And then I arrived back in Melbourne, a bit rejuvenated, and ready take on the last legs of this adventure. The first stop upon arrival was the purchase of a SIM card. Europe and Australia and, well, pretty much the entire world apart from North America, use phones with a little removable card that it the identity of the phone. Switch continent, switch SIM for about 20 bucks.

The next mission was to negotiate my way to Lee and Annie's in the suburb of St. Kilda. This wasn't a problem, and I think it gave me a false sense of confidence with regard to the tram system. I was a bit early, so headed to our arranged meeting spot, the Royce Hotel, to have a beer and kill some time.

While I was waiting, I ended up talking to two teachers from a local private school, and about the same age as me. One was a math teacher, while the other taught art. An interesting conversation, as the math teacher got into talking about different parts of the brain, learning styles, and how different folk are sensitive to different stimuli and thus need to be catered to in different manners in order to get the point across. I myself thought learning was about passing standardized tests, but I guess was wrong. The second time in about three days I find myself looking for the little cardboard box dans ma tete labelled "Neuro Stuff". She had also done a stint teaching in Japan, and confirmed that there is no age cap for this line of work. So other countries may have use for a mid-30s fogie after all....

The art teacher was in the midst of a dilemma concerning career versus craft. A full time job means financial security and status, yet no time to pursue art, sculpture in her case. Pursuing art full time meant the satisfaction of delving into the deepest parts of her creativity and perfection of the final product, scratching the itch, yet uncertainty of public reaction and a life of sleeping on a futon eating instant noodles. A combination of the two meant some stability, some artistic output, yet the feeling that she would never progress far in either direction due to fence sitting. The feeling that she should "just do it" one way or another.

In the middle of the conversation, they put down their drinks and hid their cigarettes. Looking up, I saw them waving at a group of teens passing by the bar, apparently some of their students on their way from school. Would have liked to eavesdrop on THAT conversation afterward.

Annie soon turned up, followed by Lee (my hosts), and after a bit of a hang, headed back to their house.

I only had a couple of days in Melbourne before my week-long trip to Tasmania, so in addition to researching upcoming adventures (during which I got big news from home), I wanted to get a sense of the city. I wandered through downtown (much easier without all my gear), found the toy store, Allan's Music, and checked out the funky 'burb of Fitzroy, teeming with little live music venues that had me excited to get into things post-Tassie. On the way home, I discovered that "you can take all trams except #8" should also include #96, as this took me on a side mission that had me trucking back across Allan Park and across some golf course.

One night, I hooked up with friend and (former?) bandmate Jesse, a Melbournite now based in Toronto but back for a visit to the motherland. We went to a pub in the 'burb of Richmond. All these little burbs aren't of the Missisauga/Etobicoke sort, but more like Cabbagetown/Little Italy/Parkdale - essentially neighbourhoods. It was good to see Jess, get caught up on stuff back home, and meet some of his mates. As we were walking home, we stopped and watch a Mercedes on fire (no Mom, I didn't have anything to do with it). Ahhh, all we needed was marshmellows. Watched the fire fighters put it out, then called it a night. Hanging out with Jesse, and meeting some of his musical network here made me think more about the practical side of the music business - it's more than showing up unannounced and wanking a solo. I remembered cold calling clubs, promotion, failed and successful rehearsals - and wondered whether it was something I could do full time, part time, or at all.

Another night, I met up with my friend Tammy, who I met back in Canada when I did some trumpet stuff for her. One of those "if you are ever in Australia..." invites that I actually followed up on, poor girl. We ended up discussing some musical plans over red wine, and a couple of things came up that I'm excited about. I've become a bit of a cynic, though, and won't get over-the-top exuberant with anything musical until I'm actually on stage or in studio. Still, things are in the works. She was staying in Brunswick at the house where I will be renting a room, and I got a chance to check out the digs. I really liked it, a cute little room out back, with all the amenities, little courtyard, and lots of music toys I can play with during the day. Perfect. We headed out to meet some friends for pool, then onto a local pub called Retreat for retro 80s, where talked swirled about a Hollywood Halloween party the next night. I had to fly to Tasmania the morning after that, and in my reverie, debated staying up all night and catching my flight

The next thing I knew, it was morning, and I was on the couch. Touched base with Lee, and found that he and Joe Percy (Annie and Karen's folks were in town) were heading downtown to explore the Old Melbourne Gaol. This was something I'd wanted to check out given my recent interest in incarceration, so in about an hours time, sans shower or change, I met them out front.

