The World is Not Kind to Nomads

I lived in Los Angeles for my undergraduate degree from 1998-2003, living in a new apartment roughly every year. Then I moved to New York and stayed in an apartment for a year, with X moving in at 6 months. Then we moved to another apartment for 2 years (the longest time in one place!) then we moved around the corner to another apartment for 9 months.

Then I moved to Yonkers for 9 months and X moved to Boston for 9 months (for our respective graduate degrees). After our first semesters, we married in California and then went back to our own cities. The following summer we lived in Berkeley together for 3 months. Then we both moved to Cambridge, MA for 9 months (I commuted one night a week to NYC for my classes).

Now we have *moved* to San Francisco for, hopefully, many years to come. We are technically homeless, staying with my parents and, for a few days, a hotel until we can sign a lease (hopefully this coming Wednesday) and move into our new apartment.

I say all this so you can see that over the last few years I have been nomadic. I've almost always had a permanent address, but I've moved from state to state constantly. Guess what? The western world HATES this.

Phone, cable, banks, credit cards - they hate it when you move from one state to another, especially if you aren't willing to commit. I have temporarily forwarded my mail with a start and end date back when we were taking the summer off before grad school to travel. Yet my credit card companies changed my billing address to the forwarded address without telling me. I still receive junk mail there. Sorry X's mom. When I wanted to make changes to my bank account (opened in LA, but being used in Yonkers) I was told it would be easiest to close my account and open a new one in New York. "But I'm only here until May! And then who knows where I'm going." Apparently many banks operate their regions almost as different companies. Get with the program, banks. Americans move around. Many of us, my generation especially, don't stick to one state for long. I may always be a Californian at heart, but I can live anywhere.

It's always been a long complicated story to tell confused people at the other end of customer service lines. And it's always been a big pain in the butt. I know my lifestyle really messes up the voting system in this country. I am usually not in the same state when the vote comes around as I was when I registered. So most people like me only vote for "important" things (i.e. the president). We don't know anything about the state elections. But our vote probably won't count anyway because chances are with the moving around, some technical difficulty will invalidate our vote. (I can't remember where I've last registered to vote, and I can't remember my address two moves ago back when I did register).

Some agencies get this nomadic thing. As far as I know California and New York DMVs offer drivers licenses with out of state addresses. My NY license has a MA address on it. I've seen a California license with a NY address. I nearly kissed the DMV person when they told me it was possible. That maybe I could actually get my license renewed just like normal even though I'd moved to MA. That I didn't have to go through the process of getting a new MA license that I'd have to bring to CA. The only thing that kept me from planting a big wet one on the DMV person was that we were talking to each other over the phone. Whew. I love you NY DMV. Never thought I'd say that.

The latest disaster was getting an iPhone. I won't discuss the heart-breaking 6 hour line we were told would only take 2 hours. Or the idiot Apple server-crash. Or the fact that AT&T needs to be waaaaay more flexible with the process (our Apple rep selling us the phones said he hasn't had an activation go smoothly since his first customer with the first 3G iPhone he sold). There were no back-ups for server issues (i.e. a paper log we could fill out so they could activate us later); no alternatives for problems. Arrgghh. But that's not even the most frustrating part.

We were staying with my parents in Modesto. Our mail was being forwarded there. But we were looking at apartments in San Francisco. The cities are roughly a 90 minute drive apart (with no traffic). X is already working in Berkeley. So, one day after work and an apartment search, we went to Apple in Emeryville to buy the new 3G iPhones. There were A LOT of issues. We took a claim tag (after standing in line for 6 hours) and came back the next day.

They couldn't port our phone numbers from Sprint and Verizon. They kept trying. For 90 minutes. Phone calls with Sprint and Verizon verified it was AT&T's issue. In order to get out of the store with the phones we'd waited in line for 6 hours the day before and now drove 2 hours back out for on a Saturday, we had to accept two new phone numbers. AT&T claimed we could port our old phone numbers over the phone easily and free of charge on Monday.

Here's where the nomadic problem lies: the numbers we wanted to port, our phone numbers, the ones all our contacts use when they want to call us, they are New York - Manhattan - phone numbers. Our billing address is still in Cambridge. And we live in San Francisco. Theoretically.

We walked out of the store with Boston phone numbers because of our billing address. Monday, I called AT&T and was told that they couldn't port a New York number onto a SIM card designated as a Boston SIM card. Hm, ok. I kept my fat mouth shut about San Francisco. Why drag California into this? Let's just leave it between Boston and New York. They're used to duking it out anyway.

me: "Sooo, I need a new SIM card?"
AT&T: "Yep."
me: "Ok, how do I get that?"
AT&T: "I can mail it to you."
me: "Great. You mean to my billing address?"
AT&T: "Yeah."
me: "Um, so there's one more thing I haven't mentioned..."

