Dying in a Ditch

Before this whole “Adderall Epidemic”, I was the ADD poster child. I couldn’t concentrate in class for more than 35 seconds and it has taken me over 9 years to clean my room. When driving a moped through scenic New Zealand, my lack of focus was still creeping up on me.

Mercury Island scenery

 On our way home from Australia, Sarah, Christy and I stopped in New Zealand for a week an a half of adventure. While exploring the Coromandel Peninsula on the North Island, we found our way over to beautiful Mercury Island. The first thing we saw as we got off the ferry was a scooter rental stand; “Scootabout”. Sarah and I convinced a worried Christy that this would be the best way to see the island. We signed our lives away on the insurance form and the wacky lady let us go for a trial run around a parking lot. Christy was having some issues steering and the lady told me to keep an eye out for her. Well, she would eat her words later.

Me, Sarah and Christy on our scooters 

Mercury Island Beach

We took our mopeds around through some of the most gorgeous scenery I’d ever seen. While cruising down a scenic path later in the day, I was fascinated by how the Alp-like Mountains met with the crystal Pacific Ocean and did not pay attention to the “SLOW 35KPH” sign. I had my eyes fixated on the scenery and sped around the bend at 55 kilometers per hour. I realized I was going way to fast and I had 2 choices; cut the wheel and flip over or go strait into a ditch. The ditch it was. I flew full speed into a grassy ditch as my moped flipped on top of me. Sarah and Christy ran over to me with tears in their eyes to see if I was alive.

struggling to get up after my accident 

 I patted my legs, realized I could feel them, and told them to get that damn moped off me. After we realized I was alive and got the heavy scooter off of me, we busted out laughing and tried to absorb what actually just happened. My scooter had grass wedged in the whole left side, the body of the scooter was all dented, I was missing a flip flop and half my body was covered in blood.

We finally attempted to get ourselves together and head back to return the scooters when Sarah couldn’t find her moped key. An extra frazzled Sarah lost her keys when I had my accident. We began to look around the area, and saw no sign of the keys. She thought she had locked it in her seat compartment, so I attempted to break into the locked seat with a bobby pin. As I was trying to break into her scooter, a man in a red car driving by stopped and asked if we needed a hand. I can only imagine the visual he had of us 3 messes. I told him we were fine, but he insisted because his friend owns “Scootabout” and the scooter we were breaking in belonged to her. After a bunch of rambling lies flew out of my mouth, he was on his way and we finally found Sarah’s key in my ditch crime scene.

pre-accident pictures with our scooters

 As pulled back up to the Scootabout stand, the lady was happy to see we made it back. Somehow I snuck my mangled moped by her as her dogs licked my wounds on my shoeless foot. We never got a collision bill from her, but I was banged up for awhile and never forget when I nearly died in a ditch.

sunset on the Coromandel Peninsula

Throughout Australia and New Zealand they have many blunt billboards posted about the dangers of drinking and driving. One of the most popular read “Drive Drunk and Die in a Ditch”. Not to mach drunk driving, but I almost soberly died in a ditch.

typical Australian/New Zealand drunk driving billboard 

scenery while scooting around Mercury Island

Scuba Diving; Aussie Style

To kick off my Australia trip, I was taken on an orientation with a group of American students in Cairns. During the 2^nd day of orientation we boarded a catamaran that took us out to the Great Barrier Reef. I knew we were going on a boat ride, but I didn’t expect anything as beautiful as this. On our way out to the reef, an instructor asked me if I’d like to scuba dive. I can barley do the doggy paddle. “Don’t you need a scuba license or something?” I asked the instructor. “No worries” she replied.

Our Whole Griffith Uni Crew on the Catamaran 

The students who were opting to scuba dive were asked to pay $70, sign a form and go grab a wet suit. I’ve heard about people scuba diving here in the states and going through courses and tests, this seemed way too easy. Before I knew it I squeezed myself into a wetsuit and I had an oxygen tank strapped on my back. We were put into groups of 4 students and 1 instructor. A tall brawny Australian man with a bic’d head was our instructor. After a couple of breathing exercises and underwater signals we jumped off the back of the boat, my first time splashing into the Pacific Ocean.

