Epilogue to Taking on Crocodile Dundee

Uluru seemed a fitting endpoint for my Australia travel blog, but my travels extended far beyond the Outback.  Next was a week with local friends in peaceful Adelaide and then off to Melbourne via the Grampiens, a small-town Sheepvention and the Great Ocean Road.  From there onto Sydney, where I met Penn friend Liz for a couple weeks of the east coast highlighted by our sailing/diving trip around the Whitsunday Islands (including the incomparably beautiful Whitehaven Beach), a few days partying in Byron Bay and Cairns and World Heritage nature in the tropical rainforest beaches of Daintree.  My return south featured some great beach time camping and off-roading on the giant sand Fraser Island and surf camp on the NSW coast.

Sydney life was spectacular.  Nearby Bondi and other beautiful beaches as well as great jobs at the Centre for Social Impact and Ouffer.com filled my days, and partying with my international student friends, dancing salsa and bachata, and relaxing with a home-cooked dinner and a game of Call of Duty or poker with my excellent Brazilian, Scottish, Italian and Australian housemates filled my nights.

Christmas break featured a road trip around Tasmania, filled with Pademelons, picturesque beaches, amazing hikes in the forest, and great French company (and cooking).  Another epic road trip through New Zealand's south island followed a month later with stunning mountains, lakes, sounds, glaciers, waterfalls, skydiving in paradise and series of ever-more ridiculous dares with my merry travel-mates.

Then it was back home to family and friends in NYC, Philly, Boston, Ottawa and Montreal.  I liked Montreal so much I decided to head up for one of its legendary summers that's been filled with festivals, beach volleyball and increasingly successful efforts to learn French.  I'm pretty sure that I'm now ready to call myself a real Canadian.

Autumn plans are still up in the air - I'm always open to suggestions or just a chat to catch up.

Always,
Nico/Nech/emya

Why I love traveling Down Under - Nico does Australia

I came across this post I had written but never published and, after several minutes thinking back wistfully to those glorious days with King Dave, I decided better late than never.  Enjoy!

The love bowl, also known as Sharon the share bowl.  Every night we all take a fork or spoon and dig in to a sumptuous backpacker feast of rice, pasta, or cous-cous plus anything else we find to throw in.  But instead of dishing it into separate plates, we eat straight from the love bowl, saving time, heat, and dishwashing effort.  This has been going on nearly every night for six weeks, now with three groups of travelmates.  That's a lotta love.

The spinifex hopping mouse.  Normally when you're told by a fellow traveler that a certain campsite is certain to swamp you with hundreds of mice, you'd do all you can to steer clear of it.  We change our schedule to work it in.  When these tiny hopping cute critters come out to play at night, we stop everything.  Even eating.  That's saying a lot.  First fell in love with them at the desert wildlife park, where a sign demonstrating one of their survival techniques (peeing an infinitesimal amount so they don't need water), imagined their tiny pee particles making a 'plink plink!' sound.  We like our Plinkys.  And, of course, all the other Outback animals, from the mighty red kangaroos and saltwater crocs to the soaring falcons and darting lizards

The stars.  Ida had never before seen a shooting star in her life.  Then, in one night, she saw three.  Every night we see thousands more stars than I'm used to back home, and when we're camping alone during a low moon, it's simply spectacular.  I can always find scorpio, capricorn, and of course the southern cross.  I've even taken to the hammock a couple of nights instead of the tent just to enjoy them a little bit longer. And the milky way in all its glory, stretching from horizon to horizon, forming a silver rainbow above us, framing the southern cross, taurus, and scorpio (I can also find libra, capricorn, sagittarius, and hercules now; thank you google sky maps).

The wave. Love the wave. There's no official rule when to do it, no signs instructing people to acknowledge the drivers passing by the other way for the next 60 k's, but everyone seems to know. It's a recognition of camaraderie, of brotherhood, for the off-roaders among us. The more bumpy, hilly, narrow, winding, remote, empty, godforsaken the road, the more likely you are to see a wave. On a path like the single-lane back road from coral bay to cape range via lefroy bay, where one car has to pull up 30 degrees onto the bush so other other can pass, you're liable to get a "how ya goin?" or travel advice as well. The main road from Stuart Highway to Uluru? No waves. But the back road to Uluru from the West Macs? Now we're talking. After a long day, might just lift a few fingers from the wheel, half a nod instead of a full smile, but your companion for the moment understands. He's been there too. Fight on.

Old Australians. I've said it before and I'll say it again: old Australians are terrific. Our most frequent fellow travelers, they've offered us everything from torches and tea to jobs and jokes.  They're also the only people who don't treat us like backpackers; seeing my Western Australia rego and lack of any rental company logo, most ask me where in WA I'm from. It's refreshing. Once we list our respective nationalities, a comparison to the UN is inevitable; always feels a little special. And the physical activity many endure, climbing down slippery gorges and climbing up towering canyons, inspires us.

King me - Nico and gang do the not-so-red center

After dropping off and having a couple fun nights out with Kevin, Cameron and Sarah in surprisingly modern Darwin, it was time to head south.  Accompanying me for round three were Andrea, a Canadian friend from Perth, as well as Ida and Elina, Finnish best friends.  Remember that skepticism I had from the start about traveling with three girls?  Entirely unwarranted.  Heaps of fun.

