Good vibes at Island Vibe

Mom, Dad, I think I might be a hippie. Sure, I don't always eat organic, and I do enjoy a generous layer of deoderant from time to time, but after a weekend spent on a tiny island with a bunch of shiny, happy people, I'm starting to think me and hippies aren't as different as I'd like to believe.

The occassion was the Island Vibe Festival, held over three days on Stradbroke Island, a swift ferry ride from Brisbane, but seriously a world away. Key word here is island, as the weekend celebrated all sorts of island-based music and cultures. Acts from around Australia, New Zealand, Indo and even Hawaii showed up. I'll keep the words to a minimum, as the pictures speak for themselves. In short, this past weekend might just have been the most fun I've had since moving to Oz...



It was at about half a minute into my 40 second hug that I started to step back and assess the situation. Under normal circumstances, I might turn and walk the other way if I faced this man in a dark alley. Instead, here I was voluntarily getting close to a 6'4'', 250 pound stranger. He was one of the performers, who while not on stage, stood out in the hot sun to give "free" hugs. The catch - donate a few coins to help save Aboriginal lands from being covered by a toxic waste dump. Here's a pic I snapped of someone else getting a hug.



One of my new favorite bands. As soon as Auckland-based Spacifix stepped on stage, it was clear they were there to party. With wild outfits - and hairstyles to match - the plaid-clad, button-down crew made dressing like dorks decidedly cool. Their sound proved just as confusing to pin down as their taste in wardrobe. Blending reggae and funk to one spastic package, lead singers Tau Manukia and Willy Angelo Manukia delivered a set that would prove entertaining even on mute. Check these guys out on YouTube, they're pretty rad.

And now for a little montage of dreadlocks. It was like a dreadlock convention, with the ratty roots being the 'do of choice. Imagine every fifth person rockin' the bed-head look. Assuming, of course, they've been in bed since 2005. 

Two in one!

Not dreadlocks, but interesting nonetheless.



New Zealand's Ladi6...worth checking out too. Love her.











Paula Fuga

Lots of fire dancing, twirling, spinning and spitting. Felt like any given Sunday at Little Beach on Maui.





Deadly snakes and killer coconuts

If there's one Aussie stereotype that cracks me up, it's the one about how everything here can kill you. It's true, Australia is home to the top 10 deadliest snakes in the world. There's the notorious red back spider, which is apparently a little guy with a big — and lethal — bite. Or the aggressive and venomous taipan snake...hmm, that's not a good combo. And of course those great whites. No explanation needed.

Of course this is just the shortlisted version. After all, I would like people to come and visit me here, so reciting all the nasties that could kill you is probably not the best promotional tactic. In reality, the chances of dying from these creatures are pretty slim. You'd be better off worrying about the human creatures. (Kind of reminds me of those random statistics that get thrown around whenever someone talks about shark attacks in Hawaii — how you're more likely to die while driving or from a coconut falling on your head.) 

Okay, now I'm ready...

Just when I'm starting to overcome this Aussie stereotype, I'm confronted with another one. In planning an upcoming trip through southeast Asia, I've been studiously reading every Lonely Planet I can get my hands on, scouring the travel forums and making nice with all those international students. Turns out SE Asia's got some nasties of their own. Parasites. Food- and water-borne diseases. Fungal infections. The list goes on. 

Still, I wondered — Are all those recommended immunizations and stacks of medication really necessary? Or am I just being a hyper-sensitive westerner who assumes that anyone who coughs within a five foot radius of me will surely pass on the bird flu? After several days of internal debate on whether to visit the doctor, I finally caved in and made an appointment. My mother would be so proud. Three shots, six boxes of pills and hundreds of dollars in medical bills later...

Perhaps the most jarring part of the whole experience was the doc's warning about food and water safety. Read: diarrhea. Nearly verbatim, our conversation went like this: 

Me: "Honestly, what are my chances of getting diarrhea?"

Doc: "How long are you traveling?"

Me: "Maybe three months or so."

Doc: "Oh...in that case, it's not if, but when."  

So somewhere between jungle treks and tuk-tuk rides, I should factor in a few days of violent diarrhea, nausea and cramps? Geez, doc, what a buzz kill. Oh well, at least I've got a (very expensive) pill for that!

The Wheels on the Bus

During my travels and constant relocating, I've become a regular on several public transport routes over the years: 99N to Monte Mario in Rome, the Red line to Rogers Park in Chicago, the 431 to Sydney's CBD. This love/hate relationship with public transport has always been pretty darn colorful. For better or worse, I'll never forget the "Peace, love and bubblegum" guy in Chicago or the old Italian pervert in Rome. And I'm sure anyone who's traveled this way has a few experiences of their own. 

