This is the list of things one can purchase at my hotel.

(Click to make bigger and check out the bottom right)

First Blog from China (via DC)

As soon as I boarded my Cathay Pacific flight from Perth to China I suspected that something was suspicious. My first clue was that my flight attendant's name was "Cathy." Cathay Pacific Cathy? Red flags went up in my head. The second sign that things were a tad fishy was that my connecting flight was from the same exact gate that I connected to Australia from a month ago. Now keep in mind, this isn't Burbank airport. There are over a hundred gates at the Hong Kong airport and I happen to have the same one twice? It might not seem so strange if the connecting flight was on Cathay Pacific but it was on China Southern who has nothing to do with Cathay Pacific (I asked as I tried to get more Asia Miles...I've already earned a free one way flight within 600 kilometers!!!). Finally, the third and final signal that China is a different and mysterious place--my blog won't work. That's right, blogspot is a banned site here. So how am I emailing?...It's magic. Actually, it's my little sister. She didn't volunteer for this very important fill-in position but has been anointed by me.

For just three dollars I was able to use public transportation from the Guangzhou Airport to my hotel. Immediately upon boarding my bus I felt like Rosa Parks. Everyone on the bus was Asian except me...and they immediately guided me to the back of the bus. Ironically after about fifteen minutes the guy sitting next to me asked me for directions. Yes, me. The one white person on the bus. He had just taken his first flight ever to start a new job in Guangzhou. I think he was more nervous than me being in this strange and gigantic city. From what I could gather from his pretty decent broken English, the guy [name sounds like Jon-sha] is in the air-conditioning business. He's also officially in the business of being my first Chinese friend.

After checking into my hotel, trying on paper slippers and laying down on the rock hard bed I decided to get my first taste of Chinese food in China. What I ate, I have no idea. My stomach has been making strange noises, even for me. One thing was a mushroom dish covered in gravy, another was a pile of bones which I think had chicken on them (bird flu isn't here anymore, right?) and lastly something that I thought was a pork bun but had a jam in it. I give the meal a B-. If I wake up in the middle of the night puking I'll lower the grade to a C+.

My friend Mark Morgan from LA showed up about an hour ago and is washing his undies in the shower at the moment. In LA I often borrow Mark's paddle tennis racket. The last time I borrowed it he mentioned that he was going to Bangkok to ride his bike from Thailand through Laos and Cambodia. His stories are incredible and range from having fire ants in his crotch to riding along minefields ("but it's cool they only go off during the wet season"). Anyway, Mark mentioned to me back in LA that the World Championships of Table Tennis were going to be in China while we were in this hemisphere. Immediately I said I was in and booked us a hotel and found us tickets online (took me approximately four hours to navigate the Chinese website. I won't be totally sure I have the tickets until I pick them up at the box office tomorrow.

Well, Mark just got out of the shower and we're going to find some classy restaurant. Hopefully it'll be a place with pictures on the menu. More updates soon. Thanks Hannah for typing this up for me!

(Editors Note: Now that I have Ben's blog password, perhaps Ahoy Hanoi fans will get some embarrassing childhood photos. Mom, start digging. -Hannah)

Rottnest Island

(PICTURE: Lily, me and Raul -- our tandem bike -- at sunset)

Rottnest Island got its name because according to Lily, "the Dutch or English or someone who first discovered it saw all the quokkas on the island and thought they were giant rats. They thought it was the rats nest." Basically quokkas are little kangaroo-rodents that only live on this island. They are literally everywhere. The other thing that is everywhere are signs that say, "Do Not Feed The Quokkas." Apparently Lily who wants to work in publishing is illiterate. She fed a quokka avocado and pineapples. 

The trip to the island was wonderful. In fact, I think the saying, "save the best for last" is appropriate here. It was my single favorite place in all of Australia. There were no cars on the island so we rented a tandem bike and rode from beach to beach finding new snorkel spots. We saw tons of fish, a small shark, an octopus and lots of beautiful coral. I've only got five minutes before my flight boards to let me run off some highlights and lowlights:

1. The worst mistake in my life was getting a tandem bike with Lily. She doesn't know how to ride a bike which would seem like the biggest reason this was a silly decision. However, there was something that made it even stupider: Lily is the laziest person in the world. Literally nine time out of ten that I'd turn around her feet weren't even on the peddles. On uphills I'd tell her to push but she'd just make some gross noises and say, "I'm trying Ben I'm trying." Then I'd take the pressure off the peddles and they wouldn't move. She wasn't even pushing. Once we had to start on an uphill and it was impossible. So I told her to get off and to meet me at the top of the hill. I was in the hardest gear and flew up the slope. It hit me that I was basically towing Lily all day long since the same slope was beyond my limit on the easiest gear moments earlier. I could go on and on about this but can some it up best by what Anna said to me upon arriving back in Perth: "You actually got a tandem bike? Nobody in our family would do anything with Lily. She's the laziest." 

2. A local told us of a beach to go snorkel at where there was a sunken ship. We headed to the beach first thing in the morning and strapped on our gear. Right as we were about to get in the water Lily screamed out, "Fins!". About forty feet in front of us was a school of something with medium sized grey fins. They definitely were not dolphins and Lily swore they were sharks. We decided to skip the sunken ship. 

3. The most gorgeous sunset I've seen in a long time. (I'm trying to upload the photo but the Hong Kong wireless isn't agreeing with me). 

4. I woke up the morning before Rottnest and realized that I fly out last night and not tonight. We had planned to stay in Rottnest for two nights. Luckily I'm a wiser man while unconscious and didn't miss my flight. 

5. While riding I saw my first venomous snake. It was a dugite--the kind that the Vet sister told me takes five minutes to kill you. Naturally I tried to run it over with my bike just to show it who was boss. 

Well, my plane is boarding so I've got to sign off. My Australia adventure has come to an end. Zev, luckily I didn't bust any deals and didn't have to face the wheel. However, I arrived in Australia with another man and only one of us is leaving. Mad Max has nothing on me. 

