tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75477308207788520082024-03-05T00:16:14.651-06:00And The World Will Be As Onemelweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.comBlogger185125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-59994316861141347482022-09-05T13:16:00.184-05:002022-09-28T14:08:57.601-05:00Canada Day 5: The journey between a lush greenhouse and two mystical forests uses a train, bus, ferry and airplane<p> Day 5: September 5, 2022</p><div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44cLoCnvoSf7_qBZ0xts7V_d-Vod-ZN31kQxx3hPb6Gea7uE1plmcH9bo9SLIvzHYzUqmG6Oc6p6n76wV1RX_tII7EsxTi6_uQmBrcIOmTIflSzmFSnTeSF7yBB5CE_pO1n2oAXS645Kw7onpPFEpsSGWyL4MoDI0QsslT467kYMEC7J0KD0ox1SD/s2288/20220905_215801_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2288" data-original-width="2064" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44cLoCnvoSf7_qBZ0xts7V_d-Vod-ZN31kQxx3hPb6Gea7uE1plmcH9bo9SLIvzHYzUqmG6Oc6p6n76wV1RX_tII7EsxTi6_uQmBrcIOmTIflSzmFSnTeSF7yBB5CE_pO1n2oAXS645Kw7onpPFEpsSGWyL4MoDI0QsslT467kYMEC7J0KD0ox1SD/s320/20220905_215801_edit.jpg" width="289" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the portal to Onhwa' Lumina</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>
Today I have a few hours to kill in <b>Toronto</b> before I head off to <b>Quebec City</b>, and I'm determined to make the most of it. <div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjveQCL5WM4Q-AIfpJOJBULeLutwn79aHR2EVeLwcROlN5gfBcOSQyq3Ht-kKIQELA--Ql_XuvF-qLlAzelHXCzLZg8QseMLbAcQ8eN9s5vx4urca_t1d8g12C0bTZ215FlmxYjUKOvOdmE-yiVSVeT8umQQBzNvkM93j-9XCG3E0Mq-yB-TWymyYW6/s4032/20220905_120405.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjveQCL5WM4Q-AIfpJOJBULeLutwn79aHR2EVeLwcROlN5gfBcOSQyq3Ht-kKIQELA--Ql_XuvF-qLlAzelHXCzLZg8QseMLbAcQ8eN9s5vx4urca_t1d8g12C0bTZ215FlmxYjUKOvOdmE-yiVSVeT8umQQBzNvkM93j-9XCG3E0Mq-yB-TWymyYW6/w225-h400/20220905_120405.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">hidden murals<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><b>The Only Backpackers Inn</b> offers free breakfast, so in my morning grogginess, I fix myself a PB and J sandwich. A young guy from my room (I would guess he is about 23) gives me unsolicited advice of everything I needed to see and do in Toronto before I left. I was feeling antisocial this morning and he just keeps following me around the kitchen, telling me how he has never stayed in a hostel before and how he wasn't sure what to expect for breakfast and asks how long I am here for and tells me I HAVE to go to the port. I just stare at my toast as I eat and slip out of the kitchen back to my room to pack. I have to leave for the airport at 1pm, so I don't have too much time to spare. <div><div><br /></div><div>I gather my bags and check out of the hostel via their downstairs cafe. I had to pay a security deposit, which was reimbursed to me upon checkout. Because I paid with credit card and the exchange rate from Canadian dollars to US dollars changed ever-so-slightly overnight, I gained 27 cents in the process of the refund. Look at me, making money! <div><br /></div><div>I sit at the cafe and make a plan for the day. I decide to take my luggage with me so I don't have to come all the way back to this hostel, which is too far east from downtown. A great benefit of traveling with only a backpack is the simplicity of carrying everything with you! </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRmVMa3pChuDpvfTKAarLkBPkIB-hdvYa63q-_j_ytiMFpBPWPB5vWQKnuVpwkszEMfnehgZkGnu9GMRx5OGQKPJjvz97VqaZQtxFuRaAlghuDXNvPRzdSVV9plrrdgKko9ZXDzsOjm5Z0T68coTHZlMYvmPJ-3qh5GebJEVbhDFbnjhGJRWmz4dbC/s4032/20220905_125638.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRmVMa3pChuDpvfTKAarLkBPkIB-hdvYa63q-_j_ytiMFpBPWPB5vWQKnuVpwkszEMfnehgZkGnu9GMRx5OGQKPJjvz97VqaZQtxFuRaAlghuDXNvPRzdSVV9plrrdgKko9ZXDzsOjm5Z0T68coTHZlMYvmPJ-3qh5GebJEVbhDFbnjhGJRWmz4dbC/w225-h400/20220905_125638.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Allan Gardens from the outside</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>On my list is <b>Allan Gardens</b>, a free conservatory in the heart of the city. I take the train there and quite literally take time to smell the flowers. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyxjgzwWDeSv6xfdTHBwMVaaOlOk-UG9b_RdSByM1cn-GZ5_pR5SxE7BLza6GHr9eLQvkH7q7uLSw6YYp03Qj2YVti23MtNz9AaEvumQxapOosjeGkDbxpC0lOp6lFZiiCbFbfgShKDq9xtttwgzLC4spOhR3w-JUjgXydK3_sX90wrs0MO4M1PuL/s4032/20220905_121951.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyxjgzwWDeSv6xfdTHBwMVaaOlOk-UG9b_RdSByM1cn-GZ5_pR5SxE7BLza6GHr9eLQvkH7q7uLSw6YYp03Qj2YVti23MtNz9AaEvumQxapOosjeGkDbxpC0lOp6lFZiiCbFbfgShKDq9xtttwgzLC4spOhR3w-JUjgXydK3_sX90wrs0MO4M1PuL/w225-h400/20220905_121951.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidnnIo12XVeJVbSy8uVB_YCNSv87WzIoD4jGoAeO4-oHjaKDdRdqr83BMIn4NIcV8TafEMAubBZDDr7DRs1nIxi5_ff34GpP0z3Zf2LzLXZiCn3GIL-kF_ajK8it0R4tAmwPph8DOQUcUaND3XbjCer9mIiTFlWRQTtI-h4sr-d-aXkaiuYjGffRZe/s4032/20220905_122319.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidnnIo12XVeJVbSy8uVB_YCNSv87WzIoD4jGoAeO4-oHjaKDdRdqr83BMIn4NIcV8TafEMAubBZDDr7DRs1nIxi5_ff34GpP0z3Zf2LzLXZiCn3GIL-kF_ajK8it0R4tAmwPph8DOQUcUaND3XbjCer9mIiTFlWRQTtI-h4sr-d-aXkaiuYjGffRZe/w225-h400/20220905_122319.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3OUD7KbJuv5bhtU3suvzs9b0HGmn-jPRwQFwSw68YPSnvRrBacDZA3cfa-coD8CV7ZRg9Kkb0bhQxt_zHRZlOu7YJnHJpsgN5TukOKLwAurJUzOrjgLmycbIFrkqf-ufwaH_I7PJROMbR1XngSbXinzgL-l9Di8OFK8ZG5w92mviUwDPLqJLwWV4J/s4032/20220905_123339.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3OUD7KbJuv5bhtU3suvzs9b0HGmn-jPRwQFwSw68YPSnvRrBacDZA3cfa-coD8CV7ZRg9Kkb0bhQxt_zHRZlOu7YJnHJpsgN5TukOKLwAurJUzOrjgLmycbIFrkqf-ufwaH_I7PJROMbR1XngSbXinzgL-l9Di8OFK8ZG5w92mviUwDPLqJLwWV4J/w225-h400/20220905_123339.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-AVtJ6BFU2I58GXSgWklhVf4sr9YXDKf-yhX32SXIdbn-drt7ijPaPHr-sM2kvI-LL0KLAMy5gTzzbwrh18dvORmTsqTEGtOA_j7eyCWYrdfxVsVqECtKQQ3h5mWGM0Rtf8zdyo8aM85e391xk4zt6CIbPiZ2aOw0BcKO-J8NiNNi55iNHR66Ksyt/s4032/20220905_124015.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-AVtJ6BFU2I58GXSgWklhVf4sr9YXDKf-yhX32SXIdbn-drt7ijPaPHr-sM2kvI-LL0KLAMy5gTzzbwrh18dvORmTsqTEGtOA_j7eyCWYrdfxVsVqECtKQQ3h5mWGM0Rtf8zdyo8aM85e391xk4zt6CIbPiZ2aOw0BcKO-J8NiNNi55iNHR66Ksyt/w225-h400/20220905_124015.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Allan Gardens is quite the gem, with lush greenery in its cozy greenhouse. The greenhouse includes a glass dome, which was constructed in 1909 and certainly has a Victorian feel. The visit It brightens my mood, especially since the Toronto skies are currently overcast. Right now, in this humid paradise, <a href="http://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">I feel like I am in Vanuatu</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_W__6VA60M9lmO6WkoLzE7lsFlaW0IJ-xE1rvXoFnjSUWACZ9erVmkK9NjdlLY5Y4DfXHrWKON72yvKXB2kJJog5RxqWZTmxFv2wYdgTYBV-iZPycUbvfeKOlc-RDOpHvmx97qlnzAlINDANlotZK_2DP0LEkyqQ-B3LxhkfgAKPjXYCq_C8pIsbD/s4032/20220905_121657.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_W__6VA60M9lmO6WkoLzE7lsFlaW0IJ-xE1rvXoFnjSUWACZ9erVmkK9NjdlLY5Y4DfXHrWKON72yvKXB2kJJog5RxqWZTmxFv2wYdgTYBV-iZPycUbvfeKOlc-RDOpHvmx97qlnzAlINDANlotZK_2DP0LEkyqQ-B3LxhkfgAKPjXYCq_C8pIsbD/w225-h400/20220905_121657.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I see a few people gathered near a waterwheel in the greenhouse and that's when I discover there are TURTLES. I love turtles and I have spent many hours on other vacations simply staring at them, so this was not going to be any different. If you can bear the smell of rotting cabbage, then you can enjoy hours of turtle-watching. <div><br /></div><div>Eventually it was time to head off and grab some food before making my way to the airport. I ate a delicious pork bahn mi at <b>The Bahn Mi Brothers</b> before hopping on the train that took me to the express bus. I will say it again: Toronto trains are so fast and efficient…I barely had to wait 5 minutes. <div><br /></div><div>Thank goodness for Nicole, who led me around yesterday, and informed my transportation route for today. Firstly, when I told her I was flying <b>Porter Airlines</b>, a Canadian budget airlines, she told me I was flying from the Bishop airport, not Pearson, the former of which is far closer to downtown than the latter, much smaller, and therefore a breeze to travel through. I double checked my ticket and she was right. Would I have assumed I was flying through Pearson if Nicole had not made me double check? Perhaps. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixkj-q0-4sb3f7hVePadfi91bISHJUFzaCxbxXMtvi9k73tH59Kml26xV9LTTOCAcvkLQwkDsV_w9zXmiEyestqhvWBthDmHhLN1qqn0JGL2NskR_IzQkrsp6DYWaht46NJfDghN69uOIk4-IQ00lxceG_ZpqNscftuSiCXmvy360Gu2TUEVYqzjxB/s4032/20220905_135557.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixkj-q0-4sb3f7hVePadfi91bISHJUFzaCxbxXMtvi9k73tH59Kml26xV9LTTOCAcvkLQwkDsV_w9zXmiEyestqhvWBthDmHhLN1qqn0JGL2NskR_IzQkrsp6DYWaht46NJfDghN69uOIk4-IQ00lxceG_ZpqNscftuSiCXmvy360Gu2TUEVYqzjxB/w225-h400/20220905_135557.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the express bus picks up near the main railway station downtown.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>I had no idea there was a free express bus to the airport, so that was a very helpful local tip. I take the local subway to the main train station downtown, walk a couple blocks to a hotel, and step onto the free bus, which runs non-stop from downtown to the airport, for a brief 20 minute ride. <div><br /></div><div>Well, actually, it runs to a ferry stop, so you can BOARD A FERRY to go to the airport. I am so excited that there was a train, bus, boat and airplane in my travel journey for today. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTW9sFj0aWloSeDBUap6jb0hV6mgAMN_bTjFIpjhqOGlCJFb1k10XTw0qEGQvXRiAAhhjOH-SypjDYXlcvt3O6SO4c7Lci_siyMO9M5A81A8NPQqqLF36YETp_aPiXaWu093rSCJXv-wesbUIJ2rxr6Od6HNubxek3eLfth1QpcU4m_RvKj-lQC66_/s4032/20220905_141811.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTW9sFj0aWloSeDBUap6jb0hV6mgAMN_bTjFIpjhqOGlCJFb1k10XTw0qEGQvXRiAAhhjOH-SypjDYXlcvt3O6SO4c7Lci_siyMO9M5A81A8NPQqqLF36YETp_aPiXaWu093rSCJXv-wesbUIJ2rxr6Od6HNubxek3eLfth1QpcU4m_RvKj-lQC66_/w400-h225/20220905_141811.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view from the ferry</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>The ferry offers a lovely view of the skyline before arriving at the airport. Nicole was right yet again, this airport was a breeze, because once I arrive, it's only 10 minutes later that I am past security and that I am sitting in a lounge chair at the sparkling-clean gate that could rival any premier club lounge. This airport's amazing! </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpeFH6t3E3OCWvU2wx0lwsfdyjh9RC_9AHVUs6Xr5HTfo_czsV-iLnKv4w6E1-KGzIj3c4gj5ooFp_9CBNj5-ya-8k5AqqramXWqHCgDVzhcMjNVz72KDiexlVUjlX_EHfvo9et62My2S9BzBz8Cd9RUm23A2EaoG00G7U2l-OkHdO6ON5IaNvMftc/s4032/20220905_143754.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpeFH6t3E3OCWvU2wx0lwsfdyjh9RC_9AHVUs6Xr5HTfo_czsV-iLnKv4w6E1-KGzIj3c4gj5ooFp_9CBNj5-ya-8k5AqqramXWqHCgDVzhcMjNVz72KDiexlVUjlX_EHfvo9et62My2S9BzBz8Cd9RUm23A2EaoG00G7U2l-OkHdO6ON5IaNvMftc/w225-h400/20220905_143754.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my cozy corner at the gate</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>The Porter flight is also amazing, because like Southwest Airlines, they have all the extra perks without any of the upcharges. You can get free booze, wine, beer, and multiple snacks! This domestic flight is a brief 1.5 hours long, and I get a free grapefruit radler, tea, cookies and pretzels. This is more than I could pry from the hands of a flight attendant of a far more expensive United flight back home. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht_wbzguAUxn0MqauaE8X_O8AvRCxR21uZp0_3AoySNmmZUzExabmyRhBYFNwd2q0-cYvKoeHjasp2nCho6wccMA-qvR9sBBlACUrqahKYQyWzCdHNzEmkb2re4-jswGHg6u50iFkCfUhny3ihcgYOi6o1EdTqaW5VAT541YvnDjgColJU4C-3ZhmV/s4032/20220905_161944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht_wbzguAUxn0MqauaE8X_O8AvRCxR21uZp0_3AoySNmmZUzExabmyRhBYFNwd2q0-cYvKoeHjasp2nCho6wccMA-qvR9sBBlACUrqahKYQyWzCdHNzEmkb2re4-jswGHg6u50iFkCfUhny3ihcgYOi6o1EdTqaW5VAT541YvnDjgColJU4C-3ZhmV/w225-h400/20220905_161944.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I arrive in the <b>Quebec City Airport</b> and it's time to make my two-bus journey to the hostel. The airport kiosk forces you to buy a minimum of two bus tickets, but I guess that is what I will need for my journey, so I oblige. <div><br /></div><div>So here's the thing I have heard about Quebec City. Well, multiple things. Firstly, I discussed my travel plans with almost everyone I encountered in Toronto (mostly Canadians). I told them I was going to Quebec City and then Montreal. The response, every single time, was "Oh, you will LOVE Montreal." I asked Nicole last night what was wrong with Quebec City. She said it was just likely that no one had been there, but that they had all been to Montreal. Odd, I thought, since Canada has like, what, 6 major cities? And there is one that collectively no one has visited? If I asked a group of 30 Americans about Portland, surely one has visited. <div><br /></div><div>The second thing was people telling me that residents of French Canada, such as those living in Quebec City and Montreal, speak French. I was not surprised at the idea that French Canadians speak French, but rather how many people "warned" me of it, as if it were something to be cautious of. Additionally, during these warnings, people told me that French Canadians are rude to those who don't speak French. It just felt like basic travel advice for any place anywhere…that anyone would be offended if you show up in their town and assume you could communicate directly in English without even greeting them in the local language. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQHfR4PGWKbUJ0RkVQe_DDZYPD8UmmQIOOmBfOJba8isAHS1_Vx2FZfYvI45DgUz5iJKsMCBqzNKltJPL06wxOzqb7XweliOqOtVQqYMBzgZQGggen-xiB1n6WA3ENOmiUFtdTtSh0z7fkBB7Ydv-VdRQcg738PyU7EceccMq06v4FKbp7wdBVmPx7/s4032/20220905_174805.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQHfR4PGWKbUJ0RkVQe_DDZYPD8UmmQIOOmBfOJba8isAHS1_Vx2FZfYvI45DgUz5iJKsMCBqzNKltJPL06wxOzqb7XweliOqOtVQqYMBzgZQGggen-xiB1n6WA3ENOmiUFtdTtSh0z7fkBB7Ydv-VdRQcg738PyU7EceccMq06v4FKbp7wdBVmPx7/w225-h400/20220905_174805.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">welcome to French town!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>The #80 bus arrives at the airport, and an elderly couple and I are waiting for the #76. After waiting, a young man approaches us from the recently-arrived bus and points out the bus changed its signage and is now the #76. We thank him and board. He didn’t want us to miss our bus! How friendly and helpful! <div><br /></div><div>The bus ride is long but simple, and I am a bit shocked that the bus route from the airport to the hostel drives through a suburban landscape. We ride along tree-lined roads near homes and schools, as well as on two-lane highways running along strip malls with Dairy Queen and movie theaters. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4z3buWRAS_MAfd0EDx8HC0OuW4lhIr_QsDbgqt-r-e0wezZCsJe-VezqR9Irqvr8A9ClKjjjoYPgyBOAmbdyoD8Iq5sET1MiNXmjw35XgEYdstUx_79Hufxqg-rmXSEpqdQWuj5YPz-ZUZ_R-wC55zAFTxqTIXNiKpV6-VQH8WKxeothkjoeUA358/s4000/IMG_8657.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4z3buWRAS_MAfd0EDx8HC0OuW4lhIr_QsDbgqt-r-e0wezZCsJe-VezqR9Irqvr8A9ClKjjjoYPgyBOAmbdyoD8Iq5sET1MiNXmjw35XgEYdstUx_79Hufxqg-rmXSEpqdQWuj5YPz-ZUZ_R-wC55zAFTxqTIXNiKpV6-VQH8WKxeothkjoeUA358/w300-h400/IMG_8657.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the bus also passed this gorgeous church</td></tr></tbody></table><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div><br /></div></div><div>I arrive at the <b>QBEDS Hostel</b>, check in and head to the room. While it is a 12-person room, it doesn’t feel super crowded since the bunk beds are arranged both along the walls and in the center of the room. Each bed is basically a rectangular box stacked atop another to form a bunk, with the side open but covered in a curtain for privacy. The lockers under the bed are massive. Oh, and this room has a BALCONY. A large one, which features a table and five chairs around it with ample space surrounding it. The balcony is a game-changer, since we can leave the door open to air the room out during the day. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSF3lmmQjMwqs6jzrVDYmhecoUOtfiRWHub0YsgC3QfNcKmqHwu8lDx1HjDiRUeEqXCLJAwpb5G4i-lLgXRxWIWabdW7c2qHnqTObsjCzVnlFcKt3iW1Ir0ic5d1_JODpz_xvgEqFdcn4zXU9gFeaQHwLsxpcoSp9i-HzMqz9gmkU16F1VIoC8R8UQ/s4032/20220905_184024.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSF3lmmQjMwqs6jzrVDYmhecoUOtfiRWHub0YsgC3QfNcKmqHwu8lDx1HjDiRUeEqXCLJAwpb5G4i-lLgXRxWIWabdW7c2qHnqTObsjCzVnlFcKt3iW1Ir0ic5d1_JODpz_xvgEqFdcn4zXU9gFeaQHwLsxpcoSp9i-HzMqz9gmkU16F1VIoC8R8UQ/w225-h400/20220905_184024.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">how cute is this hostel?</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHTIBvrulr-uDbZKpC_b00aq4i490eU_AjnLnTqPgXeieBI51V6SHLvNDuV51BFvafW1DeJ2HD_XuY4YOHRmQ3u1MwoM6USpmjpwHx36HeYIcs5qf0SvOJlV48nKGSCJGswHdfNvsXh2Lp0hK5wINF1zA10xb9gFRAXk8EHJgLyDnz9KIu_XIg3zS/s4032/20220905_184702.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHTIBvrulr-uDbZKpC_b00aq4i490eU_AjnLnTqPgXeieBI51V6SHLvNDuV51BFvafW1DeJ2HD_XuY4YOHRmQ3u1MwoM6USpmjpwHx36HeYIcs5qf0SvOJlV48nKGSCJGswHdfNvsXh2Lp0hK5wINF1zA10xb9gFRAXk8EHJgLyDnz9KIu_XIg3zS/w225-h400/20220905_184702.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I really liked the staircase.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div>I explore the hostel, which features a beautifully decorated bar. From there, I see signs for the <b>“Magical Forest,”</b> which intrigues me. I follow the signs and encounter an awkward hallway that someone smartly decorated to become usable space. It features floor to ceiling mirrors, astroturf carpeting to resemble grass, tall pillars with tree-like features, and hammocks hanging from the ceiling. It’s a magical nook that vaguely resembles a forest, and it is adorable. </div><div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEholWagFcJ9skhpn1IKOwRdqpvXA1KS_wY9Xzv0fWk5Xtvn9wZRtLw4ceDJHoTsCSviF-N8Ass5A27eIt1onL2cXz25U8g8ghTgQn4Hbhriz9RzEVLRsKGXNApdrHPrOj3oaDjaBOHbotDmTVqikmRRzrBsudPvRR7zjVpoEys4Hpt99RLPGvzjsGWF/s4032/20220905_193252.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEholWagFcJ9skhpn1IKOwRdqpvXA1KS_wY9Xzv0fWk5Xtvn9wZRtLw4ceDJHoTsCSviF-N8Ass5A27eIt1onL2cXz25U8g8ghTgQn4Hbhriz9RzEVLRsKGXNApdrHPrOj3oaDjaBOHbotDmTVqikmRRzrBsudPvRR7zjVpoEys4Hpt99RLPGvzjsGWF/w225-h400/20220905_193252.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the magical forest</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div></div></div><div>Past the forest is the <b>“Library,”</b> a room with wooden bleacher-style seating, bookshelves, cozy chairs and a high ceiling. I look up and there is a massive net about 12 feet over the library with pillows. Basically, from the floor above, you can enter the net and lay in a massive room-sized hammock hanging over this library. SO COOL. This is what I love about hostels, all the cute, thoughtful decor that encourages cozy socializing. </div><div><br /></div><div><div>One of the things I wanted to seek while in Canada was Indigenous culture. I found an evening event that looked very cool, and I could do it any of the evenings during my Quebec City leg. Since making any decision about being productive on my first night here is daunting, I decide to buy my ticket, change my clothes, and head off to <b>Place d’Armes,</b> where the bus is to pick me up for the tour. <div><br /></div><div>As I walk to the plaza, it’s already dark, and the magic of Quebec City settles in. The sounds of a busker playing the accordion outside of the park drift past as I walk through the old town’s fortress walls via the <b>St. Louis gate</b>. Just past the gates is a town perfectly plucked from Europe, with cobblestone roads lined with shops and restaurants. The wooden signs for each business hang from a wrought-iron post jutting out from the buildings, adding charm. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAQT-y_9swgR4_7JNDrM2qmzc0s-ij_WwXEJuNDFfGBd79ikl390kSdUZVAr5KxZWELXx9I0E9ZJNIPaVqdzisVhoKqeDkrdkys3YiKmn2sJdnzHC6SZI9EOIXAMQyYh-dKPx3IkHI-EOGgd25fAd6ytSlRF001uaFlbyb6rS95NbSCyN_HdnOB4ch/s4032/20220905_223132.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAQT-y_9swgR4_7JNDrM2qmzc0s-ij_WwXEJuNDFfGBd79ikl390kSdUZVAr5KxZWELXx9I0E9ZJNIPaVqdzisVhoKqeDkrdkys3YiKmn2sJdnzHC6SZI9EOIXAMQyYh-dKPx3IkHI-EOGgd25fAd6ytSlRF001uaFlbyb6rS95NbSCyN_HdnOB4ch/w225-h400/20220905_223132.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I make my way to the plaza, to the rainbow-lit <b>Chateau Frontenac</b> (it is LGBTQ awareness week) and find my bus. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxBia5cEKaySkSslgv5Jycmlr_u-W8n2DgaJ22dXmOGE4ClUvprZ2L2Dn2Hvw9IsXCv6Zi5JypWynQXsU-nPX4lYAK43JqX7UdID7M1lRCwiPui0cKQzPeTQW8_H-8QDmKtzKfedLwGzbxW6b6IRRvx02E0-xFc_i-d9dpqvWu5lBMjhatVATN34a/s4032/20220905_195021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxBia5cEKaySkSslgv5Jycmlr_u-W8n2DgaJ22dXmOGE4ClUvprZ2L2Dn2Hvw9IsXCv6Zi5JypWynQXsU-nPX4lYAK43JqX7UdID7M1lRCwiPui0cKQzPeTQW8_H-8QDmKtzKfedLwGzbxW6b6IRRvx02E0-xFc_i-d9dpqvWu5lBMjhatVATN34a/s320/20220905_195021.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>After a brief drive, we arrive at <b>Onhwa’ Lumina</b>. This is a night walk and light show in <b>Wendake</b>, featuring stories of the Huron-Wendat. It was developed by artists, musicians, historians and community members from the Nation. <a href="https://onhwalumina.com/">According to the website, “It is grounded in the rich creative traditions of the Huron-Wendat culture, and explores themes such as the cycle of life, the passing down of knowledge, and the shared relationship between all living things.” </a></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8VyOA1TAUf2w7W4XetbuD_skZntWKrt89J1LQhBR_iizdF2uVKWKXPWUCW4wS3c6wxpuYLQP02jbCH-XKxbliYa1c53IgoP6cLrBVB804L48UFSez677mPej7k4r_XnDdtpfniTyhqyawpDhFNPjaXHgzt0qpn7Uuc15mqtOy-pI5R31vcrywr3i/s4032/20220905_205009.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8VyOA1TAUf2w7W4XetbuD_skZntWKrt89J1LQhBR_iizdF2uVKWKXPWUCW4wS3c6wxpuYLQP02jbCH-XKxbliYa1c53IgoP6cLrBVB804L48UFSez677mPej7k4r_XnDdtpfniTyhqyawpDhFNPjaXHgzt0qpn7Uuc15mqtOy-pI5R31vcrywr3i/w400-h225/20220905_205009.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>The premise of the 1.2km walk is the Great Circle, a belief system that all life takes place in a circle. The path is a loop with various light installations punctuating a lantern-lit walkway. <div><br /></div><div>The first light installation is the Kwaweyih, a circular ring of lights that plays accompanying indigenous music. <div><br /></div><div>The next one is the Yāndia’wich, the tale of the Turtle, which features lights projected onto a large rocky hill. There is an illuminated moon and forest at the top, and the lights projected on the hill make it appear as if there is water rushing down, or fish swimming. <div><br /></div><div>The Yānonhchia’, or longhouse, features silhouettes of forest creatures backlit with fog. In the middle are bonfires and illuminated archways where you can sit and gather. </div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgshrnFF7d48Yg2Z7NU9iViykeMPFJUWut8ZRoNKT2AFz9i8T8RSzqMyUI8lTknew4TPWiIyzi-cQ7lP_-aBLImLeqEmgNLVdJdr1T2Kn8e10Z2nKMsQIziLm1oPKtMFW8csRnu1oVfkO4nDyFZPFiU7QkpcM5NqHfsZycHJphSvHskvygsYDQ4cA8u/s4032/20220905_210627.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgshrnFF7d48Yg2Z7NU9iViykeMPFJUWut8ZRoNKT2AFz9i8T8RSzqMyUI8lTknew4TPWiIyzi-cQ7lP_-aBLImLeqEmgNLVdJdr1T2Kn8e10Z2nKMsQIziLm1oPKtMFW8csRnu1oVfkO4nDyFZPFiU7QkpcM5NqHfsZycHJphSvHskvygsYDQ4cA8u/w225-h400/20220905_210627.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>My favorite is the Yāndata, the village, of tall wooden pillars forming a wall. Lights project a story of war, before an usher invites you to walk past the wall to the other side. <div><br /></div><div>The Onyionhwentsa’ features large cylinders illuminated from within, featuring small holes that form pictures. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRpu0oVjlXIwlSwkVi35ax19nbA5KJGNDEGQ2u_lQEKWjVs1gSJYtMWHPegsNrqA9CDJGih3Q1Z1LZl1T1TjU_6E7LjsimZms-ffE_g-GhPrVzxYCoaK5LRwnwtHnAv8FthNJnspySsCqiifWHRDPka0jrVVbrzht12OTQGw84mWdGTG4vytUFEZXM/s4032/20220905_211604.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRpu0oVjlXIwlSwkVi35ax19nbA5KJGNDEGQ2u_lQEKWjVs1gSJYtMWHPegsNrqA9CDJGih3Q1Z1LZl1T1TjU_6E7LjsimZms-ffE_g-GhPrVzxYCoaK5LRwnwtHnAv8FthNJnspySsCqiifWHRDPka0jrVVbrzht12OTQGw84mWdGTG4vytUFEZXM/w225-h400/20220905_211604.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The Hatiyōndahskehen’ is a short film projected on a screen propped between trees, featuring the history of their elders. <div><br /></div><div>The trippiest show is the Tihchion’, a sparkling and glimmering laser show from multiple projections that make the forest seem like a shimmering night sky. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9G89NvM0VSTarUbxFZisnNTTdAtOfWTaJEDgmIX0448F7Ye0jcNm_CxHD9pBjaO9fVw7lbbMkVuMN6jVr0zCmye_XUfeylS12oN1140OZvO6_phq0my6AOC0p3cWIPLtoq3BZiCdL-zLlNPNBJHzXN1R2VINxFoG29QGZFwCNUuC8__43daC7uD7_/s4000/IMG_8676.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9G89NvM0VSTarUbxFZisnNTTdAtOfWTaJEDgmIX0448F7Ye0jcNm_CxHD9pBjaO9fVw7lbbMkVuMN6jVr0zCmye_XUfeylS12oN1140OZvO6_phq0my6AOC0p3cWIPLtoq3BZiCdL-zLlNPNBJHzXN1R2VINxFoG29QGZFwCNUuC8__43daC7uD7_/w400-h300/IMG_8676.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>The tour ends as it begins in the Kwaweyih, the circle. <div><br /></div><div>The tour is everything I expected and more, and I am so pleased to have come. Of course, there is a photo opportunity at the end, with an usher asking if you’d like him to take your photo for you. This was the first of many times on this trip where people were confused how/why I was traveling alone. He looked around at strangers, assuming they were accompanying me, and confused why I was excluding them in the photo, until we all collectively pointed out that we don’t know one another. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAoHWQTiDe2rLZmCdUQOXAPwZFUuoOqiYXfWIFebkBRXMapnKIOvK83y-SwNuup8vCuHv7NE_B9NeruPsLTBEHa6mqVhab5kDSq1KGWhZFutK2yFSYR7dP0MWVIgHEg6uul3YLWczg8f2GA05iHxNYpWaVKTwGdePGMMXiR4wRh6YhTAKWHAuqFMbx/s4032/20220905_215736.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAoHWQTiDe2rLZmCdUQOXAPwZFUuoOqiYXfWIFebkBRXMapnKIOvK83y-SwNuup8vCuHv7NE_B9NeruPsLTBEHa6mqVhab5kDSq1KGWhZFutK2yFSYR7dP0MWVIgHEg6uul3YLWczg8f2GA05iHxNYpWaVKTwGdePGMMXiR4wRh6YhTAKWHAuqFMbx/w400-h225/20220905_215736.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">just me, myself, and i</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>After the bus has returned me to the plaza, I walk around the old town alone, and it is so peaceful and quiet without the bustle of people. It feels safe and secure, despite the presence of anyone. <div><br /></div><div>It’s now late, and I end my evening with a walk towards my hostel while seeking food. There aren’t many options for Labor Day Monday at 11pm, but I have luck at <b>Taverne Grande Allée</b>, which is a bar that serves grilled cheese sandwiches late at night. Remember, I’m in French Canada, so even the grilled cheese is fancy, and features aged cheddar, with ham braised in duck stock, onions and sour cream. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB66MvNLB7mGMKbdOIpX1WpDIM5HjNmi1nCgKs52Du-R6xtNKlB9LhVSng2XzQe-rz3dYitKtT8-1BKGDu2ZYWq6lzHE7pu-Zz2p7W8LCBcyz3p4-jU5J-CaT0uwyQWmvjh4Hh-sbIRCbZraV5uOosKDTo1obeFFNyViVJZAySa7nq37HPuoaIWF_r/s4032/20220905_232009.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB66MvNLB7mGMKbdOIpX1WpDIM5HjNmi1nCgKs52Du-R6xtNKlB9LhVSng2XzQe-rz3dYitKtT8-1BKGDu2ZYWq6lzHE7pu-Zz2p7W8LCBcyz3p4-jU5J-CaT0uwyQWmvjh4Hh-sbIRCbZraV5uOosKDTo1obeFFNyViVJZAySa7nq37HPuoaIWF_r/w400-h225/20220905_232009.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the sandwich you never knew you needed</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Tomorrow is my first full day in Quebec City, and the first thing I have planned is a walking tour to get me acquainted with the area. I’m excited.
</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div><br /></div>melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-37385219054899124812022-09-04T17:41:00.114-05:002022-09-22T18:16:46.166-05:00Canada Day 4: Channeling Snow White energy and having one final adventurous night in Toronto<p>Day 4: September 4, 2022</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2r6MirpZT16fMPGfb8c7PaTT85ep-6iIzFp_1Mcmubh_ZvKmp4ccAFz0csEBUFUsodwvjb0tlmBdnvk6etCrkD_vshrn8POUbFFytn_4b_CmDVuoZMZIq5jhtG3eJrv4ywu3GlfFm4m2hZ-4ba88HfD14XqcJWW5_ltpSDqomYHlTtrqj40QvGsq/s4032/20220904_225819.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2r6MirpZT16fMPGfb8c7PaTT85ep-6iIzFp_1Mcmubh_ZvKmp4ccAFz0csEBUFUsodwvjb0tlmBdnvk6etCrkD_vshrn8POUbFFytn_4b_CmDVuoZMZIq5jhtG3eJrv4ywu3GlfFm4m2hZ-4ba88HfD14XqcJWW5_ltpSDqomYHlTtrqj40QvGsq/w225-h400/20220904_225819.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the fountain in Berczy Park</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p>I gently awaken to the pawprints of my cat Mina scurrying across my body from shoulder to knee…or so I thought, until I fully wake up and realize I am not at home, Mina is not here, and that wasn't a cat. Moments later, I hear Caroline shout from her bed, "We have a visitor, <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2022/09/canada-day-2-welcome-to-soho-camp-where.html">but don't worry, it's not a mouse</a>!" She was referring to the squirrel that just crawled across my body and scurried near her bed. Ah yes, the final day of camp!</p><div>
Under my anti-mouse scarf-tent that I had tucked around me, I slept fantastically well <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2022/09/canada-day-2-welcome-to-soho-camp-where.html">compared to the first night in the cabin</a>. It was far colder than the first night, however, at a chilling 40*f (around 5*c). I think we were all happy that last night was our final night sleeping here.</div><div><br />
Breakfast was the same bountiful <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2022/09/canada-day-3-relaxed-day-of-pilates.html">offering of yesterday</a>: eggs, bacon, sausages, beans, pancakes, danishes and baked goods, yogurt parfaits, granola, cereal, fruit platters and basically everything that constitutes breakfast food in the US and Canada.</div><div><br />
After sharing my squirrel encounter over breakfast, Chara tells me I was channeling some Snow White energy, which is a far nicer way of mentioning that I am attracting rodents left and right.</div><div><br />
The only thing on the Soho Camp agenda for today was a 10am hike, which I didn't want to join with a bunch of hungover hikers. I went off on my own, following the path from yesterday but turning towards Lone Pine and Lou's Point. They were all very short hikes but led to peaceful spots in the woods where you could see the fog over the lake and hear the birds over the still lake water. I even took <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2022/09/canada-day-3-relaxed-day-of-pilates.html">my aura photographer's advice of connecting with nature</a> and removed my shoes to wiggle my toes in some soft moss. Gotta feel that nature, ya know?</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikjawKrSFcUPhoOkGGWSjdfHV7-wmQjotqVm0x5CbD80ZN0Cj20EaR9KlJq2HGiAl1ug5NhF_wVe9VdZL5i9qlnFagsD1q_dnoUw1f1huK9a7lCGp1UeEyFf_KcvXvVfjTsUvn9S7wJRW3gi5_yExXVc3aoiJOSneA3l3FrAXasxRk3jB32wFkCYTr/s4032/20220904_094332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikjawKrSFcUPhoOkGGWSjdfHV7-wmQjotqVm0x5CbD80ZN0Cj20EaR9KlJq2HGiAl1ug5NhF_wVe9VdZL5i9qlnFagsD1q_dnoUw1f1huK9a7lCGp1UeEyFf_KcvXvVfjTsUvn9S7wJRW3gi5_yExXVc3aoiJOSneA3l3FrAXasxRk3jB32wFkCYTr/w225-h400/20220904_094332.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I want my home to be carpeted in this moss</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div></div><div>
After packing up and bringing my stuff to the main campfire area, I noticed the hike wasn't happening. I guess everyone was too hungover.</div><div><br />
After taking a group photo, we load up the boat to make the trip across the lake back to the bus. We all rush to get to the parking lot for our 12pm departure, and then we learn the bus is running late. So we spread out our luggage and swag bags under the Camp Tamakwa sign and stand around and wait. As we stand around, we give informal reviews of our weekend. Caroline says, “Next year, I’m hoping for a three-day weekend, and better logistical controls.” AGREED.</div><div><br /></div><div>One of the elder Camp Tamakwa staff come in the second boat of supplies and people and walk around with one of the <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2022/09/canada-day-2-welcome-to-soho-camp-where.html">Lululemon-branded waterbottles we had received in our swag bags</a>. “Who has rosé in their water bottle?” “Me!” Caroline waves her hand and takes it. She had packed up one of the half-drank bottles from our room and packaged it for portability. This Camp Tamakwa staff also sets down two giant boxes of booze on the ground and heads back to camp. With no Soho staff in sight, we raid the boxes, which are two full cases of vodka and wine. Unfortunately, Soho staff eventually does arrive, tells us we can't keep it, and we all begrudgingly return it. Surely it would have been fine to keep, right? I mean, they left two bottles of rosé in every single cabin, I'm sure 12 bottles of wine would not be missed. </div><div><br />
We wait and wait and wait. Caroline gets a little anxious, as she needs to catch an evening flight out of the Toronto Pearson airport back home to the USA. Tito is also catching a flight to Quebec City. The same flight, in fact, that I had planned to take to Quebec City but avoided because Soho staff told me via email prior to this trip that we would be “cutting it close.” So I booked my flight to Quebec City for Monday instead.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLzX3uGREgAD0LBkj2m5GEyXvYJ5_bTpaBWzpcZXe08CSk7aDepH4_dsKWE1RstaOP2twthpQ8wpoE_jrZUenuO0qtV3FM9s9FRVsXvo6-7sSIt9tYgzwWw0Fna2AkcZ8qQqE7IhLP1TR0Q84PcjRw0np5UHY_ghae6yuetVeKxSC7sGXdn6TRkWZt/s4032/20220904_130225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLzX3uGREgAD0LBkj2m5GEyXvYJ5_bTpaBWzpcZXe08CSk7aDepH4_dsKWE1RstaOP2twthpQ8wpoE_jrZUenuO0qtV3FM9s9FRVsXvo6-7sSIt9tYgzwWw0Fna2AkcZ8qQqE7IhLP1TR0Q84PcjRw0np5UHY_ghae6yuetVeKxSC7sGXdn6TRkWZt/w400-h225/20220904_130225.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sitting, waiting, wishing</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div></div><div><br />
It nears 1pm, a full hour after our scheduled departure time. It has been at least three hours since we last ate, and there are no lobster tails on this side of the lake. There are murmurings of fast food and wanting to stop along the way home.</div><div><br />
And then, at 1:30pm, a full 90 minutes past our departure time, the coach bus comes barreling into the parking lot, making the smallest U-turn a vehicle of this size can make without toppling over, and whips around to pull in front of the group. Well that’s one way to make an entrance.</div><div><br />
We quickly load up the coach bus and the vehicle speeds away towards the highway, with our driver seemingly under the impression that his wild driving will somehow make up for the 1.5 hour delay on this three-hour journey.</div><div><br />
After about one hour of driving, we stop in a McDonald’s parking lot and learn that we are, indeed, stopping for lunch, much to the chagrin of our two flight-bound folks. I’m more upset that we now have to deal with a bus that’ll smell like McDonalds for two more hours of driving.</div><div><br />
We make it in time to the airport to drop off Tito and Caroline, who made their flights, somehow. I am shocked. I am also frustrated that I didn’t just try to make that flight to Quebec City. However, I am also grateful that I didn’t have to spend the entire three-hour bus ride with a stomach full of knots, hoping I wouldn’t miss a flight. That, combined with two hours of burger smells, would’ve sent me over the edge. While we are stopped briefly at the airport, everyone on the bus shares their opinion of the Toronto Pearson airport, all of which is negative. I guess I’m glad to be flying out of Billy Bishop airport tomorrow, instead of what everyone deems an *expletive* nightmare.</div><div><br />
We arrive in Toronto to…a bus station. Beverly stands up and tells us that unfortunately, we have to exit the bus here, because they're having mechanical issues. We are all going to have to Uber our ways back home from here. Fortunately we're only 20 minutes away from downtown Toronto at this point, but what an ending to a trip! </div><div><br />
Everyone buddies up to share Ubers, and Beverly assures us that we will be reimbursed. I’m headed East, so I share my ride with Berkeley, the one who was coordinating the canceled hike from this morning. She was understandably disappointed that her event was canceled. She offers insight on how camping and a connection to the outdoors is a privilege that BIPOC rarely get access to. She was excited to host that hike to allow a true connection to the outdoors, since most of the weekend wasn’t centered around it. However, she was proud of her successful nature art class (which I couldn’t attend on Saturday <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2022/09/canada-day-3-relaxed-day-of-pilates.html">since I had so much going on</a>).</div><div><br />
I arrive at my hostel, <b>The Only Backpacker’s Inn</b>, as the sky clouds over. Suddenly, it feels like fall, with overcast skies and a cool, dry chill in the air. Arriving at the hostel, where the check-in desk is located inside of a cozy, dimly lit cafe, I begin to feel tired, and the desire to cozy up with some pumpkin soup and a warm blanket.</div><div><br />
The hostel room is tight and very exposed, with six beds crammed together and no curtains or separation. I use my bedsheet to create a curtain for my bottom bunk, and went off to explore.</div><div><br />
Not much is open, since it’s Sunday evening and the day before Labor Day. I venture off on the train to go to a thrift shop, but find nothing. I then head to a dollar store to buy some new shoelaces for my ever-trusty Timberlands. Thrilling stuff for Toronto, I know. I wonder why I picked this particular hostel, which is so far removed from downtown, and I think it was because others were booked up for Labor Day weekend. Unfortunately, it leaves me far from the bustle of the city, and the overcast skies leave me tired and lazy.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWghnYMVn8nk0lNNDGg-boTJnRj6FofZZdu0PT3zmF31h3F0Ooo08CnmpfDhV-j1iI_tN6SaFW7givXGTQ6Dr_uxMAlXseOEUttBqILnfM0a670SCOfmPpkZZoMudl-JNWj1oKsCPXMGigF-9G_tmIvpeCBg8CNHdD4SGLZBKPxMEz7KEkTWStWqQ-/s4032/20220904_193018(0).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWghnYMVn8nk0lNNDGg-boTJnRj6FofZZdu0PT3zmF31h3F0Ooo08CnmpfDhV-j1iI_tN6SaFW7givXGTQ6Dr_uxMAlXseOEUttBqILnfM0a670SCOfmPpkZZoMudl-JNWj1oKsCPXMGigF-9G_tmIvpeCBg8CNHdD4SGLZBKPxMEz7KEkTWStWqQ-/w225-h400/20220904_193018(0).jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An old theatre-turned-Circle K? You can bet I was seeing ALL the Toronto sights.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div></div><div><br />
However, I am not one to leave any moments to boredom, so I message Nicole, a Toronto native whom I met on the Soho camping trip. I ask if she’s willing to meet up for a drink, and fortunately for me, she is!</div><div><br />
We’re both exhausted from the camping trip but muster enough energy to meet for a casual night out. I take the train to the tram, the latter of which I have yet to figure out how to pay for. Sorry, Toronto…maybe make it easier to figure out?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaw1x7IRLYA1-iM9IiNCRmlRu6tpN_LQ2pPAHQ0GbLlZtrFaIhVNP8wHXyZPExsnDoPIEUUQ2usZ8ZgOJKobXyEe3TGuxaZdgLy9O5Tnf1S_BIlwfpFPXDmeK00gfBc9L1IKfJkCaMGbLLovD3vKW3iWTdDnEPOl8UWaKgi3Kn1bkCyC_UucA1hqSq/s4032/20220904_213036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaw1x7IRLYA1-iM9IiNCRmlRu6tpN_LQ2pPAHQ0GbLlZtrFaIhVNP8wHXyZPExsnDoPIEUUQ2usZ8ZgOJKobXyEe3TGuxaZdgLy9O5Tnf1S_BIlwfpFPXDmeK00gfBc9L1IKfJkCaMGbLLovD3vKW3iWTdDnEPOl8UWaKgi3Kn1bkCyC_UucA1hqSq/w225-h400/20220904_213036.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the cozy-casual Betty's</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div></div><div><br />
We meet at <b>Betty’s on King</b>, located in Old Town/Corktown. It’s a laid-back pub that Nicole explains is a local favorite. She tells me how it’s a never-failing meetup spot, as it’s open every day, including Christmas. Got nowhere to go for the holidays? Pop over to Betty’s.</div><div><br />
Nicole is eager to share some sights with me, so we head off to nearby <b>Corktown</b> and wander the streets. She’s shocked to find most of her favorite bars are closed, “This is honestly freaking me out.” I chalk it up to the holiday weekend. It reminds me a bit of Chicago…there are tons of art galleries and car dealerships, like in the Gold Coast and River North, but the vibe has much more neighborhood feel with cozier and contemporary bars/restaurants, similar to Lincoln Park or Ravenswood.</div><div><br />
We wander through the <b>Distillery District,</b> which Nicole shares is a common place for couples to take engagement or wedding photos. It’s an industrial vibe with pedestrian-only brick roads. Stepping into this area reminds me of <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2017/01/transsiberian-day-8-tinder-ing-in-moscow.html">Red October in Moscow</a>, albeit less snow-covered.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhew3Oc12L1kRULO6v-VzjIjrqzNI-TwtyD0i-UM__20RtKtUrH9mjZ_PNNK5zGsAs7to8xwQxHO_AZP_KnCM5eWkrv1i5DjdXWOUICUd6MCLkGy2mxeIdlNmcMdzyKTFTSA7JqD9Uv-Z0mclDnmzQCbI4QEwXWjheqtwCyuEDAOFDMsnJU5GiWKOHU/s4032/20220904_220036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhew3Oc12L1kRULO6v-VzjIjrqzNI-TwtyD0i-UM__20RtKtUrH9mjZ_PNNK5zGsAs7to8xwQxHO_AZP_KnCM5eWkrv1i5DjdXWOUICUd6MCLkGy2mxeIdlNmcMdzyKTFTSA7JqD9Uv-Z0mclDnmzQCbI4QEwXWjheqtwCyuEDAOFDMsnJU5GiWKOHU/w225-h400/20220904_220036.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkgaAjn6quWBT6sXHMpc6yb4DHn4QENaOk7IySt336hyIH_EX62fezT-tLzGdoD0TlNRWtFOqjRai5nCQlowQr9cp06TGYsrQBVYmzesSmfZtBvznHd0vUP4EBY0y_YGQhr5hY0rPEzYO1Lb56hpKYdnciI6xRRYUbErUPaqlEUwjkaiMG9Q6-x_0i/s4032/20220904_220537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkgaAjn6quWBT6sXHMpc6yb4DHn4QENaOk7IySt336hyIH_EX62fezT-tLzGdoD0TlNRWtFOqjRai5nCQlowQr9cp06TGYsrQBVYmzesSmfZtBvznHd0vUP4EBY0y_YGQhr5hY0rPEzYO1Lb56hpKYdnciI6xRRYUbErUPaqlEUwjkaiMG9Q6-x_0i/w225-h400/20220904_220537.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Distillery District</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcokUi0TPGBb84WFrMZTFe363BAhNtLm2ME-Hn-ElVzOE6S_VL8NEk3Z_q3Vc87_ZX7gOFBW32Xy20jjt6D_iBUJWDpOARXmkSmsYzLQ4-ThNrEVCMcq7fO8JoD3qiQ9lOmoLjFjWqTJQFHZyIO2DWeR38fOycowL05k_lNFjJXb7AiXZ1CdGRHOYv/s4000/IMG_8618.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcokUi0TPGBb84WFrMZTFe363BAhNtLm2ME-Hn-ElVzOE6S_VL8NEk3Z_q3Vc87_ZX7gOFBW32Xy20jjt6D_iBUJWDpOARXmkSmsYzLQ4-ThNrEVCMcq7fO8JoD3qiQ9lOmoLjFjWqTJQFHZyIO2DWeR38fOycowL05k_lNFjJXb7AiXZ1CdGRHOYv/w300-h400/IMG_8618.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">more art installations in the Distillery District</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p>Nicole gives me a lovely walking tour of some famous Toronto sights. She leads me past the <b>Saint Lawrence Market,</b> past the <b>Gooderham Building</b>, and into more of the city center. After many failed attempts at finding food, we settle down at <b>Beertown Public House Toronto</b>. It’s not Nicole’s favorite spot, but it is really the only option for this area, this late at night, for food.</p></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1vUPVt_wGC9NQf_9RjTGTn7XDVm5Ht-swHEuoWWJA1h0dWcf-c0mVfPfnqsuY2pT3gdQb0_PW_k0AplTmDLfUwhl9IwcCh4gz9NlO53KqveKJigighZd0vsReChGxLQAZKYA7OksvVvVS73Mmg8NptfDZqEATC8jS7facw6aMQjAYRLSddI_nnoj/s4032/20220904_224024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1vUPVt_wGC9NQf_9RjTGTn7XDVm5Ht-swHEuoWWJA1h0dWcf-c0mVfPfnqsuY2pT3gdQb0_PW_k0AplTmDLfUwhl9IwcCh4gz9NlO53KqveKJigighZd0vsReChGxLQAZKYA7OksvVvVS73Mmg8NptfDZqEATC8jS7facw6aMQjAYRLSddI_nnoj/w225-h400/20220904_224024.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The St. Lawrence Market</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji4qYsO0-uSswRGyWDLstf21PzCEukPAtfo3pRoliosGCD--yUrQK4azM_A3jske581h1J7OdOL7cBLQI9gSg1P9Ga94fbJTEjwPtZVZ6n9kAcF-DuYTBxN2E0Dgl-RLTgpaS9pbYSbHUF119RAyoy0MyqJaIVfkpJWmiR5UiiCLospXQAowJBOvFG/s4032/20220904_225528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji4qYsO0-uSswRGyWDLstf21PzCEukPAtfo3pRoliosGCD--yUrQK4azM_A3jske581h1J7OdOL7cBLQI9gSg1P9Ga94fbJTEjwPtZVZ6n9kAcF-DuYTBxN2E0Dgl-RLTgpaS9pbYSbHUF119RAyoy0MyqJaIVfkpJWmiR5UiiCLospXQAowJBOvFG/w225-h400/20220904_225528.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Gooderham</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div>
I thank Nicole for her spontaneous and lovely walk through the city. I always appreciate a tour by a local. It’s now 1am, and I head off to the subway and wait a mere five minutes before boarding a train. Another reason why Toronto reminds me of New York: quickly-arriving trains (at this hour, I’d be waiting 30 minutes for a train in Chicago).</div><div><br />
I return to the hostel, where all five of my roommates are sleeping, bafflingly with the lights on. I shut them off and fall asleep, resting up for my final day in Toronto, and my flight to Quebec City, which I am hopeful will be the highlight of this Canada trip. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
</div>melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-85447754351363588282022-09-03T16:13:00.008-05:002022-09-19T17:21:38.989-05:00Canada Day 3: A relaxed day of pilates, hiking, canoeing, Spin class, boat rides, candlemaking, archery, photography, swimming, buffets and a concert<div>Day 3: Saturday, September 3, 2022</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg39yj05OlGSteMrDuSz2rErGu2Eg6gagDcrir9EgqDpprsUdKenpP1cxSn5OaztD8KMWl6izq_5xhNDVCz8uriT8RlOBarieTXs-ZIsfnv1W_qfVDtxQAwDN3-PiohYzgv5Fc3CbCBYb2VCYXb2ei3C-YMK8nOAAoTFJEqkLhP9cx2aFe_WgzeEwxm/s4032/20220904_121035.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg39yj05OlGSteMrDuSz2rErGu2Eg6gagDcrir9EgqDpprsUdKenpP1cxSn5OaztD8KMWl6izq_5xhNDVCz8uriT8RlOBarieTXs-ZIsfnv1W_qfVDtxQAwDN3-PiohYzgv5Fc3CbCBYb2VCYXb2ei3C-YMK8nOAAoTFJEqkLhP9cx2aFe_WgzeEwxm/w400-h225/20220904_121035.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">feelin' relaxed and retreated</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div>Today is the one and only full day of camp, and I am going to make the most of it. I signed up for any possible activities, which was unfortunately not all of them, since there were overlapping schedules and limited spots for each. <div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm20OmETRVwlG3M3PArTN85NNX4aBXN3hDQZ7-VJN7NfNHCtcHPkjACXlUf7EWvsWrTmlLoSJIazXf94SyK-WcUlAjL-PNGrOmnQX2pXN6S4jZvoyh8Uita9LiIhmFG2_EdJe2iUlUVsJgrIO6LkZROB3yRT0_yi80fibP9fiLIJdrzlUNquhy8yhx/s4032/20220903_105926.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm20OmETRVwlG3M3PArTN85NNX4aBXN3hDQZ7-VJN7NfNHCtcHPkjACXlUf7EWvsWrTmlLoSJIazXf94SyK-WcUlAjL-PNGrOmnQX2pXN6S4jZvoyh8Uita9LiIhmFG2_EdJe2iUlUVsJgrIO6LkZROB3yRT0_yi80fibP9fiLIJdrzlUNquhy8yhx/w225-h400/20220903_105926.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Starting at 8am, I had "Morning Movement," an exercise class run by <a href="https://www.instagram.com/renelynquin/">Renelyn</a>, a fellow Soho member. Originally more people had signed up, but with free-flowing booze <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2022/09/canada-day-2-welcome-to-soho-camp-where.html">the night before</a> and the requirement to be awake before 8am, many didn't show up. However, some stragglers did, and they were happily welcomed by friendly Renelyn.
