Here's Your Sign, part 1

I enjoy taking pictures of signs. Here’s a collection of some from the past couple weeks that I find amusing:

Wear your old-fashioned undersea exploration suit when climbing on the roof

Clearly numbers 1-4 are the most important

First, the misspelling of ladies’, also there was no reciprocal sign regarding ladies in the men’s shower…

Found behind the toilet—there was not a tap, and I don't drink from the toilet

Love that the old lady is all sassy, with her hip out

On the count of three, dismount

1—there’s a kangaroo and an emu emblem, 2—I actually had to press the button for one second to turn it on then another second to turn it off

Is that really what you want?

Beware of the rhinoceros on a skateboard. He’s vicious.

Don’t throw Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’s carcass in the trash any more

I did need to keep telling myself this

Apparently a “doona” is a comforter (or duvet to my English friends)

Should Sweeny Todd really be the one collecting sharps?

Daily reminder of how dangerous Australia is

Surf Camp…Spoiler Alert: My Day Ended in Burned Feet

Yesterday my orientation group went to surf camp at Seven Mile Beach National Park. We were told to bring a huge appetite because lunch would be two bread rolls. I don’t know what bread rolls sounds like to you, but to me it sounds like dinner rolls, something you would get with a chicken dinner. FYI, bread rolls are sandwiches.

Being allergic to neoprene, the main ingredient in a wet suit, I told the surf camp staff when we lined up to get fitted. The lead surf instructor informed me he is a medical professional (mmm hmm) and wanted to know what my reaction was. “When I got certified for SCUBA a couple years ago, I broke out in a rash everywhere the wetsuit touched me.” I mean, I don’t know if he thought I was lying so I didn’t have to wear one, but I really don’t want to run the risk of wearing one again since every time you’re exposed to an allergen, the allergy tends to become more severe.

They did not have a non-neoprene wet suit, so I got a “rash shirt” (“skin” in U.S.). He told me if I booked a weeklong surf camp to let him know in advance so he could procure a rubber wet suit. Right, with my long-time hatred of sand, I’m going to roll around in it for a week--I was doing good to be there for the one day in the first place.

We left our stuff at the camp and walked to the beach. However, they failed to inform us how long of a walk it would be, so most of us did not wear shoes, myself included. By the time we got to the beach, the balls of my feet had burned and blistered from the heat of the blacktop. I couldn’t walk the last bit to the beach, so one of the instructors lent me his “thongs” (flip-flops).

We sat down on the sand for our surfing lesson—yes, I sat on sand, no towel, just sand. The wind had picked up and was pelting us with the stuff. I was zoned out, mentally numb from my feet and to turn my brain off to sand. I tried to stand to attempt the paddling practice, but I couldn’t stand on my feet so immediately sat back down. When everyone picked up boards, the instructor asked if I was going to try. Nope.

He pointed out a table the surf camp had that I could lie under so I wouldn’t fry in the sun. It was maybe four feet long, two wide, and two tall, so I was on the struggle bus to get under it and keep my knees and everything out of the sun. I promptly started ugly crying, sobbing, with snot running down my face. It was attractive. 

I wanted to watch everyone else surf, so I faced that direction. But the sand was assaulting my face, swirling around, and going up my nose. So I sucked it up, got out, dug some sand from under the table to give myself a little more room, and turned the other direction, so I couldn’t see the surfing but wasn’t struck directly in the face with sand. I still had to put my arm into an awkward position to protect my face, but it was better.

Then I felt a stinging bite on my ass and saw a horsefly zooming about. He bit me at least another 20 times--but only on the buttocks. I got out a couple times to swat him, but he was too swift.

An instructors came back to offer a surf with him holding the board or even on my knees, but I could not imagine anything worse at that moment, so I declined and stayed in own my sandy, horsefly hell for the remainder of the two hours.

I was so grateful for the flip-flops on the way back. I know my feet are wimpy, but I genuinely could have made it back without them. I was walking on the outsides of my feet to compensate, so my ankles (especially the one I broke) were screaming at me by the time I got back to the camp. The blister on the left popped on the walk back, and I pricked and let out most of the right one after I got back to the hostel. The lead instructor loaned me gel ice packs for the bus ride back to Sydney.

The others without shoes were suffering from burned feet, too. In fact, on the walk back, two of them sat down almost crying, and all the instructors walked past and left them behind. They couldn’t find the way back and ended up locked out of the camp while the rest of us were getting rinsed off and eating fruit and cookies. They did make it back but only because some random people lent them flip-flops and showed them the way back.