Goodbye, Australia. You've treated me well. 

Hello, China. Please be nice to me. 

Margaret River and Reuben

(Picture: Reuben and me at sunset)

After spending the first four days lounging on the beach, Lily and I needed a change of scenery. So we went somewhere completely different--to another beach. I can remember in London Lily talking -- always with an even bigger smile on her always smiling face -- about her family's beach house in Margaret River. She told me that it was one of, if not her most, favorite places on Earth. 

On Friday afternoon, after her sister Anna finished at University, the three of us along with Reuben jumped in the family car and drove three hours to Margaret River.  Margaret River is a cute town nestled in wine country along the southern coast of Western Australia. Immediately upon arriving in the town, I saw something that was pure Australian: dozens of wild kangaroos grazing in a field. After licking my lips and imagining all the cuisine possibilities my attention was quickly diverted to the traffic ahead. A row of cars had stopped at the intersection to the only entrance to the hillside community where the Salter house is located. In the distance a giant plume of smoke lingered over the hills and the smell of fire was in the air. A policeman stood in the road and told car after car what was happening: a fire was raging in the forest. The road was closed for at least a few hours. 

Instead of pulling over and waiting out the fire we decided to make the most of our day. We headed to one of Lily and Anna's favorite beaches called Red Gate. The beach did not disappoint. The water was emerald green and completely translucent. The sand was the color white you'd expect to see on the cover of Travel & Leisure magazine. Frankly, it was gorgeous.

Before I go on, let me quickly talk about Reuben. As I mentioned in my last email I fell in love with the Salter dog. Reuben and I immediately hit it off. Some might say love at first sight. With his big brown eyes it was nearly impossible not so slip him some food or rub his belly any time he approached me. I often found myself asking out loud, "How do you do it Reuben?" and "What's your secret?" The world is his oyster. Within minutes of the car ride he was laying in my lap and later that night he was sleeping in my bed. All that said, we have an Ike and Tina relationship...and unfortunately I'm Tina. 

I know Reuben loves me but sometimes he gets a little crazy. Something about the beach triggers his insane gene. Within minutes of arriving at Red Gate beach Reuben pounced on my clothing and unfortunately covered my pocket camera with sand. The camera no longer works and I had to FedEx it home yesterday. Reuben swore to me that he was sorry but that he did it out of love. I forgave him. The next day at the beach Reuben went mental again. This time, with my back turned and holding a stick, he sneak attacked me and bit my finger...drawing blood. Again Reuben told me he did it because he loves me so much. (Mom, don't worry about the bite. The Vet sister said he was all clean and that Rabies doesn't even exist in Australia. He's nibbed at a few people before and they've all been fine!). 

There is so much to tell about the weekend get-away so I'll just list some highlights:

1. Two gorgeous sunsets over the Indian Ocean. I can also now check off another Ocean that I've swam in.

2. Three delicious home cooked meals by Ana. Each night she outdid herself...and was amazed that I could finish four plates.

3. A quick wind storm that for some reason only took my stuff. It literally disintegrated the book I was reading. Philip Roth's "American Pastoral" flew up about fifty feet in the air and the pages that weren't torn out and disseminated all along the beach ended up drenched when the book landed fifteen feet into the water. My hat also was taking about two hundred yards down the beach and rescued, to the chagrin of Lily who hates the hat, by some surfers. 

4. Wine tasting. In Australia wine tasting is FREE. Yes, free. In the states, at least in Santa Barbara, you have to pay around $10 to taste. Although you often get to keep the glass in America I'd always prefer free.

5. On the final night we see a free jazz concert as part of the Perth International Film Festival. The band, The Bad Plus, was from America. They put on a great show as we laid back in a vineyard eating cheese and sipping wine. 

6. Clapping every time we walking along a path to the beach to, according to Anna the Vet, "avoid being stung by snakes that will kill you in under five minutes." Good times. 

7. The fire that was eventually put out six hours later. 

8. As we drove back from watching the sunset on the first night, the car in front of us swerved across the road. We all looked at each other wondering, "What was that about." Seconds later we saw for ourselves--a giant kangaroo was standing on the side of the road. As I mentioned in an earlier entry, kangaroos often jump in front of cars. They're very dangerous and we literally came within a foot of hitting one. Phew. 

Lily and I are off to Rottnest Island today. It's a thirty minute ferry ride off the coast of Perth and is supposed to be amazing. There are no cars on the island, great snorkeling and a ton of some kind of animal that supposedly looks like a little kangaroo. I already asked and no, we can't eat them. 

Perth: Land Of Sun & Love

(PICTURE: The Salter Sisters and me)

Fortunately, the low point of my Perth experience came at the moment I landed at the airport. Upon arrival at the airport my friend Lily was nowhere to be seen. This worried me for only a second since my two previous friends had greeted me like visiting royalty upon touching down in their city. I figured that since my plane left a little late yet arrived on time, Lily was probably planning on show up a little late. I said to myself, "she'll probably be at baggage claim in no time." Well, good fortune struck-- no, Lily wasn't at baggage claim -- my bag was the first one on the conveyor belt (I had to pay an extra $21 in fees because my bag was too heavy so the good people at Jetstar probably put it on the conveyor first to be nice...at least that is what I told myself). So I got my bag and walked over to some seats. Surely Lily would be there any minute...or in five minutes...or in ten minutes...or in twenty minutes. Alas I was stranded. 

Sitting alone, in the airport of a city I knew nothing about three things popped into my mind: 

1. My plane landed at 11 at night. It was now 11:30. I had no idea where I would stay.

2. I didn't know Lily's last name. 

3. I didn't have Lily's phone number.

I met Lily six months ago in London. She's was new to the city and about to be flatmates (roommates to us Americans) with my friend Dominique who moved to London a year ago. Lily and I hit it off right away because we both loved to eat. Our friendship was quickly cemented as we fought over the last scraps of street vendor jerk chicken at the Notting Hill Carnival. Within the first twenty four hours of hanging out she repeatedly talked about how much I'd love her family because all they like to do is eat. She insisted I come visit, never thinking I'd actually take her up on it--six months later and I'm typing this in her bedroom. 