We stopped first at the waterfalls of Litchfield NP, taking a final refreshing dip in the plunge pools in preparation for the desert to come.  A day's driving then got us to the historic Daly Waters pub, home of the most isolated red light in the world.  This was Outback Australia; the cowboy providing entertainment ended with a poem that praised American pride after September 11 and imploring the crowd (some 50 years older than us on average) to take some of that pride in Australia and bring it to glory.  Hopeful Asian immigrants didn't seem to fit in to his vision.

Next we passed through the aptly named Devil's Marbles before hitting Alice Springs, 'The Alice', for some car repairs and Ida's birthday.  One problem though, "Why is the red center so green?"  We had assumed until then that we just weren't in the right part yet, but if the capital of the red center wasn't red, what would be?  Should probably be called the pale green center after the ubiquitous spinifex grass taking over nearly every square inch left bare by the small trees and shrubbery.

Then west into the majestic Macdonnell Ranges, culminating with a sweet hike up and around King's Canyon, site of a famous scene from the cult classic "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert".  I saw the movie at Tim's house the night before leaving on the roadtrip, and I assure you that witnessing the actor made famous by uber-serious roles of Agent Smith and Elrond dancing to Mama Mia in a blue sequined dress is a wonder to behold.

And finally Uluru.  Towering over us.  Over me.  Sitting alone with it, I began to understand the special reverence it inspires in the hearts of its native owners.  Like most other visitors, we complied with their request to not climb the rock.  Instead, we learned about the mala (wallaby) men who first climbed up in an ancient ceremony, the bark carved out of a tree to form simple but powerful spear throwers, and an actual blind mouse (marsupial) that lives underground and carries its pouch on its back.  After, we hopped over to the Olgas, standing tall in the shadow of Uluru. Against the backdrop of the mountains, we saw a kestrel dive from the heights to catch its dinner in flight - the beauty and harshness of the Outback in motion.

A thousand bungled suns - Nico and gang do the Bungle Bungles and Kakadu

"I think we're missing sunset." "It's gonna be an awesome twilight view though." "Yeah." We park. "Alright, only a few people leaving." We walk in. "Ummmm, looks like everyone's leaving." "Suckers. They're gonna miss the sweet twilight." People look at us with pity. We reach the base of the lookout.
A couple fellow backpackers warn us, "The rangers are turning people away, but if you're quick you might get a look."

We're not quick enough; sunset at Ubirr is denied to us. We retreat to the campsite behind the famous aboriginal art site and are immediately attacked by a million mozzies.

This comes as no real surprise, though; sunset just isn't our time. Our first flat tire? Sunset. Our second flat tire? Sunset.

Sunrise isn't much better. We try for one at the Bungle Bungles. Cameron and Sarah don't make it out of the tent; Kevin and I snooze the first alarm. At the second we leap from our tents and are driving within a minute. We can't find the campsite exit and probably wake a dozen families. Finally, we race off. We park and sprint up the hill, gasping for air, certain that we'll miss it. 45 minutes after we reach the top, the sun rises over the rocks. It's nice, especially when Kevin descends and pulls out his guitar, but one thing is obvious: it would have been nicer at sunset.

The days, however are great. Black, white, and orange striped Bungles are spectacular, and Echidna Chasm is impossibly tall and narrow. The drive through Gregory NP has to be one of my favorites, and the aboriginal culture on display in Kakadu is nothing short of fascinating. And, last but certainly not least, the 6 meter massive jumping crocs of the Adelaide River just take my breath away.

From Croc jumping

Nothing but awe for those ancient killing machines.

Check back soon for King me - Nico and gang do the not-so-red center.

White men can jump - Nico and gang do the Gibb River Road

"Let's jump!" "It's definitely deep enough." "Is it deep enough to jump!?" The people swimming below shook their heads. Sharing an amused look with Sarah at the childlike excitement, so did I. We knew that our French and British travelmates, Kevin and Cameron, were a little crazy, but jumping 30+ meters into Bell Gorge was taking it to a whole new level. Half an hour later they leapt. "How was it?" "Amazing. But my bum hurts."

From Broome to Darwin 2

An portly elderly man approaches us. "Good jump?" "Not bad." "I might give it a go." We all laugh at the joke. Ten minutes later we watch in awe as he plummets, framed gloriously by the waterfall. We cheer. The old people cheer louder. "Good on ya!" We have a new hero.

Now with no excuse, I join the boys for a smaller albeit slipperier jump the next day at Manning Gorge. My bum hurts a little bit too.

Check back soon for A thousand bungled suns - Nico and gang do the Bungle Bungles and Kakadu.

Editors note: Some may have misunderstood my earlier post about the photos. My mates never said that they weren't sharing their pictures to punish me; it seemed to be more a matter of selfishness than of malice.  The first one to say it was on great terms with me and deeply apologetic; he just couldn't let go of his 'babies'.  As far as I know, they didn't share with each other either.

Four wheel domination - Nico and gang do the Kimberley

"Are you sure that this is the road?" "Nope" "Are you sure that this is a road?" "Kinda looks like a car's been here before." "You see the 5 foot ditch, right?" "Yep" Cameron wakes up. "Why are we chasing cows?" "Trying to get to a gorge." "Oh" Ten minutes later: "Maybe this is just a path for cows." Five more minutes. "Might be time to turn around."

Thus ended our short-lived attempt to reach Adcock Gorge, one of the many dicey turnoffs off Australia's most famous 4wd track, the Kimberley's Gibb River Road. We didn't care though; creating our own road over jutting rocks and tenuous ditch crossings was just as fun. Four wheel domination.

