Newcastle

We took a train from Sydney to Newcastle, which was a pretty scenic ride for the most part. Newcastle is about 2 1/2 hours north of Sydney via train, and it's an old coal town which is trying to revitalize itself as something young and hip. To some extent they are succeeding, but it's currently an odd mix of ghetto and swank. When we arrived at the train station, we walked outside to the taxi stand area where we watched one taxi pull away and then waited about 10 minutes for another taxi to show up. I thought that the taxi stand would have taxis lined up waiting for passengers; but, then again, we did seem to be the only people actually standing around looking for a taxi...so, I guess everything was doled out proportionately. My husband went in search of some information, and we found out that our hotel was within walking distance, so we started hoofing it. While we were waiting for the taxi, I took this picture:




We stayed at the Crown Plaza Hotel Newcastle. As we were approaching the property, I was skeptical. It was on the water's edge (swank!) in this industrial port town (shetto!), but it turned out to be quite lovely. Our room was a nice one-bedroom with a little kitchenette area and a view of the waterfront, sort of. After we unpacked we grabbed some lunch and then walked along the waterfront, past the lighthouse at Nobby's Head, down to the end of the pier where we sat on a pile of rubble (ghetto) for a while watching a seal play in the water (nature-imposed swank). Every once in a while we saw whale spouts in the distance, and we watched all kinds of sea-faring vessels going in and out of the harbor. It had been a bit rainy and cold when we arrived, but it turned out to be a lovely sunny day. That night we ate at the near-by BWP (which stands for Blue Water Pizza) which had great food and very friendly staff. I ate an entire pizza all by myself.


On the news that night, I learned that the Pope is affectionately known as "B16." I don't know if this is an Australian thing or something that is sweeping the world, but I wondered if the Pope was aware of this nickname and, if so, if he approved or not. Again, as with the flags-as-capes situation, I'm a little conflicted; it's nice to see the Pope as approachable and that people are referring to him affectionately, but he's THE POPE. Is nothing sacred anymore? I mean, really, when it's ok to be casual about the Pope, what's left?

For the rest of the week, my husband was working, so I pretty much wandered around the town, spent a day washing laundry in our sink (underwear, socks, tank tops) (self-imposed ghetto), and took a ferry ride. The wandering around town part took me to Darby Street which is where all the restaurants are. Everything we ate in Newcastle was great and also quite expensive. The cheapest thing I ever found was a noodle house where the small portions were around $6 or $7. Other than that, everything starts at about $20. This is what we can't quite figure out about Newcastle. At night, there is definitely a young, hip vibe going on in the swanky new part of town (where we were staying) and on Darby Street. There are a lot of people coming out and spending a lot of money, but we're not sure where any of it is coming from. Newcastle is a coal town, so unless these are all kids whose grandparents made millions in the coal business, where are all these people getting all this money to go out and blow $25-$50/night on food, not on drinks and food, just food? Maybe their parents all own restaurants. Anyway, like I said, everything was good, but we ate twice at Anacapri and both times it was wonderful.

As I was wandering around Darby Street, I kept seeing signs saying "The Obelisk." I decided to follow them and see what this obelisk was all about. Turns out it's...an obelisk. Who woulda thunk? It looks just like the Washington Monument only smaller and whiter. It's on top of a hill and there's a great view of the city from up there. As I was climbing up the super steep streets that lead to the obelisk, I noticed that you cannot live here and be a bad parallel parker, at least not in the steep-street neighborhoods. There is no messing around with the parallel parking here.





Once I reached the obelisk, I knew I was there by the nice signage(bottom right corner).

I was really impressed with the signage. It was all on street signs and everywhere I needed to turn, there was a sign. I didn't need a map or anything, and for me that's saying something. From the obelisk I walked to Strzelecki Lookout which was listed on my map as a scenic lookout. (I didn't say I didn't HAVE a map, I just said I didn't NEED a map.) Turns out it is also the jumping off point, literally, for the local hang gliders and paragliders. They just walk off the hill and swoop up into the sky! Go to Air Sports' home page and watch their videos of people taking off-they did a much better job with the photography than I was able to do! It was really cool to watch and a nice surprise at the top of the hill as well. If we had been there through the weekend we could have gone on a tandem hang glide, which I think would have been cool, but we didn't have the time, what with our pending wine tour and all.

As I was walking back to the hotel I walked past a lot of houses that were for sale. The Aussies don't fool around with their For Sale signs. They're these huge signs, probably 4' X 6' and they have a big color picture of the property with the address and other pertinent information like how many bedrooms, bathrooms, etc. They don't list the price, however, which I guess is fair. You have to call the realtor for that kind of info.

