Any Excuse for Duty-Free Vodka

My trusty North Face backpack sat next to the front door, ready for another adventure. Though I've only owned it for about a year, there is a certain attachment that you begin to develop towards it. Your backpack is basically the roof over your head when you are out on the road. It holds every possession you have with you, keeps them dry when the rain won't stop, and wraps tightly around your shoulders and waist each and every time you head off to your next destination. The sight of it, knowing my trusty old travelin' sneakers were inside, brought a familiar smile to my face. It's the feeling that only comes from anticipation and excitement for the sight of a new place on this planet. There is just something about the fact that you have lived your entire life having never laid eyes on a particular place, that is really the ultimate thrill when you realize it's about to become a reality.

I ran through the mental checklist to make sure I had it all. Over time, this checklist has easier and easier as you bring less and less. It's basically, do I have 2 changes of clothes and some sunglasses? A copy of Alex Garland's The Beach and Jack Kerouac's The Lonesome Traveler sit at the top of the bag, ready to come along. I consider that maybe I shouldn't have packed for a three week trip in twenty minutes the night before, slightly intoxicated and rushing to finish so I can meet all my friends at the bar to watch my future ex-husband Roger Federer win another Australian Open title. But there is no time, beause 7:00am has come and gone, and I should have been in a cab 5 minutes ago. Out the door and before I can jump in the cab I know my contacts case is still on the sink but who can think about contacts when I've got a plane to catch. Eleven of them, in fact. In three weeks. Ambitious, but neccessary if I am going to experience as much of Southeast Asia as possible on my first trek into the region.

I suppose I could bore you with the real story, which is that we first flew into the Gold Coast of Australia and spent the night, but suffice it to say that it looks so much like the beaches I already live at, I didn't even feel the need to take a picture. It also has a sprinkling of the most second-rate food I've ever seen in Australia, and unless you are looking to become a pro-surfer, you're better off in Sydney. But that aside, the next morning we are on a plane to the capital of Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur, or simply "KL" to anyone hip, fashionable or under 40. And as soon as we begin landing, it's full on Southeast Asia with nothing but green in sight for as far as the eyes can see. As we later learned, Malaysia is a massive exporter of palm oil, so much of it is covered in palm tree plantations. It reminds me of the Berkshires back in America, its just that every single tree in the forest is a palm tree.


 And then you exit the plane, and it hits you. It's the curtain of humidity that makes sure every inch of fabric you are wearing is glued to your body as soon as you step out. Ahhh..... But it's only to be expected really, and an hour later, we are buzzing through KL on our way to the hostel. A modern and westernized city, KL really does pack the punch it takes to be the second most popular capital in Southeast Asia. It's malls are full of all the Louis Vuitton, Marc Jacobs or Hermes you could ever ask for, and Kentucky Fried Chicken is open 24 hours a day. And yet Kuala Lumpur has somehow not lost its true nature. It is a city of distinct cultures, each of whose strong influences have created a fascinating array of Malay, Chinese and Indian values that blend together into something that is uniquely Kuala Lumpur.

Food hawker stalls reign supreme, and if you are too skiddish to dive straight into them, you might as well have stayed at home at watched the latest Anthony Bourdain special on the television. The smell of a food hawker street is unlike any other, as the jumbled chaos of restaurants, shacks, tarp covered tables, carts on wheels, carts without wheels, single grills and indeed even baskets on the front of bicycles all unite together to offer you the most eclectic mix of food options I have ever encountered. Hot clay pots filled with rice and any variety of leafy greens or pungent vegetables. Skewers of bird eggs and chicken hearts beside boiling pots of steamy water, ready to be cooked to your desired taste. Fish head stew, which is exactly as it sounds, a watery soup with the head of a fish floating inside. Banana leaved curries, so spicy your eyes water just from inhaling them. And we're only 5 spots into a sea of hundreds. And each passing stall comes with its own varied sophistication level of marketing. From the single Cantonese man yelling from behind his table for you to buy his toads, which sit, still alive in a tub of water inside a cage, ready to be fried, to the restaurant with the young Malay girl holding menus asks in very broken English,

"If Hungry Can Eat For The Good Chicken Here!"

No matter the PR scheme they use, they all make a living, in the daily grind of Kuala Lumpur, and the street scene buzzes until long after the sun has gone down, and the lights of the Petronas Towers sprakle like magical stairs crawling up to the sky itself. A real sign of just how modern KL has become, from the skybridge towards the top of the towers, you can lookout on KL, shanty apartments thrity stories tall, each made of the thinnest of sheet metal, clearly ready to blow over at the slightest wind, and yet, like Malaysia itself, they are standing exactly where they are, ready to make their mark on the Asian world.

