Cleanskin

Cleanskin

(ˈkliːnskɪn) (Australian) n. 1: An unbranded animal. 2: Someone with no prior criminal record, a person with no previous convictions; loosely, someone who has not done anything wrong before, an unblemished character. 3: An unlabelled bottle of wine.  4: An undercover police officer who has not done a particular task before. 5: A cricket bat with no maker's logo

I am a 'cleanskin' in the Northern territory of Australia. An unbranded animal, arriving unscathed after a rather event less long haul as Darwin's 'Xmas cyclone threat' dissolves. I feel a bit like Mr Magoo, whistling along the roads oblivious to the trail of destruction surrounding him. From CNberra, through Melbourne and onto Darwin, flights are cancelled, storm chaos prevails, but I seemingly sail through and around the storms to arrive on the only non-cancelled flight into Darwin, Boxing day morning thus far.

It seems fitting that the first word that comes to mind when writing this blog is an Australian word. Aussie slang in fact. It came to me as I stood at the top of the Free water slides at Lake Leanyer ,NT (yes, free).  I have two tigers, and Blinky Bill in front, all on the Right shoulders. Whether you are teen, genY, gen X or a baby boomer, you have some part of your body that's been scribbled on. My sisters' friend Tracey has a 'full leg', Ned has the odd branding, and I've seen more Neck and knuckle tattoos on the Wharf in Darwin then at an ex punk Party I recently went to. If it wasnt for my red and purple dreadlocks, and bad fake tan I'd be A contrasting black and white. (note to self, fake tan, as it promises, looks fake - Each day, as it wears off, I segue from 'Ginger Meg's ' speckles, to pigmentation disorder).

I arrived in Darwin to Beer, beer, beer and darts. It's wet season, and it's not just the relentless humidity and heat, the dramatic downpours, of swimming that makes me appear 'wet behind the ears'. I am the token non-drinking, non smoking, non fishing visitor. Wet, wet, wet. I am as wet out of the shower as in. It's not the Gecko attacking moths, roches as big as your thumb, the mice, the mozzies, the snakes in the roof, the cane toads that surprises me. It's the fact that you can drink and drive a boat -legally - and as one local told me, 'it's encouraged!' I am now looking nervously at our New Years eve plans, a trip on ' 'tinny' on Darwin Harbour. Forget the yachts in Sydney, the cruises in New York, fireworks from the Eiffel tower, we're doing a 'tinny' in Darwin harbour - filled with crocs and box jellyfish, to a backdrop of fireworks and drunken boat-driving territorians. And I'll be there with my diet coke, untattoed body, without fishing stories or cigarettes to share. It occurs to me, that I could be the maverick here, because I am, in fact, not a maverick. 

I drive my sisters car, and while she has a tattoo, she has the car of a clean skin, no 'I float and I vote', or honeypot stickers here. Not even a personalized number plate.  We play 'spotto' - an eye-spy travel game, where you scored points for spotting 'yellow cars'. I am a clean skin, or novice here too. 
I make the mistake of 'calling 'spotto!' on a gold car (lose 1 point), not calling 'double-spotto'  on a yellow Hyundai Getz (Jacksen calls, and gets two points') or (god forbid), calling spotto on a car in a car dealership. To the cleanskin, it appears that Jacksen is making the rules as we go along, but while at first caught out and confused, i gather momentum. Ned and jack have the home-side advantage, having travelled this route many times' and with local knowledge, and the power to amend the rules, they are many points ahead. Arguments ensue, about gold cars versus metallic yellow, about who spottoed first, and whether a half painted vehicle is a full spotto. 

And as we drive, through the palm tree lined streets, the high-fenced yards, pass the yachts in the harbour, and the aboriginal communities, my sense of belonging increases with my spotto score. I can put a stubby cooler around my diet coke! I can chew a toothpick instead of a cigarette! I can turn to my sister and Jack for fishing story 'conversation starters', and I guess, if all else fails, I can y my hand at driving a boat? Afterall, I am a very useful NT accessory. A clean and sober, driver. And while I won't be getting a tattoo, I might just go as far as joining the crew for Pizza and beer for breakfast (eaten at lunchtime, but minus the beer...)