Inside was a cellblock consisting of a long open corridor and cells with short doors, as well as the gallows off to one side. We were there about 15 minutes before a bell announced the beginning of a play depicting the life and death of Ned Kelly. Kelly is an Australian folk hero, a bearded bushman who had had a few scrapes with the law, but became a full outlaw while defending his sister from a constable who wanted sex in order to make a little infringement go away. Funny, the police abused their power back then, too. After a few years on the run, a final showdown occurred which saw the Kelly gang outfit themselves with bulletproof armour made from ploughs. Unfortunately, it wasn't impervious to fire, nor did it cover the limbs, and the gang was defeated. After some time imprisoned here at the jail, Kelly was hung on these very gallows.

After a bit of wandering through the cells, checking out the death masks (a bizarre practice of cutting off the heads post execution and making a plaster cast), and getting a sense of history (it was also used to detain WWII soldiers convicted of AWOL), I went home, mulling over whether I would return on November 18th for the overnight paranormal investigation, and discovering that Tram #1 also doesn't run by Annie and Lee's. Last night's red wine, lack of sleep, and my continued failure to use the trams properly came to a head when I realized that on paper, I was supposed to be flying home in two weeks, and had not done anything about Asia or switching my flight. After a few attempts to land something cheap, my brain simply stopped working, and I started to get really stressed out. I'd been procrastinating, avoiding this yucky stuff, but I couldn't deal with the nagging guilt any longer. I hit the wall. Thankfully, I had Lee and the Percys around, as they gave me some suggestions as to what to do, chilled me out, as well as made me laugh by taking my numbers (blood pressure). I had to get up to go to Tasmania the next morning at 6:45, made further difficult by the jump to Daylight Savings, so after dinner with them on Southbank, I left them to raise the roof at the Royce, wistful yet thankful I wasn't out Hallowe'ening, and hit the sack.

I found my self once again on the Dave and Mandy's patio overlooking Coogee Beach in Sydney, watching the sun rise over the ocean, though after remarkably circumstances. I was exhausted and pungent, but so happy to see the sun that I took it in for a bit before collapsing into bed. I took this pic from his patio once I'd had a chance to sleep a bit, and then proceeded to form a plan of action with regards to all my gear and my uncertain (immediate) future.

I sent the didgeridoo home, and was amazed how expensive it was to ship a 5-foot, 10-lb chunk of wood halfway around the world. Started to make lists of what I wanted to see in Bali, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam, as well as yucky stuff like visas and, well, getting there in the first place. I also hadn't solidified anything about my upcoming trip to Tasmania, so I spent the next couple of days trooping up and down the steep hills of Coogee to visit various travel agencies. As a side note, turns out that Coogee is an Aboriginal word meaning "hill", and like most 120,000 year old societies, they were right on the money.

One night, Dave, Mandy, and I went out to dinner, joined by Dave's old buddy Simon and Mandy's sister Sarah. The next night I met up with Lesley and Wendy, folk I had met through Cousin Norm, and had been corresponding with Lesley about yucky work stuff since my arrival here. We met up in Darlinghurst, a little hood in downtown Sydney with an old courthouse and those crazy winding streets I love. Apparently it was a reformed redlight district, because you know, courthouses make you want to take it off and get it on. Now it has lots of bars and restos, and centers around this crazy oblique intersection. Dinner was great. I tried a barramundi steak. It was amazing, and I began to question the narrow-minded anti-fish kick I'd been on since being in Oz. Conversation drifted from my past and future travels towards brain development and how it is affected by various insults - a subject related to Lesley's job, and I guess mine as well. However, it had been two-and-a-half sun-fried, saltwater-clogged, sand-encrusted months since I had needed to think about such things, so I felt like Spiderman hit by nerve gas ......must....try.....to..........think.......... I was also the lucky recipient of Lesley's old mobile phone. After roughing it without a phone and surviving by email since arrival, my little experiment wasn't fun anymore. Besides, I had musical plans in mind for Melbourne, and my little stint in Port Macquarie had convinced me that I no longer wanted hindrances in communication. Thanks Lesley! And Wendy, I'll do what I can!