My Really Cool Scuba Outfit

Trying on Our Scuba Gear

 The water was really choppy and we had to practice the breathing the oxygen under water. I was having major issues. Even though I’m a terrible swimmer, I've never been afraid of the ocean. I kept on trying to go under water just a couple of inches while breathing my oxygen and I started to silently freak out. Another girl in my group, Rosanna, was having the same problem as me and started to freak out, out loud. Rosanna was the only other person on our trip from Long Island and she showed our true colors in this moment. “I need to get out right now!” she yelled in fear. Our caring instructor explained everything will be OK and he will go slowly—“I need to get out of the water right now! Keep my money! Get me out!” as she b-lined for the ladder. I saw that as my opportunity to make an exit and attempted my best rendition of the doggy paddle over to the back of the boat. The burly instructor begged me to just give it a try. He told me he would hold my hand and we’d go down 1 meter at a time until I was at ease. This persuasive Aussie did just that, and never let go of my hand.

Practicing Breathing in the Water

I was scared shitless, but to make a proper entrance into Australian culture, I “gave it a go” anyway. The two other students in my scuba group just had to follow behind us, as we slowly but surely made it to the ocean floor. It was unbelievable. The fish that were swimming all around us were the brightest colors I’d ever seen and patterns I had never even dreamt of. We saw a sting ray crawl across the ocean floor and looked up at the sun from 30 feet under water. I never let go of my instructors hand for a second. In general you are not allowed to touch the reef but he showed us certain plants we could feel. Toward the end I let go of his hand and all 4 of us linked arms and swam under the catamaran through the schools of huge big mouthed fish. They swam right passed our noses, pretending like we weren’t even there. We then had to get out, it was freezing and I was still in shock to what I had just experienced.

Beautiful Reef Fish

What We Were Swimming Through, 30 feet Underwater

A few minutes later, someone from the boat crew announced there would be one more dive for $45. Everyone was freezing and wanted to stay warm on the boat, so the price kept dropping. When it got to $25 I said screw it, I’m in! I squeezed back into my soaking wet suit, slapped back on my equipment and effortlessly jumped back in the clear Pacific Ocean like I wasn't terrified earlier.

Passions Catamaran 

A Sting Ray Crawling Across the Ocean Floor

 We went with the same awesome instructor again and there was only me and 3 other students total. We slowly sunk down to the ocean floor, where I wasn’t scared to move about on my own this time. Our instructor signaled to me to look left, and there it was, a giant sea turtle, almost the size of me. He handed me some seaweed and signaled in the signs we learned earlier, to feed the turtle. As I held out my hand to feed this mammoth turtle, its little mouth slowly bit my finger! Yes, I started screaming into my mask, imagining the turtle was going to turn into an angry, mutant turtle and bite my head off next. I’d never seen an animal so gigantic without a fence or tank separating us. Our instructor signaled for me to relax and let’s go. I turned to swim away and back towards our group. I looked back and there was a 5^th person in our lesson, the sea turtle was swimming right in the middle of our group. It was one of the best experiences I’ve had in my life.

My New Best Friend 

View from the Ocean Floor Looking Up

If you ever have a chance to scuba dive, do it! Pay attention, don’t be afraid and love every minute. And just hope you have an amazing, understanding instructor like mine. I’m so upset I don’t remember this instructor’s name. If you’re out there, bald instructor on the Cairns Passions Catamaran, THANK YOU

My Amazing Scuba Instructor!

It’s OK to Do Your Research

My first hostel experience was during my orientation to study abroad in Cairns, Australia. It was already booked for me, and I was pleasantly surprised. With hostels not being common in America, I was expecting the worst, someone getting slaughtered the next room over as they show in the movies. During my whole trip in Australia and New Zealand, I had nothing but great experiences. No, I did not wake up with chocolate on my pillow and fresh towels every morning, but the best you can expect for 15 bucks a night.

