I am nomad. Hear me roar.


Saturday, 26 March 2011

Just any other day at Main Beach, Forster

I Spy Sky

One of the main things you notice about Australia coming out of a country like mountainous Japan, is that it has sky.

Now, as my father Captain Obvious pointed out, everywhere has sky.

I understand this, but Australia really has sky, it really really has sky, and more to the point, being the flattest continent on Earth means that there is nothing to hinder the view of the great monstrous expanse that is the Australian sky. Even just in the suburbs it just stretches out from wide open horizon to wide open horizon, from each of the four compass points and every degree in between.

I just never noticed it before.

Crushing a Dream

Whilst away on the Hen's weekend, I had another opportunity to knock off another one of the many experiences on my Bucket List. Milf had organised that for the group to go wine tasting that also offered grape crushing as a charity fundraiser for the Westmead Children's Hospital. I have always wanted to do this, ever since I saw the snippet of the I Love Lucy episode that Vivian is chuckling to whilst having her carpet picnic in Pretty Woman. Every time I have watched that scene I have thought two things, firstly that 'I really want to crush grapes with my feet one day' and secondly 'Why don't my carpet picnics ever involve champagne and strawberries?'

The other girls likened the sensation to immersing their feet in vomit but as I had experienced this within the previous 24 hours, I would like to set the record straight and say, it feels nothing like it. Though the colour was very similar.

The Hen's

Blowing up moons, blowing chunks, and the Blowhole

My first full day in Australia, I woke, the Turtlepack overflowing at my feet, on a mattress on a trundle, camped in what used to be my brother's room. I washed, dressed, and packed the Mini-turtle, all ready and raring for my friend's hen's weekend.

Milf picked me up, with a car full of daughters, I had the intention of going over to her place early to help her set up for the pre-party drinks.

She was, of course, perfectly organised without my assistance. She always is. She is just a bit wonderful like that. Regardless we spent a sunny afternoon, chatting continuously, barely pausing for breath, in the way that only old friends can.

I did manage to aid a little by, by blowing up 'moons' as the Milf's eldest could not be dissuaded from calling them, and seeing that we had the giant pastel opalescent type of balloons, I could see her point. Big floaty moons, in peach and quartz, lavender and coral, water green and baby blue.

Shortly afterwards, the ladies began to arrive. A few of which I am happy to say acknowledged my presence with shrieks of surprise.

Mission accomplished. No one suspected, and I did get more than a bit of enjoyment out of my little ruse.

We began the festivities with a cocktail, and then all piled into two cars. We were on our way.

For 10 minutes at least, because at that point, I was forced to ask Milf to pull over.

Unable to lean over far enough, quick enough, I succeeded in puking all over my feet, my poor rainbow thongs bearing the brunt of the rainbow yawn.

At least I missed the car.

Though I maintain that my digestive pyrotechnics were due to exhaustion, dehydration, and a lack of acclimatisation, it was a bachelorette weekend, someone had to do it.

Having completed the very necessary business of washing my feet, we were on our way.


Kiama Blowhole, for a hen's weekend, let the lewd jokes begin.

Sunday, 6 March 2011

Just any other day in Kiama

Happy Wandering Woman-niversary!

Having completed my 8th full month of being a nomad, I'm back in Australia, but still travelling as much as ever. The last month has been one of farewelling new friends, visiting old mates and reacquainting myself with the ways of my own country.