From Broome to Darwin 2

Going off-road has without a doubt been one of the highlights of the trip, especially from the driver's seat. There's just no feeling like climbing up and down sand dunes until you pull up the last one and face nothing between you and the ocean. Or diving headlong into rivers that you pray aren't too deep and feeling a moment of panic as the headlights go beneath the water before breathing a collective sigh of relief as you inch up the opposite bank. Or pitching to the left and right as you clamber over boulders as big as wallabies (or an actual wallaby in Kevin's case) and landing with a thud back onto Earth. Or taking any possible road to the beach to seek shelter in the dunes from the wind and the roving eyes of rangers, finding a private spot miles away from any other sentient minds. And, of course, visiting the beautiful spots many backpackers are forced to skip, not just the Gibb River Road but also Francois Peron, Red Bluff and Gnaraloo, the back road to Cape Range, Karijini, and most recently the World Heritage listed Bungle Bungles and Kakadu.

There are some downsides though. In the past week I've gone from never having changed a flat tyre in my life to changing two. Some days we'd open the trunk and discover that everything was covered in dust. Other times we'd stumble out of the car reeling with headaches from severely corrugated roads. Once we hit a bump so hard that the car suddenly died. A few minutes of panic ensued until we determined with the help of two friends we'd met the week before, who just happened to be driving by, that one power cable had simply come loose. And dealing with the air pressure in the tyres, though quite manly, can be dangerous guesswork and a pain to constantly adjust.

But I love it. We all do. And so does King Dave - it's what he was born to do. Half the time it feels like we're in a commercial for Jeep; I'll load up some of those videos up when I get a chance.

Check back soon for White men can jump - Nico and gang do the Gibb River Road.

A bang and a whimper - Nico and gang do Broome

Some trips end with a bang, others with a whimper. This one had both.

After sleeping near some massive termite nests on the way out of Exmouth, we made our way to Karijini's stunning gorges where emerging differences in schedules and travel styles led to some frayed emotions. I tried to be fair and reasonable, but underlying frustrations and, though it was never said aloud, I think different understandings of proper respect as well, drove wedges into our fun as deep as the gorges we clambered through. Patches were attempted as we left the park but a cool undercurrent persisted on the long drive to Broome via 80 mile beach.

First came the bang. Our most interesting night of the trip materialized from thin air when we bravely followed the sounds of reggae music on an empty street to crash an aboriginal/islander holiday party. Somewhat fearful at first, our initial hesitation was put to rest as we were greeted with open arms, genuine good cheer, some funky dancing, and delicious food and drinks (though the turtle and dugong cooking in the traditional manner beneath the soil were for family consumption only). Even that, though, wasn't enough to save us; we agreed the next day that the two who had been planning on staying with me would remain in Broome as I continued on. We hoped that it would enable us to end on a positive note.

I walk to a nearby hostel, hoping to put a sign up advertising my new lift offer; I now have three spots to fill and still hope to leave tomorrow. There's someone already standing there. "Looking for a lift to Darwin?" I ask hopefully; "You're kidding me" comes the reply. "Nope." "You have room for my friend?" "Hell yah."

Within half an hour my new team was assembled. I was on a high.

The whimper came that night, the last we were to spend together. One by one, my friends told me that they didn't want to share their pictures with me as we'd originally agreed and repeated throughout the journey. Those were the pictures I had been planning to share with you; my own camera had been broken from the start. I'm sorry to say that now I have none to display. Though sorely disappointed, I hope that the incident doesn't continue to cloud all my good memories of our adventure.

Check back soon for Four wheel domination - Nico and gang do the Kimberley.

Happy little whalesharks - Nico and gang do Ningaloo Reef

"Happy little whalesharks" sang the girls in their highest voices; "Happy little whalesharks" followed the guys in their deepest. It was a wacky end to an awesome day of snorkeling with those majestic fish that are anything but little; the biggest fish in the sea, whalesharks are thought to grow up to 18 meters long. Even the juveniles we swam with - which, being inquisitive, truth to bump us with their enormous heads to figure out what we were - were 3 meters long. Awesome.

The whaleshark expedition was the finale of a weeklong snorkel-fest up the Ningaloo reef (named a world heritage site the day of our whalesharking) that also featured six huge sea turtles (one I kept up with for at nearly 10 minutes), a reef shark, and world-class coral. And twice when I seriously feared for my life: the first after swimming past two sets of breaking waves in Lefroy Bay to see what was on the other side (toes were bleeding after fighting my way back through those) and the second while bring caught in the menacing currents of innocent-sounding Turquoise Bay. The only thing that kept me from panicking was the sight of a man watching me from the shore, a stone's throw from the life preserver placed there for situations like mine. When I finally crawled, gasping, onto the beach, he said, "I didn't think that you were going to make it." When he showed me where I'd fought from, I understood why.

Though we've never resorted to the French Market ("When you steal from a supermarket," told us a French girl in Carnarvon who's brother had just been caught. "Every French person does it"), we have become quite creative getting our supplies at times. Best was at Red Bluff, when, after enjoying the stunning sunset, we ran out of gas mid-dinner and traded cupcakes for a can of butane and collected firewood (comically and illegally) in exchange for some special pizza from a group of surfers. And after camping for free on beaches all up the coast, we (despite my protests) camped one night in a park in town, were caught by the police who luckily didn't fine us, and ended up in a limestone quarry instead.