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The class took place on the outdoor basketball court, using the yoga mats provided in our swag bags. It was a combination of yoga, pilates and dance, with a very relaxed, free-flowing feel. We meditated, stretched, danced, and got in a decent warmup to the day, all to some fun music, while surrounded by the lake and the tall, coniferous trees. It was lovely. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96rgVmTFU0t3tbuA5mT5_Od0bEBkS9UphhrKYYulviLM58m63k1n6AmeoxNfwgdFuIdFjnjst-acEoarKPwp6Z6aQyimAHAz0B-TyBGzLbxGcuAzyqTAC5b4yhwHHvXI7JQbJbWh7k8GJa8RtB7SDbGgJJG0V2jfOrpDKhffq6X-LPe1FMcVGy_gQ/s4000/IMG_8588.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96rgVmTFU0t3tbuA5mT5_Od0bEBkS9UphhrKYYulviLM58m63k1n6AmeoxNfwgdFuIdFjnjst-acEoarKPwp6Z6aQyimAHAz0B-TyBGzLbxGcuAzyqTAC5b4yhwHHvXI7JQbJbWh7k8GJa8RtB7SDbGgJJG0V2jfOrpDKhffq6X-LPe1FMcVGy_gQ/w400-h300/IMG_8588.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
The class ran a few minutes late, so I didn't have more than a minute in savasana when I started to put on my shoes. In the next hour, I needed to change from my sweatpants to some shorts, and slap on some sunscreen before having breakfast, which I needed to gobble down before my 10am canoeing activity.
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In the cafeteria building, the breakfast was substantial, just as yesterday's dinner had been. One table showcased a variety of fruit-filled danishes, croissants and bread. Inside the kitchen was even more: threw kinds of cereal, eggs, bacon, home fries, sausages, baked beans, fresh berries, melon, yogurt, granola, and toppings to make a fancy parfait.
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I sat with a handful of new friends, sharing with them my mouse-filled sleep stories over eggs and bacon. I also chat with Joseph and Ashlyn, who are also from Chicago and very conveniently drove on this trip. I ask if they were willing to haul all my Soho swag back to Chicago, because the last thing I need to carry around on the rest of this trip is a yoga mat and brick. They happily oblige, and I am grateful for the pure chance of meeting these two out of the group of 80 of us. They are super friendly, and I am looking forward to hanging out with them once we are back in Chicago.
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At 10, I met Dan, our canoeing instructor, at the shore. He helped us pick out the perfect sized life jackets and oars. We were a group of six, including Chara and Carri from the cabin. We canoed to a nearby small rocky island, took photos for maybe three minutes before Dan rushed us onto the canoes to return. I have no idea why it was rushed, because by the time we got to shore, it was only 10:45am, and we still had 15 more minutes? Things are not very clear throughout this weekend. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkLiWgE2rHCh5NhFmhRVIRrcenK2Izons2DLXJO6QfuCHlbQIpbtyudwYOnhd_I5XTZy7UeBXYS-T3bz9NBLAglXHBDqJL7GXYW2JG_w0OAqk2SNgNuCBNVBJPFMPmK1OHUrADuD47zmVMfhfvfTj2nrvZ2D5fgnOWxNyVJCP57Tbc_R24lpVviF_/s4000/IMG_8580.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkLiWgE2rHCh5NhFmhRVIRrcenK2Izons2DLXJO6QfuCHlbQIpbtyudwYOnhd_I5XTZy7UeBXYS-T3bz9NBLAglXHBDqJL7GXYW2JG_w0OAqk2SNgNuCBNVBJPFMPmK1OHUrADuD47zmVMfhfvfTj2nrvZ2D5fgnOWxNyVJCP57Tbc_R24lpVviF_/w300-h400/IMG_8580.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">we successfully canoed! yay!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrBHflcOhu9LPkkMpI9X9MPkcKDacphNC7v6d1_sZR0N-lUEgZNyh5NkGYqXiOEdazMQEWrDtC7Sg9nsDhfRh-eTfEs_SPTQIQZS7LFFL3z8ITdQQZ7xctqFCYLZSc54CmUvVCHJ1zGF9cRdHyw5klhXK-mX-8bzuSPRDql5LRddseEPQJZrdYoTRv/s4032/20220903_105124.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrBHflcOhu9LPkkMpI9X9MPkcKDacphNC7v6d1_sZR0N-lUEgZNyh5NkGYqXiOEdazMQEWrDtC7Sg9nsDhfRh-eTfEs_SPTQIQZS7LFFL3z8ITdQQZ7xctqFCYLZSc54CmUvVCHJ1zGF9cRdHyw5klhXK-mX-8bzuSPRDql5LRddseEPQJZrdYoTRv/w400-h225/20220903_105124.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">our canoeing group</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
I now had 1.25 hours before I was to start my 12pm spin (!) class. You heard that right…we got mice coming through the floorboards but also outdoor spin class. It's a wild time.
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I attempt to go to ziplining and the ropes course, which are both occuring at 11am, but when I arrive (with a handful of others that had the same idea), we are turned away because these particular events are ending in 20 minutes. Again, a schedule would have been nice. Also just having drop in classes would be better, since so many people signed up for things they didn't show up for.
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I go to the main office and chat with Kara, one of the camp staff, about a hike. There was a hike planned for Sunday morning, but I hate hiking in groups as I prefer the silence of nature. I wanted to try to squeeze one in on my own. She points to a map of the grounds to show me a route and I just think…they should have included this map with the schedule of events that they also didn't prepare for this weekend. But, alas. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF8nUyYlaRUlyv_QXBmk7WBwRVInX_g5azk3bgPdHollSQxL3uANJAJe6iSqowaIOyiQkQz-q9TRVK8TNFjNoyAaSc7NhGdedHpi9QSNUfaBTFWG9e_eFFT3E6UxdGDpWW04M6hNkfPIEHcYDe81uc0omtygcxtIrNN-_AskcIt-jRw_Vgg7o2HuY5/s4032/20220903_113819.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF8nUyYlaRUlyv_QXBmk7WBwRVInX_g5azk3bgPdHollSQxL3uANJAJe6iSqowaIOyiQkQz-q9TRVK8TNFjNoyAaSc7NhGdedHpi9QSNUfaBTFWG9e_eFFT3E6UxdGDpWW04M6hNkfPIEHcYDe81uc0omtygcxtIrNN-_AskcIt-jRw_Vgg7o2HuY5/w225-h400/20220903_113819.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
I venture off on a tiny hike that leads me behind the row of cabins where ours is located. It is a nice but brief hike, and at one point, I was neatly nested between trees and bushes to the point where I could no longer hear the bumping bass of the music that people were playing from their waterproof speakers by the shore. It was peaceful, and wandering down the dirt trail into unknown territory reminded me of Vanuatu once again, <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2017/06/walkabout-week.html">hiking up to my island mate Natalie's site, one hour uphill</a>. I was usually alone on those hikes, and I only determined that I was going in the right direction because I heard chickens, which meant I was nearing a village. Here at camp, it was only briefly on the hike where I didn't hear the echoed sounds of voices or music drifting into the trees. For both Vanuatu and for here, though, I carried a stick to swat away spiderwebs.
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My hike took me around back to my cabin, where I walked down to the basketball courts, where spin class was starting soon. I have to say, seeing the small supply boat toting the 20 spin bikes across the lake was quite hilarious…I bet this remote camp in the woods has not used their cargo rafts for that before.
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For those unfamiliar, spin class is an exercise class on stationary bikes where you listen to loud music and the instructor in front yells at you aggressively with things like "you didn't come here to quit!" or "push it til the end of this song!" or other versions of the "no pain, no gain" mentality in a militaristic aggression. At least, this is my impression of it as someone who has never attended a class before or seen one in real life. I also associate it with a cult-ish mentality? Mostly because I feel there are no casual spin class attendees, only people obsessed with spin. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrAOYs_ITJxSNYt45bk3ZjklFnFjQhVR0zbZCdgEGnqLQ4mXhBO0N_CCUXI5gzjb-BEJFCijFNjssQqp_Jnak93XVGDc6BKNKFEZUuzqI9oYHPa8bF3mmdYMCGEWpxL3DQoHIroTMfL8g3d1q_oz48dNDCZ8CQ66g1SIb8dhQLWoRaVprWNtDS1lS/s4032/20220903_115940.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrAOYs_ITJxSNYt45bk3ZjklFnFjQhVR0zbZCdgEGnqLQ4mXhBO0N_CCUXI5gzjb-BEJFCijFNjssQqp_Jnak93XVGDc6BKNKFEZUuzqI9oYHPa8bF3mmdYMCGEWpxL3DQoHIroTMfL8g3d1q_oz48dNDCZ8CQ66g1SIb8dhQLWoRaVprWNtDS1lS/w225-h400/20220903_115940.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">outdoor spin class</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
And I was not wrong. Once I got my shoes to clip into the bike pedals, I seemingly was the only one who didn't know how to strap myself in. The instructor was wearing a headset, and we all wore headphones to listen to her explain that when she yells a side, that is when we need to have that side foot on the bottom of the pedal rotation. She then starts yelling LEFT LEFT LEFT at an insane speed, then we stand up and she tells us to put our hands in "three" which I don't understand as I have never taken a spin class before. Then she tells us to do elbow drops and after one, I am sure that I am not doing it right unless the point of this exercise is to put uncomfortable stress on your knees. The speed is wildly fast, and I quickly decide I don't want to vomit today. About 10 minutes into this class, I stop listening and caring, and I simply ride at a comfortable speed, disregarding the instructions to instead have moderate stationary bike ride. There is a photographer present for all activities for promotional reasons, so when he takes a photo of me as I sit on the bike drinking out of the branded water bottle, I ensure the label faces him so he gets the shot he needs. <div><br /></div><div>
When it's over, I am dripping in sweat but still alive. Meanwhile, one of the girls says she wants to go throw up somewhere. For an accurate portrayal of this activity, the photographer definitely needs that shot, right?
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The whole experience is amusing, specifically the cult-like atmosphere that convinced that girl that she couldn't just, take a small break. You could easily stop or go at your own pace but so many people are afraid of dissent that they just push on. I eavesdrop on another conversation between two girls in the class, one of which says that she thought it was okay, but prefers more gentle instruction. This morning's movement class was all about "feeling the energy surrounding you" and "hearing the breeze blow through the trees." The spin class was all about how you are failing yourself if you don't embrace incredible discomfort. The instructor wants you to feel bad for not obeying, because you're disappointing your body and the reason why you woke up this morning or whatever, but I also don't feel the need to vomit just before lunchtime so I call that a win.
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It's now 1pm and I have an hour to squeeze in lunch before my 2pm candlemaking class. I think back to the welcome cards left on our beds that said this weekend was all about relax and retreat, and here I am jogging between classes to make sure I get my money's worth. I didn't pay a couple hundred dollars to just sit and look at a lake.
</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYjsNY0hEhsI7N2zaCg3QlxTzh-VZT6_T1tKHHhj5_Ev5SmlpFMaNhDsSlE8NxUVKwfQ2zmLpEaLqjkBh77Dh3dJjj_BK-uM7IXAgOXEdAWV1zVH5sO9zuTsNiTUejj6fCktVHkHHktNLcDWMCANdVpcT23eff8nbtFLJO3kvUJb-C0X38LsBbtMmY/s4032/20220903_125158.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYjsNY0hEhsI7N2zaCg3QlxTzh-VZT6_T1tKHHhj5_Ev5SmlpFMaNhDsSlE8NxUVKwfQ2zmLpEaLqjkBh77Dh3dJjj_BK-uM7IXAgOXEdAWV1zVH5sO9zuTsNiTUejj6fCktVHkHHktNLcDWMCANdVpcT23eff8nbtFLJO3kvUJb-C0X38LsBbtMmY/w225-h400/20220903_125158.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div>
There were two options for lunch. One was eating the buffet at the cafeteria, featuring meatballs, chicken, grilled potatoes, sausages, mac and cheese, a taco station with pork tacos, oysters, shrimp, salads, and grilled veggies. The other was taking a picnic basket on a boat to a nearby island. I wasn't wildly hungry, so I figured the adventurous island picnic would be more fun. I went with my newfound Chicago friends Joseph and Ashlyn, and we hopped on the motor boat to take a six-minute ride over the lake. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvsFOhR4Wo8JJuLqR6O6aObc9DxEFlh_MplIFbgsNff0XOltc3U88aKQtDDPjNkkyIoifYMJgL0YpgOsV_NTYjKueV_gS4d-5T95YUAKvKS99vYqf6bCai-1qIEsbC1BuOA1XKQ4gLqnu57nZUuqykRc58z_a7p-uzWq5ke2mQXADH2Mb_UYD-j0oy/s4032/20220903_131932.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvsFOhR4Wo8JJuLqR6O6aObc9DxEFlh_MplIFbgsNff0XOltc3U88aKQtDDPjNkkyIoifYMJgL0YpgOsV_NTYjKueV_gS4d-5T95YUAKvKS99vYqf6bCai-1qIEsbC1BuOA1XKQ4gLqnu57nZUuqykRc58z_a7p-uzWq5ke2mQXADH2Mb_UYD-j0oy/w400-h225/20220903_131932.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">an awful photo of the picnic setup</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BNXgQWhL-gLVx5hZQ6UfUtVFqZPaJBfDugIoBZwqucpazm-9nkW5ef93vTXBLUwuNezaxZ7PlC1vuB1ucUL5y3PC9I71Dzohkc_eRk0n7D4YMVcAscDV5UN2cM-FsUkBh3F87Z60jp4stCy-3Jc9MOqiA8FKixSD81KTDJJgx5tTLPT-t9ITax0_/s4000/IMG_8587.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BNXgQWhL-gLVx5hZQ6UfUtVFqZPaJBfDugIoBZwqucpazm-9nkW5ef93vTXBLUwuNezaxZ7PlC1vuB1ucUL5y3PC9I71Dzohkc_eRk0n7D4YMVcAscDV5UN2cM-FsUkBh3F87Z60jp4stCy-3Jc9MOqiA8FKixSD81KTDJJgx5tTLPT-t9ITax0_/w300-h400/IMG_8587.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I did appreciate the printed menus with the picnic basket.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div>
The picnic was lovely. The basket included a blanket, a bottle of rosé, cans of beer and Bacardi cocktails, four types of sandwiches (egg salad, tuna salad, salami and turkey), dole fruit cups, a balsamic salad and chips. We were handed cutlery just before we left for the boat, but significantly no napkins. When I attempted to shake the dressing on the salad, it immediately opened and now my clothes all have permanent stains. But since we were camping, I didn't mind stripping down to a sports bra to clean my shirt in the water.
</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgStXURelf_gA_-pDM8TMQyWqj_SKmaT9SMKW_UQBF6XmSa6hdO8CxIpb2M2J9jvhx8oBMnI4jdbZLjgvD0NBXnvlIpK0Eb86LEtaoEPvlfyUhhkqgbM71f0GYN055x2pt23ERjy79-n0EyWMPtzr3L4NLlEEROMzOqQZzCrxU252PlZaE_cS_kX2Xp/s4032/20220903_140403.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgStXURelf_gA_-pDM8TMQyWqj_SKmaT9SMKW_UQBF6XmSa6hdO8CxIpb2M2J9jvhx8oBMnI4jdbZLjgvD0NBXnvlIpK0Eb86LEtaoEPvlfyUhhkqgbM71f0GYN055x2pt23ERjy79-n0EyWMPtzr3L4NLlEEROMzOqQZzCrxU252PlZaE_cS_kX2Xp/w225-h400/20220903_140403.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view from picnicking</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
The boat picked us up about one hour later, and once we docked, I rushed to the cafeteria where the <a href="https://www.custombycare.com/">candlemaking class</a> had already begun. I had previously taken a candlemaking class at Soho House Chicago, so I knew it wasn't very involved.
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I saw Caroline again, who informed me of more critters in the cabin, so while the instructor heated up more wax, I ran to the cabin to find one of my oatmeal packets all over the ground. I also found my other silicon bag of chocolate covered blueberries chewed through. Somehow, the small opening in my backpack was nudged fully open, and a squirrel must have attacked my food again. I took all my food to the office, had them store it in their fridge ("the only safe place" since squirrels can't open fridge doors…yet), then ran back to candlemaking. After stirring some scented oil into some melted wax and pouring it in a jar, I was done. Just as fast as I expected.
</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqYo0R_FBs5IaFNZYpzkY-U-1PhCb_6txXEGHHeNRBzC6ACU5fqsyBs1qhh8koXvjONtIBuaS_uDGgHQjlGVOMucvvNtRqWym3JuqJBVOC9f5sWekAHuIjbj-RMn443Ok1ed9gRKf2kVMhiOkxqA3z5RvaEGMFDdGv0Bg5ZxXxtq51rpWYBj2fl30v/s4032/20220903_142816.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqYo0R_FBs5IaFNZYpzkY-U-1PhCb_6txXEGHHeNRBzC6ACU5fqsyBs1qhh8koXvjONtIBuaS_uDGgHQjlGVOMucvvNtRqWym3JuqJBVOC9f5sWekAHuIjbj-RMn443Ok1ed9gRKf2kVMhiOkxqA3z5RvaEGMFDdGv0Bg5ZxXxtq51rpWYBj2fl30v/w225-h400/20220903_142816.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">candlemaking</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
At 3pm, I was scheduled to take a cocktail class, which was sponsored by Bacardi and featured a selection of their rums. I was excited since I love making cocktails at home but I would live to know more of the science of it. Unfortunately, archery was at the same time, and after weighing my options, I bailed on the cocktail class. After all, I can take a cocktail class in Chicago, but archery is vey much a camp event. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1j8vb17BUt3m1RD24Jh7jpFt95iQWAWh_NL6tH-vfMeG1tl9qMyNdZDc0VXm05hId6RWDKo1MlmYei7B5dkVGxz1VamYdWreb32t0tfFSaMhGTxcm8F6Cu86WVBczd33EGx_9MbtVFa_W3v_WHI6rZocpS3OhqmaDcS_Yg6eb7nDoIrRXEIobyEJ3/s4032/20220903_145713.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1j8vb17BUt3m1RD24Jh7jpFt95iQWAWh_NL6tH-vfMeG1tl9qMyNdZDc0VXm05hId6RWDKo1MlmYei7B5dkVGxz1VamYdWreb32t0tfFSaMhGTxcm8F6Cu86WVBczd33EGx_9MbtVFa_W3v_WHI6rZocpS3OhqmaDcS_Yg6eb7nDoIrRXEIobyEJ3/w225-h400/20220903_145713.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the cocktail class I never attended :'(</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>
Yet again, the location of archery wasn't disclosed, so I returned to the camp office to see that ever-so-lovely yet inaccessible map they had of the property. It was definitely an obscure location; you need to walk between some buildings down some steps, walk along the edge of the lake to a little brook, cross a bridge and step along some tree stumps, until you round a corner to find the targets.
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I met up with Ashlyn, who already found the spot. Archery was fun, and I can't remember the last time I did it, though <a href="http://melissainspain2009.blogspot.com/2009/04/burgos-video.html">a vacation while studying abroad in 2009 in Burgos </a>came to mind. Although, I am pretty sure I have done it more recently.
</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2MuhkQ_R7m-s4wvWIMILvEHhggFyy_KCVEDpUfjeso08VNVfF96nCwoyzz0I7CScfPi6AUTMnI7Co0VeMWAt-B-8rDJTzOJHW0ubgMrvS3C_zMk9wHIEPcuSOuVAdJEvN-nT7G3ujfNEWlG1SPsWfibhuOFAXDviWMYqSmaRcSnXQSFN3E0EV0vKK/s4032/20220903_154545.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2MuhkQ_R7m-s4wvWIMILvEHhggFyy_KCVEDpUfjeso08VNVfF96nCwoyzz0I7CScfPi6AUTMnI7Co0VeMWAt-B-8rDJTzOJHW0ubgMrvS3C_zMk9wHIEPcuSOuVAdJEvN-nT7G3ujfNEWlG1SPsWfibhuOFAXDviWMYqSmaRcSnXQSFN3E0EV0vKK/w225-h400/20220903_154545.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my first target<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV3bPmejytlxgBNR8j801u5z0MhtWG6VmhZVSupSPXV5IyUnEutTZmMliv4F-Fz858BgXKiuJp8BOmanuJ1ljE6qfHUa3QGGWyWKvuoX7rCwic73L-8bfaizH-HZUu8rjVwJwaMrZUNfXNyjJEJbKLcjhwyt-xoHzYtlY4hm4V3yDv92kdJdifGDE8/s4032/20220903_155056.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV3bPmejytlxgBNR8j801u5z0MhtWG6VmhZVSupSPXV5IyUnEutTZmMliv4F-Fz858BgXKiuJp8BOmanuJ1ljE6qfHUa3QGGWyWKvuoX7rCwic73L-8bfaizH-HZUu8rjVwJwaMrZUNfXNyjJEJbKLcjhwyt-xoHzYtlY4hm4V3yDv92kdJdifGDE8/w225-h400/20220903_155056.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got better!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
The camp staff was quite friendly, and I have learned most of these camp staff were from all over the world. Some of them do seasonal work year round: ski resorts in winter, then camps in summer. I have met Aussies while traveling who work in ski resorts and I know that is a common job for 20-somethings out of school. Must be nice to be able to do gig work in a country with included healthcare! What a dream.
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When I was done with archery at 4pm, I was finally free for the day. Earlier, during spin class when I was ignoring the instructor and staring longingly at all the people casually splashing in the lake, I promised myself I would just hop in at the end of this day and rinse off all the camp grime. Now was that time.
</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUZCb7q8IT_E_hfrcxAwp3wp9GnKY7ihJci3mSLZZpcC9CdIE8aXRQAgb8hEOtMn9wMwXE9X-ASKpa9d0Oh15hQFDNBltFkVpWNq4wqR_tDo4cPkQgy_Ws6eFV5CJAsZPW_0jt2ycc6uc0G2hp9RTsc6UMgXZ4zx8biZzTqq3a-hfjoILCZ8XoSpX/s4032/20220903_074340.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUZCb7q8IT_E_hfrcxAwp3wp9GnKY7ihJci3mSLZZpcC9CdIE8aXRQAgb8hEOtMn9wMwXE9X-ASKpa9d0Oh15hQFDNBltFkVpWNq4wqR_tDo4cPkQgy_Ws6eFV5CJAsZPW_0jt2ycc6uc0G2hp9RTsc6UMgXZ4zx8biZzTqq3a-hfjoILCZ8XoSpX/w225-h400/20220903_074340.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">not til I bathed in the lake, no!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>
I walked to the cabin, changed into my suit and applied more sunscreen before heading to the water.
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It is now 5pm, and I discover that the lifeguards end their shift at 5pm (for the trillionth time, a schedule would be so nice). But I learn that we still can swim, but are required to wear a life jacket. I don't mind, as it allows me to be lazy and I can blame someone else for making me look like a dork in the water with the life jacket.
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At this point, I am the only one in the water. It is quiet and peaceful, with only the distant sounds of voices echoing over the still water. I splash around, stare off into the setting sun, and enjoy the lake's chilly temperature cooling me down. There even was a giant jug of eco-friendly soap, so I use it to bathe and wash my hair. It reminds me of river bathing during training in Vanuatu.
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I exit the water, refreshed, and leisurely return to the cabin. There are some swings near the water, so I sit and swing over the wildflowers, enjoying the view.
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I return to the cabin, rinse off and change, taking my time since dinner isn't until 7pm, and right now it's about 5:45pm. Then, I learn from Caroline that <a href="https://roseaura.ca/">the aura photos (a photographer has a special camera and some machinery that measures your aura)</a> weren't a signup activity, but rather, an ongoing all-day event until 6pm. I thought I missed by chance to get one, but I had 15 more minutes, so I ran out of the cabin to the main fire pit area to find Beverley and Patricia to learn more.
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They guide me to the photographer, who has me place my hands on some metal nodes and stare into the camera and hold still for a long exposure. A polaroid spits out, and she tells me she will find me at dinner to give me my aura reading once the photo is done developing. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhksLsVPPMJUpIpOxe2m3VPSTJxeLtnhOuT99vAMRX0I-xV35iZNJaJRdBYK0Etug5UB0VAbn9Uq5a50NC3SBAvcmuhw8nLU7wExrJHfawRoZu4HW55vOB-_dAPz47Kndn72k16_tp0pmGjZ-PKwTu_3b2zlq4sYWaJc4snG1dD87S2usjzDwMSOcE2/s4032/20220903_175823.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhksLsVPPMJUpIpOxe2m3VPSTJxeLtnhOuT99vAMRX0I-xV35iZNJaJRdBYK0Etug5UB0VAbn9Uq5a50NC3SBAvcmuhw8nLU7wExrJHfawRoZu4HW55vOB-_dAPz47Kndn72k16_tp0pmGjZ-PKwTu_3b2zlq4sYWaJc4snG1dD87S2usjzDwMSOcE2/w400-h225/20220903_175823.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the photography setup</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>
After I spend some time relaxing on the Slope (the tiered seating overlooking the lake) it is time for dinner. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVXlKkCToFrgR-dR_1qlM4VoAbiN8_j5x17oXlIxcpCwZaugLxXBwLbdEnqonI5WwoG7CqyHp01zW32j_dicwqte2eefkG0ve9TRJisw4VZACqrqEb4uytAPzgtZ4ocOV4q0f8ca_kMI_rfMr5qRoub4cc4gGjExDYvHlKbSOlBKgQJG5ymno1Zrmq/s4000/IMG_8594.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVXlKkCToFrgR-dR_1qlM4VoAbiN8_j5x17oXlIxcpCwZaugLxXBwLbdEnqonI5WwoG7CqyHp01zW32j_dicwqte2eefkG0ve9TRJisw4VZACqrqEb4uytAPzgtZ4ocOV4q0f8ca_kMI_rfMr5qRoub4cc4gGjExDYvHlKbSOlBKgQJG5ymno1Zrmq/w400-h300/IMG_8594.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">dinner time!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>
The cafeteria is now outfitted with table décor suited for a wedding: porcelain plates, wine glasses, floral arrangements, and a variety of wines: rosé, white, red and sparkling.
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Unlike the buffet meals before, this meal is served to us. Yet again it is a feast and includes baked potatoes with bacon, sour cream, cheese and chives, a Caesar salad, roasted vegetables, ribs, and glazed salmon. For dessert, we have the choice of cookies or strawberry rhubarb, cherry or apple pie.
</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN9aw1QhLz9yLHUEesKqbPUZ8s0wRUZamR9Kx7_KRmi1wImzFYKc0sUy36Cy8ccwGlm-80YJZYvKRP0-JGCcBjnabFHkS7E-WWZTLex8IXiE1KzaoeTfxewz671X0ithMtgL0tS6gpD_v1NHZXxhAH_HCm-tvWWfWnQ3AlydKiQrDvUPOpTg-PUaoI/s4032/20220903_192209.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN9aw1QhLz9yLHUEesKqbPUZ8s0wRUZamR9Kx7_KRmi1wImzFYKc0sUy36Cy8ccwGlm-80YJZYvKRP0-JGCcBjnabFHkS7E-WWZTLex8IXiE1KzaoeTfxewz671X0ithMtgL0tS6gpD_v1NHZXxhAH_HCm-tvWWfWnQ3AlydKiQrDvUPOpTg-PUaoI/w225-h400/20220903_192209.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">glazed salmon</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_e2kRPm0scY3HUwil_e_P-Ftr1fMpnOVh65SGuq4ooYQruxo_AD75ro7xjyR7ZKR1euvdu1APJ_8hjBUObS0jZoeuV2I_UzOA336Dd6i4bKKSSG322s3dngQmSW5ScGU22Jon-OAnX_HcKxjVe7E56APpuwRap9IZ_dEm300_2kKweZ-vCVAj9CJb/s4032/20220903_192441.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_e2kRPm0scY3HUwil_e_P-Ftr1fMpnOVh65SGuq4ooYQruxo_AD75ro7xjyR7ZKR1euvdu1APJ_8hjBUObS0jZoeuV2I_UzOA336Dd6i4bKKSSG322s3dngQmSW5ScGU22Jon-OAnX_HcKxjVe7E56APpuwRap9IZ_dEm300_2kKweZ-vCVAj9CJb/w225-h400/20220903_192441.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">fall-off-the-bone ribs. YUM</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
During dinner, the photographer from earlier presents me with my photo and her reading. <a href="https://roseaura.ca/pages/interpretation">She tells me the aura is large, meaning I have a lot of energy flowing through me. She tells me communication is important to me (perhaps reading my mind of the overall lack of communication over this weekend?). The white around my head indicates lots of thinking, but I need to ground myself and connect with nature (more feeling).</a> <div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJTAzBPIav3-rxvkUCNakHmlZk0jhsfyUL_fQiUq0GY37UfX4J0-P5GcbK8Snu9th1bna54LsdKNMAiWlmXyZP7o_4Viut5diPcHTnHcSze75WQKswekRKLEQMmDTgWypDA19OWNlkHrwJONlscw5WepWJjRKktjK70jj9eM35Gy3bLSjz9mlzaRH-/s4032/20220916_171850.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJTAzBPIav3-rxvkUCNakHmlZk0jhsfyUL_fQiUq0GY37UfX4J0-P5GcbK8Snu9th1bna54LsdKNMAiWlmXyZP7o_4Viut5diPcHTnHcSze75WQKswekRKLEQMmDTgWypDA19OWNlkHrwJONlscw5WepWJjRKktjK70jj9eM35Gy3bLSjz9mlzaRH-/w225-h400/20220916_171850.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">all that info, from this</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>
Patricia makes an announcement during dinner, that starting around 9pm, we will have a surprise concert by pop/electronic artist <a href="https://www.dragonetteonline.com/music">Dragonette</a> at the outdoor stage. Until then, we have entertainment by the resident DJ of the weekend, Mike Roc.
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Everyone gathers in the stage area where Mike is DJing, but aren't dancing. Caroline and I start things off and soon another woman is dancing with us for a few songs before finally a large group is on the dancefloor.
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Soon, the woman dancing with me and Caroline steps on stage, and it turns out <i>she</i> is Dragonette. I have never heard of her, but towards the end of her set, she sings <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LnET4RKXx5k">a song I recognized, "Hello."</a> Ah, I guess I do know her!
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Around midnight, yet again, we are served Dirty Burgers, but this time we also get sweet potato fries and TFC (Toronto Fried Chicken).
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I spend most of the evening alone, on the quiet spot of the Slope, where I can hear the water lapping against the dock and see some stars mostly obscured by clouds. Tonight is colder than last night, so even as I wear all my warmest layers and a blanket over me, I am freezing, and decide it best to retire.
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Tonight is our final night of the camping trip, and I am hopeful for a critter-free evening, since it is much colder today (and our cabins don't provide much for warmth). Also, each and every time I went to the cabin over the course of the evening, I didn't see any mice scurry and disappear into the corners.
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Tomorrow it's time to head back to Toronto for one night before I head off to Quebec City!
</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwte14ngMCezQ6DPh-RX778MQoK8lSNxgKNJoy_KOCn7EtThFquKyLd8Jlyv8EMHxHfB0AXnyOAmEHFucdwazL6OHTCkYHSlqj0Eaq-z5z01E89VLLQYlgDavNqaBAkPoUtRX1XNB56KSVCK9Iqyww90T6GVF1TKjfnqhGzDUPasIAGKZjkSnfLtQr/s4000/IMG_8601.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwte14ngMCezQ6DPh-RX778MQoK8lSNxgKNJoy_KOCn7EtThFquKyLd8Jlyv8EMHxHfB0AXnyOAmEHFucdwazL6OHTCkYHSlqj0Eaq-z5z01E89VLLQYlgDavNqaBAkPoUtRX1XNB56KSVCK9Iqyww90T6GVF1TKjfnqhGzDUPasIAGKZjkSnfLtQr/w400-h300/IMG_8601.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">haven't seen this many stars since Vanuatu!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div></div>melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-83897442201147105652022-09-02T16:08:00.000-05:002022-09-13T22:14:35.456-05:00Canada Day 2: Welcome to Soho Camp, where we serve lobster, oysters and unlimited Bacardi!Day 2: Friday, September 2, 2022
<div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSz7-9paxNsGvc-LZmErWMIa-KPNxy1Pg9ecOaUVJnkb7MWbSX1Ys_IRCCuyyImhsO3HoqLbGWgFB454fjD-oHL_KhuexREi5uEOy6rziPk6RCyNpJ916ztjrRTKOlwO68DL2kPuw_rCYK8kwgc4oiYNobMgJQRuraanquBNnIgFdxPwIBLoImbtR/s4032/20220902_170529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSz7-9paxNsGvc-LZmErWMIa-KPNxy1Pg9ecOaUVJnkb7MWbSX1Ys_IRCCuyyImhsO3HoqLbGWgFB454fjD-oHL_KhuexREi5uEOy6rziPk6RCyNpJ916ztjrRTKOlwO68DL2kPuw_rCYK8kwgc4oiYNobMgJQRuraanquBNnIgFdxPwIBLoImbtR/w225-h400/20220902_170529.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camp Tamakwa's little gift shop</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
I wake up somewhat refreshed after my nearly eight-hour sleep at the <b>Clarence Park Hostel. </b>I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the free hostel breakfast, check out of the hostel, stow my luggage in the hostel closet and head off. Today is the first day of Soho Camp!<div><br /></div><div>
First, I went to <b>Bulk Barn</b>, a chain of bulk shops, which I sought out for some camping snacks. This place is AWESOME. I have been to bulk stores in Chicago, and I have seen the bulk section of Whole Foods, but this was on another level. A full shop dedicated to bulk: snacks, flours, candy, sprinkles/baking supplies, nut butters, pie fillings, dog food, and more. Nearly five full aisles of a massive variety of items. I specifically marked this as a place I wanted to explore while in Canada, so I packed my silicon zipper bags and brought them here for filling. I decided on some trail mix and chocolate covered blueberries. I wish these existed in Chicago, at this scale and convenience of locale.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGurc_FCMkAtJAu8g9tZZ4PQCHdnZF0qvgQDkregIYnvM6_r_U5Ln6i91PgAVNOPD4vwDBVv6-fVZAKV2_apeVmOdLQ9OeiogxPnbwasiEjgb7J-0Zio7vORDlH_ixo7szBkBgRC-3rlBNxT9wLsO_oQ_LYUo3zFEgCAAywEimcwLDQvMZmqjnvxu/s4032/20220902_095938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGurc_FCMkAtJAu8g9tZZ4PQCHdnZF0qvgQDkregIYnvM6_r_U5Ln6i91PgAVNOPD4vwDBVv6-fVZAKV2_apeVmOdLQ9OeiogxPnbwasiEjgb7J-0Zio7vORDlH_ixo7szBkBgRC-3rlBNxT9wLsO_oQ_LYUo3zFEgCAAywEimcwLDQvMZmqjnvxu/w225-h400/20220902_095938.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">in love with Bulk Barn</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>
<div><br /></div><div>I wander into a couple shops before returning to the hostel. I'm now hungry for lunch and the decision of what to eat leaves me paralyzed, until I narrow it down to meat. I grab my bags and head off toward <a href="https://sohohouse.com/">Soho House Toronto</a>, which is where we get on the bus to head to the camp.
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Along the way, I got pulled pork poutine at <b>Smoke's Poutinerie</b>, a fast food chain of poutine restaurants. I chow on the "snack size" which is still a sizable portion: a chinese takeout box, filled with french fries, cheese curds and chipotle pulled pork. I finish half before deciding it is wise to stop before I regret it, and unfortunately toss the rest. The downside to travel is the food waste I encounter time and time again, with nowhere to store fresh food when I'm hopping place to place. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh048uR6RUPUdo-D9w2L3MDgW9fPb15dAeu9xgiOkSvuYVVCOTwmi4vYLmZnUhkdHyYEWcPYCCCnbSFVRMci3_wlordS28s8JhIyYBdhNndhSOv5FsjTsVIdMgMhdAzTuG7u25Mwj2p9PBZ4l0tEBxbh1nzXVl0LlnxDPM1PiGHznRPKHFLJyrXZk0A/s4032/20220902_111958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh048uR6RUPUdo-D9w2L3MDgW9fPb15dAeu9xgiOkSvuYVVCOTwmi4vYLmZnUhkdHyYEWcPYCCCnbSFVRMci3_wlordS28s8JhIyYBdhNndhSOv5FsjTsVIdMgMhdAzTuG7u25Mwj2p9PBZ4l0tEBxbh1nzXVl0LlnxDPM1PiGHznRPKHFLJyrXZk0A/w225-h400/20220902_111958.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smoke's Poutinerie</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
I walk a couple blocks over the <b>Soho House Toronto</b>, where people have started to gather for the camping trip. <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2022/08/planning-for-canada-its-not-tajikistan.html">As I mentioned in a previous post, this is a camping trip organized by Soho House Toronto</a>, but is available to any Soho member worldwide. I can tell some people know each other, and I wonder if any are from out of town, like me. Their Soho house is in the Bishop's Building, a 4 story mansion that looks about 100 years old.
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The interior is beautiful, as are all the Soho Houses. The old rustic charm of this particular house shows itself in the vintage floor tiles, reclaimed wooden walls, and gorgeous banisters leading up to the upper floors. The floors creak and the wallpaper hearkens back to an 1800s era without feeling outdated. Near the restrooms is a photo booth, where I take some photos before rejoining the group downstairs.
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We load up the bus and are presented with a light lunch of a chicken sandwich and salad in a box for the road. And a signature Soho chocolate chip cookie. I love a good bonus food…originally the only meal planned for today's part of the camping trip was dinner. I don't regret my pork poutine, though I do save my sandwich for later.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhviPWyYHHPmtVLkHOPqB6FoGubMZO9QV8XBJOBNj0pvvcmPEwnxvS1EUae2SDJZJgrmu_3WO2ASgz9nN4fH1w57H0XzVoal5THVaIhAKL6axM_mi0plE-SwEF0i4zV0AVsgCeqL-EvUV4o2zS3dv29bsSkKhKqttOv4WJVYsJSlRh2_IzO9onLGuXU/s4032/20220902_123215.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhviPWyYHHPmtVLkHOPqB6FoGubMZO9QV8XBJOBNj0pvvcmPEwnxvS1EUae2SDJZJgrmu_3WO2ASgz9nN4fH1w57H0XzVoal5THVaIhAKL6axM_mi0plE-SwEF0i4zV0AVsgCeqL-EvUV4o2zS3dv29bsSkKhKqttOv4WJVYsJSlRh2_IzO9onLGuXU/w400-h225/20220902_123215.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a little car snack</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>On the bus, the Soho staff pass out the meals, followed by special diet meals. Someone across the aisle to me is allergic to kale, and if that is not the most Soho House description of a person, I don't know what is.
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Tito, another Soho House staff member, walks up and down the aisle with a small orange vape pen. He perkily asks, "strawberry mango vape? Did someone leave their strawberry mango vape? Vape pen, found at the house…strawberry mango vape?" How very Canada.
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Before we depart, Beverley takes attendance, and shows a little nervousness in her voice as she says "if you invited any non-members, are they here? I hope they are, because we don't have their names and we are leaving now and we aren't coming back." Ha.
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The idea of 3 hours of sitting is glorious to me <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2022/09/canada-day-1-i-came-for-carnival-and-i.html">after yesterday</a>, but not to the guys sitting in front of me, who are constantly checking traffic and the bus route, planning alternatives. I have never thought about this while on a bus ride somewhere; I just assume we are making progress. Meanwhile, I'm chilling, just sitting and eating my butter lettuce salad with chipotle dressing, as I gaze out the window at a fox eating roadkill on the side of the road.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxeA8oOm7apADZmMsOZ_0sNZuUtiQy6PVGfFDJDN2z4v7a_sdv2TAdBJjMTvzBO1sSshIj4JK7R9NXp5KW3m1p-bbj1ZDZHFO9y7auziq5bFB7ALmhsBu2zPHtjJLpT8AprazWAZihGcZrZQ_RXUYk4k5mRCCRAf2B52RsXYaF9F1nU0UtnlKnPgF7/s4032/20220902_140050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxeA8oOm7apADZmMsOZ_0sNZuUtiQy6PVGfFDJDN2z4v7a_sdv2TAdBJjMTvzBO1sSshIj4JK7R9NXp5KW3m1p-bbj1ZDZHFO9y7auziq5bFB7ALmhsBu2zPHtjJLpT8AprazWAZihGcZrZQ_RXUYk4k5mRCCRAf2B52RsXYaF9F1nU0UtnlKnPgF7/w225-h400/20220902_140050.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">we rerouted to avoid this traffic mess</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>
<div><br /></div><div>I awaken from a post-lunch nap to find we have arrived at camp! We unload the bus, and I follow the group down a small gravel road down a hill to…a dock. We are getting on a boat! The camp is just around the bend. A few people start freaking out upon seeing the dock, "I was not told there would be a boat."</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbLBtT8eHzmDCl7M7-qBJepU55L9D0r8hMYRReeH0jvgOIg5mthRdpdv7MnHZm37NaJT8INoB2QWbBLhpm5Ppwi_hCGIwCK2Z9c942pJuXtcNcP1V2oTJtQWN6PpVuFiz7PDO0ScvGwlwnpKh0HM06gOS-SCnWj09l1ldALYisP5BDugrM2LyMXGy/s4032/20220902_164156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbLBtT8eHzmDCl7M7-qBJepU55L9D0r8hMYRReeH0jvgOIg5mthRdpdv7MnHZm37NaJT8INoB2QWbBLhpm5Ppwi_hCGIwCK2Z9c942pJuXtcNcP1V2oTJtQWN6PpVuFiz7PDO0ScvGwlwnpKh0HM06gOS-SCnWj09l1ldALYisP5BDugrM2LyMXGy/w225-h400/20220902_164156.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the boat to take us to camp</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's the first of a flood of a trillion <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">Peace Corps memories</a> that the weekend brings. Loading up our luggage in the front of the boat is just like hopping on <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2020/03/island-life-video-traveling-from-site.html">the boat from Nguna to Port Vila with Papa Jeffrey</a>, although, safety precautions are much more strongly enforced. Here at <b>Camp Tamakwa</b>, there isn't a lifejacket-less child sitting on the bow of the boat, and here we ALL have to wear life jackets.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzZexDQfW8RVVq1O1TqBfWPmSmfqfFEol3UbzCaYfgHvIifLIcCJlLzitu61OmZof_ht4qvUZVD5f1k5QMrOpJl6sd3OHc8CFoVLXV6YYWiVfpc029t92pQtBgqs7fuEIv5OWOpAjag4bOSIF8S0nISrt6ziCtwQrYm0rNQn7mKuY04ccbK75oALp/s1280/IMG-20190213-WA0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzZexDQfW8RVVq1O1TqBfWPmSmfqfFEol3UbzCaYfgHvIifLIcCJlLzitu61OmZof_ht4qvUZVD5f1k5QMrOpJl6sd3OHc8CFoVLXV6YYWiVfpc029t92pQtBgqs7fuEIv5OWOpAjag4bOSIF8S0nISrt6ziCtwQrYm0rNQn7mKuY04ccbK75oALp/s320/IMG-20190213-WA0003.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peace Corps life jacket life, December 2019<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvLaxOPNugJ9utAkVPFAayaSSOMHerNrFS77fMKmpcpC9-jndhFIZeMJvXqWckKoRTC4td9szCcweM79eaBmzn073mAAHqGAh-xsXqdAhbJZm8eB2bUJkt56A1Oy1J67SOdEpmZwCK75oFZd7LK5xSq4oGKbubjYsC5dzTgY0C9DK9T6pAxOuTDRc/s2592/20220902_165644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="1458" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvLaxOPNugJ9utAkVPFAayaSSOMHerNrFS77fMKmpcpC9-jndhFIZeMJvXqWckKoRTC4td9szCcweM79eaBmzn073mAAHqGAh-xsXqdAhbJZm8eB2bUJkt56A1Oy1J67SOdEpmZwCK75oFZd7LK5xSq4oGKbubjYsC5dzTgY0C9DK9T6pAxOuTDRc/w226-h400/20220902_165644.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soho life jacket life, September 2022</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div>
<div><br /></div><div>The boat needs to make a few trips to accommodate the bus load of people, but when it arrives, WHAT an arrival it is.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLPosiZ0ws95uBBGyIc-Tns6iLFvIo-PqpoRTJ0PqG-SUQvTnEY92SmGmSzt4BfVucfwghJjhvzfem40-8GisGZWKjUugCW9UJ9j2MK53tb6QXFYCkendvPkuMvGO0jYyM7MjqsGGZRV-0klxasuBSaU8gohKJ07QBqjZo1mQSjGWLzLsSzyr7X4g4/s4032/20220902_165755.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLPosiZ0ws95uBBGyIc-Tns6iLFvIo-PqpoRTJ0PqG-SUQvTnEY92SmGmSzt4BfVucfwghJjhvzfem40-8GisGZWKjUugCW9UJ9j2MK53tb6QXFYCkendvPkuMvGO0jYyM7MjqsGGZRV-0klxasuBSaU8gohKJ07QBqjZo1mQSjGWLzLsSzyr7X4g4/w400-h225/20220902_165755.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pulling up to Camp Tamakwa, with the canoes on the left and swimming area on the right</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div> <div>We drop our bags for camp staff to place in the cabins, and head up the hill to find a large opening in front of the cafeteria building. There is a massive fire pit lined with three tiers of bleacher seating. In front of the cafeteria is a table covered in smoked salmon, charcuterie, fruit cups, snack bars, yogurt and trays of veggies. I am so full that I can't bear to look at it; I just had breakfast and TWO lunches.<div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSmVxHwvtvVNrJm0OHfRfxcf3XCc243MkvqTx4esf8HmLWCZj5EXKBVve9KFdBAIAbCPMAuf0S_-06b5N-6sg5ucXGueGO5otZ2mp-EY7dyZcmWhJ88kT_9Njz7wd55e_U9VzE0jk0Lix2DxkLwNWTJgD2XISY-AVukux04-ly1czXGSFfH3WfGfUE/s4032/20220902_172038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSmVxHwvtvVNrJm0OHfRfxcf3XCc243MkvqTx4esf8HmLWCZj5EXKBVve9KFdBAIAbCPMAuf0S_-06b5N-6sg5ucXGueGO5otZ2mp-EY7dyZcmWhJ88kT_9Njz7wd55e_U9VzE0jk0Lix2DxkLwNWTJgD2XISY-AVukux04-ly1czXGSFfH3WfGfUE/w225-h400/20220902_172038.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"light" snacks upon arrival</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div>
Next to the snack table, there is a canoe propped up to waist height, filled with ice and about 100 Peroni beers, Bacardi Mojito and Piña Colada cocktails-in-a-can as well as Ace vodka seltzer drinks. On the ground beside it is a cooler filled with <a href="https://www.drinkcann.com">CANN sparkling juices infused with THC and CBD</a>. Just past this setup is a ping pong table with buckets of boxed alkaline water, either plain, hibiscus or strawberry rose flavored. And just past THAT is a little camper trailer that has a bar inside, where two bartenders have an open bar featuring vodka, tequila, and Bacardi, as well as signature Soho House drinks, like their spicy margarita, the "Picante."</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWm9DIRMLgrA5lnGzKxoJ2y4Os78E5Y0DAUdRIRfboSO5XDNq-5J16Svcptg3APFjJsuP5w72ewiqWpebag-q6aGusqdPkFpQQJavQ3N-HjI4ZVxqIzGPyjPecybl-pohHKv5Q0eK9QS5s-ruPP-NlyWnw0XzI4wt2LpO63O1QtNczlk63VpqFPfaE/s4032/20220902_170827.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWm9DIRMLgrA5lnGzKxoJ2y4Os78E5Y0DAUdRIRfboSO5XDNq-5J16Svcptg3APFjJsuP5w72ewiqWpebag-q6aGusqdPkFpQQJavQ3N-HjI4ZVxqIzGPyjPecybl-pohHKv5Q0eK9QS5s-ruPP-NlyWnw0XzI4wt2LpO63O1QtNczlk63VpqFPfaE/w400-h225/20220902_170827.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the drink/bar trailer to the left, and the stage to the right</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>
All of this, accompanied by a DJ set up on a wooden platform overlooking the lake, who is spinning upbeat club music. It's a party.
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We socialize, snack, drink and enjoy the view. I meet some people and find out that this group of about 80 of us is mostly from Toronto, and I am one of just a small handful from elsewhere. I meet a couple who is also from Chicago, Ashlyn and Joseph, who only recently joined Soho.
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The entire time I am preventing myself from overindulging since there has been no clarity of what is happening tonight. It is only 5pm…are we going to be ziplining later? You have to tell me before shoving unlimited Bacardi in my face! And thus triggers the next <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">Peace Corps memory</a>, of not knowing what is happening at most moments, and wishing you had a simple itinerary to guide your way through the day.
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The answer never comes, unfortunately, and we just hang out, gaze at the picturesque beauty of the tree-lined lake until we are told we can go to our cabins to change/rest for about 40 mins before meeting back at this fire pit area for some announcements.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>A British camp counselor leads us to our cabin, which is called Opalescent. We walk up the wooden steps, over some rocks, to our home for the weekend. Originally I imagined us as camping in 18 person cabins, but only seven of us will be in Opalescent, and it is roomy enough for us to have an empty bed between each of us. I also imagined bunk beds but these were beds lining each side, like the Madeline books. Someone makes a comment about the bed not being super comfy…I touch it and realize it's the same type of 4 inch mattress I slept on from 2017 to 2020 in, you guessed it, <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">the Peace Corps</a>. I'm used to chronic back pain and I'm ready for it.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjxVoIg2xOkdZl7jPWUyAQ-L07LiggeKoW8Xe1ujsc5I_ZIFXYqFONRXRdahWWPyeCeTfv1HpQQqHGOrzQIWp19t0l6NTC-gOoBadO7OxOBhj3-Z-scDb2v_ftNuFNBPoiIjAfXhos5bTJGy8Joj79MUdDcdMxI0_Y00xqIvoxZpZtRbuXQNgoaEeY/s4032/20220902_182928.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjxVoIg2xOkdZl7jPWUyAQ-L07LiggeKoW8Xe1ujsc5I_ZIFXYqFONRXRdahWWPyeCeTfv1HpQQqHGOrzQIWp19t0l6NTC-gOoBadO7OxOBhj3-Z-scDb2v_ftNuFNBPoiIjAfXhos5bTJGy8Joj79MUdDcdMxI0_Y00xqIvoxZpZtRbuXQNgoaEeY/w225-h400/20220902_182928.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">seven little beds in two straight lines</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div> <div>Our cabin has a balcony, which Soho has equipped with a little rug, some jute throw pillows, a plant, and a basket with a fleece blanket. Caroline, a cabin mate, says they are "creating a vibe."
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Inside the cabin is a pyramid of drinks: boxed water in three flavors (strawberry rose, hibiscus and plain), two bottles of rosé (without a bottle opener), and two boxes of the same CANN sparkling juices I saw in the cooler earlier.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5zmaEiVTIj_zqa188hbBiJfvukPRhfQ2xFlKH_-wSDhYNk1cbjuxkMiHGo3WUO_i5Jdf_xFKMaEbFgXpZ-WZuhrlkyMnyHjnufO3RiF_ZEPJl8NocnuR5eYm0bKoLQ5uvbPHOH-WdIck_j3jIINFdHIA-BFqX2Q5qsXXIJ1DHRNeRBAZ8EvgixW5A/s4032/20220902_181752.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5zmaEiVTIj_zqa188hbBiJfvukPRhfQ2xFlKH_-wSDhYNk1cbjuxkMiHGo3WUO_i5Jdf_xFKMaEbFgXpZ-WZuhrlkyMnyHjnufO3RiF_ZEPJl8NocnuR5eYm0bKoLQ5uvbPHOH-WdIck_j3jIINFdHIA-BFqX2Q5qsXXIJ1DHRNeRBAZ8EvgixW5A/w400-h225/20220902_181752.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">drinks in the cabin</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Beside each bed are two swag bags. One is from Lululemon and contains a small zipper bag filled with the brand new Soho Skin skincare line, as well as a Lululemon yoga mat, yoga brick, and water bottle. The other bag is labeled Roots, and I ask what that means. Everyone in the cabin (except Caroline) is from Toronto, and they explain that Roots is a very well known athleisure brand. Inside the bag is some sort of aromatherapy rollerball and a pair of sweatpants. Not just any sweatpants...$84 CAD sweatpants, to be exact.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUl3pP0ISb7zS7A5IXKvJpzUirfN9uS-fTSKNznT21dRzsNbG4fWwDs59_Bssz1j6N1orPFq3jqSD1XjLIbuWZYnPYMvP58lbTlAkFWfBqI28-CvBT8cGKZVGQsGUMlrYgFbIH4WQ32U2e7mtNWKTqLWK_Ow1ZDdlYSJabzQ-XXtt_Nrwzco9QV5r_/s4032/20220902_182024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUl3pP0ISb7zS7A5IXKvJpzUirfN9uS-fTSKNznT21dRzsNbG4fWwDs59_Bssz1j6N1orPFq3jqSD1XjLIbuWZYnPYMvP58lbTlAkFWfBqI28-CvBT8cGKZVGQsGUMlrYgFbIH4WQ32U2e7mtNWKTqLWK_Ow1ZDdlYSJabzQ-XXtt_Nrwzco9QV5r_/w225-h400/20220902_182024.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">swag bags</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>
I unload my stuff onto the empty bed beside mine, change into my new sweatpants and some warmer cozy clothes, and return to the main firepit area with a new friend from the cabin, Chara. I think it is important to note that of the seven people in the cabin, we had a Chara, Carri, and two Carolines. It made it both very easy and very difficult to remember names.