My first hostel I stayed at in Cairns, Australia

My friend Kristin and I booked a one way ticket to Europe this past September. Although we wanted to have an open plan and live day by day, we thought it would be a good idea to book a couple of hostels and buses in the beginning of our trip to get us started on our adventure. On our way from Glasgow, Scotland to London, England we wanted to make a stop in-between. We chose a town Keswick in the Lake District of England because it offered unique outdoor activities such a Ghyll Scrambling. While still at home we looked up hostels in the area online and there were a handful and they all sounded decent. We just chose the cheapest hostel and didn't look into comments of people who had stayed there. We paid a deposit for 10% to lock in our spot.

Mistake number one, when booking our bus from Glasgow to the Lake District I didn’t research the actual time of the bus. When it said 3:15 am on the bus ticket, I just assumed it was in New York time so it would be 8:15 am in Scotland. Well, I was wrong. Waking up in the middle of the night wouldn’t normally be much of a problem, but since we have been on the go every day, drinking, gallivanting and barley sleeping, it was torture to catch a 3:15 am bus. We managed to make it to our bus on time. We survived the 4 hour bus ride to Carlisle filled with smelly men playing Indian music on a very chilly bus. At one point the bus driver stopped the bus short, on the highway in the pouring rain and screamed at the passengers “This lady said it was too hot, is this true?!” pointing at a frightened Indian lady. We arrived in windy Carlisle which is in the northern Lake District at 7:00 am, and we found out the next bus to Penrith that connected to Keswick was not for another hour and a half. It was freezing, darkish, raining and there was nowhere to sit. We huddled in a little convenient store and read the papers about 9/11 in the states as our huge backpacks blocked the front door. About 3 hours later after much waiting and riding buses with loud British school children, we were dumped off at a Keswick supermarket where the wind howled louder than I’d ever heard in my life.

Exhausted from traveling to the Lake District

Snoring, smelly man that we dealt with on one of our bus rides 

We struggled to make our way down the main street where we had been directed by our bus driver that our hostel was on. Hurricane Irene that hit the east coast of the states had been hitting the west coast of the UK. The winds were magnified by lugging 50 pound backpacks. I kept checking behind me because I thought Kristin was going to blow away. We just couldn't do it the wind was that strong and our bags were too heavy. We charged back to the grocery store called a cab and finally made it to the Denton House, dun dun dunnnnnnn. At first glance the place looked like it was going to blow over in the wind storm. We let ourselves in the door that was wobbling from the wind and found a man that would defiantly be on your neighborhood watch list. We were sooo tired we were desperate for a place to lie down. As the serial killer look-a-like led us down the long dark hallways, I felt like he was leading us to our death. Kristin was bugging out and I couldn’t blame her, but I tried to keep half a smile and think, well, it could be worse. Again, I was wrong. He showed us to our room labeled “Catbells”. There were 3 rickety bunk beds and we could feel the walls shake every time Irene’s winds blew. After telling the creep to get lost and we tried to lock our door, too bad it had no lock. We laid down the small blankets we stole from Iceland Air down on the bed to avoid any contact with the germ infested beds. Somehow we managed to fall asleep for a little bit by curling up into little frozen balls. Waking up to the skylights blowing open and a floor covered in leaves was not a good sign. We had to get the F out of here. We left our huge backpacks in the Catbell room and secretly hoped someone would steal them. Kris and I marched out of the still empty, soon to be murder scene hostel, determined to find somewhere else to stay in this little English town.

