Brisbane and Beyond

More Greyhound buses, more hostels, more backpackers. At times it all blurs together; instead of experiencing Australia, I sometimes feel like I'm just here to see how 18 to 30 year old Europeans spend their time on vacation. Doing the budget tourism thing really is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you're gonna get. Every now and then when I walk into a smelly, messy dorm room with anywhere from four to nine other people, I wonder why I don't just whip out the American Express and get pampered in a Four Seasons. I've been in dorm rooms where it was me and a group of six or seven guys from some European country; they've made no effort to interact with me and don't give a rat's ass that I want get some sleep at 3am. On the other hand, I've been mixed in with other solo travelers - or groups of two or three - who want nothing more than to hang out with someone new and make every effort to be accommodating. So, despite the tiny bunk beds, the shared bathrooms, the not uncommon disrespectful and uncaring jerks, there is an upside: the frequent stints of instant camaraderie and bonding. It usually centers around drinking, but so be it. In Southeast Asia, I usually went to bars solo (because I stayed in guest houses without any roommates) and hoped to find someone with whom I could talk. Sometimes it worked; often times it didn't. Before this trip, I doubt I went alone to a bar more than ten times in my entire life, and I'm sure they all involved watching some sporting event. So being at a bar alone is odd enough for me; but being at a bar solo where I'm not watching sports and/or looking to hit on girls and/or there's no one to talk to - girls or otherwise - is downright weird. Why not just drink in my room, or, perhaps more sensibly, why drink at all? But now, with virtually no effort on my part, I end up going out with people and sharing the goods times. Granted, sometimes their English isn't that great, but then again, neither is mine when I start to drink. (And sometimes I'll be out with people who are 19 years old. I haven't yet decided if that makes me feel young or really fucking old. When I tell people I'm 29, I often get that "holy shit, you're old" look. When did 29 become old?) But regardless of age and nationality, good times are usually had by all. Like the night, pictured here, where I was invited to play a drinking game with my seven dorm mates. It was like a NATO convention: one person each from Germany, Holland, Switzerland, Canada, Belgium, France, Denmark, and America. The game was Texas Hold'em, something with which I'm quite familiar. When a few of them started shit-talking America, I stepped up to the occasion and brought out my A game. I won 75% of the hands. Thanks to me, two hours - and three bottles of rum - later, the girl on the right and the guy on the left were out cold, another guy was puking mercilessly, and another girl (who lost every hand) drank herself to a level of inebriation I like to call "let's hope there's a doctor on call at the hospital." The things I do to defend America's honor...

Back to my travels. The next stop down the east coast of Australia took me to the city of Brisbane, or, as it could otherwise be known, San Diego. Aside from the fact that people talk funny and drive on the wrong side of the wrong here, Brisbane and San Diego are eerily similar, which is fine by me since I like San Diego. I'm willing to bet that if you swapped each city's downtown districts with each other, it would take a while for the local residents to realize what happened. Brisbane has the look and feel of modernity and order. The city's cleanliness is palpable. True, there are still some old sandstone buildings left over from the early and mid-1800's, but for the most part, Brisbane looks like it was built up entirely in the last twenty years. There's a surprising amount of racial diversity that lends itself to making the city feeling very cosmopolitan. It's also a user-friendly city - the public transit system is excellent; there are lots of pedestrian-only walkways; and, with a few minor exceptions, it's designed as a grid. There's even a stretch in the central business district that is almost a spitting image of the gaslamp district in San Diego. In addition to the San Diego connection, there's a hint of London in Brisbane. A large river snakes its way through the city - with the accompanying bridges and walkways - and parks and green space are legion. It's a big city without seeming overwhelming. I felt comfortable here the moment I got off the bus. I liked it so much that it notched itself on my list of potential places I'd consider relocating to if I ever had to leave the U.S. Well played, Brisbane, well played.