I said I was on vacation with my parents in California. Not technically a lie. I gave them my parents' address for the SIM cards. As soon as we get the cards we call AT&T and activate them. Then we port our old numbers onto them. Ok, fine. One more snag...

AT&T: "We have to issue you new New York numbers in order to send you New York SIM cards. Then you can port your old New York numbers over."
me: "So this is just another temporary phone number?"
AT&T: "Right."
me: "Ok."
AT&T: "So if you could just give me your New York address..."
me: "My what?"
AT&T: "We can't issue you a New York phone number without a New York address."
me: "But I don't live in New York anymore."
AT&T: "You don't have to live there." (hint, hint)
me: "What?" (not getting the hint)
AT&T: "We just have to put down an address for 'primary use.' This doesn't have to be your residence. It doesn't have to be your billing address. We won't send anything there."
me: "Gotcha. Ok, here's one, ..." (opening up my address book on the computer).

And so I gave them my friend's address. In Brooklyn. I'll have to let him know, just in case. Just in case some AT&T people show up at his door asking if a Captain Apricot makes a lot of phone calls there.

So hopefully the problem is solved. I can change my billing address online, later.

I just wish it were easier to be a "citizen of the world." No, you know what? I'm not even asking that. I just want to be a "citizen of the US." I know our country's history and why the states operate the way they do and why that's important. I understand that companies have to operate sometimes within different state laws and that it is easier for them to cut up into territories. I know that cell phone towers are placed in the physical world, not the metaphorical one I'd like to live in. But I just wish it were easier. Like, maybe we could all get SecondLife addresses and use those, no matter where we live. Or maybe our cell phone numbers could be more important than our physical addresses. Of course then if we chose not to pay our bills we could never be found...

But I'm planning on staying in this next apartment for over a year. Can you believe it? And X and I may even buy a house one day. Who knows? I might be actually settling down.

Sending out love and sympathy to nomads everywhere,
Your humble friend from outer space,
Captain Apricot

The Wedding

The wedding was beautiful. The bride had the most amazing dress... it had a strapless black lace boustier on the top and she looked like a Hollywood star circa 1939. And she looked like she loved it - the dress, the wedding, everything.

The ceremony was heartfelt and personalized and the speeches were cute and funny. Everything you should want from a wedding. So there was this rumor that Australians don't dance until they're drunk and the place was kicking us out pretty early. So there was a lot of effort on my American friends' side to get the party pumping. I'm just not sure the bride even wanted/needed that kind of wedding.

It was a shame that we couldn't dance very long because the place kicked us out around 11? and we hadn't put on the dance music until maybe 9:30? And I worry that my compatriots stressed out about it and really took the music and dancing as their personal responsibility (but I think most the guests were having a good time). Anyways, it didn't seem to matter to the bride and groom who seemed blissfully happy.

I Heart Melbourne

Melbourne is a fantastic city. Walkable, metropolitan, clean, green and big whilst feeling small. At Federation Square X, me and the other couple went to Transport Public Bar. It seemed like probably just a touristy spot with cool, modorn decor. But it was fabulous. I had the chicken bacon spinach pesto risotto which had my new favorite: Australian bacon and dripped with parmesan. X had the linguine with tomato salami, red onion and smoked mozzarella. It was just the right amount of spicy. And the meal wasn't expensive, either.

Then we grabbed a rental car and headed out to Phillip Island. We joined the rest of the trip and went straight for the Penguin Parade. This is at dusk, when the Fairy Penguins (smallest penguins and blue in color) swim out of the sea in little nervous groups and get up the gumption to cross an expanse of sand for their nests. They were so cute it was ridiculous. And they kept getting scared and swimming back in the water. I guess with their blue and white coloring they are conspicuous to predators outside the water. Once they crawled up the hill into the grass where their nests were, their mates came out to meet them. They all squeal and honk and shout to each other to find the right home and mate. And some of them have to march as far as two miles, apparently. I wish they'd allowed pictures. But *sigh* no.

We stayed at the groom's family's vacation house. It was dark, cold and windy outside but the men whipped up a quick meal which was just what the doctor ordered. Then we stayed up laughing and drinking beer and playing cards. So I was beginning to think things were really looking up on the friend front. And I very much enjoyed everyone's company.

Then we got up bright and early. Half the group (who'd been in Australia longer and had already hit the animal parks) left back to Melbourne. The other half (us + 2) went to the koala preserve. So koalas sleep 20 hours a day. No joke. We saw a handful curled up into tight little balls and got lots of pictures. But then we were lucky enough to round a corner and see one just hanging out on a wood railing. And she took off, on all fours, all over the place. With us chasing her with a camera and trying to keep our distance. Again, ridiculously cute.