Actual photo from a bus in Rome...ahhh, just how I remember it!

I recently saw a production titled "Stories From the 428," which brought these stories to the stage and took viewers on a virtual ride through one of Sydney's many public transport routes. But really, these stories are not unique to Sydney, as anyone who's ever ridden a bus knows.

The following is a review I wrote for a publication here in Sydney, which is basically copy/pasted in its entirety. I was going to write a separate blog on the show, but this basically sums it up. For those of you in Sydney, it's playing again this weekend. Highly recommended!

Next Stop, Sydney Fringe Festival: “Stories From the 428” delivers loads of talent

Public transport is the great equalizer. Within this moving bubble of society, lawyers and construction workers, students and professors enjoy equal-opportunity amid the jostling of a cramped bus. It’s a community’s lifeline upon which commerce, education and business depend. 

To celebrate this democracy on wheels, a group of playwrights, directors and actors have created “Stories From the 428”, which celebrates the good, the bad and the funny of public transport. After a successful run earlier this year, an abbreviated version is now showing at Sidetrack Theatre in Marrickville in conjunction with this year’s Sydney Fringe Festival. 

For anyone who’s ever sat on a bus and wondered what that guy with the iPod was listening to, why that lady is staring at you, or when those screaming school kids will get off — this play is for you. The concept is brilliantly simple. Local playwrights boarded the 428 bus — which runs from the touristy Circular Quay through to Canterbury via Sydney’s lovably-colorful Inner West — for a firsthand look at this mobile community. The result is a production that injects some soul into otherwise everyday scenes. This day-in-the-life of a city bus is punctuated with stories about secret crushes, overzealous STA enforcement officers and children who just won’t shut up. 

The show opens with a choreographed movement of sorts — hurried commuters clutching their morning paper, burying their faces behind the pages, silently ignoring the throngs of strangers among them. This silent dance doesn’t need a punchline, or even words, to be induce laughs. It’s simply funny because it’s true. 

There’s the quirky young uni student, played by Felix Gentle, who silently pines after the stranger a few seats down (Bridgette Sneddon). His incessant admiration creeps into stalker-status at times, but he’s just so lovable that it doesn’t seem to matter. 

In another scene, Stephen Peacocke turns up the volume and turns on the laughs as the music-loving junkie with affinity for everything from old-school classics to obscure gems. His adrenaline-pumped outbursts are just a bonus to the pitch-perfect writing.   

The audience is taken on a virtual ride inside the mind of a crazy commuter (Daniel Nemes) who dreams of scaling the poles like monkey bars and busting through the emergency escape, an apparent metaphor for breaking out of the rat race of life. Maybe the fast-talking and quick-witted Nemes isn’t so crazy after all. Maybe we’ve all been there. 

Indeed, we can all see a bit of our neighbours — and ourselves — in the characters of 428. It’s this blurry line between us and them that gives the production its soul. One thing is certain, after seeing “Stories From the 428”, you’ll never look at your fellow commuter the same again.

Not so Lazy Sunday

wedgie of atomic proportions

Two words: atomic wedgie. That's what you get after rock climbing for three hours. Well, I suppose that's what you get after about five minutes, but you get the point. As was the case today during an intensely fun day of indoor rock climbing right here in Sydney. Man, that safety harness was a trip. I admit I tend to get embarrassed easily, but there's just something a bit awkward about strapping yourself into something that looks like it came straight from Tommy Lee and Pam Anderson's toy box, then parading around in a room full of strangers.

I'd only been climbing once before, for about 10 minutes at an amusement park in Toronto, so this was my first proper go at it. After a three minute crash course

Billy making it look easy.

on how to save my partner's life in case he starts falling (really, just three minutes?!), we were left to our own devices. The room itself was like an adult version of those McDonald's playgrounds — complete with lots of plastic, multicolored knobs and germs. Once the germaphobe in me got over the fact that those little knobs probably haven't been disinfected since they were installed, I quickly became a lean, mean, climbing machine...or so I thought. Turns out I had been scaling the "easy" route for the first half hour. It's like killing it on the bunny hill, then thinking you're Picabo Street.

View from inside the climbing centre.