One morning, I managed to wake up a bit early and head down for a bit of breakfast in my hostel's courtyard, and found myself at a table with Sophie, the manager of the Red Palm where we were staying, and two more of the hostel's helpers. They were intrigued by an American in Malaysia, and I, as equally interested in their lives in Kuala Lumpur. Interestingly, they shared with me some current event stories of their problems with immigration. Apparently, Indonesian maids were trying to illegally sneak into Malaysia with tourist visas and then stay on permanently to work, and Malaysians were struggling to deal with the increase in population, particularly with the language barrier. It reminded me of stories of Mexicans struggling to deal with the increase in Guatamalans who were sneaking over the border into Mexico and are willing to work for so much less than they were. To continue the story further, Guatalmalans of couse have the same problem with Nicaraguans, and Indonesians as I later learned when visiting, have the same problem with Sri Lankans. It is a constant reminder that for no other reason than the place where you are born, the world is an ever competitive place, with so many cultures struggling to bring themselves one rung further on the ladder. So many Americans of course have no concept of what this must be like, as they have for no other reason than where they were born, been given every opportunity and happened to end up at the top of the ladder from the start. I felt lucky not to be an American, but to have the opportunity to visit another country, and to have this level of exchange. At the end of breakfast and almost two hours of talking, we parted as people who had a deeper understanding of the daily lives of the other, and we all felt fulfilled for having had the experience.

Never one to stay in one place for too long, the girls and I ventured out of the city, deeper into Malaysia, with our trusted tour guide, Simon, by our side.

"We go Royal Selangor first"

he said to us, as we watched KL dissapear into the rearview mirror. Before we had too much time to wonder quite what Royal Selangor could be, we were pulling into what was clearly a factory, and a friendly man greeted us with Vistors stickers and into the door we went. As it turns out, Royal Selangor is the world's largest producer of pewter, and here we were at its headquarters. We got the chance to watch pewter being produced and turned into Selangor products, and each step of the way, we got to meet the very people who have been making it happen for years. This is only interesting because it happens to be a moment like so many when you travel. It's that very moment when you are watching a 55 year old Malay woman hammer dot patterns into a pewter tumbler when you think- what in the hell am I doing here? And then you smile and let yourself get carried away by an experience you never even thought about having, and you realize that you are geniunelylearing about what someone else's daily life is like. All said and done, I bought a pewter and wood necklace, we all got a picture by the world's largest beer stein (made of pewter of course), and we were back in the car with Simon before we ever had the time to wonder how we ended up at a pewter factory. But you just sit back and let it happen.

"We stop now for break"

said Simon, about half an hour later. A break didnt seem entirely neccessary to us, having been in the car for only about an hour total, but he promised us a strong cup of coffee and who were we to stop this man who clearly felt we needed a break. Malay coffee is made with condensed, sweetened milk, which means it is safe to drink but ends up tasting more like a liquid candy bar than an actual cup of coffee. Luckily for me, I like candy bars as much as coffee, so all was well in my stomach as we boarded the car and headed for Monkey Hill, where we were to encounter more monkeys than I have ever had access too. As we drive up the hill and exit the car, two very distinct things come to mind. First and foremost, the strange culure of people selling packages of long string beans and bags of peanuts, each with stuffed tigers by their side. And secondly, a memory of Alison telling me a story of her trip to the travel doctor about a month before...

"he said, well, you don't need rabies vacations, I mean, it's not like your going to be, I don't know, in the jungle touching monkeys or anything..."

But nontheless, five minutes later I was shelling out 4 Malaysian Ringitts (about $1.30 US) to a man who told me in no uncertain terms,

"Peanuts are very good food for monkey."

Not one to argue with an expert, we took our peanuts over to the monkeys and we were mobbed on site, by monkeys who will jumpon your shoulders, climb up your clothes, and do whatever it takes to get to the food supply. I learned many things about monkeys on this day. First, monkeys are probably the cutest things roaming the earth. Second, monkeys are vicious and will attack each other over a simple peaunt. Third, monkeys have the shrillest voices on earth, and listening to them communicate can induce a migrain. Fourth, peanuts are indeed very good food for monkeys, however, peanuts have been known to give monkeys gas, and you will pay for it dearly about thirty seconds after you feed them. And finally, and most importantly, if you ever want to get into the business of selling "very good food for monkeys", monkeys are utterly terrified of tigers, and one stuffed tiger by your side will keep them far away from you, and free you up to sell your wares without fear of the monkeys stealing your food supply. We are never too old to keep learning my friends.

Monkey see, Monkey do, and we'd had enough monkeys for a day and ventured onward to a Malaysian fishing village where more culinary delights were about to head our way. A fishing village in Malaysia is timeless. Woven baskets used for thousands of years are still the primary form of transporting fish on and off the boat. Boats are loaded with buckets, nets, and poles, no more sophisicated than Huckleberry Finn may have used on his beloved Mississippi River. Days start well before sunrise and draw to a close just before the sun sets over the water. On this particular evening, we arrived the the Cantonese, family-style restaurant just as the days catch was coming in. A charming restaurant literally on the water, held up by aged timbers, we were shown to our table as Simon, fluent in both Malay and Chinese, went to the counter to order our food. Ready for a bathroom break, I snuck away, and encountered my very first non-Western toilet. Over the course of three weeks, I learned the art of adapation in its purest form, but on this evening, I took a deep breath as I realized that the toilet was a bowl set into the floor, on ground level, and that where toilet paper might usually be hanging, a hose with a sprinkler nozzle. Where you might usually find a knob or lever to flush a toilet, a bucket of water with a cup floating inside. Joy. Logistically, I wonder how elderly Asian people manage with no actual place to sit when using the bathroom. I mean, it's hard on the knees! Needless to say, I accomplished what I sat out to do, and told myself I was better for it.

