New Zealand 5 - What's "Concision?"

Friends, Fans and Foes alike,

It is with tremendous regret that I announce that I'm back in Dallas.  My plane took off on time and, just to spite me, even landed ahead of schedule, and at the correct airport.  Qantas Airlines just doesn't get it.  Dicks. 

So enough BMW (Bitching, moaning, whining; brainchild of our tour manager).  In the prior chapter of this novel I'm compiling, we discussed some cool stuff.  The Maori cultural show, in particular, has clearly had a lasting effect on me: I scored my first try (think touchdown) in rugby the Saturday after I got home, on 3 hours of sleep.  All Blacks for the win, baby. 

After Rotorua we treated ourselves to another little nothing town called Waitomo, home to the Waitomo Caves.  The Waitomo Caves may sound grand, like the kinds of caves the Aliens who rule us all in the X-Files movie live in (Nerd points, give me some).  They are actually little more than a hole in the ground that happens to extend 100 meters down and horizontally for 4 kilometers.  They're about 20 feet tall and 10 feet wide at their largest, and so narrow and little that at certain points we went single-file on our backs out of necessity.  Oh, and there's a huge river flowing through it that varies in depth from just a trickle to hundreds of feet with zero warning, so our means of conveyance consisted usually of inner tubes and paddling.  At one point I was lying in my tube on my back pushing myself along with the ceiling so close to my face that I had to remove my fruity-looking hardhat and lamp to continue.  The one thought running through my head at the time was, of course, "my mom would completely go ape-shit right now and leave."  This was not an event for the claustrophobic.  The larger man in our group did some impressive gut-sucking and the more well-endowed women were grateful for the compressive effects of wearing a wetsuit. 

During this caving experience we took some time with lights out to look at the glow worms.  Before reading on, know this:  Glow worms are so much more interesting and romantic the less you know about them.  That said, it's not hard to look up at them and think "wait how the hell can I see stars from here?  And isn't it only 2pm?"  They're beautiful.  With an enzymatic reaction in their stomachs they create light, which lures little buggies of all sorts towards them.  They then snare them with dangly stringy-snotty appendages and go to town on their mothburger or whatever through the lovely process of external digestion.  They're actually in the spider family, and therefore not worms.  They are a larval phase of an eventually flying arachnid which, once it has emerged from its cocoon of sorts, can no longer feed itself.  It therefore just flies around looking to reproduce as much as possible before it dies, just like [I don't honestly know who to rip on here.  Insert your own joke in this space and give me credit for setting it up. In the interim, I'll say...] my freshman roomie, Nick Brait, who I still love anyway.  The females unfortunately have this same problem of not being able to eat.  In order to have the biological raw materials to make little baby glow worms (which would more appropriately be called glow maggots), they eat the males immediately after, and occasionally during, copulation.  This is without a doubt the harshest reaction to a woman realizing her partner didn't use protection in all the animal kingdom.  Even more charmingly, should the male manage to call a cab in advance and thus get away immediately after knocking up his little fly-lady, he may fly into some dangly string-snot appendage nearby accidentally.  He can thus be chemically broken down while still alive, then digested by some punk-ass maggot of his own species!  So aren't glow-worms one of God's little miracles?

Onto slightly less graphic subjects, after tearful goodbyes I left my contiki group in Auckland the following day.  After sleeping for 12 and a half hours, I was on a plane the next day to Melbourne to meet up with Jonathon Simister, who is without a doubt the Australian upon which most Aussie stereotypes were based.  He goes by Jono, has long floppy hair, loves to drink with his mates, wears sleeves with the same frequency I wear ties, and talks incessantly about partying, women, sports, and clever ways to combine the three.  We obviously got along famously. 

After spending the first day at Portsea, the Newport Beach of Australia (please leave your poor and ugly people at the county line), we were ready for Australia Day.  Australia day is the equivalent of our Labor Day, in that it is a vaguely understood excuse for adults to lounge by a pool and watch cricket all day instead of working.  It curiously fell on a Wednesday this year, which only heightened its awesomeness.  I introduced the natives to beer pong, who responded by grilling kangaroo and lamb (yes, the cuter the animal the more delicious it is) and teaching me cricket.  In terms of a sport to watch with your friends from your couch when you can flip back to tennis at any time, it is unparalleled.  I actually respect/understand it now, and I look forward to sounding snobbishly international around you kids when the opportunity presents itself. 

After thusly damaging my liver and my country's reputation, it was time to see the city.  Thursday was tourist day.  And I have to say I was impressed.  Melbourne is an excessively clean city, with parks and greenery interspersed so frequently between skyscrapers that I think they must pay rent to someone.  Much like King's Park in Perth, the Botanical Gardens begin so abruptly that you could easily leave your soulless misery of an urban job and walk there and back for lunch and not be late for your 1 o'clock appointment.  Very cool.  Just like Dallas?  Right?  We cruised up to the Eureka Tower to look out its 88th-floor window at our surroundings, and I was amazed at how much green and how many artsy fartsy places I saw.  The Ballet Center is very prominent, as is the Museum/Gallery.   The Footy/Tennis/Rugby/Soccer complex is also quite cool. 

