken off my shirt. I can’t believe I wasted an opportunity! Worse still, I was to be wet and cold for the four hour trip back. But I didn’t care. It was awesome, and it was a BIG tick off my list.
The weather didn’t improve while I was in Vancouver. I did some sight seeing, drunk a few drinks and a good time was had. But now, it was time to travel inland.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Michael blogs in Korean.
Blogger is in Korean. If you see this blog, you can safely assume that I am now fluent in Korean.
Seoul food; Michael visits Korea.
Well, I won't lie; it's been an adventure. I guess things started at about 3am on Monday morning. In fact, things started about 9 months before that. I won't go into detail (only because I wasn't there), but the upshot of it all is that my niece, Annabelle, was born bright and early, healthy and happy, on Monday morning.
Of course, even without this interruption, my packing schedule was far from organised. I hadn't packed. A few minutes of stuffing all my clothes into a bag later, I was packed. I detoured past the hospital on the way to the airport, met Annabelle, and caught my flight to Sydney.
I had to stay overnight in Sydney. I suppose I had a few options. When I realised that staying with Chris was probably my best free option, I booked a hotel. The Holiday Inn Sydney Airport was my new home...for the next 12 hours. Not being one to pass up a bargain, I chose the hotel package that included a $50 food and drink voucher as well as breakfast. It was tough, but one butter chicken, a side of vegetables and a few Crownies later, I had managed to spend my food voucher.
I woke up at 5am the next morning. I threw as much as I could back into my bag, forgetting only some underwear and an electric razor, and then headed down to the restaurant for 10 minutes of buffet glory. Michael 1, Buffet 0.
One shuttle ride and a very long check-in queue later, I found myself on the plane for Seoul. I was lucky enough to be seated next to a New Zealand bartender named Michael. Rather than introducing himself formally, he jumped right to one of life's big questions: have you ever had a girl, girl guy threesome? I wallowed in failure and excuses for a few minutes, but at least I knew at that point the flight wouldn't be boring. 15 minutes into the flight the hostess came by to ask if we could please quieten down, as we were disturbing some of the (softer) passengers. No problem; we ordered some authentic Korean beer; Budweiser.
10 hours in the plane seemed to fly by. Puns are hilarious. Pretty soon I landed at Incheon International Airport. Of course, at that stage I didn't realise I was still about a 7 hour bus ride into Seoul. Actually, it was only really one hour, but it felt longer. At least it gave me some time to call the Holiday Inn and check-out. Maybe I should have done that about 15 hours earlier?
I called Jenny when I got to Seoul and she came and met me at the bus stop. Jenny has beer and a great apartment; what a good start to the trip! I caught up on the old times (actually, we just talked football) with Jen and then we headed out for some Korean dinner. Delicious. Beer was also served in abnormally (but welcome) large bottles. Jen said that I might have to drink some of her beer; I figured it was the least I could do, since she was letting me stay with her and all. The food really was good, and I ate tastily.
Sightseeing tomorrow, and then I fly to NYC. I still haven't studied.
Of course, even without this interruption, my packing schedule was far from organised. I hadn't packed. A few minutes of stuffing all my clothes into a bag later, I was packed. I detoured past the hospital on the way to the airport, met Annabelle, and caught my flight to Sydney.
I had to stay overnight in Sydney. I suppose I had a few options. When I realised that staying with Chris was probably my best free option, I booked a hotel. The Holiday Inn Sydney Airport was my new home...for the next 12 hours. Not being one to pass up a bargain, I chose the hotel package that included a $50 food and drink voucher as well as breakfast. It was tough, but one butter chicken, a side of vegetables and a few Crownies later, I had managed to spend my food voucher.
I woke up at 5am the next morning. I threw as much as I could back into my bag, forgetting only some underwear and an electric razor, and then headed down to the restaurant for 10 minutes of buffet glory. Michael 1, Buffet 0.