When I returned, a boat was coming in, and we were privy to the "weighing in". Reed woven baskets holding fish are brought in from the boat, and placed on a scale, where an old man with a pad and paper takes their weight, writes it down, and calls for the next basket. At the end, there appears to be a bargaining period, where both parties settle on a price, shake hands, and the deal is done. Of course, none of this takes place in English so I can't be certain of all the details, but I get the basic gist. Suddenly, the largest fish I have ever seen is hauled off the boat by two men, one carrying the front and the other its behind. I can tell you that the fish appeared to weigh 64 KG according to the scale, and thats about 135 pounds. Impressive. Simon goes over to speak to the fisherman, and then returns to tell us that he has chosen some fish from the basket, and that in addition to all the rest that he has ordered, the restaurant will also be cooking these fish and bringing them to our table. What a treat! Fish so fresh its barely had time to stop breathing. When the team of three waitresses bring over our spread, my eyes go wide as our entire table fills to completion. There is the best fried rice I have ever tasted, Cantonese noodles with vegetables, two dishes of buttered cabbage and carrots, spicy prawns, a well season fried crab, a garlic and pepper chicken, dumpings, and several whole fish covered with garnish. As the sun set over the water, I sat in my chair trying to take it all in. Long after the girls and I had been filled to the brim, Simon continued to insist that we eat more and more. I was just thankful I knew how to use chopsticks, as a fork was certainly not something the restaurant had available. After eating nearly the entire table, tablecloth included, we said our thank yous and goodbyes, which Simon translated on our behalf, and toddled to the car, ready for one more stop on our trip before heading the hours back into Kuala Lumpur.

The sky was a black as I'd ever seen, with a sea of stars resting within it as we pulled into Firefly National Park, our last stop for the day. As we covered ourselves in bug repellant and fitted our life jackets, we crept quietly into our longtail boat, barely visable in the low light beaming from two hanging lanterns. A wonder of nature, Firefly National Park is seperated by a river, with a unqiue breed of bushes which are home to more than 100,000 fireflies. At night, they all light up in a synchronized fashion, rivaling any holiday light display that Manhattan has ever tried to produce. For the next half an our, we floated gently amongst them, quietly refelecting on the day and our time in Malaysia. Here, so far from our homes in DC, where the cars honk and people rush down the street, from our beloved Bondi beach in Sydney where the gigantic waves crash against the shore, far from our summers in the cabins of Kamp Kohut in Oxford, Maine, here, in this boat, we sat, and the world was at peace. Tomorrow we would be on a plane to Indonesia, for new adventures, new food, new languages, and a new page in the history of our lives. But on this night, as the slow, calm water let us drift amongst the serene beauty of nature, our hearts could want for nothing more. Today, wherever you are and your life takes, you, I hope that you have found something beautiful enough to leave you speechless, for there are, in every sense- no words for it.

Until next time,

keep smilin'

xxxxx

Josh

The big, crisp blue sky that stretches on forever, as comforting and encompassing as a soft down comforter that you roll into, in your favorite sweat pants after a long, hard day at the office. The sound of “I’m Still Standing” by Elton John, or ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart”, resonating through speakers and broadcasting their tunes to the one or two cars we pass in the course of fifteen minutes, as exciting and classic as the first taste of General Tso’s chicken delivered to your door when the bitch on the phone who you had to accommodate has sucked out every ounce of energy you have, and take-out is your last, bittersweet resort. The view of the ocean, crashing with waves and foam over aging rock formations, cracking and retreating, like something from vacation advertisement, as daunting and unfathomable as a revolving list of to-dos for a workload that never seems to get smaller, no matter how many early mornings, late evenings, and depressing Saturdays you cash in to make it happen. The sweet, clean air, that cools your tanning skin, as soothing and necessary as that first cup of coffee that touches your lips and races down your throat to perk up your under-eye bags enough to guide you through the 9:00 am meeting that has been on your calendar for more than two weeks but hasn’t been given a minute of thought until now, 8:57 on your way to the board room. The feeling, huddled around friends, as the BBQ sizzles and chicken and sausages and onions and tomatoes provide a teasing scent that forecast a dinner as tasty as that time three weeks ago when, on a rare Sunday afternoon, your social calendar opened up long enough for you to have brunch with a dear friend, even though you really are too tired to attend.