Check back soon for A bang and a whimper - Nico and gang do Broome

Did somebody order a krabby patty? - Nico and gang do Monkey Mia

Our next destination was Monkey Mia, made famous by a few families of wild dolphins that gamely head to the shore nearly every morning to interact with the locals. As usual, the journey proved more than we bargained for.
After a brief stop to see millenia-old stromatolites, which are about as exciting as their name suggests, we got some bait and took one of our trip's many unmarked off-road dirt paths; this one, uniquely, led to a beach comprised entirely of little white shells. Armed with my fishing rod and some thawing squid, Chuck and I head off into the water, into the sunset, in search of dinner. We figured we'd get thigh deep before casting the line. So we walked. And walked. 200 meters out we hit what looked to be a sand bar but was also just shells. Kept on walking; the only thing that got deeper were our feet, which sank well into the mud with every step. After a luckless hour of casts, we returned to find that the girls had prepared tea and cookies for us - we were already falling into gender stereotypes. This only got clearer later when the guys built a fire after breaking some of the biggest branches by driving over them with the 4wd. Beast.

In Francois Peron National Park, we caught some beautiful fish and spotted rays, sharks,dolphins, and turtles from a sweet lookout. It was going pretty smoothly (besides a hasty retreat from the water after a shark sighting at our beach and backing up King Dave into the camping table which somehow managed to survive - "cruuuunch" "Is that the table?") until we decided to take the shovel out the second evening to hunt for crabs. Miraculously, we found a huge one in its hole on the second try. Shocked, Chuck asked, "What do we do now?" "Hit it with the shovel!" I replied in line with our plan from the start. Whack. Crab down. Suddenly, Leila shouts, "What are we going to do with it now!?" Before I have time to respond with the obvious, "We eat it," Chuck lifts the crab up with the shovel, chucking it as far as he can into the ocean. Once we stopped laughing, I asked, "What'd you do that for?" "I don't know, I just panicked."

We never caught another crab.

Check back soon for Happy little whalesharks - Nico and gang do the Ningaloo Reef.

And special shout-out to our latest hero, Grant, an auto-electrician who rescued us on a Saturday afternoon when everything was closed to fix not just our brake lights but half a dozen other issues as well. And a couple more things Monday morning. And he did them well, providing good company and welcome advice to boot. When we tried to pay, he accepted only a token amount - "I know what it's like to be on the road". If you're ever in Broome and want to rent a car, you're in good hands with Grant. Cheers mate.

Camping on the beach - Nico and gang do Kalbarri

After a three day test run down south with Chuck and Maya to surfing and wine mecca Margaret river that featured some friendly Taiwanese who'd just bought a broken car, getting shown up in the waves by a 14 year old girl surfing champion, climbing a 75 meter tree with a wicked view, snorkeling for stingrays, and an overly friendly possum at our campsite, the full group assembled in Perth for our full departure (once I'd finished up my final project at UWA and had a surprise goodbye party courtesy of Tim).

Our first destination was Kalbarri national park, a small corner of the coast cut with beautiful gorges and clouded only by the bad weather we had when passing through.  Though the park was nice and our impromptu ballroom and salsa dance party at a hostel outside the park (with a middle-aged Australian man and a Dutch girl) was certainly entertaining, what should have been a simple day and a half drive to Kalbarri ended up being most memorable as an introduction in dramatic fashion to what were to become two of the strongest recurring themes of our trip - getting help from very friendly Australians and doing stupid things.  Though the help has come from Aussies of all shapes and forms, like the  young recently divorced tyre mechanic in Geraldton who directed us to free camping on the beach in the one spot that the rangers don't check - "I've used it quite a few times in the last couple months" - and the disembodied voice that called out to us with an offer of a covered clothesline as we hung our wet clothes on a tree in a caravan park (we found where it came from on the third try), most of it has been from elderly folks with big hearts and accumulated wisdom from several trips around the country.  We were about to meet the first of those now.

As we approached what we thought would be a free campsite at Sandy Cape, we noticed a sign requiring payment for the night.  Confused, we decided to check out the site first and drove to the far end where we thought we'd have the most privacy.  Noticing a entry spot to the beach, we decided to go for it; why have a car with four wheel drive if we're not going to use it?  Despite my very limited 4wd experience, I knew to instruct our current driver to put the car in 4 low while I locked the wheels.  For the first 20 seconds,  it was awesome.  Then the car stopped moving.

We got out and, sure enough, we'd driven far too close to the water and the tires were stuck deep into the sand.  The driver got nervous, so it was up to me to try to get us out.  I tried to back it up as far as I could, but we reached a point where the wheels were spinning, the engine was coughing, and we just weren't going anywhere.  And the tide was inching closer towards us.  The panic was too.

Suddenly, four figures appeared out of the night.  An older couple and a younger couple who'd heard our noisy attempts up at their campsites and guessed correctly what was going on.  The men got our shovel out and started getting to work while the women chatted on the side.  As they pushed and I continued to try to reverse, one asked, "Did you put the engine in 4 low or 4 high?"  "4 low, is that wrong?"  "No, that's right; just sounds like it's in 4 high."  Sure enough, the driver had put it in the wrong gear.  Fixing that, finally things began improving.

But that still wasn't enough.  After a few more minutes, Terry, the pensioner, told me,  "If you don't want the ocean to take your car, you've got to let air out of the tyres."  I'd known that reducing tyre pressure was important for driving on rocky roads; I hadn't realized that it was even more important for driving on sand.  Finally free, we thanked our saviors and went, a little shaken, to a site right next to the beach that Terry directed us to.