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Where the snack table once was is now a dinner buffet. Dinner is no less than a surf and turf feast: oysters, shrimp, roasted chicken, steak, lobster, grilled salmon, grilled mushrooms, zucchini, bell peppers and corn, as well as a massive salad.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPkl0rh-S2OjjJfe2jOqgkmhTXZh2Lx-ySYuUst1oFURirL6nzkmXvzldgXoJzVUhElt0lkKYAdKmSOUPy5IGrtBI2RItLsHArMCnLqcblrxEPrT6I0sTyfej0d77NAH-NwgLWaxIy4tQpbvk8JYpWBGvzcs7DXaXuQopsZ6t6-cfVfmRsGvhFCdrB/s4032/20220902_191124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPkl0rh-S2OjjJfe2jOqgkmhTXZh2Lx-ySYuUst1oFURirL6nzkmXvzldgXoJzVUhElt0lkKYAdKmSOUPy5IGrtBI2RItLsHArMCnLqcblrxEPrT6I0sTyfej0d77NAH-NwgLWaxIy4tQpbvk8JYpWBGvzcs7DXaXuQopsZ6t6-cfVfmRsGvhFCdrB/w225-h400/20220902_191124.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a surf-n-turf feast</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div> <div>Chara and I fill up our plates and sit at the outdoor picnic tables. After filling up, the camping staff clears our plates. Even the simple act of camping staff acting as waitstaff feels fancy; I am used to clearing my own plates in a camp setting. Shortly after eating, we are told it is time for announcements.
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On our way to the fire pit, Caroline stops me and shows me a photo on her phone. It's the pile of snacks I left on the spare bed when we unpacked. "Is this yours? When I was in the cabin earlier, a squirrel was all up in there. I tried to shoo him away and he was like 'go ahead…try me. What are you gonna do? Clap at me? I'll just keep on snacking.' This guy had NO REMORSE." Of course this made me want to bolt back to the cabin to package everything up properly. As soon as I look around to see if I can make a quick trip to the cabin, the camp director, Leslie, starts making announcements around the campfire. Operation Squirrel will have to wait. I grab a piece of cake from the dessert platter and join the group.
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Leslie welcomes us and gives us a brief history of the camp before diving into rules. All the rules are as you would expect: no swimming at night, no using watercraft (canoes, kayaks, SUP boards etc) without a life jacket, no starting fires or smoking inside the cabins, and so forth. He also mentions to avoid bringing food in the cabins. I think about how the squirrel in our cabin is getting an additional 20 minutes of feasting and inviting all his squirrel friends over for snacks in our cabin. I am annoyed because Soho House told us to pack snacks, so I ran that errand this morning and spent $13 that I clearly didn't need to, since we are constantly fed luxurious snacks and meals at every turn. Oh, and because I didn't want squirrels as roommates.
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Leslie goes on to tell us about the critters of camp, including the four raccoons that frequent the trash cans. He tells us not to name them or pet them, as cute as they may seem. He tells us we won't see bears or snakes in the camp, and there are minimal mosquitos since the heat of the summer is fading.
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After he wraps up, Patricia from Soho makes an announcement about tomorrow: it is full of activities, and we can line up right now to sign up, since some have limited time slots. Operation Squirrel is unfortunately taking the back burner yet again as I am anxious to get signed up for everything I wanted to do.
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The theme of chaos continues, as we form one massive line, but as we get to the front, we find two Soho staff, Kiara and Beverley, sitting with clipboards, writing names down for each activity. In the email prior to this trip, they listed about five activities without descriptions, so as we were signing up, we also had to ask what each activity actually entailed, leading to each person taking at least a couple minutes to choose activities. After all, how is someone supposed to know what "Rose Aura" is without asking (in case you were wondering, it is photos of your aura using special technology)?</div><div><div><br /></div><div>
The unfortunate result of this sign up mess was that many activities were scheduled at the same times, which we each found out as we were choosing our activities. If it were me in charge, I would have had an agenda/activity description ready for each person so we could all determine this prior to signups. With the current system, it was like lining up at a food vendor and seeing the menu only as you step up to order.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk3oy6G5WwhWB9jTLkj7ulp4ekYzJ1jFHjN2fufhfO4XqRAvBR8R7G-rsFJ_bI21q2JgF7YoggEvzFYlsSBxRZNRlpJdKQFc5YpCrnvHd9CAbRxhdn-wv7GVVy28s7J1kFlgCaNXNSq7oPlzflD1Yycc3G1YUUblhMQKDXXEogXE0olZsJxnlrhx-L/s4000/IMG_8557.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk3oy6G5WwhWB9jTLkj7ulp4ekYzJ1jFHjN2fufhfO4XqRAvBR8R7G-rsFJ_bI21q2JgF7YoggEvzFYlsSBxRZNRlpJdKQFc5YpCrnvHd9CAbRxhdn-wv7GVVy28s7J1kFlgCaNXNSq7oPlzflD1Yycc3G1YUUblhMQKDXXEogXE0olZsJxnlrhx-L/w400-h300/IMG_8557.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">long line for activity signups, with the DJ booth in the back, against the trees<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Anyways, I signed up for an 8am workout blending yoga, dance and pilates, as well as a 10am canoe trip, a 12pm spin class, a 2pm candlemaking class, and a 3pm bartending tutorial. I also had to ask when breakfast and lunch were, since I wasn't sure if I would make it in time, depending on the duration of the activities, which was also information we didn't yet have. CHAOS.
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After signing up, I bolted straight to the cabin for Operation Squirrel. It was now after dark, and as I opened the door to the cabin with my flashlight, I was welcomed by a handful of mice chowing down on my silicon zipper bag, which now had a golfball-sized hole at the bottom. Inside the trail mix were two mice just rolling around like Scrooge McDuck in his pile of money. As I approached, all but one scurried away, but then they immediately returned to their feast as I looked on.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwsYU0ayxuhbSMiiuunYkM52npkJA07qv1dLx9EuIM0LVre6kCnsA5MnLIHbSr1OcRMFgfe9D8x86wWJE4ojw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>As you would imagine, this triggered yet another Peace Corps flashback, to <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2017/08/the-care-and-keeping-of-island-pets.html">my constant battle with rats until I got my cat Kalmataku</a>. Those rats were relentless and frankly obnoxious with how they would find a way to make the biggest mess: chewing holes all over my makeup bag, for example, or one single tiny hole in a full bottle of cooking oil, resulting in a one-liter puddle of cooking oil on the floor of my kitchen.
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But this was a small hole in an unfortunately expensive silicon bag that I was okay to part with. It was a single battle over a weekend, not a six-month waking nightmare until I moved houses in Vanuatu. I shooed the mice away, packed up all the food and zipped it up in my luggage, and took my food back to the main camp office for a tupperware. In Vanuatu, I ate ant-infested peanut butter, and skimmed the mold off of maple syrup before pouring it on my weevil-infested-flour pancakes. Some nuts that were temporarily housed where some innocent forest mice decided to roll around were more than salvageable, in my opinion. I share with the staff the reason for my low gross-out tolerance: Peace Corps. The Camp Tamakwa staff don't bat an eye at me taking fistfuls of forest critter snacks to save for later consumption. See? They get it. After silently damning the person who told us to bring snacks on this trip and spend money I didn't have to, I returned to the cabin to stow the container away. Hey, at least they didn't get into the chocolate covered blueberries!</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtc_-NF23B5dsjj0jhTlHNfDM7cFprQoAbSVYazpkXOoHP2ciyFfGU9vDSWbeNLkxRFsiGYhfRCl2K9gHO53jxxUUwO8gAgWvezNklBAUrmJ5QLO-u2EXW36aiNVT2HtqaJPv4a_pHLOkInlzSXOaA809mAx70ftb_sAUe3lSC8VuSfB7pKBWYuDCi/s4000/IMG_8571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtc_-NF23B5dsjj0jhTlHNfDM7cFprQoAbSVYazpkXOoHP2ciyFfGU9vDSWbeNLkxRFsiGYhfRCl2K9gHO53jxxUUwO8gAgWvezNklBAUrmJ5QLO-u2EXW36aiNVT2HtqaJPv4a_pHLOkInlzSXOaA809mAx70ftb_sAUe3lSC8VuSfB7pKBWYuDCi/w400-h300/IMG_8571.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">glow-in-the-dark beer pong</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>When I return to the fire pit area to socialize, I see a hopping party, soundtracked by our resident DJ for the weekend. In the covered pavilion, there are blacklights illuminating beer pong tables featuring glowing neon cups. The canoe filled with canned drinks is never empty, and the drinks from the camper van are freely flowing.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2U7FG6T9qZM_RSvidA-nvCqP0FmnJRJeB7WWl6RXQ2QDa_LyRvXDLca-Cv8kCU6xB45fwCX9B0-soAisSof1H1STcT-UVwRC0gkdo0v_lmEsPUwFrSx2OP1bZkDMi3mvJrin-LkPLbOIzkWHS6PjPfBaZF4CEYNExZW8r9NH185j2gcOo2DoYGwcT/s4000/IMG_8561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2U7FG6T9qZM_RSvidA-nvCqP0FmnJRJeB7WWl6RXQ2QDa_LyRvXDLca-Cv8kCU6xB45fwCX9B0-soAisSof1H1STcT-UVwRC0gkdo0v_lmEsPUwFrSx2OP1bZkDMi3mvJrin-LkPLbOIzkWHS6PjPfBaZF4CEYNExZW8r9NH185j2gcOo2DoYGwcT/w400-h300/IMG_8561.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">trailer/bar is open all night<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div>Around 11pm, food, or rather, munchies are served: platters of Soho House's Dirty Burgers (similar to an In and Out burger) and Vegan Burgers are placed on a table outside, along with bowls of condiments. They're quickly scooped up by the crowd, despite our recent meal. Just remember that cannabis is federally legal here.</div><div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVyXPwvtmvQ3_mX-P8iRzUSvf6wGJeWIRtvkJZbPwrp8S63CyKmL1pOHCHsvGsdEPk0KzcdlMUsveZobXQHor3Rk5X66BHjG_R37pCQbO8sh8Qtbp4FqfcdDKtmbpdlHKOqTqXJiBptTLQfCe-vFOkJt12v42bw823ipVaBRouHpCekADUyZJGXdCa/s4032/20220902_224628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVyXPwvtmvQ3_mX-P8iRzUSvf6wGJeWIRtvkJZbPwrp8S63CyKmL1pOHCHsvGsdEPk0KzcdlMUsveZobXQHor3Rk5X66BHjG_R37pCQbO8sh8Qtbp4FqfcdDKtmbpdlHKOqTqXJiBptTLQfCe-vFOkJt12v42bw823ipVaBRouHpCekADUyZJGXdCa/w225-h400/20220902_224628.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">midnight munchies</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div></div><div><div>
I eat about half of one before I give up and silently reprimand myself for wasting food and toss it in the trash. Immediately, a raccoon triumphantly emerges from the waste bin with his newfound half-burger, scurrying off to some unknown spot to chow down. Another memory of Peace Corps pops into my head: <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2017/06/animals-of-epau.html">the late-night activity of animal and critter amusements</a>, and I stare at the raccoons -- all four of them– scurrying in and out of the trash to hoard as many half eaten burgers as possible. It was just like <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2018/07/the-new-normal-part-4.html">watching my cats feast on dead mice</a> on the island of Nguna; you almost feel a sense of pride in their accomplishments.
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A woman walks past the trash before realizing there are raccoons a few feet away from her and she jumps out of her skin. "Oh my god, I didn't see these raccoons over here! Well, at least they aren't Toronto raccoons." Her male friend furrows his eyebrows and responds, "Um, raccoons are raccoons." True.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Iut2xUeEsgjCSlvRe1YKpP3eNZoblc8dMHhBdEbNK3-F9PSF2eNfz0TfEzpibk0_xuDkcUL4901h2Jq-fdUILYL1YeQYd61jBK1a30VLqIKF8pXZK6MQ79d6W1Y9OJtecCkIaTRM2O7Zzdr6w9uKF0-Y0-6i9xfsJDQwuGU7qAjvuSdxNdr78K3K/s4032/20220902_230452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Iut2xUeEsgjCSlvRe1YKpP3eNZoblc8dMHhBdEbNK3-F9PSF2eNfz0TfEzpibk0_xuDkcUL4901h2Jq-fdUILYL1YeQYd61jBK1a30VLqIKF8pXZK6MQ79d6W1Y9OJtecCkIaTRM2O7Zzdr6w9uKF0-Y0-6i9xfsJDQwuGU7qAjvuSdxNdr78K3K/w400-h225/20220902_230452.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">raccoons feasting from the trash<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <div>I stay until the Soho staff tell the DJ that quiet hours are in effect and the music needs to lower (around midnight). I head back to the cabin and hang out with Caroline on our balcony overlooking the lake and almost tear up at seeing stars again. It was an emotional evacuation from Peace Corps in 2020, and one of the first things I missed upon my return to the states was being able to see the milky way every night. Here, it was crystal clear, and I felt a warm sense of comfort that I had missed for the last two years.
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I settle into bed, and that's when the sleepless night begins.
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At this point, we are all in bed, and we each start hearing or feeling the mice infestation. Caroline hears one scurry across the rafters before it plops on her bed. She flicks her sheet, launching it against the wall, where it slides down, gets back up and repeats the process before giving up.
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Another person in the cabin screams as she hears one run across the floor in the dark, and again when she goes to the bathroom and sees one escape through the floorboards.
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I get up to use the toilet and see a mouse lapping up some standing water in the shower, but I don't flinch. He stays out of my business as I finish mine and return to bed.
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I remember that rats in Vanuatu were easily deterred by peppermint oil, so I take some out of my toiletry bag and sprinkle it along the left and top side of my bed. About 10 minutes later, I feel the cold and prickly paws of a tiny mouse on the right side of my neck, and I jolt up and feel it drag through my hair before disappearing in the dark. I grab the peppermint oil and drip a protective circle around me, on the right and bottom of the bed.
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But no, at some point later, I feel the recently familiar cold and prickly paws of a mouse on the left side of my neck before I jump and it escapes. Ok, now I am grossed out. <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2017/06/walkabout-week.html">At least the rat in my Vanuatu home only nibbled on my toe ONCE through my mosquito net</a>, before he took the courtesy of terrorizing me from afar. These Tamakwa mice were too close for comfort.
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I ended up pulling my sheets over my head completely, tucking them under my armpits and over my head, creating an impenetrable fabric barrier. Leslie said there were no mosquitos right now, but he doesn't understand the multi purpose benefit of a good ole tucked-in mosquito net.
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At some other point I feel a tug on the right side of my head tent, knowing that it is yet another mouse trying to get in. I start wishing I was a weird girl who brought cat hair in a ziploc bag to rub against my bed, or that each cabin had a resident cat, or each bed had a mosquito net, or t<i>hat Soho didn't tell us to bring snacks</i>, or a plethora of solutions that couldn't be enacted at this point.
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As I try to think of anything nut that set of cold prickly paws, my mind wanders to all of the Vanuatu memories from today:
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The dimly lit bare bulbs illuminating the cabin, like the ones in my vanuatu home.</li><li>
The disorganization of it all, and news spread via a game of telephone, much like our annual Peace Corps trainings</li><li>
Walking around in the dark with my bright headlamp, reminded of my friend Rina and her super bright flashlight she would shine on people she saw on the beach, out of pure nosiness.</li><li>
The moonlight reflected on the water, and how my friend Anita would say "save your batteries, the moon is bright tonight"</li><li>
Drifting asleep to the sound of water lapping against the shore and boat motors whirring to and from the dock.</li></ul><div><div>
Eventually I fall asleep in my fabric cocoon, ready for a jam-packed day full of activities tomorrow.</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-12576430900594736952022-09-01T14:50:00.003-05:002022-09-13T21:54:17.091-05:00Canada Day 1: I came for the carnival, and I stayed for the horse ghostsDay 1: September 1, 2022<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBU_JN6WYWJ2j3m8L7_EMJ1xpqv10Box5SyQIrCHEyo2Rwh0GhsVVK4ZajP3xSM8p8oIHNRurI1T0lheJs3Kkk_tNgR9ymN1Z1dxHz-MCmTvcM-z4oJFP1P8_qwUnTFDMdiG1ANQUVKL-RVe-OncqSwa_WTa4SBI2Q5EMJP-JNFV7z3u47sG7Td02P/s4032/20220901_171140.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBU_JN6WYWJ2j3m8L7_EMJ1xpqv10Box5SyQIrCHEyo2Rwh0GhsVVK4ZajP3xSM8p8oIHNRurI1T0lheJs3Kkk_tNgR9ymN1Z1dxHz-MCmTvcM-z4oJFP1P8_qwUnTFDMdiG1ANQUVKL-RVe-OncqSwa_WTa4SBI2Q5EMJP-JNFV7z3u47sG7Td02P/w400-h225/20220901_171140.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the chaos of the CNE!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Today is the day! It's time to head to Canada for another whirlwind adventure.<div><br />
My new United credit card has several perks, one of which is two passes to the United Lounge. Since Air Canada intimidated me via email into arriving two hours or more before my flight, I had loads of time to kill once through security (I only had carry-on). 1.5 hours early, in fact. I headed to the international lounge and got a mimosa and cappuccino, made myself a yogurt parfait and some cereal, all for free. I stocked up on Fritos, mints and some oatmeal for the days my hostel doesn't provide breakfast, and I was ready to go.</div><div><br />
The flight was brief, a mere hour, and BOOM I was on Canadian land. I changed into shorts and I was off to the UP express train to take me to the city. It is a local commuter train with nice, spacious seats and luggage storage. I take it to <b>Union Station</b>, where I decide to just walk to my hostel, since it takes the same amount of time as a bus but with far less hassle.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_bnqnQY6SMA3Bd28ksU3sM2NrSfb_F_SqjBVsWezWOCrrzqH5DaMem85Vo67KHBKSbuExmkJKqkFsGts_jxr3PcHXDy7F9GluYtru5eeV_lWetEHNaz6L7c9r5s-ruXiwHJyyMrLTj62NXMOOTapAfrQGHPAAmLcPAAo_MCjtHatnGVMziGHFMcCZ/s2592/20220901_141112.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="1458" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_bnqnQY6SMA3Bd28ksU3sM2NrSfb_F_SqjBVsWezWOCrrzqH5DaMem85Vo67KHBKSbuExmkJKqkFsGts_jxr3PcHXDy7F9GluYtru5eeV_lWetEHNaz6L7c9r5s-ruXiwHJyyMrLTj62NXMOOTapAfrQGHPAAmLcPAAo_MCjtHatnGVMziGHFMcCZ/w225-h400/20220901_141112.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's the CN Tower. I saw it.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div>
I walk to the lovely <b>Clarence Park hostel</b>, with a quaint exterior and a very hip, industrial vibe inside. It is now 2:30 and the hostel does check-in at 3pm. Without asking my name to see if the room is ready, the staff simply tells me to wait until check-in. By the time it hits 3pm, it is now a new staff member and he says "let's see if your room is ready." Luckily it was, because I would have been very annoyed to just have waited 30 minutes for nothing, when I could have been exploring.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBiCyYG5Nk0F9CdOoVvfdSIkHY_-i8g2aKWDu2R3ecnaZmQnNOYmJq7tFXrQf_isansjZa91Ay8c7ez_y9z1o_3ToZcXDlDqvAyeznkFNiOp-cZYb9UtYlu5AOhJDH9JQ3ZEMEAYUpFQ_kTpYO9A6A0lGGQ3lIOqHMvH_O32NNcp22vJf7eMIUusqh/s4032/20220901_143508.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBiCyYG5Nk0F9CdOoVvfdSIkHY_-i8g2aKWDu2R3ecnaZmQnNOYmJq7tFXrQf_isansjZa91Ay8c7ez_y9z1o_3ToZcXDlDqvAyeznkFNiOp-cZYb9UtYlu5AOhJDH9JQ3ZEMEAYUpFQ_kTpYO9A6A0lGGQ3lIOqHMvH_O32NNcp22vJf7eMIUusqh/w225-h400/20220901_143508.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">hostel vibes</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div>
I get into the room, which features nice privacy curtains around each of the four bunks, but no lockers. I always am annoyed when hostels don't have lockers, but at least there were curtains to sort of hide your stuff. I'd previously taken the waiting-in-the-lobby time to freshen up, so as soon as I dropped my bag, I was ready to explore.</div><div><br />
I walked up to <b>Kensington market</b>, which I remembered from my previous family trip back in 2014. It is full of small restaurants, shops and bars, each with a uniquely grungy vibe. It feels like <b><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2016/09/baltics-day-2-my-date-with-dane_10.html">Freetown Christiania</a></b>, if you are familiar…just slightly more capitalist.</div><div><br />
I go to <b>Segovia Meat Market</b> and ask the gentleman there which of the empanadas he would recommend. He says it depends on what I want. I tell him an empanada in any flavor or meat, and he suggests the cheese/chorizo one (they make their own chorizo on site) and the classic Columbian empanada with beef, which contains a hard boiled egg and olives.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXvbFbWJgYJm1Tl9yM5NMWBGIr8Hr8uJ51uGweMNRO5_SILlUCbQYqyddIu0F7GwHnP6HXOfqBa-DkV4Vp0nHS5Kucef2ZEEIK6G8fgfTbSCXwydeGz-6epT7UZcn8xAZQTn_BzPUBdrVZwow-DR_pjfsE-r2KcgCgyGwBiVHacaYfc9vUS77G8MUV/s4032/20220901_154948.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXvbFbWJgYJm1Tl9yM5NMWBGIr8Hr8uJ51uGweMNRO5_SILlUCbQYqyddIu0F7GwHnP6HXOfqBa-DkV4Vp0nHS5Kucef2ZEEIK6G8fgfTbSCXwydeGz-6epT7UZcn8xAZQTn_BzPUBdrVZwow-DR_pjfsE-r2KcgCgyGwBiVHacaYfc9vUS77G8MUV/w225-h400/20220901_154948.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">empanada time</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br />
I take them to the nearby park and finish them and my water bottle. I am now thirsty, but assume I can get some water and a dessert at a pastry shop I marked down along the way to the <b>CNE</b> (Canadian National Exposition). This turns into a massive mistake.</div><div><br />
Good news: it is sunny. Bad news: it is TOO sunny and I wore jeans. In the shade it is fine, but in the sun I regret my choices. Also I am thirsty. I take a break in <b>Trinity Bellwoods park</b>, known as the "hipster/cool" park, but to me it just was a park with a lovely view between the trees, framing the CN Tower.</div><div><br />
I keep moving and consider what are my needs. Do I really want a margarita? That sounds good. Or, do I want a bathroom? I realize in my dehydrated delusion that I really simply need water. My feet carry me on to <b>Mabels Bakery and Specialty Foods</b>, a sweet shop on my list. I look around and realize that I am full, I need water, and I am so tired that my brain for some reason thought that a cookie could somehow satiate my thirst. In my tired and sweaty state, I think "I should continue walking" instead of, you know, get water here in this air conditioned building.</div><div><br />
I finally make it to the <b>CNE</b>. I realize I had just walked 4.25 miles (about 6.8 km) since leaving my hostel. I pay for my entry ticket, which is discounted after 5pm to a mere $11 CAD, and go straight to the info desk. With wobbly knees and a dry mouth I ask for a water refill station, and the young woman tells me its in the Enercare Center "where the food is" as if I should know what that place is. She points to the map and it is on the opposite end of the grounds. I ask when the ghost tour is later, and she tells me Princes Gates, again, as if I know what that means. She rolls her eyes as she points to the map, on the opposite end of the park. She seems to enjoy the whole "giving information" aspect of the info desk gig.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then I begin my trek. </div><div><br />
I walk past the kiddie carnival, and the beer garden with live music, stopping at the arts and crafts building (vendors selling jewelry and other homemade goods). I finally find a building selling food. It is…overwhelming. I ask a vendor where a water refill station is, and he doesn't have a clue, and I find an info desk and the boy points out the exit saying it is to the right. I walk out the exit, and now realize TWO HOURS have passed (and 5 miles of walking) since I desired water and I am frustrated to no end. Me traveling alone is beneficial to all: you can avoid my bitterness and wrath when I'm tired and frustrated like this. I look around and wander some more before finding a tiny, 2x2x4 foot fountain with a few spigots. This is it? I fill up my bottle, chug it, fill it again, chug it, and lay on the grass. I want sleep. Or food. My brain isn't sure.</div><div><br />
After resting somewhat, I go into the food pavilion which feels like a casino…of food (oh, by the way, the CNE has a casino, too). There are lights and signs and bright colors and lots of people walking in no discernible path that it is all just completely overwhelming. I stare at the food map, which includes the exits and directions they face and try to figure out which direction to head in order to make it for the 7pm acrobatic show. I cannot figure it out for the life of me and I wonder how much my temporary dehydration damaged my brain cells until I realize that the building I am in is not the Enercare Center, but instead the food building, and I have only made it HALFWAY through the fairgrounds. Knowing this, I can reorient myself and I head east to the Enercare Center.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN_uOYUDKCNpIy1nLrsXfryn7UlXgmcOn4uVuX5-wLhe6Wxabe8o5aTe-9iDGLoJev4JrbxguBV0j5YYG1dmx5W17--UjyUp5YMZrW2BomLmwCbpSnbpIt4nWduD5ymlMJommbPfcSOiYsQ_93urCgCr-ZPyTQ2B8gnJBIQR0k-y-mrYlsLunZ8Nnj/s4032/20220901_183008.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN_uOYUDKCNpIy1nLrsXfryn7UlXgmcOn4uVuX5-wLhe6Wxabe8o5aTe-9iDGLoJev4JrbxguBV0j5YYG1dmx5W17--UjyUp5YMZrW2BomLmwCbpSnbpIt4nWduD5ymlMJommbPfcSOiYsQ_93urCgCr-ZPyTQ2B8gnJBIQR0k-y-mrYlsLunZ8Nnj/w225-h400/20220901_183008.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the food map. please note the section labeled "fried foods"</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div></div><div><br />
The Enercare Center is Toronto's convention center, so once I walk past the giant gnome display in the lobby, it opens up to a massive room with huge ceilings like…a convention center. The wing I enter through is the home and garden wing, so there are booths selling special vacuums and triple-insulated water bottles (I have thoughts on this) and lawnmowers and other gadgets and tools. Regarding triple-insulated bottles: I currently have a double insulated water bottle, which keeps my drink hot or cold for at least 5 hours, and I wonder why one would need more insulation, unless you plan to stow cold wine to drink 24 hours later? It seems unnecessary.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_7HDvWO0xtUlaBUdsbWzFOKc0CsDWf8yTNEdRCtUm6g59XluU3YVoAWjELnOFc7w1t3ZxwGsxgpb8eLZGLto2YP8TmDhyyIoGYEnhLzxIVtl7FkuIWPGkYnlMDiPJSKFFz6df2DCqezJ2bjteWJZ9DHhCcCk1ZgSQbxtiyi9g-z5eSJEdjv3n1Wa/s4032/20220901_184127.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_7HDvWO0xtUlaBUdsbWzFOKc0CsDWf8yTNEdRCtUm6g59XluU3YVoAWjELnOFc7w1t3ZxwGsxgpb8eLZGLto2YP8TmDhyyIoGYEnhLzxIVtl7FkuIWPGkYnlMDiPJSKFFz6df2DCqezJ2bjteWJZ9DHhCcCk1ZgSQbxtiyi9g-z5eSJEdjv3n1Wa/w225-h400/20220901_184127.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">to be honest, I actually marked the gnome display as something I wanted to see at the CNE</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div></div><div><br />
There are some art installations on display here, such as an ecological commentary on single use plastics.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYQdgDS-WaTs4BklMuNjp98sTW4bhIBlYxFijxp4wlaoPHdGZvyiaBzlO8KnWukGgW6sf772kqOKDEO2EbkSH40nybTY7MFnbJFP12Bdo14sMC0vB4ZU2nnVpUsA66PpvzKxmXJ35ZnaYOwUyHXPHBDX-5xOJRuslqNyGIhAj5GWyAHtZMbyTaiDZ/s4032/20220901_184425.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYQdgDS-WaTs4BklMuNjp98sTW4bhIBlYxFijxp4wlaoPHdGZvyiaBzlO8KnWukGgW6sf772kqOKDEO2EbkSH40nybTY7MFnbJFP12Bdo14sMC0vB4ZU2nnVpUsA66PpvzKxmXJ35ZnaYOwUyHXPHBDX-5xOJRuslqNyGIhAj5GWyAHtZMbyTaiDZ/w225-h400/20220901_184425.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">faucet with plastic waste pouring out</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div></div><div><br />
I make my way to the opposite end, with just enough time to make the acrobatics show. The start of the show wasn't as impressive as the tail end, which featured a female aerial acrobat who previously was in Cirque de Soleil. The singer and emcee for the show shares that she is his fiancée, and he proposed to her in this act just a few months ago. He is from Toronto, she is from Mexico, they met doing acrobatics and they are sharing their love of music and acrobatics with the world and…I just wanna see a movie made about their lives.</div><div><br />
After the 15 minute show, it was nearing 7:30pm, which meant that the ghost tour was about to start. I dashed to the <b>Prince's Gates</b>. The tour began with a brief poll of who actually believes in ghosts. A majority said yes, a handful said "definitely not" and a few said they were in the middle (me). She explained that she wasn't here to convince you that they are real, but she will share stories that were either from 1st hand accounts or from a paranormal study by a Canadian group that did research here. In other words, to the skeptics, she isn't making this up all on her own.</div><div><br />
The guide, Candice, started by sharing that we were standing on loads of dead bodies right now! One of the battles of The War of 1812 was fought here on this ground, and basically lots of people died, and it was easier to bury bodies where they lay vs. try to find all of their limbs and reconnect them to ship back overseas.</div><div><br />
We moved on to the <b>Stanley Barracks</b>, where there have been more reports of paranormal activity than anywhere else on the grounds. Namely, when the paranormal group did over 10 sessions studying the building with a medium, they had conversations and interactions with hostile male ghosts, who were extremely misogynistic and who admitted to having abused and killed women in the building. There are no official police reports to confirm this, but in the years that this served as low income housing, lots of women who lived here were women who ran away from home and there were no records of them after they disappeared.</div><div><br />
We moved onto the <b>Horse Palace</b>, which is not a palace for horses but rather some smelly stables. Here, we hear accounts of horse ghosts. As Candace said, "nothing menacing, just some horses that died and became ghosts." We also went near the horticulture building, which once served as a morgue after a nearby maritime disaster. There was a recent account of a flood downstairs from a pipe that only the fire department has keys to, and the rushed sounds of footsteps to the emergency exit. Spooky.</div><div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-R9ZqimkhtuIsB99GCan0HV3UfK-EncRUvgmTAI_5cUxg1lv2M8xk95X5Lb5x83t1rbDtbb2--xqvJaiEC17CpGeh21hFjhMkkP-gON9FFkH0lMwdAxrhWvPWxH5FJXFP1jj1p09ZtQp6xgHdNop_D4TutrWNHMGi281RAE84AOQ0rpy8_U9qOt4/s4032/20220901_201337.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-R9ZqimkhtuIsB99GCan0HV3UfK-EncRUvgmTAI_5cUxg1lv2M8xk95X5Lb5x83t1rbDtbb2--xqvJaiEC17CpGeh21hFjhMkkP-gON9FFkH0lMwdAxrhWvPWxH5FJXFP1jj1p09ZtQp6xgHdNop_D4TutrWNHMGi281RAE84AOQ0rpy8_U9qOt4/w225-h400/20220901_201337.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">people on the tour attempting to get photos of orbs of horse ghosts. no one had any luck.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div></div><div><br />
There was one more stop on the tour, but we had been taking a long time moving with such a large group that it was now 8:30pm. She told us that we were about to go to<b> Scadding Cabin</b>, aka the oldest house in Toronto (over 250 yrs old). Candace declares it "the middle of nowhere" in CNE terms, so we were free to bail since we were now going over the allotted 1 hour of the tour. I did, because I knew it would take me at least 20 min to get where I wanted to go next, and god only knows how much longer if I kept with this group walking in the opposite direction.</div><div><br />Skipping the rest of the tour, I proceeded to walk back to the Enercare Center, which only took me 18 minutes this time (it is 1.5km or roughly 1 mile from one end to the other, and add to that the struggle of pushing yourself through crowds)! It was after dark, so the midway was getting busier. Once at the Enercare Center, I passed through the video gaming room, past the Battlebots with electric saws chopping each other into bits, to "A Trip through 103: Therapy for the Soul," an art installation. Once inside, a woman led me through a pitch black tunnel to an opening. The room features a web in the middle, with three light projectors facing it from different directions, projecting abstract images while a matching electronic musical soundtrack blares in the speakers. There were inflatable chairs on the ground in a circle, facing the imagery. As soon as I was inside, I was shocked they didn't provide you with an edible beforehand...it was quite trippy.</div><div><br />
After relaxing for about 15 minutes in this installation (my feet were very tired), I exited. I notified a man running the exhibit that some of the chairs were deflated. It was then that I learned he was in fact the artist, and it was an intentional choice to let them deflate, as a commentary of how we as humans are given something and we ruin it. I would live a job where I can just dismiss errors as purposeful decisions.</div><div><br />
I sat down in the hall to charge my phone in an outlet when I realized it was now 9:20pm. There were only 40 minutes until the buildings closed. I could stop to get food in the food hall or go to the farm, but only one before buildings close. I decide staring at llamas would be better than deciding which of the 200 food options to eat.</div><div><br />
I rushed out to "<b>the farm</b>" which was an indoor petting zoo with other farm exhibits. I had to cut through the midway, which on paper felt like a smart decision because it was the shortest distance, but now it was so packed with people waiting in line for rides, cotton candy, and carnival games that the crowd was moving like molasses. Any opening I found, I ran, only to find myself in another crowd. Its a good time to point out that strollers were allowed (thankfully no pets) and I saw not one, but TWO stroller entanglements of wheels-on-wheels in this mess of people, slowing us all down a little more. </div><div><br /></div><div>As I walked, I noticed lots of people were carrying around what looked like a 3 foot by 1 inch dowel with a wrist strap that I would guess were walking canes, but without adornments or paint. Just an unfinished wooden dowel with a hole drilled on top. I saw so many that I thought maybe these were midway prizes for older people? But then I saw young people with them and thought maybe this was a purchase? I was baffled because I didn't understand why an unfinished wooden dowel would be such a hot ticket item. I also saw a small handful of people holding brand-new squeegees, also on a 6 foot pole. Again, not the usual stuff you see people carrying around on a fairground. I tried to come up with various explanations but settled on the fact that there must be some vendor stand in the home and garden building selling a magic mop that has really resonated with people.</div><div><br />
The farm was cute, and definitely an attraction for children or people obsessed with animals. There was a giant sand sculpture in the middle of the room, and along the edges were separate farm stalls with pigs, cows, goat, sheep, ewes, llamas, and alpacas. Promptly at 9:55pm, they locked the bathrooms and started to kick people out (gently, of course, as is the Canadian way).</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPZATvX_kSGYVchYcqL945D14qSQqI_UoEpHN-jqU5hmtn8lWN3JLRv1bi7nbZwq9W5VxlwUtS0M-VChtm4PmwT2SbRxi0NfqxA6aJzeL-OiYfMBg26krY6Le18gLj1ml0mxjd139zqZh4cyK-Nle6Qg2NPs074mnJ--stx9hspe0Twxr-EAdFh7XR/s4032/20220901_215044.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPZATvX_kSGYVchYcqL945D14qSQqI_UoEpHN-jqU5hmtn8lWN3JLRv1bi7nbZwq9W5VxlwUtS0M-VChtm4PmwT2SbRxi0NfqxA6aJzeL-OiYfMBg26krY6Le18gLj1ml0mxjd139zqZh4cyK-Nle6Qg2NPs074mnJ--stx9hspe0Twxr-EAdFh7XR/w225-h400/20220901_215044.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">you could practice milking a cow! the Buffalo Grove historical museum has something to compete with!</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><div><br /></div></div><div><br />
Without building access, I had no more wifi access, until I got near an administrative building and was able to find my route home.</div><div><br />
I debated going on rides, since there were still two hours left until the entire CNE was closed. However, the midway was pure insanity and I knew that if I bought tickets and waited in line, it was likely I would only ride one thing before it was closing time. But I was happy with my decision to leave, since I made the most of my five (!) hours here. It was like a mix between a Vegas casino and Milwaukee Summerfest and a carnival, and there was never a dull moment. And, I only spent eleven dollars the entire time!</div><div><br />
I walked to the nearby bus station, which was busy shuttling people away from the CNE back into the city. I asked a transportation staff what the cost was and if they provided change. He said $3.25 and no change. I told him I only had fives or larger, and he said "not acceptable," as in, there is no way he would let me pay $5 for a bus ticket. So instead he just offered me a ticket for free. Sweet.</div><div><br />
As I ride back towards the hostel, I notice how lively it is, reminding me of New York. Restaurants on <b>King Street </b>close anywhere between midnight and 4am, catering to the nearby barhoppers, and creating a bustling nightlife. I am too tired to get food, and I my exhaustion trumps any hunger I may have.</div><div><br />
Home and exhausted, I settle into bed and finally relax my feet for a much needed rest before camping tomorrow.</div></div></div>melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-68570494074429800052022-08-31T16:20:00.000-05:002022-08-31T16:20:05.369-05:00Planning for Canada: It's not Tajikistan, but I'm sure it'll be cool<h3 style="text-align: left;">Surprise! My next trip is Canada. </h3><p><br /></p><h4>Why Canada?</h4><p>Unfortunately, I don't get to check off a new country from the list, since I've been to Canada before. I've been to <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/Vancouver">Vancouver</a> to visit an Australian friend <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2016/09/baltics-day-10-sober-account-of-drunken.html">whom I met in Estonia</a>, and I went to Niagara Falls and Toronto with my family back in 2014 or so. </p><p><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2022/08/oh-hey-remember-me.html">After a botched plan to go to Canada with Bill during his January 2022 visit to North America</a>, I still had the itch to go to Montreal and Quebec City. </p><p>But why now? Of all the places in all the world that I can now freely travel to, why Canada (again) and why now?</p><p>I usually plan my trips around convenience: what's the cheapest flight, do I have friends who live in that country that I can visit, what's the cheapest flight...usually it's "what's the cheapest flight," to be honest. Can't tell you how many trips I've planned using the Google Flights tool and seeing what is cheap...like <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2016/08/planning-baltics-part-1.html">the time I went to the Baltics and Eastern Europe for $580 round trip</a>. </p><p>I recently became a member of <a href="https://www.sohohouse.com/en-us/membership/soho-friends">Soho Friends</a>, a social club that gears towards creative types. I have been using the membership extensively in the last few months, getting $900 of value in activities, gift bags, entertainment and more for the mere $70 I paid for my annual membership. They host a weekend trip every year, and this year it takes place just north of Toronto. I can go to Montreal and Quebec City any time, but I can't camp alone (I mean, I could, I just...wouldn't). So, I figured I'll jump on that camping trip, and utilize that round-trip flight to stay in Canada and bop around to the places I want to explore solo, before returning home to Chicago. </p><p>Oh, and I recently got loads of bonus miles so my flights only cost $60 round trip, so that answers the, "what's the cheapest flight" question.</p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: left;">A trip of firsts</h4><p>Also, exciting times, this trip has a couple firsts. It will be my first international trip with a smart phone (I first acquired what could be considered a smart phone in April 2018, but it was useless abroad)! I have an Android, babyyy and I don't need to bring a laptop to blog! Look at me, ushering in (late) 2022!</p><p>Another first: the first ever stamp in my brand new (3 yr old) passport! My first ever personal passport expired back in 2018, and I had to get a new one in 2019. Back in 2019, I was so young, so naïve to what 2020 (and onward) would bring. I paid for extra pages in my passport, to be sure I didn't run out of room on my around-the-world adventure that I planned to have post-<a href="http://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">Peace Corps</a>. Well, as you may have guessed, that trip never happened. And I used my Peace Corps passport while traveling to/from Vanuatu, so I never got to break in my "new" one...that already has 3 years of collecting dust. But it's ready now! </p><p>When I renewed my passport in 2019, I was home in the USA for a month from Peace Corps service, and it was the time of all the "everyone needs a REAL ID" hullabaloo (which keeps getting postponed again and again). I also had to renew my drivers license, so I thought a RealID would be as easy as pie. Well, it is not, because you have to show all these documents proving residency and home ownership and things I did not have as I'd just been living in Vanuatu for 2+ years. Those of you with passports may know that you can always use a passport in lieu of a RealID. Well, another option is when you renew your passport, you can pay an extra $30 and also get a <a href="https://travel.state.gov/content/travel/en/passports/need-passport/card.html">passport card</a>, which can be used as a RealID but doesn't require bringing a file cabinet of personal documents to the DMV to acquire. A passport card is used for entry to Canada and Mexico from the USA...but as I just discovered 30 seconds ago, cannot be used for air travel! So good thing I looked that up. It's okay, I was gonna bring my passport, anyways. I wanna collect those stamps. </p><p><br /></p><h4 style="text-align: left;">My Travel Style</h4><p>While Canada isn't a new place for me, I am excited about the possibilities that Montreal and Quebec City will hold. I have been doing <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/planning">my usual digging</a> to ensure the most of my trip. I am a spontaneous traveler, as you would know from my previous travels, but I do like to get an outline of what's happening before I go. After all, wouldn't it be depressing to find out about the massive <a href="https://www.theex.com/">Canadian Carnival/Fair</a> that is happening the day after you left Toronto? After the giddy glee of <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2020/01/melbourne-day-5-nighttime-visit-to.html">Luna Park </a>and <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2016/09/baltics-day-3-my-taxi-guardian-angel.html">Tivoli Park</a>, I would be EXTREMELY depressed. </p><p>If you've just recently gotten to know me during my international travel dry spell, you aren't familiar with my travel style, which is to explore the atypical. I enjoy going to places no one I know has been before, seeing new sights. For context, if I were a tourist in Chicago, I wouldn't be going to Navy Pier or Millennium Park. Heck, my favorite travel experience of all time is going to <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2016/01/day-10-tajik-spa-time.html">a health sanitorium in Tajikistan</a>. </p><p>My travel style is this: <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/packing%20list">carry-on only,</a> super budget-conscious, hostel accommodations (unless there's something cheaper), multi-transit options (like the plane/train/<a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2016/10/baltics-video-2-ferry-over-kattegat-and.html">ferry </a>adventures of Scandanavia), and solo. It's rare I travel with friends, unless that friend is <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/monsoon%20diaries">Calvin</a> (whom I met while traveling). I go it alone, which allows me to make friends along the way, and experience everything I want to.</p><p><br /></p><h4>Fun Canadian Times</h4><p>Some stuff I'm excited about exploring during my trip that may or may not happen in actuality:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>That Canadian Expo! Carnival rides! Augmented reality! Ghost tours!</li><li>International cuisine that I can't find in Chicago, like Indigenous food or Egyptian food</li><li>Camping with the very posh Soho House, which will be interesting to experience a combo of canoeing and chakra cleansing</li><li>A light show celebrating the Wendat Nation</li><li>Trains! Canadian Trains!!!</li><li>Free tango?</li><li>An electronic music festival</li><li>A food festival celebrating Martinique</li></ul><div><b><br /></b></div><div>I go back and forth between being super excited and feeling meh that I'm going to Canada. The major differences between the USA and Canada are the French/British influence over our northern neighbor, and the celebration of indigenous culture. I'm excited to see both of those things when I go. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Subcribe to my blog using the links on the left-hand bar so you don't miss the adventure!</b></div><p></p><p><br /></p>melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-36286337358630208652022-08-30T12:45:00.004-05:002022-08-30T12:53:31.990-05:00Oh Hey, Remember Me?<p>Hi there. </p><p>It has been 2.5 years since I last went on an international excursion, and I definitely have felt it: the longing to see something new, something different. Something other than the 43534 photos of Portugal that everyone is posting on social media (I swear, 90% of my friends who have been abroad in the last 2 years have gone to Portugal, I need to see something different). </p><p>I haven't done any international travel since <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/Melbourne">Melbourne in January 2020</a>. I mean, I <i>was</i> <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">living in Vanuatu</a> until March 2020, when we all were abruptly sent home to the USA with a 48 hour notice. So, that insane, tear-filled evacuation of my entire living situation/work life/social life/home of three years was international travel, right? Ha.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl7HtACR-O-uR6vANrOQFIMMzimvPFlG5ENFrJH3t7B0JqJWEC3D4xnJPiXdpeytozZr2MJhWmGR6LGBsbKH5DV5RVMlTg5MPS-8bqH-9n2-nzgqtir-514yS49HIimvYC7iJHPKGyDEvX22SllV0CBDa2Wt6nKNvb83kBY7zF2snTp210fSemnhBn/s2169/mask.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Shoulders and up photo of Melissa sitting in plane with eye mask and respiration mask covering her entire face" border="0" data-original-height="2169" data-original-width="1681" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl7HtACR-O-uR6vANrOQFIMMzimvPFlG5ENFrJH3t7B0JqJWEC3D4xnJPiXdpeytozZr2MJhWmGR6LGBsbKH5DV5RVMlTg5MPS-8bqH-9n2-nzgqtir-514yS49HIimvYC7iJHPKGyDEvX22SllV0CBDa2Wt6nKNvb83kBY7zF2snTp210fSemnhBn/w248-h320/mask.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>The New Year celebration of 2021 was the first new year I spent at home in over five years. I was very aware of this, how I was sitting at home, doing nothing, when I'd previously been riding inflatable pool swans in <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/New%20Caledonia">New Caledona </a>(NYE 2020), </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZFwUpV8IAMpeczXwCxDryzdGO2y-muf2cuyOBfvxG8N7SyFSdeeY-0ZBclWUlxyJ1TuDgbDNWMaV-ZkkXjnsiosSiMf5fZJ_jRgWWaXwQOs33qh7zZ17AOo0fEmbuVcnsQUvk-sjUiXUxAZoAUl2Nqr4kOzvPoFxBsdtYazPqvy7yoSQQHxa6bU0/s3064/IMG_7558%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3064" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZFwUpV8IAMpeczXwCxDryzdGO2y-muf2cuyOBfvxG8N7SyFSdeeY-0ZBclWUlxyJ1TuDgbDNWMaV-ZkkXjnsiosSiMf5fZJ_jRgWWaXwQOs33qh7zZ17AOo0fEmbuVcnsQUvk-sjUiXUxAZoAUl2Nqr4kOzvPoFxBsdtYazPqvy7yoSQQHxa6bU0/s320/IMG_7558%20(2).jpg" width="313" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>watching Māori Haka dancers with my friend Calvin in <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/12/least-visited-day-5-attempting-to-meet.html">Nauru</a> (NYE 2019), </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh8edo6gtEYOjsmajV9-goW3tmeXylm97dZJLz5xAvcl8NxjTxaTdDDy4rtQ6QrSU3ChVPyffe0d1N7Uf1iNArYefJGbnNoonE44H8pvoXMVlIlM88xWd8SM3vlM1JfloYM03G4oDWOahaTHzPL2T2zSTj9h66I7jBhCrpaWvLi7PltiXpcuwCq4ls/s4000/IMG_4680_edit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh8edo6gtEYOjsmajV9-goW3tmeXylm97dZJLz5xAvcl8NxjTxaTdDDy4rtQ6QrSU3ChVPyffe0d1N7Uf1iNArYefJGbnNoonE44H8pvoXMVlIlM88xWd8SM3vlM1JfloYM03G4oDWOahaTHzPL2T2zSTj9h66I7jBhCrpaWvLi7PltiXpcuwCq4ls/s320/IMG_4680_edit.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>sleeping through festivities with a 103*F fever in <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2017/12/christmas-in-northern-vanuatu-day-14.html">Vanuatu</a> (NYE 2018), </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgztY0M6NIy7V8l815SN6sI-hqZGgDxjLKK1p5HQMOcv9JMxdo5a1NKzf8L2CVeij-h1XphYvd81XD_m02hnhhKuxdoQywXRinonE8nfPAL1UmPN_w-f2R_Q4y6pyG_VjlRZBa80Tam4ztzmYX0_gaGGDOWL_BfgTVK4osOV-NM9-ZeW_TZZY8KBoSe/s4000/IMG_1840_edit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgztY0M6NIy7V8l815SN6sI-hqZGgDxjLKK1p5HQMOcv9JMxdo5a1NKzf8L2CVeij-h1XphYvd81XD_m02hnhhKuxdoQywXRinonE8nfPAL1UmPN_w-f2R_Q4y6pyG_VjlRZBa80Tam4ztzmYX0_gaGGDOWL_BfgTVK4osOV-NM9-ZeW_TZZY8KBoSe/s320/IMG_1840_edit.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>eating ice cream in a bar that a drunk man ordered for us in <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2017/01/transsiberian-day-5-new-years-in-saint.html">Saint Petersburg, Russia </a>(NYE 2017), </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQy8qVqhEPc0IcIE4GUvCgCgWecQVlo0JZ8abcq7t9odfT6VJhLCg0tRfiJ-n0XNhNRhOuEIz3kvud1nAyfaBnOduEuPqWM6vay69WthRXoEwXtniDoxB1EYpPFPdiju5EARJaE2h8ClbLuOJgT758T435qxo_erJFIIF6ftno6W8rfktk53lqSd8g/s1494/Capture.GIF" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="843" data-original-width="1494" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQy8qVqhEPc0IcIE4GUvCgCgWecQVlo0JZ8abcq7t9odfT6VJhLCg0tRfiJ-n0XNhNRhOuEIz3kvud1nAyfaBnOduEuPqWM6vay69WthRXoEwXtniDoxB1EYpPFPdiju5EARJaE2h8ClbLuOJgT758T435qxo_erJFIIF6ftno6W8rfktk53lqSd8g/s320/Capture.GIF" width="320" /></a></div><p>and drinking champagne from a paper cup and doing vodka shots with our hotel owners in <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2016/01/day-4-bukhara-and-our-new-years-eve.html">Bukhara, Uzbekistan</a> (NYE 2016). </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFRRibUzgNBOVaXb5PTs1McMmLVAKUEBhswM-dRk5q4ucsAoUZ4Mr27ICECqKIQyP95ojxd1037T-QnU0L9leGbuq6rVs51759MHaCq5Nf3b6AD-IkxNlgWp3ClUsZtW1Ap9x0tIDco1zo4rjX7abjfqoXfDCCoeIfFHMh81bFhVia6BBVv9IMnWz4/s4000/IMG_2322.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFRRibUzgNBOVaXb5PTs1McMmLVAKUEBhswM-dRk5q4ucsAoUZ4Mr27ICECqKIQyP95ojxd1037T-QnU0L9leGbuq6rVs51759MHaCq5Nf3b6AD-IkxNlgWp3ClUsZtW1Ap9x0tIDco1zo4rjX7abjfqoXfDCCoeIfFHMh81bFhVia6BBVv9IMnWz4/s320/IMG_2322.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>So, no international travel since "The Big Sad" as my fellow <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2017/07/youre-speaking-another-language-and-its.html">PCV</a> calls it, but that doesn't mean I haven't traveled. </p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>In August 2020, I went up to <b>Denver</b> to visit my <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">Peace Corps</a> friends who live there, and we had a little <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/reunion">reunion</a> of about 12 of us.</li></ul><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOm9BBcrXp5PDD7Ruu_XNOuADZXy0yloG-9aNnxV1AmL37ratg9FVGfkUKuJvcrvzR6cc6Gp73Pc2cjlrrPace8kn6ec3dd8Rol4qX754ipZ4HAzZpjToPx5ZF0Oop0zXzsyrx_eqvJZOyQIsyrWagSO5iLRECxueex5XGRoR9BkO1526uzM2PU97/s4032/20200821_124805.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOm9BBcrXp5PDD7Ruu_XNOuADZXy0yloG-9aNnxV1AmL37ratg9FVGfkUKuJvcrvzR6cc6Gp73Pc2cjlrrPace8kn6ec3dd8Rol4qX754ipZ4HAzZpjToPx5ZF0Oop0zXzsyrx_eqvJZOyQIsyrWagSO5iLRECxueex5XGRoR9BkO1526uzM2PU97/s320/20200821_124805.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>In May 2021, I took the Amtrak on a little day trip up to <b>Milwaukee</b>.</li></ul><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqPka_6A2sES8C7Ma612PPMxlahmA2WfSpWxQwrGi2tXG-53lxCHG8hvq33wFoJZirBMBIbokIsle8_aWZGmnaw2C1ajSVcTevYtOeU-h2MhXTbb8BcuhGmOglmnWFHkwfofYORLp_yoqqobiN6PXoZmJPA_VE01EA65aQrI3rQuyt6tAa-12LAVKg/s4032/20210501_131026.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqPka_6A2sES8C7Ma612PPMxlahmA2WfSpWxQwrGi2tXG-53lxCHG8hvq33wFoJZirBMBIbokIsle8_aWZGmnaw2C1ajSVcTevYtOeU-h2MhXTbb8BcuhGmOglmnWFHkwfofYORLp_yoqqobiN6PXoZmJPA_VE01EA65aQrI3rQuyt6tAa-12LAVKg/s320/20210501_131026.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>In November 2021, I had another Peace Corps reunion to celebrate our PCV friend Cameron's wedding near <b>Philadelphia</b>. </li></ul><div><br /></div><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-VQs5Ww1CH7Tc1CzYbXnGdMqD4Oqn-2PKok7vtoacZaPZDJCfxroX8FU04Fn_mKUYIaDXAV5QxcF2aKFftuTZQ4fovad_czwdX2bP-cM7RD6mjyPiLRQDAhvtOhTd8_Brm2dkFhHzNPkdOvkBljE3QoPbZt8J8EkJMSq4f3I91yj60igYW3MrDTIh/s2731/Candace%20&%20Cameron%20(21).jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2731" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-VQs5Ww1CH7Tc1CzYbXnGdMqD4Oqn-2PKok7vtoacZaPZDJCfxroX8FU04Fn_mKUYIaDXAV5QxcF2aKFftuTZQ4fovad_czwdX2bP-cM7RD6mjyPiLRQDAhvtOhTd8_Brm2dkFhHzNPkdOvkBljE3QoPbZt8J8EkJMSq4f3I91yj60igYW3MrDTIh/s320/Candace%20&%20Cameron%20(21).jpeg" width="240" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>This January, my Aussie friend <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2020/01/planning-melbourne-bill-does-it-all.html">Bill </a>came to visit me here in <b>Chicago</b>, and we roadtripped to the Maker's Mark distillery in <b>Kentucky</b>, then went to <b>Nashville, Memphis, New Orleans,</b> over to the Space Center in <b>Houston</b>, then on to <b>Austin</b>. Oh and we also went to the Grand Canyon and <b>Las Vegas</b> (and even got to drive down the Vegas Strip in our Mustang convertible, which made us feel pretty cool). It was amazing to be able to show him the classic American road trip, and the diversity of the cities here. </li></ul><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFNjH_aIYdVjZzqoSPgBgm9VdXVF9zdc-huq4p-u8VRPhUWblTkpbGncjRU29iI5-1ZTzYEvieCs-Oguz1v2mFN0uaYMJwXMmKvnVOPDGMQoe_N7XYhJbmE6tXmxrFRuBlDrv6J55a4CjcZgk5e-S9vRjeYUKgJxDpFl2rH-4yqL0s9jwdmarmuOpS/s4032/20220106_215628.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFNjH_aIYdVjZzqoSPgBgm9VdXVF9zdc-huq4p-u8VRPhUWblTkpbGncjRU29iI5-1ZTzYEvieCs-Oguz1v2mFN0uaYMJwXMmKvnVOPDGMQoe_N7XYhJbmE6tXmxrFRuBlDrv6J55a4CjcZgk5e-S9vRjeYUKgJxDpFl2rH-4yqL0s9jwdmarmuOpS/s320/20220106_215628.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><div><br /></div></div></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>In June, I had another Peace Corps reunion, again in <b>Denver,</b> and then in <b>New Hampshire</b> for <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2017/07/youre-speaking-another-language-and-its.html">G29</a>. For the G29 reunion, we all flew into <b>Boston,</b> and I spent some time there, and then in <b>DC</b> after the reunion (in total reuniting with about 22 PCVs from Vanuatu). </li></ul><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ06q2vHzjZ8UB12YIr3gARQU0b6qdkNfeTdplmq9F3PJbmCPwTsxJN3k2XsATzUTI22Jv0mc4thkSGRJxxvYSbFLcyBMgy921WVh0NCXFpIn18uCyTiYHIS7awbg0BPl77BBaL3mJE7V4DeziD9MYwUyLMBUt_u8_SOAeWYcw8VeO6xfGfNw9x9A_/s942/IMG-20220619-WA0004_edit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="942" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ06q2vHzjZ8UB12YIr3gARQU0b6qdkNfeTdplmq9F3PJbmCPwTsxJN3k2XsATzUTI22Jv0mc4thkSGRJxxvYSbFLcyBMgy921WVh0NCXFpIn18uCyTiYHIS7awbg0BPl77BBaL3mJE7V4DeziD9MYwUyLMBUt_u8_SOAeWYcw8VeO6xfGfNw9x9A_/w400-h199/IMG-20220619-WA0004_edit.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Bill and I planned to go to Canada during his trip to the USA, but due to Covid restrictions, we would have been stuck in our hotel room for a majority of the trip (at the time, they had a 7pm curfew, and restaurants were closed). </div><div><br /></div><div>And despite all of the aforementioned travel, the only place out of ALL of that that was new, that I had never been to ever before, was <b>New Hampshire</b>. So yeah, I definitely took advantage of seeing all the sights, like the location of the first-ever-reported alien abduction. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiviWU1mc5vzl9D3MoyiR9vsrjuIeB452p6KmRkc3zz10NBgaJFPY01Ji1wnzLNeidJ9YU9NYcosP6KVschjHl96sUkRzYXnR6YWSQSHJ6B_LHt_ZpmEA-gSlb5tldHIfXi7eEC6ouXU9aDg4TwMrs4-yn-UJg42jFg_ZD9zmyisOx8TE-wonqELIpw/s4032/20220618_162209.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiviWU1mc5vzl9D3MoyiR9vsrjuIeB452p6KmRkc3zz10NBgaJFPY01Ji1wnzLNeidJ9YU9NYcosP6KVschjHl96sUkRzYXnR6YWSQSHJ6B_LHt_ZpmEA-gSlb5tldHIfXi7eEC6ouXU9aDg4TwMrs4-yn-UJg42jFg_ZD9zmyisOx8TE-wonqELIpw/s320/20220618_162209.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>If you're a traveler like me, then this story isn't new. Covid sucked. Ending Peace Corps abruptly sucked. Going to old places for new adventures was just alright. Seeing old friends was ok, but that itch to share new experiences with complete strangers was left unscratched. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am ready for my next adventure, and I already have one planned. Stay tuned. </div>melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-63809307204385464882020-01-27T21:23:00.002-06:002020-02-09T22:32:48.898-06:00Melbourne, Day 5: A Nighttime Visit to the Shimmering and Magical Luna Park<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Monday, December 27, 2020</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">adventure awaits us through the big mouth of Luna Park<br /></td></tr>
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<br />This morning we awaken in <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2020/01/melbourne-day-4-centre-of-warrnambool.html">our train car</a> to the screeching and chirping of what sounds like hundreds of birds outside, which is apparently a normal sound for the Australian countryside.<br />
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We pack our things and walk around the <b>Codrington Gardens Bed and Breakfast</b> property a bit, exploring the gardens. There are two younger female guests doing the same, holding bowls of cereal and meandering. We have a hard time finding reception to drop off the key, but finally find it in a building behind some hedges. Inside, there is a dog that appears happy to see us but also shakes in fear when I try to pet it (yet it doesn't run away). We hear a faint cat meow but see nothing other than a partially set dining room with a few stray newspapers on the ground. The scene honestly looks abandoned and feels a bit eerie. A sign outside says to "call George" if no one is there, but we just toss the key behind the counter and leave. Weird. I actually secretly wish we didn't see those two women outside so it would give this place an even creeper abandoned vibe, with lots of cars but no hosts or guests.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">not a soul.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">if the birds could speak, they might ask to escape</td></tr>
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We hit the road, this time taking a much shorter route back to Melbourne which avoids the lengthy Great Ocean Trail. Instead, it takes farm roads through little towns with ten person schoolhouses and tiny brick chapels.<br />
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We return to <b>Warrnambool </b>where we stop for brunch at <b>Bohemia Cafe</b>. Bill mentions how his American roommate Katie has mentioned a few times how there aren't little greasy spoon restaurants here in Australia, and I have to agree. In my limited time here, I haven't seen anything less than a place that owns a full espresso machine and gluten free and vegan options. The food is great, don't get me wrong, but sometimes you just want to spend less than $10 on some bacon and eggs in a place other than McDonalds. Perfect example is here at Bohemia Cafe, wherein we both order cappuccinos, Bill orders an acai yogurt bowl and I get breakfast tacos served on a small plank of wood.
