My Blog is More Modern than Yours

Videos! I finally figured out how to upload my camera videos onto Youtube. It's actually quite simple. They do something to the image quality that's a nuisance, though.

First clip was taken at the Grampians National Park, which is this mountain range I stayed at for three days with my Introduction to Australian Society class. I've uploaded the pictures from the trip but didn't blog it. Anyway, these were some rowdy Kangaroos nearby our camp.



Not that we didn't spend the extended weekend broadening our horizons and learning, but those situations just aren't as entertaining. One afternoon we tried out the overgrown swing set by the camp, and I screamed like a girl, again.



CRUDE HUMOR ALERT (Fair warning): Next, a boating trip on the Yarra river as part of Marine Biology class. (Nothing like Cornell classes! But we were taking water samples every twenty minutes. Torture!) This video features a little crude humor as a classmate shows me a new way to use my middle finger while our professor knocks the boat out of gear. I think he knew I was filming. I apologize for my laugh.



These other videos are from the FINA diving competition I went to last weekend. This was part of an international swimming competition hosted in Melbourne. There was distance swimming (25km on St. Kilda beach, where I've swam a few times before), probably lap swimming, water polo, diving, maybe other events. This first clip is of US diver K. Bryant on the 3m springboard. Unfortunately, she was one of only two Americans female divers to make it to the semifinals (18 divers). None of the American men made it that far. Scored by 7 judges on a score of 0 (worst) to 10 (best).



The Chinese divers beat the competition for both sexes. Here are a couple.





It was undoubtedly more entertaining watching the men dive, because they used 10m platforms instead of the 3m springboards. Pretty difficult though, and this guy's timing is just slightly off when he enters the water. He got mostly 4s, as I remember.



As if a 10m platform isn't intimidating enough, the guys also had to dive out of a handstand for at least one of their six dives. I would have been dribbling out my speedo.



And that's all for now! More fun stuff later.

Interesting Australia news

In lieu of a real entry, here's some of the news in Australia with links to articles.

Recently there's been a severe drought in Australia, forcing Victoria to consider recycling water (i.e. sewage treatment). Currently recycled water is used only for agriculture and gardening, and although it's chemically cleaner than other public water, there's always the psychological factor that makes it undesirable. Wool production expected to fall 20-25% as result of the drought. The government has provided interim financial drought assistance to pastoralists in central Australia.

David Hicks is periodically in the news, and not because he won American Idol (that was Taylor...I've been told). He's been an Australian Guantanamo detainee since 2004, much to the ire of Australian citizens who have grown increasingly hostile toward Australia's support of the Iraq war. His trial may have been expedited due to Australian PM John Howard's pressure. The most recent news, however, is that David Hicks has pleaded guilty to a terrorism charge of material support. I imagine this will be on the front news in all Australian newspapers.

Meanwhile John Howard has grown increasingly unpopular in the polls. While he is from the "Liberal Party," his politics are quite conservative, though he has been a staunch supporter for US President Bush. It is much more common to hear Australians publicly complaining about their politicians than it is in the US.

And, naturally the most important Australian news, I will be going to the Great Barrier Reef next week. Need to plan for it, though! Later gators.

Great Ocean Road

So there were four students in my Introduction to Australian Society class (a joke, I know, but it’s actually required for Cornell) and two others who were keen to check out the Great Ocean Road for an extended weekend. RMIT offered one and two day trips along the Road, but I had heard there would be a lot of driving, so I recommended that we splurge a little and spend a couple nights there.

Andre, Christina, Agnes, Maud, Verena, Mike, and I set out on Saturday morning in a rented minivan and made our way west of Melbourne along the coast. The Road was a WWI monument that had been constructed after the war as a project for returning ANZAC (Australia and New Zealand Army Corps) soldiers, and it basically linked all these little towns together in one 260km curvy road. The sights of the coast were pretty spectacular, and six of us were just rubbernecking as we drove along, while Andre did all the driving. He had the car registered in his name, since at the ripe old age of 28 he didn’t have to pay a surcharge, but he wasn’t about to take any chances with the driving. It was nice of him, really.

This section of Australia’s coast was made mostly of limestone or sandstone, some rock that was slowly eroding away. Either the ocean had receded a bit over millions of years or the coast had been jutting up, either way there were sections of the coast that had broken apart and become isolated masses of rock sticking straight up out of the shallow ocean water. On Monday we’d be able to see the most spectacular result of all this erosion—The Twelve Apostles—but for now we were just excited to be outside of Melbourne and heading toward the surfing capital of Australia.