I'm not gonna lie — it was tough. About halfway up my legs begin to shake and forearms start cramping. I look towards the ceiling and am convinced there is no plausible way to get there. I glance down at my partner staring back at me and become equally convinced there is no way I'm quitting. So, in a awkward pretzel-inspired move that looks like something straight out of Twister, I take a literal leap of faith and hope I catch on to something — anything. When I finally reach the top, it seems like there should be some buzzer or a flag waiting there. Maybe some kind of reward or something to mark the occasion. But nope, there's nothing. It's just me and my atomic wedgie.

Knee Slappers

Australians are funny people...and I'm not just talking about their accents or affinity for Vegemite. They really can crack a joke with the best of them. Take, for example, the popular "The Chaser" comedy series that pokes fun at everything from (in)famous politicians to the guy next door. It falls somewhere between a stand-up routine and hidden camera show. In other words, if David Letterman and Ashton Kutcher had a bastard child, "The Chaser" would be it.

"The Chaser" team

This being an election year, the show's comedic minds have had lots of material to work with. It's funny how dumb politicians can make themselves sound. Now take what they say and whittle it down to three second soundbites. Pure comedy.

I recently had a chance to see a live taping of the show's latest election series, "Yes We Canberra!" For those not familiar with international geography or were sleeping through the fourth grade, Canberra is Australia's capital. There were plenty of inside political jokes that I'm sure would've been funny if only I knew who they were talking about. So for now, I'll spare you with the Aussie-inspired wise cracks and share a clip that needs no translation. In short, here's the synopsis: The Chasers go bed testing. Enjoy. 

Messages in the Bottles

He had me at "It's like trying to hang on to the cape of a flying bear." That's exactly how David de Rothschild described the fierce weather he and his crew encountered during their journey across the Tasman Sea. And that, my friends, is the moment I fell in love.

All joking aside, de Rothschild is as cool as they come. He's a British banking-heir-turned tree-hugger with a pretty impressive resume: youngest Briton to reach both the north and south poles; traversed Antarctica by foot and ski; and holds the world record for fastest crossing of the Greenland ice cap. Granted, it makes it a bit easier when you've got the bankroll to support these crazy superman adventures, which is another issue altogether. Point is, this guy could be sitting on some yacht poppin' bottles, but he's not. Instead his latest expedition took him across the Pacific from San Francisco to Sydney on a catamaran made of plastic bottles — 12,500 to be exact. The appropriately named Plastiki was inspired by Thor Heyerdahl's 1947 Kon-Tiki sailing expedition from South America to Tahiti.

I first read about de Rothschild in the Sydney newspapers, which dedicated a lot of ink to the arrival of the Plastiki. It sailed into Darling Harbour about two weeks ago and the entire Plastiki crew has been painting the town green ever since. It was tough not to get caught up in all the hype, so I decided to attend a talk-story session with de Rothschild at the university to see firsthand what all the buzz was about. Rather than listen to me preach about the three Rs, go check out www.theplastiki.com if you're interested.

A few days later, a friend and I headed down to the harbour to check out this mean, green, sailing machine. Contrary to what I had first envisioned, the Plastiki is not some backyard project or slapstick floatation device being held together by duct tape and a prayer. It's a good thing, too. Try hanging on to the cape of a flying bear in one of those.

It's the Shit

The "first" of anything is a pretty big deal. I can remember my first soccer practice, first day of high school, first kiss, and perhaps some other firsts that will go unmentioned. So now, here I go with another first that can be tucked away in the memory bank — first day of graduate school. While my mom wasn't there to toss me a brown bag filled with a bologna sandwich (or spam musubi) and juice box, there were many of those same anxieties and nervous jitters that come with change.

Maybe I'm still in the honeymoon phase, and maybe I'm a nerd, but I'm totally stoked on my classes so far. In particular, there's a class titled "Dealing With the Media" that should be interesting. Lately I've been "the media," so I'm really curious on what dealing with me is all about.

Speaking of media, I came across a hilarious article today in the Sydney Morning Herald. On a somewhat related note, it's ironic that while I'm trying to immerse myself in local news sources, the article that grabs my interest is actually an American story. Anyhow, it's about one of my favorite bands, Kings of Leon, who walked off the stage during one of their concerts due to massive amounts of pigeon droppings landing on them. For those out there who know and love The Onion, you'll probably get a kick out of reading this. Thing is, this isn't satire, which makes it even funnier.

If you're too lazy to read it, let me just share a quote from one of the band's managers: "Jared was hit several times during the first two songs. On the third song, when he was hit in the cheek and some of it landed near his mouth, they couldn't take it any longer."

Some of you may recall me ranting about getting crapped on by a bird under that big tree at the MACC a few months ago. Long story short, the poop managed to graze my face in just the right spot so as to drip from my cheek to the corner of my lip. It's nice to know stuff like that happens to other people — even super cool rockers — too.