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">brunch at Bohemia Cafe</td></tr>
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We hit the road again, taking the highway back, instead of the <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2020/01/melbourne-day-4-centre-of-warrnambool.html">winding Great Ocean Road that we took yesterday</a>. Despite the pretty dull scenery of today, I am easily amused by the kangaroo or koala crossing signs along the road. No actual sightings of the animals, unfortunately.<br />
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When we finally get home, we pack up a little, as Bill is traveling at the same time as me tomorrow for work. Bill offers up some <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2017/12/kava-i-strong-tumas-all-you-ever-needed.html">kava</a>, to be made from the powder I brought him at the start of the trip. I am surprised he wants to use it so soon, but he shares that he's excited by the fact that he can have a shell with a Vanuatu friend in Melbourne, and that unique opportunity can't be missed.
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While he works on that, I run to the grocery store across the street to get food souvenirs like chocolate and taco fixings for nearly 1/5 the price that I can get them for in Vanuatu, to bring back as basic groceries to eat back home there. I return to find Bill with a plastic bottle of kava that he has mixed and ready for us to drink out of some coconut shells. The flavor is just as gross as the fresh version, and is surprisingly strong. With a light kava buzz, we head off to explore for the evening.
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Bill and I hop on public transport to take us down to <b>St. Kilda</b>, a popular place for backpackers. Bill informs me that it's actually a popular place for everyone, from backpackers to prostitutes to people seeking attention in their beefed-up hot rods. Basically, lots of people come here because there's a little bit of everything.
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Bill first takes me to <b>St Kilda Beach</b>, beside <b>Port Phillip Bay</b>, which attracts locals and tourists alike for penguin watching. We don't see any, penguins but we do witness a magnificent sunset, which makes even Bill feel like he is on vacation in a foreign destination. We walk to the pier, then back towards town to seek out food.
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">sunset over the beach</td></tr>
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After seeing my breakfast tacos, Bill confesses that he has had a craving for Mexican all day. We eat at <b>Radio Mexico</b>, a Mexican restaurant and bar tucked in a row of restaurants. Tonight they offer two-for-one margaritas, so we have to indulge. We order a handful of tacos and some guacamole and chips. Its surprisingly good...I say this because to both locals and tourists, Mexican food in Australia leaves a lot to be desired. For example, they charge a dollar just to get some taco sauce. In the USA, you would get six bottles on the table to pick and choose from, for free. A few of the tacos are thus a little dry, but it is all still very good.
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After dinner, we walk over to <b>Luna Park</b>, an amusement park in St. Kilda that originally opened in 1912 and gives me the same magical vibes that <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2016/09/baltics-day-3-my-taxi-guardian-angel.html">Tivoli in Copenhagen</a> did. It's small and quaint, but still has charm. We have one hour before the park closes, and we are going to make the most of it. We each buy two ride tickets, and after getting wrapped in wristbands, we are free to roam the park.
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">we're here!</td></tr>
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The park itself is quite small and quaint, but has its fair share of offerings. The blinking lights and cheerful music emanating from the rides made the crisp night feel like a classic summer evening. Since it is a holiday and tomorrow is a weekday, the park is open until 11pm, yet there are only visibly about a couple dozen customers roaming around. I was a little worried that one hour would only be enough for two rides with lines and crowds cushioning time between them, but it looks like I am wrong. I immediately knew I wanted to go on <b>The Great Scenic Railway</b>, a wooden rollercoaster that circles the perimeter of the park, perched atop the white walls holding the amusements inside and giving a great 360 view of the bay and neighborhood surrounding the park. Fun fact: it's the world's oldest continually operating roller coaster! We ran to the ride and were queued up at the cars shortly after. Bill and I had a blast, giggling like children, daring each other to keep our hands off the handlebars the entire time.
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">tall clowns and vampires playing brass instruments because...amusement park!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">the merry go round<br /></td></tr>
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<br />We hopped off and ran to the next ride, the <b>Supernova</b>, a set of swings that spins fast enough to pull the swings outward at 45 degrees, giving an even higher view of the surrounding bay and neighborhood, with a height reaching 32 meters. Bill and I were the only two passengers on the ride. The teenager running the controls jokingly asked if our last will and testaments were in order, but Bill and I were too giddy to fall for that last minute scare. The ride lifted us up, and up, and up, far above the wooden coaster, overlooking the surroundings, and spun away. Bill didn't release his hands from the handlebars as he jokingly told me, "it feels like we're going in circles!" I grinned while commenting that it was too chilly to be spinning so fast.
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With both tickets used and thirty more minutes til the park closed, we decided we would each get one more ticket. We ran through the empty park back to the gate, got our tickets, and then raced back through, running to the <b>Spider</b>, a giant arachnid-shaped ride with cars at the end of each leg that spin individually as the entire ride spins. The young female ride operator was very excited to have guests on her ride, telling us this is "the BEST one" while enthusiastically taking our tickets and ushering us to an empty car. "It spins faster if you sit together!" she tells us gleefully. I laugh at the idea of getting on this completely empty ride and forcing Bill to sit in his own chair...of course we're sitting together. Two young girls get in another car, and the ride operator gives us a couple freehand spins in the car before starting it up. "You guys chose a really good night; there's no lines!" She is thrilled for us, for the kids, for everyone. This young woman loves her job. Off we go, spinning more and more wildly as the ride goes faster, both of our giggles drowning out the sounds of nearby rides.
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After that adrenaline rush, with still 25 minutes until the park closes, I beg Bill for one more ticket. "How much money do you have?!" he jokes, but he says he is surprised at how much fun he is having himself. How could he expect anything less than utter delight?!
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Despite enjoying the Spider, as we spun, I was eyeing the ride next to us, <b>Enterprise</b>. I tell Bill that's the one, the last one. He obliges. We go to the gate, run through the empty ropes, buy two more tickets, and run to the Enterprise. From forty feet away, the teenage male operator sees us and asks if we're coming to his ride, and we run and yell in the affirmative. He lets us through and asks if we will share a car, to which I say yes... But when I see the cars, they appear to be one-seaters, with only two cars occupied. Bill suggests that we have to "sit in the birthing position." I tell him "you mean like a sled?! Ask the ride operator if it's 'birthing position' and see how he reacts." Without our prompt, the guy comes over and says "one sits on the other's lap." Ah, that too.
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The ride spins us, and with the cars free to tilt and the arm going from horizontal to 87 degrees upright, we spin so fast that the centrifugal force holds us in as we go completely upside down. Bill and I scream with delight.
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Finally, we hit up the gift shop before finally exiting through the shimmering entrance of the park.
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When we first arrived, the ticket seller offered some sort of buy one get two deal, wherein you can use the second on any future Thursday or Friday. Bill scoffed at the idea, doubting he would ever return. After the fun we had today, I feel like he regrets that decision. If I lived here, I would definitely come frequently.
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On the tram ride home, a busker hopped on and started strumming guitar. After a couple songs, the tram driver got on the loudspeaker and stated that he had a request: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XfR9iY5y94s">"Down Under," by Men At Work</a>. The busker obliged, and the musical moment of riding a tram through South Yarra in Melbourne was the perfect conclusion to this Australian vacation.<br />
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<br />melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-85316800628228974222020-01-26T22:57:00.000-06:002020-02-08T03:40:54.370-06:00Melbourne, Day 4: The Centre of Warrnambool is a Home with a Caravan Out FrontSunday, January 26, 2020<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLovcAbTFj0DRn5ZVIHipgGLY1hz7q6cDThh9BmaVdoQtknBg4Xzd88dh8rCHmzC9BiRyvDmQvQQ0cA3QzxpkHiQ3YVZggzEULxRABCeOAPHMJQyj-Dz_dgqmIR8m1JrfQD_AwOVnb304/s1600/IMG_7907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLovcAbTFj0DRn5ZVIHipgGLY1hz7q6cDThh9BmaVdoQtknBg4Xzd88dh8rCHmzC9BiRyvDmQvQQ0cA3QzxpkHiQ3YVZggzEULxRABCeOAPHMJQyj-Dz_dgqmIR8m1JrfQD_AwOVnb304/s640/IMG_7907.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Loch Ard Gorge</td></tr>
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Of all the mystery surrounding this trip, I knew at the very least that Sunday is the day where we slept in a stationary train car. That in and of itself is an odd situation that merits plenty of questions, but those questions would not be answered, because <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2020/01/planning-melbourne-bill-does-it-all.html">Bill was tight-lipped about the secrecy of the trip</a>, and I was all for the surprise.<br />
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I ask Bill what I needed for our overnight trip, and his vague response is, "pack for one night." Helpful.<br />
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We have another late start to the day, but once we get in the car, I catch up on blog writing, as I am already falling behind. Writing a blog on vacation is stressful and time-consuming...I don't recommend it.<br />
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We make a quick stop to see <b>Bells Beach</b>, a renowned surf beach. We take a moment to watch the surfers catch some waves, but some onlookers tell us that the tide is a bit low today and not ideal for the 40 or so surfers out there in the water.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bells Beach</td></tr>
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We jump back in the car and I'm back to blogging. I'm grateful Bill allows me to be antisocial in these first couple hours of the road trip, but once we get to the destination, he's all, "Ok, put the damn laptop away already."<br />
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The destination, however, is really just the start of a journey...we have approached the <b>Great Ocean Road</b>, a scenic road that runs along the coast, connecting smaller coastal towns. It was built after WWI, a project designed to give work to returned servicemen. Once completed, it measured 241 kilometers, and has become a tourist attraction for its scenic views and easy access to several naturally-occurring tourist attractions. The road itself is also the largest enduring war memorial in the world.<br />
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Our long drive along the winding coastline is punctuated by stops to see the gorgeous scenic viewpoints. Our first stop was the <b>Great Ocean Road Memorial Arch</b>, which is precisely what it sounds like.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEges0SEHlfnNXZu3baqX6lazCJmGFRBd6azTpkIhyvAuLbY8jme_ZNr8Bm56I35lb_Yl1PLzZvCPvKKe8hHVmzLduYPADQkIhBP-os1bPXlnI1qQBsvwXmlj79PJfK0Mj0MaPBNY1a3pjE/s1600/IMG_7872.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1240" data-original-width="1600" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEges0SEHlfnNXZu3baqX6lazCJmGFRBd6azTpkIhyvAuLbY8jme_ZNr8Bm56I35lb_Yl1PLzZvCPvKKe8hHVmzLduYPADQkIhBP-os1bPXlnI1qQBsvwXmlj79PJfK0Mj0MaPBNY1a3pjE/s640/IMG_7872.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I thought I was clever with "thumbs up" being the universal sign of "great."</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">statue depicting the construction of the road</td></tr>
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We hop back in the car and off we go on a stop-ridden journey along the road. Just outside of the town called Lorne, we stop at <b>Teddy's Lookout</b>, with a view of the ocean breaking into the mouth of the Saint George River and rainforest-covered gorge. Of the few things Bill did actually inform me to pack, it was a jacket, and I am starting to feel the cold sharp ocean breeze along this road.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teddy's Lookout</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Bill was quick to point out that Chicago wasn't listed.</td></tr>
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After feeling like I've eaten tons of rich food in the brief time I've been here in Australia, I decide that a smoothie is a healthy snack for me to get some fiber. Don't judge me.<br />
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We stop in Lorne at <b>Fruits of the Forest</b> where I get a much-needed smoothie and Bill gets a milkshake. One of the reasons Bill is so great is his willingness to indulge in milkshakes/blended drinks with me at any and all times.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFjt27h9NMpowVRU1Zre7PHJJJrh_TIBEb4bY-nEA93lVn9AQN4qLy-PiEpr0e2Fn1uNwg-zn7eJRQLFMOrN340uAUKqt_eBVEecGygajKBF0rHUiCCMsvJyr93LbnAeqg_XrHSKkVHnc/s1600/IMG_7883.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFjt27h9NMpowVRU1Zre7PHJJJrh_TIBEb4bY-nEA93lVn9AQN4qLy-PiEpr0e2Fn1uNwg-zn7eJRQLFMOrN340uAUKqt_eBVEecGygajKBF0rHUiCCMsvJyr93LbnAeqg_XrHSKkVHnc/s640/IMG_7883.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">ice cream pit stop</td></tr>
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Vanuatu has had a shortage of honey in the, well, <a href="http://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">the entire time I've been in Vanuatu</a>, so the idea that I can get FREE honey added to a smoothie is quite the novelty. One tablespoon of honey probably costs like $5 in Vanuatu. I choose fruits I never would get in Vanuatu: kiwi and strawberry. They end up adding so much honey to the smoothie that it's practically honey flavored. I'm not complaining.<br />
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On our way back to the car, Bill points out some cockatoos digging through the rubbish. I'm always fascinated by the different rats of different countries. <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/New%20York%20City">New York City</a> has rats. <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/03/southeast-asia-day-12-trick-to-saving.html">Kuala Lumpur has monkeys</a>. Australia has cockatoos! I'm pretty sure I've known three or four people in my lifetime who have had pet cockatoos. I wonder if Australians equate that to having a pet rat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJPqbAUiyac1JyYLEYjCWxCuER0cIdtbjWE79VaJRlfIZLlSsORwK1pO93aLWa4bSTYlWOboeMnAMV8-Cl82eEkOq4GTDmYOZC1MDL-jorwrI7f_GH6V3yzLTBeBiM5BAxh4aKPGE33c/s1600/IMG_7884.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1554" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJPqbAUiyac1JyYLEYjCWxCuER0cIdtbjWE79VaJRlfIZLlSsORwK1pO93aLWa4bSTYlWOboeMnAMV8-Cl82eEkOq4GTDmYOZC1MDL-jorwrI7f_GH6V3yzLTBeBiM5BAxh4aKPGE33c/s640/IMG_7884.jpg" width="620" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">cockatoos and fine dining</td></tr>
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Along our drive, we get a call from George, the owner of the accommodations for the night. He asks our approximate arrival time, and Bill estimates after 8pm. George is British and cheery, and says it's no problem at all. He tells us he'll leave the key in the door and gives us instructions on the location of our accommodations from the driveway of the grounds. After the call, Bill looks at the map on his phone and realizes we should speed up a little, as we still have hours of driving ahead of us.<br />
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We drive onward until we get to the <b>Twelve Apostles</b>, one of the main attractions of the Great Ocean Road.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVjssXkYWijw57IJpwCwH-D4kRI16_6Sg_Kt_6moRwgzV4Y3fMdfRj9uDEePnKedlJMshBoNe6mu0pO0UornfVb3oBan9wlpEQlMAjLoJD4zACvO9VdK3A1VXOx_pYLWQU1Y-d7S8bkdY/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.53+%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="586" data-original-width="1600" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVjssXkYWijw57IJpwCwH-D4kRI16_6Sg_Kt_6moRwgzV4Y3fMdfRj9uDEePnKedlJMshBoNe6mu0pO0UornfVb3oBan9wlpEQlMAjLoJD4zACvO9VdK3A1VXOx_pYLWQU1Y-d7S8bkdY/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.53+%25282%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view of most of the 12 Apostles</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEircdjfGmvlYY0zpwZsU9Qnkhb77ewjGvENxskfflczLaqpEAatw7puNesxWGo2qx7IPwdDAsBK2x_y8y1kWj7U1dnpuiPZKfxQIu2f0qWnzDfl5HrXdtySrkB9cbPlsKI5x07Fi2wqfiQ/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.54+%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEircdjfGmvlYY0zpwZsU9Qnkhb77ewjGvENxskfflczLaqpEAatw7puNesxWGo2qx7IPwdDAsBK2x_y8y1kWj7U1dnpuiPZKfxQIu2f0qWnzDfl5HrXdtySrkB9cbPlsKI5x07Fi2wqfiQ/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.54+%25282%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view of other two apostles to the east</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpavH9X2MJx0twJ8cwyNkoZ1qpe5PBRCiFgm1a5kEhkI-x7mZnBXAFvncIz7VDT4AOltOUlMHzn2SeCKX1D7aTxgN_GSpOjONZEcXJQsAE9IHIOS8ueOFCmrQP9jajXhDYaoZv4yqNsSw/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.55+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1104" data-original-width="1472" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpavH9X2MJx0twJ8cwyNkoZ1qpe5PBRCiFgm1a5kEhkI-x7mZnBXAFvncIz7VDT4AOltOUlMHzn2SeCKX1D7aTxgN_GSpOjONZEcXJQsAE9IHIOS8ueOFCmrQP9jajXhDYaoZv4yqNsSw/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.55+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view of me and Bill</td></tr>
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The Twelve Apostles are located in <b>Port Campbell National Park</b> and are comprised of seven limestone rock formations along the coast (one collapsed in 2005) created by erosion. Oddly, it never consisted of 12 formations. As it's a major attraction, there is a nice slatted path leading to a few viewpoints, that were crowded with people.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_WEy7NV2rvFnkbnRO4sd7O-8oMJmfWuPMOBYGFLmhV31H1-NNFwSagZgxhm3gdKV_2UZ_w7mLGQRqVaC5HENJScXcWpe0aSe01Ml-WGM-IkPEqa62yuNzNbqJKjGb_iveaVFIFL04ZY/s1600/IMG_7896.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_WEy7NV2rvFnkbnRO4sd7O-8oMJmfWuPMOBYGFLmhV31H1-NNFwSagZgxhm3gdKV_2UZ_w7mLGQRqVaC5HENJScXcWpe0aSe01Ml-WGM-IkPEqa62yuNzNbqJKjGb_iveaVFIFL04ZY/s640/IMG_7896.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">the collapsed apostle can be seen in the middle, appearing as a crumbled pile of rocks</td></tr>
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A short distance away from the 12 Apostles is the <b>Loch Ard Gorge</b>, a majestic site that is so named for being the site of a 19th century shipwreck of a clipper named Loch Ard. The ship had 54 passengers, but only two teenagers from the ship survived when it ran aground in a heavy fog storm in June 1878 after a three-month journey from England to Melbourne.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv6fWcgsS3mUjEu4H0My0e_ffgoloR_L9jCwy7zltJQFDD_KpnivIiGb1YkDnm8UKPZ0um7l9KL9tNIfmHVcWF6gTvyrZYzc4qhDGfWpac5Q-JFGCwemGzMb2D9AvH6Q_D-sFSuylujBk/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.45.39.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv6fWcgsS3mUjEu4H0My0e_ffgoloR_L9jCwy7zltJQFDD_KpnivIiGb1YkDnm8UKPZ0um7l9KL9tNIfmHVcWF6gTvyrZYzc4qhDGfWpac5Q-JFGCwemGzMb2D9AvH6Q_D-sFSuylujBk/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.45.39.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loch Ard Gorge</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi61c_Jkxk9tXZ9rX2sP-pVDHJ_70EUOdCZBwFiHNUU0j6bQa9LQdxru4P21zKNJBhYgPV9cIFN3stxbB0ofNJ9dR-2BLqWE0igkXULIfAo-X_k5Q0Di_UTzsmyRc-gA-qli73waxrLKKo/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.45.45+%25283%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1599" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi61c_Jkxk9tXZ9rX2sP-pVDHJ_70EUOdCZBwFiHNUU0j6bQa9LQdxru4P21zKNJBhYgPV9cIFN3stxbB0ofNJ9dR-2BLqWE0igkXULIfAo-X_k5Q0Di_UTzsmyRc-gA-qli73waxrLKKo/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.45.45+%25283%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN5EK0f-LmTzM4uHKbvKD-8Ydhtl9Vhc8Pqdp7PdLPnTXzHOPzSymZc2s_qMc7Mh5xejga82pl6w4xjo210WwxPazqmJi1GdcRu6IYzSixJ3lIFN2ZzXEsfiCTmNsBWcEpnPu3-p_piAo/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.45.44.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1104" data-original-width="1472" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN5EK0f-LmTzM4uHKbvKD-8Ydhtl9Vhc8Pqdp7PdLPnTXzHOPzSymZc2s_qMc7Mh5xejga82pl6w4xjo210WwxPazqmJi1GdcRu6IYzSixJ3lIFN2ZzXEsfiCTmNsBWcEpnPu3-p_piAo/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.45.44.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill hates me</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NvHCUyTySC5MhBb9qyHTIBKtj-s66T_aCWCISDkFQ0RUDHWKm1uhW08zr10-pAl0Z6DerAQ9IMWROzDsoKlEu3gdVkaFNrLxKrU6q58y02eaGff5B-U5b8N5eunNXbBd56Y_nZnQqPE/s1600/IMG_7909.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1015" data-original-width="1600" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NvHCUyTySC5MhBb9qyHTIBKtj-s66T_aCWCISDkFQ0RUDHWKm1uhW08zr10-pAl0Z6DerAQ9IMWROzDsoKlEu3gdVkaFNrLxKrU6q58y02eaGff5B-U5b8N5eunNXbBd56Y_nZnQqPE/s640/IMG_7909.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a nearby cave, roped off for zero exploration opportunity</td></tr>
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It's getting late and the sun is starting to go down. We decide our next few stops will be speedy: park the car, snap a pic, jump in the car, repeat.<br />
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We stop in a surprisingly empty parking lot (all the scenic points have been packed with buses and people up to this point) and snap a picture of <b>The Arch</b>. The absolute power of the ocean waves smashing against the side of this formation makes me nervous. The ocean calms some, it terrifies me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRbIAqMXTRu6QhIMNWXtwEiN9mR3-n090vY4Hm6Vt7B6BSizg1SonqxwGRT-1lhLCc7_ZrKbN0ycNPBMVse1rM4jwE0US20BcPhXmoiKAEMbXLq-PV0ET6rkYl6-M8jFbuBcax8vfCXIU/s1600/IMG_7911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRbIAqMXTRu6QhIMNWXtwEiN9mR3-n090vY4Hm6Vt7B6BSizg1SonqxwGRT-1lhLCc7_ZrKbN0ycNPBMVse1rM4jwE0US20BcPhXmoiKAEMbXLq-PV0ET6rkYl6-M8jFbuBcax8vfCXIU/s640/IMG_7911.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Arch</td></tr>
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We drive onward and stop at <b>London Arch</b>, which was formerly known as London Bridge before it collapsed in 1990, stranding two tourists on the arch but injuring no one. Can you imagine just wanting to snap some pics on a scenic formation, then being stuck there until a helicopter can rescue you?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvI4zHAgnzC-BoGFdqL2k12fVIX97QBWrzSuDL9GqhEkvY06ghYsTqKzxWtcP1vcQE9iPVdmAzXhyphenhyphenNlFITnq6ym-Bfr7oVKQcmC6v71GplOFqq-6v_MqpIksHyMgg_phXPqc_g8OUb4hE/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.46.40+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="510" data-original-width="1600" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvI4zHAgnzC-BoGFdqL2k12fVIX97QBWrzSuDL9GqhEkvY06ghYsTqKzxWtcP1vcQE9iPVdmAzXhyphenhyphenNlFITnq6ym-Bfr7oVKQcmC6v71GplOFqq-6v_MqpIksHyMgg_phXPqc_g8OUb4hE/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.46.40+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">London Arch</td></tr>
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After our final scenic point, we are on a race against the sun to get somewhere to eat before they close. Bill sets our destination as Warrnambool, a town west of the Great Ocean Road, with a population of just under 40,000.<br />
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The map app that Bill uses takes us on the strangest routes, one of which takes us on a detour from the highway to Devondale Road, a farm road in the middle of nowhere. I can say that I have taken an unofficial grand tour of the outskirts of Warrnambool, following the dirt roads past sleeping cows.<br />
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After getting back on the highway, we pass the <b>Sungold Milk Stadium</b>, a premiere racetrack. I am excited to see Warrnambool, since Bill keeps building it up as basically the heartlands of Australia, where the equivalent in the USA would be the home to flag-waving blue-blooded Americans.<br />
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Our quest is to find food. Stupidly, we continue following the map app, despite our better judgement of thinking to follow the signs that read "TOWN SQUARE." We dutifully follow the app to the dead middle of Warrnambool, through a clustered residential suburban route, until it tells us we have arrived at our destination.<br />
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Our destination, it seems, is the front yard of some house that has a caravan out front. I tell Bill we should ask them to cook us some dinner.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-DpKv5RGuTQuc923S0RpqNobr2HjR2jS8_4YbdXKmYt80pP-ZFHwfy7j6AE1XF9q1VRbSw4oQZ96vDJQ4AK3GT9njLiy4i0qsm11fjrZq-NJ4vFQlJ_y_Cc9GUgdp3O5fbYJYHTbI2M/s1600/IMG_7915.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-DpKv5RGuTQuc923S0RpqNobr2HjR2jS8_4YbdXKmYt80pP-ZFHwfy7j6AE1XF9q1VRbSw4oQZ96vDJQ4AK3GT9njLiy4i0qsm11fjrZq-NJ4vFQlJ_y_Cc9GUgdp3O5fbYJYHTbI2M/s640/IMG_7915.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're here!</td></tr>
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We shut the map app off and decide to follow signs to the center of town, which ends up being far larger and more diverse than I'd anticipated. As Bill only knows Australia, and I only know the USA, our perspective on what is and what could be a small town are restricted to our experiences. Firstly, the size of this place is the same as the suburb I grew up in, not quite the size of a "small town" in my head. For me, a small town is just quaint. A small town in the USA would have a diner, a little hole-in-the wall that offers eggs, bacon, biscuits and chicken, everything cooked in copious amounts of grease for under $10 a meal. A small town has architecture dating back to the 50s or 60s, when it was a booming town, but now in comparison to its neighboring cities, is tiny and quaint. The dining options in a small town mostly fall under "American" with the exception of chain restaurants. There's an antique shop and a florist and a farm tool repair shop and a local hardware store that's been owned by the same family for over 80 years.<br />
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We pull into <b>Warrnambool</b>, and it's none of that. It does have the quaint 50s/60s architecture and layout of a small town, yet it feels new and flashy and hip.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXXqzLw4sbA6-7UOsWHjcOCECsPWVoBxd7eFBLbRirB8FbYr56BaWDho0ugmyE_LP8_PKJYmfL5PqY9P-bJl3JfAn4qJYTGWi8iXJeH0AQbahZvyzI2OPlT3EEswI4iv8ftRlRX0h7e5M/s1600/warrnambool.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="761" data-original-width="1600" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXXqzLw4sbA6-7UOsWHjcOCECsPWVoBxd7eFBLbRirB8FbYr56BaWDho0ugmyE_LP8_PKJYmfL5PqY9P-bJl3JfAn4qJYTGWi8iXJeH0AQbahZvyzI2OPlT3EEswI4iv8ftRlRX0h7e5M/s640/warrnambool.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">downtown Warrnambool</td></tr>
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It's nearing 9pm, and we jump on Bill's phone to see all the dining options. This place is packed with diverse options, similar to a cosmopolitan area in the USA. There's a tapas restaurant, more than two Thai restaurants, more than two Indian restaurants, Mexican, Italian, and cocktail bars. There's even an art gallery in town! This place has culture and style and diversity, something that towns outside of major cities in the USA rarely have. This is the kind of place where you could request gluten free or vegan options and not be stared at like you're an alien.<br />
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We quickly decide on Indian, and stop into <b>Western Pendu Indian Cuisine</b>, a tiny little restaurant that is gracious enough to host us despite it nearing the closing hour. There are a few couples inside, still in the middle of their meal. Bill, a fellow world traveler, quickly notes that the two artworks on the wall are not fitting for the environment: Hong Kong and some European city.<br />
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As we skipped lunch earlier and instead opted for a tray of french fries covered in gravy around 2pm (I stand by this decision), we were starving. Despite my small stomach, I insist we order a ton of food, comprised of garlic naan, regular naan, a chicken curry, a lamb curry, and rice. The waitress brings out all of this, plus an extra platter of coconut rice that we didn't order. It's a huge quantity of food, but I'm thrilled. The waitress had asked if we wanted it hot or mild, and Bill orders hot. She told us we were "brave." I got scared, but then, in the one tiny proof of small towniness, the curry is pretty mild. If this were a big city, they would deliver on their promise of spiciness. The other proof of the small town atmosphere? The entire meal only sets us back 40AUD, approximately $26 USD. Amazing.<br />
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After we bloat ourselves with curries and starches, we roll into the car, fill up on gas, and drive off to our final destination for the night, our accommodations. In a happy food coma, I fall asleep on the 45 minute drive until Bill wakes me up. We have arrived at <b>Codrington Gardens Bed and Breakfast</b>.<br />
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It feels a bit like a campground, pulling in on a gravel driveway in the darkness. We follow the instructions George gave us on the phone earlier, to the Port Fairy Flyer #2. The place is quiet, as it's nearly midnight (four hours after we told George we'd arrive...oops). Our spot is a train car on a small foundation, and in the window, I see a grandma vase. I can already tell I'm gonna love it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCOjRWA0rp6tb2N5JQYe1M4wP_lAtajlcJzbw_EvQO_dTQVLkCkjgY1hWXNqZ_TcZi36inyfQIlVVsMppjL1p3FLf2cpKpG2cVobzA__iwiVr1ju-W_Fua0Jq6y6lGaGITxDS_OzShQPs/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.46.47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1004" data-original-width="1599" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCOjRWA0rp6tb2N5JQYe1M4wP_lAtajlcJzbw_EvQO_dTQVLkCkjgY1hWXNqZ_TcZi36inyfQIlVVsMppjL1p3FLf2cpKpG2cVobzA__iwiVr1ju-W_Fua0Jq6y6lGaGITxDS_OzShQPs/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.46.47.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">our accommodations in the morning light</td></tr>
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We park the car and quietly unlock the door to our abode. Inside it's so grandma and quaint and old-fashioned and I LOVE IT. There's carpeting and old brocade fabrics and peacock feathers and embroidered pillows and just overall fabulousness. We entered through one door of the car, but the opposite door opens up to a modern bathroom that has been built into the side of the car, so you can use a modern toilet, shower, and sink without stepping outside.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDdVnHyDVVmwOlHKT5k5asLAICWOUnFifAOlrC-VKt07nnQ3F2yJ1-pbHnnJRPG0QMJC0Xuzo19c5_IkQw9hyI2qf3r81J_ZapXLUooAbVzwc8z19zsKQDf0spZ1joogfkMyztq7QXQ4/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.46.43+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1599" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDdVnHyDVVmwOlHKT5k5asLAICWOUnFifAOlrC-VKt07nnQ3F2yJ1-pbHnnJRPG0QMJC0Xuzo19c5_IkQw9hyI2qf3r81J_ZapXLUooAbVzwc8z19zsKQDf0spZ1joogfkMyztq7QXQ4/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.46.43+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">the burgundy! the grandma vase! the peacock feathers! the fabric patterns!</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHSdeTgOs4jtXt1n2DrsWDWBZkD4FI4aWeKpDoMg8x8xSAv55JqnqqVQtIxXdPvv3vMgZybptYL3QXWEVR7_chto-Kj8LMpL1pQ0Ri5nDniCNkUMQA6LinMTnKg2rYCj-nRZ2dCJogU9w/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.46.44+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHSdeTgOs4jtXt1n2DrsWDWBZkD4FI4aWeKpDoMg8x8xSAv55JqnqqVQtIxXdPvv3vMgZybptYL3QXWEVR7_chto-Kj8LMpL1pQ0Ri5nDniCNkUMQA6LinMTnKg2rYCj-nRZ2dCJogU9w/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.46.44+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">this is definitely the place for sexy photoshoots</td></tr>
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There's a little laminated card on the table that tells the life story of the train car, from its construction in 1804 to its life as a first-class train carriage, to its life in storage and disrepair, to George's renovation in recent years (he had to gut it and put every screw and wood panel back in by hand) to its current life as a place to sleep.<br />
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I have not used heat in approximately three years, so it was unfamiliar to me to use the over-bed heater to keep us warm in the chilly night. Once we settled into our stationary train car for the evening, it was time to shut off the lights and dream of my final day in Australia tomorrow.<br />
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<br />melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-12802759686327932942020-01-25T20:21:00.000-06:002020-01-30T23:55:03.096-06:00Melbourne, Day 3: The Australian Hamptons and Secret Jungle BarsSaturday, January 25, 2020<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6YLd4qLwM3lklhZ6U9rzuaF_Ta06MMHq4EzY6LmnKD9T3VHbPqE9cXFuvPZ-aZZRP7k3-HwGZw66XrPGpyRVouWtruX03KE4AH40V7iYHu-nhw-ZCw6-xN-qZbTfN-_fUM5rE1Bfr9w4/s1600/IMG_7864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1361" data-original-width="1600" height="544" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6YLd4qLwM3lklhZ6U9rzuaF_Ta06MMHq4EzY6LmnKD9T3VHbPqE9cXFuvPZ-aZZRP7k3-HwGZw66XrPGpyRVouWtruX03KE4AH40V7iYHu-nhw-ZCw6-xN-qZbTfN-_fUM5rE1Bfr9w4/s640/IMG_7864.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">neon at Ines Wine Bar</td></tr>
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After a <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2020/01/melbourne-day-2-glitzy-and-glamorous.html">long night last night eating, drinking, walking and exploring</a>, I was thankful for a late morning start today, due to neither of us setting an alarm. It is a perfect morning for brunch, and there is a place nearby that Bill has been itching to try.<br />
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Once we get moving, we head off to <b>Middle South East</b> for "Instagrammable food" as Bill puts it. Most places we've encountered are like that, I'm pretty sure there isn't a place in Melbourne that has plain food. I order the eggs benedict, made with pulled pork and served on brioche, and Bill orders the kibbeh, a middle eastern lamb bake with poached eggs and avocado.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjggNTnFV6nFP0Q2_VpgIhQjKrokSGIZV3xvT20tVuVRQ6IsvTVW62PQturgPiUZks-D9x2o9sOSSw6a-GsTGCC5CHfeHMjqHdA2OktbEBVlRRipnSAscOytQ-4dA5KHK_ZgYN5k-3U_Gg/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.47+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjggNTnFV6nFP0Q2_VpgIhQjKrokSGIZV3xvT20tVuVRQ6IsvTVW62PQturgPiUZks-D9x2o9sOSSw6a-GsTGCC5CHfeHMjqHdA2OktbEBVlRRipnSAscOytQ-4dA5KHK_ZgYN5k-3U_Gg/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.47+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill's kibbeh</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdm4Gdo5oJ4jC6NngvzPAyfJ-i_99xgIacFtQkH1NeX5TVBYBLdYa9t_4KlUwx9dhGPHtdAXqBrIYIBuR6HO2-tcpo7usmmg4t5NjBh-ays74FaSWIk8Axx8SHgf9g3C43O8wXHRMaX3E/s1600/IMG_7852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1518" data-original-width="1600" height="606" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdm4Gdo5oJ4jC6NngvzPAyfJ-i_99xgIacFtQkH1NeX5TVBYBLdYa9t_4KlUwx9dhGPHtdAXqBrIYIBuR6HO2-tcpo7usmmg4t5NjBh-ays74FaSWIk8Axx8SHgf9g3C43O8wXHRMaX3E/s640/IMG_7852.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pulled pork eggs benedict</td></tr>
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After properly re-energizing with some brunch and coffee, Bill soothes me with the words, "We're driving somewhere so you can sleep in the car." Music to my ears. Also music to my ears was the Triple J Hottest 100, an annual countdown for the titular radio station, which ranks listener votes to choose the best 100 indie songs from the previous year. I get to hear a lot of new music with which I am unfamiliar, and it was fun to hear Bill's excitement over songs he'd voted for.<br />
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Before leaving Melbourne, I almost get a slushie at the 7/11 but stop myself...to buy a Krispy Kreme instead. I miss junk food.<br />
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I love long drives, and so this <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2020/01/planning-melbourne-bill-does-it-all.html">mystery plan</a> was nice and relaxing. I wake up near our destination, which appears to be some wealthy beachside suburb. We have arrived in <b>Portsea</b>, which is to Melbourne what the Hamptons is to NYC. The <b>Mornington Peninsula</b> is the broader area that contains it, and it's a drive out from Melbourne following the coast.<br />
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First we peek into the <b>Mermaid Vintage Emporium</b>, a small shop with curated vintage and modern designer clothing. Unfortunately, nothing is labeled with a price tag, and when I ask the shopkeeper, she says it's because "there's a lot of new stuff that just came in." Well, it feels like a garage sale, with me having to ask the price of anything and everything I look at, which is weird because it is all far out of my budget. Plus, one item she guessed the price as 60, then she found an actual price tag that said 30 and corrected herself, which gave me no faith in this "ask as you go" pricing system.<br />
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We then stop in the <b>Portsea Hotel</b> and I ask Bill if there is some sort of white dress code. He explains it was purely coincidental that over half the patrons are wearing white dresses, polo shirts, and button-ups. It is oddly a young crowd for what looks like a country club bar in a small town, but Bill explains that there aren't many bars nearby, so this is the place to be and to be seen. This explains the bouncer out front, checking IDs in the middle of the afternoon. The speakers are blaring the Hottest 100, which also may explain the young crowd.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ9-DLn_4yy1BDMwSSohkz5gsB0DLLm776mfxFathq5bukhuYv-G5QkSRzR37Cwdz1s9pSvdmOVv78xcd4gWVniZGte0On-7KVFJ3oW_vGHjvdwGYBp7Ca9WX22pCKDDXj-wR2VZ_WXRc/s1600/IMG_7855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1178" data-original-width="1600" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ9-DLn_4yy1BDMwSSohkz5gsB0DLLm776mfxFathq5bukhuYv-G5QkSRzR37Cwdz1s9pSvdmOVv78xcd4gWVniZGte0On-7KVFJ3oW_vGHjvdwGYBp7Ca9WX22pCKDDXj-wR2VZ_WXRc/s640/IMG_7855.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Portsea Hotel</td></tr>
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The decor is very, well, sea-themed, with wicker chairs and white walls and navy blue accents and anchors and rope. The people attending are like an odd mix of extras from a Gossip Girl garden party scene, dripping with classy wealth and effortless cool, while others are strangely dressed like it was 1am in a nightclub as opposed to the current 4pm in pure daylight. There are men wearing crisp blazers over cuffed khakis beside women wearing the kind of floral dress you would see at a country club bridal shower. Then there are women wearing platform heels, tight leather miniskirts and halter tops with a chain fastening them at the neck and back. It is so wildly diverse in fashion, and it makes every bit of it more entertaining. It also influences my drink choice, because I feel like it would be odd to order a cocktail here. It's more of a sparkling wine kinda place. Plus, sparkling wine is half the price of a cocktail, so there's that.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3QxQnjAI-WlvDrSUnPFknmtbiFcIYcrEvNC17pPXyb964cCoNRTSoFDGpRsIVqLL6snUthiItPzh73VaDL7jpzZLB-73r2SnFu-4LMzAPBhTp2W7o9wBQerlVA7cDaDkH29b2DKpfds/s1600/IMG_7854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1034" data-original-width="1600" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3QxQnjAI-WlvDrSUnPFknmtbiFcIYcrEvNC17pPXyb964cCoNRTSoFDGpRsIVqLL6snUthiItPzh73VaDL7jpzZLB-73r2SnFu-4LMzAPBhTp2W7o9wBQerlVA7cDaDkH29b2DKpfds/s640/IMG_7854.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">the grassy area outside the Portsea Hotel bar</td></tr>
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We hop back in the car and do a short drive into the <b>Point Nepean National Park</b>. Fortunately for us, we make it in the gates just before they close them at 5pm, but you're allowed to leave at any time thereafter. The park is on land belonging to the Bunurong People, and has a gorgeous natural landscape. Bill says he wants to see the quarantine station, and with no prior knowledge of what that is or could be, I just nod my head in light confusion.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXMhXXXEPmSuyGIpvqVY-LHZ3NgoN0WUBQVsawlC6Ah7iJTV5bon6yvB7KXscZ2Cfd3wgXYF2Egwoszd5PRtHtqDHoKJn4FOtyLvg36zVQ9qrljVgp1ulUmF_jN6vM4eEmhe-YZKbFRvI/s1600/IMG_7857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1600" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXMhXXXEPmSuyGIpvqVY-LHZ3NgoN0WUBQVsawlC6Ah7iJTV5bon6yvB7KXscZ2Cfd3wgXYF2Egwoszd5PRtHtqDHoKJn4FOtyLvg36zVQ9qrljVgp1ulUmF_jN6vM4eEmhe-YZKbFRvI/s640/IMG_7857.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Quarantine Station</td></tr>
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We pull up to a parking area beside the <b>Quarantine Station</b>. The Quarantine Station was established in 1852, and was the first stopping point for new Australians when they arrived in their new country. The defunct station now is a museum, preserving the nearly 50 buildings that were once used as hospitals, disinfecting complexes or morgues. In the mid 1900s, the area became Army barracks and a cadet school. In 1980, it was no longer used as a medical facility but continued to be used by the Army. In the 1990s, it was used to host 400 Kosovars, refugees from the Bosnian War of 1992-1995. In 1999, they were declared safe to return home. This explains why some quarantine facilities look like dormitories with carpeting and power outlets.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtZhQNf4_m45OXixgSO97vJBXWVIwfBTFRaZw0IBT-BUlslI4uyPgDo9azF2k7GGLycDqfy-FwGUofCMwcboprt7I5ndZyr-LN_N8lbx7BXyVaXICAms4bmqdKWicHNR1Rl14FFbZv0E/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.48.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtZhQNf4_m45OXixgSO97vJBXWVIwfBTFRaZw0IBT-BUlslI4uyPgDo9azF2k7GGLycDqfy-FwGUofCMwcboprt7I5ndZyr-LN_N8lbx7BXyVaXICAms4bmqdKWicHNR1Rl14FFbZv0E/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.48.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Pic taken through the window...I wanna EXPLORE</td></tr>
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I like <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2016/01/day-10-tajik-spa-time.html">eerie and weird experiences</a> when I travel...not sure why they all involve morgues or things resembling such. I'm disappointed that all the doors are locked (presumably because it was after 5pm) and I want to do some exploring. Just when I thought all the exploring was over, we walk back to the car and Bill points out a wallaby. A WALLABY! I've never seen a wallaby, of course, and when I see it, I think there's a fake animal in the middle of the woods, because that apparently makes more sense to me than a wallaby being in wild Australia. I try to get a picture, but after it stares at me taking my camera out, the big guy hops back into the brush and I miss him! So rude.<br />
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There's an unnamed time constraint for this evening (remember, <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2020/01/planning-melbourne-bill-does-it-all.html">Bill is making it all a surprise</a>) so we have to hop in the car and make the drive back to the city. When we get back to his apartment, I'm surprised to see his roommate Katie asking if we need to push off the reservation. Oh! We're going out to dinner with Katie and Numa! I'm excited, since his roommates are quite entertaining.<br />
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We head over to <b>Kong BBQ</b>, an unassuming restaurant that I was surprised to see we had reservations for, since it looked to be at the level of a quick dining restaurant.<br />
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The food here is amazing. It's also owned by Lucas Restaurants, which is the same company that owns <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2020/01/melbourne-day-2-glitzy-and-glamorous.html">Chin Chin, where we had dinner yesterday</a>. There's an option for the chef's choice like we did yesterday, but today we're a little more stubborn with what we want, so we decide to order a la carte tapas to share. I am also hoping this method will prevent us from getting too much food as we did yesterday.<br />
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We order a little bit of everything, per Numa's recommendations. We get the wood grilled edamame with chilli and sea salt, then order one each of the chicken, pork, tofu, and beef buns to start. Then we move on to an order of Korean fried chicken which is absolutely amazing and crisp, served with pickles. I didn't know that I needed this fried chicken in my life, but I most certainly do. Then came the Bossam smoked wagyu brisket which was melt-in-your-mouth tender and delicious. We ordered two of the pitcher cocktails to wash it all down. I forget the names, but they were both named after anime and contained grapefruit as an essential ingredient. I was less keen on the second one, which had a fake floral taste that reminded me of an air freshener. I was also glad I tried the plum wine, which was amazingly sweet and just what I wanted my taste buds to experience.<br />
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We walk back home and make milkshakes (this was established early on, that Bill had to supply milkshakes at any hour for me, so the fridge and freezer were constantly stocked with milk and ice cream). Katie asks if our night is over, and Bill says "This is it!" I am tired, but I could gain energy from a scene change. I tell him that we should head out nearby, and he suggests the Chapel Street area, which he doesn't seem too thrilled about. I'm expecting the Aussie equivalent of Chicago's Wrigleyville or Hubbard Street River North area, based on Bill's attitude. I re-apply my makeup and we head off in an Uber.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz3o7jeAwoFgMhaWcU5yT_yRRK_D0_OxgeCJp36rE5V86UkIhjnJKtFYTwLswywt8XClE-tX57vaa_sfDrK3TnITgdzTnyPSrqAnhVIlkyCVAe1wx3FwM9Nk7gwh5TqIWAYKYAx9-sJD8/s1600/IMG_7862.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1482" data-original-width="1600" height="592" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz3o7jeAwoFgMhaWcU5yT_yRRK_D0_OxgeCJp36rE5V86UkIhjnJKtFYTwLswywt8XClE-tX57vaa_sfDrK3TnITgdzTnyPSrqAnhVIlkyCVAe1wx3FwM9Nk7gwh5TqIWAYKYAx9-sJD8/s640/IMG_7862.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">just a sandwich shop...or is it?!</td></tr>
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Numa suggested a place to Bill that's a secret bar. Sounds perfect! We head off to <b>Jungle Boy</b>, which is an unassuming sandwich shop from the street. There isn't much secrecy here, as we walk in the door and before talking, the sandwich shop guy just opens the freezer door for us. The freezer door that opens up to the cozy bar in the back, bustling with people but not too crowded to move. The bartender tells us to find a seat, and that sharing tables is common with the limited options available. The place is a long, narrow lounge with hi-tops and couches and small tables with stools. It's got a tiki theme, a giveaway from the name, and all the drinks on the menu are tropical and exciting.<br />
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We cozy up next to a couple at a table in the tiny courtyard, and a waiter comes and takes our order. My tropical rum drink is served in a Mount Gay Rum tin can overloaded with crushed ice. It is fancier than I am describing, I promise.<br />
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I wonder if people ever just get a sandwich outside at "Boston Sub." I wonder how good the reuben is.<br />
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I love this bar and cozy atmosphere, but I need an energy boost in the way of a venue change, so we walk along Chapel street, where we come upon <b>Ines Wine Bar. </b>Inside it's a classy joint, with smooth 60s R&B playing on the speakers, surrounded by dark mirrored walls, a long couch lining the back wall, and golden chrome lamps romantically lighting the tables with just enough of a glow to see your date sitting beside you. It feels like everyone here is European, from the patrons to the waitstaff. Neither of us are big wine drinkers, but the small bottle of prosecco costs the same as two cocktails at any other bar, and we wanna be fancy, so here we are! The waiter uncorks it and pours our glasses at the table. He leaves the bottle draped in a small linen towel in a silver bucket of crushed ice. How fancy are we?! I feel very classy right now for being cheap.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Ines Wine Bar</td></tr>
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Bill and I enjoy this until they close the bar, so we're off to another venue. Bill comments how he's surprised to find such culture here on Chapel Street. I can't imagine going to a wine bar in Wrigleyville, so I get it.<br />
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I'm hungry, so I insist we get food. It's midnight on a Saturday and I can get food! That's something <a href="http://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">Vanuatu</a> would never grant me. How does one follow up a cozy courtyard cocktail and a half a bottle of champagne? With kebabs under fluorescent lighting, of course.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Love me a good kebab</td></tr>
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After a quick bite at <b>Smith St Kebabs</b>, we wander off to <b>Electric Ladyland</b>, a buzzing nightclub that doesn't have a cover charge at this hour. We mosey on up the long, carpeted staircase, to the sticky carpeted floors of upstairs, which is packed with people. It's so refreshing to see nightlife again! It's pretty quiet for a Saturday at 12:30am, and we only came here so Bill could officially say he's been in a nightclub on Chapel Street.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBU4tPpu4s7u5Lv0ldNNsxHOXQyQqnW68bNNv31OkyIr1UVwWHhJZScFF8UFOuitlnfwLQVCuUeA8pGRNiemddx7tLsq5NXJQUAX6aOCv9_Mx7XSW-GwdvyQiIOsKOVhTVjIKKgEqDgw/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.50+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBU4tPpu4s7u5Lv0ldNNsxHOXQyQqnW68bNNv31OkyIr1UVwWHhJZScFF8UFOuitlnfwLQVCuUeA8pGRNiemddx7tLsq5NXJQUAX6aOCv9_Mx7XSW-GwdvyQiIOsKOVhTVjIKKgEqDgw/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.50+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">street art on the walk back home</td></tr>
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We walk until we see a tram and run to catch it home. Tomorrow is a mystery overnight trip, with a train car? So I'm excited about that adventure!<br />
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<br />melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-46379256073847792202020-01-24T23:10:00.000-06:002020-01-28T06:14:10.708-06:00Melbourne, Day 2: The Glitzy and Glamorous Life of a Faux Melbournian SocialiteFriday, January 24th, 2020<br />
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Originally on this trip, I thought I would have to explore solo on both <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2020/01/melbourne-day-1-getting-naked-for-satan.html">Thursday</a> and Friday, but Bill fortunately got some time off today, so he was able to tick off a long list of downtown sightseeing before our <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2020/01/planning-melbourne-bill-does-it-all.html">mystery evening plans</a>.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_65NIM-5BZxmFxITHo2lhf7ubDiBBM408ZMLNmnvWESNlLFltmnZxEWAWfiXydjzXSoc_nhr1sQsNfF613vi6IjrGMZdffJzs5DLky_wRb7GrqRupCrtg5ABC7bjLu0RX-c06nQTOaM/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.43.20+%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1128" data-original-width="1423" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_65NIM-5BZxmFxITHo2lhf7ubDiBBM408ZMLNmnvWESNlLFltmnZxEWAWfiXydjzXSoc_nhr1sQsNfF613vi6IjrGMZdffJzs5DLky_wRb7GrqRupCrtg5ABC7bjLu0RX-c06nQTOaM/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.43.20+%25282%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Bill and Me at the Basquiat and Haring exhibit</td></tr>
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After dining on some homemade French toast made by yours truly, we kick off the day by taking public transport to <b>Degraves Street</b>, an area choked with coffee shops and little cafes. It reminds me of European cities: it's tight and bustling, and a great place to explore.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5VIAI1f98fcQh6oTx2vtVQPILaE95FCxIhNAN8XVAwcHViqghrCgMUIIwkFvyf6MHh-FMiEhvoNjXhJCXZELJMZ_bhZDVOL1SpMUmEaJMyNZxBS8RJMVoa93iu6NXhEwWUL0uzsyZwb8/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-23+at+19.41.52.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5VIAI1f98fcQh6oTx2vtVQPILaE95FCxIhNAN8XVAwcHViqghrCgMUIIwkFvyf6MHh-FMiEhvoNjXhJCXZELJMZ_bhZDVOL1SpMUmEaJMyNZxBS8RJMVoa93iu6NXhEwWUL0uzsyZwb8/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-23+at+19.41.52.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello Degraves Street. I've arrived!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
From there, Bill leads us to the <b>Block Arcade</b>, a gorgeous mall with Victorian architecture done in the Mannerist style. The place is beautiful, illuminated by sunlight shining through the glass ceiling. It reminds me a bit of the <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2017/01/transsiberian-day-8-tinder-ing-in-moscow.html">Gum in Moscow, Russia</a>, which harks back to a time where shopping wasn't a necessity but a luxury. Here there are fancy but familiar chain stores for suits, silks and lotions.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnuDlYKgBz2jnAJOeb22o1StzzvH8DDSfMog34UeuAXNXj2s0pms6Q3XmiH3WUPkvsVh9BiUXurMdwpiOH6c1ue0QyUyb4qjAsnWcZMQBSwhYfD2VYiptZ-KYhWWNOVQ2u0BdxnE9pmA/s1600/IMG_7798.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnuDlYKgBz2jnAJOeb22o1StzzvH8DDSfMog34UeuAXNXj2s0pms6Q3XmiH3WUPkvsVh9BiUXurMdwpiOH6c1ue0QyUyb4qjAsnWcZMQBSwhYfD2VYiptZ-KYhWWNOVQ2u0BdxnE9pmA/s640/IMG_7798.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Although the bush fires throughout Australia aren't affecting Melbourne, you can see an appreciation for the firefighters' efforts. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip9qMjDeENTELRwXV6eKyG9mcf4pd-22cWAOaSIA8UugA1EZJdKIjpSU6hRDeseaicRRo5k_leQzvhqTLHfEH-TYPU0gFrzNiRfeKnIurxeA6vSsXkVMEr8RzlykCPUtYwCBvc1Bjpjaw/s1600/IMG_7799.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip9qMjDeENTELRwXV6eKyG9mcf4pd-22cWAOaSIA8UugA1EZJdKIjpSU6hRDeseaicRRo5k_leQzvhqTLHfEH-TYPU0gFrzNiRfeKnIurxeA6vSsXkVMEr8RzlykCPUtYwCBvc1Bjpjaw/s640/IMG_7799.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Block Arcade</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We grab a coffee at a cafe called <b>Little Collins</b> to perk ourselves up before heading onward to walk some more.<br />
<br />
We then walk to <b>Royal Arcade</b>, another opulent 19th-century mall with glass roofs and mosaic floors. There is a line running out of the popular <b>Hopetoun tea room</b>, but we skip it and walk through and explore. We instead stop inside a witchy shop called <b>Spellbox </b>that sells crystals and spell powders and magic wands, both attracting Harry Potter fans and adult mystic types who need a shop for wormwood and energy crystals. Bill and I spin a wheel that grants us our fortunes. Bill puts his back in the window from which it emerged, and I am pretty sure he'll be cursed forever.<br />
<br />
One of the interesting quirks of the Royal Arcade are the two carved creatures of <b>Gog and Magog</b> ringing the bell at the quarter and full hours of the clock, who have done so since 1892. We stick around to watch, but it's pretty underwhelming. The left figure rings the bell four times to indicate the hour, and the right figure rings the bell twice times, to indicate two o'clock. It was still a fun sight.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18HPj3PBfWPRLzIjL89GFxmFpmdKjQY4Df-rZgw1cyzoqyaGIYmlpfSJmRmpGuj-azqnQ499A2DuONHok9aLVcbsQgwLsOyM3cV_VTXaP46VL1hwljpIILHaVFwioL0ImhZym8Rgrbn0/s1600/Gog+Magog.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="901" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18HPj3PBfWPRLzIjL89GFxmFpmdKjQY4Df-rZgw1cyzoqyaGIYmlpfSJmRmpGuj-azqnQ499A2DuONHok9aLVcbsQgwLsOyM3cV_VTXaP46VL1hwljpIILHaVFwioL0ImhZym8Rgrbn0/s640/Gog+Magog.JPG" width="638" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gog and Magog</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
We then approach <b>Bourke Street Mall</b>, a strip of popular chain stores on the titular street, which is low on car traffic to allow for pedestrian rule. We then cross to <b>Emporium Mall</b>, a more modern shopping mall with expensive and luxury chains. It's fun to see such a modern shopping centre, reminiscent of the <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/03/southeast-asia-day-13-eating-and.html">Mid Valley Mall in Kuala Lumpur</a>. Think lots of space, lots of shops, and lots of floors.<br />
<br />
Finally we head through to <b>Melbourne Central</b>, a shopping mall which today seems to be hosting the entire youth population of Melbourne, with crowds of teens and 20-somethings pushing their way through more affordable shops. We're hungry but it's getting later, so we opt for a light lunch of sushi at the <b>Makoto Sushi Train restaurant</b> in the mall. Something that Vanuatu lacks is affordable, good sushi, and this restaurant was the perfect remedy. I had never eaten at the train part of the sushi train (there's one in Port Vila, but I always just order off the menu and sit at the normal tables), so this was quite the novelty. I had to remind myself that this was supposed to be a snack, and stopped at four small plates of sushi.<br />
<br />
Bill and I headed off again and he educates me on the 9-story tall <b>Coop's Shot Tower</b>, a tower constructed in 1889 and seemingly out of place in the middle of the Melbourne Central Mall. It was saved from demolition in 1973 when it was incorporated into this mall complex, with a glass dome roof hovering above it.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0huAVX99HNvLWWlTTINnoPKqidJAgXvxy41ECrDaVMw7RgPQaqjemyiDV0kur4BtSQt19y1N_a9PzWRmyFPChkkOOs9fQSuYUw-SHbir72hkdyFTi0TTaZJraD17CdJ8sTqksMbjMEc/s1600/shot+tower.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0huAVX99HNvLWWlTTINnoPKqidJAgXvxy41ECrDaVMw7RgPQaqjemyiDV0kur4BtSQt19y1N_a9PzWRmyFPChkkOOs9fQSuYUw-SHbir72hkdyFTi0TTaZJraD17CdJ8sTqksMbjMEc/s640/shot+tower.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coop's Shot Tower</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
After too much bustling and stimulation, we walk over to the <b>State Library Victoria</b> for some calm and quiet. You don't need a library card to explore Australia's oldest public library, which was established in 1854. In fact, I tried to book a tour of the "Domes to Catacombs" but it was completely full. Regardless, we were able to wander around and guide ourselves through the <b>LaTrobe Reading Room</b>, a three-story glass domed room for the public to use for research and reading, as well as a collection of various historical artifacts, such as the armor that famed Australian outlaw Ned Kelly used during his final shootout with police.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEsZ1bysUP4xL6ZZJwj_UlU1Vg93QJqchA-aFG6pVxgSvhawRGlbNRSgEYmte14xd4jSxJKgVKBxL2Uvm1sSNaK6JheCLQPZaNflpta1__AWZkbGoiIkG2AQzZcpP9xCR_6iH_4HeIoE/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-23+at+22.39.10.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1599" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEsZ1bysUP4xL6ZZJwj_UlU1Vg93QJqchA-aFG6pVxgSvhawRGlbNRSgEYmte14xd4jSxJKgVKBxL2Uvm1sSNaK6JheCLQPZaNflpta1__AWZkbGoiIkG2AQzZcpP9xCR_6iH_4HeIoE/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-23+at+22.39.10.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LaTrobe Reading Room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkMxbD050Po2P7ujymHD2k21GKz33TvxBwsB_REbPzIbbZ2kXRWkNfyRBmKwG97lPp1YkaTQbnStzAOHgZaYLVHQ_766XxfHut3KkNBc8DYogo85l9jttFTKORNTMr5WC8q2odJT9GEwg/s1600/IMG_7820.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1520" data-original-width="1600" height="608" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkMxbD050Po2P7ujymHD2k21GKz33TvxBwsB_REbPzIbbZ2kXRWkNfyRBmKwG97lPp1YkaTQbnStzAOHgZaYLVHQ_766XxfHut3KkNBc8DYogo85l9jttFTKORNTMr5WC8q2odJT9GEwg/s640/IMG_7820.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Ned Kelly's Armor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Mentally exhausted from a long day of exploring, we decide to head back home, but not before an unsuccessful run to the <b>Salvos</b> on Bourke Street, where I could not find a cool jacket. Boo.<br />
<br />
When we return to Bill's, we take time to get gussied up for the evening plans, which, per usual, are completely a mystery to me. I hold up outfits so Bill can choose an appropriate one for the events. We go with fun and flashy. It's great that the weather as warmed up for the evening as well, so I can wear a halter without freezing. The weather in Melbourne is quite unpredictable, jumping up and down in temperature, but I came prepared for it all.