But here in Australia, on this beautiful island, so very far from the world I once lived in, with a hidden treasure waiting in a private cove or stunning beach, just around the next corner, I have traded. I have traded all the stress, responsibilities and realities of adult life, and in exchange, I have been given back my life. Midnight to midnight, with all the time I never seem to have before, to do all the things that one can do when the gift of freedom has been granted. It’s curling up to read a good book. It’s spending the entire day window shopping and having coffee and discussing your dreams with a best friend. It’s drinking wine and sharing laughs, or opening the sunroof and letting the sun and the air join you inside. It’s a tender phone call to an old friend. It is all of these and countless others that keep a traveller going. The spirit of adventure and new. Clueless to how, but nearly certain that the next day will leave you so pleasantly tired that your head hits the pillow and sweet dreams of tomorrow and the next fill your tired and satisfied mind.

Everything I was ever told about growing up, and everything I learned to be true about adult life has disappeared, and I am free. Free to live. Free to love. Free to be.

Two weeks ago, had you walked in our kitchen, you would have gotten quite a laugh at the scene unfolding before you. As far as the eye could see, fresh, juicy fruit was piling up on two big serving platters, as my friend Kristian and I peeled, sliced and diced. In Sydney, we’re spoiled for many things, and fresh produce is near the top of the list. After about half an hour of work, fresh mangoes, passion fruit, cherries, white peaches, pink lady apples, fijian limes, white nectarines, mandarin oranges, lemons, strawberries and watermelon had all been prepped and laid out, ready for their work ahead. Carefully, we piled selections of each fruit into a clear pitcher and filled it to the top with White Shiraz. A work of art to say the least, it headed right into the fridge to begin the processing of infusing, as we created some of the best Sangria I have ever tasted. The medley of fruits, each soaking in wine, could have sang us to sleep, as we spent the afternoon relaxing, having a drink and reflecting on good times. What would have been considered wasting a day off at a different time in my life was just another day at our Bondi Beach apartment.

Because we can’t take many more things in the suitcases that hold all of our worldly possessions, we can rarely go shopping and even more rarely, purchase something. Of course this is difficult for Mary and I, who would easily say that shopping is our favorite hobby. There is still one frontier, however, that we can travel through and feel no feeling of guilt, and that is the grocery store. Everybody’s gotta eat, even travellers. I sometimes say this to co-workers and others when they ask me how Mary and I always seem to find so many good deals. “We’ve got more time than money.” And a few days ago, we managed to do something we hadn’t done in a very long time..... Harvest Discount Meat. You know the kind. It’s at the grocery store, has been there for a couple of days, has been reduced for quick sale, and if purchased, must be used in the next couple of days or put in the freezer. True to our phrase, we cashed in some of that extra time, and took our reuseable cloth grocery bags and visited six grocery stores in one afternoon. Each stop was the same. Walk in, zero in on target, aka meat section. Look left, look right, slowly approach target. Casually and nonchalantly browse like normal shopper. Move eyes carefully down each row. Pork chops, pork chops, pork chops, pork ch- BINGO. Pork Chops. 0.56 kilograms. Was $8.62. Reduced. $3.96. And then, with the speed of light or faster, my right hand scoops up the package so fast that the older lady next to me doesn’t have time to miss it. Then, sit back and watch as the next shopper picks up pork chops. $8.62. Ha. And then you can smell it. No, no, not raw meat. Sweet, sweet victory. And then its on to chicken.

Needless to say, before the day was over, we managed to haul in 37 packages of meat, some of which were purchased for an astonishing $0.67. Which is doubly impressive because Sydney is far more expensive than Washington DC or Manhattan. But saving money when travelling is important. In fact, its everything. Your livelihood is based on your ability to stretch each dollar, and in turn, stretch your experience another day longer. I’ve been away for nearly 4 months, and in just over a month I am going on one of the longest single trips of my life, to 4 countries over 11 flights and 21 days. And that money I saved on meat is going to buy me a lot in Thailand. Besides, its summer in Sydney, and BBQing is as natural as waking up in the morning.

Yesterday, I had one of those days where if you tried to change any part of it, you really wouldn’t. Not one detail. Ellesse, Jamie, Kristian and I piled into a car and took a road trip up the northern coast to a place called Palm Beach. It started with our typical “leave the home” routine. Pack a towel, sunscreen, bottle of water, sunglasses, paperback novel, mp3 player and camera into a bag. I’ve now done it so many times that its hard to remember life before going to the beach all the time. Once loaded, we jumped in the car and with the wind at our backs, strolled along through what was easily one of the top 3 views I’ve ever seen on a road trip. With each twist and turn, there it was. Another snapshot that you’ve seen in Travel Leisure magazine enticing you to make it your destination for your once yearly vacation. When we arrived at Palm Beach, the water was as inviting as I have ever experienced, with soft white-capped foam swirling back and forth, lapping onto orange sand. By the end of the day, we’d finished two bags of candy on the way back, and headed to another one of our local beaches, Bronte, for a BBQ before heading back to the apartment and falling to sleep by 10:00 pm. All in all, just another day in Oz.