Back in Melbourne we stayed at a vacation apartment. X and I got our own room and it was pretty big and comfortable. We were located next to the Fitzroy which is our kind of neighborhood. Kind of like the LES in NYC or maybe like Hayes Valley in SF. We found a great little bar with cool murals and awesome sandwiches. At night, there was a dj spinning some cool stuff. For the next few days each person sort of did their own thing. X and I loved 'em, but good God they aren't big partiers. We never went "out" and they went to bed early every night. Oh well. If only the guys in our group didn't keep poking fun at how Aussie's don't know how to drink or party. What is that about? But we poke fun at them back and all seems well. I'm realizing that I would get along with each individual and could probably influence them to do stuff like stay up late but that I simply don't fit in the group dynamic. Once you get a group of people together with certain similarities, the group takes on those similarities as traits. And it doesn't budge for one little person like me.

Anyways, I love Melbourne. They have a free tourist shuttle that circles the city. And cool dive bars. Pretty soon the wedding!

Wine-o-ries (Barossa Valley)

So, the wonderful foodie bride took us wine tasting all day after we got back from the camping trip. It was a lot of fun and I got to know the bride's sister who is wonderful and wacky and has really good taste in music and books and movies (meaning, of course, my taste). The groom came along which was nice because we hadn't seen him in a while. Everything went great, although I began to suspect the bride was killing herself over all this entertaining and planning and maybe she should be relaxing more? I really hope we expressed how much we appreciated her and her sister and the groom being designated drivers and hauling all of us all over wine country.

We went to:
Jacob's Creek - this was a nice place to get started. The tasting room was in a big, glassy, modern building with a very nice-looking restaurant in the back. Here was where I tasted my first sparkling shiraz - which is a wonderful phenomenon. Imagine a sparkling wine that is dry and tannic. Nearly every vineyard makes a version. Also common down here that I tasted first at Jacob's Creek: dry rose! I'm a fan. The one I tasted was the Reserve Shiraz Rose.

Charles Melton - a very cozy farmhouse with a crackling fire, a long wood table and two sleeping cats. It felt like we'd come into someone's home. This was my favorite tasting room. The wines for pour where written on a chalk board. Stand outs? Father In Law was very good (and a perfect gift for your father-in-law. But best was the Rose of Virginia. I have to say it was the best rose I've ever had.

Langmeil Winery - not super fancy, but this had the absolute best wines. We bought (and therefore recommend) the 2006 Valley Floor for good value and 2006 Freedom for just plain good wine. We bought two bottles and the woman pouring tastes recommended waiting 20 years to open it. 20 years? So we'll probably open one on our 10 year anniversary (2016) and one sometime in 2028 (if we can wait that long).

Turkey Flat was really cozy inside and the guy there (Craig) was friendly and informative. These were good (* means extra special):
'06 Butchers Block Red
*'06 Shiraz (needs 5 years, 7-10 years would be best)
'06 Mourvedre (if you like 'em mean, dry, tannin-y, and earthy)
*Pedro Ximenez (dessert wine)
*'07 Butchers Block White

Penfolds - this is one of the most widely distributed Australian wine (after Yellowtail of course) and they charged for tasting their premium wines. Since this was our last place, we just tasted a forgettable shiraz and hung out in the room stocked with shelves of wine for sale.

For foodstuffs, check out Maggie Beers. I'm sure it can be found in the US at specialty stores, although I haven't looked. The pheasant pate is phenomenal. I also got some apple & rosemary paste. And I want to get some verjuice (pre-ripe grape juice, acidic like lemon juice) and learn how to cook with it.

Sadly, I can't remember where we ate... wish I could because it was extremely good and the restaurant was beautiful - all glass looking out onto vineyards. I'll find out and update this.

All for now,
Captain Apricot

A Silly Story

One afternoon on a sunny but chilled June day, two kangaroos were wobbling down a packed dirt road on bicycles. One, the younger, a strapping red-back just out of university, was having a better time of it than his older, rather grayish companion.

"You know, Stanley," the red-back said. "Once you get the hang of the pedals and things, this is quite lovely."

"Hm," non-committed his friend.

"I reckon we should turn around soon to go back for tea, don't you? I think Matilda's bringing her chocolate-covered ants again."

"Oh, Christ," Stanley responded, going a bit unsteady on his bicycle. "Charley's not bringing her again, is he?"

"Matilda's all right," the red-back said, not noticing that his companion had fallen behind. "She's something nice to look at anyway."

"That's being generous." Stanley was sweating rather badly. "Look here, Ted, why don't we rest a bit?"

"Oh, but look here," Ted panted a little with excitment as he stood on the pedals and pumped himself forward. "There are some emus, do you see them? Let's see if we can't rile them up a bit."

"Really, I do wish we'd stop." Stanley came to a near crash against a tree but righted himself.

"They just look so peculiar when they run," Ted continued, oblivious to his friend's struggle. "Like they're wearing skirts. All fluttery."