On the subject of sports, my best luck of the entire trip happened on Thursday night.  Jono and I bought $20 lawn seats to the Aussie Open to watch Federer/Djokovic in the beer garden at the arena.  Cool enough in its own right - surrounded by Serbian nutjobs and very chill Australians and Americans, we killed Heinekens with extreme prejudice and cheered for Federer happily through the first set.  A gentleman then tapped me on the shoulder and said "My wife is feeling ill and we must go, would you like these?"  In his hand were a pair of the sold-out-for-weeks $200 each tickets to watch the match.  "Um, what?" I gracefully responded, and received my gift with a thank-you.  Once inside, we frequently had to ask our seat neighbors if we were actually at a tennis match or not.  If you closed your eyes and just listened you'd swear it was a hockey game or a boxing match.  I'm pretty sure the French Open doesn't get that rowdy.  Disappointed with the outcome but thrilled to be there, we went out on the town to experience some Melbs nightlife and, aside from nearly getting my ass kicked by a group of Muslims for doing nothing but looking at one and smiling (this is why they rank above Maori), had a blast.  We went pubbing, clubbing and had a 3am Kebab from a restaurant run by the Turkish mafia.  One of the servers famously said "I got the 16 gig memory on my phone to keep track of all my contacts."  I believed him.  Having thus eaten latenight and conversed drunkenly until 4, I went to sleep knowing I'd really made a difference in the world that day. 

And then I flew home.  Shit.  Tomorrow I start work for Halliburton.  Also shit. 

So here's my brief philosophizing moment, which I partially encourage you to ignore.  First, to the people reading this who are around my age, get your ass on a plane and go somewhere.  I don't care how much fun you have pouring all your money into Kentucky Deluxe Whiskey-Flavored Beverage, shorts with whales on them and XBOX Live.  None of that matters.  Finding out who you, personally and individually, are when your bros, hos and parents aren't around is worth way more.  Renew your passport, get your time off at work or school, and go be awesome for awhile.  Plus, if you've never actually been in a situation where you knew no one and had the opportunity every morning to wake up and be who you want to be without restrictions, do you even know who you are yet?  I only sort of did. 

To the older peeps on this list, get your ass to New Zealand.  And take me with you.  It's one destination I guarantee I'll go to again, whether it be a random vacation, bro party, honeymoon or whathaveyou.  Even if you have a weak heart and don't want to bungee and all that, the sights are out of this world.  But put me in your will just in case, because they'll take your breath so consistently it could be a problem.  Oh, and buy duty-free.  Hooch is expensive there. 

So now I'm out.  I begin work at 8am tomorrow, and if it absolutely kills me then Jack can have all my clothes and Marissa can have all my workout stuff (jack3d tub, half full).  Travis gets my boots and Katie gets my car (with your driving record you'll probably need it, it's in great shape although some upholstery needs repair).  Diltzy can have my men's league points. 

My new email address will be russell.haake@halliburton.com and it would be lovely to get emails from people who aren't work-related every now and then.  If the emails contain or allude to sex drugs or rocknroll please send them to this one.  And for God's sake let me know in the subject so I don't accidentally delete it. 

I've loved the opportunity to write to all of you and to hear back as well.  If you didn't receive all 5 of these emails, please let me know and I'd happily forward them again.  Maybe check out my videos and pictures on facebook too?  It seems like my mom is the only one who looks at them.  And now that I've put you all on my list, please promise to keep me on yours.  When you travel and party on Wednesdays while I'm in the office it'll be my turn to live vicariously through you.  My life is just work, hockey and rugby for the foreseeable future.  Fortunate but predictable.  Entertain me. 

Hugs and Handpounds,

Rusty

 ps - No one in Australia ever drinks Fosters, and Outback Steakhouse is full of shit.

New Zealand 4 - Too Soon for Nostalgia?

Alrighty, back to my keyboard.  This time I have no pressing movie to see, an ample supply of Smarties, and the pictures are uploading.  Get excited. 

I feel like explaining Queenstown is simply not possible.  It's the birthplace of the Mountain Dew/Spring Break/MTV mindset, but somehow not obnoxious at all about it.  To be bored in Queenstown is truly impossible, but being broke is totally reasonable.  You just need to go there. 

So now a brief departure from talking about the places I've been, to make a personal commentary.  As many of you are aware, I've been on a bit of a religious/spiritual/overall decency binge the last several months brought on by a confluence of things and people (re)entering my life.  I was the only religious person in my group, which would have been a big joke to predict a year ago.  I found myself settling into the nice guy role quickly, and while being the dedicated partier that I am I was still able to look myself squarely in the mirror at all times and even share my faith with others at multiple times.  I was, and this is new for me, looked up to.  This may sound like I'm just high-fiving myself over and over, which isn't my point.  My point is that I made a conscious decision awhile ago to change the way I was walking and with yall as witnesses I wanted to check in and say it's been wildly successful and life's more fun when you're the same person Sunday morning that you were Saturday night. 

But to move right along.....

After Queenstown the gang returned to Christchurch for a night.  Having seen the entire city before I had a beer and a 5-hour nap before we all headed to Karaoke.  This karaoke session was in a bar the size of a dry-cleaners owned by a Korean family who opened up just for us, since we managed to get the whole 40-person crew to come out.  Fast-forward 3 hours and, having rocked my socks off and drank entirely too much, my little gang (my "bears") hung out on the Christchurch Cathedral lawn and were egged by locals.  "Let's go drive around at 1am on a Monday and throw eggs at tourists" actually came out of someone's mouth that night and, while my boots suffered, I feel bad more for the perpetrators than the victims. 

Wellington

Wellington was where, to use the immortal words of my favorite younger brother, shit got weird.  The group finally began clicking and, after an afternoon of bungee jumping and museum perusing, we decided to have some fun.  After being kicked out of my room at 8pm for pregaming too loud (Ring of Fire/King's Cup has apparently never graced this island before.  I felt like the guy who introduced basketball to Africa), we were off to a nice dinner at a decent restaurant.  At the behest of our tour manager Alana, aka Hoover (so-named for downing a pint in under 4 seconds, and a liter in under 10), we then began dancing on top of the table we had just eaten on and openly mocking those in our group who were too cool for school.  How we were not kicked out of said restaurant remains a mystery to me, but not one I'm eager to solve.  The night went on, as it must, and the following day was even better.  We caught the Birds of Tokyo concert after shopping around all day for the upcoming theme party booze cruise (the theme was the letter "C" and I went as a Cliche.  It was awesome).  In the process of saying goodbye to one of my main bears who was leaving the following day, we ended up at an Irish pub where an unfortunate musician was playing to a crowd of 3.  We immediately decided to rock it and the 10 of us made his day by getting rowdy and singing along, dancing on tables, berating less enthusiastic customers and essentially acting like a bunch of drunk tourists.  This behaviour was standard practice throughout the trip.  Every time we saw a musician playing to an unenthusiastic crowd we, at my urging, got down.  After watching my older brother's friend's band suffer through tepid audiences I made a decision to lend enthusiasm whenever possible, as it seems to be one thing I have in spades. 

