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.