In the morning, we got some visitors - Terry and his wife had walked over to check on us and invite us to their trailer for morning coffee.  When we'd packed up and drove over to find them, the wife was standing on the road waving us over and Terry had his pump to refill our tires already out and ready to go.  They shared some travel tips along with the coffee, loving every minute of it, until finally saying, "What are you doing staying here listening to us?  Drive off, explore, have some fun!"  Comforted that the magnitude of our stupidity was outweighed only by the generosity of our hosts, we did.

My own reality show for a day - Nico and gang do Western Australia

As I've told some of you over the past few months, my life in Perth, though lovely, was not quite exciting enough to warrant a blog.  From the very first night of our road trip though, when we decided to drive onto a beach to camp and got stuck within a minute, it was clear that that had changed.  I've been lazy and without battery for some time (sorry!) but I'm finally ready to write again.  Soooooo here begins Nico, Chuck, Maya, and Leila do Western Australia; I hope you enjoy.  To make up for lost time, I'll start us off with a big one.

We'll go back about a month, when I finally had my rugged old Nissan Patrol 4wd - "King Dave" - ready to roll, camping and snorkeling gear and emergency car supplies filling up the trunk and straps installed on top for my surfboard and boogieboard to give us some serious Aussie street cred.  Now came the most important part - finding travelmates.  These were the illustrious backpackers with whom I was going to spend the next month (at least) 24/7, sharing petrol, beds, fun, food, blood, sweat, and a lot of cheap wine, so I could not take this task lightly.

First I put a post up on the local couchsurfing group, which had served me so well in the past - alas, got no bites (which prepared me for our mostly luckless fishing attempts since).  I then resorted to Gumtree, Australia's Craigslist equivalent, putting an ad up and responding to a few others; it was a bit riskier than couchsurfing, but had a much wider audience.  I communicated with a few that didn't fit for various reasons, mostly time-related, before finally finding a real possibility.  Contestant #1 was a German girl, friendly and a chef(!) but pretty quiet and reserved/hungover.  She was on her way to see Hangover 2, so she earned points for that.  Overall, not a bad option but I decided to hold off a commitment for the time being.

Contestant #2 was also a German girl, who was holding a bag full of meat ("It was on sale") when we met.  Good start.  We got a six-pack and decided that it would be nice to drink it outside on a bench in front of a fountain despite suspecting that this wasn't strictly legal behavior.  Sure enough, a couple of youngish cops came by after an hour or so and knew exactly what was going on.  I prepared for the worst.  "Where are you from?"  "Germany and the US."  "We know that you can drink in public in Germany; is it legal in the US?"  "Depends where you are (and if you have a brown paper bag)." [As far as I know it's only ok in New Orleans' French Quarter, but to be fair I have made good use of that exception.] "You know, if any other officers had found you, you would have a $200 fine immediately."  "That's a lot."  "But you seem like nice people and it's a quiet Thursday night, so we'll give you a pass; you just have to pour out the remainder of the open bottles."  "Fair enough."  "So, we know we shouldn't be encouraging this, but which Aussie beers do you like?"  We all laughed and chatted for a few minutes, then with a smile and a wave they went on their way.  "Gotta love Australia."  And I knew I had found my first travelmate - Maya.  Maya's foreign charm has helped us since as well, like when we were stopped by police a few days ago for a burnt-out taillight.  Also didn't hurt that she (who was driving at the time) hadn't bothered to put her shorts back on after the beach we'd just been at, leaving her bikini bottom in full view.  Needless to say, we didn't get a ticket (and they even saved us from overpaying for petrol at the servo we were at, directing us instead to a little petrol station up the road with cheaper prices).

Since I wanted a full variety of nationalities, this meant that Contestant #1 was out.  I also wanted a balance of guys and girls, so Contestant #3 was a Canadian dude.  Blind dates between two guys are always tough, so it's nice to find some safe common ground to start with, like agreeing in our first call that it was a good idea to get a caravan going with a group of girls we'd both responded to on Gumtree who were probably getting their own car.  "Can't hurt  the odds."  "My thoughts exactly."  [We ended up leaving earlier than the girls, who then passed us when we took a spontaneous detour up a peninsula to Gnaraloo on the recommendations of the old Aussie couple that had rescued us from the sand on day 1 and a Margaret River surfer chick who helped me find a sleeping Maya hidden in the bushes.]  When Chuck was game enough to join my volleyball friends and I on a night out and oozed classic Canadian friendliness, I figured he was a pretty safe bet, even though he didn't join in the dancing at Carnegy's ("I need to drink way more before I'm ready to dance").  Turns out that Chuck only needs half a glass of wine to start impersonating a kangaroo and hopping towards ones that are chilling near us on a cliff.  Though he displayed none of that (very welcome) goofiness that first night, I could tell that he'd be a good bro and welcomed him on board.  

And then there was one.

Contestant #4 was French, a self-described "creasy girl" who got points for being a fellow couchsurfer and for adding a new language to the mix.  I think that you can usually tell in the first minute and almost certainly in the first hour after meeting somebody whether you'd gel on the road, and with her I didn't quite feel it.  Still, I wanted to leave three days later and needed a fourth rider and she fit the bill, so I gave her a tentative yes but told her I had agreed to meet one more person before making a decision.  When my travelmates asked me later the reason for my hesitation, I could only respond, "She was wearing Crocs." "Ahhhh" they all nodded with understanding [Mordechai and Estee - if you read this, no offense intended.  I'd be happy to travel with both of you next time we're not continents apart.]