I was beginning to relax. The sun helped, as did being around familiar people who were my own age. Despite the fact that I'd met everyone through Norm and Karen the weekend I first arrived, these folks were my oldest friends in Australia, with the exception of Sabrina and Jeff.

The final part of the mission in Sydney was the sale of "Hot Stuff" to Dave. He and Mandy were thinking of purchasing a place in Bronte, essentially the next bay north from Coogee, and thus a better place for her. A little sad, I took one last look at the beat up old thing, gave it a hug, wrapped it up the board bag and stashed it in the garage. Me 'n' "Hot Stuff" had had some good times, we'd laughed, we'd cried, and at the time of writing, my knees, shins, and toes are still healing from our adventures in the surf. But central Canadians aren't really meant to own surfboards, and I think she'll make a great addition to Dave and Mandy's new Bronte household (congrats guys!)

Nothing else too noteworthy, and this stay was brief. Next stop, Melbourne......

A hospitalized koala (I think a recovering meth addict), and the surf at Town Beach.

Back from the wilds, into radio contact, and with a couple of "where are you?" emails from Sab, I felt it was time to bring the trip up to date a bit. The next few entries aren't to be exciting and adventure-filled, but just as integral to the story of my travels.

I spent my post-Hotel Macquarie day (waaay back on October 20th) sleeping in, reading, and writing. The weather was cold, cloudy and wet, and despite "Hot Stuff" sitting there staring at me with it's big brown footpads, and my newly rented bike begging to be ridden, I just wasn't feeling it. I attempted to plan upcoming legs of my trip, and the expansion into Asia. There were a few hitches, such as rebooking my ticket (I got it really cheap, but as I have since learned, cheap flights are expensive to reschedule), and figuring out what to do in Asia. I was getting tired of travelling, of constantly having to inspire myself, of cramming my growning mountain of clothing and equipment into a bag, of forcing myself out of my little bubble to meet new people, only having them vanish after a couple of days. I'd grown comfortable travelling here, in that I can drink the water, speak the language, use technology, and trust my fellow man enough to not lock suitcases or wear a money belt. An Asian excursion would mean the end of all that. I just wanted to be back home, where I didn't have to be "on" when I wanted to burn away the loneliness. Needless to say, a tough time to be considering doubling the length of my trip.

It didn't help that the weather was so bleak, or that I was the only person in the backpacker lodge. With no sunshine, warmth, motivation or company, my mind began to turn on itself. I started to stress that I hadn't had the quintessential "hook up with new friends to travel with" stories, and I questioned whether my desire to do things somewhat off the beaten path had led me to isolation. The expense of altering my flight (not to mention desiring to eat decent meals and not the standard diet of instant noodles) and my lack of someone to talk to was making me feel like a failure as a traveller. "The trip will be what you make it" was a mantra I had heard from numerous different sources, and finding myself now alone with the hokey load of stuff such as didgeridoo, surfboard and beach pants (I'd seen an ad for an overseas shipping company in Sydney with a cartoon of a traveller carting around all the previously mentioned gear, and sworn that it would not be me), I cursed myself for not being the efficient, hyper-organized, avocado-and-noodle-eating German traveller that one typically finds on the hostel circuit, further exacerbated by sleeping in the park and losing my beloved straw hat. When I'd had the car in Byron, none of this had been a problem. I could come and go and carry what I pleased. This thought in turn led me to thinking what my arrival home would be like. Plain and simple, I like having access to a car, even though as a downtowner, the only thing I would use it for would be to escape downtown, and head to a lake or the bush with my toy du jour. Cars are expensive, how could I afford one? I'd need a great job (Don, you know I love ya), but my future direction is undecided, and any changes made would likely involve a trip back to school, requiring more money, and inspite of the nine years of post secondary undergrad which swallowed my youth, more time.