So back to the airport: Lily had sent me an email a few weeks earlier with her mobile phone number. For some reason I didn't print out that email despite putting my Sierra Club membership at risk by printing about forty other emails with much less important information. Even that morning in Melbourne I thought to myself, "I should write Lily's phone number down." However, in my inbox was an email from Lily saying, "See you tonight." Well, at 11:30, thirty minutes after I had gotten my prompt luggage off the conveyor belt I was starting to think I was being punked--Aussie style. 

I walked around the airport searching for a wireless signal. Finally I found one and had to pay $10 to initiate it. Quickly I searched my gmail and found Lily's number. I wrote it down and approached a pay phone. After inserting some ridiculously large change into the phone and dialing the ten digit number the other line began to ring...and ring...and ring. No answer. No change from the phone. I inserted more money and dialed again. Again it rang and rang and rang. No answer. No change. Like in a cliche sports movie, I gave it a third and finally try with my last coins. After five rings a voice answered: "Hello." "Lily what kind of practical joke is this!" I half joked. "Oh, this is Lily's mom. She forgot her phone at home. She's at the airport but couldn't remember what airline you were flying." Minutes later we finally found each other and I fell in love...with Lily's dog Reuben (more to come in next blog). In Lily's defense she was at the airport on time but in the wrong terminal. However, not in Lily's defense I had emailed her two days earlier, "JETSTAR TERMINAL 2." 

After the initial glitch, it has been nothing but good times in Perth. We've basically done two things: lounged at the beach and eaten large, delicious meals. Well, they were almost all delicious. Lily hyped up this one Japanese place as "the best Japanese food ever." That was hardly the case. Having lived in LA the last seven years I've become a sushi snob. Any place that features a teriyaki chicken roll immediately loses any chance of being listed in my top 100 sushi spots. Basically, for you LA people, it would have been about two notches below Todai. I made this comment to Lily and I swear I heard her heart break. In fact, she just came into the room and read that paragraph and said, "God damn you! Why do you have to say that about my restaurant. You're so annoying." This is what pisses her off. This is the same girl who said I could blog about her eating her boogers because "it's part of her charm." Boogers = fair game. Zen = Off Limits. And yes blog fanatics, this is my second Australian booger story. 

Finally, as Jeremy Bier can attest to (yes, first shout out Bier) , I wake up early. My whole life I've been an early riser. I get that from my mom. Well, the first morning I was here I woke up at 7:45ish. That's late for me but I had just flown into a time zone two hours behind where I was for the past couple weeks. I grabbed my book and my laptop and headed downstairs. Making a salad in the kitchen was Lily's sister Anna (pictured above far left).  I hadn't met her the night before because we arrived at Lily's house around midnight. Well, after talking with her sister for a while and seeing her off to school, Lily's mother came downstairs. After chatting with her about politics for a while she went and woke up Lily. Lily, who had set her alarm to "wake up early" -- at 11:30AM! -- came downstairs like she had been awoken from the dead. Lily was astonished by my early rise and said, "If you woke up any earlier you'd have seen my Dad." The next morning I beat her Dad downstairs. The point is, I've gotten to know Lily's family over the last week and they are absolutely wonderful. It's hard to imagine a happier, sweeter, smarter family. Lily's parents are both lawyers in town, her sister is studying to be a vet (Stacy and Scott do you need an intern?), and her brother who could kick my butt with one hand tied behind his back -- without even using his cricket racket -- despite being seventeen.  Overall the Salter clan has been all Lily billed them to be and more.

It's late in Perth and time for bed. Details about my love for Reuben, their dog, tomorrow. 

Uncle Ho Meet Uncle Ben

Ho Chi Minh is referred to as "Uncle Ho" throughout Vietnam. His image appears on the front of every Vietnamese currency note and he is featured prominently throughout the country on government buildings and park statues. Well, there's soon to be a new Uncle who is revered from the Sapa hills in the north to the river deltas of Can Tho in the south. Who is this hero? This leader among men? This gallant warrior scholar? Well, he's none other than yours truly, the soon to be Uncle Ben.  That's right everyone, Kathy and Zev are preggers!!!!...and no, not with a third dog or fourth cat, but with a real August to be!!!!

I am filled with an overwhelming sense of excitement and joy for Zev and Kathy. I know they will be wonderful parents despite the fact that they will pay the child her/his allowance in slices of Kathy's peanut butter pie, and the fact that the child is bound for a life of NFL disappointment as Zev will inevitably make her/him a Jets fan. The two of them will shower the child with love and will one day have kids who realize they are as lucky as we have been to have our parents. 

That said, I am filled with a sense of sadness that I will be away during the birth and first few months of the child's life. Without a doubt this has become my biggest regret in moving away this year. Way before Kathy and Zev became pregnant, or even knew each other (the second time since Zev doesn't remember Kathy in elementary school) I have pictured myself at the hospital making stupid faces and googlie sounds, behind the glass wall, to my first niece/nephew. I've always pictured taking an exorbitant amount of photographs and emailing them all to my friends. I've pictured competing with Hannah for who can find the best baby blanket--clearly one more in the style of my white blankie than her pink blankie. I've always pictured myself holding the baby and saying with all sincerity, "How much could we get for her/him on the black market?" I've always pictured visiting their house, bringing gifts and being "my weird Uncle Ben." I know that I'll have my chance to do all these things when I come home and Zev has already assured me that I can make it up with lots of baby sitting time. However, I'm still left feeling what we're all thinking: Zev and Kathy are so incredibly selfish for not planning this baby around my life. 

Congratulations to Zev and Kathy!!! However, I should also extend a congratulations to the little gal/guy in Kathy's belly since he just won the greatest prize in the world--me as and Uncle. 

