Qantas Jet, flying home

I've only got this long left in Australia:

Back in the USA

I have returned to the land of my fathers. Plane touched down on time and friends picked me up on time. We rode to my friend Mickey’s house in a silver minivan. Not a Mom’s minivan, mind you, but somebody’s work van. Much convenient for baggage and quite unexpected and quite more than I’m used to. Parking in LA is aways hard, but was pretty fun for me just cause… well, I’m home. Had a few scares where I thought we were driving on the wrong side. Getting used to my own place again, so to speak.

I partied it up with my three best friends in the world (in the world!) and then I made my way back. Seems that while I was gone, the homestead got up and moved without me. I said goodbye to my Mom, who was just leaving Palm Springs for Santa Rosa herself, then crashed on a friend’s couch (in grand backpacker fashion). Then I lost my friends cat, more or less. To be fair there is a hole in the wall big enough for a cat so the evidence remains inconclusive.

Eventually we took the trip north to San Francisco for another one of the friend’s 21st birthday. I migrated to Santa Rosa, which is where I’ll live now. I’m back. You can still continue the trip, back to what has to pass as normal, over at the (real) Glot.


Here At Last

Finally arrived! God that was harder than I thought… from the insanely long flight to the drive through suburban Sydney to the fantastically accomodating and yet despicably not-my-home-liness of Central YHA, it’s been a journey and a half. If the homesickness didn’t start before QANTAS Flight 108 even pulled up to the terminal than I’m Canadian. And I’m not; I’ve established that. The flight itself was reassuringly pleasant. God, I do love the Aussie accents. Where I am now, though, there aren’t a lot of those.

For those not clairvoyant, I’m typing this from the modest aging-PC showroom of the F1 Internet Café. The keyboards have four characters on each of the keys, the walls, windows and cielings are decorated with checkboards, and the going rate is A$2 an hour. That’s ten platypuses, for those not familiar. This place is not far from the hostel, near the marketplace where I made the wise purchase of some much needed shorts. Granted, it’s summer here — but in the words of a local, “feels like we’re about where Thailand should be.” The humidity’s around 95%. That’s metric percent so I’m not sure of the conversion rate.

 But anyways, I have to say something since technically I haven’t yet:

Yay! I’m in Australia!