Luckily, by the time I returned home from that, Contestant #5 had responded to my e-mail; we met the next night.  Fresh from a road trip along the South Coast, this Swiss Girl seemed prepped for living out of a car.  I'd also had a great time traveling with half-Swiss Jenn and Jeremy in South America, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt.  When we had a fun night wandering around Freo in search of a live jazz performance she and her friend claimed to have seen advertised (even though bouncers we asked about it thought we were crazy because we most certainly were not in New Orleans), I knew that it had been the right decision to wait out Contestant #4.  With Maya, Chuck, and now Leila on board, my team was fully assembled.

Let the fun begin.

Since my internet/electricity access is limited out here, I can't post on a schedule, but I should be able to get something up (likely without pictures) every few days.

Check back soon for Camping on the beach - Nico and gang do Kalbarri. 

Why I love Rotto - Nico does Rottnest Island

1:  Quokka. Like mini-kangaroos, but cuter. You can pet them.

2:  Snorkeling at three different spots - and that didn't even exhaust all of the options. Back might be a bit burnt though (but not as badly burnt as James was tonight after spitting out the habanero pepper that Ash and I, being real men, were able to conquer).

3:  Spotted a baby stingray hanging out on the ocean floor.  Let me get within a few inches before darting away; that baby can move.

4:  No cars allowed, leaving a beautiful 20K bike ride around the island (with many beach/snorkel breaks included, of course).

5:  White sand and all kinds of calm turquoise water just a half-hour boat ride from Freo - it's like having a resort island in our backyard.

Why I love this city - Nico does Perth

1:  Doesn't matter what the weather report predicts; it's been hot and sunny with clear blue skies every day - perfect for the Camelot outdoor cinema (one of the city's many) two blocks from my villa.  I'll be heading there tomorrow for the premier of the annual Flickerfest International Short Films Festival.

2:  I can bike to work any day I want and there's always time to cool off with a dip in the ocean and jog on the beach when I get home.

3:  There are so many fine white beaches with turquoise water and dolphins diving in and out that there simply aren't enough people to make them crowded. Ever. (except for maybe the Sunday Session at Cottesloe, but that's offset by Tim's comment - see below).

4:  There are a dozen microbreweries just across the bridge in Freo

and dozens more wineries down the highway in Margaret River.

5:  Life is relaxed - nobody works too hard, sleeves are optional, my biggest concern is what kind of surfing to attempt, and the last train home on Friday nights is free for all riders.

Why I loved last weekend - Nico does Melbourne

1:  I'll be on the website of a posh downtown club after my attempt to salsa with my host's friend, a professional albeit out of costume burlesque dancer, got the attention of the photographer.

2:  On my first evening out, I was hosted for a delicious bbq and then sat back for a giant-screen backyard cinema viewing of the classic comedy Police Academy, complete with fresh air, popcorn, and home-made wine (courtesy of my host's Italian parents).

3:  Two nights later I had another unexpected American treat at a fellow couchsurfer's party - old-school S'mores.  A fellow former Jewish summer camp counselor showed the Aussies and Kiwis how it's done.  I ended up carrying some s'mores supplies (for my American-candy-crazed roommate back in

Perth) to a couple of clubs after we left the house; the bouncers thought I had some really weird new drugs.

4:  I got to use my new worldwide network of contacts from my South American travels for the first time to receive top-notch hosting from a former dorm- and party-mate in Colombia, carrying the celebration straight from Medellin to Melbourne.

5:  On the morning that I left there was an attempt about two blocks from the business school where I had been staying by some of the best Italian chefs outside of Italy to create the longest pizza in the world - a fine example of Melbourne's constant, random, and fun celebrations of life.

Why I love my job - Nico does UWA

1:  Less than three weeks into the job I'm being flown out to Melbourne for a few meetings with a long weekend attached, making me a key point-man in the communication with our sister lab there. At my last job, folks were lucky to take a business trip half an hour up I-95.

2:  I design my own hours and have opportunities to pick the work that excites me most. Today I even spent the morning participating in an industry game simulation with one of my profs. When I told him that I play to win, he responded, "Bring it." (It ended up being a complex lego-assembly operation, which Willis and I won consecutive gold medals for in TABC's back-to-back Science Olympiad victories some years ago).

3:  My colleagues are great - I'm treated like an equal by world-renowned professors, get to practice Spanish every day with a friendly Chilena and a fellow American, and one of my fellow research assistants is not only also a professional dancer but also a swimsuit model (and still quite friendly) - Come on!

4:  Our building overlooks the Swan River on two sides and is fifty feet from kite- and wind-surfing mecca Pelican Point on the picturesque Matilda Bay. Talk about a fun lunch break.

5:  To top it all off, the pay beats pretty much any standard backpacker job and it's an incredible experience for both my professional development and my resume, not to mention giving me new access to a worldwide network of smart and helpful individuals.

Shout out to the man who made this possible: OB superstar and my favorite Wharton professor, the one and only Dr. Adam Grant

Why I love my villa - Nico, Ash, and James do Mosman Park

1:  It's 3 blocks from Mosman beach and just down the road from world-class Cottesloe (where, as my friend Tim says, there are too many attractive girls)

2:  It's also 3 minutes from Perth's iconic Swan River (and my roommates have an extra fishing rod)

3:  We got a surfboard out front and and a grill out back, weights on the floor and an X-box well, also, on the floor, air conditioning in my room and ice pops always in the freezer

4:  Our neighbor has not only been ducking rent for months and leaving a broken truck blocking the driveway, but also running an illegal wine business out of his garage.

