Sixintheworld.com

Everybody but Dax had just gotten back from our walk on the beach (Dax didn’t want to go). Kieran, Asher, and I decided to make up a game with the rocks we had just collected at the beach. We were all brainstorming when Kieran said, ” Hide ‘n’ Go Rock”. Asher and I didn’t get it. So Kieran explained: ” 2 people hide 5 rocks and 1 finds them.” I replied, “Oh, hotter and colder.” “Yeah,” he said. So we started to play.

We had already played one round during which Asher had very determinedly looked for the rocks for 20 minutes. We were 4 rocks into Kieran’s round, which took only 5 minutes, when Dax yelled, “AH!!! There’s a bird in the bathroom!!!” I thought, “Hey, that sounds cool,” so I ran to the bathroom and the littles followed. There it was smashing its head against the ceiling. I ran downstairs to get Mom and Dad. When I got down, I was startled when I looked in the living room and saw another bird ramming its head against the window. “In the kitchen more, In the kitchen four!” Not really, there were three, but it’s always fun to quote one of my favorite books from when I was younger, Wacky Wednesday. But where were Mom and Dad? Kieran ran outside and yelled, “Mom, Dad, it’s a miracle! There’s birds in the house!” But there was no response. Turns out that they went up to the upper yard, and when mom went out first, she told dad to tell us that they were up there. But he didn’t. He did leave all the doors open so they could hear us. So all the kids were running amuck looking for mom and dad and dodging birds, when they’re just up in the sun reading scriptures, listening to the yelling, and packing up the towels that they were laying on. Finally, they walk in the door and see kids and birds flying and running everywhere. As you can see in the movie, it was chaos! In all there were 3 different kinds of birds, 2 of each type. The butcher birds, which looked cute, were really evil. They were attacking the ugly vulture-like ones and chased them into the house. Even after Dad got the butcher birds outside, they stood on the windowsills so they could keep an eye on their victims who were still inside. The vultures were so scared they deposited goodies through their hindquarters all over our house.

Well, that’s it for this week. This has been another post by McKane Andrus. See ya, mate!

Technorati Tags: Australia, Butcher birds, Family travel, Round the world, Round-the-world, RTW, Sunshine Coast

In Australia this month there is a big debate about forcing immigrants to take an English test before they can get citizenship. That’s the kind of test I should be able to pass. But they are also talking about adding in components for “Australian values.” Those in the opposition point out that the values, such as “mateship,” are not soley Australian but universal. Those who support the test point out that values extend back to the language and argue the test should evaluate the taker’s knowledge of Aussie terms Read the rest of this entry »

We were saddened by the news this morning that my paternal grandmother, Lucille Gilliom, had passed away just hours earlier in Indiana. She was 98 years old. We knew when we left last month that she was in failing health, but my Aunt Sandy assured me that if Grandma had been in full possession of her faculties, she would have wanted us to carry on with our plans. My grandma was a kind, brave woman who lived more than 35 years as a widow. Over the last ten years she had lost her sight and much of her hearing, but she always relished an opportunity to hold her great-grandchildrens’ hands and touch their faces. I am awed by the fact that she was witness to almost a century of history, that she knew horse-drawn carriages, two world wars and a modern world rich with computers, the internet and air travel. She signed all her letters, “With love and prayers,” and somehow the world felt a little safer knowing a woman of her seasoned, abiding faith was lobbying for us on high. Our prayers are now with our family back in the States who will gather to mourn our loss and celebrate her life. Grandma, we will treasure your memory and carry you in our hearts wherever we go.