Ode to Kangaroos

Let this be a warning to all kangaroos,

When a tourist pays money to pet you at the zoo,

Do not tease him with resistance,

Hop a little closer, go the distance.

Because if you do not want to be our mates,

You will end up on our plates. 

Memories of Melbourne

(PICTURE: Kristy, my phenomenal host, and me)

I've done my fair share of traveling. I've been to Israel, New Zealand, England (twice), Ireland, Scotland, Spain (three times), Germany, France, Alabama, Italy (twice), Greece, Croatia, Switzerland, Czech Republic, Mexico (too many times to count), Canada (also too many times to count including some trips to places like Nova Scotia I've made a  concerted effort to forget), 44ish out of 50 states and a few other counties I'm sure that I'm leaving out. The point is, up until Melbourne I was starting to feel that Australia was my least favorite place that I've ever been to. Don't get me wrong, the people are nice, the food is good, the scenery is gorgeous but overall it feels just like home...but without the friends and family. 

When I travel I want to feel like everything is new, one big unique experience. Australia, well, it just wasn't doing it for me.  Flying into Melbourne I was starting to question whether I should have planned a full month in the land down under. Frankly, as my Virgin Blue plane descended --strangely over a graveyard right before the runway-- I felt a little down and out. Well, that was all about to change. Greeting me at baggage claim was Miss Australia herself, Kristy Cook, a friend who I met two years ago in Germany during the World Cup. Kristy greeted me not only with a big hug but with a six pack of beer in the car. After assuring me that road sodas were legal in Australia (don't worry Mom and Dad only I was drinking) I cracked open a brew and had the overwhelming sensation that things were about to change for the better...even though she bought me some crap beer. 

Besides the beer, Kristy had another gift for me: two tickets to the Australian Football League game that night (see picture in previous post). We went to the game and within minutes two things became pretty obvious. First, the fans here are just like in America--they're quick to cheer for a good play and even quicker to boo and curse a bad one. Secondly, after assessing the skills that it takes to be an Aussie Footballer, I realized that had I grown up here I would have been a pro-athlete. The game is tailor made for me: running, kicking, hitting and just a lot of hustle. I really could have been a contender so thanks a lot for not moving to Melbourne Mom and Dad. I could have been the spokesperson for Victoria Bitter Beer right now and dating some blonde Aussie pop star. 

On Saturday I forced Kristy to take me to a wildlife sanctuary so I could finally pet some freaking animals. Two weeks in Australia without petting a non-domesticated animal should be considered a crime. Kristy was a sport for agreeing to drive the hour and a half to the best wildlife sanctuary in the area. By sport I mean she drove and mocked me on the phone to all of her friends who called to invite us to the beach: "Yeah, the stupid American wants to pet a koala. We'll meet you at the beach later." Well, we got to the sanctuary and guess what...we couldn't pet any animals! What the hell! Apparently you're only legally allowed to pet koalas in Queensland, Australia. But I was just in Queensland and they wouldn't let me pet them there either. It's a conspiracy. 

After being shut-out by the Koalas we went to the Kangaroo area. Within the fenced area you could pet any 'roos that approached you. However, they were all resting in the shade, behind the "out of bounds" rope, out of petting reach. Finally one came over, looked us in the eye from about four feet away and then laid down to take a nap. A total tease. Kristy yelled at me to jump the rope and pet the "damn thing we drove an hour and a half for" but I said, "No. I'm an American and I respect the rules." We walked around the rest of the wildlife sanctuary and found that all too often there were signs up for what animals we SHOULD be seeing but weren't. I came to the conclusion that it is quite easy to open a sanctuary if you don't have any animals. 

After a long, hot, disappointing afternoon, good news finally came. As we were leaving, a koala, perched on a tree limb, was in eskimo kissing range. I snuck up on the little guy who must have just woken up from a nap (koalas sleep 20+ hours a day). I whispered a few sweet nothings into his ear (you know the standard lines, "you look really pretty tonight," "I can see myself in your eyes", etc.) and went in for the eskimo kiss. His nose was extremely soft like a Jane August python purse (Jane, you might want to start a Koala nose bag line!). His breath and my breath came together and I believe we thought the same thing: we may have our differences -- he's a koala, I'm a human. He's Australian, I'm American -- but in that moment we were one. Then the zookeeper came over and told me to stop playing with the taxidermy koala.

The rest of the weekend Kristy and I vegged out at the beach and ate ridiculously good meals. Kristy told me that she's glad I was only here for a few days because her "muffin top was growing at an alarming rate." In Australia, muffin top = belly. 

Someone had told me that "Melbourne is skippable." I disagree. The city isn't architecturally spectacular but it has the things I love: fantastic food and endless shark-free beaches.  Furthermore, the weather is perfect. One could say it's just like Santa Monica, CA.  However, the most important factor that won me over here was my incredible host. Kristy has been fantastic from the moment she picked me up till now. I literally couldn't imagine a better host: my own queen size bed, fresh towels, her doing my laundry, delicious home cooked food (will tell you all about this special meal in an upcoming blog), etc. She even insisted the whole time to pay for everything (except when I literally fought her for the bill) saying, "you can take care of me when I visit you in Vietnam." What a sucker, a meal in 'Nam cost like three dollars! Anyway, thank you for being so great, Kristy! 

So I'm back on board with Australia. I'm having a great time again and know that the last ten days of my trip will be wonderful. I'm headed tonight to Perth in Western Australia to spend time with my friend Lily and her family. Lily has promised me that her mother is one of the premiere cooks in Australia and I will leave no meal hungry. I told her that she's got a lot to compete with after staying with Kristy for three days....

Australian Football League

The Jets might be able to win a game or two in this league. 

Eskimo Kiss!

I finally found my Valentine! 

Happy Valentine's Day!

It's Valentine's Day here in Australia. I woke up this morning and someone had left a stuffed Koala Bear for me at my hostel door. Clearly one of the young backpackers had a crush on me. Well I picked up the Koala to see if there was a note...and the thing scraped my face. Apparently it was a real Koala and he didn't want to be my valentine.