5:  I'm chillin with two British blokes in a villa with nightly beer and plans to suit up Swingers-style for a night out in the casino - come on! (if you don't get the references, click here and here)

Eat Pray Love - Nech, Danny, and Alana do the world

Sometimes I feel like a terrible hedonist.

While I'm going about about steak and wine and pizza and dancing on the beach, Danny is writing sentences like: "On the contrary, one becomes peaceful in all his ways, and able to pursue goals out of genuine generosity, kindness, love, and compassion, rather than out of some subconscious ulterior motive to feel good/better." and Alana begins one post: "I don't know how to describe what I saw tonight.  We walked around the city at night to meet some street kids. These little children come in from the villages around Kathmandu and live on the street. They collect rags for money and beg as well. 1 in 10 of them has AIDS. They form gangs to survive, and are often beaten or raped by the older members. All of these kids are addicted to sniffing glue."

As it turns out, I'm not the only person who's decided to postpone finding a job in order to travel (and write a blog) instead.  Two of my best friends from back home (and original road trip buddies) have set out on their own journeys that seem more than a little bit different from my experience.  As I'm living it up in South America, Danny is sitting still for ten hours a day in Indian Ashrams and Alana is setting aside months to aid poor communities in Nepal.  Danny, in his quest for inner and outer peace, has titled his blog the Hebrew acronym for "Thank God for Being Good" while Alana, hoping to rediscover her world through volunteering, writes about "Waking Up in Nepal." 

Sometimes I feel like a terrible hedonist. 

As I began getting depressed over this, I picked up my friend's copy of the book Eat Pray Love. Author Liz Gilbert goes on her own world travels, winding down from her overstressed New York City life by seeking pure pleasure in Italy, peace in India, and a fusion of the two (love) in Indonesia.  I couldn't help comparing our three experiences to hers. Danny's Ashram is spot on.  Nepal and Indonesia aren't too different, especially considering the amount of focus Alana and Liz put on helping poor children (and who knows, maybe Alana has found a passionate Brazilian hunk of her own).  And, in my case, Liz and I both love eating and learning Spanish and Italian, which are basically the same language anyway.  I took comfort in thinking that my part, the pursuit of pleasure, was just as valid as the other two.

Being honest with myself, though, I had to admit that the comparison does not stand.  If I told any of my roommates that I needed to learn how to be comfortable with pleasure and relaxation, they'd laugh to my face.  Most still believe that I never worked or studied my entire last year of university.  For that matter, Danny is the last one of my friends who needs help finding inner peace and Alana has been a paragon of love, care, and compassion for as long as I've known her.  It's like Kobe taking a season off to learn how to play basketball or Hugh Heffner going on sabbatical to practice his seduction skills.  Bullshit.

So where does that leave me?  Am I in the wrong place?  Should I be cultivating inner peace or developing compassion instead of watching Colombian beauty queens march by in parades?  Is this experience of pleasure and adventure a waste of time or an expression of living life to its fullest?

Been nearly two weeks now since I started writing this post and I still don't have any answers.  I think I'll just have to leave the questions standing for now.  I'd love to hear your thoughts.

In the meantime, I'll be taking a hiatus from backpacking.  For the next month at least, I'll be hanging out in NY and Philly to catch up with y'all before departing on what will like be a much longer trip next time.  The plan is to get a job to really experience living in a different country as a normal person.  Let's see if you can guess where.

I guess this is the end then.  Thanks for following; I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.  As much fun as it's been to make new friends every day, the transitory nature of those relationships has made me really appreciate the old friends and family who've stuck with me in spirit despite having their own very busy lives thousands of miles away. 

Finally, may I add that some of my craziest times on the trip have been the last few weeks in Colombia.  For those stories, you'll have to ask me in person.  Excited to see you soon,

con mucho amor,
Nico

Tango Porteño - Nico and Beni do Buenos Aires

Proud, beautiful, and hopped up on maté, the porteños of Buenos Aires take the already ridiculous Argentinian late nights to an absurd extreme. Restaurants don't open till 10PM and stay empty until midnight or 1AM. The clubs start up at 2,3, or 4 and more often than not see the next day's light.

We never made it to breakfast in Buenos Aires.

Our days weren't entirely wasted though. We did see the wild and crazy futból fans of River Plate, check out tango birthplace La Boca, peruse the posh cemetery and hippie market of Recoleta and gaucho market of Mataderos, stroll through Soho wannabe Palermo, and eat the best pizza (Ugi's!!) South America has to offer. Had it at least half a dozen times.

Also got bed bugs. That sucked. And we made a toga party in the hostel. That was fun. And rocked a tango lesson before attending the glamorous reincarnation of Buenos Aires' dancing heyday in the 40's, a stylish show called (coincidentally) Tango Porteño.

Can't really think of anything clever to say. Probably because as I'm writing this I'm half asleep; the last two nights we've been dancing on the sand in Uruguay's international beach resort Punta del Este until 5:30AM (at which point we took an hour driving tour of the area with a local doctor) and then 7AM (stayed up for sunrise on the beach with a Dutch friend we met in BA).  We also had absurdly huge steaks in Montevideo.

Oooh funny story about the older women drug smugglers. Remind me to type that up. Or maybe you'll have to ask me in person. Ha.

Apparently in Colombia, restaurants close at 9PM. Gonna be a tough adjustment.