Rotorua

Rotorua is a little nothing town.  It was home to two higlights of the trip, however:  a Maori cultural performance and Zorbing.  Zorbing involves getting into a giant plastic ball with water and being pushed down a hill, zigzag pattern optional.  I, being eternally in need of a more ridiculous thrill, zorbed down the hill with two other people inside my giant sphere.  Several bumps and bruises later, I was in severe pain but glad I did it.  Before suiting up I'd thrown my necklace to a girl for safekeeping who proceeded to drop it between the floorboards.  This naturally resulted in my army-crawling underneath the moist, dirty, insect-infested deck about 15 meters each way to get it back.  Sometimes you just get the hankerin for a good ab workout.  What can I say. 

The Maori cultural performance was amazing.  As I've said previously, the Kiwis have a unique relationship with the indigenous people.  They are in awe of their culture and have tremendous respect for them and their way of life.  This is, in my opinion, for two main reasons.  1)  The Maori women are, frankly, babes.  They just look good.  and 2) Maori men can kick industrial quantities of ass.  Part of the cultural show was the Haka (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAIJNKRajTc&feature=related and then http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qU4B-NBuCgo&feature=related), which I participated in and seriously pray no one puts on facebook or youtube, and another was a weapons demonstration.  I nearly shat myself on 3 separate occasions.  I would rank the Maori very, very high on the "People not to F*ck with" list.  Slightly below Angry Muslims but certainly above Drunk West Virginians.

The first round of photos is now up - they only span up to Lake Tekapo and Milford.  I'm heading to Melbourne tonight, as I've mentioned, and maybe while I'm there I'll have the opportunity to upload more.  I have at least 300 more on my camera, so no wokkas (No Wockin Furries.  If you need a clearer explanation ask me). 

So once again, I'm sorry to send only a partial update of my life and status.  These damn computers are so slow and my time so limited I cannot give more information.  I hope you've all been having a wonderful new year and haven't yet renegged on your resolutions (Mine's still going strong).  I'm now off to the Auckland airport.  Please respond and let me know what's new with your lives if you have the time. 

Goodbye and God Bless

R-Stevie

New Zealand 3 - Two Weeks for the Rest of Your Life

Friends, Family, and other random hangers-on,

While I obviously acknowledge I haven't emailed out any moderately offensive/informative emails recently, I'm far from the verge of apologizing for it.  New Zealand is such a breathtakingly awesome place that the notion of spending the time in an internet cafe to write home is borderline insanity.  But my Contiki tour is now complete, my new family has all moved on back to their own homes and angry girlfriends, and I'm alone in Auckland waiting for the 1:15 showing of The Fighter.  So here we go. 

CONTIKI!!

If you are under the age of 35 and single, do yourself a favor and do a Contiki tour.  If you are not single, just save yourself the trouble and cheat on your partner in the comfort of your own neighborhood (aside from the couple who became engaged on this trip, people who came in with outside relationships had a poor track record.  I did not participate in any home-wrecking personally, but did place bets on it).  This trip is, in a nutshell, a busfull of people almost as crazy as myself travelling for the same reasons - get away from real life, see incredible stuff, meet nice people, and have someone else plan your meals and bookings and lodging.  The hardest decisions I made were what places I wanted to bungee jump from (all of them), where to sit while white-water rafting (up front), and what kind of beer to buy (overruled, McKenna Bourbon).  

My group was about 40-strong to begin with, and I was fortunate enough to room with a handful of very funny gentlemen, resulting in a budding Bromance that added to my enjoyment of the trip.  The standard day, if there is such a thing, consisted of waking up at 6am, bags to the bus, breakky, and then sleeping for 3-4 hours while we traversed the country.  The view out the windows of the bus was generally out of this world.  I didn't want to sleep through any of it which, paradoxically, ensured that I would (see facebook picture).

I was granted custody of Lambikins, the group dunce cap, very early on for my out-going and friendly (read: stupid) behaviour and held on to it for so long that most of my group forgot I actually had hair.  It made me a real winner at the Queenstown pub crawl, however, as my group always knew how to find me and rally up. 

Contiki Summary:  A big family adventure trip by day, and party by night.  Lots of good times.  Very expensive.  Worth every penny.  It was so packed with bonding, sight-seeing and activities that I can't believe it was only about 2 weeks long.  I feel like it would've taken any sane person travelling alone at least a month to drink it all in.

Lake Tekapo

The first stop on our journey through the imaginary fantasyworld of New Zealand is Lake Tekapo.  Formed by glaciation, this lake simply is not real.  The exact shade of blue is just not possible to describe nor reproduce, and I was deeply jealous of the Japanese couple who were getting married in the itty bitty chapel overlooking it when we arrived.  As I'm writing this I am attempting to upload pictures to facebook, but the computer I'm on works only a little faster than the glacial erosion which formed the subject of my pictures.  Damn.  You'll have to wait a bit.  After going through the obnoxious process of reattaching my jaw to my face, I was deeply chagrined to have it fall off again when we arrived at our resort for the evening.  A full 70km from civilization of any kind, I was treated to my first Milky Way sighting of the trip and decided then and there that New Zealand isn't a real place.  After earning Lambikins by tripping sensually over a bench, I successfully convinced the group that getting as many people as possible into the hot tub was a great idea.  16 was our record, falling short of the all-time contiki record of 19 but still impressive given the husky nature of many in our group. 