This week, as you are all rushing and bustling to finish your holiday shopping and board a plane to wherever this holiday season takes you, take a step back and remember that your life is your own, and you can make of it whatever your heart can dream. Dreams are the inexpensive, cost-free treasures we are able to unearth each and every time we give ourselves the chance to do so. Here’s hoping your dreams this holiday season are waiting just around the bend.

Until next time,

Keep smilin-

XOXOXO

Josh

Nearly 3 months. A quarter of a year. It's so much time, and in the grand scheme, none at all. It's 12 weeks, it's 90 days. It's rainy days and sunny days and birthdays and holidays and through it all, here in Australia, there has been no cool side of the pillow. You know the one I'm talking about. Fifteen minutes into trying to sleep, you flip your pillow over and instantly your face is met with the cool and soothing sensation of the cool side if the pillow. For the past 2,160 hours of my life, I have been robbed of this, a tiny and seemingly insignifcant part of a daily routine. Hardly ever even discussed, never thought I'd miss it, and yet, today, the day before America's Thangkgiving, it is one of so many little things that you can't possibly prepare yourself to live without on your journey around the world.

And it is easy to feel on the other side of the world when I walk by a department store with a Christmas tree in the window next to a model in a bikini. Fitting, I suppose, as the past few days have graced us with Sydney's hottest November since 1982, with temperatures in the mid 90's every day. The calendar says December is just around the corner, meaning summer officially begins in a week, and I find myself trying to mesh together two different worlds under one roof. It's suprising how complacent you become around the traditions you have established for yourself, and how much you actually miss them when they aren't around.

On October 31st, America's Halloween, a particually warm day here, I found myself longing, if only for a moment, for the commercialized frenzy of a Target store, loaded to the brim with candy corn, witches hats, sad intrepretations of Dorothy costumes, overpiced vinyl booty shorts paired with plastic handcuffs masqerading as a "sexy cop", where the less the fabric, the greater the price, and a cool October breeze signalling the close of fall and the transition into winter. I spent Halloween in board shorts, laying on the beach, drinking wine and applying suntan lotion. No witches hat. No candy corn. It was a great day, really, but when you look back, theres a bit of 2009 missing without the Halloween-Hullabaloo.

I didn't need a full Halloween, just 10 minutes in Target and I'd have had my fill. But that couldn't happen, and such is the way of the life of a traveller. Making new traditions without forgetting the old ones.

You'll be happy to know that our Christmas tree is up, decorated to the nines in red and gold, and that we put it together with mulled wine on the stove, flavoring the house with cinnamon and citrus. Nothing brings me back home faster than the first three notes of Mariah Carey belting out the intro to All I Want for Christmas is You, and as she sang and we all put our stockings on display, it was almost like Sydney could be any city from my youth. Except, of course, for the platter of sushi rolls and sashimi we downed before starting, and the 85 degree weather which in our air-conditionless apartment meant we were all wearing tank tops, tshirts or shorts.

But that is one of the many things that you learn out here, thousands of miles from your comfort zone. Sharing your days with people you love is really the only gift you need. We are so lucky to be here, enjoying sun-drenched days on a white sand beach, no matter how much we still like listening to Michael Buble's White Christmas. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day, and despite it all, we are making our best attempt to recreate it. Sure, it will be chicken instead of turkey as they aren't readily avaliable, and the pumpkin pie filling was an American import that cost us $10 a can, but tommorrow will remind us of who we are, and where we came from. And that's important.

Seeing the world is an incredible opportunity that I wish more people could do. Opening your eyes to new cultures and different perspectives is as healthy as any medication or therapy. But I have found that travelling also gives you a stronger since of who you really are, what you're really made of, and what's truly important in the world. It's good to know that I can go and work and interact and immerse and appreciate. And at the end of the day, I still like my chicken fried and my ranch dressing cold and homemade. And that's ok.

This Christmas will be one to remember. We'll be spending Christmas Eve at a tree lighting singing Christmas carols and watching an incredible fireworks display over the Opera House. We'll be wearing flip-flops and drinking ice water, and years from now, wherever I am, on Christmas Eve, I'll look back and remember the uniqueness of trying something different. That sense of adventure that keeps us all going.

And adventures are on their way. In just 10 weeks, we head out on a 21 day trip to Asia that includes 7 flights as we visit 4 countries. We'll stay in cheap hostels,local guesthouses, 5 star luxury hotels, private villas and beachside bungalows. The mark of a good trip is to see life from all perspectives, the right mix of exploration and relaxation. When we return, we'll spend our final month in Sydney, before heading out on the next great adventure.

When April arrives and fall has truly set in here in Australia, we'll be hiring a car and driving from Sydney all the way through the outback, from one side to the other, on a 6 day drive to Perth in western Australia where we will spend the remainder of our time here in Oz. It will be an epic crusade, and I can't promise that we won't accidentally run over a kangaroo who bounds into our path, but we'll try to avoid anything too disastorous.

