What’s Your Preference?

A couple months ago, I went to lunch with a friend. We were catching up about my time in Australia and about life in general.

We were probably talking about Facebook when she told me my page says to ask about my relationship status. I told her that was because I'd taken off that I was single and interested in men a few years ago, right when Facebook started targeting ads based on your info. Because I find targeted ads creepy and was sick of getting ads for dating websites and that the ads stopped immediately after taking that info off. 

She persisted and questioned if there was anything to ask about, then interrupted herself and said she thought she already knew. “What do you think you know?” I asked, and she said, "There's a girl you had posted a picture with a while ago, and she changed her profile picture to it recently."

Me and Alli

"Oh, Alli? Yea, we're soul mates, but I'm straight." By soul mates, I meant we like the same music and reading and maps and tequila and random dance parties. She asked if I was sure and said she'd talked about it with her boss about it. He'd told her some people who travel long-term are asking themselves questions about life and that they go off to travel, meet new people, try different things, and come to some answers. All of which I agree with, so I asked her what the question was. "Your preference."

Yea, still straight.


ETA: My point was that I just don't understand the curiosity about other people's sexuality.
Just wanted to make clear that it's not an insult to be asked if I'm a lesbian or bi-sexual.

Not Really Christmas

That’s how I felt this year, like it wasn’t really Christmas. In the States, from mid-October through Christmas, it’s pretty much all Christmas all the time whenever you’re outside your home (I can't vouch for what goes on inside). It basically looks like Christmas threw up on, well, everything--lights and decorations everywhere. The Gingerbread Latte and Peppermint Mocha make their annual arrival. You can’t walk into a store without non-stop Yuletide songs, and you inevitably leave with the most annoying ones stuck in your head (I won't mention any names, Mariah). Those smushed-up words come out, too: Christmahanukwanzakah, turducken. For Christians, there's the debate on whether Xmas takes "Christ" out of Christmas. Local performances of The Nutcracker Ballet and A Christmas Carol are put on.

The weather is a signal that Christmas is approaching. It gets cold, hat and scarf weather, and it just might snow. It's so uncomfortable; I feel like the kid in A Christmas Story because “I can’t put my arms down.” Of course, for the Americans, there’s Thanksgiving a month before, so you gorge yourself for the whole month leading up to it. Everyone asks all month whether you have your Christmas shopping done, because we all know that gifts are the most important part of Christmas.

Australia, on the other hand, takes a milder approach to the holiday. First, it’s a summer holiday for them, so you’re more likely to have a barbeque than turkey and stuffing. Because who wants all that heavy food when it’s hot out? The mall Santas look out of place in their North Pole gear when it's 90 ° F out. And they decorate, sure, but it’s just a few decorations here and there. And you might hear a festive tune while shopping, but it’s not a guarantee. Boxing Day, not Christmas Eve, is celebrated.

Christmas at Lake Tinaroo

This year, I did not really have Christmas shopping to do. Oh, I made some ornaments, but not the all-out crafting I usually do. I only made 4 kinds of cookies, instead of my normal 10. And since I didn’t have presents, I almost didn’t get to wrap anything. But my friend Andrew and his family pulled through for me and let me wrap many gifts. I love wrapping presents, so this was exciting for me. Then on Christmas, I went to a breakfast and Lake Tinaroo with some friends. My boss had a seafood extravaganza for dinner.

So when people asked if I was missing my family for the holiday, “yea, I miss them, but it doesn’t really feel like Christmas.”

Double the Arrests, Double the Fun

Arrest Number 1:

After a couple drinks in Melbourne, Scott, Adele, and I walked to Melbourne Central station to catch the train to the suburbs, where we were staying. The departures screen informed us that our next train left in 15 minutes, so they sat down for a rest. 

Scott swiftly turned around and grabbed the handrail of the “up” escalator, but he could only support himself for a few seconds. When he had slid back down, he said, “Mon, get a video of me!” So I obliged and shot a short video.

On his third time up, two transport security officers came over and tried to get his attention, “Sir, what are you doing? Sir, get down. Sir, that’s how people get hurt.” One officer spoke with Scott, and the other addressed myself then Adele. “Do you know it’s illegal to take pictures down here?” He pointed to a sign directly behind me that I clearly had not seen. It looked something like this, but it also included a camera icon. 

“Ohmygod, no! I’ll delete them right now.” “Well don’t worry about that now.” My mouth went dry. Shit. “Do you have ID?”

“Are you all English?” I overheard Scott’s officer. “We are," he indicated himself and Adele, "but she’s American,” Scott replied.