I just drove back to Cairns from Daintree Rainforest. Weirdly, after it having rained everywhere in Australia basically the whole time I've been here, it was beautiful and rain-less in Daintree. I fell sucker to the "Award Winning" Daintree Discovery Center. Basically I paid $30 to walk in a Rainforest and listen to an audiotape about what I should be seeing. Apparently there is a giant bird called a Cassowary that's a realitive to the ostrich that roams the forest. According to the audio guide they are everywhere. Also, along the road every 200 meters (yes, I'm using meters now. I'm basically Australian) there are yellow caution signs to avoid the Cassowary. Yeah, didn't see one. In fact, at the discovery center I only saw two living organisms: a spider on the climbing tower (not exactly the spider's natural habitat) and one Kingfisher bird chilling on a branch. If the bird didn't fly away as I got close I would have though it was plastic, planted by the Discovery Center.

The drive to the rainforest was gorgeous. Dare I say breathtaking. Actually, it reminded me of the Pacific Coast Highway--minus the safety guard rails. The rainforest itself was pretty boring. The beach was so serene and probably the nicest I've ever seen. However, it is "stinger season" so you can't go in the water. No swimming in a rainforest humidty = sucky.

I did enjoy my little rental car. It's fun sitting on the wrong side of the car and driving on the wrong side of the road. The hardest thing to get used to is remembering to flick boogars out the window with my right hand. I can't tell you how man laned on the passenger seat the first couple of hours I was driving.

Okay, gotta go back to my dorm room. Yes, just like college, I'm staying in a dorm. Soon I'll write a whole dissertation about how I'm too old to be staying in a dorm. To quickly sum it up: my new German friend Sven called me "Dad" the other day when I told him I was 28.

Bruce Lee-berg

I'm fresh off the boat from two days out at sea. The Great Barrier Reef was pretty spectacular. It was raining when we took off and the swells at sea were enormous. Within minutes of the trip half the boat was out back puking. It was reminiscent of the Augusts cruise vacation--the one my Dad loves to tell over and over again since he was the only non-puker. I learned from that trip though and stared intensely at the horizon the whole boat ride to the dive site.

On my first dive, within minutes, I saw a reef shark. The meat-eater was about five feet long. He turned to me and started to circle. I showed no fear and braced myself for his oncoming attack. I had my fists of fury in front of me doing my best Bruce Lee impersonation. Clearly the shark had seen his share of kung-fu movies because he backed away and went after easier prey. So for now on call me Bruce Lee-berg, the kung-fu jew. After the shark I decided to encounter more tranquil species. By far the coolest marine life I found was a giant sea turtle chomping away on coral. He was so cute that I did what anyone would do...I threw a net around him and ate him for dinner. He was as delicious as he looked.

Okay, I didn't really net the turtle or fend off any sharks (although I did see four). I think I'm slightly delirious from a combination of getting my land legs and the fact that Cairnes is the most humid place on earth. I'm literally sitting here dripping with sweat (many of you will say this is normal but I'm not even eating). I took off my shirt a few minutes ago and got a strange look from the only other person using the internet. What's with this Australian weather? It's either rainy or absolutely disgustingly hot.

Overall my two days scuba diving were fantastic. However, I had visions of being under water with a whole ecosystem of fish, stingrays, sharks, dolphins and whales coming up to me. That wasn't the case. In fact, to be completely honest I think the scuba diving in Southern California at the Channel Islands and Catalina Island are better than what I saw these past two days. I even overheard a crew worker whisper to someone, "the reef here is dying." I think it's just been over touristfied. Yes, I'm making up that word but I think it's appropriate.

I did love my time here at the Great Barrier reef but wish I could have also seen the outer reef which I hear is spectacular.

I met a bunch of cool people on the trip including a guy from Columbia, a girl from Sydney, a dude from Denmark and a Tazmanian from Tazmania (all pictured including the Dive Master). In traditional August fashion I got all their emails and plan on staying at each of their houses within the next three years.

Tonight I'm meeting up with the Tazmanian for a free meal at a local restaurant. The meal comes with staying at the hostel I'm at. I expect the food to be absolutely revolting.

Off to the rainforest tomorrow!

Bye Bye Byron

There is a lot of pressure with blogging. My fans are very demanding that I blog nearly every day, and preferably hourly. By my fans, I of course mean my mother.

I've just spent two great days in Byron. The weather here made up for the constant rain in Sydney. It's been absolutely gorgeous from sunrise to sunset. I've read about how Australia has a giant hole in their ozone and that the sun is extremely strong here. I can now vouch for that. You can feel the rays on your skin here like nowhere else I've ever been. I'm constantly lathering up with 30SPF yet still managed to get slightly burnt on my stomach. Fascinating stuff.

I'd like to give a belated birthday shout-out to Dina Kerman. What better belated birthday present then getting your name on the hottest new website on the WWW?

I'm off to Cairnes in a few hours where I'll be scuba diving for the next two days. Dad, I promise to do my best not to get eaten by a great white. However, if I do, promise me that you'll avenge my death. Thanks!