One shuttle ride and a very long check-in queue later, I found myself on the plane for Seoul. I was lucky enough to be seated next to a New Zealand bartender named Michael. Rather than introducing himself formally, he jumped right to one of life's big questions: have you ever had a girl, girl guy threesome? I wallowed in failure and excuses for a few minutes, but at least I knew at that point the flight wouldn't be boring. 15 minutes into the flight the hostess came by to ask if we could please quieten down, as we were disturbing some of the (softer) passengers. No problem; we ordered some authentic Korean beer; Budweiser.
10 hours in the plane seemed to fly by. Puns are hilarious. Pretty soon I landed at Incheon International Airport. Of course, at that stage I didn't realise I was still about a 7 hour bus ride into Seoul. Actually, it was only really one hour, but it felt longer. At least it gave me some time to call the Holiday Inn and check-out. Maybe I should have done that about 15 hours earlier?
I called Jenny when I got to Seoul and she came and met me at the bus stop. Jenny has beer and a great apartment; what a good start to the trip! I caught up on the old times (actually, we just talked football) with Jen and then we headed out for some Korean dinner. Delicious. Beer was also served in abnormally (but welcome) large bottles. Jen said that I might have to drink some of her beer; I figured it was the least I could do, since she was letting me stay with her and all. The food really was good, and I ate tastily.
Sightseeing tomorrow, and then I fly to NYC. I still haven't studied.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Corey desecrates the memories of the dead
Day 0 (13/14 June 2007): Taipei, China
Suffering the effects of jet lag and a few beers, I woke up feeling a little furry – but quickly hardened up with some push-ups and an ice-cold shower. It was 0700 Taipei time, about 5 hours after I went to bed. With the boys from last night, we’d decided to get an early breakfast and head into the city for some sightseeing before jumping back on the plane to Vancouver. Zane had just got out of the shower when I tried to barge into his room unannounced. Apparently being a fearful man, Zane had chained his door, and my attempts to steal his stuff were foiled. He was awake anyway so it probably wouldn’t have worked.We met Paul, the third member of our trio from last night at breakfast. He was chatting to another Aussie travelling alone, Anthony, who was the Einstein-like genius who’d beaten us to the beers last night. He was paying for it though, feeling a little seedy and already struggling with the new day. It didn’t take much convincing for Anthony to join us on our tourist adventure into Taipei, and 10mins later we were all piling into a cab outside of the hotel.
Surprisingly, from when we left the hotel, until we checked in again at the airport, we didn’t get lost at any stage. We had caught a cab, subway, train and bus all with clockwork precision. It was like we had built this outcrop of the legitimate exiled Chinese government.
The first stop of our lightning tour of Taipei was the Longshan Temple. It only took two minutes until we had managed to offend local sensitivities, with Zane and Paul wearing their hats in the temple, and myself foolishly accepting proffered prayer sticks, lighting them, then walking inside a building where they were not meant to go. Fleeing from the old angry women, I found a shrine where I had seen others leave prayer sticks, though only one or two at a time. I quickly shoved the bundle in my hand into the sand at the bottom of the shrine, and retreated to where the other boys were waiting. I figured there was safety in numbers, surely they wouldn’t beat all of us?
The Boys from the flightFeeling very awkward, but definitely appreciating the experience, we journeyed onwards to Taipei 101 – the world’s tallest building. Admittedly, it didn’t look that tall and I was a little disappointed. I think I expected to see the top of the building poking through the clouds, it didn’t occur to me that the sunny cloudless sky would somehow prevent this. We caught the world’s fastest elevator to the top, quickly check it out, took too many photos and then caught the world’s fastest elevator down. My dreams of somehow picking up and joining the half-mile high club going unfulfilled.