We have so many lessons to learn. We expected Australia to be a lay low location in our nutty itinerary, comfortably nestled between the frenetic pace of the New Zealand campervan experience and our nomadic monthlong wanderings through China. The first week was nothing of the sort. Unfortunately it was a primer in the uncertainties of life on the road and a slap on the wrist from the travel gods for thinking we could replicate home along the way. After the night in the van and an emotionally draining memorial-filled morning, we cruised up and down the Sunshine Coast observing each of the different communities along the 45 km stretch and trying to decide which would be the best fit for our 3-week stay. We started in Caloundra, the city where we attended the memorial. We didn’t really consider it as a destination, but figured our new home would be further north toward the pristine beaches of Noosa. Over the course of the afternoon, we explored towns with intriguing names like Maroochydore (McKane’s favorite new mantra), Mooloolaba, Mudjimba, and Yaroomba. We quickly learned that our options were radically limited, however, since we timed our travels to synch up precisely with Australian School Holidays (the equivalent of Spring Break). Not only were hotels and rental houses booked, the few that were available were charging a 50% premium over the prices from the week before. We resolved ourselves to the added expense, and turned off by the glamour and glitz of some of the northern resort communities, headed back down to Caloundra, which reminded me of a sleepy version of the home of my heart, Santa Monica.

Jodee was a lovely, unsuspecting young Australian woman manning the booking desk at the Caloundra information center. “We need a three-week rental with wireless internet starting today,” we explained. She stared back at us in disbelief. After two hours on the phone, she came up empty. No one had three weeks of availability much less wifi. The only hotel with broadband was the expensive one Tom had passed on the night before. As it was 5:00, the witching hour in New Zealand and Australia, when everything magically changes from operational to abandoned, we decided to book a night there, suck up $30 worth of broadband, and try again the next morning. We scoured the internet all night, Skyped to our hearts’ content, and woke refreshed and optimistic. Tom visited Jodee again and she altered her search to include facilities from which we could use dial-up (only one of our computers is even old enough to have a telephone port). Even with Jodee working the phones at the visitors’ center, Tom flexing his Skype muscles in the room, and me trawling for deals on the internet, there was still nothing. By this time we had buckled and told the expensive hotel we would take their one last night of availability before the holidays began.

With two solid nights of sleep under our belts, we were confident we would find just the right place on Friday, the day the Aussie holiday seekers were to begin their descent on the coast. Milking our stay an hour past the unalterable Australian checkout time of 10:00 am, we made our final calls, sent our final emails, and loaded up the van to face our fate. We took a different approach this time. We stopped at any place that had a vacancy sign and changed our criteria for the real estate agents. i.e., treated our stay as three one-week increments and completely abandoned the internet. While other options arose, we ended up choosing a quaint little cottage, directly across the street from the beach, whose owners had vacated the day before. It was available the entire time (the only thing we found that was), but we booked it for one week with an option to extend. The fact that it lacks even a phone line makes us wonder how viable it is for a longer term. We booked another place directly on a different beach for the third week (when the rates drop back down to low season) because the surf is tamer there and the beach is patrolled (i.e., has lifeguards). We’re going to decide what to do with the middle week sometime soon. Right now, we’re just going to listen to the waves, watch the big boys surf, and breathe…

Oh, and sit on the balcony and watch people get married…

Technorati Tags: Australia, Caloundra, Family travel, Round the world, Round-the-world, RTW, Sunshine Coast

This previous week we have been traveling up Australia from Sydney to Brisbane in a Toyota van. After hardly keeping my sanity and almost having multiple spaz attacks, we arrived at our new home. The following is a brief recollection of what transpired inside that cursed box. Upon renting the beast from Sydney airport (thanks Avis, you really do try harder), I thought it wouldn’t be all that bad. Then the long drives started. The first night we moved basically nowhere since the highways were closed, and we were in the van for what seemed like an eternity. That’s when I found what would save me from at least some of the torment (the screaming and yelling of young children kind, you know what I mean)–a little device called an iPod. I would from here on out basically suck its battery dry in a day, a feat which used to take me a week or more. We rested at a ridiculoulsly high priced motel, and after sleeping in a bed with a child I will not name who constantly smashed into me and secreted a steady dose of methane from his overworked bowels, I felt no more up to a drive in the morning. We headed off again, and now a new plague set in, the neck pains. Trying to sleep in a car as many may know, is not the easiest of feats, and so after considerable movement and shuffling around I found a position and slept. When I awoke, neck pains were all I felt. The next few hours were no better as my iPod died and the previously unnamed child reduced the air quality of the car to an all-time minimum. Soon another round of cramps set in and I was done. The real blow came when we slept in the thing. That night we could not find a motel and so we had the brilliant idea of sleeping in the van. It was highly unpleasant, constantly getting kicked or having to listen to my dad and brothers’ snoring. I do not advise living in a van down by the river, especially if you have a family of six. Vans are permanently on my ‘do not drive’ list and here are the top six reasons our beautiful roads should be rid of these behemoths. (In no particular order)

1. Neck pains. You will obviously get these in any car if you try to sleep, but I found the pain much more profound in the van.