Milford Sound 

Milford Sound further convinced me that New Zealand is not a real place.  "The Dirty Milf," as it's affectionately known, is not actually a sound (formed by running water) but a fjord (glacially created), but was so named because Milford Fjord sounds stupid.  We hopped on a cruise ship for the afternoon and ended up spending the night on it, all 40 of us, in absurdly cramped bunks (4 to a room).  We jumped into the fjord, paddled around in kayaks and just generally frolicked like our lives depended on it.  The following day was one of the highlights of my entire trip, as we had an opportunity for a scenic flight around the Sound.  When these computers work properly I'll upload the pictures, about 70 of which come from this flight.  You may think this repetitive or excessive - you are wrong. This place is proof that God exists (or proof that glacial erosion exists, depending on your outlook) and there's just nothing else like it. 

Q-Tip

Queenstown is pure insanity.  The activities, the views, the people, and the drinking are all extreme.  It's also the birthplace of Bungee Jumping and home to the largest bungee in New Zealand, the Nevis Cliffs.  I did all of these things:

www.canyonswing.co.nz

http://www.bungy.co.nz/the-nevis/the-nevis-bungy

http://www.bungy.co.nz/the-ledge/the-ledge-bungy This one is special - rather than tie up your ankles and have you dangle off, this is a full-body harness you have to run off of.  I opted for the reverse backflip (running forward and kicking upward).  I'll put the video on facebook as soon as I get a computer that isn't steam-operated. 

I also did the Kawaru bungee, sky-diving, a jet-boat ride, and white-water rafting in the city.  Throw in some Gondola rides, sweet views and a few unreal parties, and my entire body was vehemently giving me the finger when we finally left the Q. 

My time is running out on this computer, so I must go.  I'll email again shortly.  I love and miss most of you.  Facebook photos should be up soon, and I'll be back in the states on the 28th.  Barley House Saturday evening.  I'm already excited. 

Kindest Regards,

Rusty

New Zealand 2 - Actual Descriptions of Places, People

Hi again.  I haven't changed the world significantly since the last time I emailed this group, but I felt like my last one was incomplete.  I told you about a lot of my personal journey, but I feel like I left out some important components dealing with this wonderful place I actually am.  So without further ado, I'd like to fill in the gaps I left.

Kiwis

First of all, they really do talk like this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R5WKpw_J7x0&feature=channel . 

Kid is "Kud," Thirty is "thutty," and shrink is "srunk."  They are not, however, whales.  Nor can the animal life here actually talk, although I haven't actually seen all of it yet.  It is interesting to me that the relationship between New Zealanders and the indigenous Maori people is completely different than that between the Aussies and the Aboriginies.  Here the Maori are respected and their traditions are valued, cherished and remembered.  The Haka, performed before the All Black rugby matches, is a throwback to this.  I think it works much better this way.  The Aussies basically tried to extinguish the Abos and even now there is an incredibly strong racist sentiment towards them.  Pity.

They're also a notably secular place, which is ironic given the name of the town I'm in currently.  I've been approached by more prostitutes than I have cumulatively in my life to this point, and was actually called out and questioned about sitting up in my hostel bed to say thanks before I went to sleep. 

Auckland

Auckland is the biggest city in New Zealand.  Accordingly it feels the least New Zealand-ey, as travellers from all over the world basically have no choice but to come through here.  All the big players have offices - PWC, Deloitte, and ANZ have enormous HQs here, just to name a few.  It feels like a chunk of NYC was transplanted down here, and then populated with MTV producers and Mountain Dew enthusiasts.  Every bar is "The Best Party in Auckland," sleeves are outlawed even at nightime (Suns Out, Guns Out taken too far) and around every corner are five different companies offering you some kind of gravity-averse thrill.  Auckland is, thusly, most Kiwis' least favorite place to be, despite the fact that just twenty minutes outside downtown and you're in true paradise settings.  The hostels, accordingly, are populated with the bartenders and coffee shop workers who form the lowest social strata in the city and not the friendly nature hippies that I tend to find funny.  They're also cramped and dirty, as per my last email.  Auck was fun, but I was grateful to head out.  Also there were no sheep here, which was utterly frustrating.

Christchurch

Christchurch is the "Garden City" of New Zealand, which is an honor likened to the "Cold City" of Canada or the "Vodka City" of Poland; the superlative of a characteristic the whole country possesses.  It is dominated by (surprisingly!) a massive Cathedral which was built 150 years ago once the city was planned and established.  It was a Dutch Settlement discovered by Captain Cook, who was attempting to gain notoriety and fame after Captain Morgan became extremely popular with nothing but a trademark stance and shitty rum. 

During the day the city is pristine.  As much as Auckland felt like NYC, this "downtown" feels more like a second-string European town.  It felt like the town of Hiedelburg which I grew up in, right down to the little 5-year old kids walking around town by themselves without a worry in the world.  Old European-style architecture and museums stand out in this city full of parks and ethnic food of truly every background - Brazillian, all kinds of Asian, German, Mexican, and French, to name a few.  The juxtaposition of old buildings is bizarre - IBM headquarters here is adjacent to an old Bell Tower that could have been built by Charlemagne by the look of it.  Also German/Belgian, about 60% of the restaurants here are beer gardens and breweries unto themselves, which are open and serving all day.  I treated myself liberally at lunch.  When in Rome, ya know.

The parks here deserve an extended mention.  I tried to walk to the famous Botanical Gardens ("You gotta go mate") from my Hostel and became lost twice because I found parks that looked so incredible that I just assumed they were the Gardens.  The pigeons don't even poop on the statues here.  Walking through the parks is so scenic, you don't merely forget that you're exercising, you even forget that you're fat.  Then a 15-minute bus ride from the city takes you to a gondola on a mountain, from which the views could blow you away.  Check facebook for pictures.  You'll really, truly seethe with envy. 