Stanley then did topple over, the bicycle making a lazy half circle without him before collapsing. Stanley grumbled and got up reluctantly, then brushed himself off and kicked at the bicycle in a fit of righteous anger.

"Bloody contraption," he said.

"Now, don't get upset at the bicycle," Ted chided. He had come back to help his friend but now stared at him from atop his vehicle, making oblong turns int he dirt.

"We've missed the emus."

"Stuff the emus!" Stanley was truly angry now. He felt foolish both for letting his friend talk to him into going for a ride and for being spectacularly bad at it. He then gathered himself up and said quietly, "Come here."

"What is it?" Ted asked, laying his bicycle aside and hopping to Stanley. Stanley leaned back on his tail and kicked Ted once in the face, catching the larger kanga by surprise.

"Bloody hell," Ted growled. He shook his head as if trying to adjust it to rights. "What was that for?"

Stanley, sober now after the outburst and his threads of anger dropping away, couldn't remember why he'd been so upset at Ted and tried to placate his friend.

"Sorry mate," he began, wagging his forepaws. "Listen, I don't know what came over me. Look, here's a beautiful shrubbery over here. Have a bite."

"That really hurt," Ted said, not easily appeased. He was trying to figure out if he should kick Stanley back. "Is it my fault you're no good at riding a bicycle?"

"You've just changed," Stanley confessed. "Since uni. Hopping used to be good enough for you. And now it's bicycles and pompous Charley and bloody Matilda with her bloody chocolate-covered ants. You never hang with your old mates anymore."


Ted went still then and Stanley couldn't tell if his friend was brooding or thoughtful. Finally, Ted said, "We better get back for tea."

Stanley bent down over his bicycle to begin the arduous task of lifting and mounting it.

"Leave it," Ted said. "I'll come round and pick them up tomorrow."

"You sure?" Stanley asked.

"Yeah," Ted said. "It's a tad chilly this afternoon and a hop or two might do us some good."

"Oh, I'd love that," Stanley said, who had been a champion hopper in his youth. Sorry for the outburst. I don't know--"

"No worries, mate," Ted interrupted. "What would you say to tea tomorrow just you and me? And then a few pints at the Prairie Hotel with the old blokes?"

"Ah," Stanley sighed, jumping a few times in place. "That'd be heaps good."

And then the two kangaroos hopped back down the dirt road, leaving the bicycles behind in the bushes.

Foodies in the Outback

We woke up early for our camping trip and headed over to the bride's family's house. They had a basic breakfast spread (I ate a banana dipped in peanut butter and topped with Rice Bubbles - Aussie name for Rice Krispies, and tea). Apparently, the bride's dad had planned the entire trip around food stops. So, here's the account of our meals punctuated by tales of our camping trip.

We drove into the Outback in two 4x4 Land Rovers (rented stock-full of camping equipment) and the bride's dad behind the wheel of his own 4x4... um... was it a Subaru? Guess I pay less attention to cars than I do to food. I kept my eyes peeled for kangaroos and saw a couple on the side of the road - dead, roadkill. But none alive.

Around 10:30am we all got the munchies and stopped at a bakery the bride's family knew about. Here we piled up on meat pies, pasties (pronounced like pasta but ending in "ee," are meat pies in a hand-held burrito-ish form and tend to also have vegies), tarts and slices (a slice is any pastry baked and cut into square slices, i.e. a brownie down here would be a "chocolate slice," a lemon bar would be a "lemon slice" etc.). I think I may have had a muffin which was not daring or different but tasted really good. Plus it was apricot - so how could I refuse? X's pastie was super good.

Around noon it's time for lunch. We stop off at a cafe/bookstore/museum at the South Australia Arid Recovery Reserve. You'd think the food wouldn't be so good and you'd be wrong. We had amazing platters like the "Banjo": tuna patties (slightly crispy) with sour cream, sweet chili sauce, avocados, tomatoes, and cucumbers; or the "Billabong": crispy battered prawns in a sweet/sour/cream sauce with avocados, tomatoes and cucumber. Also, this place is supposedly famous for its blended coffees and milkshakes. For good reason. X and I shared an apricot (again, how could I refuse) milkshake and it was fabulous. We tasted the quandong milkshakes others ordered and they were really good too. A quandong is a South Australian peach, much smaller and sweeter. You can find quandong smoothies, tarts, pies, sauce for your meat pie etc. etc.

Still no sight of kangaroos but my wardrobe begins to self-destruct. At some point, without my knowledge, my pants split at the crotch. I had to change at a rest stop and toss the torn pants. Then, while staring out the car window for kangaroos, my sunglasses broke. I didn't touch or move them, they just snapped under the strain of my intense gaze, I suppose.