<br />
<br />
We head off via public transport back to the <b>CBD</b> (Central Business District), where Bill takes me to <b>Chin Chin</b>. As it is a popular spot that doesn't take reservations, we had to arrive early to ensure a short wait. When we arrive, we're informed that it will be 45 minutes, so we put in our names and go to the downstairs <b>Gogo Bar</b> where we order some hip cocktails and try not to dance to the DJ's groovy beats. I get a Cantilever Margarita, which features aperol, mezcal, passionfruit, honey, cantaloupe, and a spicy chili salt rim. <a href="http://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">Vanuatu</a> is plentiful with cocktails, but nothing more innovative than sugar on sugar. These savory, sweet and spicy ones are becoming my signature here.
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbKBkl49b2mw3VxXgOXbd9HOi2X4OHLPJH9rXJm_4nvVJaerSHGNoIAdox9t8YEHke_ElK5NoxXWbtgicZyLh61Ridtb_a7lcHZk-v0-gTxIL13Eur6GVgDnWMVAsd7pRryq5Bq6BOY1A/s1600/IMG_7825.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1215" data-original-width="1600" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbKBkl49b2mw3VxXgOXbd9HOi2X4OHLPJH9rXJm_4nvVJaerSHGNoIAdox9t8YEHke_ElK5NoxXWbtgicZyLh61Ridtb_a7lcHZk-v0-gTxIL13Eur6GVgDnWMVAsd7pRryq5Bq6BOY1A/s640/IMG_7825.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill's Nsssau (rum drink) on the left, my margarita on the right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjx62NsuOZo8L41Llzyvms9RzP8JBZbrU0wSLAH4fsGFZePcZpk1awZOdL-3FasWdz7vw8jZT_maGK4kZvE9IBdAHHQdIalyH9L1bgjybyJjApc6rNoiBMYT2bKp3TmETy2wJ4q3S6gY/s1600/IMG_7827.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjx62NsuOZo8L41Llzyvms9RzP8JBZbrU0wSLAH4fsGFZePcZpk1awZOdL-3FasWdz7vw8jZT_maGK4kZvE9IBdAHHQdIalyH9L1bgjybyJjApc6rNoiBMYT2bKp3TmETy2wJ4q3S6gY/s640/IMG_7827.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Gogo Bar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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After one drink, we're beckoned upstairs to our spot at the bar. The menu is tapas style, and once we see there is a chef's choice combo called "Feed Me #1: The Classics" for roughly the same price as the number of tapas we planned to order anyway, we pick that instead. We get far more than our money's worth when we are served:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>signature pork "roll ups" which are pulled pork pancakes with slaw and hoisin sauce</li>
<li>kingfish sashimi with lime, chili, coconut and Thai basil</li>
<li>crispy barramundi (freshwater fish) and green apple salad with caramelized pork, peanuts and chili</li>
<li>corn fritters with lettuce cups served with chili jam, ginger and mint</li>
<li>and finally, pad seuw of braised wagyu beef with gai laan, rice noodles and crispy shallots.</li>
</ul>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEKpMedmBbf7NRsQld-lHjtuzovtMAFLZev24hpxFNd8EybPQCPUTUb8RZ7pN5HRK9pgPiuQALaGaIS1rimgneFtnURLZR1-aOMkpnfgVnWzMrFm1e2W81FYHt6WXp1bJs19KUi2GyfH8/s1600/IMG_7828.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1600" height="574" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEKpMedmBbf7NRsQld-lHjtuzovtMAFLZev24hpxFNd8EybPQCPUTUb8RZ7pN5HRK9pgPiuQALaGaIS1rimgneFtnURLZR1-aOMkpnfgVnWzMrFm1e2W81FYHt6WXp1bJs19KUi2GyfH8/s640/IMG_7828.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Chin Chin's drink menu</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Every single one is amazingly delicious, and we get full quite quickly. The Thai iced teas and lemon lime and bitters mocktails we order are a nice break from the alcohol and are great to wash down the spice of some of the dishes. I am roughly tallying the prices of what they bring out, and I assume they are done when the total matches the price of the combo. I am full...but then they bring out two more dishes, telling us these are "the last of the savory course, then one sweet dish will conclude the meal." Neither of us are mentally prepared for this. They set before us a butter chicken curry and a plate of stir fried green beans with shredded coconut, burnt chili and cashews. The last dish is a coconut tapioca pudding with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, just enough for a taste but not too much to make us explode.<br />
<br />
We get the check and rush off. Bill has been fervently checking his watch all evening, after telling me the event we are going to tonight is from 6-10pm. I am thinking of all the possible events it could be, especially one that is appropriate to arrive late to, but I don't ever guess correctly when he takes me to a gallery opening at <b>NGV, the National Gallery of Victoria</b>, an art museum.
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR9Hs92CXKL3mLtA17u-_muV0xUTRh1cCIlMkhR2ZHuCNSxoorW7mgNkaOeXbp4dt_O0e2pl5BGQ1g3XySlCB4Gncd3AXCpkJpm2VZ2dByK-UME9M7V9iTr8MLQ635vdyVw153sneye78/s1600/IMG_7842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1325" data-original-width="1600" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR9Hs92CXKL3mLtA17u-_muV0xUTRh1cCIlMkhR2ZHuCNSxoorW7mgNkaOeXbp4dt_O0e2pl5BGQ1g3XySlCB4Gncd3AXCpkJpm2VZ2dByK-UME9M7V9iTr8MLQ635vdyVw153sneye78/s640/IMG_7842.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Outside the NGV</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuQhjfNsT5IMHE_z9jnXrjXrJoNDfTXrL_n2Xxt-Caz_f4wV3iw1cve8x0gQkfbyes1kmQ9QxxnXEsIdSDogpyPDYrAHSbEgjEJSfxvdMh8NpcvYOzaaluRLvRsMTtfCJmrsKqu036644/s1600/IMG_7838.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuQhjfNsT5IMHE_z9jnXrjXrJoNDfTXrL_n2Xxt-Caz_f4wV3iw1cve8x0gQkfbyes1kmQ9QxxnXEsIdSDogpyPDYrAHSbEgjEJSfxvdMh8NpcvYOzaaluRLvRsMTtfCJmrsKqu036644/s640/IMG_7838.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Bill likes the glass fountain wall with Keith Haring accents</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPV_l7jTMbqCNbG4RQ5CzXDYZRcr7sKhgGsXT3veUGmhi-PM-F3Rrd1j0NU3j4wXTNYu2grdteu8ODPv-1duxtfVbZaQdWfi9S_3D1W-Ddtd237klSNpzBtQbTGpd8X9CDevvlxvMlOs/s1600/IMG_7830.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="990" data-original-width="1600" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPV_l7jTMbqCNbG4RQ5CzXDYZRcr7sKhgGsXT3veUGmhi-PM-F3Rrd1j0NU3j4wXTNYu2grdteu8ODPv-1duxtfVbZaQdWfi9S_3D1W-Ddtd237klSNpzBtQbTGpd8X9CDevvlxvMlOs/s640/IMG_7830.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">A DJ mixes music in the courtyard outside<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTtX6eC6d8i6nQPI3LgKegHaGpxzl2vRJYESIoYMHOQxUxQJA3v-WrwJqJx3B3MjNFOPykTCLLIoeoVvg6v837QabyPQxHsw0bR0ZdTV2JUS4MwdgJYt5cYoQ1Zmks1Nfw6fEjtZ9a3RU/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.43.14+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTtX6eC6d8i6nQPI3LgKegHaGpxzl2vRJYESIoYMHOQxUxQJA3v-WrwJqJx3B3MjNFOPykTCLLIoeoVvg6v837QabyPQxHsw0bR0ZdTV2JUS4MwdgJYt5cYoQ1Zmks1Nfw6fEjtZ9a3RU/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.43.14+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The central room of the NBV</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvD1G1TY8y02a01n4gUbUQShjaulJDb7c3q9_00nQCQCKYwjQoaZcBTw8DGqcR1Rf4ciF0CTW9pdRxZVh0EPkSGtNR8WQpF_GoCVGdNZXcWI_SXJvHBLTDgXA2n_V-WrfFJx7PDZI1h-g/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.43.14.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvD1G1TY8y02a01n4gUbUQShjaulJDb7c3q9_00nQCQCKYwjQoaZcBTw8DGqcR1Rf4ciF0CTW9pdRxZVh0EPkSGtNR8WQpF_GoCVGdNZXcWI_SXJvHBLTDgXA2n_V-WrfFJx7PDZI1h-g/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.43.14.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Awkward prom pic</td></tr>
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We arrive with just over an hour to explore. The <b>Friday Night Series</b> is a special recurring event in which the gallery is open late, DJ spotlight 80s music, bartenders mix cocktails, drag performers give shows, and it's a classy and sassy good time. There are loads of fashionably dressed people holding champagne flutes and cocktails while strolling the open spaces. We arrive too late to see the drag show portion, but the new <b>Jean-Michel Basquiat and Keith Haring exhibit</b> is open. Bill grabs a glass of sparkling rose before we head to the exhibit, where there is a sign forbidding us from entering with drinks. We chug the freshly poured drink and walk in.
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLem4jsltCvsU89HV0r5K2Mdj6JSttrbPIFXw-YW3mPdWBAEF44ArLK-6LSRdGcT3J9juFxni3jVjlRqqAXRUjUZDgCCZI2F8y1dJ6aPEsPDq-VkLW_TQJSHWzz9dx6sr0nUR141kefA/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.43.16+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLem4jsltCvsU89HV0r5K2Mdj6JSttrbPIFXw-YW3mPdWBAEF44ArLK-6LSRdGcT3J9juFxni3jVjlRqqAXRUjUZDgCCZI2F8y1dJ6aPEsPDq-VkLW_TQJSHWzz9dx6sr0nUR141kefA/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.43.16+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Haring on the left, Basquiat on the right</td></tr>
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It is an interesting exhibit. I love galleries and exploring different kinds of art, but at first, while checking out their earlier works, I am unimpressed. It is only the more high concept works with integrated fashion or music or other art collaboration that I become more interested. The show itself is fun and playful, with both Bill and me sharing an interest in the black light room.
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQhyFd55o_j-A9GpV65SSi198H2YZtgQ1tXxtcFk8nb4kGtrcNlxu9Rpda1RPl1hYuGq_hj4Ll8YScdNMe5IIDGonYE37DTwnhZEGLZP442g_8Q_PCtirXaAb-npjZ7eVuOAPbCcpME-8/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.43.19+%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1104" data-original-width="1472" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQhyFd55o_j-A9GpV65SSi198H2YZtgQ1tXxtcFk8nb4kGtrcNlxu9Rpda1RPl1hYuGq_hj4Ll8YScdNMe5IIDGonYE37DTwnhZEGLZP442g_8Q_PCtirXaAb-npjZ7eVuOAPbCcpME-8/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.43.19+%25282%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">the black light room</td></tr>
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After snapping some pics in the main hall, which was lined with hot pink shimmery curtains, seemingly moving along to the DJ's electronic mix, we are ushered out as the museum closes its doors for the night. It was a fantastic event for the evening, but we still have a million tapas to digest, so off we walk towards the <b>Yarra River</b>.
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YGhZ4ahG_svqqf4_aScpIEIvpDpG7DSOqrfo3U1PDfSxew3Lq9FSha487ZRTpzySzWSsrYp7g-2ITsxBWqfoXpUxeu2jhx-gvItGzjxrBL5ncABbp1q_8YHcCQP3cuczvJgZ2yYis_s/s1600/IMG_7844.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="865" data-original-width="1600" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YGhZ4ahG_svqqf4_aScpIEIvpDpG7DSOqrfo3U1PDfSxew3Lq9FSha487ZRTpzySzWSsrYp7g-2ITsxBWqfoXpUxeu2jhx-gvItGzjxrBL5ncABbp1q_8YHcCQP3cuczvJgZ2yYis_s/s640/IMG_7844.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Yarra River at night, unfortunately tinged brown by the runoff from the ashfall of the Aussie bushfires</td></tr>
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With Chinese New Year taking place on January 25, the city is full of celebratory events and decor. We walk through the night festival on the <b>South Bank of the Yarra River</b> (fun fact: Yarra is the indigenous word for a source of water), heading to the <b>Crown Casino</b>, which also has a magnificent display for the New Year. The streets and casino are packed with people, both young and old. I am so happy to be in a place with bustling nightlife again.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrqIYmu4rhzH2dPMPlanMP8iAx05qCLV602CB3iAoQQth4MeXrE8k1q3l1oN33NQLY3wNel3pXSiYeEMPWujCoVrwWBeI9KmTGtY-c_gJJhxY-lUdL3x10wymz1zfy5k5FydmDeJwtf8E/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.43.57+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrqIYmu4rhzH2dPMPlanMP8iAx05qCLV602CB3iAoQQth4MeXrE8k1q3l1oN33NQLY3wNel3pXSiYeEMPWujCoVrwWBeI9KmTGtY-c_gJJhxY-lUdL3x10wymz1zfy5k5FydmDeJwtf8E/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.43.57+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The night festival had little light figures for each of the Chinese years, like the year of the pig</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy8hulArGO64ft6-hgzIBGLD7BNdHg0WboyzjCkBdRx8ZgFTEnCCjG0cUtHLeLYkUvdDAUSJGFNVoZ7-zDjFrMPEFQIn-oXaMCWa1nGweM7ixFoF9nXSNo0BedcTQWpJojjElmzT4RJBg/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.43.58+%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1104" data-original-width="1472" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy8hulArGO64ft6-hgzIBGLD7BNdHg0WboyzjCkBdRx8ZgFTEnCCjG0cUtHLeLYkUvdDAUSJGFNVoZ7-zDjFrMPEFQIn-oXaMCWa1nGweM7ixFoF9nXSNo0BedcTQWpJojjElmzT4RJBg/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.43.58+%25282%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were both born the year of the Dragon.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQw9QiW6kEy74rCEvDJXtjIF5KItaPfxlQO9GUnLhVnpHfqj2i8n8F8o8SqXfhEavrvEJct-1SPH_E_kGW5PwgCE7iqOWBmrPOl_xUga0GFbWr_r3nS6bE6EmZYUBDxbKK0ERq14OqYaM/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.00+%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1599" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQw9QiW6kEy74rCEvDJXtjIF5KItaPfxlQO9GUnLhVnpHfqj2i8n8F8o8SqXfhEavrvEJct-1SPH_E_kGW5PwgCE7iqOWBmrPOl_xUga0GFbWr_r3nS6bE6EmZYUBDxbKK0ERq14OqYaM/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.00+%25282%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Crown Casino decorated for Chinese New Year</td></tr>
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We still have some energy, so before we head home, we make one more stop at a bar that Bill's been wanting to check out. The bar is called <b>Two Wrongs</b>, its title written with slightly skewed lettering with ink stains around it to suit the theme. The bouncer coaxes us inside and we head to the bar, which is tended only by young scrawny 20-something men with manbuns and skeezy moustaches, where we order two Passionpop slushies, made with a brand name of cheap sparkling wine. The bartender asks if he can pop our cherries before dropping a maraschino cherry into each of our cups.
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4B_q1JyEOxqAi2yoqn84JavaTZQCYsoIfEohiKJ_cnRanDBVvs1vXoJ9yE8jjpB9rxXXV9CKKpvTzYPl9nSWBBnOWzmzcCRNF1WBkxBXZRKAud3CHd0-tZ60EoihT0dboRrvhE_nswOM/s1600/IMG_7851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4B_q1JyEOxqAi2yoqn84JavaTZQCYsoIfEohiKJ_cnRanDBVvs1vXoJ9yE8jjpB9rxXXV9CKKpvTzYPl9nSWBBnOWzmzcCRNF1WBkxBXZRKAud3CHd0-tZ60EoihT0dboRrvhE_nswOM/s640/IMG_7851.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Two Wrongs</td></tr>
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The place is sensory overload, in the best way. A couple walls have gold spray-painted guns adorning them. The massive two story wall is covered in recognizable classic art but with a graffiti twist, and splattered with neon spray paint. The massive TV above the bar is playing a 90s TaeBo instructional exercise video. A stripper pole illuminated by a disco ball at the base of the stairs attracts a man wearing a teal silk blazer (no shirt) and leopard print pants, who tilts down his leopard print sunglasses before taking a swig of his cocktail and having a spin. At the top of the stairs, forks stabbed into the wall spell out, "fork this place," just above a vintage velvet chaise lounge. On the ground floor, the ceiling is illuminated by rainbow twinkle lights. Just behind a handful of naked women statues glowing in the neon of a "GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS" sign is a Mexican food counter, beside a pool table and old school arcade hunting game.
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ8rQMVwsBa_vCsX68cd4TZMFM1YspK3GoHazPsc9Wt-i_07-fa_bq_kCivBagS0Ce0UAoWLRm9IMDv0FyDSp2d5yqZuca7c8VUn3r5uWEwoxIWJwcUnNivYhozuVrP-wDzk2MadHGmMg/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.24.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ8rQMVwsBa_vCsX68cd4TZMFM1YspK3GoHazPsc9Wt-i_07-fa_bq_kCivBagS0Ce0UAoWLRm9IMDv0FyDSp2d5yqZuca7c8VUn3r5uWEwoxIWJwcUnNivYhozuVrP-wDzk2MadHGmMg/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2020-01-27+at+00.44.24.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS</td></tr>
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Bill and I take our drinks and sit on one of the mismatched vintage couches and people watch. Our favorite part of all this madness is the three-person couch near the window, raised slightly higher than the rest of us, where three female patrons drink their cocktails and look down on us all. "That's a power move right there," Bill comments.
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Once we finish our drinks, we take the short walk back home to recharge before yet another mystery day tomorrow!<br />
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<br />melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-84614677031889165082020-01-23T21:46:00.000-06:002020-01-27T00:32:48.047-06:00Melbourne, Day 1: Getting Naked For SatanThursday, January 23rd, 2020<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiir4Q9f-9a9VYjULh4wFA0TOSqxhzKVQosartif0zuhQeMxhrJSw2MhO-XKyRvYMisuQ63Xk_jb2iS6C9YS6Wz6Z96y1dmUTE4nvuQSRfA1QVhEQ1vzVUgGNbQnovmbBdD-v5vHxPW8YM/s1600/IMG_7765.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiir4Q9f-9a9VYjULh4wFA0TOSqxhzKVQosartif0zuhQeMxhrJSw2MhO-XKyRvYMisuQ63Xk_jb2iS6C9YS6Wz6Z96y1dmUTE4nvuQSRfA1QVhEQ1vzVUgGNbQnovmbBdD-v5vHxPW8YM/s640/IMG_7765.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Fitzroy neighborhood</td></tr>
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Late last night I arrived in Melbourne, after a relatively uneventful flight save for the fact that one of the flight attendants was one of the mothers of one of my favorite students in the school. I already knew that Minnie, Clarissa's mom, was a flight attendant for Air Vanuatu, and that she made the regular routes to Melbourne, so I knew there was a chance for me to see her. What I didn't expect was the usual Vanuatu hospitality (this time in international skies), when she invited me to the back of the plane to take free packets of Milo (hot chocolate), tea, and cookies to shove in my purse before she made me a cup of Milo and handed me a cookie. The previous offers were for the road, these were to consume here, on the plane, of course.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuyyAHg7xJc3aJt_jxnnpPQb1fImgPbvLWQ77ixlDC-lTPreQi4JVp4KQI0oJ2T7GMrA9t0me2CiwNAA25rDmszkaSHgCpyGemvTji2TggL1-e-5bW6rRujR5suFuLYn1xTvLUfTQb8LE/s1600/IMG_7759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuyyAHg7xJc3aJt_jxnnpPQb1fImgPbvLWQ77ixlDC-lTPreQi4JVp4KQI0oJ2T7GMrA9t0me2CiwNAA25rDmszkaSHgCpyGemvTji2TggL1-e-5bW6rRujR5suFuLYn1xTvLUfTQb8LE/s640/IMG_7759.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Minnie and I go back.</td></tr>
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Bill picked me up from the airport and chuckled at the fact the three flight attendants from my flight knew me by name and wished me a safe trip as they walked past us. "Of any flights in the world, I would expect to befriend flight attendants on a flight from Vanuatu!" he said.<br />
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Last night, I "checked in" to Bill's cute apartment in South Yarra, we made milkshakes, and I got ready for a fun day ahead of me.<br />
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Today, Thursday, Bill was working, so I was free to do my own thing. <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2020/01/planning-melbourne-bill-does-it-all.html">Despite him planning everything</a>, he did request input so he could tailor it to me. I told him one of my favorite things to do is to seek out secondhand bookstores or vintage clothing shops, and that usually leads me to a hip neighborhood with cute coffeeshops and people-watching. Thus, he suggested the Brunswick/Fitzroy area for me to do some solo exploring on my first day.<br />
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But it wasn't completely solo, as Lindsay, another <a href="http://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">PCV from Vanuatu</a>, happened to be here at the same time with her brother. These were her last days in Melbourne, so they were open to exploring this area with me.<br />
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We all met up for lunch at <b>Easey's</b>, a burger place Bill recommended. He'd always wanted to go, because it looked cool and seemed like one of those hip, Instagram-worthy venues for a good bite. He was jealous he couldn't join.<br />
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Easey's is the kind of place with graffiti on the walls, and is unassuming at first, with a small fast-food joint look in the front. However, stairs in the back which are scrawled with graffiti lead up three stories to the restaurant's main attraction: train cars that have been cleaned up to house seating and tables for burger lovers. Use the train car doors to slide into the restrooms which jut out from the train car, or to step down a few stairs to the outdoor beer garden area.<br />
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I had a hefty breakfast, so I split the chili cheese tots with Lindsay, which was just enough for my hunger level, as they were overloaded with their titular ingredients.<br />
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After hours of chatting away at Easey's, we headed down to Smith Street, which is lined with a bunch of bars, cafes, and secondhand shops. <b>Vintage Garage</b> was one of the standout favorites, a glitter, vinyl, lace, and neon fever dream of vintage, handmade, and all unique finds. There, you can find bicycle shorts that have been bedazzled from waistline to hemline with rhinestones, or a vintage sheepskin coat, or a velvet pizza print t-shirt, or neon orange lace teddy leotard, or a hot pink crop top that simply reads in friendly lettering, "Bitch." I want to make a music video just so I can shop here for ridiculous items.<br />
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We popped into the far less exciting <b>Saint Marks Secondhand</b> which, by comparison, appeared to just be shades of brown and beige. But it was there that I found a pair of black shoes in size 9 for Minnie, who asked me to pick her up some work shoes. What, do you not go shopping for your flight attendants while on vacation? It was also here that we overheard a fun exchange between a couple 20-something Aussies debating purchasing a funkier outfit, to which one said to the other, "I mean, we live in Brunswick, so it's kind of expected."<br />
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The <b>Australian Red Cross</b> was a happy medium between the first two shops, with edge and attitude, and a mix of new clothes as well as funky vintage. Down the road is a <b>Salvos</b>, the Aussie version of a Salvation Army store, which was massive and organized just as they are back home, but unfortunately not open when we arrived.<br />
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With booze on the mind, we stopped at <b>The Hippo</b>, which is both a liquor store and a bar. At first glance, with its exposed refrigerator doors and shelves, it appears to just be a liquor store, yet the stools and small tables in the middle suggest otherwise. Basically, you can buy any booze here and crack it open and enjoy it in-store. The bartender in the back, who also serves draft beers, informs us that we can also bring in food from any nearby restaurant and enjoy it here with our drinks.<br />
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We sit outside and people watch the passersby, much of whom remind me of the types you'd see in Chicago's Wicker Park. Soon enough, Lindsay and her family have to head off to meet a friend for dinner, and I wait a brief time before Bill meets me for the mystery events of the evening.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVsnYe5QxEoUVIpj6-3hXFsRMzmwzch-sNfx1kDKpTWOMhC4sgn0zL2xfVarlI5U7dfEEiQHhgcqtElOyXFm6dXrEax3PowdvKDnqMgssgTN1EVCn-rEccBSRszB_zhLkCRNhaxrQ9TUc/s1600/IMG_7769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVsnYe5QxEoUVIpj6-3hXFsRMzmwzch-sNfx1kDKpTWOMhC4sgn0zL2xfVarlI5U7dfEEiQHhgcqtElOyXFm6dXrEax3PowdvKDnqMgssgTN1EVCn-rEccBSRszB_zhLkCRNhaxrQ9TUc/s640/IMG_7769.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">yummmmm</td></tr>
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The first stop is <b>Naked for Satan</b>, a hip restaurant with a nude theme, as evidenced by the vintage burlesque and nude photos that are plastered on the walls leading to the restrooms. The place is less tack and more sexy and sultry, with exposed red Edison bulbs and vintage Victorian furniture. We order a couple of cheap ciders for $6 each at the happy hour price, then indulge in a few of the tapas-style dishes, like the braised pork cheek, heirloom carrots, and pumpkin ravioli.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTC_VZe7AkSVS7bsPrQSz-FHb7cBte95Br_ZjjbErs8tuw1ItUe0i7Bz1hH1LyB4o_th9lTIpAztlmdYGN1cJRaXncsP44LNY_Wa6e35ozTt8oQgViy_GUu5CGnNsDQv0jnJEVgYkXSPA/s1600/IMG_7770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTC_VZe7AkSVS7bsPrQSz-FHb7cBte95Br_ZjjbErs8tuw1ItUe0i7Bz1hH1LyB4o_th9lTIpAztlmdYGN1cJRaXncsP44LNY_Wa6e35ozTt8oQgViy_GUu5CGnNsDQv0jnJEVgYkXSPA/s640/IMG_7770.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Naked For Satan takes the name literally</td></tr>
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We then hop on public transport and we head downtown where Bill takes me to <b>Lui Bar</b>, a swanky Gold-Rush era cocktail bar with spectacular views of the city from its 55th floor location. I ordered a Spiced Margarita, a savory and spicy drink with Zaatar syrup and hints of lime, oregano, cumin and sumac. My second drink was a lightly sweet and smooth Mary Pickford.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy4z4ic0q2AuipiiHCft8EZfPo5wcVZovTSPdVD0UwDe5yIznFmzNt4PBh1wvHit8wpdpe8EU53II1qdwPMscT0djDP__ZQMKCchtF5ZALQnCMFMnbQzk5EpQlyVCTMkWsTzLE6AMF9ic/s1600/IMG_7778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy4z4ic0q2AuipiiHCft8EZfPo5wcVZovTSPdVD0UwDe5yIznFmzNt4PBh1wvHit8wpdpe8EU53II1qdwPMscT0djDP__ZQMKCchtF5ZALQnCMFMnbQzk5EpQlyVCTMkWsTzLE6AMF9ic/s640/IMG_7778.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The view from Lui Bar</td></tr>
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Despite the late hour, with the sun setting at nearly 9pm every night, the night still feels young, so we head off to wander around. Bill takes me to <b>Hosier Lane</b>, a famous spot for locals and tourists alike to get some fun photos of the alleyway graffiti that is goofy, thought provoking, beautiful, and political in nature. I had seen pictures online, and I was surprised how centrally located it was and how well-lit and safe it felt to be in a graffiti-riddled alleyway at night. Families were walking through it, so it didn't give the grungy vibe I'd expected from pictures.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWHwjWkqIVwTaz3C3DlwAi0TL4ZEUNRpoHmYcQGGZH8zOUVoSNaaqe7ICqGRoVJRMIKvvFXu3SFolLZYguszz-7Dlke6_2MlBudqaX0wWm9LIvCn572Xol0T2AFfzTPqC-YJV4UF9zr70/s1600/IMG_7782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWHwjWkqIVwTaz3C3DlwAi0TL4ZEUNRpoHmYcQGGZH8zOUVoSNaaqe7ICqGRoVJRMIKvvFXu3SFolLZYguszz-7Dlke6_2MlBudqaX0wWm9LIvCn572Xol0T2AFfzTPqC-YJV4UF9zr70/s640/IMG_7782.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">I can officially say I saw a kangaroo and a koala in Australia...</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho6IbUZXm-Ee0_zpuBRq4yyTBawp3CsIRpy6VTV78I75WpzTAmNP2sVEZTB9Gaj9WINQVLwk7dPGgvcdvFAAiVKJ6a39r8fpiLD1T5CLaZLTCA127YY3RZYuOTwG8r-jAg28lG2rO31IY/s1600/IMG_7788.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho6IbUZXm-Ee0_zpuBRq4yyTBawp3CsIRpy6VTV78I75WpzTAmNP2sVEZTB9Gaj9WINQVLwk7dPGgvcdvFAAiVKJ6a39r8fpiLD1T5CLaZLTCA127YY3RZYuOTwG8r-jAg28lG2rO31IY/s640/IMG_7788.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Bill lookin' chill by the dumpsters of Hosier Lane</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggtm_LJgfXuMyloXNHcg_95fbW79Kp61D3dw_PHPmMxIF3KwGPNXEw5tcOB6V08qYCdOxShmsEoHIh09d73fdexT7-G0clOa_x8lI0ncjHt40I_bafvqR9b-OEsEeRa8U63eGhtQ_D3RU/s1600/IMG_7795.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggtm_LJgfXuMyloXNHcg_95fbW79Kp61D3dw_PHPmMxIF3KwGPNXEw5tcOB6V08qYCdOxShmsEoHIh09d73fdexT7-G0clOa_x8lI0ncjHt40I_bafvqR9b-OEsEeRa8U63eGhtQ_D3RU/s640/IMG_7795.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The dot art is a style of Aboriginal artwork in Australia</td></tr>
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We wandered over to <b>Federation Square</b>, a public space and event area with galleries and restaurants. Most of it was closed, but a handful of people were cozied up on the lawn chairs laid out facing the massive screen playing highlights from the Australian Open, which is taking place in town.<br />
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Finally, we hop on the public transport to head back to Bill's place and call it a night, resting up for the unknown (to me, at least) activities ahead of us tomorrow!<br />
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<br />melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-29745837647278733702020-01-20T18:54:00.000-06:002020-01-25T21:49:13.667-06:00Planning Melbourne: Bill Does It AllDuring my time <a href="http://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">living in Vanuatu</a>, I befriended an Australian expat named Bill. Vanuatu is quite small, and when you meet expats, you meet their friends and their friends, and Bill lived first in Luganville and then in Port Vila, so we encountered one another quite a lot whenever I happened to be out and about.<br />
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Bill became a close friend, and despite him departing Vanuatu in July 2019, we've kept in touch (it helps being in the same time zone). In November, when Air Vanuatu was having crazy flight sales for early 2020, I jumped on the opportunity to go see Bill in Melbourne, Australia.<br />
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It would be nice to say that at the very least, I booked my own flights, but Bill also did that, as the Air Vanuatu site wasn't behaving for me. Bill acted as my travel agent over the phone as I gave him the info for him to book me some tickets for a late January visit.<br />
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I never had a desire to go to Australia, since it just seemed like it would be too similar to the USA (weirdly, though, Canada has more appeal?). However, I love visiting friends in their element, who can act as my personal tour guide and give me a local look at their city.<br />
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Thus, Bill planned the trip. He is keeping it all a complete surprise. Really, the only details I have are slight budget hints, that I need a jacket for one night where it "will be windy."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgClbBJYTbciRgKOo4bFTPiuhlLjDmn1B2KkGaOxAj38Ghd25gyuE-gPLkjAIkSwqut6Y3q6f8iyw2uPRCXfhfhP2MXleLCmcHxG-Ctb-WzsjpgbztLwRlHJKPJvf3lZTDtIpEFw_te5nk/s1600/Capture.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="556" data-original-width="642" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgClbBJYTbciRgKOo4bFTPiuhlLjDmn1B2KkGaOxAj38Ghd25gyuE-gPLkjAIkSwqut6Y3q6f8iyw2uPRCXfhfhP2MXleLCmcHxG-Ctb-WzsjpgbztLwRlHJKPJvf3lZTDtIpEFw_te5nk/s320/Capture.PNG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the detail I get.</td></tr>
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Regarding budget, Bill and I had a very confusing conversation on the phone, confusing only because he was trying to keep it as secretive as possible (I wasn't trying to pry out any details; I promise I like surprises!) while I was trying to understand what he was talking about. He told me we were going somewhere outside of downtown Melbourne, far enough that it required driving in his car, and he was planning accommodations for that particular night, but wanted to know what I thought was reasonable or not based on my budget. The conversation was quite vague, with him only mentioning that it was a tourist-y area, and that he was surprised that prices were as high as downtown Melbourne for a more countryside/bogan experience. Thus, he suggested a place he found online that was something like traincars that have been converted to cabins or hotel rooms, and it was half the price than if we were to stay in a more central area of this mystery area. But he said it didn't matter anyway because we had a car. So I told him to book.<br />
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So I have my tickets to Melbourne, and all I know is to bring a jacket because it will be windy one night, that we are sleeping in a train car situation on another night, and roughly how much I'll be spending overall on meals/activities. Here we go!melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-58891366656355874502019-07-22T22:43:00.000-05:002019-08-21T22:53:33.540-05:00New Caledonia, Day 4: The quaint corners of NoumeaDay 4: Monday, July 22, 2019<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNkll-pefncG4W11CXCEodoyCI51ONl50v2izNM8m90qF7RSl8-t4Acm2pQyYrlPjb-Zqf7Rf9EcHANhkEMWmadA65Gn9VBdQ4b4z6O3I16f39Vwjv8b7Qj7fyOH4SI90kSyOzmFzvzM/s1600/IMG_6326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNkll-pefncG4W11CXCEodoyCI51ONl50v2izNM8m90qF7RSl8-t4Acm2pQyYrlPjb-Zqf7Rf9EcHANhkEMWmadA65Gn9VBdQ4b4z6O3I16f39Vwjv8b7Qj7fyOH4SI90kSyOzmFzvzM/s640/IMG_6326.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">paradise.</td></tr>
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This morning we had a relaxed start, as it was the first day in my trip that Michael didn't have to work. This meant we would get the whole day together, and he would be my personal tour guide.
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For breakfast, Michael picked up some fresh baguettes from the market, one of which was charcoal bread: a black baguette that didn't differ too much in flavor, but it was one of Michaels favorites because it was aesthetically pleasing. He asked me if I wanted coffee and jam, to which I obviously replied in the affirmative. He "went shopping" at his house, returning with local honey, nutella, and several kinds of jam. The apartment in which I was staying was already well stocked with butter. Clearly I was in heaven.
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh86lp0-Csf9cUy1pf_uO221ltjRvyeq_ZJ96kUyhrbYSbYjlwWq5MhCAaqq3AlDsraCK29sQch0UVB2xW72oG24fMeEAvxwtZnWkH3n4LrCyLsgn0wHgJHJnzSlbd3ANT5Y9jf0xE9mbQ/s1600/IMG_6317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1011" data-original-width="1600" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh86lp0-Csf9cUy1pf_uO221ltjRvyeq_ZJ96kUyhrbYSbYjlwWq5MhCAaqq3AlDsraCK29sQch0UVB2xW72oG24fMeEAvxwtZnWkH3n4LrCyLsgn0wHgJHJnzSlbd3ANT5Y9jf0xE9mbQ/s640/IMG_6317.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">look at this breakfast. LOOK AT IT</td></tr>
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And to ensure it got only better and better, Michael offered to make me a coffee. He used an aeropress, a typical peace corps coffee snob staple, as it is portable and practical, yet makes a good cup of coffee. Having Michael, a seasoned barista, brew you a cup of coffee with an aeropress is like asking Monet to make you a portrait with ketchup: its not his usual medium, but with it he will make a masterpiece. He proceeded to froth milk, pre-heat the mugs and swirl and pour the coffee to make a delicious brew. Not that I really am enough of an aficionado to know the difference, but it was fun to watch him work his magic.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXgxfb5OnZnJZZvTSE-OS1PKabOGu_2JmR0m4I_CDyE4gAVVHFDUaOcO7Jwx5i9UEiw9-2wnxRnfJdX_hInSZk6KU6diCkAf9tkD1Vj3BWZgoG4e-F0noYFnpIEZaZvm-gNh8G3dvZEcE/s1600/WhatsApp+Image+2019-07-22+at+17.34.46_EDIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="974" data-original-width="747" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXgxfb5OnZnJZZvTSE-OS1PKabOGu_2JmR0m4I_CDyE4gAVVHFDUaOcO7Jwx5i9UEiw9-2wnxRnfJdX_hInSZk6KU6diCkAf9tkD1Vj3BWZgoG4e-F0noYFnpIEZaZvm-gNh8G3dvZEcE/s640/WhatsApp+Image+2019-07-22+at+17.34.46_EDIT.jpg" width="490" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">dog-sitting</td></tr>
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Eventually we got ourselves moving, and Michael decided to take Milka, the dog, with us to run around, since part of the deal with my free stay was Michael doing some pet-sitting. My twenty minutes of fetch the other day wasn't enough, apparently. Dogs are needy.
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With my complete indifference to what we did or where we went today, Michael was in control.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgsHmrEFaFKrrzcOhHkXsZaH_sl3kxWATvf7N6iPoYk_hB6beg24YVngkTJK5vqaOoXwlbMshsOsFJkowh1cgdL_AEsbr8z2vO-pCk1Fqcb2S7rPBIZPfSsrsKUDlf396SActWBAVtQPQ/s1600/IMG_6322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgsHmrEFaFKrrzcOhHkXsZaH_sl3kxWATvf7N6iPoYk_hB6beg24YVngkTJK5vqaOoXwlbMshsOsFJkowh1cgdL_AEsbr8z2vO-pCk1Fqcb2S7rPBIZPfSsrsKUDlf396SActWBAVtQPQ/s640/IMG_6322.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the promenade along the bay</td></tr>
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We went exploring by foot, along the Baie de Sainte-Marie, which was a beautifully scenic route. We circled Ouen Toro which I saw yesterday, eventually ending up in the Faubourg Blanchot neighborhood.
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This area was uniquely different than what I'd seen of Nouméa so far. Michael's neighborhood is shiny and modern, reminding me of the Ikea-like aesthetic of my host family's home in Valencia Spain. This neighborhood, however, had more of an old world charm to it. Michael pointed out that his neighborhood is a newer development, which makes perfect sense. Here in ----, there is a colonial charm, with wrought iron balconies dripping with flowers and vines, with other homes shielded by beautiful landscaping.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixVmDP-LkHB97Wl9eBtyJR5BEjVOpmYA-gAD5JiDmYLsHxkVqHy1363OotvZwVTtVe4w3dG-zpRZG1__ZEM8wNwwRI1Z2j8CQZPQZr3xz6zXeVwqikZ7EI31GNH2YAHXkNqeImdXil0cE/s1600/IMG_6335.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixVmDP-LkHB97Wl9eBtyJR5BEjVOpmYA-gAD5JiDmYLsHxkVqHy1363OotvZwVTtVe4w3dG-zpRZG1__ZEM8wNwwRI1Z2j8CQZPQZr3xz6zXeVwqikZ7EI31GNH2YAHXkNqeImdXil0cE/s640/IMG_6335.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maison Célières</td></tr>
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We stumbled upon Maison Célières, a colonial home that has been converted into a free museum. Something to explore that was free?! I was all in.
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The exhibits and photo captions were all in French, unfortunately for me. But even so, the home was nicely preserved, with some of the original owners' belongings on display, such as the dining ware, the bedding and furniture, and the obligatory creepy dolls in the children's room. As we wandered around, a fat orange cat, presumably the home's new inhabitant, followed us around. As we rounded the back patio where milka was tied to a bench, he cried out to us. Yes, milka, I have forgotten you, because this super friendly fat cat is my new buddy. Sorry.
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I grabbed a bunch of the free handouts and brochures to bring back to the French teacher at my school in Vanuatu, because I know she can use them for practical reading activities in the classroom. After we took a handful of fabulous photos, we were off.
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We explored a few eco-friendly shops in the area. I missed these sorts of places. In Vanuatu, there is one in town but it is extremely pricy and therefore not inviting to locals, who would pay for the more affordable plastic-heavy options available at the main stores. I enjoyed looking at the huge variety of bulk foods and eco-friendly home and body products. As I've mentioned before, I just miss the variety of shopping options, especially those that create less waste.
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxYiPZxQA3mQaAz3fc6JbdtzanXbiK7lUJDgDo8EyuPCwHoOFxPg0EZgVG0oANM36xMhP1MPi2JJKnyUp_HaYXdzLprXKBKwQE2eNssMBCV2DGCYZsrGNdWmDT8C_jpBKfs-oer5ktQdI/s1600/IMG_6340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1533" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxYiPZxQA3mQaAz3fc6JbdtzanXbiK7lUJDgDo8EyuPCwHoOFxPg0EZgVG0oANM36xMhP1MPi2JJKnyUp_HaYXdzLprXKBKwQE2eNssMBCV2DGCYZsrGNdWmDT8C_jpBKfs-oer5ktQdI/s640/IMG_6340.jpg" width="612" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">quiche deliciousness</td></tr>
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We encountered a tiny little grocery store that also offered freshly made food options. By now we were hungry again, so I indulged in a quiche (served in an eco-friendly wooden tray) and Michael picked up a bean and corn salad (also served in an eco friendly cardboard tray). Our serving spoons were wooden, and it was a small delight to know that my carry-out was completely biodegradable. We enjoyed our meal in a nearby park, because this is just the area to have a cute little triamgle-shaped park tucked in the middle of its quaint neighborhood.