It turns out that Australia doesn’t have an embassy in Taiwan. According to the Australian Government official we met on the bus back to the airport, Australia, just like the United Nations, doesn’t recognise the independent sovereignty of Taiwan. I had always thought that Australia took the same stance as the International Olympic Committee, that the legitimate government of China had been overthrown by Communists, and that one day they would retake the mainland. Apparently this view changed way back in the ‘70’s, well before I was born. I think that primary school history books in suburban Adelaide may been a little outdated.Waiting at the airport, we decided to sample a few of the local Taiwanese beers, as we’d been drinking only Japanese beers since we arrived. This put me in the mood for a few more drinks, and upon boarding the plane, I decided to become as drunk as possible, as quickly as possible. I’d never been drunk on a plane before, and I thought this was the chance. I wasn’t going to let the old sick woman and her pleasant and helpful older daughter sitting in my row between my window seat and the toilet stop me from my dream.
Two hours later I had passed out in seat having consumed three scotch and cokes (no matter how many times I asked for bourbon, they kept bringing me scotch without correcting me once), five or six beers and a couple of glasses of wine. This isn’t a bad effort for only two hours, with the whim of the flight attendants dictating the regularity of my drinking, but passing out was unusual – I’m sure a result of being forty thousand feet up.
Waking up after a couple hours of a peaceful nap, I realized I had a hangover. I stumbled past the old woman and her daughter and had some quiet alone time to myself in the bathroom.
Deciding wisely to refrain from alcohol for the rest of the trip, the remainder of the flight passed without major incident. I chatted to the daughter beside me about my dreams of passing the New York Bar Exam, and how I was disappointed with my confusion with Thai lady boys only being in Thailand. After what seemed like a fifteen hour flight, the captain came over the intercom, “Passengers and crew please be seated, we’re expecting extreme turbulence on our approach into Vancouver”.
Corey leaves Australia
“This is a sad day, my fellow Australians, for today we have lost a great son”.
- John Howard, Prime Minister of Australia, in his goodbye speech for Corey Hawke, Sydney Airport, Australia, 13 June 2007
Day 0 (13 June 2007): Sydney Airport, Australia
I’d checked in with China Airlines by about 0930. One bag of what had been my last 26 years in Australia, reduced down to only 18kgs, including eight text books for the New York Bar Exam. This was it. I’d left behind a few boxes of odds and ends at home, but if I were never to see them again, I wouldn’t be devastated.
In some respects it’s a little sad. I’d said goodbye to my friends, to all those sentimental pieces of memorabilia I’d held on to all these years, as well as thousands of dollars of what now look like foolish clothing decisions. Twenty six years, and all I have to show for it is a few thousand dollars of drinking money, one rucksack, and a ticket to the United States of America.
Ironically, I didn’t even actually have that. Half an hour after checking in I arrived at my gate, with not a ticket to the United States, but a ticket to the always sunny city of Vancouver, Canada.
Arriving at the gate, I quickly scanned the empty seats for a place next to any single looking attractive females, failing that, any unattached females. My cursory glance proved to be a waste of my eyes, and I quickly strolled over to sit in one of the few spare seats between a couple of guys. The guy to my left quickly glanced away, intimidated by the imposing figure I made in a t-shirt, cargoes and thongs on this cold winter day in Sydney. The guy to my right, sporting a ‘I live in a university dorm’ beard and a hat that hid his gloriously disheveled hair gave me a friendly nod G’day. We started up a conversation. It turned out Zane, as the young lad shortly became known, was also going to Vancouver to meet his girlfriend who he hadn’t seen for over six months. She was a Canadian who had been over the previous summer on exchange. I didn’t have the heart to tell him then that whilst he had been faithfully counting the days to their reunion, she had been boning as many Australians (because isn’t that what even Canadian chick wants to do?) that had made the journey to her fair country, in addition to the usual college shenanigans with the locals.
The flight to Vancouver was stopping overnight in Taipei, China (or as some separatists may refer to it: Taiwan). Zane was keen to join me for a quiet snifter of brandy in the bar upon landing in Taipei, and then check out some of the tourist sites the next day, so we agreed to meet up at the hotel China Airlines was putting us up in. It turned out such planning was unnecessary, as we ran into each other again almost instantly upon disembarking from the plane.
