Back to the primitive

I might have to get a tattoo on the back of my hand: In Australia, keep left. I never appreciated those signs lining some of the more touristy routes around Australia before, but after a few suspension testing "lane change tests" over islands when I have a slight memory lapse, I'm getting the hang of it all again. I wouldn't like to think how it would go if I had a smaller car but the cruiser happily eats the kerbs and then its game-on. The driving from the right side of the car is bizarre as well- I still find myself headbutting the window sometimes as I turn my head to reverse.

Straight off the plane, the first stop was to pick up my wheels from its secure storage: guarded by the watchful eye of sheep and horses, sheltered by a gum tree and protected by the theft deterrent that is drop bears throwing curve-ball gum nuts. I noticed there were a few more security features someone had installed while I was away as well: The outback Club-Lock (aka the Aussie spider): across the seats, on the roof rack, across the snorkel, antenna, spare wheels... but after a quick lookout for RSPCA members, my car's locals were homeless again and I was back on the road in my land-boat, being reminded of all those things I didn't fix before I went away. Most obvious is underneath the webs and dust, all the the reminders to resume the prosecution of that tosser that redecorated every panel on my car with his boot and screw driver in two rocks all those months ago...

I find it funny the things that I was hanging out to escape before I took off are the things I'm loving most now. Wrestling with gear changes while weaving lanes in peak hour traffic, travelling the same highway each day to work, seeing the "once a swimming pool, now a native wetlands" water feature in the backyard each morning, sleeping in the same bed for more than a week... I wish I could say the same for bills though. Its actually comforting to go back to some form of repetition and familiarity after so long of ad-hoc planning, a general lack of direction and no where to call "home".

With bills and the mortgage in mind, I had organised to get straight back into work the very next day after landing, so it was pretty much a 6 hour sleep and straight into it. I'm not sure if it was the 6 hours sleep over the past 40 hours, or my excitement in going to work for the first time in 4 months, but I managed to almost get lost on the way in. Maybe I was just getting a bit too into the sub woofer massage first thing in the morning, boosting past traffic.

The joys of the rest of the work week out of the way, I started the arduous task of seeing mates and getting back into the old routine. First night back I hit Stoffas and went to his new local- best thing ever! A pool table you could stand an elephant on, a selection of aussie draught beers, the mongrel mut at the front door you have to dodge around, a herd of smokers in flanno hanging round like flies out front, a couple of Harleys parked up in an otherwise empty car park the size of a football oval, and a "g'day" as you walk in from the chick behind the bar trying to get away from the pissed old fart trying to seduce her with beer breath and rambling stories. How Australia ever got a such a bogan stereotype is a mystery to me! I didnt care though- I was back with my bogans, not in some faux fronted theme bar with a lifesize cutout of crocodile dundee playing barman, but the real thing. I knew that I'd been away from the okker accents for WAY too long though when chatting to a bloke I swear he said "I came down to Perth today to marry my best mate" so as Im congratulating him he gives me a blank look.... no- turns out he said bury, not marry. Dig your way out of that hole benno. oh- bad pun.

Smart as I felt at the end of the weekend with my managing to dodge jet lag altogether by just keeping busy every single work night and every hour of the weekend with heading out, visiting mates, cranking BBQs, 4-wheeling and hitting the beach, I had to admit that I may have lost the game to jet lag when I picked up the summer flu. It was good taking a sick day Monday though- I turned on the PlayStation and promptly fell asleep on the couch the entire day. Good as the sleep was, I get the feeling it could have been better without the with Guns n Roses: Paradise City on repeat for 8 hours. As painful as it is now listening to that song when it comes on in pubs, I still know its better than if I had gone for the TV and been aurally assaulted by the endless barrage of kids singing christmas carols that spam the TV channels now- It would have been as nasty as being a slave in Santa's workshop.

After travelling around, I have learned that I really don't know that much about my own country compared to what other people throughout the world know of theirs, so I have started a new charge to get right into anything and everything local. Unfortunately for my liver, this has started with "Red can", aka Wife beater, aka red lead, aka "domestic violence in a can"- I think it says Emu Export on the box. I'm mystified why they call it export though, seeing as it doesn't exist outside of WA. I guess its up there with Fosters claiming their name is "Australian for beer". I reckon theres a local produce night in the pipeline- Dress up in Wife beaters and double pluggers and get out the kangaroo steaks and chokos, red can and cork hats.