We pulled off the road and onto a dirt road and all of us visitors got really excited about it. The landscape was just what you'd imagine: rust-red dirt far as the eye can see and scrubrush under a wide open sky. Then things got really exciting when we pulled off the dirt road straight into the bush. Once we found a sand-duney hill we pulled around next to it and got out. That is how easy it is to find a camping spot in the outback.

The bride's father had organized dinner and he and her mother set about preparing. We all pitched in, some building the fire, others chopping and peeling, others handing out the beers. X and I were excited to eat a good meal and stay up late drinking beers (and the whisky X brought) and talking into the night. I was sure this would give me a great opportunity to get to know these people, and to let them know me.

Dinner was bea-u-ti-ful. Cooked in roast pots set into the campfire we had roast chicken and a roast beef wrapped in lamb! Both dishes were cooked with peas, turnips, carrots, potatoes and onions. We were all beside ourselves when the meal was lifted from its containers and carved up. See picture above. I'm drooling just thinking about it.

But then everyone went to bed. Guess we're still a little jet-lagged? X and I could simply not convince them to stay up with us. So we went to bed too. Bed: a "swag," i.e. a one-person tent about the same size as a person with the head end tied to the car for some breathing room. You and your sleeping bag, shoes (don't want to leave shoes out for spiders, scorpions and dingoes!) and maybe a small bag are all that fit. X and I were the only couple to be in singles; all the other couples had doubles. Now I have always been tickled pink by small cozy spaces. Since I was a little girl I've sought out tiny places to curl up in with a book. I was a little disappointed not to share the giggly joy with X but oh well. When I mentioned we could trade the next night, no one was that enthused.

The next morning X and I took a walk and watched the sun rise over the red horizon. The full moon had been incredible all night and was still up in the morning. I got some great pictures. We had some tea and toast and eggs and bacon - a word on Australian bacon: I had already discovered it my first morning at the hotel breakfast buffet and swooned. It is my new favorite thing. A cross between US and Canadian bacons, this bacon is juicy and greasy and meaty with less fat but more flavor. I don't want to think about how much Aussie bacon I've been consuming. But I don't think they have it back home and we aren't allowed to bring back meat. We played some cricket with a cricket set we'd purchased the day before. I was an ok bowler but a horrible batman (batwoman?).

Then we all packed up and took off to the next meal. This was in a tiny middle-of-nowhere town at a cafe that was all decorated in plants and glass and blue walls. Very cute. We had meat pies and pasties. My meat pie was a disappointment and I looked around the room and realized how little I still knew anyone on this trip so I had a brief moment of crankiness. But recovered. I tasted someone else's quandong pie and it was yummy, but perhaps a little too sweet for me.

We drove into what I'd call a "high desert," with eucalyptus trees, a dry river bed, and rocky hills. The dirt was less a red and more a mauve. Here, we took a quick evening walk and saw goats and *gasp* kangaroos! We set up camp and then took off to the Prairie Hotel. http://www.prairiehotel.com.au/ If you are ever in the outback of South Australia you must must must go there. It is quite an experience. Outside, it looks like an outback ranch with a fire burning out front and some rough looking guys warming their hands. Inside, there's a lively bar, tons of people swigging beers and a cozy dining room decorated with local art. We sat down at a large, rustic farm table and chowed down on the tasting menu. The Prairie Hotel specializes in feral food. Their merchandise and menus are decorated with icons of kangaroos, goats, camels and emus over the proud motto "Eat some today!" We had incredible emu pate (what distinctive flavor), smoked kangaroo (sooo good), goat cheese, camel salami, kangaroo steak (best thing on the menu, grilled to perfection), emu sausage and more. We were filled to bursting and still had to get through dessert: quandong pie.

That night, back at camp, the fire was roaring and X finally convinced some of the guys to drink some whisky. But then, sometime around 8, everyone disappeared except X, S, and me. I bowed out too, frustrated that yet again everyone went to bed early.

We woke up early again and had some bacon and toast and tea and then the visitors took a nine mile hike while the Aussies drove to meet us at the end of the trail. We saw many many kangaroos but no koalas (I kept my binoculars trained to the trees and nada). It was a great hike, a great day, and I finally connected with someone. One of X's friends, a woman whose husband had not yet joined us, has a fantasy of being a writer, and we shared interests in books and movies and food.

When we were done with the hike, we had candy and fruit bread and tea. Then, exhausted, we piled into the cars and back to Adelaide.

USD Blues

Ouch, is it just me or is everything expensive here?

We knew the US dollar was weak before we left, but I think there may be some resort surcharge on all the prices here. Our resort by the Great Barrier Reef is a beautiful place, with a wrap-around swim-able lagoon and a small path to the Four Mile Beach. We have a jacuzzi in our room, and a balcony. The weather is perfect.