As a short side note, I had successfully requested an exit row seat for the flight to Taipei. Advantages: the flight attendant who sat opposite on take off and landing was very attractive with a short skirt, I got to put my feet up on part of the emergency exit door, and I could get up without disturbing the surly quiet old guy sitting next to me. Disadvantages: I was seated next to a quiet old guy who was impressively surly, I couldn’t stretch my legs out properly without resting them on the emergency exit door, and the flight attendant who sat opposite on take off and landing kept looking at me funny.
The bus ride to the hotel was interesting. It was night, so I couldn’t see much of the landscape, but I could certainly hear it as the bus clipped low lying branches and bottomed out on the sharp corners as we made out way into the mountain side. Some of the softer people on the bus fearfully exclaimed that they’d have rather stayed all night in the airport then risk the bus ride up the goat path to our hotel. I had always thought that Taipei would be more modern, but my first impressions were not quite living up to what I had imagined.
After a quick shower, I changed back into the clothes I’d been wearing on the plane for the last 12 sweaty hours. I’d foolishly checked all my luggage into Vancouver and was stuck with what I had – not taking shoes was going to potentially limit my going out options later in the evening. I met Zane in his room next door and raided his bar fridge for beer. It turned out that the beers were about US$2 each, a bargain for a hotel mini-bar. When he was finally ready, we journeyed out in search of the hotel bar. Alas, there was none to be found. Deciding to harass the reception staff, we found out that the nearest pub was a half hour taxi away, and that all but three of the spare mini-bar beers had been already snapped up by some cleverer and more beer dedicated Aussies. Running into another Aussie who was on the same grand quest as ourselves, we grabbed the last remaining beers, and got the reception staff to open up the pool room – where I gave the other guys a free lesson in how to play pool.
- John Howard, Prime Minister of Australia, in his goodbye speech for Corey Hawke, Sydney Airport, Australia, 13 June 2007
Day 0 (13 June 2007): Sydney Airport, Australia
I’d checked in with China Airlines by about 0930. One bag of what had been my last 26 years in Australia, reduced down to only 18kgs, including eight text books for the New York Bar Exam. This was it. I’d left behind a few boxes of odds and ends at home, but if I were never to see them again, I wouldn’t be devastated.
In some respects it’s a little sad. I’d said goodbye to my friends, to all those sentimental pieces of memorabilia I’d held on to all these years, as well as thousands of dollars of what now look like foolish clothing decisions. Twenty six years, and all I have to show for it is a few thousand dollars of drinking money, one rucksack, and a ticket to the United States of America.
Ironically, I didn’t even actually have that. Half an hour after checking in I arrived at my gate, with not a ticket to the United States, but a ticket to the always sunny city of Vancouver, Canada.
Arriving at the gate, I quickly scanned the empty seats for a place next to any single looking attractive females, failing that, any unattached females. My cursory glance proved to be a waste of my eyes, and I quickly strolled over to sit in one of the few spare seats between a couple of guys. The guy to my left quickly glanced away, intimidated by the imposing figure I made in a t-shirt, cargoes and thongs on this cold winter day in Sydney. The guy to my right, sporting a ‘I live in a university dorm’ beard and a hat that hid his gloriously disheveled hair gave me a friendly nod G’day. We started up a conversation. It turned out Zane, as the young lad shortly became known, was also going to Vancouver to meet his girlfriend who he hadn’t seen for over six months. She was a Canadian who had been over the previous summer on exchange. I didn’t have the heart to tell him then that whilst he had been faithfully counting the days to their reunion, she had been boning as many Australians (because isn’t that what even Canadian chick wants to do?) that had made the journey to her fair country, in addition to the usual college shenanigans with the locals.
The flight to Vancouver was stopping overnight in Taipei, China (or as some separatists may refer to it: Taiwan). Zane was keen to join me for a quiet snifter of brandy in the bar upon landing in Taipei, and then check out some of the tourist sites the next day, so we agreed to meet up at the hotel China Airlines was putting us up in. It turned out such planning was unnecessary, as we ran into each other again almost instantly upon disembarking from the plane.
