Australian Souvenirs

Believe it or not, I’m actually writing this blog from 30,000 ft in the air. Elvis has left the building; we have flown from Melbourne. It was with heavy spirits and loaded sighs that we tucked our tails into the taxi this morning at 6am and watched the sunrise between the high rises. Goodbye to Melbourne, goodbye to our lives there, our friends, the road trip, our small patch of earth.  But because it is so hard to say farewell says something about the past year itself.  For nearly 365 days Steve and I built up a small life for ourselves. We met amazing people and we saw remarkable things.  It is exactly because our experience in Australia was so good, that makes the send-off so much harder. We had tried to shrug off this inevitable goodbye during our adventures, putting a Band-aid over the wound until the time came to rip it off.

We left Sydney, our hearts singed with hangovers and the certainty of the end of the trip. We drove for about 6 hours and pulled up to yet another free camp spot in the middle of golden farmers’ fields. Rutherglen East Rest Area saw our last night on the road. Ironically, alike some other nights of the trip, we were invaded with bugs. Steve and I defended the fortress while Tim whipped our last meal together in the Great White – some combination of whatever we had left in the fridge and cupboards; by some miracle it tasted good. The sun set over the fields and we slept in solemnity that night.  

At the crack of 6:30, we left Rutherglen and drove the last 3 hour disconnect on the map back to Melbourne – the circle now complete. Our dear friend Johnny, whom you might remember from earlier posts, had originally agreed to take us in before our departure. However, his large heart got in the way – he managed to fill up his flat with other vagabond friends during our leave of absence. Luckily, Steve’s bartender mate from the Bluestone days took pity on us and opened the doors to his apartment.

We spent late morning/early afternoon purging every item from the van and up into Sascha’s flat. His eyes widened when we kept returning with load after load, our arms laden with trinkets and bits and bobs; fishing rods, spices, sleeping bags, Christmas presents, and random electronics filled an entire corner of the apartment. Since we didn’t want to wear out our welcome on the first day, we laboriously tried to sort and organize the chaos into more manageable piles. Once we were finished, the tasks didn’t stop there. Well, we tried not to stop. Sascha’s live-in girlfriend Galina had made us lunch and put it in the fridge while she was at work. He fashioned some sandwiches, busted out the traditional Russian salad, and fed us like kings, the first of many generous acts of hosting he showed us.

The Great White was downstairs, empty and dirty and alone. She was supposed to be returned on the 15^th any ways, so we made up our minds to get it over with. After luncheon, we drove her to a self-serve car wash, got on our hands and knees and paid our dues to that hefty beauty. She carried us safely in her berth for 76 days, across highways, beaches, and 4WD tracks; through rainforests, outback, and mountains, in rain and shine. Every last ounce of energy was poured into scrubbing our laughs and hijinx off of the floors, windows, doors, cupboards, cushions, and body of that Toyota Hiace. We prayed that we had enough vinegar and $2 coins to get us there. In the end, we had done all we could, and parked her back in front of the rental agency in Ringwood. Exhausted, we tipped our hats and hopped on a train back into the city.

Just when you thought the adventures were over, my friends, you were sadly mistaken! Now back into our home city, we had other send-offs to make (aside from vehicles!) Ages ago, my Vice Principal had invited me to his jam at a bar in Fitzroy, called LuWoW; he is a member in a sweet musical posse called the Ska Vendors. I had always meant to support him during the year and come out to see a show, but had no time to pull my head out of planning and marking. This was my last chance!

We quickly changed and I dragged the boys out to the funky bar. Fate made it pretty hard for us to make it there on time (see: flash mob of Santas on the tram route, among other things), but in the end we had our bevies in hand and were shaking with the best of the hipsters on the dance floor, amongst jungle cats and Pebbles-esque princesses. It was only a matter of time until the boys faded, but I commended them just for coming out with me in the first place. We headed off in search of dumplings in Chinatown, but were victims to early closing hours and made for home.

On the 15^th, our time in the sun was dwindling, so we decided to enjoy some final hours on our old block. Sascha, Steve, and Tim took the basketball down to the courts on Commercial Road, while I made tracks up and down Chapel Street, getting closer to finishing my Christmas shopping. I rejoined the boys and we drank a Corona in the Melbourne sunshine, with a good hip hop baseline pumping in the background. Alas, we had big plans so we had to scoot home to get ready.

That night, Sascha, Galina, and their roommate John took us to 12 Chairs, an authentic Russian restaurant in St. Kilda East to share with us an experience from their homeland. Despite their warnings of the copious amount of food that we would be faced with, the three of us were shocked when we arrived to a table full of food, and even more shocked when that was just the appetizers! The places were set with shot glasses, as it is Russian tradition to cheers continuously with vodka throughout the meal. We thought the 3 26ers we had brought would make quick work of us, but we ate so much food that it only made a slight impairment on our sobriety. We made toasts from the heart, thankful for good friends, good food, and good fortune.

Apres dessert, our crew made our way to the Vineyard, a rockin’ alternative bar in St. Kilda. It didn’t take us long to enjoy ourselves and the night was capped with the boys jumping off the pier and swimming to shore while us girlfriends shrugged and played lifeguard. Everyone sensible went to bed that night, but Steve and Sascha stayed up until the sun was hanging high over Melbourne.

Of course, the dues had to be paid for such a fun evening, and Steven was laid up on the couch for the better part of the day, until I coaxed him into the shower with buttered toast and unlimited glasses of water. Normally, Steve and the couch would be best mates for the day, but time was too precious. We had some very special farewells to make at my old school.