But are we actually expected to pay $79 each for the hotel dinner buffet? $1 Australian is roughly $1 US. We dropped a pretty penny on sushi last night (it was ok) and figured we'd save on the buffet. Nah-uh.

So we got a recommendation for an outside restaurant and hopped a shuttle bus to downtown Port Douglas. It was a gorgeous night and I wore a cute top, jeans and flip flops and I was super excited about the '60s sex-kitten thing my hair was doing. There's something about the tropical night air that makes you feel attractive. If they could bottle it...

I highly recommend Zinc if you are vacationing in the Port Douglas/Cairns area. It was chic and open - we dined outside - and totally romantic. They have a huge wine selection and the staff was cheerful and attentive without being stuffy. My favorite drink is a gin gimlet and apparently that's super out-dated down here (never had a problem in New York or Boston but then again NYC & Boston are a little martini-obsessed) but the bartender came over to ask me how to make it and it turned out to be one of the best I'd ever had. Then the bartender came back over to make sure it was up to snuff. Nice.

We shared the duck confit papparadelle and the macadamia crusted barramundi. X had a vodka martini and we split a bottle of Aussie sauvignon blanc with the meal. The meal was fantastic - not like awe-inspiring or anything - but solid. We enjoyed every last bite. And... guess what? We paid roughly $130 total. Sheraton dinner buffet? Eat your heart out.

Later, we ambled over to a gelateria and got some cones, then walked around in the warm night under the vast array of stars (including the Southern Cross). We took a cab back to the hotel (the cab was a luxury sedan with leather seats and smelled of gardenias) and to bed. All in all, a wonderful night. And if my USD blues haven't disappeared, they've at least gotten a whole lot lighter.

Great Barrier Reef & Rainforest

We only got 3 nights in Port Douglas (an hour or so north of Cairns) and only 2 actual days to do anything in, but we got busy. We got up early and went snorkeling on Tuesday, then rode horses in the rainforest on Wednesday morning and then spent all of Wednesday afternoon sipping cocktails either by the pool or the beach. Even pale me may have gotten some color.

And I'm trying to be extra friendly to everyone. On this leg of the trip it's only my husband - let's call him X because he has an X in his name and I'm not too sure how much he wants me to put him in here - so my "Project Open-Up" can start out nice and simple. Befriending staff, asking waiters where they're from, chatting with fellow horse-riders... Pretty easy and already I'm having a better time. Today we are back to the airport to join our friends and fly to Adelaide.

Your captain,
Apricot

Metaphorical Journey on a Real Journey

I should be clear about something I have not yet mentioned. Your humble captain does not currently live in San Francisco. Your lie-by-omission captain does not currently live anywhere. I lived in Cambridge, MA until today. I fly to Australia and land in SFO, my new home. Technically we will be crashing with my parents in Denair, CA (outside Modesto, 90 mins from SF) until we find a proper San Francisco apartment.

So, on the plane on my long journey to Australia (via Los Angeles), my second time to the Southern Hemisphere (capitalizations correct?) but my first time Down Under - feeling that it really will be the other side of the world in that exciting five-year-old way (I used to believe Australians went about their business dangling upside-down, their feet sticking to the earth by that strange glue "gravity") - is when I've decided to begin a journey of quite another nature.

Part of this began a few days ago when I asked my husband (will I keep up the captain metaphor of this blog and call him my first mate? Or decide that it is both too cutesy and not cheesy enough to be ironically cool?) to please help me redirect conversations with our friends while on vacation away from the topic of my novel-in-progress. I had recently come to the conclusion that this novel (a sixth or seventh attempt at a successfully complete novel) which had been so much fun to write and shown not only growth in me as a writer but also showed itself to be a solid product of my M.F.A.; this novel, which had been so well-liked by classmates, teachers and one enthusiastic literary agent; this gem of a novel needed some serious work. I had slaved away diligently on it, written a couple drafts and then proclaimed it done. I'd thought, "there is no more to do with this;" I'd been ready to send it off to the above-mentioned agent after some polishing. And then I crumpled in tears kind of like when you drop soda on a scrunched-up straw wrapper when I realized something I'd deep down known for months: it wasn't my best and it didn't say what I'd wanted it to.

After composing myself I began on a rewrite and was happy about the direction it was going. But I was exhausted and happy for our impending Australian vacation. We are headed to a friend's wedding in Melbourne and stopping in Cairns for the Great Barrier Reef, then meeting up with friends in the bride's hometown of Adelaide for some outback camping and wineries. Then on to Melbourne. I'm hoping we get to see fairy penguins...

I know I'm digressing too much. Anyways, I asked my husband to please help me change the subject when the topic of my novel comes up. And then my husband stumped me with the following question: "Why?"

"Why don't you just tell them you decided to change some things and are still working on it?"

Why?

Well, because I'd told them I'd completed it. Because I'd have to admit to running into problems. Because I didn't want to go into detail.