We jumped out of the car at the first beach we spotted, did the tourist thing taking pictures, and contemplated swimming. There was no lifeguard on duty, and one ominous yellow sign warned of currents, sharp underwater ledges, and a couple other synonyms for certain death. I decided to only wade in, remembering the ocean currents in Tasmania. Got soaked by a rogue wave and ran out, screaming like a girl.

Australia and Tasmania have so many beaches, there’s a saying that if you can see any footprints on your beach, it’s too crowded. We drove along to another beach and swam in the surf. There were other swimmers too, but I needed a buffer zone between myself and sharks. Got some great body surfing in, but the others wanted to leave after only an hour. Next beach, they said, but it was a trick to get me out of the water.

Another highlight was the Cape Otway lighthouse on Sunday. Built in 1848. Windy up there.

Finally saw some koalas too! These overblown beanie babies sleep for 19 hours a day, partly because the gum tree leaves they ingest are toxic and need to slowly be digested.

Then to Otway Forest National Park, and twenty dollars per person later we were walking up in the tree canopies. I had had visions of Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, but the trees looked to different to even pretend to swordfight. Nice atmosphere though. The Kiwi and I imagined we were in Mirkwood, and kept watch for the girls. They didn’t appreciate these things.

Spent a couple nights at beautiful Apollo Bay and discovered that the Kiwi had kept four bottles hidden in his bag as a surprise for the rest of us. This made up for his being terminally late.

On Monday we checked out the Twelve Apostles at Port Campbell, which are stunningly beautiful in person. From what I’ve heard about the Grand Canyon, I imagine the Apostles must be similar in the sense that no postcard can adequately capture their majesty. You don’t really get a sense of size in these pictures.

At 9:19am on July 3^rd 2005, one of the Apostles collapsed under its own weight. It wasn’t particularly windy or wavy that morning. 60 million years of erosion is enough.

Then on to Loch Ard Gorge, where I think we saw the London Bridge. Part of it fell off in 1990, so only the “supports” are left. They’ll look like the Apostles some day.

…and the weekend was over before we knew it. We had some great times, helped by the fact that we were all pretty low key. If the weather had been better on Sunday and Monday we might have gone surfing (only $36USD for board, wetsuit, and instruction!!!!), but sadly I was outvoted. No matter, I went surfing with RMIT this past Saturday. No pictures of that, but I swear I stood up at least five times. Getting there.

East Coast tour, Day 1

The Adventure Tours bus picked me up from the Devonport hostel at 7:20am on February 15^th. There were around six Germans, three Danes, one French fry, one Netherlander, five Brits, three Koreans, one Japanese, and one Swiss. I was the only American. We were all tourists excited to spend three days exploring Tasmania’s east coast. The tour was all inclusive, so for three days I didn’t have to do any thinking for myself. Yay!

As the bus drove along, I spoke with John the Brit about the Australian Open, and how I would have loved to have been in Melbourne a month earlier to see Serena Williams play. Turns out John was a tennis judge back in the eighties and presided over a number of the big championships. I asked him which pros he judged, and he listed several, but I’m useless with sports names.

When I was in London last spring, I was thrilled to see Ian McKellan on stage. At one point he was within grabbing distance. John had volunteered at a nursing home years ago and often kept company with a Mrs. McKellan. As you can guess, one day Sir Ian waltzed in, and they’ve been the best of buddies ever since. I don’t doubt John’s story—his wife was right there anyway—and he might not have intended to brag, as I brought up both subjects. But as the trip progressed, John tended to only talk when he could be the center of attention, and then there’s something about adults trying to impress kids that’s unbecoming.

I spent more of my time with Angela and Verina, two of the Germans, Danni, the French fry, and Maha, the Swiss Miss. The first three were right around my age, and Danni was only eighteen, the youngest by a few years. She had already received her diploma, but was taking half a year off before university to travel and volunteer around the world. Verina had a thick Berlin accent (she told me, I don’t know these things. All I know is she reminded me of Frau Blücher from Young Frankenstein.) She and Danni became close friends.

Angela was a bit of a German punk with plenty of substantive things to say, and she filled me in on recent Neo-Nazi activity. East Germany never really caught up with the west, apparently, and the higher unemployment has encouraged discontent, a frightening parallel with post WWI Germany.

“…and two Nazis were elected into government a few years ago. None of the other politicians want anything to do with them, naturally. And the two weren’t able to do much, since they didn’t agree with each other much. And one was busted for child pornography. So support for the Neo-Nazis has ebbed a bit recently.” Good to know, Angela.