Off now to see Diego in Montevideo and Max in Buenos Aires and then Bógota here I come. Get ready.

Didn't end up seeing Diego or Max.  Did run into El Luco though.  Before catching you up to the good times in Colombia I'm gonna write a thoughtful post with complete sentences.  I've actually had to revert to a normal schedule for a few days because of the scuba  lessons.  So check back soon for Eat Pray Love - Nech, Danny, and Alana do the world.

Did Che drink Duff beer? - Nico and Beni do Córdoba

Shout out to new follower: loyal cousin Eitan. And though I don't think hers went through, Becca also said she signed up so she gets a benefit-of-the-doubt shout out. That one really rolls of the tongue. Now I know that at least two people are still reading :) But I digress...

Boasting one of the liveliest downtowns in South America, Córdoba buzzes with hundreds of thousands of university students who give Argentina's second city a legendary club scene.

Somehow we didn't end up going clubbing in Córdoba. In fact, though we loved the city, we actually had our best moments in two outlying towns: Villa General Belgrano and Alta Gracia.

First was Belgrano, the site of Argentina's very own Oktoberfest. Loaded up with a majestic beer stein that holds more than a liter, I watched tango, salsa, ballet and more drinking artesanal beers with German sounding names brewed just miles away. One, though, had somehow hijacked the most beloved American beer name of our time - Homer Simpson's Duff beer. I just wish Moe had been there serving us (though the Argentinians who had licensed the name for exclusive use down here were nice enough).

There we also experienced a moment that epitomized one of the fun (or sad) realities of traveling in South America: realizing that almost everyone you meet is on the same Gringo Trail as you are. Fun because it helps make good friends but sad because you're just not as unique as you thought you were. There we were in a small village several hours outside Córdoba sitting at a picnic table with Irish, Israeli, Dutch, and British backpackers. Two remembered us from a tour of the Potosi silver mines we had taken together weeks earlier. Two more wore buddies we had made riding around the Uyuni salt flats, also up in Bolivia. Two more Binny recognized from our hostel in Mendoza. And the last had been on a tour of the university with us that morning. All gringos. And, of course, the Jewish world was even smaller; I found out later that night that one of the Israelis had been on the Bronfman summer program with one of my FunHouse housemates. Think that called for one of many "Saluds!"

Alta Gracia, besides housing a historic Jesuit estancia, was also the childhood home of this blog's namesake: revolutionary leader Ernesto 'Che' Gueverra. I figured that I at least owed it to Che to check out his museum, so off we went. There I learned not only about Che the Cuban guerrilla leader but also about Ernesto, the father who in his final letter to his children urged them to be the best revolutionaries they could be and even about Ernestito, the little boy with asthma whose love for motorcycles led to one of the most memorable journey's of the modern era, inspiring many (including hopefully me) to take their own motorcycle trips to truly experience and understand new lands and people. Che's compassionate poem for the poorly treated Potosi (and Chilean) silver miners we had visited touched me even as his devotion to guerrilla tactics scared me. His last letter to soulmate Fidel Castro was in equal parts sweet, surreal, and awkwardly over-honest. And who but Che would smoke cigars while sitting in a tree in the Congo reading a novel and waiting for an ambush?

Even as I disagree with many of his tactics, I can't help but be inspired by how Che followed his heart to new countries, positions, and goals without fear or hesitation. In that, at least, I hope I can take on the Che.

Having some trouble getting Córdoba pics up so for now check out these sweet photos from overpowering Iguazu Falls and then check back soon for Beni's last stand in Tango Porteño - Nico and Beni do Buenos Aires.

Steak and wine - Nico and Beni do Salta and Mendoza

Argentina at last.  After four months of stumbling through developing countries whose roads weren't complete without a ditch every few steps and idea of hygiene was - well, let's not go into that - I had finally reached the promised land.

The change in atmosphere was immediate.  The border crossing was simple, clear, and efficient and we were waved through with a smile and a joke.  The taxi refused to take all five of us at once; apparently, we were now in a country with actual rules and safety measures.  Sort of inconvenient.

Our first stop was Salta where we sat down to the first of many steaks and bottles of wine at amazing value.  "Isn't that a little bit unhealthy?" "I'm assuming that the red wine will balance out all the cholesterol from the steaks.  Pretty sure it works that way."  Couple days later we rented a car and began a road trip down through ancient rock formations - including a gaping hole in the ground known as the Devil's Throat and a giant toad - towards the northern wine district of Cafayete for tastings galore.  Next day we passed through beautiful Cachi and thousands of cacti, stopping briefly to witness dozens of majestic Andean condors lift off and glide up through the adjacent mountains.



We downgraded transportation for our Mendoza wine tour, opting to go with the recommended Bikes and Wine company.  Expecting dirt country roads leading from one vineyard to the next, we were shocked to find ourselves tipsily navigating through cars and trucks on a bumpy asphalt road drunk not only from wine but also absinthe, schnaaps, licquor, gourmet chocolate, and jam.  And then back at the launching area we fought on a giant inflatable castle, complete (of course) with more wine.  "Not sure if this was entirely authentic experience."  "Fun though."  "Wonder what the Disney Wine Tour would have entailed?" 



After checkin out the local artisans, makin dinner, and hittin up the park, we walked the wide streets of Mendoza one last time before our east.  Check back soon for Did Che drink Duff beer? - Nico and Beni do Córdoba.

Note: Shout out to new Canadian friends Jenn and Jeremy! They have a family mountain. Also note that you can now become a follower of the blog. Do it!