The surf camp staff tried to blame us for not wearing shoes, but we were absolutely not informed that we would need shoes. I heard this morning that the Work and Travel staff informed the owner that he needs to ensure people are wearing shoes.

I elevated my legs last night, and my feet (and ankles) definitely feel better than they did yesterday--I can walk, so that’s a plus. But my right foot is a little squishy and my left ankle is puffy. It’s going to be weeks before my feet are healed.

The moral of this story is to wear shoes at surf camp.

People Die in This Weather

Today was a hot one--42 C or 108 F! We were warned upon starting orientation today that "people die in this weather." Awesome because knowing my luck, it will be me. I just tried to stay out of the sun, wore my hat when I was in the sun, and drank loads of water.

We were also told to wear "sun cream" and not to worry about tanning because the sun will burn right through it, what with Australia being right under the hole in the Ozone Layer. Oh yay, one more thing that can kill you...eventually.

I did survive, though, and without a sunburn, so that's a plus.

Calculating a 17-hour Time Difference

I was very concernicus about calculating the 17-hour time difference, until I realized I could just add 7 hours to Sydney time, and it’s that time yesterday at home.

The time change did mess with my head, and I felt fuzzy for a few days. But I had to make up sleep from Tuesday night and bad sleep on the plane, and I’m getting over a cold, sniffling all over the place.

That said, I’m really glad I got here before my program starts because I don’t think I could have functioned like a real human. I did manage to stay up almost all day on Friday, just a teeny nap during a movie in the hostel’s common room.

Disorientation on Entering Sydney

Arrival in Sydney was a big CF. Everyone rushed to the nearest bathroom, like is usual after a long flight. There were four stalls in the one I entered, but someone was sick in one stall, so we were down to three. I wanted to go before getting my backpack because that’s one less thing to stuff into the stall.

Immigration is always busy, with everyone trying to get his passport stamped first. As usual, they had separate lines for citizens and foreigners, but there were signs pointing in opposite directions indicating where foreigners should go. I went where the permanent sign pointed so was in the right place. Then I had to wait for my luggage, and with a double-decker plane containing 88 rows, there’s a lot of luggage.

Once I finally got my backpack (for whatever reason, my luggage is almost always toward the end), I hoisted it onto my back and turned toward customs. Oh. My. God. The number of people trying to get through was atrocious. There were two lines merging into one, and by lines, I mean large blobs of people. I decided to take the airport up on a free cart. At least my blob was the smaller of the two, so I may have gotten through a little easier.

Fun fact: You’re not allowed to bring food of any kind into Australia. They tell you on the plane that no food is allowed, including food you receive on the plane. There are quarantine bins throughout the terminal. Most countries don’t want you bringing fruit, vegetables, or seeds in, but I’ve never heard of confiscating mints and granola bars.

I marked on the customs form that I had no food, left my trail mix on the plane, and crossed my fingers that they wouldn’t search my bag and find the chocolate bar because I read that they search everyone regardless of what you mark on the form. Apparently, I don’t look like a food terrorist, so they let me through without checking my bags.

Once through customs, I walked out to freedom. Work and Travel Company, whose program I’m using, had indicated my program included airport pick-up, so I was expecting to see a driver with my name on a sign. No such luck. By now, it had been over an hour since the plane landed, so there was no way the driver was that late.

I turned on my phone to see if I had a message. Nope. I tried to jump on the airport’s wireless to get the phone number because I had forgotten to put it in my phone before I left, but there wasn’t much of a signal and they were asking for my email address to “keep in touch with me” (aka send me spam), so I asked Airport Help. He said there was another exit and to check there. Nope.

I was fed up, so I just got a taxi. I hopped in the back and closed the door before remembering that Australians sit in the front seat of taxis because of “egalitarianism.” Oh well, too late.

Time Travel on a Jet Plane

For realsies, I don't know when I'll be back again. I'm sitting at LAX waiting for my flight to Sydney. I'm going to Australia on a Working Holiday Visa, which allows me to legally work while not having to go through the rigorous process of getting a work visa. I'm allowed to be there up to a year and cannot work for the same company for more than six months.

On the way there, I cross the international date line, and since I'll be heading west, I lose a day. Where does it go? I don't know. But basically, January 3rd will not exist for me. And when I return, I time travel again because I'll arrive in Los Angeles at an earlier hour of the day then I left Australia.

As for not knowing when I'll be back, I mean, as long as I'm already there, I'd like to see New Zealand fr sure. Then, where to?