The only picture we took of the horrid "Denton House"

We ended up finding warmth in a cozy pub “George Bar” and drank enough strong beer to forget about our concentration camp style hostel. Earlier we checked out some other options to sleep that night but they were all 100 pounds plus, which is the equivalent to about 170USD. Unfortunately that kind of money was not our budget. It was getting late and we were terrified to go back to the “Dent in my Face House” so I figured I’d ask they had any rooms available at the George Bar. The receptionist, who doubled as the bartender asked how much I was willing to spend and I told her not a lot. She explained the best suit in the place had opened up because a few men of a team had dropped out and they were willing to take whatever they could for it. I got her down to 40 pounds, SOLD! Kris and I drunkenly ran up to our Cinderella suite and jumped on the beds and celebrated our movin’ on up success! We dug into our stash of free cookies and snuggled up in our warm, amazing hotel room to rest up for our complementary English breakfast in the morning! Lesson learned, it wouldn’t kill is to do a little more research for our accommodations next time. 

After a stressful day, finally finding our sanctuary!

Keswick was a very cute town minus the Denton House

Dingo Ate My Cookies!

In the first 21 years of my life, I never experienced the joy of camping. One day while hanging out with friends in Australia, the topic of camping came up. I mentioned that I had never been camping. None of my friends from Australia or from America believed me. I got my mom on Skype to ask her why we never had been camping. She exclaimed in her especially thick long island accent “Well… where would we shower?!!”

My camping virginity was taken when 5 friends and I traveled up the coast to Frasier Island in northern Queensland. There were no roads on the island so we had to rent a truck with 4 wheel drive to be able to cruise on the sand. Within the first 10 minutes of our arrival, our Land Rover got stuck on the narrow sand path. We got out to try and push our truck along when we spotted a gigantic tour bus magically making its way towards us from the opposite direction. We all gazed at this huge bus squeezing down the sand path and wondered what would happen next. The door of the bug busted open and a line of men jogged out with buckets of water running toward our truck which was blocking the sand road. They started speaking another language we could not understand and throwing the water on the ground near our car. Then they yelled at us to try to drive (in English) and we jumped in the truck and were on our way. We found out later that Frasier Island had been having a dry spell and if your truck gets stuck in the sand, you have to dampen the sand to drive. The path we were blocking was the one to the ferry and the tour bus was in a hurry to catch the last ferry. A similar scenario occurred 2 days later when we blew a tire out on the same road from all of our reckless driving. (5 of the 6 of us attempted to learn to drive stick shift for the first time on Frasier Island, and our truck took the abuse.) European men from a truck coming from the opposite direction jumped out and changed our tire without much explanation. If only AAA was that quick in New York when you need some roadside assistance!

European Men fixing our flat tire 

Narrow sand road 

 Frasier Island is known for its huge dingo population. There were signs posted all over the island warning people not to feed the dingoes. As Americans we all had famously heard legends how dingoes eat children, “Dingo ate my baby!!”  We were sure to be extra careful to dispose of food when we were finished. As the sun was setting we saw a pack of Dingoes trot past our beach campsite and they were terrifying. Later that night we sat around a fire roasting up some dinner, drinking goon (boxed wine), singing and having a blast. We heard some rustling over by our truck and started kidding that dingoes were coming to get us. A few of us went to go check it out because the noise continued. As we walked over we saw two dingoes in the back of our Land Rover! “AHHHHHH DINGOES ARE AFTER US!!!!” We screamed and thankfully scared the dingoes. They jumped out of our truck knocking the cookies they were eating to the ground. With all of our screaming we drew attention from other campers nearby and they came to see what was going on. We ended up talking and hanging out with our new camper friends and decided to invite them over to our camp fire. As we walked over to the fire, we spotted 2 dingoes by our fire eating our dinner! THEY WERE FOLLOWING US! We obviously were not doing a good job of keeping our food away from the dingoes. We had to drink enough “goon” to forget about the dingoes and fall asleep. We woke up to an amazing sunrise on the beach and were extra careful to lock the car and eat all of our food before going anywhere.

Our Campsite where the Dingoes jumped in our truck

The bumpy terrain on the beach made for a wild ride

My first camping trip was defiantly one to remember. I’ve only been camping two more times since then: once with an ex-boyfriend in Virginia, where it was sweltering by day and thunder storming by night; and in Munich, Germany. It was the only available place to stay during Oktoberfest and was the worst 3 nights of my life. I still want to continue on with my camping experiences. If anyone needs a camping buddy, let me know!!

