We're not in bloody Kansas anymore

G’day, mate! What a vacation. I’m settling in at Melbourne these days, but that’s boring, so let’s talk about my trip to Tasmania.

My family gave me a fine sendoff at the White Plains airport, though I wasn’t expecting my dad to carry our 25 pound dog (ball of emasculated white fur, really) up an escalator to wave goodbye. My checked luggage was left in the very capable hands of a security worker who cheerfully told me my bags would make it to Kansas without a hitch.

I flew to Philadelphia, then LA. I was seated next to a Frenchie my age who was exploring the US for his first time. He had three

weeks’ vacation between trimesters and was financing his trip
partly with the $500 he had won in online gambling. He noted how fat Americans are and refused to eat his airplane food, in spite of his hunger, because it wasn’t up to par. Later he had trouble napping, so I gave him some Benadryl, partly to be a kind person, but mostly to see if it really worked as a sleeping pill. He shortly complained of a massive headache, and I decided that drug free is, for now, the way to be.

Once in LA I again attempted to be kind by advising a stressed-out Australian (they do exist; travel books are full of poop) on what I thought was a shortcut to her departure gate. Apparently she was strapped for time. Unfortunately, my shortcut turned out to be rather long indeed, and by the time she asked an LAX employee for different directions she had already dissolved into tears. I felt terrible but basked in the anonymity of the moment.

My 14 hour flight to Sydney was easier than I thought, and a testament to how comfortable I had become with doing nothing. It turns out that the longer your flight is, the better the onboard entertainment. I wonder what they give on around the world flights. Opium, probably. I listened to Michael Jackson and Dolly
Parton until I finally fell asleep, nestled in a cocoon of gay comfort music.

I ditched some luggage after my flight to Melbourne and was finally on my fifth and final jet, heading straight to Launceston, Tasmania. Sitting next to me were two retired Western Australians, Trevor and his wife Lelani. They seemed a nice couple, but after offering me a ride in their rental car they ratcheted themselves up to the echelon of LOVELY COUPLE. Along the way, Trevor spoke about China’s mining interests in Western Australia. He also said that Tasmania is by far Australia’s poorest state, despite (or maybe because of) all the tourism. Because larger Australia—and the rest of the world—want most of Tasmania to remain undeveloped, the economy can only hobble along.

I thanked the lovely couple when we reached my hostel, and was confronted with the beautiful,

gorgeous,

slightly intimate,

slightly strange

town of Launceston. I had definitely left New York. But the sun was setting and I was tired, so I went to bed.