There's enough stuff to see and do in Brisbane for several days, so I toured all the usual things: historic sites, gardens and parks, government buildings, etc. For the first time in a while, I found myself in a city where I could spend hours in museums and art galleries and not get bored. At first it was strange being indoors for more than a hour while it was warm and sunny outside - something I haven't done in months - but I was willing to pay that price to get a little culture in my life. The three main museums - the Brisbane Museum, the Museum of Modern Art, and the Contemporary Art Gallery - are located next to one another, so I decided to get my fill of culture in one giant serving. The Brisbane Museum had an interesting mishmash of exhibits ranging from Australia's natural history to its involvement in various wars in the twentieth century. The exhibits were interesting, but nothing spectacular. The Museum of Modern Art housed a small but respectable collection of works by some guys named Picasso, Monet, and Matisse - whoever they are. One thing that I found interesting was the museum's effort to explain modern art to children. In addition to the standard placard next to each work that would provide basic information (artist, title of work, date, and brief description), the museum had "For Kids" placards. These explained each piece of art in very basic terms and posed a question or two to encourage kids to think about what they were looking at. Now, I think I'm a smart-enough guy who likes and appreciates modern art. I even studied it a bit in college. (Although, to be honest, I studied it back when I was a freshman and I really only did it because I was told there would be lots of girls in art history classes). Nevertheless, I have to say, these "For Kids" placards were damn helpful. Whoever wrote these things did a helluva job. That's either a sad commentary on my intelligence or a sad commentary on the state of modern art. It's probably on the former, but while I've mentioned it, let's talk about the latter. Some of what passed for art in this museum made me seriously wonder whether there are any standards these days for what counts as art. Like I said before, I like modern art and I get that it's not always about pure technical precision. But sometimes there's a part of me that looks at contemporary pieces and wonders, "How the hell does that get put into a museum?" (I don't mean to single out the piece that's pictured here - which I believe is titled 'Three Pink Bears' - but it's the only one I could take a picture of.) Some of the 'art' in the museum was, quite literally, crap. One artist took a pile of trash and called it art because he placed it in a way that was meant to symbolize - I kid you not - trash. I don't get it.

I didn't feel like doing every little touristy thing in Brisbane, but one thing I certainly wasn't going to miss was the tour of the local brewery. The company - Castlemaine-Perkins - produces a huge portion of Australia's beer, including the most popular brand in Australia, XXXX Gold. For a mere $22 I was afforded the opportunity to walk through the factory and watch one of mankind's greatest processes unfold right before my eyes. The guide walked us through the actual factory and showed us exactly how the beer was made from start to finish. When she first opened the factory doors, the sweet smell of beer hit my noise and sent my head spinning out of control. I'm pretty sure I was drooling when she explained that the final holding tank - where the beer sat waiting to be packaged - was so large that a person would have to drink a six pack every day for the next 240 years to empty it out. That's some serious beer. In addition, the tour ended with a sampling of four of the company's main beers. I assumed I'd get nothing more than a small taste of each. But not here in Australia, where virtually everyone seems to drink themselves into oblivion each night. When I mentioned my surprise to the bartender that I was being served pints of beer, she seemed downright insulted by the notion that they'd serve anything less. So, at three o'clock in the afternoon, I was treated to four pints of liquid heaven. If there's anything better than getting smashed in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon, I certainly don't know what it is. (My favorite beer was XXXX Bitter, pictured here.) There were several other backpackers on the tour with me, including two Germans, a Dutch, and a Belgian. We drank together, and while I was drinking, I was treated to the spectacle of listening to them debate which country produced the best beer. It's hard not to respect people who take their beer so seriously.

Just when I thought the day couldn't possibly get better, it did. While enjoying my four pints, the two Germans mentioned that they were headed to a Jay-Z / U2 concert at the stadium right next door to the brewery. When I wondered out loud if any tickets were left, one of the Germans told me that there were still some on sale when she got her tickets that morning. Fortunately, after my four pints of beer, I was still sober enough to get myself to the box office an hour before the concert began. To my complete and utter amazement, not only were tickets still available, but the ticket I purchased was in a really good section and - this is the real kicker - only cost $40! I was directly facing the stage and about 100 yards away. I have no doubt that the same ticket at the Rose Bowl would have cost at least three times more. It was a little odd that Jay-Z, a huge star in his own right, was the opening act for U2, and it was also odd that the two artists were paired together. In fact, about half the audience arrived after Jay-Z finished his set, and I even heard some people outside the stadium ask, "Who's Jay-Z?" (This also might have been the whitest Jay-Z audience ever. Of the roughly 25,000 people that showed up for his performance, I counted a grand total of three non-white people.) What a day. All that matters is that the concert was awesome.

Of all the things that I wanted to do in Brisbane, I saved the best for last. There are several zoos in the surrounding area, including Australia Zoo - where Steve Irwin, the crocodile hunter, used to work. But I ended up at a smaller, more intimate zoo because I was told that I it would enable me to get up close and personal with some quintessentially Australian creatures. I was sucked into the prospect of having an intimate moment, and a photo opportunity, with koalas and kangaroos. Can you blame me? The koala is about as docile a creature as you could possibly imagine. It sleeps a good 20 hours a day, so when it finds a comfy spot to rest - in this case, me - it just clings on and dozes off. The claws are sharp but not enough to pierce skin, so it doesn't hurt to hold them. The only downside is that they put out a strong musk anytime they grab hold of something as a way to mark their territory. After letting go off this little guy, I reeked of koala for the rest of the day. As for the kangaroos, I was surprised about being able to get right next to them. I assumed that they'd be real skiddish and would try to kick me. Instead, they were calm and, I must say, undeniably cute. Of course there were plenty of other animals on display - the usual mix of camels, monkeys, lemurs, dingos, etc. But like it or not, in Australia, they all play second fiddle to the kangaroo and the koala. So they don't get pictured in my blog. Life ain't fair. Get used to it, camels.