Two nights ago we celebrated Alisons birthday, an evening of genuinely good food and good company. We got reservations at a charming Italian resturant and sat outside in the back of their courtyard, loaded to the hilt with wine. BYO, or bring your own, something that rarely happens in America but is quite common here, allowed us to bring a variety of sparkling, rose, red and white, and ensured that we stayed for more than 3 hours. We devoured 4 courses of everything from warm tuna fettuchine to anchovy and olive spaghetti, mozerella, proscutto and fresh rocket pizza to warm profetta rolls filled with custard and drizzled in dark chocolate and whipped cream. It was the perfect night, as the 5 of us sat around and enjoyed the company of good friends, all appreciative of the chance we have to spend time together in this lovely country of Australia.

I may not have the cold side of the pillow in the near future. In fact, I couldn't even tell you a date on the calendar when I think I may be reunited with it. But I'll manage. I'll manage because I can't imagine being happier doing anything else than what I am doing right now. And that's not something very many people get around to feeling or saying. I wish all of you in America and abroad a very happy Thanksgiving, and hope that you all have something to be thankful for this holiday season. I know I do.

Until next time,
keep smilin-

XO
Josh

By the time you reach your mid twenties, you have certainly seen your fair share of things, and you’ve learned first hand that things don’t always go your way. In fact, you hopefully have developed an entire immune system that kicks in nearly instantaneously after any of the potential red-flag warning systems show themselves. We all have them. For some, they may be subtle- like the ability to act equally uninterested in the person/event/opportunity which has not returned equal excitement. For others, these mechanisms are more drastic. Afternoon tequilla shots all alone comes to mind. But in any case, traveling to the other side of the world presents many chances to break out from your comfort zone. In doing so, it also makes you vulnerable in a way that I have not felt since I was about fifteen. There is a certain rawness that reducing yourself to the lowest common denominator exposes that somehow seems like going to junior high all over again. It’s all about testing the waters.

Let me explain.

The 462 Working Holiday Visa is designed to provide citizens of foreign nations the opportunity to furnish their travels while living in Australia. Now, if you see yourself truly on a working holiday as I definitely do, then you are excited about the idea of living at the beach and doing some mindless job that pays your bills and allows you as much time as possible to do what you flew all the way here to do- Relax.

But when is the last time any of you actually applied for and actively pursued the illusive meaningless employment? For nearly all of you reading this I know the answer- it’s been a long time. And let me tell you- it is truly a time-travelling experience. I mean you might as well buy yourself a ticket back to the 9th grade, where the best thing your resume included was a decent grade point average or that dazzling leadership role you landed as treasurer of the honor society (Which P.S.- Since when did honor societies ever need to raise or manage money? But I digress...). It doesn’t matter that you went to college or have genuine professional work experience. The world of low-thinking, bottom of the food chain jobs cares little for anything except how long you think you can commit to, and the likelihood that you will add to their ever-expanding pile of employee turnovers.

And so, for your reading entertainment, I will share with you exclusive e-mails, candid phone conversations, and behind-the-scenes interview footage from the roller coaster ride that has been my search for the Australian perfect job. In the coming weeks, my posts will include passages that are 100% factual, and have been cut and pasted from my personal collecton. I’ve saved this stuff for weeks to share with you. The names HAVE NOT been changed-I’m not protecting anyone. I hope you laugh your ass off.

Here’s the first, in what will be an ongoing series on this travel blog.

Wanted:

Popular Bondi Beach juice shop is now hiring for it’s summer music festival season. We are looking for 15 people to sell our frozen juice popsicles at several Sydney music festivals in the coming weeks. Must be able to work weekends, carry 8 kilos (About 18 pounds) in an insulated backpack, and be friendly. Work starts this weekend, e-mail us your CV today!

Within about 1 hour of this being posted online, I sent an actual legitimate cover letter and a CV.

Two days later, I received this e-mail.

Dear Joshua,

Thank you very much for your interest in our Music Festival Representative position. We have carefully reviewed your experience and qualifications, and regret to inform you that you have not made it to the interview round of the hiring process. While this opportunity may not be right for you, we will keep your CV on file for the next 3 months, and will not hesitate to contact you should something suitable for your education and experience become available.

We wish you the best in your career pursuits.

Sincerely,

David O’Connor II
JUICE-A-BLE Human Resources Manager

I’ll just pause for a moment to let you collect yourself after laughing....

WHAT THE ^%&%$@%&$@. ARE YOU &^&^@(*^ING KIDDING ME?

That’s right everyone. They needed a whopping 15 people to peddle popsicles, and I didn’t even make it to the interview round. But hey- they’ll keep me in mind for the next 3 months in case something else comes around more suited for my experience level. Basically, they’re just waiting to see if the 2 inbred seagulls they’re paying in breadcrumbs to pick up trash in front of the Juice Stand work out, and if not, maybe they can pay me to sweep the floor and compensate me with half-off smoothies. Well, Mr. David O’ Connor II, I think I’ll keep looking thank you very much.

I hit reply, even though the subject line clearly said DO NOT REPLY TO THIS EMAIL.