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One of our goals today was to find a few secondhand shops so I could explore what the fabulously fashionable French people discard while cleaning their closets. We walked to Sans Chichi Friperie Chic Femme & Homme where I entered fashion heaven. This was a more upscale second hand, but still affordable. Everything was cherry picked, from top brands to Zara to Topshop. I wanted the first twenty items I saw, and I grabbed them all to try in the dressing room. After narrowing down my choices based on practicality (when would I REALLY wear a navy blue fringe-sleeve suede top in Vanuatu?) I decided on white and navy striped off-the-shoulder maxi dress that actually fit me perfectly. It made me feel like I owned a yacht, but it only cost $20usd! A steal. I also got a nice pair of earrings from the front $1 basket. It was a day of value!
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Meanwhile, Michael was off in the back where the men's clothes were, and found some nice shoe and shirt options. Men's clothes are boring.
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">pups on a roof</td></tr>
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As the sun went down and milka grew tired, it was time for us to make our way home. Walking around a town always invites you to see its strange quirks, like a fenced-in home that appeared to be the residence of 16 tiny dogs and a goat, all of which were standing on the roof of the house. Or the beauty of the rose-colored sunset over the McDonald's golden arches. These are the absurd kinds of things you see while walking.
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">look at that sunset</td></tr>
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We returned back to my place and enjoyed some pasta for dinner, before watching more "man seeking woman" and calling it a night. Tomorrow is my last full day in Nouméa, and I was excited to make the most of it.<br />
<br />melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-61132261816340771142019-07-21T03:51:00.000-05:002019-08-21T22:57:38.647-05:00New Caledonia, Day 3: Markets and Croque MadamesDay 3: Sunday, July 21, 2019<br />
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Since today is a Sunday, I didn't have too many big plans due to everything being closed. However, this was one of my few chances to catch the bustling Le Marche, or open-air marketplace.<br />
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As I've mentioned in previous posts, Noumea is very stylish. There's French people here, and lots of clothing options, so of course they're stylish! This is the first solo trip I've been on where I packed stylishly, but also practically. Today, I wear a forest green maxi dress with a long-sleeve chambray shirt for warmth. I accessorize with jewelry and my gold sandals, and I do the signature French makeup: black eyeliner, mascara, and red lipstick. I pop on my new hat and I'm off to the streets.<br />
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The Latin Quarter and city center are located north, so I walk about 40 minutes, or 2.5 km north of "home."<br />
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The previous times I've passed Le Marche, it's been closed, because it's only open from 5am-11am daily. I will say I was expecting a little bit more than what there was, but that's not to say it wasn't impressive.<br />
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Rather than one, massive building, Le Marche is a series of hexagonal pavilions connected together, offering everything from produce to meats to cheeses to baked goods to jewelry to clothes and more.<br />
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Tonight, Michael and I plan to make dinner, so I go straight for the produce. Everything is impeccably labeled with names and prices, and most are the same from vendor to vendor with a few exceptions. Things are far more expensive here than they are in Vanuatu. For example, root vegetables in Vanuatu are practically given away...a massive 4-kilo bag of sweet potatoes would cost about $5 USD. Here, the manioc/cassava roots are about $2 each.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizognTw4pdizOivTfPnHtEnE1a37t2_yGAVLWYVFfO98VW3w5DJW_YkD20j6RtsQV8nJV0VDIGfMIa8LUo4VQeoyCrcOE9boxBw7Pm1sW7GBx-kwKDgjDqd0q71V-QvgKk-aiaCL6PPMQ/s1600/IMG_6305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1165" data-original-width="1600" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizognTw4pdizOivTfPnHtEnE1a37t2_yGAVLWYVFfO98VW3w5DJW_YkD20j6RtsQV8nJV0VDIGfMIa8LUo4VQeoyCrcOE9boxBw7Pm1sW7GBx-kwKDgjDqd0q71V-QvgKk-aiaCL6PPMQ/s640/IMG_6305.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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While prices are higher overall, variety makes this market a much more familiar option. Most produce is sourced locally, with some sourced from nearby countries, and others from far away (USA cherries are $50 a kilo!). There is the typical "island food" I've grown used to in Vanuatu: papayas, coconuts, taros, yams, cucumbers, avocados and watermelon. There's also a massive variety that isn't always available in Vanuatu in the capital, with some that I <i>never</i> see in Vanuatu: cherries, strawberries, white potatoes.<br />
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I get a handful of produce, some of which I find quite overpriced yet still acceptable, then I let my appetite do the shopping for me. There are cakes and brioche and creamy milkshakes and cheeses and all kinds of delicacies. In one of the market pavilions, there is a bustling restaurant that has stools and standing tables surrounding the bar for you to enjoy a coffee, a piece of crusty bread with jam, or a variety of cakes and pastries or even a croque madame. I decide the pastry selection is better in a nearby pavilion, grab a chocolate brioche, and head off to the nearby Coconut Square.<br />
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Today is beautifully sunny, and sitting beside the fountain in Coconut Square reminds me of Spain. Little children are riding scooters or running around while their parents sit nearby. A teenage boy approaches me on his bike and says something in French, and I say, "anglais?" to which he just nods and rides off. This becomes a common occurrence, that I don't find in my other travels. One, because I physically blend in here. Two, the culture here isn't shy to ask questions of strangers. Therefore, I'm often having awkward conversations with strangers who are asking or telling me things. The benefit is that when men are catcalling me, I'm often so oblivious to what they're saying, that I can't really get mad.<br />
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After a brief rest, I head way south near Anse Vata, where I stop for a lunch at Malongo Cafe. I get a croque madame with a salad, along with a delicious banana/pineapple/coconut smoothie. The smoothie is basically the same price as the sandwich. Beverages here are so expensive!<br />
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Then, I'm off to the nearby Parc du Ouen Toro, which is a giant hill that overlooks Duck Island. Along the way, I see the nightclub from <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2019/07/new-caledonia-day-2-saturday-nights.html">last night</a> in the daytime.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Z-PgY3xEmulyinQSWXukZelRwYNhRyZ901lSulFt68LzDT5SYxvkNSPtceXzCXIDmMhauVbWVOLOszdd7F1b_0CS88kk62qkjLPCnW_vxHNX5DRAurSgueN400sfWR1JvLrIZ03DNmo/s1600/IMG_6319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="893" data-original-width="1600" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Z-PgY3xEmulyinQSWXukZelRwYNhRyZ901lSulFt68LzDT5SYxvkNSPtceXzCXIDmMhauVbWVOLOszdd7F1b_0CS88kk62qkjLPCnW_vxHNX5DRAurSgueN400sfWR1JvLrIZ03DNmo/s640/IMG_6319.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Bodega Del Mar</td></tr>
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At Ouen Toro, the views are breathtaking on all sides. Families are here picnicking on the grass, and there are nearby walking paths that give other unobstructed views of the nearby area. It's a nice free activity and perfect for this clear day.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Ouen Toro</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEh3rWfsB7gCTvqAlTmmMY4bC00nLKpfiocrtEN-FtgTcolJvCevLpDeunUO0IKrJgWphFFxgSRMl8qyDYHFF0BZZO4Bb9pdxe6z-Oo_ADmqryl9cXmLykWUfl204soIhfGGFOG_D66FY/s1600/IMG_6314.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEh3rWfsB7gCTvqAlTmmMY4bC00nLKpfiocrtEN-FtgTcolJvCevLpDeunUO0IKrJgWphFFxgSRMl8qyDYHFF0BZZO4Bb9pdxe6z-Oo_ADmqryl9cXmLykWUfl204soIhfGGFOG_D66FY/s640/IMG_6314.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the view from the top</td></tr>
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After all that bopping around, I head home and freshen up before Michael gets off of work. He heads over and we make some pasta for dinner and enjoy some wine, a perfect easy budget meal. I make pasta all the time in Port Vila when I'm stuck in town, but something about having a full kitchen and access to olive oil and cheese makes the whole process a lot more luxurious. Also, being in Vanuatu has lowered my needs and expectations, so I am easily pleased by those little things.<br />
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After dinner, we settle down to watch some <i><a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt4189492/">Man Seeking Woman</a></i> (excellent surrealist show about dating life) before it's time for a much-needed rest.<br />
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Tomorrow, Michael doesn't work, so we'll have the full day to head off and explore!<br />
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<span id="goog_1861355462"></span>melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-5970076901606261512019-07-20T01:56:00.000-05:002019-07-26T01:58:03.635-05:00New Caledonia, Day 2: Saturday Night's Alright For FightingSaturday, July 20, 2019<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGCfppBFbBumHwZCafhpdXUTMUuOb3btOi7c1z_q6JCfitUkQLq9PGvHgOII0k_AU3mmhosxdJp9o_c88sg7caOIS-QpwyIHpp82Vs_Rqs1ARLbT1bcPQA80fHEqckAh9EtsnYgCqvX6s/s1600/67704870_10157394232803781_4963628785556520960_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGCfppBFbBumHwZCafhpdXUTMUuOb3btOi7c1z_q6JCfitUkQLq9PGvHgOII0k_AU3mmhosxdJp9o_c88sg7caOIS-QpwyIHpp82Vs_Rqs1ARLbT1bcPQA80fHEqckAh9EtsnYgCqvX6s/s640/67704870_10157394232803781_4963628785556520960_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">saturday night disco worship (photo cred: Magaly)</td></tr>
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On my second day of adventuring around, I plan to hit a tourist destination such as a museum, zoo, aquarium, or something. Noumea has them all, and I'm excited to explore!<br />
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I get a really late start. The benefit about <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/hostel%20life">staying in hostels</a> is you don't feel a desire to spend an exorbitant amount of time in them, making your days more efficient. However, when you stay at someone's home or an AirBNB or an apartment, you slowly get up, undisturbed by stranger roommates, and are free to walk around naked post-shower and and eat cereal, chips, and macarons for breakfast at your leisure.<br />
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Thus, I left the house at 11:30am. It didn't matter to me that it was later, though, because it was quite rainy this morning. I bundled up with jeans and layers to walk around town.<br />
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Noumea is much like Spain in that businesses close during lunch hours. Therefore, by the time I get to town, I will have to go straight to eating lunch since nothing else will be open. I'm not totally against that idea, I'm just sayin'.<br />
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I decide to talk a different walk to the Latin Quarter today. It's about a 40 minute walk from where I am located, and I'll go ahead and say that despite Noumea having an established bus system with routes and stops, I gotta give it to Port Vila or Chicago for actually making everything accessible. Noumea's routes don't go where you need them to go. There's many times on this trip I find myself wishing that public transportation was more accessible, but alas, here I am walking 40 minutes to get to town<br />
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I decide to take a different route today, through the Trianon area, which was simply dumb because it was a residential route along a high-speed road. Don't recommend that to you...you should take the longer route along the bay.<br />
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My first stop in town is the Musee de Nouvelle Caledonie, or, the New Caledonia Museum. I researched it ahead of time and read the entrance fee should be under 500 francs.<br />
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I arrive and...it's closed. Not just for lunch, but as of about a week ago, they have closed to move around some exhibits. FOR THE NEXT TWO YEARS. So, if you're coming to New Caledonia, don't put that one on your to-see list until late 2021.<br />
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I walk around some more, but most things, including shops, are closed. I assume it's like Vanuatu, in that stores are only open until noon on Saturdays. Time to eat, I guess.<br />
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In Noumea, there are two types of eateries: cafes and restaurants. The general rule is that cafes are open from the early morning until mid-afternoon, and restaurants are strictly open at meal times (lunch and dinner) only, sometimes with a break in between. Cafes tend to have a "light" menu including sandwiches and salads, whereas restaurants have larger meals and platters, and tend to be more expensive.<br />
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Since I just ate breakfast, I wasn't super hungry. The 2500franc menus at the restaurants I was passing by were not appetizing to my wallet. Just as I thought to myself, "all I want is a kebab" the universe grants my wish as I stroll past Sucre et Sale, aka "Sweet and salty" the perfect little streetside dive. They have kebabs, sandwiches, and falafels, along with ice cream, waffles and lots of items that can be coated with Nutella.<br />
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I order a falafel, which was alright, but it satiated my appetite. It was also 1000 francs, which is high for the item, but for here in Noumea, it was low.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Before entering Mwa Ka</td></tr>
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I then walked over to Mwa Ka, a small park with a totem pole in the middle and other, smaller ones surrounding it. It's a nice bit of Kanak culture in the city, if it weren't for tons of graffiti all over it, including the placard giving detail about its cultural significance. Either way, with it surrounded by trees, it was a small little oasis in the middle of town.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></td></tr>
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I was getting a bit bored of town. Usually when I travel solo, I appreciate the solo moments, but sometimes if there's not enough tours or things to see, it feels like a chore to walk around. I felt that I'd seen all that I could with my timing and my lack of access to transport, so I walked back home.<br />
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On my way, I thought I'd try to see the Cathedrale Saint Joseph. Today has been quite overcast, so that combined with a few shady-looking characters lingering in front of the closed cathedral (which is located away from the main road) made me quickly change my path. It was the last straw, and now I headed back home.<br />
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Just before getting back to the house, I stopped again at Simply Market, the grocery store that Michael and I went to yesterday. I wanted to browse again, especially in the baked goods section. Today, they had a variety pack of macarons, two of each of six different flavors! Purchase made. About 20% of my spending so far has been on macarons.<br />
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I go home, play fetch with the dog, Milka, and then get ready to go out for the night. After I am properly dressed for hanging with stylish French people, I walk over to Michael's.<br />
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I tell Michael that I purchased more macarons today. "Again?!" he asks in disbelief. Um, yes, they had a variety pack available this time. He asks me which flavors they were. I list out the flavors: chocolate, strawberry, coconut, lemon, banana-chocolate, to each of which he grimaces or makes a sour face, until I say "pistachio." "Oh, pistachio is nice!" Ugh, is he even French!?<br />
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His friend Jason drives us to their friend's house. The road we drive on reminds me of Lake Shore Drive in Chicago, with multiple lanes and water on one side. It's beautiful at night.<br />
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We go to Magaly's house, whose 27th birthday we're celebrating tonight. Michael knows her through work, and the party is half of Magaly's coworkers and half of her friends from CrossFit training. It's nice to be around non-Peace Corps people for a change.<br />
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Michael, a wonderful guest, brings a variety of cheeses, breads, raisins and pears. A few moments in the kitchen and we have a cheese platter that would make any French person happy (except Michael, because he's ashamed there's no nuts on the platter).<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIJkYd-Msl8LWVNhkc-YF9-Ean_tNvF8uEFhyphenhyphenIbHXsripE7tdG2phZeS8Vh4v4lToWLrEyxoIqutDAoXnLSnc0onUtPDx0L1aZv7jDF4Bk2biDuQtGdB0vXA9cjYkCqPazrBix2vC5lsM/s1600/67287296_10157394232478781_6263708200575434752_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIJkYd-Msl8LWVNhkc-YF9-Ean_tNvF8uEFhyphenhyphenIbHXsripE7tdG2phZeS8Vh4v4lToWLrEyxoIqutDAoXnLSnc0onUtPDx0L1aZv7jDF4Bk2biDuQtGdB0vXA9cjYkCqPazrBix2vC5lsM/s640/67287296_10157394232478781_6263708200575434752_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">new friends! (photo cred: Magaly)</td></tr>
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The twelve of us cluster around a coffee table on the patio, and it's oh-so-French. There's 9 wine bottles on the table, beside ashtrays and platters of cheese. Beautiful people in fashionable clothes, their cigarettes in one hand and wine glasses in another, waving them around animatedly as they chat, only setting one down to get a bite of quiche or bread and cheese. The quiches and pizzas keep on coming and it ends up being a filling meal.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRuUfyEY82vn8vmwLMsnyIyw6ioByjhO8loNxmfbTHR9hrgW9zirnNuxXVgs9U8fGTXWWHOXN6_V9piFhiO1TtDWLIxS0XRa6-uELdtVLdBLyg2bGhTo-cS9KyVrPMFegKN6sCOz7mllM/s1600/IMG_20190720_200946.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRuUfyEY82vn8vmwLMsnyIyw6ioByjhO8loNxmfbTHR9hrgW9zirnNuxXVgs9U8fGTXWWHOXN6_V9piFhiO1TtDWLIxS0XRa6-uELdtVLdBLyg2bGhTo-cS9KyVrPMFegKN6sCOz7mllM/s640/IMG_20190720_200946.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">so french.</td></tr>
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I mostly chat with Michael as the other guests who do know English are a little shy to test it out, but for me, the people watching alone was amusement. Occasionally a couple of the men on the other end of the table will shout the few English phrases they know in my direction, to which I laugh and nod. At one point, Michael's friends tease him for wearing too many colors: he's wearing a black t-shirt, jeans, a khaki button-up shirt and some burgundy sneakers. I laugh because it's such a French stereotype that no one can wear more than two colors. This is such a basic outfit but he's getting called out on being flamboyant. They should see what I wear in Vanuatu: florals on plaid on patterns.<br />
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At the very end, they bring out a chocolate cake with candles so we can sing to the birthday girl. By now, they also bring out the pastis, an anise-flavored liqueur. When the table clears and all that remains are empty bottles, cigarettes and crumbs, we move on for the night.<br />
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Jason drives us to La Bodega Del Mar, which is having an 80s, 90s and 2000s theme night tonight. The parking lot outside and all the nearby businesses are packed. As I mentioned before, public transportation isn't convenient, especially at this hour. The bar itself is just as packed.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH5dj03uQM8bfh_SEfH5ocZ9jhUIBKA-hRhWm9KXzgUCxLffh7rGm_1zwvhrv96VVwvEMLgWVnSulj0qF_n9XIX8oqt3Bb3IzJSY71xntx1jdd48mdyHBjlJr_1X2RL2rsCVyS79JWlRQ/s1600/67389576_10157394232843781_46295808965869568_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH5dj03uQM8bfh_SEfH5ocZ9jhUIBKA-hRhWm9KXzgUCxLffh7rGm_1zwvhrv96VVwvEMLgWVnSulj0qF_n9XIX8oqt3Bb3IzJSY71xntx1jdd48mdyHBjlJr_1X2RL2rsCVyS79JWlRQ/s640/67389576_10157394232843781_46295808965869568_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">dance dance dance (photo cred: Magaly)</td></tr>
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I am surprised there's no cover charge and we walk right in to the hoards of people and make our way to the bar. It's expensive; a tequila shot is 1000 francs, or about $10usd. Once we get our drinks, we move on to dancing, and the variety of music is great; everything from Aretha Franklin to AC/DC to 90s hip-hop. It's a shame there isn't more space, because the tunes sure did encourage dancing.<br />
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It also encouraged fighting. A couple brawls broke out while we were on the dancefloor. One of them was immediately broken up by the bouncer, and a person was carried away, while the woman she was fighting with still was riled up and continued smashing beer bottles on the table as her boyfriend tried to calm her down. It was wild to see such aggression. Fights break out all the time in Port Vila bars, but they're usually sloppy people bumping into each other and not someone waving broken glass bottles in people's faces. It was a bit scary, but it was broken up soon enough, and we were all fine.<br />
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While on the dancefloor, a man accidentally stepped on my foot and I rolled my eyes at him. He apparently took this very offensively, or he thought I was more angry than I was, because I could see out of the corner of my eye that he kept trying to get my attention again by pretending to step on my foot again. I ignored him, and he turned to Michael and told him that he didn't want me to be so angry about stepping on my foot. Michael brushed him off, and eventually he left. But he was quite frustrated at me and was maybe picking a fight? Or avoiding one? It was hard to tell. Drunk people, am I right?<br />
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The bar is located on the water, with a wooden walkway connecting it to another nightclub, XO, and a restaurant at the end. The nightclub was hopping, too, but when we stepped out for air, we also decided to end the night, as it was getting late and Michael still had to work tomorrow. I appreciate him coming out tonight just to appease my needs for some interesting nightlife.<br />
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Tomorrow I'm off on my own again for some more adventures, like the downtown market!<br />
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<br />melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-78202604804893650852019-07-19T03:09:00.000-05:002019-07-26T01:59:47.013-05:00New Caledonia, Day 1: So French!...until it's Spanish!Friday, July 19, 2019<br />
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After <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2019/05/faqs-youre-extending-for-third-year.html">extending my contract with the Peace Corps for another year</a>, one of the requirements is that I must exit and re-enter the country so I can renew my visa. Travel? Don't mind if I do.<br />
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The two main things I'd heard about Noumea were, "It's like Port Vila, but more developed" and "It's like France and the Pacific had a baby...there's patisseries and cafes, but there's also a tropical Pacific feel and influence."<br />
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I decided I would head off to nearby New Caledonia, a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Caledonia">special collectivity of France</a> that is directly southwest of Vanuatu and a brief 80-minute plane ride. At $220 USD, it's also a roundtrip ticket that is far cheaper than any roundtrip domestic ticket you can buy within Vanuatu. I also was excited to explore another taste of the Pacific that was a little different, since my <a href="http://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">living in Vanuatu</a> has left me craving a little bit of variety. After all, that's why we travel, right? To explore, to meet new people, to taste new foods, and see new things.<br />
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Since I wasn't traveling with anything but carry-on, I checked in for my flight yesterday online, and I headed to the airport a mere 2 hours before my flight departure at 6:30am. I'm not sure what the purpose of online check-in is, especially when you print your boarding pass, bring it to the airport, only for them to check you in and print another boarding pass. Thankfully, the process was quick, and I somehow magically avoided the massive line of 200+ people checking in for the same flight.<br />
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I was one of the first fifteen people through passport control and security, and I quickly found myself waiting at the gate for the flight to take off. The travel was a breeze.<br />
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The flight is short, a mere 80 minutes in the air. Since it's international, we're served a nice breakfast of French yogurt and a banana muffin as well as juice and tea. After a snack and a nap, I'm in Noumea!<br />
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It's only 8:30am, and we're seemingly the first flight in. The place is completely dead. Without checked luggage, I am the first through immigration and customs, and in less than ten minutes I'm in the lobby of the airport. Michael kindly arranged a shuttle bus to pick me up from the airport around 9am, so I have time to change out of my "commonfolk" airplane clothes and into fabulous, French-ready fashion. No more glasses and leggings, on with contact lenses and a boho chic dress!<br />
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There is no one in the lobby when I exit, save for a man in a red polo shirt, who is the man who will be taking me to town on the shuttle. I guess my fashion rehab in the bathroom took too long and he was waiting. Oops. We hop on the bus, which is large enough for about 15 people, but it's just me and two other men. The driver insists on putting my bag in the back. I'm used to cramming on buses in Vanuatu with my bag on my lap. It's not even a theft thing, it's just logically the best way to take up less space! The man talks to me in French and seemingly doesn't understand. Despite my mascara and fresh outfit, I still find my backpacker ways overtly making me stand out. The driver gestures to tell me to put my bag on the three empty seats beside me. I give in to appease him as he climbs into the front seat...but once the car starts moving, I put it back on my lap. It really is just easier to lean on this way, you know?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiivQA-pJiyq4_We_OaMG2uaG5H_cQEGBbeo4Fw0KWeFnfNySM9dpHNonQyp1tvc47fN6zil3aqTRl98m3ikr5cfexoDnw4tVANRvfqyfUS6I0_gl0phIt3nEPvPQ0cCopzAgKVoetIe_s/s1600/IMG_6262_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1037" data-original-width="1600" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiivQA-pJiyq4_We_OaMG2uaG5H_cQEGBbeo4Fw0KWeFnfNySM9dpHNonQyp1tvc47fN6zil3aqTRl98m3ikr5cfexoDnw4tVANRvfqyfUS6I0_gl0phIt3nEPvPQ0cCopzAgKVoetIe_s/s640/IMG_6262_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael welcomes me with latte art. </td></tr>
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After dropping the two men off, I'm driven to Lemon Bay, to a cafe where Michael works as a barista. He welcomes me with a mocha, and I order a bacon and egg sandwich with a salad. Michael is a skilled barista who has been elevating the cafe's reputation with gorgeous latte art. He pours me a swan.<br />
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The cafe is cute, with pastel pink and yellow accents in the cups and chairs and other decor. Once I take a bite of my sandwich, memories flash via my taste buds to the flavors of McDonald's. When Michael gets on his break, I tell him to not be offended before I inform him of this. I ask him if the cafe uses Heinz ketchup, to which he says yes. Vanuatu has Heinz, but it's rare you find it anywhere but the grocery store (it's marked up in price there, of course), because it's just not the cheapest. You don't really realize how much Heinz makes a difference in the flavor until you don't taste it for nearly two years. Then you taste it and WOW. There's a vinegar-y bite, and far less sweetness than off-brand ketchup. This has been a paid advertisement for Heinz. Not.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPippquxwot4FCB0pDZQ4UiOx7kYNq6OVConk52gJqLGEVNPqDnR8mGDWaGqEDzU1LDowsOpk3AjyMyGQTyEBSVpobnrGOKVvjVgBay22J0cvp8vLBDvjG0_OvonQbGa7h8izFmH8SKgg/s1600/IMG_6263.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="811" data-original-width="1600" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPippquxwot4FCB0pDZQ4UiOx7kYNq6OVConk52gJqLGEVNPqDnR8mGDWaGqEDzU1LDowsOpk3AjyMyGQTyEBSVpobnrGOKVvjVgBay22J0cvp8vLBDvjG0_OvonQbGa7h8izFmH8SKgg/s640/IMG_6263.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brunch, courtesy of Heinz</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNgmi8CtI_ms03K-bqxKrQmnU1E-IYmlhyphenhyphengOqKkAhNwfPUqSYLY4gPUm7U53_SFOhw0G2QUd8p_8VNmbk1vb92Nre0LtTye0Po95gwlAagIZg4trtKwrUGQHwGXpGuiF98wylNnWq-ze0/s1600/IMG_6264_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1254" data-original-width="1246" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNgmi8CtI_ms03K-bqxKrQmnU1E-IYmlhyphenhyphengOqKkAhNwfPUqSYLY4gPUm7U53_SFOhw0G2QUd8p_8VNmbk1vb92Nre0LtTye0Po95gwlAagIZg4trtKwrUGQHwGXpGuiF98wylNnWq-ze0/s640/IMG_6264_edit.jpg" width="634" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael's food is so pretty</td></tr>
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After catching up with Michael, he has to return to work, and I have to explore. I have about five hours before Michael is free to hang out, so I pack up my backpack purse, slap on some sunscreen, and I'm off on foot.<br />
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I pop into a discount store called TATI to browse. In Vila, the shopping options are secondhand or expensive/designer/duty-free, so it's nice to find something in the middle like this. I immediately discover a really cute sun hat, perfect for the gorgeously sunny weather outside. It's only 1000 franc, and I eventually find myself using it every day of the trip.<br />
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Across the street is the Commissariat Central, the police station, which is located in a beautiful building very much the architecture of the area. Reminds me of New Orleans. Beside it is a small park filled with banyan trees. It's a nice little slice of this unfamiliar mix of European and tropical.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL41S6CD6mok6y_WL5ZI8D9-2vVRvDRtuqdZ8d08udYgjgQ1VpkR2I7y2mrMmrRmMz-zx3u6Cbxfyz_VJgWPuhSFYM5AFChkRuuBn62Xorq9x2ZTPFTgYiC3_lUBSSqywxoxdCI8AaB0g/s1600/IMG_6308_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1148" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL41S6CD6mok6y_WL5ZI8D9-2vVRvDRtuqdZ8d08udYgjgQ1VpkR2I7y2mrMmrRmMz-zx3u6Cbxfyz_VJgWPuhSFYM5AFChkRuuBn62Xorq9x2ZTPFTgYiC3_lUBSSqywxoxdCI8AaB0g/s640/IMG_6308_edit.jpg" width="457" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fountain in Coconut Palm Square</td></tr>
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I explore a few more shops (I am just overwhelmed by how many options there are for clothes, food, etc!) and settle down in Coconut Palm Square, a giant park in the middle of the Latin Quarter. It's a beautiful brick-floored park with grassy areas, a giant fountain, some statues, a small pavilion for live music, and some cafes. There's free Wifi here, so it's convenient for me to look some things up before I explore some more.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAaMmMurRgB0j4-PQdVKslsnSygjKi4VuYj1CHxADiJ16f-4EQDHfcS3yOVheqGYP41dtwQJKz1nPJj-J0SppgoQl-_Aew_TKZhDqZa5-mRCc0voOKqic02kRfmJsN186tF_XMB0uGvNs/s1600/IMG_6271_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1042" data-original-width="1600" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAaMmMurRgB0j4-PQdVKslsnSygjKi4VuYj1CHxADiJ16f-4EQDHfcS3yOVheqGYP41dtwQJKz1nPJj-J0SppgoQl-_Aew_TKZhDqZa5-mRCc0voOKqic02kRfmJsN186tF_XMB0uGvNs/s640/IMG_6271_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Streets of the Latin Quarter</td></tr>
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The park is filled with clusters of young people, and a great place to people watch. With so many shopping options here, I notice there's much more alternative styles than there is in Vanuatu, much like in the US. There isn't just one "uniform" that seemingly everyone wears, but instead, here people have the option for counter-culture fashion, punk fashion, urban fashion, posh fashion, or whatever they choose. I notice that no one is ever wearing anything plain: even if a woman is wearing jeans and a shirt, the shirt has ruffles, or puff sleeves, or some embroidery or cute accent. It feels so French.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo30sTf_IxsLW5IdvVV_pP69z07zg9PYJ8ANw_2JdQ1e-ZRvYcIHjVHaasR5_hK-wLAe4XMtKI8G1tl-Ol09jYm7imbFgQ823Rpb6wMO-ICk5AYTcLgVkRRXm4sKYJnrplDLZNUxaE-eY/s1600/IMG_6267_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="1600" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo30sTf_IxsLW5IdvVV_pP69z07zg9PYJ8ANw_2JdQ1e-ZRvYcIHjVHaasR5_hK-wLAe4XMtKI8G1tl-Ol09jYm7imbFgQ823Rpb6wMO-ICk5AYTcLgVkRRXm4sKYJnrplDLZNUxaE-eY/s640/IMG_6267_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The marina</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHC6CHfH-S-zC-DeRd_pehqLl1nRM_t0Mh2H34gU-Sl312SETX4tWmOlbrm1Y8GGs1i2qsEUoV9OqRGVpf0xc7m9CoPpkthy2ypeVdXPAWiIcBjBZrb9sq5S0K5wu-hY1QRg2CcMJRJqc/s1600/IMG_6269_Edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHC6CHfH-S-zC-DeRd_pehqLl1nRM_t0Mh2H34gU-Sl312SETX4tWmOlbrm1Y8GGs1i2qsEUoV9OqRGVpf0xc7m9CoPpkthy2ypeVdXPAWiIcBjBZrb9sq5S0K5wu-hY1QRg2CcMJRJqc/s640/IMG_6269_Edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The beautiful view from the promenade.</td></tr>
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I walk back towards Michael's work near Lemon Bay. It's a beautiful walk along the water at Promenade de l'Orphelinat, beside a marina. An elderly couple is sitting on the bench, people-watching. A woman carrying a baguette (so French!) stops for a moment...I think she's going to ask me a question or take a picture, but she just stops to look at the sun setting. It's so nice, the little moments people take to enjoy the simplicity of life (so French!).<br />
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Michael finishes work and we walk back to his house . Along the way, we stop at a grocery store called Simply Market. While it's convenient, Michael says it's also the most expensive grocery store in town. As we walk in, he smells the air and smiles, saying the baked goods just smell magnificent today. He's so French. We walk around and he laughs at how easily excited I get. They have macarons at the bakery! He tells me he can only eat two in one sitting. I tell him my American self can take 8 of these and be just fine, so I do. I get excited over the varieties of honey, the hummus, the strawberries, the health foods, the cereals, the hot chocolates, and pretty much everything in the store. He quietly laughs at me every time. We go to check out, and the woman in front of me has a tray of sushi. SUSHI!? I inform Michael that we now have to take our things from the checkout and explore before we pay. I quickly grab our food and he does, too. He laughs and says he's never done that before: stopped the transaction three seconds before it was about to begin. Well, apparently he's never been excited about food before, or felt like the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=agEuFhNpC5g">Target lady</a>.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0QjJVN1_9u1Oucksmu2WRJg2XZdxCF_1Ft1Q3ZkpoznkSH2Z8i0lM94_nZJOTqA7FlzBVkkC8UnT6h6d2rkRusDNx4in7pZzKoXoLvGqbF0d2hVQav8WSSEURnJBsLl0wRe0s3xZUlQ/s1600/IMG_6276_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1384" data-original-width="1524" height="580" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0QjJVN1_9u1Oucksmu2WRJg2XZdxCF_1Ft1Q3ZkpoznkSH2Z8i0lM94_nZJOTqA7FlzBVkkC8UnT6h6d2rkRusDNx4in7pZzKoXoLvGqbF0d2hVQav8WSSEURnJBsLl0wRe0s3xZUlQ/s640/IMG_6276_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think of Michael's scoffing at the macarons as a challenge. I can eat these in one sitting, watch me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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After we head to the grocery store, Michael has to get something next door at the Librairie/Papeterie, which is a confusing store that sells tobacco, pipes and rolling papers, toys, school supplies, greeting cards and postcards, magazines, and incense. There's a lot of random demographics served here, including those who want to purchase lighters with pictures of naked women on them, because those are for sale beside the chewing gum on the counter.<br />
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In Spain, tobacco shops are similar, selling a variety of things. I've just never seen them so blatantly selling tobacco alongside stuffed animals and toys.<br />
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I see Michael's brother's house and meet his brother's girlfriend, Marie, and then Michael takes me over to where I'll be staying, one of his friend's houses nearby.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicc3NKnxC_X9_L46dJeFgQhtBuVFFyEMtY9yycAJhHI9bsofWrwzufKxe9L1v7hIGqMujXLZFKPDiO7hLnQRkua-yey29CDxwWkWCKDCPeGF-xN7d1wdUyKPOymlJxw8Ul_dmFYAp1Xd4/s1600/IMG_6274_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="1600" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicc3NKnxC_X9_L46dJeFgQhtBuVFFyEMtY9yycAJhHI9bsofWrwzufKxe9L1v7hIGqMujXLZFKPDiO7hLnQRkua-yey29CDxwWkWCKDCPeGF-xN7d1wdUyKPOymlJxw8Ul_dmFYAp1Xd4/s640/IMG_6274_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">My roommate for the weekend</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I have a whole place to myself, along with a dog named Milka and a cat named Blanche Neige (Snow White). The cat is very fat, and the dog wants to play fetch a lot.<br />
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I freshen up and Michael and Marie meet me here for a little drink. As a gift for his hospitality, I brought Michael some drinks from Vila Craft Association (craft liquors and jams made of local Vanuatu ingredients). We all have a glass of Tannalua coffee liqueur before we head off to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/frontonetchekhan/">Fronton Etchekhan</a>.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixdWeGN_wGd-lns8CVoyQsPMc0Vj3ahNV81nZOWq7fhgae4f1DU7YbNkFdSOxjulfjM34T9R_F0eBopzKMrMkLpWFQp3GwJ2TAiuXgHQvvtyvQxGvTZZDVBh-U6sxkuAiCMwAvS23ALsk/s1600/IMG_6273_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1240" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixdWeGN_wGd-lns8CVoyQsPMc0Vj3ahNV81nZOWq7fhgae4f1DU7YbNkFdSOxjulfjM34T9R_F0eBopzKMrMkLpWFQp3GwJ2TAiuXgHQvvtyvQxGvTZZDVBh-U6sxkuAiCMwAvS23ALsk/s640/IMG_6273_edit.jpg" width="496" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael is friends with many dogs. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div>
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<br />
Michael explains Fronton Etchekhan to me as we walk there, telling me that it's a sports bar. I imagine an American sports bar with chicken wings and lots of televisions, but of course I'm wrong. It's a membership bar. Where children are allowed. It's a family place. That serves pizza. But there's also a game with balls and like, hook hand things that throw the balls. I am very confused as to what to expect, but once we arrive and I see a <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lauburu">lauburu</a>, </i>the <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ikurri%C3%B1a">ikurrina</a>, </i>and the Basque font on the sign, it ALL BEGINS MAKE SENSE.<br />
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I studied in the Basque region of Spain back in 2009, and <a href="http://melissainspain2009.blogspot.com/2009/04/tortilla-de-patatas.html">one of my classes was a cooking class in a Gastronomic Society</a>. It's a membership club and part of the Basque culture, where typically men pay membership fees and just bro-out on food and culture. They're becoming more and more open to women in modern times, though.<br />
<br />
So as we walk in, Michael says he has to pay a membership fee and he has a card with his picture on it, all of which I thought is a lie because he likes to like and joke with me, but he's telling the truth, because he swipes a card on the countertop and a giant picture of his face shows up on the receptionist's computer screen. Ok, so it's a membership club, he wasn't lying. I look around and it's packed with people of all ages, with children running around and ducking under tables as their parents are fully engaged in conversations off to the side, sipping on beers. It reminds me of Spain (don't let the kids interrupt your night out, they'll just have to entertain themselves!).<br />
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As we wait for Marie to go through the reception/check-in, a man pushes his way through the crowd with a jai alai hand basket. When I studied in Spain, we learned that <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jai_alai">jai alai</a> was one of the only world-recognized Basque cultural things. People in America play it sometimes as an informal backyard sport.<br />
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The <i>lauburu </i>on the signage took me back a decade to my time in the Basque country, where I learned it meant "four (lau) head (buru)" and is a traditional symbol of the culture. I was fully expecting to eat pintxos, ajoarriero and cod omelettes. We push our way through the crowd, past the stadium-lit jai alai court, and find a table. We look at the menu, which I hope would include some <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Txakoli">txakoli</a></i>, but instead offers mostly beers. I pass on the alcohol and after we decide on the pizza, Marie goes into the sea of people to put in our order at the bar.<br />
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The place is very much a beer garden, a sight to which I'm unfamiliar after living in the Pacific for two years. Even while traveling in Asia and other Pacific countries, nothing looks like this. There are tables outside, and people standing around in clusters, speaking animatedly to one another over beers, with music just faint enough to give a vibe but not to drown out conversation as it would in a nightclub.<br />
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As the night goes on, the hyper children are now sleeping on the benches of the tables as their parents have all migrated away from them to clusters on the side. I laugh and tell Michael how it reminds me of <i><a href="http://melivininspain.blogspot.com/search/label/Las%20Fallas">Las Fallas</a></i> in Valencia, wherein parents and kids all go out, but parents don't bother to take kids home, lest they disturb the grownups' nights. He chuckles and tells me the sight reminds him of his childhood. Must be a European thing.<br />
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After an amazing night of conversation and catching up, we walk back to our respective homes and say goodnight. Tomorrow Michael works again, and I'll be off to explore town in the morning.<br />
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melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-35305014528021978042019-01-30T17:47:00.000-06:002019-05-03T19:26:39.954-05:002018: A (Travel) Year in Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In 2017, I managed to add <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/01/2017-travel-year-in-review.html">a total of seven new countries and autonomous regions to the list of places I've been</a>, bringing me to a total of 27 countries/autonomous regions that I'd visited in my lifetime. </div>
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While I lived the entirety of 2018 <a href="http://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">in Vanuatu</a>, I still managed to get out and about.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>In 2018, I visited a total of seven new countries/autonomous regions, bringing me to <b>a total of 34 countries/autonomous regions that I've visited in my lifetime</b>.<br />
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<ol>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/Thailand">Thailand</a></li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/Cambodia">Cambodia</a></li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/Malaysia">Malaysia</a></li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/Indonesia">Indonesia</a></li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/Australia">Australia</a></li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/Marshall%20Islands">Marshall Islands</a></li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/Nauru">Nauru</a></li>
</ol>
<div>
Those are just the new countries. I traveled to a total of 11+ <b>new</b> cities and villages!<br />
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<ol>
<li>Utanlang Village, Nguna, Vanuatu</li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/03/southeast-asia-day-1-government.html">Phuket City</a>, Thailand</li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/03/southeast-asia-day-3-day-in-charming.html">Phuket Town</a>, Thailand</li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/03/southeast-asia-day-2-all-food-in-patong.html">Patong Beach</a>, Thailand</li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/03/southeast-asia-day-7-taling-chan.html">Bangkok</a>, Thailand</li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/03/southeast-asia-day-9-arrival-in.html">Svay Dangkum Village</a>, Cambodia</li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/03/southeast-asia-day-10-getting-annoyed.html">Siem Reap</a>, Cambodia</li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/03/southeast-asia-day-11-breakfast.html">Kuala Lumpur</a>, Malaysia</li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/Indonesia">Canggu, Bali</a>, Indonesia</li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/12/least-visited-day-1-six-hours-in-sydney.html">Sydney</a>, Australia</li>
<li><a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/12/least-visited-day-2-arrival-in-marshall.html">Majuro</a>, Marshall Islands</li>
<li>Um, every administrative district of the entire country, Nauru</li>
</ol>
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<ol>
</ol>
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I made dozens of <b>new</b> friends and travel buddies and Peace Corps family, and already <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/reunion">had a reunion</a> with over six of them.<br />
<ul>
<li>I met <a href="https://thetranstraveller.com/">Taylan</a> in <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/Russia">Russia</a> and they met me here in Vanuatu in January.</li>
<li>I met LaiYuen in <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/Russia">Russia</a> and I reunited with her in her hometown of Kuala Lumpur.</li>
<li>I met <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/03/southeast-asia-day-4-moms-birthday.html">my parents in Thailand</a> after having been away from them for almost a year.</li>
<li>I met <a href="http://vumn.blogspot.com/">Ted </a>in Vanuatu (a fellow PCV) and met up with him in Bangkok.</li>
<li>I met <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/monsoon%20diaries">Calvin</a> in Uzbekistan and I spent <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/12/least-visited-day-5-attempting-to-meet.html">my third NYE with him in Nauru</a></li>
<li>I reunited with countless Peace Corps volunteers at their respective sites/islands.</li>
</ul>
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In March, I did a solo trip to Southeast Asia, and later in the year I went on a <a href="http://monsoondiaries.com/">Monsoon Diaries</a> trip (The <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/Least%20Visited%20Countries">Least Visited Countries Tour</a> began on December 27th, 2018) and met tons of new travel friends. I did it all while still serving as <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2017/07/my-purpose-as-literacy-project-volunteer.html">a Peace Corps volunteer in Vanuatu</a>.<br />
<br />
