Hitchhike Attempt #2

When last we spoke, I was still in Sydney, fighting the magnetic pull of fate and wondering if I'd ever see any other part of Australia. I wanted crocs and kangaroos and outback, dammit! When oh when do I get to see all the marsupials and homicidal reptiles?

I've got to take the train out of Sydney. It's the only way I'm ever going to get to a proper spot to hitchhike. I'm told Hornsby is a good place to start. I don't have a clue how much the train is gonna cost and I'm pretty sure I had about $14 at this point. I walk 2 or 3 Ks to Bondi Junction instead of catching the bus, just to save a few bucks. As I'm approaching the train depot, a shop that buys scrap gold jogs my memory: I'm carrying around a gold tooth I found at the bottom of a dusty convenience store candy box about 6 or 7 years ago. This might just be my ticket out of Sydney.

It was only 16 karot and I walk out with $40 cash. I splurge on a pair of sorely needed fingernail clippers and head to the train station. I buy the ticket at the student discount and it's only $3.80. Didn't need that 40 bucks after all.

The trains are all triple decker and there's tons of room to spread out. I do sudoku and/or crossword puzzles and don't realize I'm on the wrong train until we've already backtracked 4 or 5 stops. Sooner or later, I get to Hornsby. Just about dusk, as luck would have it.

Hornsby has an older, touristy section occupying one or two streets on the west side of town and a big fat shopping mall on the east side of the tracks. I wander around both, still scoping out somewhere to stand with my arm and pointy finger casually extended (i'm told the thumb technique is all wrong), and still end up with squat to show for it. I do get a fantastic deal on personal size savory pies at this place called Pie Face in the mall. Everything was a buck at closing time! I'd been passing these shops all over Sydney and they always smelled like hot, buttered scrumtrulescense. I think I got the thai chicken and the steak and cheese. For those who are wondering, yes, I've put vegetarianism on the shelf for now. When you're penniless and starving and a million miles from home, being picky about what you put in your gut seems completely frivolous. I stow the pies away for later, along with my supply of peanut butter, jam and bread. I start walking down what I think is the Pacific Highway, the one that's supposed to head North to warmer climates and, hopefully, dangerous wild animals. The "highway" looks so suburban, it seems silly to try hitching. I can't find a street sign so i just keep on walking. It's getting pretty dark by this time, and I find a good spot not far from a McDonalds with a big streetlight overhead. After grabbing a coffee, I get comfy on the curb, hold up my sign and wait.

And wait. And wait. I was probably sitting around for an hour or so when Brydette rolled up. She says she can't give me a ride and hands me a twenty dollar bill instead.

I thank her profusely and make her pronounce and spell her name several times so that I'll remember when I'm writing about it later. Thanks Brydette!
The next person who stops lives a half a block away and he arrives on foot. He's seen me on his way home from work, thinks I'm in some sort of distress and has come to rescue me. His name is George. I'm sure he means well. He's very sincere. Forty five minutes later, he's driven me to the ACTUAL Pacific Highway, which runs parallel to my fake Pacific Highway, and left me with a full presentation of some multi-level marketing scheme, a plastic "coin of unfathomable value" with jesus' face on one side, and a wallet size prayer card. I think I made his night. You're welcome George!

It turns out George doesn't know jack about hitchhiking. That makes two of us I guess. The place he drops me has cars flying by at 120 KPH in the pitch black freezing cold. I stand there for a while, hoping someone will spot me with their high beams, but eventually decide I've got to go elsewhere. It's either climb back up the ramp in defeat, or head straight up the highway and find a better place to get a lift. Playing it safe hadn't gotten me anywhere yet, so I choose sheer stupidity. I flip on the flashlight and start hiking down the shoulder, over broken glass and other trash, sticking out my finger and pulling it back when the trucks seem close enough to rip it off. The only song that seems appropriate is "Walking After Midnight" and I sing/whistle/hum the tune on repeat for hours.

This is where things get a bit fuzzy. Somehow I end up walking to a dinky little town called Berowra. I either see or hallucinate a bunny rabbit hopping around in the street ahead of me. I find a bus shelter and sit around eating PB&Js for an hour or so. It's about 4 in the morning when I decide to find the train and ride further north, partly hoping that I'll locate a better place to solicit rides but mostly just to get out of the frigid wind.

I may or may not have seen a wild animal, I'm definitely not in Sydney anymore, and though I haven't yet been successful at getting a lift from a stranger, it's not for lack of trying.

PS: I just realized my story sounds contradictory. Yes, George was a stranger and he did give me a ride, but seemingly only for the purpose of talking my ear off and "saving" me from imagined calamity, both physical and spiritual. Total drive time was about 2 minutes and I really could have walked if he had only pointed the way. Now I just sound like an ungrateful jackass.

Hitchhike Attempt #1

So I'm walking Downtown, and the sun is threatening to set. I started late and I'm worried no one is going to pick me up after dark. But as I pass by the University of New South Wales, I can't resist the urge to check out the campus. I don't even consult the die this time. I'm rewarded with an amazing view of the city at sunset from the 10th floor of the library.