Mr. O’Connor II,

Thank you for considering my application, and for carefully reviewing my qualifications. It is clear that you must have obtained your Bachelor’s Degree in Human Resources from the Cracker Jacks Corporation, though I assure you my college education did not come from a snack food company.

Please do not tire yourself by considering me for a future position, as I am quite sure that frozen ice pop schlepper is as low on the totem pole as one can possibly fall. Perhaps my professional, personalized cover letter is taking up too much space in your inbox and should also be deleted. It should be easy to identify- it’s the only one you’ve ever received attached to an application to work for a juice stand.

As for JUICE-A-BLE, this may be the end of our relationship. It’s not you- it’s me. I’ll now be taking my business to JUICE NATION a half block down. No hard feelings, they just manage to actually strain all the pulp from their pulp-free pineapple juice, and they have a much better view of the attractive man who works behind the counter at Lucky Noodle.

I wish you the best of luck in your future recruitment pursuits. May you forever keep picking winners.

Sincerely,

Joshua Lomon IV
JUICE NATION Frequent Customer Cardholder

And one more quick one, for your entertainment:

(In a store window)

Blockbuster Video is looking for a casual sales associate for three to four shifts per week. Must love movies, and be available for evenings, holidays, and weekends. Inquire Within.

Traveler: “Good Afternoon, How Are You?”

Employee: “Fine, Can I Help You?

“Yes, I just wanted to drop by my CV, I saw you were looking for some part-time help.”

“Let me stop you right there. How long are you here in Sydney for?”

“My visa is good for a whole year.”

“Ok, well you can just save your CV. I don’t want to waste your time. We’re really looking for a two year minimum commitment.”

“I’m sorry. For a part time job at Blockbuster Video, you’d like a two year commitment?”

“No. A MINIMUM two year commitment. We’d prefer more.”

Again, I’ll pause for you to collect yourself.

WHAT THE %$%#$#%. ARE YOU #@(*&%$%ING KIDDING ME?

You’d like someone to look at you dead in the eye and tell you that for 2 whole years they are willing to work on undesirable weekend evenings and Christmas Day for minimum wage, for crappy part time hours, and that hopefully they’ll be able to stay longer? Have you been standing too close to the bleach when you mix it with ammonium in your basement?

I never in a million years thought it would be so hard to find a job that a trained monkey could do. Over the past few weeks, I have explored every possible avenue, and as you will read for yourselves, there are some pretty fascinating stories.

But among the many things I have learned since leaving my real life behind, is that there is a delicate art to giving, hearing, and accepting rejection. It’s out there, and the more risks you take, the more you’ll experience it first hand. The rejection doesn’t make you who you are, but the way you handle it says everything about you.

I have, for the record, found the perfect job, working at a coffee shop/bakery, and am truly loving my apartment at the beach. Many of my friends have started arriving, the weather has begun warming and I recently had one of those very up-in-the-air first dates where you don’t build up your expectations but tuck a toothbrush in your bag just in case. Needless to say, I’m thrilled to be in the company of my friends, love that the sun has been shining, and I did need my toothbrush the next morning.

I hope wherever you are, you too are surrounded by warmth, even if it may not come from the sky, and that no matter where life takes you this week, if rejection rears its ugly head in any form, you raise your red flag, accept what cannot be changed, and try it again. There’s always JUICE NATION out there, and here’s hopin’ you find it.

Until next time-
keep smilin

XO

Josh

The law of averages.

You know the one I am talking about.

The guiding principle that tells us that by attempting something many times, entering our name into the prize box over and over or having the endurance to outsmart, outwit and outlast like the successful contestants do on Surviror, that maybe, just maybe- we might come out a winner in the end.

The law of averages is a relentless, fuedal tyrant. I hate her. I don't know if she's really a girl, but for the sake of this discussion she is, and I hate her. I hate her because she tells you point blank exactly what she is. She lets you know upfront that you'll have to do something over and over to increase your chances of getting it right.

It's not that getting it right in the end isn't usually amazing, rather, it's that you know from the get go that every attempt you make but the final one will leave you with the short end of the stick, with one brick short of a load or any other number of corny cliches that can be summed up simply as- You Didn't Get What You Want.

Ouch.

Tough to hear, but harder to live, and don't I know it. But really- it's all in the timing. Some call it fate, Hollywood calls it a $100 million cookie-cutter plot Jennifer Aniston flick, and I just call it exhausting, but no matter the title, so much of our lives are left up to being at the right place at the right time.

Right times, Wrong times, and Show Times. In the weeks since I have left America, I've had a few experiences in each column, a few of which are worth retelling to you now.

In our search for housing, we have endured what has been the most emotionally and physically exasperating experience in my recent history. Our Wednesdays and Saturdays are full of round the clock, back-to-back viewings of apartment A-Z, all just about the same, all just fine, and all with lines of lines of people at every viewing. I can't express to you the depression that sets in as you arrive at your eighth place of the day, each of which you have hoofed on foot to get to, each of which took hours of phone calls, emails, and internet/newspaper searching to find, only to see that twenty other people have done the same and will also be applying for the same property.