And I had immeasurable laughs, excitement, <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/search/label/travel%20nightmare">frustration</a> and joy through it all. Here are some of my pictures to summarize the year, places I've visited and people I've met. Click on a photo to enlarge.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiysAOvS2wJL0z9XcutGjmrc3N_M-aLhbtg0T5flRz2cDeaF-aDMTSD2MVwan5kjY7JaNHms0xI9iuhJc_coYP1qUXYTGqc4oavM688hAyvRPyQJ3VdxSFfMO4CQdc9njufYvqIK-9lRl0/s1600/IMG_2737_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1522" data-original-width="1600" height="608" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiysAOvS2wJL0z9XcutGjmrc3N_M-aLhbtg0T5flRz2cDeaF-aDMTSD2MVwan5kjY7JaNHms0xI9iuhJc_coYP1qUXYTGqc4oavM688hAyvRPyQJ3VdxSFfMO4CQdc9njufYvqIK-9lRl0/s640/IMG_2737_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me in Kuala Lumpur</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFf6MVFtdJqau5969m7brAzTWsWWhggRIhWEMNwySImS5xoinwmNF3Z3SN7y57M_mrNLYsZdO8BF0OKKdZ5rtQ_DZ7G-E18dlI0y98g5l3ILNNZ-56cJykUzSs8iVt5BxYxFVtFh-QyZE/s1600/IMG_2365_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFf6MVFtdJqau5969m7brAzTWsWWhggRIhWEMNwySImS5xoinwmNF3Z3SN7y57M_mrNLYsZdO8BF0OKKdZ5rtQ_DZ7G-E18dlI0y98g5l3ILNNZ-56cJykUzSs8iVt5BxYxFVtFh-QyZE/s640/IMG_2365_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ted and I reunite in Bangkok</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwSa-T1zaw-HrH0bEB19HvV2QxBxHw9v2gkk8ADVWP2PWed8hGHsYbUk3jNQFeGYygnirfegEpZv5J5u_2BnoXWCZsXys8mns_FmmJHzWY_m0-2QncKGSgDjfoqXnzJrzyKZ1WSCvb9w/s1600/IMG_2038_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwSa-T1zaw-HrH0bEB19HvV2QxBxHw9v2gkk8ADVWP2PWed8hGHsYbUk3jNQFeGYygnirfegEpZv5J5u_2BnoXWCZsXys8mns_FmmJHzWY_m0-2QncKGSgDjfoqXnzJrzyKZ1WSCvb9w/s640/IMG_2038_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taylan and I go snorkeling with the neighborhood kids.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tiKvSc8fqInafa2u_JaZ1DEPnh0MW1tklNdrpJVSViGQ0N3hPpDbS_DPn3V4RhD0vayXg-_fqPltRxd6TVzOaSSDMzI7xbHsG1faMmpVuYmVTO2NcGgndHAChnC0fId9M-808L23nWg/s1600/IMG_2253_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tiKvSc8fqInafa2u_JaZ1DEPnh0MW1tklNdrpJVSViGQ0N3hPpDbS_DPn3V4RhD0vayXg-_fqPltRxd6TVzOaSSDMzI7xbHsG1faMmpVuYmVTO2NcGgndHAChnC0fId9M-808L23nWg/s640/IMG_2253_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and I meet up in Phuket.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzMtdSQ8RXKbhsuF-e53iiMjq78eF8Uejmt7iBor6WSU_20tSStAKr9e1-CkaTyM0ui2JnWmoqwq9CDZ-16F9ESU05KHVCDm0h605F-W9_UAdRycm-zBV1N6xIbiKe3TCyxGki-__ins/s1600/IMG_2417_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzMtdSQ8RXKbhsuF-e53iiMjq78eF8Uejmt7iBor6WSU_20tSStAKr9e1-CkaTyM0ui2JnWmoqwq9CDZ-16F9ESU05KHVCDm0h605F-W9_UAdRycm-zBV1N6xIbiKe3TCyxGki-__ins/s640/IMG_2417_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A floating market in Bangkok.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIh8WqsgRFkoGpIRK7LZ-7WKJTLGQMLsFupt7iCen6w3Nl2-cbvwrtEeT-xDCbUlyuDpKfiVUSw3NPI3kRGU2upe4lSCWMbQO6k7WH804zkGWiGeBajrdCBEd6j1CAPNsTmY7kCXbtRM/s1600/IMG_2528_edit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIh8WqsgRFkoGpIRK7LZ-7WKJTLGQMLsFupt7iCen6w3Nl2-cbvwrtEeT-xDCbUlyuDpKfiVUSw3NPI3kRGU2upe4lSCWMbQO6k7WH804zkGWiGeBajrdCBEd6j1CAPNsTmY7kCXbtRM/s640/IMG_2528_edit.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riding backseat in a tuktuk in Siem Reap.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE-5aNNZ_oPUCaNUQ1gHYIgPUHOvokME89Bc9ZAF5A0EpfHaHn8rx4qL1yL35Ctgtp0gf0tyyU_Yg4vTBMCLBFxWRoLMmW1MCpa24RG0MRzPzEht87kiZaKrkau66MltlPs-gm6aBLfPg/s1600/IMG_3178_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1204" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE-5aNNZ_oPUCaNUQ1gHYIgPUHOvokME89Bc9ZAF5A0EpfHaHn8rx4qL1yL35Ctgtp0gf0tyyU_Yg4vTBMCLBFxWRoLMmW1MCpa24RG0MRzPzEht87kiZaKrkau66MltlPs-gm6aBLfPg/s640/IMG_3178_edit.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrating the 4th of July with my year 8 students in Vanuatu.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkjX7OMyhfuAyy62nUle7qStxPOsK30RhuaHlPwuerDrqRcFjuN-LTpYSgjmV2JOQSDh5IE2bYBo7eZesWcd7Fi1CSZEhyphenhyphen7q72xv-wRQ-3Sz4WVJ4NsTb49IDDmr3-__cKJuh28ewfMs/s1600/IMG_3228_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1479" data-original-width="1600" height="590" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkjX7OMyhfuAyy62nUle7qStxPOsK30RhuaHlPwuerDrqRcFjuN-LTpYSgjmV2JOQSDh5IE2bYBo7eZesWcd7Fi1CSZEhyphenhyphen7q72xv-wRQ-3Sz4WVJ4NsTb49IDDmr3-__cKJuh28ewfMs/s640/IMG_3228_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Leinase, Gloria and Natasha show off our American apple pie.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFFseeW3VRUfWipusI9_n03mU6XfHKNVKfOxTka25Sv2-x74MNonpnHLRnSMBevuZ7bB6XoxvD5Q2ha9nRka0Wf19ju_j3wqJJY2GqaG-Lenx-8ZHlbHYNcN35dLaV_LenOialKPuebxc/s1600/IMG_2797_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFFseeW3VRUfWipusI9_n03mU6XfHKNVKfOxTka25Sv2-x74MNonpnHLRnSMBevuZ7bB6XoxvD5Q2ha9nRka0Wf19ju_j3wqJJY2GqaG-Lenx-8ZHlbHYNcN35dLaV_LenOialKPuebxc/s640/IMG_2797_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Motorbikes and surfboards: Bali in a nutshell.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil3VosryWIGJiXniDRlgm8P4AIli0muEnltibQfQue_woUtw3GTjxqxYqMwileNmFU2pLiRYvi-bqghXMM0RJCU5MxbpzfzpY9Pfw99YRXxXCCCpkqDlfTfooZVcFmKYtEyGxG5i2H5fM/s1600/IMG_2710_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1468" data-original-width="1600" height="586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil3VosryWIGJiXniDRlgm8P4AIli0muEnltibQfQue_woUtw3GTjxqxYqMwileNmFU2pLiRYvi-bqghXMM0RJCU5MxbpzfzpY9Pfw99YRXxXCCCpkqDlfTfooZVcFmKYtEyGxG5i2H5fM/s640/IMG_2710_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LaiYuen shows me some Kuala Lumpur nightlife.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VxVwwKoMHfrOtG9cTU_XiIr_Y0icXK0mpSbK2zBBX68VXGHSVtL6woF6aj3B3MVlZz2JZwpmzk3KhcSEO7vjx2e6gWuPDAOLlD_8h5HAYwpAHgUC7Arzx5-U9_POYiUu8BGWzLfXGzM/s1600/IMG_2695_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1238" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VxVwwKoMHfrOtG9cTU_XiIr_Y0icXK0mpSbK2zBBX68VXGHSVtL6woF6aj3B3MVlZz2JZwpmzk3KhcSEO7vjx2e6gWuPDAOLlD_8h5HAYwpAHgUC7Arzx5-U9_POYiUu8BGWzLfXGzM/s640/IMG_2695_edit.jpg" width="494" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LaiYuen also shows me some killer food.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio4qlQn1I_3f4PqztcCImYQcHJ9Ys2SNMlYM0tmXQ-VTEUgq2o37K7YzY-kPYKopb75xNxQQyKv6AxkDGuW0GI90X2qlsQKZPHGFI_ntdBvbnZIdZzxoZ6BvtLU4hb9Mugxst6OzEjg8A/s1600/IMG_2689_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio4qlQn1I_3f4PqztcCImYQcHJ9Ys2SNMlYM0tmXQ-VTEUgq2o37K7YzY-kPYKopb75xNxQQyKv6AxkDGuW0GI90X2qlsQKZPHGFI_ntdBvbnZIdZzxoZ6BvtLU4hb9Mugxst6OzEjg8A/s640/IMG_2689_edit.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monkeys are like Malaysia's rats.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNN_W87geMXFfL9M32Hyh6T5v8sG432M8gLfp58tLoamFoxGJ0XbNA8EPQesHgHA15q8ceHz_sf5HgidkgZ-77IKatrWHJ1DmsMI8vw-0nWTW9aK6A_ZxRSet1q_C3IiD5LzXYhiO51Fo/s1600/IMG_2683_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNN_W87geMXFfL9M32Hyh6T5v8sG432M8gLfp58tLoamFoxGJ0XbNA8EPQesHgHA15q8ceHz_sf5HgidkgZ-77IKatrWHJ1DmsMI8vw-0nWTW9aK6A_ZxRSet1q_C3IiD5LzXYhiO51Fo/s640/IMG_2683_edit.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me in Batu Caves, Malaysia.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-wsT-oiJlKHcFWJeetAErSJs2mBF50can3x-KLI8yEUyhyKQbnroFQ-wawQl54hwBXMz1kIQfNVYXH1YMdpiMf52lhOnO0OIQqsJcEriUxgVS0-Yt6zZJ_uE1_JdS6Ga5Lp9uWhl4vcI/s1600/IMG_3272_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1600" height="538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-wsT-oiJlKHcFWJeetAErSJs2mBF50can3x-KLI8yEUyhyKQbnroFQ-wawQl54hwBXMz1kIQfNVYXH1YMdpiMf52lhOnO0OIQqsJcEriUxgVS0-Yt6zZJ_uE1_JdS6Ga5Lp9uWhl4vcI/s640/IMG_3272_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My neighborhood friend Belina meets me in Vila to check our our American booth at the International Food Festival</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMclWUxSn_gzjleI-uBxultBgyPPq9Wyeq6PcJwnFl_ogvEDgR4Hdnl49246m3Kl1meCy9STYkFqfS6O7xDjBrUG7jA26Z8fr-hbvMCMZqgGg-7qFXwLmmmD9ewBApcv8w3768R1EpsUc/s1600/IMG_3374_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1172" data-original-width="1600" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMclWUxSn_gzjleI-uBxultBgyPPq9Wyeq6PcJwnFl_ogvEDgR4Hdnl49246m3Kl1meCy9STYkFqfS6O7xDjBrUG7jA26Z8fr-hbvMCMZqgGg-7qFXwLmmmD9ewBApcv8w3768R1EpsUc/s640/IMG_3374_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lily and Toyana were some of the handful of PCVs who surprised me on my 30th birthday in Vanuatu, organized by Frances.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWLvhuJPPFC3TIcaj75LOGQ-SrcdeM4wIL1aSj9lvkjAk0FVCAx5D4v1FfqpUJlU6z6sA17o_Dr3biRXExQ8uYM-FmpCrxlZoXfLmD_GjlmZ8PzEnJ7pNbOhMnzsze5GbHknAfQTAr8w/s1600/IMG_3883+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWLvhuJPPFC3TIcaj75LOGQ-SrcdeM4wIL1aSj9lvkjAk0FVCAx5D4v1FfqpUJlU6z6sA17o_Dr3biRXExQ8uYM-FmpCrxlZoXfLmD_GjlmZ8PzEnJ7pNbOhMnzsze5GbHknAfQTAr8w/s640/IMG_3883+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">During my chief's ordination ceremony, some men dressed in custom dress hit the underground food ovens to shake out the evil spirits. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLI4BD8lXwkkhRl7xGi9FJ11soDkilX_PYiXC4xWirrczfLXlGVzJSzid2h8V65xaLpqK2d0IpP_v0u_LK-S315ZxKso1L7ksi1y7rOg_GSJtkMTB6ZYm5mXsW2tlGPACH_p0MgY16-gI/s1600/IMG_3896_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1352" data-original-width="1600" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLI4BD8lXwkkhRl7xGi9FJ11soDkilX_PYiXC4xWirrczfLXlGVzJSzid2h8V65xaLpqK2d0IpP_v0u_LK-S315ZxKso1L7ksi1y7rOg_GSJtkMTB6ZYm5mXsW2tlGPACH_p0MgY16-gI/s640/IMG_3896_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friends and fellow teachers enjoy some mangoes during the chief's ordination.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgnPaPfoQaS5FAhYTnCfUzUK8s4QJXR7ZuyDj9MbGAGx83v5kFSoiOvPX7taTQuIY8x2QoC3J07tndrxOO9ZGDixr0DciShaOTUJIG7mwRilGushl4sL70pmx-bzo3GRrCSAMmRmJ7sVk/s1600/IMG_3671_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="1600" height="522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgnPaPfoQaS5FAhYTnCfUzUK8s4QJXR7ZuyDj9MbGAGx83v5kFSoiOvPX7taTQuIY8x2QoC3J07tndrxOO9ZGDixr0DciShaOTUJIG7mwRilGushl4sL70pmx-bzo3GRrCSAMmRmJ7sVk/s640/IMG_3671_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leikai, my cat, sits right in front of my video chat with my parents back home.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVix4RKcNMI3GScThAVKO6ctjAm7N8r5MqyDDToApGtj0z2L3uovE08655D5xVVuhWhyphenhyphennaD_ei8fjMKZ_x_5tCzwnhLSooJvVwLFVDEAral4rU2-EIGKAxdEdq4JFM2S1rgT6sWDO-Kc/s1600/IMG_4415+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1465" data-original-width="1600" height="586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVix4RKcNMI3GScThAVKO6ctjAm7N8r5MqyDDToApGtj0z2L3uovE08655D5xVVuhWhyphenhyphennaD_ei8fjMKZ_x_5tCzwnhLSooJvVwLFVDEAral4rU2-EIGKAxdEdq4JFM2S1rgT6sWDO-Kc/s640/IMG_4415+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jameson, Job and Vina graduate year 8.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdR6s1j_AxHAg75bU9Nz89uOrwDvXr9yCLyzfp3wVsB8kFy-9xIOsxIUbl9f2FKuPYpi7ORpaqe44RmLIzjitKNYo9uTLKIeEhVw2fJRsgX65gDqqVkKk8UI2frALltvUwi3AfmZeDx4E/s1600/IMG_4165_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1268" data-original-width="1600" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdR6s1j_AxHAg75bU9Nz89uOrwDvXr9yCLyzfp3wVsB8kFy-9xIOsxIUbl9f2FKuPYpi7ORpaqe44RmLIzjitKNYo9uTLKIeEhVw2fJRsgX65gDqqVkKk8UI2frALltvUwi3AfmZeDx4E/s640/IMG_4165_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I celebrate American Thanksgiving with my friends and host family.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgU2kFivweajpOt5Yq0KR6Dld_Eb65QGNg_dA454BFqugNj061v_78CU75ApZULPKrbTpMhVsnra9waE8A-uUxO-eqlBT1xWTYlJ2v581iDoA92qpSXfFyvDBQAt9L0_fXBJoF9lnsOc/s1600/IMG_3320_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgU2kFivweajpOt5Yq0KR6Dld_Eb65QGNg_dA454BFqugNj061v_78CU75ApZULPKrbTpMhVsnra9waE8A-uUxO-eqlBT1xWTYlJ2v581iDoA92qpSXfFyvDBQAt9L0_fXBJoF9lnsOc/s640/IMG_3320_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boys in years 5 dress up in kastom Malekula clothes for a ceremonial dance performance on Children's Day.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWIq9Y7_c2c2-Fif1wN3v3LaEBC_lhx98XpDI5FTVabtTDX17go5Ly_d5Qdb-2-eACbr_23W4k6xuOuNWWMoHud2mwfvw8O6x3teP0KEGih7kbkUJ2sCBrjwciUzsiJklpGqLkvwLDD4/s1600/IMG_3348_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWIq9Y7_c2c2-Fif1wN3v3LaEBC_lhx98XpDI5FTVabtTDX17go5Ly_d5Qdb-2-eACbr_23W4k6xuOuNWWMoHud2mwfvw8O6x3teP0KEGih7kbkUJ2sCBrjwciUzsiJklpGqLkvwLDD4/s640/IMG_3348_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My two teacher friends, Caroline and Meriana, get goofy during Children's Day.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq9eyqqG3CfedjgFhKf3hD6SshHaWjSnRClYdzgRTZErpazVnEJvfnSq6M4Ewldgty6aMoNuU9iFE4ElfTXiHYUQHKTEyDTSAh-Kkw4cKJhSjURDtSOUNogCJADD_rak9iM_VBPd_BjYo/s1600/IMG_4204_ediy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq9eyqqG3CfedjgFhKf3hD6SshHaWjSnRClYdzgRTZErpazVnEJvfnSq6M4Ewldgty6aMoNuU9iFE4ElfTXiHYUQHKTEyDTSAh-Kkw4cKJhSjURDtSOUNogCJADD_rak9iM_VBPd_BjYo/s640/IMG_4204_ediy.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tamalo and Nemo goof off on the beach.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA9fbcy8fLLqA8iImQbkTfaA-AdWcE7t__gBlQoisKOYoH65ibIJY_h0_IphynIRtaNvp6JKZaQQIajD0QeXlwfRzvxui9-ZQa4j8FeJb8k7jl5PDRMdFnwfjrCqnN1zZHYZ9UK2vCB-o/s1600/IMG_4447+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1358" data-original-width="1600" height="542" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA9fbcy8fLLqA8iImQbkTfaA-AdWcE7t__gBlQoisKOYoH65ibIJY_h0_IphynIRtaNvp6JKZaQQIajD0QeXlwfRzvxui9-ZQa4j8FeJb8k7jl5PDRMdFnwfjrCqnN1zZHYZ9UK2vCB-o/s640/IMG_4447+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vina makes a gingerbread house.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoX5VVzfXlFcZ_5sQhs6wJmwimMdua4NmF73OsxE-nNJnkokOM0Kpfol2tw90McTFUhBJ4qefziIGUmkgW3IwyWF8CL_Pc3qPOr1AIKklMJkyQX25UWql51G39uGelEN9BEiYs8vZxnYE/s1600/IMG_4479_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1579" data-original-width="1600" height="630" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoX5VVzfXlFcZ_5sQhs6wJmwimMdua4NmF73OsxE-nNJnkokOM0Kpfol2tw90McTFUhBJ4qefziIGUmkgW3IwyWF8CL_Pc3qPOr1AIKklMJkyQX25UWql51G39uGelEN9BEiYs8vZxnYE/s640/IMG_4479_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frances helps cook our vegan Christmas dinner.</td></tr>
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<br />melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-42711838237835777732019-01-07T17:48:00.000-06:002019-02-13T00:42:27.024-06:00Least Visited, Day 12: Tasting the Street Food, Betelnuts, and Sushi in HoniaraJanuary 7, 2019<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxVdAuO7Y5ro0WGCuOjbL4okE0f4BThFWGf8UY9Wm3HCi5_UxR0MgWwWGK6O6oi5gS9tMf9MrxXp3d_yPSjeB3nLA3xg0M_xGnOMMgKtcOZ0QxzUpY7O6CaYAoyc5HV5IUpizNqlUBin4/s1600/IMG_5051_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxVdAuO7Y5ro0WGCuOjbL4okE0f4BThFWGf8UY9Wm3HCi5_UxR0MgWwWGK6O6oi5gS9tMf9MrxXp3d_yPSjeB3nLA3xg0M_xGnOMMgKtcOZ0QxzUpY7O6CaYAoyc5HV5IUpizNqlUBin4/s640/IMG_5051_edit.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Old WW2 Guns outside of the Henderson Field Airport</td></tr>
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Today is our one and only full day in Honiara, and we had a local guide named Wellington to show us around. Instantly he proved to be the best guide ever by giving us verbal previews of the next three activities and time stamps on them. “First, we will exchange money at the casino for ten minutes, then take a twenty minute drive to some shops, after which we will go to the war memorial.” Wellington was proving himself to be an amazing guide already, and I don’t even care if he knows nothing about the sights. If he tells me <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2019/01/least-visited-day-10-extreme-island.html">when lunch is happening</a>, I am a happy camper.<br />
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The focus of this trip seems to be around WWII. I prefer learning about the local culture rather than our military presence or lack thereof in the region, so most of the information relayed to us about the Japanese and battles and Allies and battles and guns and advances goes in one ear and out the other. We visit the Guadalcanal American Memorial, and after taking a couple pictures, I step outside and chat with some locals at the roadside stands.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4jWKaxcnAFznX7MDNDnuCBTUtLXr5HY2Wz8IQTfVH9WfdTI_tRYopf3OSkeA75eoMbERofOST578c5vLPxFJdJid4Yrew0JDqfubXdVyVdaGHSDHop4ATgqYRyLhohYB3a9LyTVLzH4/s1600/IMG_5038_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4jWKaxcnAFznX7MDNDnuCBTUtLXr5HY2Wz8IQTfVH9WfdTI_tRYopf3OSkeA75eoMbERofOST578c5vLPxFJdJid4Yrew0JDqfubXdVyVdaGHSDHop4ATgqYRyLhohYB3a9LyTVLzH4/s640/IMG_5038_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guadalcanal American Memorial</td></tr>
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All over Honiara are little roadside stands selling betelnuts, limes, a white powder, and cigarettes. The staff from the hotel who was in our bus yesterday as we rode to the hotel had informed me that betelnut is a local vice, wherein users chew on them and chase it with a local lime plant, which gives them a sort of buzz. The nut causes your teeth and spit to turn bright red, therefore there are signs everywhere in public places saying “no betelnut chewing” or “no spitting betelnut” due to it dyeing the concrete a bloody red color.<br />
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I chat in <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2017/05/bislama-vocab-part-1.html">Bislama</a> with a woman beside the roadside stand. I mistakenly thought the betelnut was a navel, which is a sort of almond that grows in Vanuatu. I quickly learn otherwise and decide not to purchase. I’m not ready to make my teeth look like I got in a punching match with Mike Tyson. The woman is friendly and completely understands Vanuatu’s version of pijin. She asks where we’re from and how we got a local guide, since her family runs a local tour company and wants to get in with the international market.<br />
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We part ways and off we go to the countryside to see the Bloody Ridge National Peace Park and WWII Battleground Site. I take the opportunity to take in the breathtaking views of the rolling hills and nearby villages with mountains in the background. This country is far larger and more scenic than any we’ve seen thus far, since its altitude varies more than ten meters overall.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHmwpyScqSS6bhMc-Xhxk1fS68bADQHDlGh0ttsF-uwOSMsZ_4k7XS51Qe1TPn1sNokYRh-ZXujFUOPyr277CzwUfuBsvCPf-sSkXH62hMrE_kUrp-zqEvIqpcXLjgfnji8qmOOY2NKc/s1600/IMG_5046_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="874" data-original-width="1600" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHmwpyScqSS6bhMc-Xhxk1fS68bADQHDlGh0ttsF-uwOSMsZ_4k7XS51Qe1TPn1sNokYRh-ZXujFUOPyr277CzwUfuBsvCPf-sSkXH62hMrE_kUrp-zqEvIqpcXLjgfnji8qmOOY2NKc/s640/IMG_5046_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The view from Bloody Ridge</td></tr>
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I also take the time here to wave at the friendly kids hanging out on the top of the hill. I chat with some teen girls who are pretty shy but not too shy to say some “halos” and shake hands. The younger kids are a lot less shy, and I chat longer with them. Mercy and Annette are sisters, and Benson is their friend. They live down the hill from the monument and just came here to hang out. They most likely also came to gape at the giant bus of 20 tourists. I chat with them using <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2017/05/bislama-vocab-part-1.html">Bislama</a> and find myself rewording some sentences or using more English words than usual to make them understand. They don’t understand the word for food, so I instead use “food,” which they get. When I hop on the bus, Mel asks me what we talked about. “Village stuff,” I tell her. It was like a conversation with kids in my village. What did they do this morning? They swept and did laundry. What did they eat for lunch? What’s their favorite food? Oh, I also like rice and papayas.<br />
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Off we head to the international airport, Henderson Field, which is an airfield the Japanese developed to get a leg up on air travel in the Pacific during WWII, and which the allies first targeted during the Pacific campaign. Off to the side of the airport, there is a large park with trees that have been planted in memory of lives lost in the war.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAnAgVziJAHwy6slNbU-IHWWaNx_xx-sqcOC4fLUwMq6n0rCtTrMNVo8Rve3FArN05zASR1jeUadi6r_ko1trUEdSRYqUsJzqd6Pg6VBjUaMT4Ud3W5LK3ZtgeVlHrtaOnGp_WLLzB7c/s1600/IMG_5052_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAnAgVziJAHwy6slNbU-IHWWaNx_xx-sqcOC4fLUwMq6n0rCtTrMNVo8Rve3FArN05zASR1jeUadi6r_ko1trUEdSRYqUsJzqd6Pg6VBjUaMT4Ud3W5LK3ZtgeVlHrtaOnGp_WLLzB7c/s640/IMG_5052_edit.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just off to the side of the airport is this memorial.</td></tr>
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Our next stop is the Honiara Downtown Market, a large open air produce and handicraft market. Our guide warns us to watch our bags because pickpocketing can unfortunately be quite common. It is at least three or four times the size of <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2019/01/scenes-from-day-in-port-vila-vanuatu.html">the one in Port Vila</a>, and instead of plastic net bags, everything sold is in neat little piles with prices off to the side. There’s no food in the floor aisles of the market, which makes it seem far less chaotic than the one in Vanuatu, despite its greater size. I also notice there's a good split of men and women working at this market, whereas the Port Vila one is called the "Mama's Market" because only women sell food there.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2I0ceugI14g0mTAiSB2de8QUAZmY3qBCA5GNYIl0XLY551lq0HqmItc-n7mnPe2AT0fh7YsqXCtoxG3aCF73zmB4tXKBxck7NVynh6cI3qCfOca0XOdei0ZLsYZ2HqMpXzDaCAcbIXRI/s1600/IMG_5056_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2I0ceugI14g0mTAiSB2de8QUAZmY3qBCA5GNYIl0XLY551lq0HqmItc-n7mnPe2AT0fh7YsqXCtoxG3aCF73zmB4tXKBxck7NVynh6cI3qCfOca0XOdei0ZLsYZ2HqMpXzDaCAcbIXRI/s640/IMG_5056_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Honiara Downtown Market</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Peppers, Oranges, Nangae nuts.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_inwvOdhKSSr8joIgyuzKexrfsmY7MFi_BasAd9MxK2egK-kKYhItcyj4gEJ63jCp1OmGhPUhr2sQ6Jogs3I9i5CSkSlMX0mZFCLtu_-jJK2rY-pwQ4R342_hWY84MWM-JZtTuKJPbEs/s1600/IMG_5058_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1486" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_inwvOdhKSSr8joIgyuzKexrfsmY7MFi_BasAd9MxK2egK-kKYhItcyj4gEJ63jCp1OmGhPUhr2sQ6Jogs3I9i5CSkSlMX0mZFCLtu_-jJK2rY-pwQ4R342_hWY84MWM-JZtTuKJPbEs/s640/IMG_5058_edit.jpg" width="594" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Bananas for sale</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8U1x7iEO9YuZdjVjxKU4SZAtOIc9uj8XfNwxCP969q9tHMZ6dXq1R7Y6MPbF0udTZnzpjEf9ZItqxiHHBUujGq4MVBOP_hQt0f7kDB1aTftbKWisfMmZ0TryrhGAw5-Dcu9FZiaMXRiA/s1600/IMG_5060_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8U1x7iEO9YuZdjVjxKU4SZAtOIc9uj8XfNwxCP969q9tHMZ6dXq1R7Y6MPbF0udTZnzpjEf9ZItqxiHHBUujGq4MVBOP_hQt0f7kDB1aTftbKWisfMmZ0TryrhGAw5-Dcu9FZiaMXRiA/s640/IMG_5060_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">fish, seafood, crabs and more!</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQbzRk3OUAQUz4LA97L_7wG0OPIW2NSIPgmyHeBOoyNGT20jFmco1_R-ZbYGrdHjVb3gPk1uOUgpqAvpwT4oEP4Gn9AsLZct4Hk_jBvtjZxuCr83Q2YiDBa5sByrSChn1vGln7zFz7d4/s1600/IMG_5062_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="979" data-original-width="1600" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQbzRk3OUAQUz4LA97L_7wG0OPIW2NSIPgmyHeBOoyNGT20jFmco1_R-ZbYGrdHjVb3gPk1uOUgpqAvpwT4oEP4Gn9AsLZct4Hk_jBvtjZxuCr83Q2YiDBa5sByrSChn1vGln7zFz7d4/s640/IMG_5062_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">such neat little piles of peanuts</td></tr>
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I buy nangae to share with the group (that’s the Bislama word, so I am not sure of the Solomon Islands version) and an avocado. A woman walking by, her teeth stained red with betelnut, is selling some sort of cookie out of a plastic tub. I take one, thinking it’s a giant sugar cookie, but it ends up being some sort of cassava biscuit. The flavor grows on me as I nibble on it, exploring the rest of the market. There are fresh fish and fresh crabs, but here they lob off the legs of the living crabs to make sure they don’t scurry off. In Vanuatu they just impale them so they’re immobile. Overall, my snacks of a cookie, nuts and an avocado amount to about $1.50 USD.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Road markets with sausages, fish and rice</td></tr>
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Now, as Wellington informs us, it is time for lunch at a road market, after which we will go swimming at the beach. This Wellington is top notch with his schedule! We head to an outer neighborhood, where we pull over beside some roadside stands selling hot food. The options are sausage, parrot fish, white fish or chicken thighs, each served with rice. I get the white fish, since the parrot fish (this is common in Vanuatu and is so named because of its hard, beak-like mouth) has tough scales to dig through with the plastic spoon provided. White fish is also meatier.<br />
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After I get my fish with “chili sauce” (it ends up being BBQ sauce), I wander over to chat with a local family who is sitting at their stand and not selling food. They tell me they sold food yesterday, and today they rest. I learn there are lots of different local languages spoken in the Solomon Islands, and the woman estimates nearly fifty are spoken on this island alone. She’s unsure how many are spoken all around all the islands. She tells me there’s a cultural tour we can take of the village nearby, but I tell her our local guide has a strict itinerary. Her children have blonde hair, which is a gene unique to this country, wherein locals can have dark skin and light hair. I tell her that in Vanuatu, there are many people from Tanna island who also have this gene. I wonder if there’s some sort of relation.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">It's just the tip of the ship on Bonegi Beach</td></tr>
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We head off to Bonegi beach, where there’s a WWII shipwreck that makes it ideal for snorkeling. I borrow Melissa’s snorkel and head off into the water, which is murky, and I’m unsure if it’s just from recent storming or the rusty sediment surrounding the wreck. It’s a great snorkeling spot with loads of fish and sea life, and it isn’t too far from the shore. I ask Shawn to come out with me, because the murkiness is a bit scary at times, since you’re out in brown water and unable to see what’s in front of you until BAM there’s a thing jutting out from the wreck. Just like in Vanuatu waters, tiny microscopic jellyfish prick us here and there, almost like electric mosquitoes under water. They don’t cause us any harm.<br />
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We head off to parliament next, but since this country is a little more strict, we are only able to get a picture from down the hill. Wellington informs us that this year is election year, so all new members will be voted on soon.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">What a view!</td></tr>
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That was our last stop, and we part ways with Wellington when we return to the hotel. It was a long day, now nearing 6pm. The plan is to meet in the hotel for dinner, but I am keen on venturing out, and so is Mel. I also want to try <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2017/12/kava-i-strong-tumas-all-you-ever-needed.html">fresh kava</a>, because I learn that this country grinds it fresh instead of importing Vanuatu powder. However, upon speaking with the front desk, I learn that you can only get local kava in the villages, and everything in town is the powdered kind, imported from Fiji. Booooo. The hotel staff, though, are very friendly and willing to make a few phone calls for us. But with island time, this takes quite a while (“can you make the call, like, now? It’s getting dark”).<br />
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We ask if there’s a good restaurant nearby, and they suggest Kokonut Kafe, a short bus ride away. They call to arrange the hotel bus to drop us there, which also is an ordeal, since they can’t get a hold of the driver and have no idea where he could be. She says we can take a local bus, which we can catch nearby. Then, the instructions come. “You’ll step outside and go right, and when you come to an intersection to go up or down, you go down. That takes you to the main road. You’ll see an overpass, a pedestrian overpass. Walk to that, but don’t climb up. Below it is a bus stop. It’s three Solomon dollars, and they will drop you off at a centre, and after that you’ll walk to the road where the restaurant is, and it’s on the water.” I'm used to such roundabout and flourished directions after living in Vanuatu, but thank god I have a map, compass and a good sense of direction. Since I’m with Mel, I’m less nervous. It ends up being a very clear path, and fortunately a bus is waiting when ẃe arrive.<br />
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The bus is similar but slightly different than in Vanuatu, which appears to be like a lot of things in this country. There is a passenger who works for the bus who collects your money at the beginning send opens/shuts the door for you. There is a light inside that keeps the bus illuminated and safer.<br />
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We get out at our stop, a brief six minute ride. We walk down some industrial looking driveways until we hit the wharf, where it dead ends and there’s an outdoor bar with pool tables. The hotel staff told us this was a place that served kava, and due to the lack of information the hotel provided, I just wanted to double check that it was powdered kava only. It was. We crossed the small path over to the restaurant, which they informed us was no longer Kokonut Café but instead a sushi restaurant called <a href="https://www.facebook.com/tenkaisushicafe/">Tenkai Sushi Cafe</a>. We were totally fine with that.<br />
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I ordered two tuna Maki with a specialty dragon roll Maki and a bottled water, and the total was under $20usd, far cheaper than any sushi I would be offered in Port Vila. I was thrilled. After a nice friend date, Mel and I headed back to the hotel.<br />
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I wanted to see if the rest of the group was still hanging out, so I headed up to the hotel restaurant where most were still awaiting food. Bok and Mikhail were sitting in a giant circle of empty chairs from the groups pre-dinner drinks. I joined them and while we were hanging out, we, from afar, observed some drama at the dinner table. The downstairs bar messed up some drinks, and someone from our group didn’t want to pay for them, which set the French downstairs bar owner into a fit of rage. He was now on the phone calling the cops on us, and while on hold, was spewing hateful comments about Americans, Aussies, Mexicans (to the Spaniards in the group 😑) and more. Finally Gareth talked him down. Also, he was on the phone for at least ten minutes and never reached someone. I’ve never ever heard of someone calling the police over a two drink mistake.<br />
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After the drama settled down, I retired to the room. Justin and I recapped our days to each other (he went off shooting some drone footage) and then it was time for bed.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">That hotel was a chunk of change for the 20 of us.</td></tr>
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Today has been the final day of this trip, and tomorrow we depart for Port Vila, Vanuatu, where <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2019/01/giving-friends-vanuatu-experience.html">I’ll be acting as their “local” guide</a>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Farewell, Honiara!</td></tr>
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melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-45091830512841685272019-01-06T18:12:00.000-06:002019-02-02T18:22:42.368-06:00Least Visited, Day 11: The Weirdest but Most Luxurious Hotel in the Solomon IslandsJanuary 6, 2018<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">*bubble* *bubble* *glub*</td></tr>
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Today we head out of Kiribati and we’re off to the Solomon Islands for the final part of this leg of the tour.<br />
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When we get to the airport in the morning, it’s raining outside, and along with the rain, there are about five dozen locals lingering outside of the airport doors. We’re not sure if they are checking in for flights or just seeing people off, but it soon becomes apparent that they are indeed just hanging out. We all check in for our flight except for Will, because he doesn’t have his passport and believes he left it in the hotel. Panic sets in, and contingency plans are made. He may have to go to the Australian embassy and sort it out as there’s no American embassy in Kiribati.<br />
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The rest of us go through security, where the machine is broken so the security staff is going through our luggage by hand and mostly trusting what we say is in each pocket without checking them themselves.<br />
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After security, I head to the bathroom, which is a temporary structure located on the tarmac since the airport is being renovated. The door has no lock and springs open if not held shut, which requires me to hook the bottom of it with my foot as I use my hands to pull down my pants, then squat with my remaining foot, then pull my pants back up all while still trying to keep my hooked foot pulling the door shut.<br />
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The airlines called out to have people begin to board, with no priority over certain sections of the plane, unlike in Nauru, which was very strict in boarding specific rows, and god forbid you enter the line before your time, you’d be sent to sit and wait like a child sent to the naughty corner.<br />
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We board the plane without Will and then… he comes on the plane with just minutes before our departure time! The hotel staff found his passport on the bus, where it had fallen from his pocket. Hooray! Later on, Alistair discovers that due to the US government shutdown, they have closed consular services abroad in many areas, so it would have been possible that Will would have been stuck for a very long time. Alistair warned us Americans on the trip: there is never a good time to lose your passport… but especially not this time.<br />
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We take two flights to get to Honiara, and while I am appreciating Nauru airlines’ commitment to the free flow of snacks, booze and water, it also leaves about a three minute window in the duration of the flight where you’re not trapped by drink or rubbish carts or required to be buckled in for takeoff or landing. Thankfully, my man Danko is on our flight again, and he was super friendly and amazing <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/12/least-visited-day-1-six-hours-in-sydney.html">just like the first flight I met him on</a>.<br />
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I’ve also forgotten to mention that in all the flights with Nauru Airlines, the flight attendants have been spraying insecticide, which <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/03/southeast-asia-day-11-breakfast.html">I once thought was so strange while flying to Malaysia</a>. After bopping around on Nauru Airlines for so long, I’ve grown used to this routine. I guess it makes sense for tropical island nations which are so much more isolated from other biospheres.<br />
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Eventually we arrive in Honiara, and to a much larger hotel than the ones we’ve been in so far. Our group appears to be the only one exiting the plane, so we speed through immigrations, luggage pickup, and customs.<br />
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Soon, we’re back out in the humidity and light drizzle. How refreshing! Mel, my friend from NYC, was joining us on the journey here and greeted me with a huge hug once we passed through customs. Our buses from the hotel arrive promptly and our adventures in the Solomon Islands begin.<br />
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I learn from the hotel staff sitting on our bus that the local language here is simply known as pijin, but it’s very similar to Vanuatu. I ask about a few particular words, and she tells me that some of them are the same, and some words here are even more English than they are in Vanuatu. I learn I can get by with <a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2017/05/bislama-vocab-part-1.html">Bislama</a> here, if necessary.<br />
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We are welcomed at Hotel Honiara with fresh coconuts and free massage vouchers, the latter of which I was thrilled about. Since our flight arrived late and it was now close to 4:30pm, there was just a brief break before we headed upstairs for dinner.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6vEc8OOoLe68ty098TFsM6Z_DxVKv1R9eDwHxA1XBfmFpBz1Iwj-jT1wP1oxCWKQWBljrq-dyCTSX70L75mI3Xz6JnBjcHPlwH-i2g1uReF5HqNHAqN4vsfRaUvU6BkAZMYD5rQDJKR8/s1600/IMG_5005_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1447" data-original-width="1600" height="578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6vEc8OOoLe68ty098TFsM6Z_DxVKv1R9eDwHxA1XBfmFpBz1Iwj-jT1wP1oxCWKQWBljrq-dyCTSX70L75mI3Xz6JnBjcHPlwH-i2g1uReF5HqNHAqN4vsfRaUvU6BkAZMYD5rQDJKR8/s640/IMG_5005_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Cute little nooks by fish ponds in the hotel</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Fiberglass sculptures at the Honiara Hotel<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdFg60sepWw0tBBvyoCU4w_bfotWT5rRSvZEalKtPldT4Wrd9auPPXQDg_SKX72tIrY_9cSDT0GkepIkwCLuH3bb0zlsVJXCG2IziHZNXXVD07hiSgxWuJlsrowxAq4B9gYzGRNgl2tyg/s1600/IMG_5011_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdFg60sepWw0tBBvyoCU4w_bfotWT5rRSvZEalKtPldT4Wrd9auPPXQDg_SKX72tIrY_9cSDT0GkepIkwCLuH3bb0zlsVJXCG2IziHZNXXVD07hiSgxWuJlsrowxAq4B9gYzGRNgl2tyg/s640/IMG_5011_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This hotel is…peculiar. There's definitely a tropical theme, but it's marred by touches such as crystal chandeliers in the bar. There are giant tropical fiberglass figures everywhere, from fish to flowers to clamshells to creepy mermaids with real hair on them. <a href="https://indaily.com.au/eat-drink-explore/travel/2018/02/05/inside-honiaras-hillside-babylon/">An article about the hotel, written by an Aussie journalist</a> that’s framed on the wall, explains how the eccentric owner is responsible for these creations, having designed them all and created them by hand. The two creepy mermaids are modeled after Nicole Kidman and Angelina Jolie, but he got the chins wrong, so they “became their own person.” It appears that we are the only guests in the entire place, which adds to its oddity, given that it’s massive. There’s even a funicular to lead from the first floor to the upper levels of rooms! There are posters and pictures everywhere reminding anyone, lest they forget, that this was where William and Kate stayed at some point in the last decade when they came to the Solomon Islands. Its old world charm is reminiscent of some soviet hotels in its slightly outdated luxury, and it’s overall a fantastically odd place.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">LUXURY!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Hotel bar.</td></tr>
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We get dinner at the hotel buffet which is expensive, but I oblige just because no one else seems keen to venture out. At dinner, laplap (<a href="https://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/2017/08/food-of-vanuatu-training-edition.html">a typical Vanuatu dish</a>) is available, so I encourage some in the group to try it. It’s unusually sweet, which maybe is what makes it slightly different here in the Solomon Islands. Overall, I’m a bit disappointed by dinner, because fish with coconut milk, laplap, cassava, pumpkin and sweet potatoes is a dish I would easily get in the village for free at a community event or only $1 USD at the school canteen, but here I was paying nearly 25 times the price.<br />
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Following our dinner, around 7:15, some girls put on an organized traditional dancing performance to more modern local music, which was entertaining. I was a bit bummed I had to depart around 8pm for my massage.<br />
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The massage was fantastic, a mix of Swedish and Thai, so it was very relaxing but certain parts were targeted. My foot has been bothering me for about a week now, so it was nice to have a massage at no cost.<br />
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I felt Zen post-massage, so I headed to the room for a shower and sleep. I learned that I was lucky to have left for a massage, since the dance performance bordered on 90 minutes and bored most of the group when it went past its prime, especially with all the audio glitches and awkward standing around.<br />
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Tomorrow is our first and last full day in Honiara, so we’re going to make the most of it with a local guide.<br />
<br />melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-63637684944304296772019-01-05T16:20:00.000-06:002019-01-18T19:01:01.360-06:00Least Visited, Day 10: Extreme Island Time (AKA the 7 hour journey for a late evening lunch)January 5, 2019<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Our day ends in this gorgeous place for dinner, but what a journey it is to arrive.</td></tr>
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It’s happened a few times now where a local will ask me what we’re doing and how long we’re staying. Why are we coming to Kiribati? Because it’s a beautiful place with amazingly friendly people! Today is our final full day in this country, and we have more than a few more sights to see.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two stories!?! We don't get this kind of luxury in Vanuatu!</td></tr>
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Before heading out, we go to Bairiki Supermarket, a massive two-story shop which excites me at first, then lets me down when I see it’s just the usual fare that I see in Vanuatu shops: tin tuna, breakfast crackers, and bottled water. However, near the market is an alley with more souvenir shops. I am entertained by some teen girls who work at the shop who are unoccupied due to the lack of customers and are in the corner of the store practicing island dancing and hula-like movements to the reggaeton playing on the store’s speaker system. Dancing? In a store? In public?! The moment made me smile, since it’s just an innocent brazenness that I would never see in Vanuatu.<br />
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The shops, like others in the pacific islands, have odd combinations of products that only make sense when you’re in them. One sells shirts, scoop ice cream, and also motorcycles. One sells furniture like couches, but also you can pick up a kayak there. Several shops have trinkets for every country but Kiribati, including Tuvalu and Fiji necklaces and mugs.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The highest point on Tarawa is 3 meters above sea level.</td></tr>
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After shopping, one of our first stops is a village along the side of the road, which is near a reef that has some legends associated with it. As we walk through the village, everyone stares at us with curiosity, Kiribati, after all, is the 7th least visited country in the world, and not a lot of tourists pass through. Everyone lights up when you say Mauri and wave.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coral "footprints"</td></tr>
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We reach the beach and Molly points out some shapes worn out of the coral, telling us how according to legend, these are giants’ footprints. She points out a few more, which have large oval or figure-eight curves with five or six small round cuts on one side, resembling toes. It’s clear Molly understands it’s pure legend and just an amusing natural occurrence. A lot of these footprints I have a hard time seeing, and they only seem to appear if you’re looking for them. For us, it seems like an arbitrary stop. If there was a cool traditional story or legend surrounding them, it would have been nice to hear, since I love hearing about cultural traditions. Instead, we're lead to coral, we take pictures, and leave.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Map of Kiribati in front of parliament</td></tr>
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We head off to parliament, where there’s a massive map of Kiribati painted on the ground in front of the flag pole. Kiribati’s land mass totals that of India, but it’s spread across almost 1.3 million square miles. There are over 30 islands, only 20 of which are inhabited, according to Molly. Kiribati is spread out across all four hemispheres, and because of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZtoZlLj8t1c">weird date lines drawn around the country, its existence and the proximity of other nearby islands cause there to actually be three days at once here on earth</a>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Parliament</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6j4-tpbi9-GTiX5oBeK5fIc7SoAJg0DVZ1V5ZPttbDL5pDT49ECoqI9RYxIJOPmLYNsVK_QgTTq4axkbfPgYNq3jGhseQuQeshng2Uhib7fQ7YIDYfA38O_5dPpPiIyem-BvkbM7amQ/s1600/IMG_4918_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6j4-tpbi9-GTiX5oBeK5fIc7SoAJg0DVZ1V5ZPttbDL5pDT49ECoqI9RYxIJOPmLYNsVK_QgTTq4axkbfPgYNq3jGhseQuQeshng2Uhib7fQ7YIDYfA38O_5dPpPiIyem-BvkbM7amQ/s640/IMG_4918_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The ocean behind parliament is a gorgeous milky green under blue skies</td></tr>
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Molly tells us that parliament only meets three times a year, because transportation is both expensive and inconvenient for them to meet more frequently.<br />
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After exploring parliament, this is when the day grows long. Molly takes us to some uninteresting sites, in my opinion, including some fishery and some agriculture center, both of which are run by Taiwanese expat who give us tours of the space.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQl7kL-4J1P-NW5CwQzLOiqNEt2xuZLmqQgtWa_xCsVYiGUhJDmnpaog89zHUtuDyJUGh3fzpu_JSd4eyPq2Jk7QX2QSR4OCXCI2qOOY7vuHY0n8e3K4M2fJgvnLrhqSdlcKAOENuEWI/s1600/IMG_4935_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQl7kL-4J1P-NW5CwQzLOiqNEt2xuZLmqQgtWa_xCsVYiGUhJDmnpaog89zHUtuDyJUGh3fzpu_JSd4eyPq2Jk7QX2QSR4OCXCI2qOOY7vuHY0n8e3K4M2fJgvnLrhqSdlcKAOENuEWI/s640/IMG_4935_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">"Plants"</td></tr>
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Some of this vacation, I am excited to take pictures for my own collection, some I am taking to share with friends and family back home, and some I am taking to share with my nivan friends to compare and contrast with their local culture. Here at these locales, I take pictures just to take them, in case I regret it later, but I highly doubt I’ll be looking back on pictures of baby milkfish swimming in a giant tank to repopulate the seas or whatever the purpose of it is. I hop on the bus shortly after arriving at each destination, skipping whatever information is being said about plant nurseries and such. I am bored.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCF_qwnYDCYm49FcLuygPoy_db5-Wxc6n-nccJh3hFR5hhGFdCf8gfwrBQJymQNgZeih9cQHpXpmw46l1Kj0W_YGejZYwEEYxnrMIQS8MaKMSWFFSgfEEDpFTXfw2jxtP5Wi4kuDZ9rQ/s1600/IMG_4931_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1304" data-original-width="1600" height="520" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCF_qwnYDCYm49FcLuygPoy_db5-Wxc6n-nccJh3hFR5hhGFdCf8gfwrBQJymQNgZeih9cQHpXpmw46l1Kj0W_YGejZYwEEYxnrMIQS8MaKMSWFFSgfEEDpFTXfw2jxtP5Wi4kuDZ9rQ/s640/IMG_4931_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Trip highlight was the sign between the restrooms at the Taiwan Horticulture Project facilities that read "No Smoking & Sex"</td></tr>
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We all were getting antsy and hungry, but Molly kept taking us to more and more sites. Finally, it was “lunchtime” at 3pm. Rather, I should say the journey for lunch began at 2pm.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnWVh9tXmHx-Yoy01_ZJvFVRxnj2PDA3eP4i32pCoqwFQF7UI1Uzr7LCS4i1gobHC8LmhyU4QyxGopdTcz3VoYhQrkMNuEAJfIlclPBYQdom2k0LDWmmYVtKMk9n-xahxGa_-Y-t26qI/s1600/IMG_4944_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="995" data-original-width="1600" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnWVh9tXmHx-Yoy01_ZJvFVRxnj2PDA3eP4i32pCoqwFQF7UI1Uzr7LCS4i1gobHC8LmhyU4QyxGopdTcz3VoYhQrkMNuEAJfIlclPBYQdom2k0LDWmmYVtKMk9n-xahxGa_-Y-t26qI/s640/IMG_4944_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Get to the North Tarawa bridge. Step one complete.</td></tr>
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Our bus drove all the way to the northernmost part of south Tarawa, where it joins north Tarawa with a bridge. The drive to this bridge took us about 40 minutes, where we then had to exit the vehicle because the bus was overweight.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuAN2RbASwRxVt8K9IWEZf9BmbFh6S-42s1DduPKYWqMGGjv_Fgojt7XznOyLnGW8eyB0UigKHIX4q9_7Y-dPZp-mnKNsZ5n-lQiMP3DIOv2iwi-zx69TbGybjlMzhdi8EGo5aX5-40uc/s1600/IMG_4950_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="1600" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuAN2RbASwRxVt8K9IWEZf9BmbFh6S-42s1DduPKYWqMGGjv_Fgojt7XznOyLnGW8eyB0UigKHIX4q9_7Y-dPZp-mnKNsZ5n-lQiMP3DIOv2iwi-zx69TbGybjlMzhdi8EGo5aX5-40uc/s640/IMG_4950_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Walk, then hop on a flatbed truck for a short jaunt. Step two complete.</td></tr>
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We walked across the bridge, and then continued on for about two kilometers, since Molly said that is where the restaurant was. So we walked and walked and walked on a dirt road through this village, finally coming upon what appeared to be a restaurant. Alistair checked it out, but it wasn’t it. So we jumped on the back of a pickup truck while some walked to the end of the road.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfs5VgrDzZn8GscgPg94cdZEO0CgCZZAJDumqJHtsSD_dViQ5KrS1guDlO3K6tb4Jni73-I-oK9uZA8ensIQ3Hd2VrLaVqcnZ8GHX5WF9ArMkYj6Y6lhHaRIyPa546Lzw3_er1qF8qbD4/s1600/IMG_4951_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfs5VgrDzZn8GscgPg94cdZEO0CgCZZAJDumqJHtsSD_dViQ5KrS1guDlO3K6tb4Jni73-I-oK9uZA8ensIQ3Hd2VrLaVqcnZ8GHX5WF9ArMkYj6Y6lhHaRIyPa546Lzw3_er1qF8qbD4/s640/IMG_4951_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Get on a traditional canoe with a motor to island hop. Step 3 complete.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGPFB0FSp38W9276MR64n-Mq9hz919deFz2GN92o2gRopJZ00-J6TIka7rAZPRpDbLAXWDPkcRKCRBWuSB6K5A_ujaRdVN3zDlI2BuY8zSgGj62KsX1VnpYaZngXGOfflXjA0P09-oLX0/s1600/IMG_4954_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGPFB0FSp38W9276MR64n-Mq9hz919deFz2GN92o2gRopJZ00-J6TIka7rAZPRpDbLAXWDPkcRKCRBWuSB6K5A_ujaRdVN3zDlI2BuY8zSgGj62KsX1VnpYaZngXGOfflXjA0P09-oLX0/s640/IMG_4954_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">boat'n</td></tr>
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At the end of the road was a small beach. We all looked at a boat pulling up. A boat? Really? Was this a test? It was a motorized traditional canoe (an odd combination) that could only house about half the group, which meant it required two trips. I was on the first trip, and Molly pointed out the bungalows on the other side of the water as our destination. Once we got off the boat, we lingered around until someone asked Molly again where we were supposed to go. She gestured towards the end of the village along the water, so we started walking, which fortunately this time was a shorter journey.<br />
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The village reminded me a bit of my home in Vanuatu the way it was laid out with the dirt paths and homes. There were two women in a clearing, weaving coconut leaves into mats. There were coconut mats on strings along the sides of the homes with stilts, so they could be pulled up to block rain or sun.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1LTec-NnS7fqyTtiN2z8O6WbhTsg8I96sb-tRMLfssNfwvZWU1NatJIFzc-cEk3DX4Pyx550esfewqiuF7KVx49R-oIYkza-HPInAXwirHDhyphenhyphenB44jwl95zN03tSRxy0tDZHyl73iSHqY/s1600/IMG_4962_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1235" data-original-width="1600" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1LTec-NnS7fqyTtiN2z8O6WbhTsg8I96sb-tRMLfssNfwvZWU1NatJIFzc-cEk3DX4Pyx550esfewqiuF7KVx49R-oIYkza-HPInAXwirHDhyphenhyphenB44jwl95zN03tSRxy0tDZHyl73iSHqY/s640/IMG_4962_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Traditional houses on stilts over the water, the view from our restaurant.</td></tr>
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We arrived at the “restaurant” which was a traditionally built structure with tables and chairs inside, but I recognized the setup as more of a home stay. Just as the remainder of our group arrived, a teenage girl came up and asked if we would be eating here today, to which we said yes. It was now about 5pm. At that point, if any of the rest of the journey were not an indicator enough, I knew this would be a while.<br />
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The girl told us they offered fish, chicken, raw fish, and vegetables. We wrote on a piece of paper how many orders of each, and then we waited.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZzRLfv_R8G6Q7nissMp23eWOY0aRgrdPMy3rZdMW1G9yf3pPoS1aE12FgbXoptQmLyRdEbCnfsTB4JW6ijN0u-zqf8l0-Os4uJF_2oNDOKuIymightFLZgJKD3VOzGSgiS4BSX1h2Bfo/s1600/IMG_4963_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1160" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZzRLfv_R8G6Q7nissMp23eWOY0aRgrdPMy3rZdMW1G9yf3pPoS1aE12FgbXoptQmLyRdEbCnfsTB4JW6ijN0u-zqf8l0-Os4uJF_2oNDOKuIymightFLZgJKD3VOzGSgiS4BSX1h2Bfo/s640/IMG_4963_edit.jpg" width="462" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">sour toddy anyone?</td></tr>
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As we waited, we were served sour toddy, which is locally known as kaokiki, and made by fermenting palm sap that is collected by hanging bottles on the palm trees. We’re also served Heinekens and sodas and bottled water. There’s a nice beach nearby where a majority of the group jump in and play around in the water. The rest of us hang out under the shelter and wait.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnl6FvInsDnGalX1Mp3IXPzMaiSOTknN39hsUFSCqukhiHVo-xPC9sy5KByvYPHGZrmw0CIxewziOXYgX9IjWc47u9hDrcuAmiKRr1lnztTvzt1Wfi5eJBJrtCrVZ25gXz9ziFiwjuw4k/s1600/IMG_4967_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="813" data-original-width="1600" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnl6FvInsDnGalX1Mp3IXPzMaiSOTknN39hsUFSCqukhiHVo-xPC9sy5KByvYPHGZrmw0CIxewziOXYgX9IjWc47u9hDrcuAmiKRr1lnztTvzt1Wfi5eJBJrtCrVZ25gXz9ziFiwjuw4k/s640/IMG_4967_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Fish and chicken and veggies and pumpkin and breadfruit chips and coconuts galore</td></tr>
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Food arrives around 7pm. This, by the way, is our lunch. It’s served family style except for the two vegetarian dishes, and I’m not sure if it was the hunger or the actual food itself but everything looked amazing. There was roasted chicken, pepper-seasoned fried fish, raw fish in coconut milk, boiled pumpkin, and a giant tray of fried breadfruit chips. Molly said a prayer, as we were in the village and this was a more traditional meal, and then we ate.<br />
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After our amazing meal, the slow process to return back began. We have a large group, so that alone can cause the process of saying “let’s leave” go very slowly. We walked back to the beach, where the tide was low and required us to make three trips instead of two because the boat would otherwise be too heavy. Then we hopped on the pickup truck, which I was impressed was right at the shore awaiting us. The truck drove us to the bridge. Then we walked over the bridge where we hopped on our bus, which I was equally surprised was waiting this entire time, and we drove back to the hotel, which was over a 45 minute drive. Finally, we returned to the hotel at 9pm. The seven hour journey for evening lunch was complete.<br />
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I stayed in, but some of the group went out to a nearby bar until the wee hours of the morning, where they were entertained by the bouncer literally kicking people out of the bar—kicking them on the ass to push them out the door—before they eventually made it back to the hotel.<br />
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Tomorrow we head off to the Solomon Islands, our final stop for the trip.<br />
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melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-26803723418404105532019-01-04T01:29:00.000-06:002019-01-14T20:56:21.106-06:00Least Visited, Day 9: Copra, Cannons and Kitties in KiribatiJanuary 4th, 2019<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Kids playing in the park near the water in Kiribati</td></tr>
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Today we’re departing Nauru and heading off to Kiribati. Our flight is at 5:30am, which makes our departure from the hotel very early. Luckily we hear our alarm for 2:45am over the pounding of the rain on the roof of the hotel.<br />
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It’s been a long five days here in Nauru, stretching out any possibly activity to occupy our time between eating at every single Chinese restaurant this country has to offer. We were all excited to see a new place.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging out in the colorful Nauru airport</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Before the "crowds" showed up</td></tr>
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At the airport, after we all checked in for our flight and sat in the waiting area, David made a comment about how the waiting area was packed, and how it was easily the most people we have seen in this country thus far.<br />
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This time around, I checked out the duty free shop, which was filled with a handful of souvenirs and snacks, all of which were overpriced. A mini flag of Nauru cost 20aud.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVY52YzDU-IBq20vd_ozhIpgREUacn78ktHuR8kxAfTwDXfTK_yQJdSN1ccRA2JPmbMu2NaEd3ZQNVI-aVsCt_0evsGGx_qBVVddR9QdYBXDB05QGv2tP0PpSet0qT1JprRohdZV3uVh4/s1600/IMG_4796_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVY52YzDU-IBq20vd_ozhIpgREUacn78ktHuR8kxAfTwDXfTK_yQJdSN1ccRA2JPmbMu2NaEd3ZQNVI-aVsCt_0evsGGx_qBVVddR9QdYBXDB05QGv2tP0PpSet0qT1JprRohdZV3uVh4/s640/IMG_4796_edit.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some miscellaneous door decorations in the airport waiting area</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Eventually we boarded, and on the flight we were offered breakfast. As Paul noted, it was like an AI bot was told what humans eat for breakfast but got it kind of wrong. The tray had warm cucumbers, spaghetti and slices of some sort of ham, along with a small fruit cup of exactly one grape, one cherry, one cube of watermelon, and one slice of an orange. I passed.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBJCzkYXwacNUxbzAon4heEANLqzFgGcaMwLRd-9oxm6jni81axf-bS-6brfuedSi_4pBb_aDnO3CnlJG1G8kZffuEhuivHyBSvc28-7yUDFHkHdqMgusJLxNvxD1yhsXHuLZe_18pK4/s1600/IMG_4800_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBJCzkYXwacNUxbzAon4heEANLqzFgGcaMwLRd-9oxm6jni81axf-bS-6brfuedSi_4pBb_aDnO3CnlJG1G8kZffuEhuivHyBSvc28-7yUDFHkHdqMgusJLxNvxD1yhsXHuLZe_18pK4/s640/IMG_4800_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zDpCpPXFyHGl0UH9OxRE4TkySBqmXWpFDKNGYB5govcL1ypdMUMwJkbxTgj0LXLgr1Fc5ZiXOAuu9ZP307r1Za963xYifF2TKgypgcnIC049J0EoVmYS_0hYFzjcmi4imias5NjvM4Y/s1600/IMG_4801_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1359" data-original-width="1600" height="542" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zDpCpPXFyHGl0UH9OxRE4TkySBqmXWpFDKNGYB5govcL1ypdMUMwJkbxTgj0LXLgr1Fc5ZiXOAuu9ZP307r1Za963xYifF2TKgypgcnIC049J0EoVmYS_0hYFzjcmi4imias5NjvM4Y/s640/IMG_4801_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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We arrived in Kiribati early in the morning. It was pouring rain, as was the theme for the trip. We disembarked on the tarmac, so we got soaked in the process. Once inside the airport, it was clear to see they were undergoing renovations, just like in the Majuro airport. Here, there was a roped off queue leading us through the process of turning in forms, and each section was simply labeled with a white piece of printer paper and big block letters that said HEALTH FORMS, IMMIGRATION, and CUSTOMS. Immigration was swift, and it was done by a man sitting behind a very beautifully designed booth made of local woods and materials. Customs was located beside a giant tourism sign that read, “Welcome to Kiribati: another option for you.” Once we were out of the airport, it was just a short time before we were in cabs to take us to the hotel.<br />
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I always have so many questions about a new place when I travel, so I was a bit bummed that our cab driver happened to be sick and lost her voice. I looked out the window on the 45 minute drive and took in my surroundings.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaQFKuhB9KbEmTWSIjXl1lmCFqqATWnqkqcJglJ_vDZa0csqRA6R9vsuG3_uLZJpmTU2bFvkzs0xWoZja2lDiVdOLMefU9LsUeLule8GHOx8uCjwB7OMfYrv_OT6qhUIj0HrN4bLsO54U/s1600/IMG_4809_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="961" data-original-width="1600" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaQFKuhB9KbEmTWSIjXl1lmCFqqATWnqkqcJglJ_vDZa0csqRA6R9vsuG3_uLZJpmTU2bFvkzs0xWoZja2lDiVdOLMefU9LsUeLule8GHOx8uCjwB7OMfYrv_OT6qhUIj0HrN4bLsO54U/s640/IMG_4809_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Local church</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimE4zXzDps1uazDV4tXlZIsd7sdUODTJnsY2nvrMXM21hhv3UG7TXm-fG2E6YSBbaqU-f0jfduH21rLUVLBsm_ZDP7sCU_x-CkJEdXfQqhOM_NMJZpVq3YogeQ-GoX06BvsVPmOXzWNkM/s1600/IMG_4815e_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimE4zXzDps1uazDV4tXlZIsd7sdUODTJnsY2nvrMXM21hhv3UG7TXm-fG2E6YSBbaqU-f0jfduH21rLUVLBsm_ZDP7sCU_x-CkJEdXfQqhOM_NMJZpVq3YogeQ-GoX06BvsVPmOXzWNkM/s640/IMG_4815e_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Another church</td></tr>