Fraser Island sunrise 

A plane landed right in front of us while driving on the beach

When Packing, Less is Always More

I thought I was leaving so much behind when I left for Australia with 2 fifty pound suitcases, an oversized duffle bag and a back pack. And I packed for a warm climate. I thought I was packing consciously by only taking 2 of my 30 plus pairs of jeans. During my trip I probably wore a quarter of what I had brought and accumulated much more. My luggage haunted me from the moment I left JFK until I walked back in my front door 5 and a half months later.

As I unpacked my heaping amounts of crap into my new room, my two flat mates stood in my doorway with confused looks asking “Does all this belong to you?” “Yes!” I replied with a smile as I held up my favorite bathing suit that hadn’t fit me in over 5 years. I have this belief that when I go on a trip, I will magically loose 20 pounds and look fabulous. Just in case this does happen I want to be prepared with flattering clothing! Well, this is dumb. Pack your favorite clothing at your current size that you feel most comfortable in, because that’s what you’ll end up wearing. The other clothes that you think you might wear, will end up being extra stress that you will have to lug around. If anything, pack a couple things for if you decide to eat an extra piece of cheesecake for dessert! If you do miraculously transform into Adriana Lima’s body during your travels, you owe it to yourself to buy a sweet new outfit.

The happiest, most free I felt during my whole time on the other side of the world was during a trip I took to Frasier Island for my first camping adventure ever. There were 6 of us cramming into a small sedan to get there, so we were limited to one backpack per person for the whole weekend.  For not being much of a girly girl and spending most of my time dressed in what the Aussies described as “gym attire”, I don’t know why I feel the compulsion to always over pack. I did what I had to do and brought my one backpack with only the bare essentials. It was amazing. I didn’t have to worry who was going to help me carry my giant suitcases or how I was going to dig through all my clothes to find something that fits. All I had to worry about was the fun I was having that moment and well, the Dingos that got into our cookies; but that’s a whole other story. With all the room we saved by packing consciously, we had room for more goon (boxed wine). This led to more laughs around the campfire and a weekend camping on the beach that we will never forget.

While my friends were packing to leave Australia, I was procrastinating as usual. The night before we left Australia for New Zealand I missed the last outing with friends because I had to pack. I got caught up saying goodbye to a good friend of mine and in true Aussie style ended up staying out until 6am. We had to leave for the airport at 7am. When I got into my flat as the sun was coming up, I was still in procrastination mode. I started taking the pictures off my wall one by one and called my responsible friend Christy to help me get it together. She came by and we tornado style packed up my life and raced to the airport. As I half drunkenly attempted to check in my bags, I was informed that they were very overweight. The lady behind the desk began to explain how much I would be charged for every pound I was over, and my eyes began to swell up. My Aussie friend James came to rescue quickly lecturing me how he always accompanies his American friends to the airport for this reason. He commanded me to start putting on the clothes from my suitcase. “What?!” I slurringly sobbed. James started to help layer shirts on top of my already fashionable sundress and sneaker outfit. The woman behind the counter was stunned by this circus act and just told me to go get on the plane. When packing, less things equals less stress. And when packing in a calm, unrushed manor, one will eliminate stress and chaos.

When I finally made it back home I went on a cleaning rampage. I got rid of clothes and junk by the basket full everyday. The more I got rid of, the less I had to worry about. The less I had to worry about, the more time I had to spend on my life and the people in it, not on the things. The longer I was home, the more I started to forget about all the things I learned in Australia and began to revert back to my old ways collecting crap. Two years later I was lying on my back on a Munich train station platform, alone. I had toppled over trying to pick up my over sized backpack and other side bags. As some bystanders rushed over to see if I was OK, I laughed and said “Maybe this time I’ll learn”.

July 2009 Leaving for Australia 

September 2011 Leaving for Europe