2. Although they are ’spacious’ and fit eight, it is usually very cramped inside. I always end up with a little bit kicking me and screams of children seem to reverberate through it.

3. Cramps. Yet again I have felt these in other cars but it is amplified in a van, especially in the gluteus area.

4. It seems to be a virtual airtight box. This may be helpful at times when you pass a cow pasture, but when an again unnamed child releases an ‘old man’ dose of methane, there is no escape.

5. Movable seats. This may seem a nice feature, but if you have three siblings like me, one of the seats is bound to come crashing down on your knees or stomach every hour or so.

6. It’s a machine bred for destruction. What better weapon is there for the road rage-crazed suburban mother to go on a rampage through the subdivision with?

As you may have noticed, this is written in a very joking manner. I do not mean to insult any of the following people: those who drive vans or have caught ‘van fever,’ suburban mothers, or most of all, the unnamed child. I am simply putting forth my opinions about one of man’s craziest inventions.

We were in New Zealand when McKane’s friend Noah emailed us that the Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin, had been killed. At first we thought it must be a joke or a mistake because the cause of death seemed so improbable and the larger than life Irwin had always seemed invincible. Of course Noah was right and we joined the world in a shocked state of mourning. We started watching The Crocodile Hunter with Dax when he was just a baby and have followed Irwin, his wife, Terri, and their two children intermittently over the years. I had planned on a visit to their Australia Zoo in the Sunshine Coast town of Beerbah as a highlight of our time in Australia. It was. We just made the visit earlier than I thought.

Irwin’s loved ones held an internationally televised memorial service for him Wednesday morning at the Crocoseum, an entertainment venue at the Zoo. 3,000 tickets for the public were distributed along the Sunshine Coast last Friday, the day after we arrived hundreds of kilometers to the south in Sydney. We did not have tickets, but I decided I wanted to make the pilgrimage to zoo anyway. Certainly there would be thousands of sympathizers gathered around the site and loudspeakers to broadcast what went on inside. We drove from Coff’s Harbor in northern New South Wales through Brisbane to the small town of Beerbah. I figured there wouldn’t be any vacant hotel rooms, so we geared up for a night of sleeping in the van. People do it for concerts. I did it for a Duke basketball game when I was an undergrad. Why not a memorial service? None of us was thrilled at the prospect (as Dax will tell you in his next post), but I considered it a test of our mettle in preparation for third world sleeping conditions.

We got to the zoo around 9:00 pm. The front parking lot was filled with news trucks and satellites but was eerily quiet. There was one couple taking pictures of the flowers and tributes that lined the front wall, but other than that there was no sign of human activity. We wondered where everybody had gone. Tom had a lot of energy, so instead of parking nearby, he drove toward the coast to look for a hotel. As I slept, he found one. It was too expensive, so he left and proceeded to get lost. When we finally got back to the town, we cruised the local streets looking for a discrete place to park. We finally ended up in a picnic area of a park. Six hours later we roused and drove back to the Zoo. Now it was abuzz with activity: police directing traffic, thousands of mourners (some in suits, many in Irwin’s trademark khaki), and reporters and camera crews interviewing attendees. I was surprised that we were allowed to drive right into the lot even though we didn’t have tickets. No one asked for them. We parked next to the animal hospital and marveled at the ambulatory prowess of an emu with a broken leg and a kangaroo with an abdominal injury. Three people across the aisle were nursing an infant possum and wallaby with doll-sized bottles before leaving them at the hospital for the duration of the service. “They’d die if we left them alone,” they explained.