And that's all I wanted to add.  This is the last time I'll email twice in two days.  My Contiki tour begins tomorrow, and conquering the South Island will take lots of time and effort.  I'll be in Queenstown, Wellington, Waitopo caves, Lake Taupo, and other such locales, travelling with a busfull of 20-somethings who all just want to see the world like me.  Maybe party a little, too...

Please let me know what you're up to.  I want to know how my men's league team is doing (If I'm not still #1 in goals there'll be hell to pay), how second semester's going, how's Copenhagen, how're the Mooneys, etc. 

Hugs and Handpounds,

R

New Zealand 1 - Auckland is a City?

Hello everyone, and greetings from New Zealand, The Canada of the Southern Hemisphere!

I'd like to start by clearing up two things I know you're all probably wondering.  First of all, no I do not actually have this many friends.  Roughly 2/3 of the names on the list (Most of the women) are actually randomly generated and could belong to someone in Laos for all I know.  And secondly, toilets here do in fact flush counter-clockwise.  So with that out of the way let's get to the story-telling and making jokes about foreigners. 

A little background, just so we all start on the same page here.  I graduated in December.  I accepted a job with Halliburton that begins at the end of January.  After backpacking Western Australia last summer, I had become hopelessly addicted to travelling and learning how to swear and fight in other languages.  After a few days of deliberation I decided New Zealand would be the coolest possible place this time of year, as well as the furthest away from my life in Dallas.  Dallas is wonderful, but those who live there (or any other oppressive urban jungle) know that you need to get outta there from time to time.  So I took my graduation money, Christmas money, oil rig money, and dumped it all into a month-long journey to this most bizarre place.  My liver and credit score may suffer, but so far it's been incredible in every other respect. 

Storytime.  Much like my Aussie emails started, I'll begin by trying to make you people feel sorry for me.  I won't succeed, so consider this just a guide to travelling to this place should you ever decide to.  

Go back to what you were doing the morning of Tuesday the 4th of December.  Try to really remember all the details - the burnt pop-tarts, empty beer cans, soul-crushing sadness at the notion of driving to work.  Feeling it yet?  I woke up at 430 that morning to travel to DFW, then San Jose, then LAX, then Auckland - 34.5 hours in total.  Most of this at the hands of American Airlines, the official Airline of Screwtape, Wormwood, Beelezebub and Co.  I'm sure you've had your own awful experience with these fresh graduates from Clown College, so I won't elaborate further.  Just take your favorite AA story and pretend it happened to me - there, you're in the right frame of mind.

At LAX I treated myself to a 12-hour layover and managed to eat two meals at the same Chili's in the same day.  For those who don't know my unreasonable affinity for Chili's, I hope you understand that this marks a milestone in my life.  I can now die a little closer to happy. Being in an airport for 12 hours, even one as spacious and lovely as LAX, you start seeing the same people often enough, so I decided to be friendly.  I met Tim the Alcohlic Farmer from Minnesota who would be on my flight, en route to working on his friend's sheep station for 3 months.  Party.  I then became the Snow White of Asian People, after commenting that the little 7 year old Vietnamese kid next to me was playing Pokemon (the OG red version, shockingly).  He started talking to me in that initially-charming-but-eventually-annoying way that only small children can truly master, and his brothers and sisters joined in.  To a stranger it would've looked like I was handing out batteries or whatever those Asian kids eat.  Awesome.  So then 21.5 hours after beginng my journey, my flight left LAX.  I watched Megamind, had two free mini-wine bottles, and slept like the Cowboys were on TV.  13 hours later I landed in lovely Auckland and my journey, and the point of this email, actually began. 

Once out of the airport, I went into survival mode and tried to find either someone helpful to pal around with or someone more confused and screwed than I, so I could at least feel better about my own state.  I was lucky to sit next to a girl from Manhattan on the bus .  Category B, accomplished (Memo to NYC peeps, look up Aimee Baxter.  She plays flag football against you, for the Shockers).  We arrived at Nomads Auckland, which we quickly decided was actually the worst hostel in New Zealand, if not the entire world.  My dorm was slightly larger than my college dorm and slept 12.  7 of these were indignant, smelly UK people with no education but numerous tattoos and a truly impressive array of profanity at their disposal.  4 were Germans, 2 guys 2 girls, who were clearly in L-O-V-E and made the previous group smell like fresh apple pie by comparison.  Then there was I.  It quickly became clear that I'd need to get out of there, so I decided it'd be prudent to jump off a building. 

The Sky Tower in Auckland is the largest building in the southern hemisphere.  Erected for no actual purpose, it offers a lovely restaurant, observation deck, and a fancy bungee-type thing by which people can jump off and arrive at the bottom, 12 seconds later, miraculously un-splattered.  After 34 hours of travelling I didn't care if the cord snapped and didn't want to wait for the elevator, so I ponied up and jumped.  Awesome experience.  One bar crawl and a few more friends later, I made plans to hike the next day.  Hiking, for the uninitiated, is not actually the best thing to do with a hangover.  Shocking, no?

Aimee and I arrived at Rangitoro island at 1030am the next day.  We'd decided to be travel buddies, and she quickly became the big sister (28 years old) I never had.  Rangitoro is a geologically "new" island that formed by violent volcanic activity which ceased only 600 years ago.  It is unpopulated and, to be blunt, AWESOME.  We met special-ed teachers from Melbourne (actually Canadians) and spent 6 hours hiking, swimming, taking pictures, complaining about John Matthews VI, and fantasizing about beer and pizza. These are the only pictures in my album you MUST look at.  I've never seen stuff this cool. 