After spending a few days in Brisbane, I made the short trip down the coast to a city called Surfer's Paradise. It's located in the middle of a long stretch of coastline known as the Gold Coast. While some parts of the Gold Coast are quiet, serene, and have a mellow beach vibe, Surfer's Paradise is the total opposite. The city's eight mile stretch of beach is lined with high-rise apartments and pedestrian shopping malls. (I stole this picture from the internet to give you an idea of what it looks like.) It has theme parks, casinos, and - the truest sign of being faux cool - a Hard Rock Cafe. Here's the thing about the Gold Coast, and in particular, Surfer's Paradise: it tries to sell itself as Las Vegas on the beach. It wants to be flashy and brashy; it pulls in visitors from all over Australia and Asia for the beaches, the gambling, and the nightlife. It does a pretty good job of meeting its goal. There's a lot of glitz (although not much glamour); enough bars and clubs to make your head spin; and a surplus of stretch limos to shuttle drunkards up and down the main drag. For the first time in months, I had to wear 'nice' clothes to go out - nice being faded khaki pants and sneakers. I enjoyed it for what it is, even though it's a far cry from the wonderful solitude of empty beaches I found in Malaysia and Indonesia. The highlight of my stay was an epic night of drinking with three British guys from my hostel - and an even more epic hangover the next day. Note to self: don't try to keep up with three 22-year-olds who drink like it's their job. I was hurting in a bad way the next morning. (Age has been unkind to my ability to recover from rough nights of drinking. In college I could get hammered at night, go to sleep at 3am, and then go to the gym at 7am with no real side effects. I don't remember why I used to go to the gym after a hangover, but whatever. Now, I'd be happy with just being able to crawl out of bed before 10am.) Anyway, even though I had fun here, what I could never quite get past is why any city, especially one fronting a beautiful stretch of beach, would want to model itself after Vegas. Don't get me wrong, I love Vegas for what it is. I've had some great times there. But being "like Vegas" isn't a compliment; I can't think I've ever heard anyone ever compare something to Vegas in a positive way. Vegas is trashy and, at least in my experience, leaves me feeling a little dirty. So for a place with such a nice stretch of beach to try to glam itself up seems strange. I guess I can see the other side of the equation - why not combine the short-term fun of Vegas with a great beach so as to create a potentially perfect vacation? Ok, I get that. But after my experiences in Southeast Asia, I've come to love and appreciate quite, mellow beaches. Bottom line: I had fun here and had rain not been in the forecast, I would have stayed more than just a few days.

Just 100 miles down the coast is another beach town - Byron Bay - that, at least in theory, is the complete opposite of Surfer's Paradise. (It's also the most eastern point in all of mainland Australia, as this sign indicates. I take it on faith that the sign is accurate.) It's my understanding that in its heyday, Byron was a funky hippy town where people with dreadlocks romaed wild and free and there was enough weed for everyone to be high all the time. There's still some sign of that, although it seems to have morphed into modern trends of yoga and New Age healing. Along those lines, the city has tried to preserve its essence by preventing McDonalds, KFC, and Starbucks from setting up shop in town. I was told that's a real point of pride for the locals there; but this seems ridiculous given that there's a Subway, Pizza Hut, and BaskinRobbins. There's a boatload of small art galleries and boutique clothing shops. The closest I can compare the town to - for the Angelenos out there - is Abott Kinney in Venice Beach. The main difference: when I visted Byron (in peak summer season, just before Christmas), it was 80% backpackers. Thousands and thousands of backpackers, as far as the eye could see. The lure of beautiful (and topless) beaches, plentiful weed, and heavy partying at night is too much to resist. Away from the crowds on the main beaches are some stunning coves and bays where the coastline comes right up agianst jagged cliffs and bluffs. In these remote locations, it's not too hard to see why people who want to be 'one with nature' have called this place home for decades. Once again, threatening rain drove me from Byron prematurely. Otherwise, I might have fallen victim to the hippie vibe - the next you would have heard from me, I might have turned into a beach bum who refused to get a real job. That's not like me at all...

Well, that's week three in Australia. On to week four...