One day I stopped in Newcastle's local library which also houses the Lovett Gallery. I almost didn't stop in, but I'm glad I did. They were displaying the winning entries from the 2007 Wildlife Photographer of the Year competition, and they were amazing. This picture was in the downstairs entry, and as soon as I walked in and saw it, I knew I had to go upstairs and see what else they had.

On another occasion I took the ferry across the channel to Stockton to see the Shipwreck Walk. At one time Newcastle was a very dangerous place if you were trying to navigate a boat through its waters, and lots of ships ended up wrecked off its shores. They finally built a breakwater, and they incorporated one of the wrecked hulks into the sea wall, so I wanted to see that. I sort of over dramatized it in my mind. I thought I would turn a corner, and there would be a whole beach full of wrecked ships, their monstrous carcases towering over me as they stood watch over the shores, keeping them safe...from other dangerous ships...or pirates or something. I'm not sure why I thought this; the brochure that I had showed a picture of the ship in its place in the breakwater and pretty clearly explained what the situation was. I guess I just got excited. I've never seen a wrecked ship on land before. Apparently I am a carnage junkie. So, while I was a little disappointed that I only got to see one wrecked ship, I still enjoyed my 3-minute ferry ride over to Stockton and my walk to the end of the pier and back.

It's hard to see, but there is also a bird on one of the rocks with his wings outstretched, sunning himself. See how artsy I am?

Another thing I did in Newcastle that I have never done before is I went to a spa to have my legs and bikini area waxed. We were getting ready to jump on a live-aboard dive boat, and I didn't think I wanted to be trying to shave at sea. Just down from our hotel was a lovey little spa called Sugar Suite. Emma, who is possibly the teeniest and most adorable person ever, was my aesthetician and she was so sweet! I walked in and was trying to work an appointment out for the next day, but the times they had available weren't really what I was hoping for, but they were workable. She was at the counter and said that she could get me in at 8:00 that night if I wanted to come back, which worked out much better for me. She gave me champagne and a little fruit plate when I got there (I'm pretty sure that's part of her job, but still.) As she was viciously ripping out all of my hair, we chatted as though nothing traumatic were going on south of my navel and she made some recommendations about local attractions and then wrote everything down for me later so I wouldn't forget. And now we come to my conundrum. Tipping is not really the norm in Australia, and from what I hear it's kind of pissing them off that we Americans keep coming in and tipping everybody because now people are starting to expect it. They had a good thing going and we're screwing it up. I'd be pissed too. I think they do tip in restaurants, but I'm not sure where else, if anywhere, they tip. So, do I tip for my spa service or not? Emma and I had been talking earlier about how you have to be sensitive when you are visiting other cultures and should make an effort to play by their rules, and here I was, a hairy American coming in and foisting tips on people who aren't expecting them and are not happy about the prospect of other people becoming accustomed to them. Emma stayed late to accommodate me, she went out of her way to be helpful with tourist information, and she handled all my bikini-area hair, something I don't even want to do for myself let alone for someone else. I decided that some things are just worth the tip, customary or not. Emma protested and assured me that it wasn't expected, but I insisted. So, if you're ever in Newcastle and need some spa services, ask for Emma and while you're enjoying your treatment tell her I'm sorry about messing with their gratuity system.

I am not a good traveler

My recent travels between Hawaii and Australia have led me to realize that I am not a good traveler. My husband travels about 30-40 weeks a year. I don't know how he hasn't landed himself in jail yet because if it were me, I probably would have been pulled out of line at the airport for making some snarky, smart-ass remarks about airport security because I cannot stand the ridiculousness that is airport "security" these days. What the hell difference does it make if I have a 3-oz. tube of toothpaste or a 6-0z. tube of toothpaste that has been squeezed down to less than half? What's that? All the reasonable people in the world say, "I don't know. There doesn't really seem to be much difference."? That's what I thought too, but if you read the TSA web site, you will see that you are not allowed to carry a 6-oz. container of toothpaste (or mouth wash or deodorant or whatever) even if the contents are clearly down to 3 oz. or below because this would be...WHAT???? Dangerous? A slippery slope-where do you draw the line between 3 oz. and 3.25 oz? If someone could please give me an actual, based-in-common-sense answer to this, I would be fine with it, but they don't. They just make up all these arbitrary rules, and I'm pretty sure they do it just to piss me off. Seriously, do any of you barefoot people in line feel any safer now that your toiletries have been trimmed down to a safe, single layer of 3-oz. containers? Lighter, and less loaded down with crap? Sure. But safer? Me neither.