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Tarawa is like Majuro in that it is an atoll, or a very thin island. Water was on either side of us during the drive. Due to the rain, there were massive puddles slowing down traffic, but all of the drivers seemed used to the slight inconvenience.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsGz1Id_5CzDfK9536mtcew3mPirE1ItZy6ILqRH6LpegHhHWgIa9CW5O_UYJy2HvNg-w7cpwugmePlHpSCPRP0E-yUGelVavhYQDrshJCWPDiXllopE_sH_amZFb5fv3pVfO-wq98fYM/s1600/IMG_4819_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsGz1Id_5CzDfK9536mtcew3mPirE1ItZy6ILqRH6LpegHhHWgIa9CW5O_UYJy2HvNg-w7cpwugmePlHpSCPRP0E-yUGelVavhYQDrshJCWPDiXllopE_sH_amZFb5fv3pVfO-wq98fYM/s640/IMG_4819_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The road connecting the small islands of the Tarawa atoll</td></tr>
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Back in Vanuatu, the year 7 and 8 students study Kiribati in their social science class. I find it a little funny because the culture here, at least on the surface, seems very similar to that of Vanuatu. Geography is only different in the way the Kiribati land is receding, but the land is formerly volcanic and it’s in a tropical climate. Some of the houses or bedrooms of the house are raised on three-foot-high stilts, to keep it safe from flooding. I see a lot of the graves are individually located in front of houses instead of one massive graveyard, and while they are decorated similar to those in Vanuatu—upturned bottles as a border and gravel filling in the middle—these are also surrounded by a chicken wire cage and a small roof, making them at first glance appear to be a dog house or a chicken coop of sorts. I will later ask our guide why, and she tells me that it is to ensure no animals or people walk on top of the grave. She also said sometimes loved ones will sleep on them, like if it is a deceased spouse. However she says that isn’t too common and only occasionally happens. Pigs appear to roam freely in the front yards near the road and near where people rest or play, whereas in Vanuatu, or at least on my island, the pigs are caged off up on the hill near the gardens and not anywhere near the homes. I see a few homes with metal fences that have coconut leaves woven into them for privacy, something I haven’t seen in Vanuatu.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSEkfridTwi4kmi0JZKE0EbCiWNmgYNNi7WvuJ4fGyRBJmBCKQKQngToVeKbTUujwgMFWL6jnnKCILiGk4XbLyPW7Me-AzbvbXyg40i_1KXLAmz3IsMdFbUL0jtbFw7SCKqTxXdXfnnjg/s1600/IMG_4823_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSEkfridTwi4kmi0JZKE0EbCiWNmgYNNi7WvuJ4fGyRBJmBCKQKQngToVeKbTUujwgMFWL6jnnKCILiGk4XbLyPW7Me-AzbvbXyg40i_1KXLAmz3IsMdFbUL0jtbFw7SCKqTxXdXfnnjg/s640/IMG_4823_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Women fishing</td></tr>
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Just like in Nauru, tires are painted or cut up to use as decoration along the road or near playgrounds. One playground is even mostly comprised of recycled materials, which is cool. It has tire swings, a seesaw with a tire and scrap wood, some picnic tables with benches made of tires, and various decorations and flower pots made with tires. It’s bordered by a rope made of recycled plastic water bottles.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlPSat0Mx054zjdUltO9SpPIGwpo0UD3N4PNM7-dLq09yWlYAp1RHZiCuS-QCS4T-W5Rr-ERpYneJQI2-pVRPXr-MVct0VO4bBjuB0Kn6JL87UGWBAtdm33ppes883Fq_sIoGhyUpDbs/s1600/IMG_4831_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlPSat0Mx054zjdUltO9SpPIGwpo0UD3N4PNM7-dLq09yWlYAp1RHZiCuS-QCS4T-W5Rr-ERpYneJQI2-pVRPXr-MVct0VO4bBjuB0Kn6JL87UGWBAtdm33ppes883Fq_sIoGhyUpDbs/s640/IMG_4831_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I also notice several churches, all of which appear to have massively steep roofs but short entrances only about 6 feet tall. They are all open air, with only pillars and no walls on the sides. After Living in Vanuatu, I’ve come to learn that this style of design is cyclone-friendly. Inside, everyone appears to sit on the floor for church, with no benches or chairs visible. In Vanuatu there are pews or long benches, but I don’t see any in Kiribati.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPAdmc5NSqgr6zJ9CDPHx-GXCo6Yk0kVJBg9c5teJx0yYyU07S5TGatzYk16a4WSlz0yq57oxHRmyz6WmRFGrhV9nBXCYx62QZKsKE6K7raLnjxCbUDWtom0204ngp42jdIBZ2pbo4ge8/s1600/IMG_4856_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPAdmc5NSqgr6zJ9CDPHx-GXCo6Yk0kVJBg9c5teJx0yYyU07S5TGatzYk16a4WSlz0yq57oxHRmyz6WmRFGrhV9nBXCYx62QZKsKE6K7raLnjxCbUDWtom0204ngp42jdIBZ2pbo4ge8/s640/IMG_4856_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Government-funded housing, our guide tells us, is much nicer than the usual local accommodations</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Women here mostly are wearing longer skirts past the knees to keep it conservative. Yet, as we drive around, I see there are at least a few women who are not shy about wearing a sports bra and skirt as they do their laundry near the busy road. I even see one woman sitting on the sidewalk in such clothes, which for Vanuatu would be uncommon, even in Port Vila.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xNz2fdaIHvmRbbN1_-v1q_qUn2Xjwk6It8sCOw1aBQieh5HUdbD0JMAACvNoSc6ZvEMdEllmvSrmKBJJBXrq3BGP0C35ylZpxsvN_jwI591eBiwoEx2tQxetrBJ2IwxF83vL-ZMcgVk/s1600/IMG_4817_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1149" data-original-width="1600" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xNz2fdaIHvmRbbN1_-v1q_qUn2Xjwk6It8sCOw1aBQieh5HUdbD0JMAACvNoSc6ZvEMdEllmvSrmKBJJBXrq3BGP0C35ylZpxsvN_jwI591eBiwoEx2tQxetrBJ2IwxF83vL-ZMcgVk/s640/IMG_4817_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Across from an abandoned ferris wheel, our accommodations in Bairiki in South Tarawa were Mary’s Motel. Once we checked in, we rested, as many of us didn’t get a proper sleep the night before.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4ks6dOWS6oOMycRJ6Z5NIK319HcpuAA0nW6VD5q8fvwms4sPe0Mfh9HO2P6xTOQ3qwVXAA-GQq4pgNwTGpLgOZlioQ9eAewCLBxuYLzw-fXHeXYzi-UkPzyQe3fiHX2ht4RyxQklXPI/s1600/IMG_4818_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4ks6dOWS6oOMycRJ6Z5NIK319HcpuAA0nW6VD5q8fvwms4sPe0Mfh9HO2P6xTOQ3qwVXAA-GQq4pgNwTGpLgOZlioQ9eAewCLBxuYLzw-fXHeXYzi-UkPzyQe3fiHX2ht4RyxQklXPI/s640/IMG_4818_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The inside of our hotel room...they later separated the twin beds for us.</td></tr>
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Around 11am we headed out to explore in the Betio area. Our guide set up an A&E short documentary for us to watch in the hotel before departing about the Battle of Tarawa, which was fought between the Japanese and Americans in WWII. After the briefing, we headed off in the bus to explore, our first stop being the site of this battle. Here, there were remnants of some bunkers and guns.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhcjYqzdxCvxqBVZ6wVnnlFSrIUySofFomZWJURYFWqbsni7NYTUtYujBf9Uj8u5LHyhLtmG0YnfqAXrrsjxUDMlbWwjVQaU6o_hSo_6qkZxmmFy2LxzmOJuWR8dVizfY46UA3jT4iyJM/s1600/IMG_4860_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhcjYqzdxCvxqBVZ6wVnnlFSrIUySofFomZWJURYFWqbsni7NYTUtYujBf9Uj8u5LHyhLtmG0YnfqAXrrsjxUDMlbWwjVQaU6o_hSo_6qkZxmmFy2LxzmOJuWR8dVizfY46UA3jT4iyJM/s640/IMG_4860_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Welcome to the Betio district!</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5fl5XChKlJjyEWcEb9bUaCW9UCVQpRnBpqhEbI24qn2pyZ-jGhqssKk8mOO8-HVdcc5Kkdrsza9wKUquZprpl9D0kr1UIkJForY2O4AMUwHn9YOWb1L73vvOMcaY5wo8RGtgLsQSzJf4/s1600/IMG_4824_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="1600" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5fl5XChKlJjyEWcEb9bUaCW9UCVQpRnBpqhEbI24qn2pyZ-jGhqssKk8mOO8-HVdcc5Kkdrsza9wKUquZprpl9D0kr1UIkJForY2O4AMUwHn9YOWb1L73vvOMcaY5wo8RGtgLsQSzJf4/s640/IMG_4824_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Old WWII guns under water</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-AAnxoBWmB8BWf1ryBvowqKkQbksmKkgI2X1bGTqlGeUnTEBy7-RhgXq_urYasqAgnuDJqO8h23WcAQd2E9wJDagzePWJsmNSkxo4FzAK1QPOyKNkmili1RURWANawfY8AFDxVSOqUwY/s1600/IMG_4825_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-AAnxoBWmB8BWf1ryBvowqKkQbksmKkgI2X1bGTqlGeUnTEBy7-RhgXq_urYasqAgnuDJqO8h23WcAQd2E9wJDagzePWJsmNSkxo4FzAK1QPOyKNkmili1RURWANawfY8AFDxVSOqUwY/s640/IMG_4825_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Bunkers and guns</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp5-V6k5gMW5DzQX1-a-Rj7KdXdZs6NoKQlmZZHmnjoczkvOwVMxp36pLxlQfknVhyc2gi37uULUmcEkb8qfToJSBsT997CqNPOrCPO8ZmVCb2mns59IaR0h5e6336QcK0melfa6nr_FM/s1600/IMG_4826_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp5-V6k5gMW5DzQX1-a-Rj7KdXdZs6NoKQlmZZHmnjoczkvOwVMxp36pLxlQfknVhyc2gi37uULUmcEkb8qfToJSBsT997CqNPOrCPO8ZmVCb2mns59IaR0h5e6336QcK0melfa6nr_FM/s640/IMG_4826_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQasYd9uqJh_cBcKkU93xd3c8QIYWqTvPSs87LzqPCzkbyqpmXieR9MCUIETfdPw0aPX90b9B_ldxfkD4aAnOPcKLprh-SMK5q2oS_IU1tS4KX9QHxigEU33iiu36F0ICxbaBlBjo3pUU/s1600/IMG_4830_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQasYd9uqJh_cBcKkU93xd3c8QIYWqTvPSs87LzqPCzkbyqpmXieR9MCUIETfdPw0aPX90b9B_ldxfkD4aAnOPcKLprh-SMK5q2oS_IU1tS4KX9QHxigEU33iiu36F0ICxbaBlBjo3pUU/s640/IMG_4830_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Prank?<br /></td></tr>
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During the roaming around time, I take the chance to chat with our guide, Molly, about some things I’ve observed. However, her English isn’t very good, so it’s hard to get clear answers. There’s a fruit tree nearby that I haven’t seen in Vanuatu (most of the trees here are identical to those in Vanuatu), so I ask her what it’s called, and all she says is that it grows wild. I ask her what the local word for the thatched roofs are, and she tells me they are thatched roofs.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU1LN3mwD3I_bdytZpF53673PXo_A7fFgoNGNYQW0Pbfb16XxvrbcQYkD-F2Z6grlM9HEANmkcSq_FIMa0tcSw4ThUhRhpvvl-xfLxYT9V8HnbY3_-MJBXwBxSyitR2eXeqU6FA19XKvE/s1600/IMG_4832_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU1LN3mwD3I_bdytZpF53673PXo_A7fFgoNGNYQW0Pbfb16XxvrbcQYkD-F2Z6grlM9HEANmkcSq_FIMa0tcSw4ThUhRhpvvl-xfLxYT9V8HnbY3_-MJBXwBxSyitR2eXeqU6FA19XKvE/s640/IMG_4832_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Church on right, bunker on left.</td></tr>
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We also stopped at the Japanese command bunker, which is now situated beside a Mormon church and recreation center.<br />
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Another stop was near one of the beaches where more cannons were situated beside some basketball courts and a swimming area where some kids were using scraps of wood as boogie boards to ride the waves.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Green Beach</td></tr>
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At Green Beach, or Temakin point, we took some more pictures of cannons and there were lots of children wandering around. I go straight up to them and shake their hands, saying hello in the local language (“Mauri”). The tween girls I chat with girls are not too shy, but they don’t know English very well. I manage to introduce myself as an American tourist, and they tell me they are just coming to this part of the beach to use the public toilets, since their homes, which are down the road, don’t have any. Other kids are playing around on the guns or other bunkers nearby, while some are swimming in the water. I ask the girls if they ever come here to the ocean to go fishing, and one of the girls, Arua, giggles hysterically at the thought as they all say no. The more I chat with them, the more kids gather, and when we board the bus I shake all of their hands and smile back at their big grins before heading off.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Memorial outside the Betio Sports Complex<br /></td></tr>
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Our bus makes many stops, and some of the things we also check out are the US Navy WWII memorial, the Betio Sports Complex, government-provided housing, the Japanese WWII memorial, and a copra manufacturing facility. The sports complex is funded by Taiwan, and Kiribati is one of the few countries that recognizes Taiwan as a country. The Japanese memorial is caged in by a fence, and it’s looked after by a Japanese expat who lives in Tarawa. It’s guarded because the memorial is often vandalized, and the fence is for protection. The expat is currently not home, so we can’t go inside to get a closer look.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Japanese WWII memorial</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Inside the copra factory</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Lots and lots of coconut oil</td></tr>
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As boring as a manufacturing tour may be, I enjoyed our last-minute decision to take a look at the copra mill. One of Vanuatu’s major exports is copra, but there aren’t manufacturing facilities in Vanuatu so it’s all sent elsewhere. Here in Kiribati, the manufactured copra is sourced from other islands of Kiribati. Copra is the dried flesh of a mature coconut that can then be ground up and used to make coconut oil. Coconut oil that is made from fresh coconuts and not copra produces extra virgin coconut oil. A couple of men who worked in the factory showed us around and turned on the machines so we could see the process from copra to oil. Any brown skin that has been removed from the copra in the processing and is wet with oil is bagged up and sold as an alternative to firewood. Any leftover meat from the process that is dry is packaged up into giant sacks and sold as pig feed, leaving no remaining waste.<br />
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This factory also manufactures products with the oil, such as soaps, lotions and more. I purchase five bars of soap for a single Australian dollar. I ask for change in Kiribati coins, which are 1:1 with Australian dollars, but they are rare and despite my asking at every store, no one seems to have any.<br />
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For lunch we head to the George Hotel, which has a nice outdoor patio area and is NOT Chinese food, as our guide, Molly, originally led us to, and which Gareth vehemently protested. Before ordering, I chat with the woman at the front desk of the hotel. The lobby is decorated with some Kiribati flags and traditional baskets, and I take the chance to ask her about kava, because I know that some people drink it here. I quickly discover that all kava in Kiribati is the powdered kind and not freshly ground like it is in Vanuatu. In fact, the dried powder she unveils as the source for the hotel kava is, in fact, made in Vanuatu. Ha. Some people in the group mention wanting to try kava here to compare, but I convince them it’s not worth it. Why, when you can get fresh-squeezed orange juice, would you want to try the orange-flavored Tang powder mixed in water?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWhDaTfRSHH8FJHjbt0cYWgLEo5GVLEeUm3LMi84c7OXQQI_JGo80ppqT8t1QX7GM3ML6Q7OgOYGtPujBngW1aNAEEIE8ADjwkEbfs_GrekMi-OTrQeNAGYBt1b-ihhvlvYroFE-OAU3g/s1600/IMG_4881_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="897" data-original-width="1600" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWhDaTfRSHH8FJHjbt0cYWgLEo5GVLEeUm3LMi84c7OXQQI_JGo80ppqT8t1QX7GM3ML6Q7OgOYGtPujBngW1aNAEEIE8ADjwkEbfs_GrekMi-OTrQeNAGYBt1b-ihhvlvYroFE-OAU3g/s640/IMG_4881_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The outdoor seating at the George Hotel restaurant</td></tr>
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The George hotel restaurant menu offers some different options, and due to my chitchat with the front desk, I squeeze in my order of chicken curry last. When the food arrives, mine comes first, and after messed up, delayed or completely absent food orders, we eventually wrap up and head out from lunch at around 4pm. I understand that we’re a large group, but we’re all ordering straight off the menu without alterations, and our presence in these restaurants is never close to half of what the restaurant can handle, if the number of seats available are to be any indicator.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The stray cat finishes off Paul's plate<br /></td></tr>
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<br />Some decide to take the bus back, but since I am getting antsy and don’t wish to wait around any longer, I decide to walk back with a few of the group. Thankfully, it doesn’t rain the entire time, and it ends up being an enjoyable walk, where I got to bond with the other Melissa in the group, an Australian kindergarten teacher. It was fun to walk the whole way back, especially on the causeway which connect the small islands of this atoll. We walked along the concrete edge like on a balance beam to avoid the massive puddles on the road, since there weren’t any sidewalks. We fit right in with the occasional I-Kiribati who passed us by. Pickup trucks and vans overflowing with passengers would often honk to ask if we wanted a ride (I believe they are much like the buses in Vanuatu that you can hail to take you anywhere), but we just smiled and waved and said “Mauri” which made everyone smile and wave back at us. It was a very friendly country, and even though Vanuatu is also friendly, the lack of the shyness barrier made it even more prevalent here.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Lots of recycling. Lots.</td></tr>
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As we walk, we see a sign promoting reusable bags to reduce plastic waste. There is nothing in place currently to prevent this kind of waste, as many of us have been receiving plastic bags with our purchases. Unfortunately here in Kiribati, the waste is much more visible than in Vanuatu. Yes, there is trash here and there in my village, but I don’t feel like it’s in these quantities, especially near the water, where it is washed up on the shore.<br />
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Walking back takes a couple hours, and we see a beautiful sunset over the water before we arrive back at the hotel. Once I return, I noticed there was no free shampoo. Calvin and I noticed the fridge was smaller, there was no washer, and we joked how we missed Nauru and wished we could return.<br />
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I go to the lobby to check for shampoo and end up having an hour-long conversation with Teresa, the front desk staff. Her English is superb and she’s much easier to chat with than Molly our tour guide for the day, so I can ask tons of questions and get clear answers. Teresa is younger, probably in her mid-twenties, and I ask her about the holidays and the everyday culture. She says she celebrated Christmas with her immediate family only, which is typical, although she did see a little bit of extended family just before the holidays began. I told her I read that people here are like nivans in that they have great pride in their home islands, and she is the same, telling me that her parents are from different islands and she, too, considers herself to be parts of those places, despite being born and raised in Tarawa. She said she still has family in those islands, but she hasn’t been to them in a long time. She said she would feel weird about going to see that family because she doesn’t know them too well. It makes me laugh because in Vanuatu, people call their third, fourth, and fifth cousins “cousins” or even just “brother/sister” because everyone is so close. I feel like no one in Vanuatu would bat an eye at the idea of staying with a great-aunt from another island. I know there are two international airports in Kiribati, and I ask if there are other airports throughout the country. She starts to describe how they have small grass field airports for 12-seater planes to land on in the outer islands, with a small shack as a check in desk, and I laugh and tell her how it’s exactly like Vanuatu.<br />
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Teresa is very chatty, and I talk to her about the local food, of which she said water taro is the most popular. I describe island cabbage to her, which apparently isn’t as common here, but she does know what it is when I describe it as “the big leaves that are slimy when you cut them.” Breadfruit is also very popular, and she says the typical way to serve it is by roasting it, mashing it, and then covering it with coconut milk, which in Vanuatu is called nalot. I really enjoyed her company, but my feet were aching from walking all day, so I parted ways and promised to catch up tomorrow.<br />
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Some of the group head out to a nearby bar, but I stay in to get some rest before our first and last full day here in Tarawa.<br />
<br />melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-71145555457183560812019-01-03T01:00:00.000-06:002019-01-14T01:32:25.777-06:00Least Visited, Day 8: Exploring the Endorheic Lake and the Caves of NauruJanuary 3rd, 2019<br />
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Today was our final full day in Nauru. This is the 2nd smallest country by land mass, and we’re starting to feel it, after having looped around the country possibly five or six times since arriving. For me, it was all in our car, but for most, it was also by foot. Seemingly, we had nothing more to explore. Were there more Chinese restaurants? It didn’t feel like it. Were there more WW2 artifacts? I don’t think so. But there was a LAKE! And CAVES!<br />
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As I walked to breakfast, I saw the female staff from a couple nights ago, <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/12/least-visited-day-5-attempting-to-meet.html">the one who was throwing water at everyone and gave us some free peanuts</a>. She asked me when our group was staying until, and I told her we were departing tomorrow. She seemed bummed because apparently we would be missing out on “bar night” with the staff on Friday. Where was she yesterday during <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2019/01/least-visited-day-7-heavy-day-followed.html">our crazy bar crawl?!</a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buada Lagoon</td></tr>
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Our first stop for the day was Buada Lagoon, an endorheic lakeand the only lake in Nauru. We did a simple walk around the lake, exploring along the way. It’s nestled in a village, the only one of the island that doesn’t have access to the beach.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lisa checks out the workout equipment at the gym</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SHUT UP AND SQUAT!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A local church</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upstairs at the church, abandoned rooms</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another nearby church</td></tr>
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Near the lake there were a couple stores, a giant church that appeared to have an upstairs home, and a concrete building shell that was somewhat open-air that housed a public gym. There were, of course, <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/12/least-visited-day-4-arriving-in-least.html">trampolines and playgrounds all around</a>, as there were in the rest of the country.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nauru flag painted outside our lunch restaurant</td></tr>
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For lunch, we asked our hotel guide to lead us somewhere that wasn’t Chinese. He led us to Margaret’s Restaurant, which was… Chinese. We ordered but it took nearly two hours from the moment we stepped in until we got our food, and some of us, including myself, didn’t even get food because they completely botched the order. Once we sorted it out, it was time to leave. By now it was mid-afternoon and we hadn’t even explored yet.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Entering the bush from the road to seek out a cave</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">vines and banyans in the bush</td></tr>
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Our guide led us to a cave which was a bit hidden away. We pulled up near a house, then he led us along the sidewalk of the main ring road until we came upon some trash bags on the side of the road. Then we go straight into some bushes and follow a vague path into the woods until we come upon the opening of the cave. A man and his young son lead us along the way, as the mosquitoes feast upon our arms and legs.<br />
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The entrance of the cave is short, and stays that way for the first fifty feet in, requiring you to enter at a crouch or squat before coming to an opening, where a steep drop off forms a deep hole. The guide was blocking me, so I didn’t get a good view, but Lisa went ahead and climbed down as everyone shined their phone lights down. It was an easy climb, and at the bottom she said it opened up to another area. She didn’t have a light so couldn’t see. The hole she climbed down was at least ten meters deep, and she was a bit concerned about the idea that if she were to get hart, no one in our group could probably save her. We joked that at least we’d throw down some snacks and a water bottle.<br />
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On our way out of the cave, the guide told us it was the site of a tribal massacre over a hundred years ago, which I’m a bit glad he didn’t tell us before, since being on this secluded island was eerie enough. He explained the entire tribe of about five hundred people was brought here and mass murdered. I asked why, and he said the other tribes on the island discovered this particular one had lots of incest, which they didn’t approve of. Even children weren’t safe, as they were a product of the crime. The remains have been long since cleared out of the cave, especially during WWII, during Japanese occupation.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Cave #1, the site of a massacre</td></tr>
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Calvin heard of an underground lake through a friend who also had visited Nauru, and once explaining it to the guide, he knew exactly where to take us. Off we went to another driveway near someone’s house, where we got out of the bus and hiked through some shrubbery to come upon a graffitied wall. Just past the wall are some steps down to a cave with a fresh water pond. The pond is deceiving, as it appears small, but it actually extends through the cave, deeper into the island. Sometimes divers will come here and swim their way through to larger openings. Apparently this served as one of the few sources of drinking water during Japanese occupation. Now, it’s covered in graffiti and litter.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQX1Z3o9rM5n2C0cn6i7vfZlzcaHV08_JhGakKGMXelpNOQ6WvKlpXScJUbCGGeTRSAaI_-0brJ84sKnPP5k6tjeSvMS1x1hdRlA_DWY-WS7S-lYRiXFH2CE0IHiETq6dOXOBcOccZqs/s1600/IMG_4772_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1329" data-original-width="1600" height="530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQX1Z3o9rM5n2C0cn6i7vfZlzcaHV08_JhGakKGMXelpNOQ6WvKlpXScJUbCGGeTRSAaI_-0brJ84sKnPP5k6tjeSvMS1x1hdRlA_DWY-WS7S-lYRiXFH2CE0IHiETq6dOXOBcOccZqs/s640/IMG_4772_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Phosphate rocks in Nauru</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJ_uCFEOS5mDjnQ07RI1OJb1DxPHtvG0r9bC8s3po7HLXyssQcQPgFZykJgMwvvNg6jVJ2jJ2sZlwGEAer8-DEuM2wcZNeSWlcIqKnexKwMsaJpwKOElW7TsGu-jyGRwWoraMJQ7EA2w/s1600/IMG_4774_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1075" data-original-width="1600" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJ_uCFEOS5mDjnQ07RI1OJb1DxPHtvG0r9bC8s3po7HLXyssQcQPgFZykJgMwvvNg6jVJ2jJ2sZlwGEAer8-DEuM2wcZNeSWlcIqKnexKwMsaJpwKOElW7TsGu-jyGRwWoraMJQ7EA2w/s640/IMG_4774_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Hiking to cave #2</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUczVeiKKGBjtikdXwDTpEGjOf-Nufca0gFXDDvQjHMbA_AQaGjW0sJjA6wHGKgJZV3JMdr87E9qtVs9iac2ZsdyzYcAspSFC_5Vw3GZxrDsVo3Xu09-uI04lPGqS5AObuHextYYHpEQ/s1600/IMG_4775_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUczVeiKKGBjtikdXwDTpEGjOf-Nufca0gFXDDvQjHMbA_AQaGjW0sJjA6wHGKgJZV3JMdr87E9qtVs9iac2ZsdyzYcAspSFC_5Vw3GZxrDsVo3Xu09-uI04lPGqS5AObuHextYYHpEQ/s640/IMG_4775_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Hiking to cave #2</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBWpB8xY5GYWKeeXk4V2CgjuiFHiKDiZ_EvslNMP4O5RYLXu6qZILn8ChknDINi2PUoy7G6vl4tJ6TWyghOWTDrYVhJ-swbG8B0PCnGBNh_x8A3elrTnvj9RAfDK6xwrE-nOCoYpqvvs/s1600/IMG_4776_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBWpB8xY5GYWKeeXk4V2CgjuiFHiKDiZ_EvslNMP4O5RYLXu6qZILn8ChknDINi2PUoy7G6vl4tJ6TWyghOWTDrYVhJ-swbG8B0PCnGBNh_x8A3elrTnvj9RAfDK6xwrE-nOCoYpqvvs/s640/IMG_4776_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Lisa picks up trash in the underground river in cave #2</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4bjXlyln0zD4nQWypZfT5O3f1954RmnAEO-YAfbavtF-gYBq2kWuCjDCBDGiYE7R6Ui-VJJFlHN1IhpSwOR5zruFpGDyiABPp8jp8D38DZaxCRK7SYl1BqoHpvoZvu-DnfNb7reMTYw/s1600/IMG_4777_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="970" data-original-width="1600" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4bjXlyln0zD4nQWypZfT5O3f1954RmnAEO-YAfbavtF-gYBq2kWuCjDCBDGiYE7R6Ui-VJJFlHN1IhpSwOR5zruFpGDyiABPp8jp8D38DZaxCRK7SYl1BqoHpvoZvu-DnfNb7reMTYw/s640/IMG_4777_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The graffiti'd wall just outside cave #2</td></tr>
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Our final stop was the painted barricades along the airport runway, which are decorated with “welcome to Nauru” lettering and the names of all the current tribes of Nauru, along with those that have become extinct. Presumably the massacred tribe from earlier is one of those extinct ones. There are also barricades painted with the flags of nearby Pacific countries.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI4YM0ym0aBHdadAR7yX7kW1Cexy9lTgYCydJxmftroa6mhO_BHRuc9cF_utjA8XwX1or2FuGQqjdkpMDP9nAVB-pGtcYcX2RSM32BBzeWUpOxhBzgqCVfO9VPQ6QKKpbzPQ7QG8iKG1Q/s1600/IMG_4779_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI4YM0ym0aBHdadAR7yX7kW1Cexy9lTgYCydJxmftroa6mhO_BHRuc9cF_utjA8XwX1or2FuGQqjdkpMDP9nAVB-pGtcYcX2RSM32BBzeWUpOxhBzgqCVfO9VPQ6QKKpbzPQ7QG8iKG1Q/s640/IMG_4779_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Barricades marking tribes' population</td></tr>
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After our adventurous day, we returned to the hotel. Some went out to dinner, but I had a thrilling snack of cheese spread and breakfast crackers in the room that I wanted to finished before we headed off to our next destination, Kiribati, early tomorrow morning.<br />
<br />melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-14192795648152558442019-01-02T21:51:00.000-06:002019-01-11T00:11:05.798-06:00Least Visited, Day 7: A Heavy Day Followed By A Drink In Every Bar In The Entire CountryJanuary 2nd, 2019<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4K2eScqn_B6u4V4KH0hIbOjbEIXbI1OwH8qNEc9tkM_GHcnbS8w9JCc_0STN0WiNMBkQUPBgy0d52E3u5T25-beWJF6ImMazMIfedenedNjMYYoo9E-S9auvYxRBo81x_fWnsw4-qZIY/s1600/IMG_4742_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4K2eScqn_B6u4V4KH0hIbOjbEIXbI1OwH8qNEc9tkM_GHcnbS8w9JCc_0STN0WiNMBkQUPBgy0d52E3u5T25-beWJF6ImMazMIfedenedNjMYYoo9E-S9auvYxRBo81x_fWnsw4-qZIY/s640/IMG_4742_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">One of the bars on our full-country pub crawl</td></tr>
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Today we got a late start yet again, but it really didn’t matter. We were making good progress on the short list of things to see in this country, so it didn’t matter if we were only active for a few hours each day.<br />
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It was rainy yet again, as was the theme for this visit. Some of the group went urban exploring yesterday while they went on the round-island hike, and found some abandoned phosphate processing facilities, which we decided to check out today.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9wPNx1sZlpkqkHNtVlzeTPyQGvQ3aiduHB4vUlwDXEhHmIpAeqmpDWn1rRIM5W0H7f7DDgELj_2dZTHVm9xBlWY8DNWu-homXNH2ajWXIt0RjoSFqpuwj01USNZ8px5Qk6YMnjZx25c/s1600/IMG_4705_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1018" data-original-width="1600" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9wPNx1sZlpkqkHNtVlzeTPyQGvQ3aiduHB4vUlwDXEhHmIpAeqmpDWn1rRIM5W0H7f7DDgELj_2dZTHVm9xBlWY8DNWu-homXNH2ajWXIt0RjoSFqpuwj01USNZ8px5Qk6YMnjZx25c/s640/IMG_4705_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abandoned processing facilities</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXp2VqVNHX8SHVrEbo1zQaI35LhvMKfRVkAA9QgqA80hrbzjmTcU1PdF_uYiO8mYRBSHlJKpmLlzyYv8pKHkIkY3gXDB5Wmb87IUcyO7MuV44nHC7KYvurHSN7a6fFxefQ-SJTuj7pTcE/s1600/IMG_4706_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXp2VqVNHX8SHVrEbo1zQaI35LhvMKfRVkAA9QgqA80hrbzjmTcU1PdF_uYiO8mYRBSHlJKpmLlzyYv8pKHkIkY3gXDB5Wmb87IUcyO7MuV44nHC7KYvurHSN7a6fFxefQ-SJTuj7pTcE/s640/IMG_4706_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Graffiti inside</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0NL9n0dZ_UQVbOngyDnfl3LZ-9s4NhwPg2QkHJfzpUotTDyJNWlhyiXH7axv7IudL4y_dK7WptWTBCP9eMqeb17Pn6DaBUSqWMgUTBWc4ucIQW9fthTW9gYpRbiPGHRYez9OvKDd3K0A/s1600/IMG_4729_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0NL9n0dZ_UQVbOngyDnfl3LZ-9s4NhwPg2QkHJfzpUotTDyJNWlhyiXH7axv7IudL4y_dK7WptWTBCP9eMqeb17Pn6DaBUSqWMgUTBWc4ucIQW9fthTW9gYpRbiPGHRYez9OvKDd3K0A/s640/IMG_4729_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Phosphate rocks on the hill</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqwLk5ltqvoK5ntXUu754IvczuRfyWNZTiXTPzP7tGR4qed2P7dCqt9vaqSpvUO07JpHCgS0-M9OKu6o_ii5UMOAjatzwSQZFiUrR3wApxzvYVlycr_MrVgzcuNQxqNtUkUYPC0ArRyZs/s1600/IMG_4736_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqwLk5ltqvoK5ntXUu754IvczuRfyWNZTiXTPzP7tGR4qed2P7dCqt9vaqSpvUO07JpHCgS0-M9OKu6o_ii5UMOAjatzwSQZFiUrR3wApxzvYVlycr_MrVgzcuNQxqNtUkUYPC0ArRyZs/s640/IMG_4736_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Phosphate rocks on the hill</td></tr>
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I brought mostly skirts to be culturally appropriate, but really these skirts so far have been completely unnecessary. They definitely became a hindrance when it came to attempting to climb rusted over conveyor belts and disconnected stairwells, so much that I gave up on trying to explore. Skirt or not, there was also a frustratingly aggressive thorny plant that not only was spiky, but had hooks that caused some major damage. It cut up my leg, hooking into my skin, and at one point got Lisa’s ear as she was ducking under a railing. This stuff would be more effective than barbed wire as a deterrent.<br />
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On the subject of deterrents, we next explored some of the remnants of Japanese occupation during WWII. Sprinkled around the island are cannons, one of which is on the top of a giant hill. The one there is an anti-aircraft cannon.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_DN_5XpbAg1Aj7sQa0FcUqH6pGHYX3D17I_oQpuy0Nay89NzaFTnP4aeGzAqmoHC5cFrn0Aia1lqHyywahkmSy7Mq0BrJNcrHXV4R_M2VKVgV-npjItbk5OCWviHIJWVtQ4GEGFoWQ4/s1600/IMG_4726_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1181" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_DN_5XpbAg1Aj7sQa0FcUqH6pGHYX3D17I_oQpuy0Nay89NzaFTnP4aeGzAqmoHC5cFrn0Aia1lqHyywahkmSy7Mq0BrJNcrHXV4R_M2VKVgV-npjItbk5OCWviHIJWVtQ4GEGFoWQ4/s640/IMG_4726_edit.jpg" width="472" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">entrance to the prison, view from outside</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">entrance to the prison, view from inside</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2CYFco2adepAr2FHwR5-LdGdjpI0hJp0XmRtrLclHbUcHq9WnJ4IboWgQs4nDRuMzwuoFI_5F_u8kOGEW4-UeowWCGIyBYaZnulFtXL4m4TYrZI61oHjTJcqJX9J0tEXp1kcxXwnI5r8/s1600/IMG_4727_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2CYFco2adepAr2FHwR5-LdGdjpI0hJp0XmRtrLclHbUcHq9WnJ4IboWgQs4nDRuMzwuoFI_5F_u8kOGEW4-UeowWCGIyBYaZnulFtXL4m4TYrZI61oHjTJcqJX9J0tEXp1kcxXwnI5r8/s640/IMG_4727_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">walking through the outdoor prison</td></tr>
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Hidden in the forest near the anti-aircraft cannon is a prison, embedded in the rock. It was used during Japanese occupation of Nauru to imprison locals during WWII. We also go to a new prison facility, where I feel uncomfortable taking photos, despite the fact that it’s brand new and therefore not yet staffed or housing any prisoners. The bus driver jokes it’s just because there’s no criminals on the island. It’s a massive facility for the land, which is surprising.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mZgNMIpRRlKg2mkT5kpnHWAQviSZ-LrhhDmvA9-ANosXgBnxG8U4udLFBIGLHeImRCr53_x1WMELKjoEuAP6X6siPl-6JqOunx9AsxhKdJb6HMX7y5yJh1Ez1LM4W1x1XYSVLQ7Dwqs/s1600/IMG_4721_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mZgNMIpRRlKg2mkT5kpnHWAQviSZ-LrhhDmvA9-ANosXgBnxG8U4udLFBIGLHeImRCr53_x1WMELKjoEuAP6X6siPl-6JqOunx9AsxhKdJb6HMX7y5yJh1Ez1LM4W1x1XYSVLQ7Dwqs/s640/IMG_4721_edit.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">one of the prison cells</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz00DPdiNcycFEJm7p_zT4oXoRoqLNvFnnnCluBkg3FVfKdpSBWe9NQnxp-nN2wQYJaU0uTa8IDRLHmTuDBx5UZiLQUVVt9wIsINmw1iXOnbMFjvZI1fGlrg8G-uds9gzuFdeEHSFLTxo/s1600/IMG_4723_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz00DPdiNcycFEJm7p_zT4oXoRoqLNvFnnnCluBkg3FVfKdpSBWe9NQnxp-nN2wQYJaU0uTa8IDRLHmTuDBx5UZiLQUVVt9wIsINmw1iXOnbMFjvZI1fGlrg8G-uds9gzuFdeEHSFLTxo/s640/IMG_4723_edit.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">prison cell</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHNwncWnAO6yrUear5BRj_97ZhrL-aAwvbBRoRafM72qvoApcDKdJ8NFTLw0sxpHFN7YnhKprlPwNnFqU2B6p8k1WReDzyIclLsWkqHj_YKPXWW1y4iT19wICATZpdmO1tHj6tUrdZ1w0/s1600/IMG_4724_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHNwncWnAO6yrUear5BRj_97ZhrL-aAwvbBRoRafM72qvoApcDKdJ8NFTLw0sxpHFN7YnhKprlPwNnFqU2B6p8k1WReDzyIclLsWkqHj_YKPXWW1y4iT19wICATZpdmO1tHj6tUrdZ1w0/s640/IMG_4724_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">prison cell</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbePuzLIzuMVLc3vjR-ppqAKnt4655kL-5yNmHb4R9Fy_Fe0nHgdn8igcgv5_NbZ49WwoX0d3vhLC9_1h-CjF_xIxB0DPYZaUHDuhnk8G7hL8sgMgqAmJP8NmA8EKMkfAFGHEjg9OcJU/s1600/IMG_4725_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbePuzLIzuMVLc3vjR-ppqAKnt4655kL-5yNmHb4R9Fy_Fe0nHgdn8igcgv5_NbZ49WwoX0d3vhLC9_1h-CjF_xIxB0DPYZaUHDuhnk8G7hL8sgMgqAmJP8NmA8EKMkfAFGHEjg9OcJU/s640/IMG_4725_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">another prison cell</td></tr>
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Other than phosphate, Nauru is also famous for hosting an immigration detention center for Australia. We of course don’t go to the center, which is guarded and hidden in the forest, but the presence of refugees working and living elsewhere on the island is prevalent. This particular detention center has drawn worldwide attention due to its isolation. It’s not only a literal island, but it’s small. The refugees can’t escape, and the country is known to have a horrible mental health problem with all of these elements causing extreme depression. Just last week, the very last of the children were shipped out of the detention center to Australia because of the high youth suicide rate.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJufSyCkMmr-TwGRYZE0Gwnz8aCaVL0GvqLSzAbuHaoSrOAa3r3U0L6SIBt9Yv-eU6rLkMPONUfmIUryRNsCSC3WBqycHcbmOMDtC9_fiXI7ZYczFnzz9VXze4z0d_tWzbG2ZTaGigSo/s1600/IMG_4715_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJufSyCkMmr-TwGRYZE0Gwnz8aCaVL0GvqLSzAbuHaoSrOAa3r3U0L6SIBt9Yv-eU6rLkMPONUfmIUryRNsCSC3WBqycHcbmOMDtC9_fiXI7ZYczFnzz9VXze4z0d_tWzbG2ZTaGigSo/s640/IMG_4715_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bulletin board in the refugee camp</td></tr>
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We pull up to a refugee camp hoping to talk to someone to hear their story, and we meet Amiru and Apdu, who are not only willing to talk with us, but they invite us into their homes with sincere hospitality. They’re from Burma, which they left in 2007. They told us about their three-day boat ride to flee the country, and how they were in Malaysia and Indonesia before arriving in Nauru, where they’ve been for the last five years. Amiru tells us how the last time he was with family was in Bangladesh. I ask how long it’s been since he’s spoken to them, and he quietly responds that it’s been at least two months. He knows more family is in Melbourne, but he doesn’t know specifics. He doesn’t know much about their situation, and they don’t know much about his. Women and children were sent off from the refugee camp first, leaving this area filled with about fifty single men who don’t know of their families’ statuses.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoH5LIdu_y3JNcC4H_Es45nQ8OPUbZxeHLtZZzvKkq0O2mma-f8HV6vkqXB3oFlnx8yiXyJl3DBI__yDsOX67M2V1YJcOFSj4aSZXCGGgN8efePHomePZ5-8EbMmnk_ry9pLxhyb9LJhw/s1600/IMG_4716_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="1600" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoH5LIdu_y3JNcC4H_Es45nQ8OPUbZxeHLtZZzvKkq0O2mma-f8HV6vkqXB3oFlnx8yiXyJl3DBI__yDsOX67M2V1YJcOFSj4aSZXCGGgN8efePHomePZ5-8EbMmnk_ry9pLxhyb9LJhw/s640/IMG_4716_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amiru invites us into his home to tell us his story</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Amiru gets a monthly allowance of around 500aud, but he can supplement it with construction work. He bought his own tools for the work, but as this is a small country with little growth, there isn’t much work available. He says the stipend is barely enough, and he benefits from not smoking: refugees who don’t kick the habit have a lot less money for food. Whenever possible, he sends any extra money he may have to his family in Bangladesh. The island has public transportation in the form of a bus that only goes clockwise around the island, but it’s unreliable, so Amiru purchased a motorcycle for transportation to work.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqs5iRapItw7MN3nA5asvyCAj3nkwmEUBBwwc26SnvukiWOKWCpuwBFUCXT6Rqxn7XVmFOUPJvRhYraMLS7AcJgvAoAgjaq_KAToTS8tMFLul3yKaqqCssTD98F-Q_F_zmQGteW4gjxc/s1600/IMG_4719_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="898" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqs5iRapItw7MN3nA5asvyCAj3nkwmEUBBwwc26SnvukiWOKWCpuwBFUCXT6Rqxn7XVmFOUPJvRhYraMLS7AcJgvAoAgjaq_KAToTS8tMFLul3yKaqqCssTD98F-Q_F_zmQGteW4gjxc/s640/IMG_4719_edit.jpg" width="358" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amiru and Apdu</td></tr>
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<div>
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As Amiru talks to us, Apdu disappears for a short time and returns with a bag of about a dozen cold Fantas and Sprites. He passes them around to us as we listen to Amiru’s story, and while some of us refuse, I know from being in Vanuatu that many cultures around the world can take it as an insult to refuse hospitality. It was uncomfortable sipping on a cold Sprite while Amir shared his experience.<br />
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Amiru and Apdu speak English extremely well, and they are waiting to hear about leaving Nauru. They don’t know when the news will come. They hope they will make it to Melbourne eventually.<br />
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As we drove around to the various destinations today, there was a little down time wherein I was able to chat with our hotel driver, Shanay. He’s extremely friendly and constantly grinning as you speak with him. He is a native Nauruan and tells me, like the girls I met on the first night, that he and his family are pure Nauruan as far as he can remember. He’s traveled out of Nauru to several countries, listing off Australia and Kiribati as a couple he’s visited. I ask if it was for work or study, and he says most trips were actually just for fun, for sports competitions. I ask which sports, and he says “different ones, like dart throwing!” He and his teammates fundraised for their travels by selling food. In his free time, Shanay enjoys powerlifting and weightlifting. His English is a bit hard to understand, and when I ask him what are some of his favorite Nauruan foods, he says Nauruan food doesn’t exist. I persist, asking if he has a favorite dish that his family makes, and he seems confused by the question, but kindly suggests that I could visit the produce market for some fresh local coconuts.s<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAPVmejcRw-0YAxmfaw8loTtGcnMTmmwF1bTeBZ7PjQUq5MoojG2TKObJS3cy6uuh2UL1b1bv-JSQTPG2AkH2KmnzNJbgrOYURSaBq7zFcYdjGv4DubICqCYzya93uwbRt9_f85zzEadg/s1600/IMG_4737_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1189" data-original-width="1600" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAPVmejcRw-0YAxmfaw8loTtGcnMTmmwF1bTeBZ7PjQUq5MoojG2TKObJS3cy6uuh2UL1b1bv-JSQTPG2AkH2KmnzNJbgrOYURSaBq7zFcYdjGv4DubICqCYzya93uwbRt9_f85zzEadg/s640/IMG_4737_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Bar #1: Jules on the Deck</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVI6H9IgRWnGWKC77_Wroi4RREwE-uOpTyhxXeB_xYy1h4rCphwpxK7N7JVOdcFsgXs-58AHSaA6PeAjBgu8LHQKd4DKMFUKMD-dSR57z6fEv6tWt0S_0DVFXHA7X1Ss9jFYL6ogbmjY/s1600/IMG_4738_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1138" data-original-width="1600" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVI6H9IgRWnGWKC77_Wroi4RREwE-uOpTyhxXeB_xYy1h4rCphwpxK7N7JVOdcFsgXs-58AHSaA6PeAjBgu8LHQKd4DKMFUKMD-dSR57z6fEv6tWt0S_0DVFXHA7X1Ss9jFYL6ogbmjY/s640/IMG_4738_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The view from the deck</td></tr>
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After our long day, we decide to head to a bar, or rather, all the bars in the entire country in one night, which is not a difficult task when there are only four. Our first stop is Jules on the Deck, which is just a bar for bar’s sake (of the four, it’s the only one). It has a nice deck overlooking the water, which would have been a nicer view if it were not rainy. The owner seems a bit stressed by our arrival, the first customers for the evening at 6pm. She laments it would have been nice to have a call that such a large group was arriving so she could call all of her staff in, but Alistair makes a side comment to me that it would have been nice if they had a phone number posted anywhere online. Regardless, most people get beers or wine, and the rest get mixed drinks, which takes all of ten minutes to prepare by a single staff for 21 people. Here, mixed drinks cost 7aud and beers 5 or 6.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRPXXkYQUznhICdDjb2NBxNEppXrAJnEqaVl9IJQGwnyCO_9dhKfnqL3LiMu27sAP955PHB7ebu67VKUjwJ1g_3aogJbuuvm9BkPdpibFOOdyPIs8xLhjKCh413lhW7KmP_Pl8PAqlOM/s1600/IMG_4650_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRPXXkYQUznhICdDjb2NBxNEppXrAJnEqaVl9IJQGwnyCO_9dhKfnqL3LiMu27sAP955PHB7ebu67VKUjwJ1g_3aogJbuuvm9BkPdpibFOOdyPIs8xLhjKCh413lhW7KmP_Pl8PAqlOM/s640/IMG_4650_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Bar #2: Pokies aplenty</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQSXMdf_r25XB9LJIgdN_Bun8lzj9klqLX1lTvHJHzWEghtbj5qf_TxD0zlUuRaImwZ8RCuhSTe3CwmWICuwdI6fqiXRGvCDybj51NErEdjCpy_LphDRStaESVHhek2QEKEKOLNYS7H8/s1600/IMG_4739_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1074" data-original-width="1600" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQSXMdf_r25XB9LJIgdN_Bun8lzj9klqLX1lTvHJHzWEghtbj5qf_TxD0zlUuRaImwZ8RCuhSTe3CwmWICuwdI6fqiXRGvCDybj51NErEdjCpy_LphDRStaESVHhek2QEKEKOLNYS7H8/s640/IMG_4739_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Bar #3 owned only five shotglasses.</td></tr>
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We next head back to the pokies bar from the other day at the Od-N Aiwo hotel. We want to make it quick, so we order shots of tequila or Jaeger, which cost 4aud each. We then head off to dinner at the Bay restaurant, the first place we’ve been to that doesn’t have Chinese food. Every other restaurant we’ve visited so far has the exact same menu, in the exact same order, of Chinese dishes with the occasional burger, and only slight price variation. But here at the Bay restaurant, there are ribs, curries, salads and more. I get a chicken curry platter which isn’t spicy at all, but flavorful nonetheless, and comes accompanied by rice and naan. I wash it down with a tequila and juice, which costs a mere 4.50aud.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslzXDhrXEyCPbAEMmDK1kYKFUvr0Z6t3E9ix2aZA-6WYvZZrO1Dl16iHvwk1Bdi-SrPPZBI1sxAwYb-XLMOVIfb4lVEgMFNbz9hChGEisb-VMKi5Q0Jb8mrbuiKdKw3lfKZ_WpWfmKyg/s1600/IMG_4671_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1130" data-original-width="1600" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslzXDhrXEyCPbAEMmDK1kYKFUvr0Z6t3E9ix2aZA-6WYvZZrO1Dl16iHvwk1Bdi-SrPPZBI1sxAwYb-XLMOVIfb4lVEgMFNbz9hChGEisb-VMKi5Q0Jb8mrbuiKdKw3lfKZ_WpWfmKyg/s640/IMG_4671_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Bar #3: A beautiful outdoor patio restaurant</td></tr>
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After dinner, there’s just one more bar remaining, and it’s the hotel bar at our hotel, Hotel Menen. I walk home and Justin joins me for the final drink of the night, a $7aud vodka lemonade (which, because of the Aussie influence, is not lemonade at all but rather Sprite). The place is dead except for two men at the end of the bar, despite the late hour of 9pm. We learn the bar turns on the lights at 9:45pm for last call, and 10pm is when the bar closes. This is across Nauru, for all four bars.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4K2eScqn_B6u4V4KH0hIbOjbEIXbI1OwH8qNEc9tkM_GHcnbS8w9JCc_0STN0WiNMBkQUPBgy0d52E3u5T25-beWJF6ImMazMIfedenedNjMYYoo9E-S9auvYxRBo81x_fWnsw4-qZIY/s1600/IMG_4742_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4K2eScqn_B6u4V4KH0hIbOjbEIXbI1OwH8qNEc9tkM_GHcnbS8w9JCc_0STN0WiNMBkQUPBgy0d52E3u5T25-beWJF6ImMazMIfedenedNjMYYoo9E-S9auvYxRBo81x_fWnsw4-qZIY/s640/IMG_4742_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Bar #4: The bar in Hotel Menen was hoppin'</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Bar #4 had some pricey drink specials</td></tr>
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I leave just as the rest of the group arrives from dinner. It was an exhausting day and time for sleep. Tomorrow is our last full day in Nauru.<br />
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<br />melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7547730820778852008.post-59352630456677854442019-01-01T21:08:00.000-06:002019-01-10T21:18:46.445-06:00Least Visited, Day 6: The Quiet Thrills of Nauru<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
January 1, 2019</div>
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Since Nauru is such a small country, today the plan was to walk all the way around the perimeter of the island.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A family rides their bikes on the ring road</td></tr>
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We had a late start, due to the celebrations last night, and didn’t depart the hotel until around noon. The highlight of breakfast was that there was a cereal other than corn flakes. In a small country that isn’t used to hosting tourists, you hang on to every thrill. <br />
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The group split, some heading straight to the harbor we went to <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/12/least-visited-day-4-arriving-in-least.html">on the first night</a>. I was in the other group that hopped in a bus to the bank to draw out cash. With all of us at the hotel consistently drawing out cash, the ATM at the hotel was completely dry, and required us to go elsewhere to get money. This was told to us by the guides before coming in country, since ATMs are few and far between, so while it was inconvenient, it was also expected.<br />
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Our group then drove to the harbor just as the first group finished swimming and headed to the lunch restaurant. At first I was hesitant to jump in the water, because I didn’t want to hold up the group, but as Alistair noted, if we were to judge based on the dining situation yesterday for lunch, we would definitely have time to swim and eat without holding up the group.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAoU2TeaZde4e9UY_aZ272ZbmJJcMg0JJWz-YX97-_s2PGCmljBP1PXwjCyxCNs7r8y8foD_78fVD7Vt9zLlGqdaCXh36n4ZEuuXEfJKqsdvqanqAJwDc7X8Q6WtJyukYvvuc24iWnbys/s1600/IMG_4687_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAoU2TeaZde4e9UY_aZ272ZbmJJcMg0JJWz-YX97-_s2PGCmljBP1PXwjCyxCNs7r8y8foD_78fVD7Vt9zLlGqdaCXh36n4ZEuuXEfJKqsdvqanqAJwDc7X8Q6WtJyukYvvuc24iWnbys/s640/IMG_4687_edit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the bay in the day</td></tr>
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So, Justin, Calvin, Alistair and I jumped in the water. The cultural norm is to swim pretty fully clothed, as I was accustomed to <a href="http://melivininvanuatu.blogspot.com/">in Vanuatu</a>. This time, I brought my leggings and jumped in the water with leggings and a shirt. Calvin stood off to the side on the boat ramp, revealing that he doesn’t know how to tread water, and something about sinking due to muscle mass and blah blah blah. <br />
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We hopped out, very ungracefully, as there is no easy way. Justin and Calvin crawl out on the ramp, which is slimy from moss growth. Calvin comments that he looks like a sea monster. I try getting out on the steps, which are also slimy but at least have some metal rings for docking boats that give some sort of grip.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lunchtime!</td></tr>
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We head to the Anibare Bay Harbor restaurant, a short distance from the water. It’s a Chinese restaurant, and I get pineapple chicken and rice. Despite arriving late, my food arrives with everyone else’s. There’s a cute brown puppy wandering around outside the restaurant, where we are sitting, and he’s healthy looking. I’m so shocked to see so many stray or freely-roaming dogs here that are so healthy looking. In Vanuatu they either look thin or have mange. These are soft fluffy and fat. There’s also more variety in breeds. It’s like night and day.<br />
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After lunch we head back to the hotel and I notice the soreness in my right foot has never fully recovered from <a href="https://melissatravelsplaces.blogspot.com/2018/12/least-visited-day-1-six-hours-in-sydney.html">the intensity of exploring Sydney</a>. I decide to push through and join the group on the round island walk, which would take about five hours. However, about ten minutes in, I realize that this pain is not disappearing, and that I’d have no contingency plan of transportation should I choose to quit later on and want to return to the hotel, and I want to be able to walk on my own in the upcoming days, so it’s best that I turn back early. I later find out that <a href="http://monsoondiaries.com/2019/01/03/nauru/">I didn’t really miss out</a>, so I am glad I didn’t over exert myself for no reason.<br />
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Instead, I nap. Then dinner time rolls around and we hop on a bus to some Chinese restaurant that doesn’t want to host our group of ten people, so we walk across the street to J’s, another Chinese restaurant. <br />
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We order our food, and it shockingly comes in 15 minutes, and the orders are all correct. We thought the table beside us of Nauruan cops who got their food especially quickly was getting special treatment, but nope, it was just a restaurant with efficiency. I got lemon chicken, which was much better than the questionable chicken from lunch.<br />
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We met up with the rest of the group afterwards back at the hotel and hung out for a short bit, but everyone was pretty tired and headed off to bed.<br />
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Since today was New Year’s Day, we didn’t get a chance to do anything with a local guide since most were hangover and/or unwilling to work. But tomorrow, we will go on a small hike and see the inner part of the island for the first time with a local guide.<br />
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<br />melweinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03914886538157792470noreply@blogger.com0