It's a Small World After All

Hawaii people are always pretty proud to describe the place as a "melting pot" of cultures. But when it comes to diversity, Sydney makes Hawaii feel about as exotic as, say, Indiana. For example, while talking to a group of students during orientation this week I looked around and this little United Nations of sorts, and counted people from the Czech Republic, the Maldives, Korea and Columbia. It was pretty tough to play the "I'm cool 'cause I'm from Hawaii" card in a crowd like that. That said, one thing that definitely gets me some street cred among the international crowd is that it's Obama's hometown, which is far better than the usual "Have you ever seen Dog the Bounty Hunter?" question I usually get.


The University of Sydney was established in 1850, which makes it a toddler by many American university standards, but an old fart in Australia. To be precise, it's the oldest university in the country. The campus itself is relatively small given the school's enrollment numbers — more than 49,000 students within a 177-acre campus. While the buildings are a mix of modern architecture and historic structures, the heart of the campus is the Main Quadrangle. Its Gothic stylings is something you'd expect from an Ivy League school somewhere in the northeast, giving the place a real academic feel. Yikes, I'm already starting to bore myself, so enough with the technical stuff.

Now, not to keep ragging on the Japanese (see, it's a bit more acceptable since I'm sorta one of them), but I am fascinated at just how obsessed they are with taking photos. I admit, even I get the shutter bug from time to time, but I'm not nearly as bad as one girl I observed this week. During a three-hour series of PowerPoint presentations, she literally snapped a photo of EVERY. SINGLE. SLIDE. I mean, it was tough enough to sit through these sessions the first time, why would anyone want to voluntarily revisit it a second or third time?! I was almost tempted to take a picture of her taking a picture, but the irony in that was just too much.

Meeting so many international students this week has given me a new appreciation for hard-to-pronounce names. It's also reminded me to have a bit of patience when people have difficulty pronouncing mine. Among the most popular interpretations are "Lydia," "Leah" and my favorite — "Leeha" (like yee-haw with an "L"). At this rate, graduate school may turn out to be a lot like undergrad in Chicago where my first name became "Thatgirlfromhawaii." Or, I could opt to do like one Korean girl I met and fabricate a name altogether. "Wow, how did you get the name 'Green'? " I asked after meeting her. Her response: "Oh, it's my favorite color." In that case, I think I'll just call myself "Aubergine."

Two Weeks Notice

I've never been a fan of mass e-mails or mass texts. It always feels so impersonal and sort of like you're being spammed by your own friends. It's ironic, then, that I've finally caved in and decided to jump into the blogosphere to communicate with friends and family.

Up until this point, I've kept in touch with a few of you via simple Facebook comments or one-liners via e-mail, which usually read something like, "Sydney is awesome! Everything is going great! Miss you!" So, in lieu of generic updates, this space will serve as a more detailed recap of life Down Under...in case anyone cares.

For now, I can only promise two things: 1) That I will attempt to feed this on a somewhat regular basis. 2) I will refrain from updating with mundane daily activities like what I ate for breakfast or my current flavor of chewing gum. Unless, of course, I eat something really cool.

The blog is called "Sydney Sighter," although I'm open to suggestions. It's a play on words and the term "Sydneysider," which refers to the locals here. I'm still a newbie, so I'm not about to classify myself as a true Sydneysider.

So, here goes...

It's been just over two weeks since touchdown at my new home and Sydney has not disappointed. Week 1 was filled with house hunting, which I've more aptly referred to as a "Sydney apartment crawl." After some pretty dodgy accommodations (read: shit holes) and even dodgy-er potential roommates, I've settled on a fantastic place in Sydney's inner west, which I share with two guys, an Aussie and a Finnish.

I've been at my new digs for about a week, and it seems each day brings a new discovery. Like stumbling upon a yummy Thai take-out joint just down the street or realizing that a running path along Sydney Harbour is a literally around the corner. I haven't decided whether this is a good or bad thing, but I've counted 1 gelateria, 1 frozen yogurt shop and 1 churro place that lines my walking route to the university.

Speaking of school (after all, that's my supposed excuse for being here, right?), classes don't start for another week, but I've already become proficient in navigating my way around the massive campus thanks to hours of orientation, registrations, enrollment, etc. More of the same tomorrow, with another round of international student orientation sessions. What that really means, is that it'll be a bunch of Asians all swarming around, standing way too close for comfort, flashing the peace sign and snapping pictures. No offense, but it's true.