[9.27.09] Flight, Arrival and Hostel

The Flight

Virgin Australia tries so hard to be new age. The results are funny:

1. Lady Gaga blasting from speakers at the airport check-in line is awesome
2. Pseudo informal/hipster writing on items ranging from their boarding passes to their airsick bags is a little awkward at times. Example: "We don't like to think of this as an "airsickness bag" but rather, an "AWESOMENESS bag". (Honest to god that is what was written on the thing. Barney Stinson would be proud). A+ for too much effort.
3. The media consol for every seat is INCREDIBLE. Access to hundreds of albums, scores of new release movies, video games galore and my personal favorite. Five episodes of “How I Met Your Mother”. I read an article a few years ago that said this kind of consol was the future of in-flight entertainment. It is. The thing even had a text chat service that was both communal and seat specific. 14 hour flight? Didn’t feel like it.
4. All their stewardesses are gorgeous. The accents don’t hurt either. A+ for pulling that one off.

The Arrival

Arriving and customs isn’t worth talking about. Although, on the bus ride to my friends apartment we stopped to unload some passengers and I got out to stretch. While outside a BMW SUV pulled up to me on the street and the women inside started asking for directions. I started laughing. I actually wound up asking her for a ride because my bus couldn’t take me direct to where I wanted ago. Though she was going to the same neighborhood, she declined, citing kids in the back and a lack of space, both of which weren’t very convincing. As she drove away, a new acquaintance of mine explained her negative reaction by musing that the BMW driver thought I was propositioning her…what!?

My first day was spent at Bondi Beach, pronounced Bondaaaaaaaaay Beach, and was great. Hot sun/ pizza/women, soft sand, blue ocean and a gradual realization of the insanity and awesomeness of this trip constituted the outing. I also became conscious of the most disconcerting thing about this new country: Here I was, half a planet away from home, yet everything seemed so eerily similar and familiar. Multicolored money and extremely valuable change exempted.

The night was spent at a bar watching the Rugby Union League semifinals, eating Thaina Box (Justin Timberlake would be proud) and drinking cheap wine (Vince and I have decided to completely forsake beer this trip owing to the fact that it is about four times as expensive here than in the states). I woke up the next morning to crows that sounded like feral children and an overcast sky, promptly wrote down my predictably exotic dreams ( I dream out of control when traveling) and got breakfast at a local café after buying some fruit.

The Hostel

Fast forward to our arrival at our hostel, Balmain Backpackers on Darling St. in Balmain. Vince’s face fell as we walked into a dingy garage. No elegant lobby or front desk, and we were treated to a sign in and tour by the very manly, popped collar bearing, rugby looking Donna. Our room may be fratty’er than my fraternity. As I sit here writing I have a birdseye view of four sets of bunk beds, plus my own, and about 2 tons of miscellaneous scattered items ranging from hair products to an abandoned lamp, girls shoes (my room is coed), and at least 7 wet towels. Also, a book explaining the meaning of life. The rest of the place is great. The people are even better. Tomas, Seamus, Dan, Rich, Brandon (girl), Evan, Tom, Dan, Steven, Dale, Syd, Kunu, Haliey Rachael, Trip, Rick, Sven, Dennis, Thomas, Rachel, Hailey and a contingent of large English girls are our hostel mates. (That list was more for my memory than anything else, forgive me.) There are many more that I haven’t met.

Wireless was achieved at Macker’s (McDonalds) after a goddamn hike during which Vince and I bandied around job ideas. Crane operator, deck swab, road worker, tour guide were some of the new ones. These were added to our growing list, including; helicopter sheep herder, barista, server, lawnscaper (I know), demolition men, and farm labourer.

After two rapid bus trips through it, downtown Sydney reminds me of a mix of Chicago city planning and architecture with a San Francisco atmosphere and some backward-ass traffic signs. People converse without much prompting and bus drivers don’t really care whether you swipe your pass or not. Slightly hectic but very welcoming is the verdict so far for the city.