Sleeping in a van down by the river a la Chris Farley The walls were adorned with thousands of bouquets, posters, and cards

Most of these people had tickets; only a handful showed up like we did Reminders of Irwin are everywhere

I maneuvered my way to the zoo entrance and asked a khaki-clad zoo employee what was going to be happening for those who didn’t have tickets. “Nothing,” he explained. It was hard to believe there wouldn’t be a massive demonstration of support outside the Crocoseum but I accepted the Australian way. We lingered for a while, took a few pictures, and then drove to a nearby town that was broadcasting the service in its cultural center. We joined hundreds of Irwin’s Sunshine Coast neighbors who gathered to watch the service in Caloundra. I’m not sure about the others but I was unable to hold back the tears for most of the broadcast. I watched his widow with her two small children and could only imagine the devastation that lurked beneath her mirrored sunglasses.

Why did this matter so much to me? I’m not an overly sentimental person, just ask my husband. In this instance, however, with this loss, I felt I had to be involved on some level. Steve Irwin, with all his zany Aussie enthusiasm and fearlessness, represented something rare and pure on this all too often jaded planet. Critics dismissed him as goofy and irresponsible, but he was simply “a bloke doing what he loved.” That he recognized his passion and pursued it ceaselessly in an effort to make the world a better place is remarkable. To any cynic who disagrees, I would suggest they measure Irwin’s success not just by the number of animals he saved or acres of forest he planted, but by the sheer volume of smiles and laughter he inspired around the globe. More joy equals good in my book. Good on ya, Steve. We’ll miss you.

Technorati Tags: Australia, Australia Zoo, Beerbah, Crocodile Hunter, Family travel, Round the world, Round-the-world, RTW, Steve Irwin, Sunshine Coast

Minivans gained street cred when Chili Palmer, the hit man played by John Travolta in Get Shorty, prowled the streets of LA in a rented Oldsmobile Silhouette (”the Cadillac of minivans”). Our Toyota Tarago is a mean machine well suited for urban warfare with sliding rear doors on either side. With these escape hatches fully operational, occupants can exit in a flash and hit the ground ready for hardcore sightseeing or potty breaks. This exceptional functionality is not without its drawbacks, however, as we learned on our tour of the Blue Mountains outside Sydney. After a taxing morning spent hiking the trail to the Three Sisters, inhaling the eucalyptus aroma, and learning about Aboriginal legend, we were ready to make the 1/2 mile trip to the Katoomba town center to find lunch.

The Three Brothers Viewing The Three Sisters (they’re the rocks) The big boys are taller than I am

We chose Domino’s, Dax’s pizza of choice, since our pizza selections in New Zealand revolved around hittin’ the Hut. As is always to be expected, 30 seconds after leaving a bathroom we begged them to use, Kieran and Asher needed to go. The public toilets were two doors down from Domino’s. Perfect, except for when it came time to perform the quick exit from the Tarrago, Kieran couldn’t find one of his shoes. He is down to one pair after leaving his high-tech Teva water shoes at an RV park in New Zealand, so this missing piece of foam (a Crocs knockoff) was critical to our future efforts. We scoured the vehicle, overturning seats, digging through bags, and probing every possible crevice. Nothing. He swore he had it on when we left the Mountain Visitor’s Center, but he’s 6, so after our fruitless search, we were inclined to question his accuracy. Two minutes later we found the shoe sitting in our former parking space. Whew, we thought. If he hadn’t had to go to the bathroom, we might have gotten hours away before we noticed.

Cut to an hour and a half later when we stop alongside the highway to snap a picture of Mac with a road sign bearing his name.

“Hurry, Mac. Hop out. Dad’s waiting for you.”
“Um, I can’t find my shoe, Mom.”

Another scouring of the vehicle, another futile search. Could it be possible that the People Mover had ejected not one but two shoes out of its nifty sliding doors today? Like Kieran, McKane has only one pair of shoes (an expensive one), so after the photo opp we felt we had no choice but to turn around and make the 45-minute pilgrimage back to Katoomba. There on the ground of the supermarket parking lot sat a lone Salomon water shoe in the exact spot where the ill-intentioned Tarrago had belched it.

Notice his left shoe is nowhere to be seen

Today we’re driving up the spectacular New South Wales coast toward Brisbane and we all have two shoes on. This is only because every time we close the sliding doors we now perform a shoe check. Maybe next time we’ll go with a sedan and strap one of the kids on the roof instead.