Did you know that you can't take a box cutter on a plane? Of course you did, you're not an idiot. That's a dangerous instrument, and you could hurt somebody with that. But did you also know that cork screws are ok? Are you telling me that a cork screw would inflict less damage than a box cutter? If I had to fight someone on the street, and I had my choice of a box cutter or a cork screw, I think I'd take the cork screw. Arbitrary rules, man. Arbitrary.

Anyway, none of this has actually been an issue for me, but it pisses me off every time I have to pack my 3-oz. bottles in my clear plastic baggie. Why? It just does, ok?


What WAS an issue for me was the additional security features brought on by international travel. At the Honolulu International Airport, when you arrive at your international gate, they tell you, "once you enter this holding area, you will not be allowed to leave and come back in. Are you ok with that." That is very nice of them. They could just get you trapped in there and then laugh at you when you get up to try to go back out for a Starbucks. Upon hearing this information and being sort of hungry and kind of wishing I had stopped at the Starbucks we just passed, I peer into The Holding Area, and see a doorway with big letters that say, "GATE 30 SNACK BAR." So, I say, "Yes, I am ok with that," and wander into The Holding Area where I get a better view of the Snack Bar area:


Hmmmm...this does not look promising at all. I decide to investigate further and discover this:

That's right, there's no snack bar here. MWAHAHAHA! I'm not sure what sick bastard is in charge of this operation, but I think s/he needs to contact somebody about updating the airport signage. ASAP. I don't know about you, but I get bitchy when I get hungry. I don't mean to be, I just am. This is no fun for me, and it definitely is not fun for my poor husband, who usually ends up taking the brunt of my bitchiness. I know there are other men out there who can sympathise with this. So, if you are traveling internationally out of HNL, be sure you have some snacks hidden in your pockets to fend off your bitchy travel companion (or somebody else's bitchy travel companion whose boyfriend/husband/brother/father did not read this post and went in unawares) when she gets trapped at Gate 30 by the misleading "SNACK BAR" sign.


Flying back from Sydney was similarly frustrating. First of all, the Pope was in town for World Youth Day, and as a result Sydney had a lot of extra people on hand. I'm not sure of the exact number, but I think it was somewhere between 150,000 and 200,000. Turns out all those extra people decided to return home on our flight. All of them. They may have even had the Pope with them. We arrived at the airport 3 1/2 hours before our flight, thinking we would have plenty of time to check in, sit down for a bite to eat, and then mosey on over to our gate, pretty much in that order. An hour-and-forty-five-minutes later we were finally checked in. I had given in and hit up the vending machine for a $2.50 bag of peanut M&Ms earlier because I was starting to get mean. I try to take evasive action when I can. We finally make it through security and into the terminal to find that there are only 2 (two) places to eat, the place with the nasty looking sandwiches and the place with the nasty looking pizza. I go for the nasty sandwich place because they also have coffee. I buy my dry-ass $7.50 toasted cheese and tomato sandwich-even the cheese was dry-and sit down to eat. Seriously, people, didn't Sydney host an Olympics, and wasn't it fairly recently, like the year 2000? Is this really what they greeted all of their high-falutin international guests with?

I've choked down my sandwich, I'm drinking my coffee, and the pilgrims behind me are singing and somebody nearby is trying to play...a harmonica? A dead wombat? Ah, perhaps a didgeridoo. Either way, it sounds terrible. There are times when I would be able to be happy about the pilgrims singing-youth celebrating in a non-destructive uplifting way, enthusiastic and having fun. This was not one of those times. I wanted to grab the dead wombat didgeridoo and beat the singing pilgrims with it. Instead, my husband talked me into walking over to our gate.

At our gate, the security guard informed us that we WOULD be able to come and go, but that our bags would have to be searched each time. This, of course, sent me into another blind rage. Why? WHY?? We've already made it through airport security. Presumably, we are in a secure location. It's not like we're leaving the gate and going back out onto the streets of Sydney and coming back in with drugs, guns, and hookers. Although, technically, I don't think hookers are on the "things you can't bring on a plane" list. Anyway...if you are worried about what I might buy at the Duty Free store or the souvenir shop, should I be worried? I go to the bookstore which is over by some other gate where the gate agent has gathered everyone around and is yelling boarding information because, "we don't have a PA system." Oh, for the love of God! Are you kidding me? Seriously, people! 2000! It couldn't have gone that far downhill in 8 years!

After that, it was fairly non-eventful. I bought a book at the bookstore which, to my knowledge, was not selling any "Build Your Own Bomb" kits, made it into the gate area hassle-free, and then sat around with the 200,000 other people that were on our flight, waiting for our shouted-out boarding instructions. To Sydney airport's credit, they did have a soda machine in the waiting area.