The following day was a walk in the park.  I'm opposed to bus tours, and decided to just get lost.  New Zealand's Auckland University is like SMU with hills and only one fraternity: Fiji.  Sleeves are strictly prohibited, as is the use of proper grammar.  The local Kiwis were enthusiastic about "howdy" as a concept because it was a reduction of a phrase which concludes in an "-y" sound which they hadn't already thought of.  They were impressed.  And I was impressed with the park!  Kiwis are just really good at parks, and at making grass greener and trees grow at funny angles.  They're just way better at chilling than we are.  That night I accidentally walked into the wrong room (fitting after a day of being lost in the city) and was welcomed quite aggressively by a group of 5 Swedish people.  One of them was a Korean girl who'd been adopted by a Swedish family when she was 3 months old.  This completely blew my then-inebriated mind.  I just couldn't believe people existed in that flavor.  It is my sincere belief that through the bonding session that followed I improved US-Swedish relations by letting each of them try on my boots and walk around in them.  Obama, take notes - this is how you do it.

So today was just a standard Sunday - waking up on four hours of sleep (thanks, roomies!), walking to the pier, jumping off the Auckland bridge and getting soaked (known as a wet jump in the bungee world), then hustling to the airport to fly to Christchurch for the next leg of my journey.  I don't know why New Zealanders have such a love of jumping off of structures.  I just don't get it.  Tomorrow I'm going on a harbor cruise and hope to spear-fish a dolphin or two.  It's good to have goals, kids.  Tuesday my Contiki Tour will begin, and my life will never be the same afterward. 

Please keep me posted on what's going on back home.  For instance if my condo burns down, I'd like to know within the week that it happened.  Jack, quit wearing my clothes.  Don't ask how, I just know. 

Anyhow, I have 100-somthing pictures to upload, so this novel ends here.  I love a few of you, miss some of you, and hope you all get a chance to travel abroad soon.  It really is the best thing I've ever done with my life. 

Cheers,

Rusty

Western Australia 3 - Take the blue pill

Friends, Family, and People who'd like to be one of either,

I wanted to give yall all an update on the coolest couple weeks of my life.  I've snorkeled with sharks, learned international rules for King's Cup/Ring of Fire, accepted my fate as a ginger, listened to Bear Necessities in 4 languages (simultaneously), cooked and eaten kangaroo, was broke and homeless for 3 days and lastly discovered that the 80s party is not by any means confined to North America.  So for the three of you that actually read this entire email, I hope you enjoy it.

Oh, minor detail - no work here.  The companies I had "guarantees" with all require Aussie citizenship, and were lethargic about letting me know that.  Sweet.

Second, more important minor detail - No one here gives a bakers' shit about Lebron.

Anyway, when I found out work was a no-go, I wanted to go backpacking. I booked a tour with a jump-on-jump-off option.  I'd be joining a busfull of people my age on the way up the coast, and we all had different agendas.  I was heading to Pinnacles, Kalbarri, Denham, Monkey Mia, Coral Bay, and Karijini, about 4000km round trip.  My pictures on facebook tell a better story about all this than I could.  And if you've ever heard of any of those places before, congrats - you're more educated than I was when I started.  I felt like a 12 year old Mormon volunteering to direct a porno shoot - completely clueless, but giddy with excitement and worried about how I'd explain it to my family.

The Pinnacles are giant penis-shaped rocks that make no sense whatsoever.  The result of some millenia-old geological clusterfuck, they poke upwards near a beach 300km north of Perth and serve as proof that God is male.  So after a brief stop we continued north and began drinking, and the learning experience really began.

My group was 100% European other than myself and the driver.  It was like a giant episode of Chappelle's Show, insofar as all ethnic stereotypes were reinforced.  The English whined constantly and accused me of being imperialistic when I nabbed one of their beers, yet relied on me to have their backs when the Germans talked shit during the World Cup; the German girls just couldn't begin to understand sarcasm or light beer; the Finnish girl couldn't give a shit about any of us, and they all loved Canadians.  But they could all drink, and two important rules for Kings' were discussed - The "Gecko" rule, wherein every player must plaster themselves against a wall promptly when a ten is drawn, and that you are under no circumstances allowed to grab a drink for only yourself.  Several injuries were sustained through gecko-ing: I recommend you play in a padded room if possible.

And yeah, I'm a ginger, apparently.  They call them Rangas here - short for orangutan.  The prime minister here is one, and her hair color has been the topic of discussion more than the fact that she's also an aetheist, single, Liberal woman.  I am not kidding.

Kalbarri and Denham are both awesome little beach-az nowhere towns for nature peeps, and I loved them.  I had a borderline religious experience talking to an Aboriginal named Darren by a campfire, but that's tough to explain in an email.  I kinda feel like I grew a third ear, or my mouth shrunk, or something weird involving opening my head up in a non-surgical way.  The kind of mentally liberating experience that is usually accompanied by Reggae, frozen waffles, red eyes and complaining about the SMU Greek system.

So yeah, kangaroo.  The Australians are the only people in the world that regularly kill and eat their national animal.  When was the last time you ate Bald Eagle?  Rarely, yeah?  Well the little shitheads run across the road so often that you pass more dead roo than oncoming cars, so it's not that big of a deal.  We grilled up (a proper aussie barbie) at karijini national park, and happiness ensued.  It's like bison, or buffalo - sort of gamey, very lean.  Noms.

Karijini is old as balls.  3500 million years of erosion and plate techtonics and dinosaurs and black-and-white movies.  That's 3 billion years before dinosaurs, and 1 billion before any kind of life. God was in high school and Lambda Chi Alpha had its first openly gay member. When you walk in you get the impression that rules don't apply to this place.  It's also 120 by 90km - about 8 times the size of Houston, TX in terms of square footage.  Again, the pictures do a better job talking about this than I possibly could.