"But just say that. Say you don't want to talk specifics. Say it bothers you. They're our friends."

I still wasn't getting it. Finally, my exasperated husband said something out loud that I'd known about myself nearly my entire life.

"You need to learn to open up more."

I know.

Then, a few nights later, the night of my last post about the Mexican food mishap, I watched our friend Leanne befriend our Haitian cab driver immediately, causing him at one point to jump out of the car at a red light to grab a cd from his trunk because he thought she'd like it. Our drive wasn't long - 10 minutes? But she'd discovered where he was from, his favorite sports team, how to dance to Haitian music and other pieces of information. And by the end Leanne and our driver shook hands and he gifted her with a cd: "no problem, I burn them all the time." Wow, I thought. Huh. Then, on the way home, she befriended our next cab driver, a no-bullshit Bostonian who ended up knowing people she went to high school with. Huh. Wow.

I need to learn to open up more.

I'm trying to figure out when I began closing up. I've always been a contradiction in this way - I can be very loud, opinionated, trying to convince people to stay up until dawn, insisting I pay the cashier at diners when I was six, bossing my two younger sisters and one brother around, hamming it up always for the camera, performing in ballets and plays and even today happy to be the center of attention when I have something to say or do. And yet. Yet I've always suffered bouts of crippling shyness. I often withhold vital pieces of information about myself from friends I've known for years. Sure, I can travel Europe by myself with a new friend every night ... but how many close friends do I have? I've moved from California's Central Valley to Los Angeles to New York to Boston to San Francisco (soon) and each time I can feel myself pull deeper inside, shutting my true self away. And it gets harder and harder to make friends. If I list the people I consider friends, a good 90% are through my husband.

I know I'm a good time at a party, out at dinner, at a bar. I'm usually fun when liquored up although I do have my limits ("No - you listen to me now, you, what's your name"). And so in social situations I usually hit the bottle.

But I don't talk to anyone on the phone, like, for a conversation. I know I don't call my family nearly enough. I've been in situations when I've really tried to open up and can't find anything to say beyond books and movies and food and music and travel. I mean, I have no idea how to talk about myself (unless, of course, I'm writing).

My husband's father - who is a psychiatrist - says it's really simple: ask the other person questions about them. The logic follows that then they ask about you. Ok, good advice. But not so simple. I am very squeamish about other people's lives. I know it makes no sense as I'm a writer, but I am always squirming when people open up to me, thinking to myself TMI! TMI! I don't ask people what they do because frankly, I don't care. I know this is incredibly selfish of me, but in my defense, I do not want to talk about what I do either. I connect with people when I find out they like the same movies as me, or books, or travel, and it is instant love when I meet a fellow foodie. I can sit and talk to a person about a meal I had in Mexico for hours and if they reciprocate by detailing a recent 8 course tasting menu I am convinced I have a best friend. But it usually fizzles. Because apparently not everyone can sustain a friendship over conversations solely about food.

I may blame this squeamishness in part on my family (but only in part) because with such a loud, busy, competitive bunch (we're close with aunts, uncles and cousins all who live within 20 miles of each other) you gotta be quick, succinct and preferably funny. It's all about the anecdotes. It wasn't until I brought my husband down that I realized we Jaureguys communicate in anecdotes and debate, rarely getting personal. We teased my sister Lisa mercilessly when she was 6-8 years old because of her meandering stories. I attribute my storytelling abilities to this, and my humor. I learned early on that you gotta hook 'em and reel 'em in.

Also, it could come from junior high - high school in which my wonderful poker face (used when panicked or confused but apparently does not work when a man I don't like tries to buy me a drink) somehow communicated to troubled and/or insecure 13-18 year old girls to confide things in me. These were usually girls I barely knew. And it was heavy stuff too. I was also too polite to stand up for myself in a few friendships in which I gave and gave and they took and took. Luckily, I had a handful of wonderful best friends I clung to for support. But still, when the third girl whispered to me in the back of a class she'd missed her period I started to wish I had a t-shirt that said "Not storage for baggage."

Another factor may be my damnable red-faced fluster when men flirt or tease me. I am learning to do better at this but it's a habit that is difficult to break. If I like the man and don't mind the attention, I act like a normal sophisticated woman. If I don't, especially if it's offensive, I become a blushing, giggling 15 year old girl. And so, of course, the man presses on. Which has caused me to adopt the preemptive guarded fuck-you: arms crossed, skeptical face, a kind of I'm-not-going-to-give-you-a-freakin'-chance-buddy-so-don't-even-try attitude. And this may have bled into the way I deal with people in general.

I have, for the most part, had very healthy happy and open relationships with my boyfriends and now with my husband. Go figure. Lucky in love, unlucky in friendship? How weird is it that I'm great at romantic relationships and lousy at all the others?

