Adelaide (Australia)
Alice Springs
Townsville
Sydney
All this time I have never known that L. Frank Baum's Dorothy visited Australia with her tiny canine Toto.
Slang for Australian: Aussie.
Slang for Australia: Oz.
My mission: to seek out the wizard. First, we need a magic carpet. So, we sign up for a van that would make James Bond and the Punishers lovechild proud. Bunk-beds, fridge, sink, stove, solar shower, table, couches, CD player, AM/FM radio and even a cheese grater. The thing was truly a missile launcher away from a Transformer.
Only problem: the rental company only stocks vans with manual transmission.
Neither of us can drive one (well, not really. We've both had about half a lesson, driving solely on highways. So we can almost say that TOGETHER we have one full lesson....) Signing on with another company that stocks automatic transmission is out of the question because our non-refundable and sizable deposit is already paid. So, what do we do? Duh. Tell them we can drive one (or, not really bring it up, which I'm telling myself is more honest...)
I mean, I've always believed that obstacles are there to test how bad you really want something--or to tell idiots when to quit, I can't really remember, I keep getting my advice from Dr. Phil and the voices in my cereal mixed up.
We were lucky that they gave us the keys, said 'Have fun' and left, because if they saw how many times we stalled trying to come out of that parking lot...we'd be walking across Australia.
Slowly but surely Andrew got the hang of it ad things were going pretty smoothly.
Until he let me drive.
It was a hot July afternoon as we pushed our van to the side of the highway in the Australian National Park. Smoke billowed from underneath the vehicle. We got back into the van and after a moment of scared silence I heard Andrew swear for the very first time in my life.
There is no place like home, there is no place like home, there is no place like home...click....click.....click......
We're lucky that Australians build their vehicles tourist-tough, and that there was no real harm done.
The next day we were in the van in line for tickets to Ayers Rock. Stop and go traffic. Awesome. Clutch, first gear, gas, brake, neutral, wipe sweat off hands, clutch, first gear.... We arrived at the office, bought our tickets and tried to leave. If I could re-word Murphy's Law it would say: 'Whatever can go wrong, will-only when it MATTERS MOST.'
First gear, gas, ccRAAAAnk, sputter, stall... Clutch, ignition, first gear, gas, CRRRAAAAAAANNNKK!! Stall. Third time, fourth time, fifth time. The line gets longer behind us. Stall. The ticket lady comes out and asks what the problem is.
Thinking: 'Well, I'm sorry Ma'am, this situation is a direct result of my own stupidity.'
Say:'I don't know, something isn't catching properly...'
Then the guy from the car behind us gets out and I swear, this guy looked straight up like Mr. Crocodile Dundee. The ideal outdoors man who makes anyone who has ever stayed inside on a sunny day want to curl up and die. He watches us try and fail again. Then he says in the most perfectly rugged Australian accent: 'Boys, you're letting the clutch out too quick.'
Clutch, ignition, first gear, slow clutch release, gas, clutch, second gear....wheeeee!
If I ever write a book, I might call it 'Crocodile Dundee taught me stick.'
That man just might have been the wizard of oz.
From there it was pretty much smooth sailing. Really smooth. Have you ever driven across Australia? Someone should introduce them to the mountain.
Mountain/-noun/-
| 1. | a natural elevation of the earth's surface rising more or less abruptly to a summit, and attaining an altitude greater than that of a hill, usually greater than 2000 ft. (610 m). |
| 2. | a large mass of something resembling this, as in shape or size. |
Or even a hill. An ant hill.....ANYTHING. As a typical Canadian, I thought driving across Saskatchewan was bad. But at least driving there you have the hope of hitting Alberta or Manitoba at some point...
I remember one evening we made it to a little city and parked outside the tourist information center for the night. After supper, Andrew hit the hay and I was outside the van doing some exercises when nature started calling. Loudly. Number two was knocking at my door. I went to the information center but its doors had long been closed for the day. I walk back out to the road looking for a gas station or a restaurant. Nothing. I start walking down the road to find something. I start RUNNING down the road to find something. Number two is now screaming at my door, and trying to barge in. I can't wait any longer. There is nothing in sight.
Frantically searching for a hiding place, I spot a waist-high fence running along the road that says 'Restricted Access. Authorized Personnel Only.'
"That'll work. No one will bug me there"
Over the fence, I find solace behind a big green electrical box. As I'm there, it dawns on me that in the rush I hadn't brought anything to clean up with... and it was messy....
I'm looking around for leaves, cardboard....a roll of TP that miraculously fell from the sky...ANYTHING.
After a failed plastic bag that spread more than wiped, I figured, 'well, all my boxer shorts are going in the garbage when I get home in two weeks anyways. I guess I can survive with one less pair for the rest of the trip. I'll just use them and them toss them in the trash...'
Off come the pants. And the boxers. Then, as if on cue from a movie script, a car pulls around the corner. I duck further behind the electrical box and peep out to see an Australian police cruiser.
I start trying to come up with a story. Not much can plausibly explain a man, naked where it counts, with a mess on private property.
My heart was running a marathon as the cop slowed down.
I start imagining his conversation in the coffee room the next morning....
The car rolls to a stop. He's on the phone. I'm trying to put pants on. In the dark I can see him writing something down. Then his lights flip on and he peels out of there.
There must have been something more important demanding his attention. Like a triple homicide.
That will probably be the only instance in my life that I was almost grateful for the crimes of someone else.
We arrived on the east coast and snorkeled the Great Barrier Reef to add another check mark to the trip itinerary before heading to Sydney.
World Youth Day.
Both of the ones that I have attended have almost gone by in a blur. I've never been so surrounded by such joy and abundance of life as I am there. Pure joie de vivre. The successor of St. Peter, the gathering of faithful, theology classes, singing pilgrims, loud music, new friends, an international gathering-and it all combines to create one overwhelming event. What a perfect conclusion to a cross-Continent pilgrimage. A gathering of faithful from those same countries. It was almost a glimpse into how the would was intended to be. At the final mass we were surrounded by thousands of pilgrims from all over the world singing their hearts out with the pope himself. As the fireworks exploded and the singing drew to a close, I put my arm around Andrew and said, 'Let's go home.'
Keep Smiling!
Anthony
