Sixintheworld.com

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.