Coral Bay was where life got interesting.  I completely ran out of money, but I wasn't out of fun yet.  My 17-hour bus ride home should have left at midnight on Saturday, but my peeps convinced me to stay till Wednesday.  Let me reiterate - I had no money, no beer, dirty clothes, no place to sleep, and I had just run out of conditioner.  But the lifestyle here made sophomore year in the fratcastle look manic and difficult by comparison.  I found a couch to sleep on, skirted the issue of dirty clothes by not wearing shoes, socks, or a shirt during the day, and cleaned the hostel up in exchange for a free cheeseburger every night.  I got a sunburn and lost about 9 pounds in 3 days, but I won 60% of the 2v2 volleyball matches, swam with sharks and played pingpong with a kid from the Swedish national team.  I'm still not kidding.  3 days of homelessness, then 17 hours on a bus later and I was back in Perth.

This drive is worth a comment - 1400km and we passed 3 little bitty gas-station-and-a-pub towns.  This is like going from Boston to Atlanta.  Or just 200km longer than the length of the California coast.  And running into 3 towns with populations that, when combined, could barely fill up a Camry. The Nothing here is outrageous - the state is more vacuous and empty than the head of any UNT student I've met.

Anyhow, to the three of you that read all of this, I'd love to hear back from yall.  I'm in Perth now for the next little bit, until we make a 4-day weekend down south to wine country for awhile.  Nothing but good books and workouts and wishing Australian girls could find a way to exercise their faces (the only consistently unattractive body part in this region).


Keep it Classy, America,
Krusty

Western Australia 2 - What the hell is a googly anyway?

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Welcome to Episode 2 of my ridiculous summer abroad, wherein I go out excessively hard with South Africans, learn Cricket, chill with sealions, eat Indian food, do the wine and cheese thing, and make deep philosophical comments on how cartoonish this place is.  G'day. 

So some of yall weren't in on the first massive, impersonal and doubtlessly boring email.  It's beneath this one, so if your eyes haven't committed suicide from over-reading by then, feel free to push the issue with them and read on.  And thanks to those of yall who emailed me back, skyped, facebooked and all that.  I'm grateful to still feel a little plugged in. 

Anyway, this place is still fantastic.  I've now seen 6 obese people, although 4 of them were technically in Fremantle, not Perth.  None of them were below the age of 40, which is also reassuring.  It's also still "dead winter" and hasn't dropped below 70 during the day yet.  But these are all things I talked about in my last 400 page email...so let's move on. 

My friends here so far are South African, except for Lloyd and some peeps who are studying abroad.  This is a very international city, and everywhere I've gone where I meet people (the gym and bars...where else do I go?) I inevitably meet more international people than Aussies.  Canadians, Scotsman, Norwegians...you name it, I've met them.  Wednesday night is the big party night here, and so Wednesday night I went out with my South African buddies to get "Op Hofuk," which means "quite sufficiently shitfaced" in Africaans.  Learning a new language from friends hasn't changed at all since my family were the new American kids in preschool in Germany - always swear words first.  The bars here are all 18 and up, and are called hotels for some reason no Aussie has yet adequately explained.  The 18-and-up situation creates an atmosphere full of "prostatots," a term I think is as self-explanatory as it is awesome. 

For the South Africa game we went to a bar that was essentially HomeBar with a projection TV, and even played HomeBar music.  Unique environment.  Awesome.  With the World Cup on tv, all my theories on male bonding (and rush) have proven true - playing sports, drinking, and talking about playing sports over a few drinks are the uniting pastimes of all human beings, with the exceptions of artists and WoW enthusiasts, who can't do so only because they sucked at sports. 

So sometime this last week I learned Cricket.  My SA buddy Matthew was a pretty legit player back home, and showed me the basics.  The pitcher is the bowler, a curveball is either a wobbly or a googly, the batter is the batsman, and nothing else makes any damn sense.  It's the most popular sport in the southern hemisphere, and I'm somehow decent at it.  The bowler "bowls" without bending his elbow toward the batsman, who protects the wickets.  The Bowler wants to hit the wickets or the batsman, neither of whom did anything obvious to the bowler to deserve this treatment.  The batsman uses the estranged bastard child of a 2x4 and a hockey stick to knock the ball away, and then run to the opposite wickets and back.  Somehow points are involved, and I've ascertained that you want lots of points.  Like, hundreds of them.  Mmmm, points.  Apparently my style of swing and defensive posture (I practice, you know) made me "quite a batsman, but you get fooled by googlies too easily because you don't have them in baseball. You must practice batting googlies or you'll knick out to the keeper too often."  Fucking Googlies, man.  Ridiculous. 

So let's talk sealions.  A different South African family my dad works with - I told you, lots of em here - took us out on their little boat last weekend.  It was Founders Day in Australia, and I like how any 3-day weekend here necessitates boating just like it does in the states - Larco, Newkumet, I'm talking to you here - except that Perth is a city of roughly 2 million people that has roughly 80,000 liscenced boats.  Crazy.  We took the boat through the Fremantle port (see pictures) and then out to Carnac Island, which is totally unpopulated.   Australian birds have some kind of agreement with eachother about refusing to let human beings wear the pants in our relationship with them - they are total assholes. More annoying birds later, we had the best facebook profile picture of my short career in giving a shit about facebook. 

On Indian food.  It's amazing.  Holyshitit'ssounbelievablytasty.  You can smell the restaurants here from about 30 feet out, and that's in no way a bad thing.  I wouldn't eat it before any occasion where you'd be with the opposite sex, as its effect on the digestive system can be...unpredictable.  But wow.  That's really all I have to say about that. 