So here is my vow: Starting with Australia, I will learn to open up more.

I will ask people about themselves and learn to listen. I will answer questions about myself truthfully without changing the subject and if it is too personal I will say so. If I err on the side of Too Much Information, sobeit. I'll pick myself off the floor of humiliation (my biggest social fear is unloading too much info on someone). Oh well. I'll learn. And I will become a better friend, sister, daughter, writer, person and maybe even a better wife. Someday, perhaps my new social skills will help me become a better mother. Because God forbid I pass this social awkwardness on to my kids.

And so the challenge begins.

We just landed in LAX.

Our flight to Sydney went from 11:50pm to 6am and I must add a rider. I will still never be the sort of person who strikes up conversation in transit. 10 minute cab rides are one thing, but I dislike talking to anyone for over four hours, forced into polite small talk when I really just want to read and contemplate. Besides, I often look forward to finishing that book on the plane or train as much as I do my final destination. So there I draw the line.

Another thought: in my novel, my protagonist Gillian Stone can't connect with people and has no friends. And the two previous attempts at novels had similar protagonists. Hmmm.

Heading Down Under

I'm off to an Australian adventure. A nice long 22 hour? flight and I'll be on a new continent. I'm checking the continents off. North America, check. South America, check. Europe, check. Still to do: Asia and Africa. And Antarctica, of course. But do tell me, what does the Middle East count as? I don't feel that it really belongs to any of the three continents it's attached to.

Yesterday I was a bit worried because after stuffing myself to the gills with enchiladas, guacamole tacos, rice and beans and topping it off with a Cuervo Gold Margarita and a shot of Cabo Wabo Reposado I had a bit of an alarming incident. I was at a friend's house, standing in the hall talking when suddenly I had a troubling sensation in my throat. Luckily, the friends were heading down the hall finishing up a conversation and I was striking distance to the bathroom. I simply said "excuse me," opened the bathroom door and was just closing it behind me when, like something out of a Monty Python skit, I erupted. It sort of was like I opened my mouth and let pressure do the rest. I recall imagining a fireman's hose. The undigested Mexican fiesta made a graceful arc, landing in the toilet without a mess. I impressed myself a little. What control, what grace! I may have even given myself a congratulatory wink in the mirror. And although I hadn't been feeling sick or drunk before, afterwards I felt reborn and managed to jump right back into conversation with no one noticing I had left.

Today I am right as rain. So if you are still reading through this bravo. Sorry for spoiling your lunch. I hope you weren't eating Mexican food.

Ok, so getting on a flight in a couple hours. We'll see if my restless leg syndrome (if you get it in your peg-leg is it phantom restless leg syndrome?) acts up somewhere over the South Pacific. Signing off, ahoy hoy and all that...

Captain Apricot.

Blog Names

I've meant to write a blog for a long time but was always stumped when it came to deciding what my blogging name was and the name of the blog. I strongly considered the blog name Juhrayggie because that is how you pronounce my last name (Jaureguy).

Jaureguy is impossible to pronounce by looking at it. I don't think anyone has ever pronounced it right on the first or second tries. Give it a shot. See? It is French Basque. The Spanish Basques are a fascinating people who have fought for independence and self-rule, are known for the terrorist group ETA, Picasso's painting "Guernica," the Bilbao Guggenheim museum designed by Frank Gehry and a language you have to have a special gene to learn. The autonomous community of the Basque Country has over 2 million residents. I may be off a little, but I'm pretty sure the French side (from which I descend) is currently about 20 guys in berets who make goat cheese.

But I chose Captain Apricot's Hiccups Heard From Space instead. I must say for the record that I am not, nor have I ever been in the military or law enforcement. I do not have a boat or spaceship and to be honest I get really sea sick and have a childhood fear of dying live on TV in a NASA rocket during takeoff. But I'm a big fan of Star Trek TNG and anything to do with pirates and it is annoyingly true that the slightest drop of alcohol causes me to hiccup embarrassingly loudly, which makes it difficult for anyone to take what I'm saying seriously. Also I have red (some could say apricot-ish) hair. So let's suspend disbelief and pretend I really am Captain Apricot writing you from the pirate spaceship Merry Martian and I have a royal case of hiccups from drinking alien rum. Or not. I can't really tell you what to do.

So here is the list of other names I considered.

Artemis The Clown
Insecure Bystander
First Time Caller
The Resentful Hostess Who Keeps Saying She's Fine But Clearly Isn't
Cheerful Pessimist
There's Just Something In My Eye
Dig A Pony
Pickles O'Hurliburly
Lady Murderskull
Carrot Foggington
Bayside Stalker
Hothouse Tomato
Ginger Barcelos
Rashy McBenadryl
The Nearsighted Wonder
Cuddles The Rabid Possom

Signing off,
Your friend from space,
Captain Apricot.