Bring Your Own Chopsticks

Lets be honest, I'm not going to Vietnam because I really want to teach children. I'm going to Vietnam because I love Vietnamese food and it's a hell of a lot cheaper and better there than anywhere in the United States. I've been reading up on different types of food and places to go not just for me but for my family and friends who visit. So those of you who are coming, bring your own chopsticks and get ready to eat some succulent treats. And good news, thanks to Noah who sent me this article from the Wall Street Journal today, I've got a new stop on the food tour I'll be taking you on:

For Vietnamese, The Year of the Rat Starts With Lunch
Rodent-Eating Takes Off, In Response to Bird Flu; Cats, Snakes on Menu, Too
By JAMES HOOKWAY
February 6, 2008; Page A1

TU SON, Vietnam -- According to the Chinese calendar, the Year of the Rat begins tomorrow. But here it may have started sooner: Unexpected changes inVietnam's food chain and diet have sparked a rodent-eating bonanza. In Tu Son, a small village sitting near the banks of the Red River, rathunter Ngo Minh Tam reckons "99%" of the people regularly dine on rat meat,an estimate local street vendor Nguyen Thi Le supports. "I've sold two kilos[almost 4.5 pounds] in the past quarter hour," she boasts, displaying alarge metal bowl of skinned and cleaned bodies. Rat-based cuisine is beginning to catch on in the big cities as well. Handwritten signs in some of the backstreets of Hanoi offer cash in return for freshly caught rat. "Both Vietnamese and foreign tourists are eating more rat meat these days," says Pham Huu Thanh, proprietor of the Luong SonQuan restaurant in Ho Chi Minh City, the former southern capital Saigon. Mr.Thanh serves rat grilled with lemon grass or roasted in garlic for around 60,000 Vietnamese dong, or $4, a serving. (Rat may taste like chicken, but with a tiny rat drumstick between your fingers, it's hard to pretend it really is.) Rats have been a delicacy in Vietnam's rural areas for centuries, with recipes dating back 150 years. For a long time, however, this country's big city folk were generally less enthusiastic, often associating the animals more with garbage-digging vermin than mouth-watering entrees. But in 2004, flare-ups of bird flu claimed scores of lives here and prompted many diners to search for alternative sources of protein. Demand went up, but paradoxically supply did too. That's because rats' natural predators --snakes and cats -- are increasingly finding themselves on the menus of posh restaurants frequented by wealthy Vietnamese. In the Le Mat district of Hanoi, dozens of restaurants specialize in snakes either farmed for the table or caught by hunters. Other snakes are shipped to China, where they are also considered a delicacy. A booming economy has caused snake prices to double in the past year in some places to roughly $18 a pound. And despite a 1998 government ban on cat consumption enacted to control the rat population, felines are also sometimes eaten at some restaurants; on menus, they appear as "little tiger." "If people are eating the rats' natural predators, then that means more rats for us," says the spry Mr. Tam as he pursues his quarry one recent morning.The 53-year-old farmer and part-time taxi driver supplements his income by hunting the rodents in the fields and industrial estates around this village on the outskirts of Hanoi. He is joined in the hunt by his friends Ngo Van Phong, 55, and Nguyen HuyDuc, 53, and his two trusty dogs, Muc and Ki. The party gets lucky on some disused land at the back of the Tong Thanh Dong Packaging factory. Muc catches the scent of a rat. After a brief chase she burrows her muzzle intoa grass embankment and wags her tail furiously -- a sign she has found a candidate for lunch.Digging Into the Ground Messrs. Tam and Duc leap into action, digging into the ground, while Mr. Phong secures the rat's possible escape routes. Mr. Duc pulls dry straw from a canvas sack, stuffs it into holes in the embankment and sets it on fire. As the fire takes hold, a fleeing rat ends up instead in a bamboo funnel which Mr. Tam placed over a hole. Mr. Tam's favorite rat repast is a stew of rat meat, heart and liver andserved up in a steaming broth. "It's just the thing for a cold winter'sday," he says. In total, Mr. Tam nabs eight rats in 45 minutes. He and his friends sell whatever they don't need for themselves to village market vendors. The vendors sell rat meat for about $1.50 a pound. It's a relative deal. Pork costs roughly a third more, and chicken twice as much. The field rats which Mr. Tam and his friends hunt are white and brown, with a diet rich in grain and snails. Although Vietnamese generally don't consume the flea-infested sewer rats of popular imagination, the stigma still lingers. Some restaurants in Vietnam are wary of explicitly offering rat on their menus. Owners worry their customers might suspect they are being served rat meat when they order more expensive chicken dishes. At the elegant Dan Toc Quan restaurant in Hanoi, a waitress whispers that she can serve rat -- if the chef can find one. She disappears to the kitchen and comes back shaking her head. "Perhaps you could bring your own rat and we'll cook it for you," she said. Most Vietnamese prefer to prepare their rat at home. In Tu Son, Ngo Thi Thanh one recent day bought almost 4.5 pounds of rat meat to feed 10 of her friends who had dropped in for lunch."It's difficult to compare the taste of rat to other meat," she says. 'It's Delicious' When Ms. Thanh got home, she carefully washed the rat and chopped the meat into quarters. Bending over a charcoal stove, she fried one batch with salt and steamed the other with lemon leaves as her friends looked on with anticipation. "It's delicious," one said. For connoisseurs of rat meat, slightly chubby rats are the most sought after. A thin layer of fat adds more flavor to the meat and provides a satisfying sizzle when the chunks of rat meat are added to the frying pan, they say. It is also best, they add, served with generous servings of potenthome-brewed rice wine. Some wonder whether the Year of the Rat will help promote the cause of rat cuisine. While rodent vittles are still consumed in China, the popularity of these and other exotic meats waned after epidemiologists traced the outbreak of severe acute respiratory syndrome, or SARS, in 2003 to the consumption of weasel-like animals called civets. Mr. Tam, the hunter, is underwhelmed by the event. "We don't need an excuseto eat rat," he said.

--Nguyen Anh Thu and Kersten Zhang contributed to this article.

People Who Live In Glass Houses...

...shouldn't throw stones. No, this isn't a lecture about not criticizing others for faults that we may have ourselves. No, this is an entry about not living in glass houses. I personally don't know anyone who lives in a glass house but I'm staying with a girl who has a glass bathroom door. Yes, a glass bathroom door. Frankly, I've never heard of such a thing or seen such a thing prior to arriving in Sydney on Monday. So what's the big deal? What's the big deal?! It's a huge deal! As anyone can attest who knows my siblings and I, we have what you might call "sensitive stomachs." I have vivid memories of Zev pill popping Tums as an adolescent. It seems that not a meal, snack or breath mint wouldn't be chased with a multi-colored Tums. He seems to have slightly outgrown this addiction whereas Hannah and I are still dependent on over the counter drugs to survive in this world. Our drug of choice is different though--we single handedly keep Immodium AD in business.