If you find yourself in East Germany, look for people with “Londsdale” t-shirts. Londsdale is a normal company, but the Nazis will wear something over the t-shirt so you can only see the middle few letters—“NDS,” which is a significant acronym I've forgotten. “Lands’End” clothing has the same letters, but the Nazis haven't caught on.

Maha, the Swiss Miss, was actually a good deal older than the rest of us—at least thirty-five. Her father had died and left her with enough money to quit her job as a career advisor and take some time off to travel. She’s using this time to identify her dream profession.

“Why should traveling in Tasmania help you identify your dream job back in Switzerland?” I asked.

“What would you do?”

“I’d probably keep working and wait for an idea to hit me. At least that’s what happens to me in school—I get my best ideas when I should be studying.”

Switzerland seems to be Western Europe’s overflow valve, and the vast majority of its citizens are multilingual. Maha herself knows French, German, English, Italian, and Arabic, among others. Many others on the tour speak more than two languages, and I felt a bit of an inferiority complex coming on. So I compensated for it by teaching them some American slang, such as "Yo, what's the 411? Keep it on the DL, cracker." They'll be so hip the next time they're in the States.

First stop was the recently harvested Bridestowe Lavender Farm selling lavender chocolate, honey, and basically everything else you can imagine, and then some. I managed not to buy anything, but Frank the Brit bought some lavender oil, which he mixes with some other oils to concoct a muscle relaxant, pain reliever, perhaps a wrinkle remover, or nectar of the gods, or elixir of life. He explained this all to Verina and me, but I was busy taking pictures.


We then visited a WWI memorial dedicated to ANZAC troops (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) in the middle of some small town. Originally some trees (elm?) had been planted along the town's main road to commemorate its fallen soldiers. As the trees aged their limbs became too heavy to support, and they had to be cut down for safety reasons. It took one man six months to finish cutting the trees with his chainsaw. But the final result was worth it.


My camera memory was pretty full of pictures, so at the next town we stopped at I hurried off to get them transferred to a CD. I found a store to do it, but the process was slow that I kept the bus waiting fifteen minutes. At that point I just gave up on the whole thing and asked a very confused employee to just mail the CD to me. I got on the bus and apologized to everyone, and decided I would try not to do anything stupid for the rest of the day.





A quick hike through streams and ferns until some waterfall.





Then a pit stop at some beach. Bruce, our guide, cook, and driver, told us to watch out for the current. He didn't know I was lifeguard and therefore Master of the Aquatic Universe, so I didn't pay much attention. A minute later I was in a remarkably strong current that was pushing me further down the beach, and right toward some barnacled boulders. Oops. I decided to listen to Bruce from then on, and helped out with dinner that evening.

Celebrating Schirrmann

I was eating dinner in Devonport with a couple of my Australian hostel mates, Leonard and Mildred (real names forgotten). They were an elderly couple that probably lived a combined 160 years. I had been introduced to them by John, a spring chicken at 72. I was bothered by all the old people in my hostel.

“Does Australia run its hostels differently than Europe? I was in England last spring, and I don’t remember seeing so many…adults in the hostels there,” I ventured. Talk about tact.

“Old people, you mean,” said Mildred. “No, there probably aren’t so many adults in European hostels. At least that’s not how they used to be, when Schirrmann started them in the 1900s. You’ve heard of Schirrmann? No? Well, I’ll tell you about him.”

She explained to me, as Leonard silently puffed his pipe, that Schirmann was a well-to-do nature lover who wanted to provide the European urban youth with a way to cheaply travel and experience the outdoors. He bought houses around the continent, crammed bunks into every room, and let people stay there for dirt cheap prices, on the condition that they all helped to cook and keep the buildings clean.

“We didn’t have much money back in the fifties and sixties, when our children were still young. It let us explore the countryside on a tight budget. And there was a sense of community, with everyone pitching in. Even the kids would help out, putting the laundry on the line, setting the table. They grew up, obviously. But we never wanted to stop traveling, and now that we’re pensioners, we make do with a fixed income.

“You don’t have to pitch in anymore—and even more of a departure from Schirrmann’s hostel—you can request your own room for yourself. That’s not a hostel, that’s a hotel. But like I said, we still enjoy them, and there aren’t many places where you can find accommodations for only $18AUD ($15USD) a night.”

Amen, Mildred. And thank you, Schirrmann.