Once he was (somewhat!) righted, Steve and I took the train out to arrive with just enough time to chat with the Admin before the bell would ring. Next, we popped into the classroom that Steve took over for 3 weeks to say a ‘hi’ and ‘goodbye’ to our Grade 2 friends. Finally, the bell rang, and I stood outside my old music classroom and allowed myself to be spoilt with hugs and hellos from my old students and other teachers; all of which who will be held in a particular place inside of me. I have oftentimes wished to bring this school back to Ontario because of the beauty and charm of the way everything holds a friendly balance there.

We met with a few of the teachers who were available for a quick dinner before they scurried off to the Grade 6 Graduation ceremonies that evening. We shared a few final laughs over some Thai food, and made genuine promises of keeping in touch when we parted. It was emotional, but I reminded myself that it’s better to love it when you leave, than be dying to go.

Getting back to Sascha’s place, the comrades had another traditional surprise for us. We were going to have a ‘Russian Spa’ that night. The boys went out and gathered the appropriate branches and shuffled us into the building’s sauna. Once we were all hot-like-Bikram, they instructed us to stretch out, and proceeded to lash us fondly with bundles of the branches. Despite this seeming odd, we all felt very relaxed, and at the end of it all, made a running leap into the awaiting pool.

Once we unwound, the Russians cooked up a midnight feast consisting of salad, platters of prawns, cheese, and nibbles as we watched a movie. As we stuffed our faces, we protested to our friends feeding us so much; it seemed the moment we even thought we were hungry they would read our minds and food would appear. We were beginning to feel guilty! They assured us that their European roots, and will to fill people up was incurable. We vowed to repay them somehow for their ultimate hospitality that night as we went to bed.

The morning of the 17^th was an important one. I set out to pick up my wedding dress from Raffaelle Ciuca! Galina graciously came along to help me with the mission, and we spent over an hour in the shop, trying out different hairstyles, accessories, and discussing wedding-things. It was good to have a girlfriend there in lieu of my solids and home. While we pranced and paraded around, Steve was traipsing around the city, finishing up his Christmas shopping and getting his hair cut.

In the afternoon, he decided to take it easy and play video games with the boys, while I traded places with him and raced around Melbourne Central amongst the last minute shoppers of the season.  That evening, Galina made cabbage rolls for dinner, and we all went to bed beyond full and happy.

The next morning, we said goodbye to Tim. As an attempt of thanks, he cooked breakfast and we forced everyone to wake up early enough to eat it, and during which, we gifted them a small token of our appreciation. Tim walked out, and it was weird. We knew we would see him again, but this made everything so final. The road trip was definitely over. We were leaving tomorrow.

WE WERE LEAVING TOMORROW!! Steve and I kicked our butts into gear, and borrowed Sascha’s car in order to run errands in Fitzroy, Chapel Street, and downtown. Finally, my holiday shopping was finished, and we had but one more obstacle in our way: packing.

In fact, packing up all of our accumulated junk, holiday parcels for our loved ones, along with oblong, oversized objects like art and fishing rods, seemed more and more like an impossible task. There was no way that it was going to fit into the suitcases in our possession. In desperation, we set out on a scavenger hunt to find a suitable bag. In a stroke of genius, Steve realized we could buy a surf board bag, stuff it with everything, and sell it once we got back home! Assuming our problem was solved, we enjoyed one last .30 cent McDonalds soft serve and watched the street performers of Melbourne before we got down to business.

We packed into the wee hours, shifting piles, rolling and unrolling clothes. Eventually, everything to stuck into a bag somewhere or other, but we were worried about the weight. Everyone packs on a few extra pounds at Christmastime, but this was going to be tight. All we could do was hope. Steve retired while I watched Home Alone with Sash and Galina, memorizing Kevin’s Mom’s airport rant in case I needed to use it the next morning.

5 hours later, the alarm was ringing and our journey was beginning. The long toil home.

We hugged our hugs to Mother Russia, and waddled our suitcases out to the awaiting taxi. Heaving them in the back, Steve and I sat fairly silent on the way to the air port; partly from fatigue of a short sleep combined with a long trip, and partly from an honourable valediction.

Our haze was broken when we got to the airport and weighed our bags on the scale. Bag after bag was overweight. By a lot. The attendant kept cheery and insisted that we would find a way to get everything home. She asked about my wedding dress and our time in Melbourne. We could hardly reply, beginning  to pale as we realized our error. How could we possibly afford an extra-extra-extra bag, or even the surplus load charges?! The future was looking dim.

The attendant, who I will not name for her job security, granted us a Christmas miracle. Winking at us, she ushered all of our bags through with ‘heavy’ tags, explaining, “I’m pretty good at maths, and everything’s all sorted.” We were confused. We needed to pay for the extra bags. She winked, akin to the Claus himself, “consider it an early wedding present.”

The relief was enormous. Yet again, Steve and I couldn’t come to terms with our good fortune. It seems every time we need help, someone steps in. In fact, the generosity we have experienced throughout the trip, as well as our lives in general is outstanding. It’s almost inexplicable. Maybe our Grandma’s prayers are working, maybe karma is kicking it to us. Perhaps it is just pure luck, running into good hearted people.

Whatever it is, we’ve met charitable hosts, unforgettable friends, and dodged a few bullets. We’ve absorbed the beauty of the world into our eyes, through our breath and sweat and our dusty footsteps that have since settled in the Outback.

Australia may not show our imprint on its surface. Hopefully, there is no trace of us passing through, aside from whatever affectionate energy we expelled there , which is now floating around the places we visited; like a  trail of breadcrumbs, we left small pieces of ourselves along the way, imparting them to people and places we will never forget.

And in the way you may not see the mark we left on Australia, you may not see its mark on us; but it’s there. The best souvenir of all is not in our luggage, our bags or our pockets. We carry it with us in our veins, in our hearts, and in our minds; being alive and young forever in our memories here.