The self-defeating cycle continued. I was travelling a long time without working, the longest I've not worked since I was fourteen, and as a result, I was running out of cash, and had not planted any roots anywhere to get to know people a little better. Watching the setting of the blue and the rise of the red brought me back yet again to how I was to pay for all this once I returned to Canada, and I began to stress even further. The reason I wasn't working was because I was too old. Australia has a cap of 30 when acquiring a 1-year working visa, after which one needs a sponsorship. Further stress. I was already at the outer limits agewise within the hostels, and apparently, one needs to have one's act together by 30, and ain't allowed to drift from cafes to fruitpicking like the "kids". A sponsorship? Well, I suppose that you have to be good enough at something to have someone else want to import you from another country.

Now, if you are still reading this blog (all three of you), you know that I've been kickin' it pretty good, and it sounds like cool stuff from time to time. Add to that the planning of future exotic adventures, and I really don't have much cause for sympathy. That said, when you get down, and are alone and as far from what and who you know as one can possibly be on the planet, all the adventures in the world lose a bit of colour. I was weighing present squeezes against future regrets, a little bit of extra cash dropped here meant returning home knowing I did things in style. I didn't want to waste any time, because in the words of Eminem, "Opportunity knocks once in a lifetime, yo!"

I needed to break this downward spiral and clear my head, so I headed out into the chilly downpour. Ended up emailling back and forth with Cousin Karen and my friend Trish, and afterwards I felt a lot better. There had been a lump in my throat throughout this exchange, and I left the Net cafe feeling a lot better and more optimistic about Asia. Thanks Karen!

On the way back to my empty dorm, I heard "Hey, that's the trumpet guy!" from a table in a cafe. I didn't see who said it, but figured with only one or two bars in this podunk town, a few people out and about (oot and aboot) had to have caught my little stunt.

The next day, the weather was still dreary, but decided to "waste" the downtime the rain had afforded me and hopped on my bike. I wanted to get some money out of the damn thing, and knew I needed exercise to save me from my head. The first stop was Town Beach, a two-minute ride from my dorm. The waves seemed a bit forgiving, so I rode back, ditched the bike and grabbed "Hot Stuff". After about an hour in the chilly surf, I packed it in, satisfied that I'd tried. The waves were nice, but with cold water, a low success rate, and no sun, I suddenly remembered my bike again.

A boot around town revealed that there was a volunteer firefighter competition in town for the week, and I sat and watched a big band and a couple of demonstrations. The next stop was Roto House and the Koala Hospital. Roto House was built by one of the town's founding fathers over 100 years previous, and had had several subsequent generations of his family live there up until the 1960s. After a childless generation was unable to care for it, the property fell into disrepair (aka good for bush parties), until it was turned into a local heritage site. The onsite historian was more than eager to chat, although conversation somehow got away from Roto House and into spirits and the passing on of energy. It was here I ran into Katherine from Switzerland, who I recognised from Holiday Backpackers in Byron but hadn't met. People! Afterwards, I checked out the Koala Hospital, and though cute, there is only so long you can watch a fuzzy critter that sleeps 20 hours a day.

Later that night, got out on the town with Katherine and a couple other folk from her hostel. Checked out the Hotel Mac again, and ran into Bobs again, bedecked in cricket gear. We went to a couple of other places, but really, they were sort of skanky, unless you are into the tight-leopardskin pants scene.

My last day in Port Macquarie was again grey and quiet, but with my bus coming at midnight to take me to Sydney, I felt more energized by being in the home stretch. Packed up the board and didj, took a last spin on the bike, and then was dropped at the bus station. Unfortunately, it was only 8:30pm, and I had 3.5 hours to kill. Ending things like I started them, I stashed my entire life in the bushes, and headed back once more to the Hotel Mac. Once again, ran into Bobs. He doesn't work there, by the way. After a beer and a goodbye, I wandered back to the bus station. I suppose my mountain of gear looked to daunting to steal, so once again I'd successfully tempted fate. Eventually the Premier bus pulled up with the least perky driver to date, and I was soon en route to Sydney.