I handed him my driver’s license. “Are you a resident or traveling?” “We’re all traveling on working holiday visas.” He wrote down my name and asked my date of birth. He wanted to get correct documentation since America is not down with the rest of the world, which writes dates day-month; we write dates month-day.

He asked for Adele’s ID. Now, Adele had done nothing wrong, so she had taken a step back. She looked as terrified as I felt (and, as it turns out, also looked). He took her info down in his notebook, as well.

As he handed us back our IDs, Adele asked what happens next. “Oh this one’s trouble,” he indicated to the other officer but offered no explanation. The guy who had been talking with Scott piped up, “We can’t fine you because you’re not residents.” Sigh of relief.

Scott later informed us that as soon as his officer saw his ID, he said, “Oh shit. You’re English, so I can’t issue a citation.” I don’t understand why the guy talking with Adele and I couldn’t have offered us the same courtesy--he just left us hanging.

And to top off almost being arrested, the departures screen lied to us. There were no more trains from that station, so we missed the last one back. Then we had to battle hundreds of others trying to hail taxis right at shift change, so it took us an hour to finally find someone who would take us there. 

Arrest Number 2: 

The next day, as we were riding the train into town, two transport officers came through the car checking everyone’s Myki (metro) card to make sure everyone paid for their ride. When he came up to us, he looked at me with my feet up on the seat and said, “Do you know that having your feet on the seat is a finable offence.” Crap not again. “No.” “I’ll need to see your ID.”

I start to retrieve my license. “Since I’ve caught you doing it, I will have to make a report. If the transport authority decides to issue a citation, it will come in the mail.” I feel immediately relieved because, having been through this the night before, I now know I won’t be fined.

Handing him my license I answer, “Ok,” polite and agreeable, “I’m American, so how does that work?” He gets snippy, “You’re not a resident?” “No, sir.” “Are you living in Melbourne?” “No.”

“Are you staying in Melbourne?” inquired his sidekick. “We’re staying outside the city tonight, but we’re staying in a hostel in the city tomorrow.” “How long have you been in Melbourne?” “Just for the weekend; I’m going to Adelaide Tuesday.”

The guy jumps back in, “Common sense tells you not to put your feet on the seat. Do they have trains in the state of” he checks my ID “Illinois?” “Yes.” “Do they allow you to put your feet on the seats there?” I wasn’t going to stoop to his rudeness level and reply that no one really cares if you put your feet on the seat, nor would anyone get fined for having feet on the seat. If a transport employee did come through and cared enough, they would just ask you to please put your feet on the floor.

“To be honest, I’ve never ridden the train in Illinois.” That was a lie, but really it’s been years since I did. He reiterated the common sense bit and moved on, not bothering to take down my information.

By the way, it’s not as if I had muddy or even dirty shoes, in which case common sense would have kicked in, and I would not have had them on the seat. Also, I could have informed him that the train from Melbourne to Adelaide does not have such a rule, since we all had our feet up a couple weeks prior. Had he been polite about the whole thing, I may have felt sorry for putting my feet on the seat, but as he was exceedingly rude, I don’t.

Last Night I Had to Sleep with Strangers

For the last six weeks, I have been in the company of five to eleven people I met during the "fun week." Some of us split off in Melbourne, and there were six of us who traveled to Adelaide together a couple weeks ago. For the last couple weeks, it's just been our group in a dorm room, which has been nice because no one is going to steal anything. Our group has split up, though, so last night I was in a room with random people. 

Last week, Binx went to visit his aunt. Yesterday, Luke went to Port Lincoln for a shark dive. Richard is still here, but we're not in the same room. Luke will come back Thursday, and then he and Richard return to Melbourne Friday. 

Sunday was a really difficult day because I had to say goodbye to Scott and Adele, my favorite people here, because they went back to Melbourne. I know we'll get together again while we're here, and we plan to visit each other in the future. But they've become my family here, and it's scary when you've been with people for so long to think of being on your own. 

It's not that I dislike traveling on my own...quite the opposite. I can do what I want, when I want, for as long as I want. I can eat what I want, when I want. Basically, I don't have to keep anyone else happy.

Obviously when you travel, you're away from everyone and everything you know, which is terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. When you do make friends traveling, you progress into the friendship much quicker than you would at home. I revealed more about myself to these people in a week than I would in months back home.

At home, I have best friends, ok friends, family, acquaintances, good friends...basically a whole lot of choice of who to spend my time with. Here, I've been with the same people all day every day, and we converse the whole time. I've created these deep relationships that feel like I've known them for years. Maybe it's the introvert in me, but when I become friends with someone, I give a little piece of myself to them, or at least that's how I feel.

For now, on with my adventure!