That's right, applying. That process involves countless paperwork, the faxing of photocopying every ID you have, bank statements, employment references (what employment? I've been here three weeks and my full time job is finding a roof), personal references and former landlord references. This all amounts to a 2-3 day process to accomplish, and at the end, your "approved" application gets the lucky chance to be given to the owner, of whom you will never get to meet or speak to, who will then somehow choose an applicant from the realty-approved pile, and then you will be informed about a week after you applied as to whether you have been told yes or no.

And, all the while, you are forced to continue your search, faxing photocopies until your fingers bleed, trying never to get too attached to any place even the ones you have applied to, walking miles up and down, back and forth, hardwood floors and eat-in kitchens and in-buildng laundry and furnished and unfurnished and walk-up and balconies and sunroom and AHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Feel sorry for us yet? Don't. We are living in Australia and it's the beginning of Spring after all, but, a little sympathy is allowed. We've earned it.

So, let me just zero you in on Wednesday, September 23rd, so that you can ride the ebb and flow that has become the tide of our lives.

9:00 am Phone Call, Voicemail

"Hello, this is So and so from so and so agency about the such and such apartment that you applied to on such and such day. Unfortunately, the owner has chosen someone else. Best of luck."

Alison: We didn't get it.
Mary: I'm going to kill myself.
Josh: I'm going back to sleep, to try and recapture life before I knew we didn't get this apartment. If you see me get up in the next two hours, please politely chain me back to the bed.

You should know that this had been without question our most promising application yet. Just to add to the spice, it was also the last application we hadn't heard back from. Which means with only 6 days left of our hotel reservation, having viewed more than 25 apartments, we were exactly where we started 3 weeks ago. Square one. No leads. No prospects.

I'm sure you're thinking this story can't get worse. Oh but it does.

After about 20 minutes of forcing myself to act positive and rallying the troops for yet another morning spent scouring the internet for more options, we're just about ready to go. It's Alisons day off, a rariety, and one of our last full days to look without work and other commitments. It's now or never time.

Operation: Any Roof is Better Than No Roof.

Except of course for the first National Emergency Dust Storm to hit Sydney in recorded history. EVER. No- seriously. If you're reading this outside of the states I know you've heard about it already. In the states, for whatever reason it didn't get covered... Lindsay Lohan probably wore new leggings and that took priority, but just google "Sydney dust storm" and you'll see. Red skies, dust and dirt blowing everywhere, carpeting cars, roads, windows and doors.

People running around with masks on looking like a SARS epidemic. Everyone advised to stay inside.

I had to laugh. I mean, surely, SURELY this wasn't actually happening on this day. Of all days. Of all days in the whole frigging year or decade or millenium, today was dust storm day. Great. Awesome.

And now I won't bore you with the full details of the rest of our day, where we finally get some good news and all of this work amounts to something, so here is the quick play-by-play.

11:30 Enter Internet Cafe
11:45 Groan and Mumble, Begin Calling Everyone Possible
12:02 Refresh BrowserInternet Housing Website
12:03 See ad for Furnished Bondi Beach Apartment
12:03 and 1/2: Call phone Number
12:03 and 2/3: Make 1:00pm appointment for viewing
12:04 run to bus. No really, run to bus.
12:38 Arrive in Bondi
12:45 Arrive at House
12:46 Emotional Overload While Waiting for Landlord
12:58 Landlord Arrives
12:59 View Apartment
1:01 Beg to Sign Lease. Plead. Beg and Plead.
1:02 Run out of apartment building to go to ATM to get cash for security deposit. Wave to line of people downstairs waiting to view apartment.
1:04 Arrive at ATM
1:04 and 1/2: Call landlord to confirm cash
1:07 Return to apartment
1:09 Say goodbye to landlord as we hold keys to apartment, 4 BLOCKS FROM THE BEACH.

See- I told you it would all work out. The law of averages threw us a bone on the strangest weather day in Sydney's history. A day that will be memorable to many, but for me will always be the day that I started my adventure in Oz with an apartment next to Bondi Beach.

Sometimes it's a bad time. No matter how hard you work and research, it just isn't going to be your day.

Somtimes it's a good time. Like at the grocery store Cole's here in Sydney, where Mary and I have discovered at the end of the day they go around with large stickers discounting products by 50 and 75 percent, and last week we got in right as they were doing it, and actually followed the man around the store, shoveling items into our cart the second he put them on sale.

Sometimes it's showtime. It's time to put fear aside, stretch your legs, and run your tired ass to the ATM before the four blonde girls who haven't eaten in 2 days run up the stairs and snag your new apartment. Or like the kids on Glee, the greatest show to hit TV in a long time, which if you aren't watching, google it, catch up on the 2 episodes you have missed, and start tuning in.

The bad times come. They really do. But the good times find a way of reaching you when you think you're at rock bottom, and the dust storm keeps you locked in doors. All we can do is make sure that we're ready when Show Time rolls around, because some opportunities really are once-in-a-lifetime. Get your Jazz Hands Ready.

Until next time-
keep similing

Josh