Wine and Cheese.  Wine isn't just for the David Harners of the world here.  And I won't push that joke any further.  It's some seriously good stuff - they're all about the blends, and it's consumed with just about everything here.  And just about everyone here consumes it on the reg.  If it got my dear sweet mum to enjoy a drink or two without considering the longterm moral implications and awfulness of drinking, you know it's a big deal.  And if you don't know my mom, ask someone who does.  Getting her to drink is like offering a blintz to Hitler.  But on the subject of wine and drinking again, Little Creatures Pale Ale is the best beer I've ever had.  And with apologies to my friends from New Orleans, I will no longer use the expression "Killing more Little Creatures than BP,"  although it goes over quite well here.  And on that note, I'm continually impressed with Aussies' knowledge of that situation.  It's the one notable departure from sports
 and places with funny names that everyone seems to talk about here, and the general consensus is the same:  All George W. Bush's fault.

Kidding.  Sit down, Ryley. 

So let's talk cartoonish stuff.  My gallery of stupid signs on facebook doesn't convey just how funny this place is.  A trip on google maps might help.  And the sport of Aussie Rules Football, or Footie, is just slightly more important to these people than Carbon is to Life As We Know It.  And this game simply had to have been invented by a bunch of 11-year-olds at recess.  It is childishly simple, yet the uniforms make Adam Falivene's wardrobe look tame and milktoast by comparison (sorry...) and the refs couldn't look any funnier.  Google it.  Please. The Rugby team are the Wallabees and the Football team are the socceroos.  Every word ends in -ies (plural nouns: sunnies, flippies, boardies, undies) or -o (rotto, buddyo, chippos).  English Majors would have a stroke before they got off the plane.  I'm glad I renounced my evil ways in favor of engineering.

And I love every second of it!  The people are extremely nice unless they happen to be bartenders or waiters (in a society that doesn't tip, it kinda makes sense), the culture is awesome, and they love ostrich-hide cowboy boots.  The Aussies I went out with are, I can only hope, characteristic of how this place is, because they couldn't have been nicer to a more-or-less total stranger. 

If you haven't been here, get your ass to Perth.  If you have been here, come back! 

Anyway, this email is already too long.  My eyes are even starting to revolt.  So with much love, I'm done.  Time to go read Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in King's Park for the next 3 hours. 

Cheers!
Rusty

Western Australia 1 - Welcome to Perth, 2010

The letter that started it all.  

Friends and Family,

I'm in Perth.  I'll be here all summer (Winter here) living with my parents.  This is a pretty amazing place, and I'm going to push my journalistic skills to the test to try to tell you all about my adventures here.  I want to keep up with as many of you as possible, and that's really hard to do in any kind of real-time communication because of the time difference.  Just like my facebook says, it's totally flipped.  I'm writing this while I watch morning joggers go up the hill outside our home, and most of you are getting off work, eating dinner, and getting ready to go out for cheap drinks on a Thursday (more on your definition of "cheap" later).  So please, PLEASE email me back.  I'd love to have one on one conversations with all of you, and it'd make me feel like I'm only on another continent, not another planet.

I'll keep this first email pretty short.  At least, short by my standards from the old Listserve.  Sorry about all those, chops.

Yall need to hear about the journey here.  Think about what you were doing Tuesday afternoon around 5pm.  Then Tuesday night.  Then sleep.  Then Wednesday morning, afternoon and evening.  Then what time did you go to sleep wednesday?  Got all that in your head?  K.  I left for DFW at 5pm Tuesday and landed in Perth at midnight wednesday.  Of course, it was 1pm on Thursday here.  I thought I knew what jet lag felt like....I was wrong.  I know several of you have been to Dubai - I guess it's like that.  After going to sleep at 8pm and waking up at 7 this morning I still feel like a bus hit me.I have a meeting with a headhunter tuesday, and an interview with Apache Oil the same day.  My dad was buying a sofa bed from some random dude, and he turned out to be the hiring manager for their whole operation here, as well as a Texan.  "If you don't ask, the answer is always no" is my dad's mantra, so he whored my resume out and voila.  Instant interview. 

Our lives here are pretty sweet.  We live in a second-floor loft that cost a gajillion dollars, which IBM pays for.  We live on a hill that has to be about 30 degree incline - a real pain - that is right outside of the Central Business District and just downhill of Kings Park.  Kings Park is several times larger than Central Park in NYC, and has every kind of plant indigenous to AUS in it somewhere.  The main Boulevard on it is lined with trees that each have plaques, some 1400 in all, dedicated to Aussies killed in WWI and WWII.  A very neat little tribute.  The park is always full, and pictures can't describe its beauty.

An hour walk around this park yesterday afternoon showed me more joggers, bikers and random asian tourists than I'd see in a week anywhere else.  Which brings me to my next subject - the people here are FIT.  Everyone here runs, cycles, or both.  A trip downtown at lunchtime showed me about 4 overweight people in an hour, and none I'd call obese.  The diet is partially responsible - everything here is so damn expensive, people just don't eat as much.  Those of you who've lived/cooked with me know how queer I can get about what I eat, and it's the norm here.  No greasy food, one MacDonalds in the whole city, and absurdly expensive beer and liquor (wine is cheap, though).  For comparison's sake, a 700mL bottle of Absolut vodka would be around $15 in Uncle Sam's liquor store.  The liquor store down the street from us sells it for a generous $48.  Like whiskey?  A handle of Beam is $87. A sixpack of Miller Lite was $18.  And yet my favorite red wine is $10 a bottle.  I'm not looking forward to the day my duty-free stash of hooch runs out.  Oh, and a beer at a bar is $10 pretty commonly here.  I miss $3 thursdays...even if they do put that stupid "s" in front of the "fuzzi" drink.

My goal here is to meet as many Aussies as I can, and get a feel for the pulse of the city.  I don't want to feel like a tourist by the time I leave.  So I'll be hitting the pubs like it's my job and hopefully making some friends along the way - thank you to those of you who put me in touch with Perthies, I'm following up on all of them.

So God Bless, have a great summer, and keep me up to date on how my favorite country is treating you.

Best Wishes
Rusty