So, what's my point? Well, if keeping my stomach in line wasn't a hard enough job already it is always exacerbated by flying. Whether it's the air pressure or the airline food, I don't know. But the days after flights are usually followed by cramps and extra "reading time." Well, after flying for thirty hours, old reliable was up to his old tricks again. One small problem, Emma's bathroom door is glass. Oh wait, two small problems: Emma's bathroom is in her bedroom, feet from her bed. Oh wait, three small problems: Emma's best friend, an equally cute blonde Aussie, is staying here this week. So do the math: 2 cute girls sleeping feet from a glass bathroom door = nights of pain.

I emailed a few friends at 4:30AM to discuss the situation. Various solutions included:
1. Go out the window. (I would have considered this but she lives on the ground floor on a busy walking street)
2. Hang up a sheet over the door and just quote the Wizard of Oz, "Don't mind the man behind the curtain." This genius one comes from the brilliant mind of Adam Lippman.
3. Run to a hotel lobby. This was suggested by my buddy Bert up in Seattle (yes, I have a friend named Bert) but unfortunately I didn't have keys to get back in the apartment.

Thankfully Augusts have a high pain tolerance. Some of us don't take pain medication the day after triple bypass heart surgery and some of us grin and bear stomach cramps during the night. Which is tougher, you be the judge. Anyway, long "Too Much Information" story short: I jogged this morning at 7AM to the Sydney Oprah House and used their facilities. Wonderful acoustics at that place.

For the first time since I've been here it was sunny out...although as I type this it is downpouring again. I took advantage of the good weather and went on a ferry ride in the harbour to Taronga Zoo where I was told I could pet and rub noses with koalas. I was told wrong. They have koalas at the zoo but there are large signs, "no petting." You could pay $20 (in addition to the $40 ferry ride/zoo combined fee) to get one picture and thirty seconds next to a sedated koala. I decided to pass. This is going to break the heart of Taylor, one of my best friends and a certified koalaphile.

As many of you know, a few months ago I was a bridesmaid in Taylor's amazing Santa Barbara wedding. Well, for her honeymoon she and Andrew came to Sydney. Upon their return Taylor emailed me all her pictures. To say every other one was of a Koala would be an understatement. All she and Andrew did on their trip was eat, take pictures with koalas, sail the harbour, take more pictures with koalas, visit the opera house, take more pictures with koalas, etc. Since telling Tay I was coming to Australia she has repeatedly told me, "you have to see the koalas." Yesterday she proceeded to email me links of places to go and what time of day I should go ("Go at 4, that's when they are the most playful.") Some would say this borders on obsession. I would agree with them. But it's even worse--Taylor sent me the above picture of an underage koala kissing a girl yesterday and told me, "the younger koalas are the best." So friends, I'm asking you, please have an intervention with Taylor before it's too late.

Once again I'm original pictureless. I've got some great pictures to post but still can't find a wireless signal. Hopefully in the next couple days I'll hunt one down.

Benjamin

Third World Country

Friends keep saying to me, "I can't believe you're moving to a third world country for a year." Not only am I moving to a third world country, I'm traveling in one right now. That's right, here's a little known fact: Australia is a third world country. You're probably saying to yourself right now, "That's not true, Ben. Australia is definitely a first world nation." Well, that's what I thought too until I got here yesterday. Two points of evidence to back my case:
1. When I landed yesterday it was downpouring. My friend Emma who picked me up at the airport told me straight away, "Sydney doesn't do well in the rain." Doesn't do well in the rain? That's an understatement. The streets here are flooded and I'm pretty convinced there is no sewer system in Australia. Mom & Dad, skip ahead to Point #2. On top of that, Emma's car doesn't exactly defrost. Her windows (the front and back windshield, driver window and back passenger windows--my window is a garbage bag) were completely foggy. I could barely see five feet in front of us as we jumped onto the highway. As we drove to Emma's place she pointed out where Sydney was...in theory. The tallest building I actually saw was three stories high.
2. There's no high speed internet here! I feel like I'm in fourth grade dialing-up Prodigy in Brad Shron's basement. I've tried to check my email multiple times but was told the internet is very tempermental here. Here? As in the whole country? Well, it turns out yes. I'm now typing, thanks to jet lag, at 5AM and have already been kicked off twice. At least in'Nam--an official third world country-- they have high speed wireless internet.

A few quick additional thoughts:

During my six hour layover in Hong Kong I decided to get some reading done. The gate areas were a little busy so I went to the quietest, most comfortable place in the whole airport...a men's bathroom stall in an empty terminal (No, Dad, there was no Idaho Senator waiting in there). While reading a chapter I heard someone come into the bathroom and begin to hum. The humming continued and continued. Clearly disturbing my reading time, I put the book away, powdered myself with Gold Bond (I had been traveling for over twenty hours at this point and wanted to feel fresh) and went to the sink. Waiting for me there was a Hong Kong International Airport Custodian....who apparently works part-time as a bathroom attendant. He stood over me as I washed my hands and handed me a paper towel. "Hi, how are you? Where you from?" he asked me as he grabbed my semi-dry hand and shook it. "I'm from New Jersey," I said thinking I had American written all over me with my LA cap on. He stared at me with a blank expression. Clearly he had never heard of heaven. "I'm from New York," I corrected myself. "Oh, America!" He smiled from ear to ear and shook my hand even tighter up and down...and then I think offered to convert money for me. The point is, if all Asians are this nice to me--willing to shake my hand after reading a couple chapters in the bathroom--I'm gonna be in pretty good shape.

