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Published: September 30th 2012
Back at the hostel . . .
My coed room consisted of 5 bunk beds. I took one of the remaining bunks next to the door.
Nimo had arrived at the hostel a day earlier than me. Evidently, the girl on his bottom bunk had enjoyed a wild fest of drunken, bunk-shaking, nocturnal activities. By the time I arrived, she was wretchedly sick and constantly heaving to throw-up in the bathroom.
Another night when our dorm was quiet and asleep, I heard somebody tear open a loud bag of chips.
Crunch, crunch.
And then, as if a monster awoke inside of her, my bottom bunkmate
chomp, chomp, CHOMPED. She must have used both hands to grab handfuls of chips to stuff her face – piercing, er, crunching the quiet night with her mastication. I couldn’t sleep through the feast, so couldn't resist the temptation to whisper down to her, “Munchies, huh?”
I didn’t mean to insult, but she didn’t laugh. The nice girl whom I had chatted with earlier stopped mid-chomp and the silence seemed to swallow the night into a darker horror movie. I almost imagined her, in the dark, looking up in shock,
caught red-handed and deciding what to do with the eavesdropping witness, then looking back down at those appetizing chips, which she suddenly attacked with renewed fervor. I remained open-eyed until I heard the crumple of the bag as she stuffed it away in some corner of her bed.
What's Gnawing at my Toes?
rawr, rawr, rawr . . .
Nimo developed a theory that in
28 Days this hostel would morph into a whole new mess. He whispered, despite the fact that nobody was around to overhear as we walked around Sydney, “One of these nights I’m going to wake up and something's going to be gnawing at my toes. The girl gonna change in a few days, I'm telling you! Everybody in that place. You'll see, Michelle. Just wait!”
I wholeheartedly agreed. “I think the girl on my bottom bunk’s turned too. She was so nice during the day, but overnight I think she got infected . . .”
Everybody seemed sick in the dormitory – coughing, throwing-up, choking, and hoarse. I signed it off as a “traveling adventure” and decided never to go to a hostel like it
again. Don’t get me wrong, the accommodation was nice and gets good reviews . . . it’s just not for me.
. . . except the
80s Night. If I’m going to review a place on my blog, I guess I have to give the whole picture. As a total geek who loves tacky 80s songs, I couldn’t resist heading down with everyone to the basement for the theme night. Though nobody in our group was dressed up in costumes, it was a load of fun seeing everyone else dressed up and trying outdated dance moves like
the sprinkler or
lawn mower.
Sadly, defeated, I eventually left, feeling sick to my stomach after one drink. A horrible pain clenched my insides as I wondered,
Crap! What could it be? Will I have to go to the hospital? What do I do? Is it the liquor? Was it something I ate here or in Indonesia? A mystery bug. Fortunately, at this point, I hadn't seen any episodes of the show "Monsters Inside Me" otherwise I might have been freaking out more. Instead, I lay on my bed with a fever and my stomach in such pain I couldn’t possibly
Sydney Harbor Bridge
Photo Credit: BridgeClimb, Sydneyclimb down the ladder. I eventually dragged myself down and through the hallways and puked everything out.
Oh my god. Fear found a comfortable room in my brain.
Nimo was right. 28 days! Umami
Instead of human toes or hearts, Nimo and I went hunting for
umami. His confessed Japanese fetish led the remaining days as he literally applauded when cute Japanese girls passed us on the streets. I salivated more over the Japanese cuisine. The best, by far, was this tasty and fun restaurant
Mizuya within walking distance. The orders were taken by an electronic menu. Brilliant. Each item had a photo and (slightly steep) price. With the tap of a finger, our choices were delivered to our table. Simply heaven.
As a gadget geek, I love anything that increases efficiency. I often miss the buttons available in Korea that can be pressed for several options: water, check, or service. It saves the servers from having to stop by every ten minutes or having to walk back-and-forth after finding out what the customer needs. Of course, I'm sure there are some who might abuse the buttons.
Nimo returned to Melbourne, which left me
with the zombies figuring out what to do for the remaining day or two. I decided to try the Sydney Harbor Bridge climb with
BridgeClimb, Sydney. Twilight was the perfect choice as our group got to see beautiful hues of blue eventually turning to a sunset of orange that dissipated into black skies and the brilliant city lights.
This isn’t really an adventure climb, so match as an educational, view climb. It was incredibly easy and safe. I imagined the men installing the large rivets, throwing parts to one another from a distance, but with unexpected grace and accuracy. There were deaths, but surprisingly not from the this impressive aerial feat. The Sydney Harbour Bridge is a fascinating part of Sydney's history.
Leaving on a Jet Plane
. . . or not. My flight home from Sydney was the most expensive purchase I had made in the past couple years. This was mainly because I was trying to make it home for Thanksgiving and there wasn’t a single ticket under a grand (ouch!). I went for the cheapest flight with Virgin Airlines (don’t know how often one gets to say that) and it was the best
flight I’ve ever been on: spacious leg-room, a sense of humor in their animated safety announcement, an unending list of movies to watch (caught up on every Steve Carell movie I had missed out on the last 1 1/2 years), and super-nice attendants.
The whole experience wasn’t amazing though. I had managed the past 3 months with a super-bag. Not the regular backpacker’s bag that I own now in 2012. It was a carry-on that “just” fit when I unclipped my fins from the front. I hadn’t had a problem with it and had gotten pretty quick at getting the thing through the x-ray machines without a complaint or evil eye from fellow travelers. If anything, it had been a catalyst for laughter whenever people saw my fins.
I was in the boarding line (AFTER getting through the security points), when the guy behind the front desk took it upon himself to say, “You’re not allowed to board with that.”
I replied, “I went through security and they didn’t say a thing. I’ve been traveling with it as a carry-on for the past 3 months.” He was adamant and refused to let me board unless I placed the bag in check-in, so what else was I to do? I handed it over.
The funny thing was that when I later ran to grab it for my connecting flight, the women behind the counter told me not to check-in the bag because it was a carry-on . . .
Another new experience while I ran from one plane to the next was that I got stopped for a randomly selected bomb-check. I didn't even know these things existed. As I heard my name on the overhead announcements along with a few other passengers, a really nice lady almost apologetically said, "I have to check you." To which I was taken aside to a separate room -- more like a cubicle --, patted down, and checked for any remnant bomb residue. How bizarre, I thought. Yet, I didn't feel as harassed or irritated as I often feel during US security checks. Maybe it was the lack of a line.
What really impressed me, and this might come across a bit sad, was that the plane didn't leave without me. I couldn't help but think to myself,
if this had been LA, the plane would've left me behind.
As I flew the last stretch back home, I thought of the comforts that I’ve grown up with in the West that I hadn’t had in the East and, vice versa, some of the innovation I've witnessed in the East that has yet to arrive in the West. Grass greener on the other side, blah, blah, I’m at a point where I just want to try out different plots of grass and find the one I don't mind tending.
Note: The Sydney Harbor Bridge photos are by BridgeClimb. Climbers aren't allowed to take cameras, but they have you pose for a ton. I insisted they leave me out of a few so that I could get some shots without my face taking up half the beautiful city view.
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It's a relief to hear....
...that you didn't get eaten alive :P Like you, I learned the hard way, encountering experiences in dorms that would give even the toughest of individuals nightmares for years to come! Never again! It's a private room for me every time :)