As a short side note, I had successfully requested an exit row seat for the flight to Taipei. Advantages: the flight attendant who sat opposite on take off and landing was very attractive with a short skirt, I got to put my feet up on part of the emergency exit door, and I could get up without disturbing the surly quiet old guy sitting next to me. Disadvantages: I was seated next to a quiet old guy who was impressively surly, I couldn’t stretch my legs out properly without resting them on the emergency exit door, and the flight attendant who sat opposite on take off and landing kept looking at me funny.
The bus ride to the hotel was interesting. It was night, so I couldn’t see much of the landscape, but I could certainly hear it as the bus clipped low lying branches and bottomed out on the sharp corners as we made out way into the mountain side. Some of the softer people on the bus fearfully exclaimed that they’d have rather stayed all night in the airport then risk the bus ride up the goat path to our hotel. I had always thought that Taipei would be more modern, but my first impressions were not quite living up to what I had imagined.
After a quick shower, I changed back into the clothes I’d been wearing on the plane for the last 12 sweaty hours. I’d foolishly checked all my luggage into Vancouver and was stuck with what I had – not taking shoes was going to potentially limit my going out options later in the evening. I met Zane in his room next door and raided his bar fridge for beer. It turned out that the beers were about US$2 each, a bargain for a hotel mini-bar. When he was finally ready, we journeyed out in search of the hotel bar. Alas, there was none to be found. Deciding to harass the reception staff, we found out that the nearest pub was a half hour taxi away, and that all but three of the spare mini-bar beers had been already snapped up by some cleverer and more beer dedicated Aussies. Running into another Aussie who was on the same grand quest as ourselves, we grabbed the last remaining beers, and got the reception staff to open up the pool room – where I gave the other guys a free lesson in how to play pool.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
One small week for man...
A lot can happen in a week. Right now, I'm sitting at my desk on a drab winter's day in a bland Government office, eating muesli bars and wishing the time away. In a weeks time, muesli will give way to granola, winter will make way for summer, and I will leave this office for the shores of the USA and a life filled with adventure.
Of course, it's not all great news. I expect that a good deal of the next month will be spent studying. People from all around the world head to New York each year, and they all have a dream. Their dream is to pass the NY bar exam. My dream is no different to theirs. Only 35% of non-American educated law students will suceed in this dream. The remaining 65% will leave the USA, having traded their dignity for a tale of unrewarded hard work. Statistically, for every one international student who passes, two must fail. I hope that Corey and I can dance triumphantly in the state of NY, but we'll be dancing to the sombre beat of the shattered dreams of 4 others who were simply not good enough.
So, back to here and now. I've quit my job, sold my car, given away anything that won't fit in my backpack (goodbye computer, Plasma TV and ANU gym membership), and now, I wait. In 9 days, I'll step out of a battered, yellow cab, ignore the fact that the driver just ripped me off, and stroll into my temporary home in the leafy Brooklyn suburb of Park Slope. I will be without expectation, but filled with hope. Thus will begin the exaggerated adventures of Hawkins and Corey.
Of course, it's not all great news. I expect that a good deal of the next month will be spent studying. People from all around the world head to New York each year, and they all have a dream. Their dream is to pass the NY bar exam. My dream is no different to theirs. Only 35% of non-American educated law students will suceed in this dream. The remaining 65% will leave the USA, having traded their dignity for a tale of unrewarded hard work. Statistically, for every one international student who passes, two must fail. I hope that Corey and I can dance triumphantly in the state of NY, but we'll be dancing to the sombre beat of the shattered dreams of 4 others who were simply not good enough.
So, back to here and now. I've quit my job, sold my car, given away anything that won't fit in my backpack (goodbye computer, Plasma TV and ANU gym membership), and now, I wait. In 9 days, I'll step out of a battered, yellow cab, ignore the fact that the driver just ripped me off, and stroll into my temporary home in the leafy Brooklyn suburb of Park Slope. I will be without expectation, but filled with hope. Thus will begin the exaggerated adventures of Hawkins and Corey.
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