(I’m posting this almost four days after writing it. Since that time one of Asher’s pink foam shoes has also mysteriously disappeared from the van. We’re beginning to think there’s a gremlin living inside it.)

Technorati Tags: Australia, Blue Mountains, Family travel, Katoomba, Missing shoes, Round the world, Round-the-world, RTW, Toyota Tarago

Some of our friends have running bets on how long we’ll make it on the road. There’s the chance that we will drive each other crazy in three months, someone will get sick or injured in six, or the most likely in their minds, that we will run out of funds in seven. Oh, they of little faith.

After a financial rollercoaster ride courtesy of the inflating and bursting of the Nasdaq bubble in 1999-2001, I felt so nauseated by the thought of investments and returns and money in general, that I told Tom, no begged, Tom, to take complete control of our financial future and leave me to childrearing and bookwriting. I pay all the bills, keep track of earnings and spending, but want no part of the vicissitudes of markets and interest rates and retirement. Let’s just say I’m financially fragile. Tom has set a budget for the trip, which, as long as we don’t crash too many vehicles, will be generous and completely viable. We’ll return to the States a lot lighter in the checkbook, but hopefully a lot richer in family relationships and meaningful experiences.

Even though I know this, agreed to it, even pushed for it, I still get frazzled if I feel things are expensive. Most of the trip should be easy for me in this regard; there are only a few countries we will visit that will be comparable or potentially more expensive than the US. Australia is one of them. Our strategy was to rent a car, tour for a week, and then find a three to four week rental on the Sunshine Coast before heading off to China. First we rented the car (and bought the excess reduction)…way more expensive than home, but not horrible given the freedom and flexibility it will give us. Second we saw Sydney. We did the few things we wanted to do in a day and headed out for the countryside. We were slightly worried when the car rental agents told us motels might be hard to find. At home when we take roadtrips, it is not uncommon to roll up to a Holiday Inn at midnight, shell out $79 or $89 for a room with a minimum of two queen-sized beds, and move on by noon the next day. So when we pulled in to the aging Alpine Best Western in Katoomba at 9:30 pm and were greeted with a rate of $140 for one queen, a twin, and a nappy old couch, we were shocked. We cruised the town for alternatives, but after ruling out the places that were closed (about 90%) and the ones that were also saloons (the remaining 9.75%), we headed back to the Best Western. The caretaker had already retired for the evening (it was 9:55), but emerged to provide keys. Now, I know we’re going to be saying in some less than desirable places over the next 10 months, but I didn’t expect them in Australia. The room was clean, the bathroom was new, but the linens and fixtures could have been from 1965. This is what we could expect for $140?

The next night we found ourselves in the town of Dubbo and figured since it was more remote and lacking in mountains that the rates would be better. Hah. We plied the streets and got rates of $149 from fading and garish motels with names like The Scotsman, The Cattleman, and Palm Court Motor Inn. Then we spotted it–a bastion of taste and modernity in strip motel hell–the deRussie. It was the same shape as the others, but the resemblances stopped there. It looked more like a W than a Motel 6, sleek, clean, and tasteful. Tom went in fully expecting to hear $175, but with a little luck and a young lady who found his American accent endearing, he emerged with $125 and free Wifi. The room was gorgeous. There was no bad smell and they brought us breakfast the next morning. Ahhhh….

Just as our hopes rose and we thought things would get cheaper in towns without neighboring World Heritage sites or zoos, we stopped in the small college town of Armidale. There we paid a steep $140 for a room that was clean but was decorated in the early 1980s and wreaked of a deep fat fryer. The sofa bed was broken, so the kindly French proprietors gave us the room next door as well, but we were sure we would drain a significant percentage of our Australia budget on stinky, expensive motels.

We’re back in our optimistic frame of mind today, since we are spending two nights in the beach town of Coff’s Harbor, where we found a beautiful new 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom beachview apartment with a full kitchen, in-suite laundry, three gigantic balconies, underground parking, and pool, beach and BBQ access, all for the low, low price of…you guessed it…$140. Too bad it didn’t have a phone. This country confuses me.

Technorati Tags: Armidale, Australia, Dubbo, Family travel, Motels, Coffs Harbor, Round the world, Round-the-world, RTW