By the time I leave, it's dark of course. I hunt around for the on-ramp to the highway for hours. It turns out to be hitchhike proof. I don't even know where to begin to stand. I walk around Kings Cross alternately scoping out cheap hostels (the cheapest costs $3 more than I've got), thinking of ways to come up with a few extra bucks, scavaging for food scraps, and getting propositioned by the same prostitute on 3 separate occasions. The best I can come up with is half a bottle of beer someone sets down on a curb when they jump in a cab. Beer is so expensive here (2 or 3 times what I'm used to paying) that I don't think twice about pouncing on it. Around 3 AM, it's so cold and windy that I can't walk around indecisively any longer. I go to the 24 hour McDonalds on the main drag and spend $6 on a burger and coffee. I plan on staying till daybreak and resuming hitchhiking attempts under more favorable conditions. As I search around for an available seat, a girl gets my attention and directs me to the one next to her and her friend. Zoe and Cal proceed to ask me what I'm up to. They are friendly and kind and I immediatley feel like something amazing is about to happen. They tell me to come with them. I can stay at a friend's house. We catch a cab. The friend is not as welcoming as we'd hoped. Cal stays behind, and Zoe calls another friend. This friend is more welcoming. Another cab ride, some running and hiding, and a few blocks of walking in the freezing cold and we're finally there. It's about 4 AM at this point, I'm totally delerious from lack of sleep and walking several miles with all my belongings strapped to my back. I'm greeted by the big, friendly grin of Eddie, in a huge house with graffiti and young unprofessionals passed out on couches generously sprinkled throughout. Eddie puts me up in his room and I sleep like a baby. In the morning, Zoe is gone. Eddie sets me up with a shower and a washing machine for all my filthy laundry. It's the first time I've washed my clothes in over a week. I soon learn that many of the people I saw on arrival live in the house. About 10 in all. We clean up the back yard. James takes me to the markets in Chinatown, where all the fruit and veg is half price. We get supplies for Abe's birthday BBQ on Sunday.

At the BBQ, I stand around awkwardly until I realize that no one is manning the bar. I take charge and soon I'm mixing "Abe Specials" for the B-day boy and whoever is on the VIP list. At some point I pass out on the couch with a beer in my hand. In the morning I make a big pancake breakfast. No one knows what to do with the potatoes o'brien. I scavage around for sign supplies and find a big peice of cardboard, some tape and a marker. Either James or Eddie has mention Coffs Harbour as a good destination. I scrawl it on my sign in huge letters, thank everyone for the hospitality, and hit the road once more.

And Then and Then and Then...

Got lost walking to Maroubra. Ended up at Clovelly Beach. Absolutely gorgeous view.

I paid for the detour, as I didn't make it to Maroubra Junction in time to use a library computer for directions to my couch for the night. Very low on cash at this point so, I bought some cheap avocados and lebanese bread at the grocery store. Avocados were rock hard, but I managed to peel one of them tiny bits at a time with my teeth. Supplemented with a half-eaten burger left on a picnic table in the park. Walked down to Maroubra Beach and found a playground structure shaped like a boat. Hunkered down in the hull for a long, cold night.

In the morning I went back to the library and did some sudoku and took photos of birds while I waited for it open. Got myself a library card. Made contact with Benny, of the shop of a thousand couchsurfers. Wandered about Maroubra some more. Showed up at Benny's around 4:30. Benny gives me a big hug and a tour of the place, which is located in a run down strip mall. Looks like a vacant shop from the outside. Inside it looks like a cross between a used sporting goods store, the fight club house, and an orphanage/hostel/commercial kitchen/auto garage. There are currently 4 other couchsurfers in residence, 3 French guys and an American girl, all traveling together. I take a shower and do some dishes, which were threatening to spill out of the sink when I got there.

Over the next 3 days, I make myself useful by cooking a few meals, trying to keep up with the dishes, and photographing hand-painted wood souvenirs Benny wants to sell on ebay. Another Frenchie named Maele shows up and spends most of the time cleaning up her van and printing up flyers to sell it. Xin, from Germany, rounds out the group and we make dinner with Max and Maele. We watch Pet Detective 2 and drink a bottle of Penfolds.

I leave on Friday, July 8th. Once again, I have no idea where I'm going next. My only goal is North, away from the clutches of the big city. I come to a crossroads and decide to a roll a die. 1 or 2, I walk to a Hungry Jacks (the Aussie version Burger King) a half a block away, drink coffee and hope to run into someone who will give me a ride out of Sydney. 3 or 4, I head towards the suburb of Newtown, where I hung out at a pub the previous night, and attempt to find lodging with strangers at same pub. 5 or 6 and I hoof it straight downtown and try to hitch hike till someone picks me up. I roll a 5. It's go time.