I'll wrap up this entry with a congratulations to all my friends who are New York Giants fans. I can't believe Eli actually delivered. Unbelievable. Although technically I didn't see the game I did share in the most exciting part of it. Upon arriving at Emma's place I called my parents. I told them I was safe and sound and asked who won the Super Bowl. This is a word for word transciption of what happened. Dad: "The game isn't over. The Giants were winning but the Patriots just came back. The Giants though are pretty close to the Patriot's endzone with under a minute left. Ohhhhh!!! The Giants scored a touchdown!" CLICK. My Dad hung up on me. I guess he's not missing me that much.

Benjamin

P.S. My goal is to attach a picture to every blog entry I write. However, please refer to the lack of internet in the early paragraph which makes it impossible to hook up my laptop. Oh, one other problem: I bought the wrong adapter at the Apple Store for my laptop. I blame Jamie Shapiro for this. Shaps, you had one responsibility: help me get an adapter. You failed me. You failed me.

Being an August...

Being an August means lots of things. There is the uncanny ability to eat. The passion for politics. The love of road trips. The infatuation with movies and television. And of course, it goes without saying, the striking good looks. But there is something else. Something innate--Augusts are on time. And by on time I don't mean showing up at a predetermined hour and minute. I mean showing up ten minutes early and still having dark drenching pit stains from the terrifying clicking tock in our heads. Many witnesses have seen an August in action when a deadline looms. We get panicky. We get irritable. And frankly, we get insane.

No story better exemplifies our lack of grasp on reality when time is on the line then when I was thirteen years old and had just three hours to make it to an indoor soccer game. Three hours would seem like a lot of time but the problem was my father, Brad and Walter Shron, and I were in Boston...and the game was in South Orange, New Jersey. The time-released insanity gene took hold of my father as he rolled down his window, stuck out a red licorice NIB with his left hand and "pretended" to be a police car with the licorice being his siren. He turned down the radio and at the top of his lungs let the rest of the cars on the highway know there was an emergency: "Woo Ooh Woo Ooh. Woo Ooh Woo Ooh. Move out of the way, police car coming through! Woo Ooh Woo Ooh..." The Shrons' pulses beat nearly as fast as the reading on the speedometer...90MPH...100MPH. However, my calm demeanor eased their worried looks as I sat in the back left seat of our Jeep knowing the most important thing in the world--we'd make the game on time. We were fifteen minutes early. 

So, what's the point of this anecdote as I start my year-plus abroad? Well, it's simple. My flight is at 1:55PM and I'm sitting here in the JFK Terminal 7 lounge three hours before boarding. It's one thing to be on time for a flight. It's another thing to be through check-in and security and still have three hours to go. Oy, to be an August. 

And that is what this entry is about: The Augusts. My parents. 

I have always felt fortunate--and have bragged to countless people over the years--that I have the most amazing parents. As I tell my parents in a card every Mothers and Fathers Day, "Zev, Hannah and I are the luckiest kids in the world to have such loving and supportive parents." All the cliches and sappy descriptions of what they mean in our lives couldn't even begin to do justice as to how they have set the foundation for the adults we have grown up into. 

My mother is a living angel. There are few people sweeter or more caring then her roaming Earth. As a physical therapist she has probably treated at least one member of half of the families in Livingston and our neighboring towns. Her moral fiber is unparalleled; when it comes to doing what is right or wrong, she never chooses the latter. But my mother is something else too. My mother is the rock of our family. Her strength is Herculean. Ever since I told my parents I was moving to Vietnam she has braved a smile and projected boundless enthusiasm for my "adventure ahead." She has been excited for me and bragged to her friends and patients about my plans as if I was just accepted into Harvard. 

Now my father, well, he hasn't been as strong. As almost all parents do, my father lives for his children. Breaking the news to my dad that I was moving away for a year-plus was not easy. This is a man who cried every time he dropped me off at the Newark Airport over the last seven years whenever I flew back to California. This is a man who still calls his children, "The Big Guy," "Benny Ben Ben Ben" and "Cookie." This is a man who still demands kisses and hugs every night his kids sleep at home and fakes having short-term memory loss by constantly asking, "Where are my kisses and hugs? I don't remember getting any recently." Yup, breaking it to Dad was tough. Over the last week he's half joked about using his power as the Deputy Mayor of Livingston to have his "boys" arrest me. By his boys, he meant the Livingston Police Department. Even this morning he contemplated calling in a bomb threat to Cathay Pacific and simply explaining they could go on with the flight, but just not with his Benny Ben Ben Ben.

Last night after I crushed Mom in Scrabble (I beat her by one point solely because the one tile left in my hand subtracted less from my total than the two tiles left in her hand subtracted from her total) my mother kissed me goodnight and told me she loved me. After that I played the original Big Guy in backgammon. After soundly destroying him in our fifth game (no need to elaborate on the results of the first four) I said goodnight to Dad...and the tears began...and they continued...and continued...and I imagine are still continuing now as he drives back home with my brother and mother. I know, despite his tears, my Dad is excited for me and proud of me for doing what I'm doing. I know this despite what he said to me during the car ride to the airport: "I'm like the Tin Man from The Wizard of OZ. I just got a new heart but now you broke it." *

I can picture my Dad reading this and saying, "Why are you picking on me?" Well, I am unfairly picking on him because I'm not so tough either. I just cried like a baby when they dropped me off. I gave Zev a big hug and it hit me, I'm not gonna see him for over a year. And then I saw the tears streaming down Dad's face, and even tougher to bear I saw the tears streaming down Mom's face. Crap, and now as I type this I'm tearing up again. The point is, sometimes to do what is best for oneself we have to do things that hurt ourselves too. Going away is something that I really feel I need to do at this point in my life, but leaving my family thousands and thousands of miles behind for so long is without a doubt the hardest thing I've ever done. So long first blog entry short: I love you Mom and Dad. 

As they say in Vietnam, "___." Crap, I don't know any Vietnamese!

Benjamin

*For those who don't know, my father had a triple bypass and a valve repaired on January 10th. He's doing great and gets stronger each day (Hey, Dad, you better be walking every day and eating right or I'm extending my trip for another six months! Don't test me!).