H.M.U. Part Two

Manuele had gone out for croissants in the morning and offered me a few to munch on while he told about another couch surf event going on that evening. Organic dinner at Elanor's house over by Queens Park. I spent a little time checking out potential couches to surf before we left. Still no luck. I couldn't stay at Manuele's another night, since a new renter was moving into the spare room the next day. I hopped on the bus to Queens Park and crossed my fingers.

Dinner was great. Met lots of lovely people, most of them travelers or transplants. France, England, Austria, and Spain were all represented. The eggplant was delicious. An elaborately staged photography session happened. Near the end of the night, someone asked where I was staying and I shrugged. Probably should have spoken up sooner, eh? In the end, I slept on Elanor's futon and had a breakfast of Vegemite on toast and "Born in to Brothels" the next morning.

More internetting with only a potential couch to show for it. The Spanish physics guy (He's seen the LHC! Up close and in person!), Gael, had told me about this sort of shop/house in Maroubra where he had stayed for a few days with 7 other couchsurfers. I was able to track down the place and email the guy who owned it, but it started getting late and I hadn't heard back from him with an address. Since I had given my last $8 to Elanor, the suggested donation for the dinner, I had no bus money. I started walking the 3 1/2 miles to Maroubra with no confirmed lodging and less than 2 hours of daylight left.

Things were about to get interesting, one way or another.

Heaps Massive Update

I've been going about this all wrong. I've been trying to compose these structured, all-encompassing daily updates in my head or on paper and I never end up getting them to the computer. I should really just spend the time typing something in this box every day and so what if it isn't Walt friggin Whitman.

So I met up with Adam at the train station. He's a mellow 30-something teacher/student by day and a rock n' roll rugby head the rest. He took me out to brekky, showed me around all the cool neighborhoods, fed me Vegemite, and introduced me to Australian cinema, among other things. I was so disoriented and awkward the whole time, I think I weirded him out a little. Part of it had to do with the shock of realizing how very expensive it is to do anything in Sydney and part of it was the anxiety of not knowing where my next couch was coming from. He was a good sport right to the end and I'm very grateful to have had such a gracious host for my first couchsurf.

When my time to leave came, and I still hadn't found a place to go next, I put all my eggs in one basket and hoped for the best. There's a big couchsurfing.org sponsored meetup in Sydney once a month with about 40 or 50 people who usually attend, both travelers and potential hosts. It just happened to fall on July 1st this month, which was the first night I was without accomidation. I met a very nice Brazilian lady within a half hour. She enthusiastically agreed to host both me and a Spanish physics wizard named Gael. Gael and I continued to chat, drink beer and snag free dinner from a huge plate of complimentary fries, when we noticed that our host had left without us. It was past midnight and we had both just become homeless. We looked out the window grimly and noticed a steady drizzle, which promted us both into emergency mode. We joined a group of 4 or 5 folks and gave them the puppy dog eyes. By the end of the night, we were both going home with an Italian guy named Manuele who lived with a family with four small children in suburb of Randwick.

It was so late, he wasn't able to get approval on a multi-stranger sleepover. So we all tip-toed inside with the idea that he would wake up first and do a bit of 'splaining and then and only then would I make an appearance. Gael left super early for some appointment, so it was just me doing this little jack-in-the-box routine. I waited and waited, thinking Manuele would knock on my door at some point and tell me the coast was clear. I was so afraid someone was going to hear me or worse, open the door and see me, before Manuele waa able to warn them, that I just remained quiet and stationary as possible all day long. I had no watch or clock and I was so jet-lagged, I couldn't really feel what time it was at all. When the sun started making long shadows on the wall, I finally got the nerve to pop my head out. There was a sign on the floor in front of the door. "Jered- Knock on my door when you get up."

Day One: Crash Landing

I made it. I'm here. Australia is my address for the next 3 months, Steve Erwin willing.

The plane ride was brutal, of course. I've flown half as far before and wanted to chop my lower limbs off and eat them raw. It would've been better than what they served for breakfast and solved my leg room issue at the same time.

I land in Sydney around 6 in the morning on Wednesday. Total confusion. I feel gross and nervous and excited at the same time. Going through customs is almost more than I can handle. I decide to walk downtown. It's 4 or 5 miles, but I've got plenty of time till I have to meet my couch surfing host, Adam, and I'd like to get a feel for the local geography. The taxi attendant laughs when I ask him directions on foot. The path leading away from SYD turns out to be pedestrian paradise and I have no trouble finding the way. I get my first taste of backwards traffic; everybody on the wrong side of the car and street. My brain is functioning like fart vomit; I can't imagine what it would've been like to get a rental car and drive myself to the city. Guaranteed smash.

On my trek downtown, I make the following observations: I packed too much. Shoulders are not happy. This traffic is dangerous even if I'm not driving. I keep looking the wrong direction when I step out into the crosswalk. Where are all the homeless people? Perfectly good park benches and underpasses are empty of inhabitants. The streets don't make a lick of sense. I'm used to grid and this is triple helix in the 4th dimension. I'm 8000 miles from home. Everyone and everything I know. 8000 miles across the sea.

24 Hours Till Takeoff