Ode

Ode

Ode-noun 1 a lyric poem typically of elaborate or irregular metrical form and expressive of exalted or enthusiastic emotion.
2 (originally) a poem intended to be sung.

Here is my parting gift, 'A thanksgiving Ode' to Richard, Vina and Ethan, for their fabulous, kind, and totally enjoyable company...

Here's a thanksgiving poem for my hosts,
Vina, Ethan and 'ri-tard', the most,
wonderful Canadian crew,
It's time to bid you adieu.

Thanks for the lampoon-style adventure,
Of mischief and humor and laughter,
I say goodbye to the maples and pumpkins,
The scarecrows, cruise ships and country bumpkins. 

Thanks for reliving the 80s with me,
25 years later, it's hard to believe,
I'll leave tired, three weeks older, but wiser,
About trailer parks, fast food and hand sanitiser.

Karaoke and hot tubs and dogs,
Motorbike riding, and lobsters and fogs,
Hillbillies and building and boats,
Hauling fuel, playing music, drinking cokes,
Tim Hortons and strong breakfast coffee,
Seals,truck stop meals and chocolate offerings.

You'll  continue to live in my heart and my iPad,
I have photos, blog posts and more body fat,
And I'll stop all that chocolate I promise,
And the frappes and coffees that are bottomless,

I must beat Richard at his cholesterol challenge, 
I know this will be quite difficult to manage
1 kilo of hersheys is now in my baggage,
I'll try not to et through my luggage...

Poutine and pulp mill smell I won't miss,
The fast food, staring looks at my twigs,
The ice wind and the maritime extremes,
But I will miss my Canadian team.

Richards country music, well its not my tune,
Id rather be stabbed with a spoon,
But its a small price to pay for your wit,
Two weeks in a Jim Carey skit.

I'll continue to think of you all often,
Especially when my keys and wallet are forgotten,
When I am licked by a dog on my leg,
Or a pooch tries to pee in my bed.

When I see new potatoes in store,
I'll think PEI,  motorbikes, red -sea shores,
Ethans gadgets, camo and survival gear,
His musical talents, iPod movies, business ideas,
His hats and glasses and style
Saint johns grooviest 'little dude' by a mile.

Thanks vina for the photos and Asian feeds,
The yoga, the shops and coffees,
The front seat of the truck, sharing your luck,
The clothes, and cheap shopping sprees.

Welcoming me to the place where you dwell 
And having to listento us as we tell
Old escapades of Richard and Mel 
It's lucky your perfect as well !

And when I return I expect,
Your hair to be dreaded and kept,
In an African style that sets trends,  
Borrowed from a good Aussie friend

You will miss me slamming car doors,
Aussie burgers with beetroots and all,
Having  someone to bug in the halls,
And make fun of the slow nasal drawl
To share double entendres and cookies,
Any excuse for you boys to play 'hookey'.

Im a long way from you old Maritimers,
I hope u visit before were old-timers,
That is of course if Richard survives,
His advancing MS aside,
His tendency to catastrophize,
With such neurosis he may not stay alive..

So I'll  take my bargains and twee souvenirs,
New friendships and  renovation ideas,
Bubbles glasses a thing of the past,
But I'll soon see my two boys at last.

You've enriched my visit no end,
But I must take my twigs and upend,
And to borrow some words from Adele, 
I wish you the best and farewell. 

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Denouement

Denouement
(day-noo-maw') n. 1: The point in the plot that occurs after the climax; the final resolution of the main complication of a literary or dramatic work. 2: The outcome of a complex sequence of events. [from French, from Old French denoer "to untie," from Latin de- (un-) + nodare "to tie in a knot," from nodus "a knot"].

At first, I am not sure what to call this blog. I have remnants of karaoke songs on the brain and I am sleep deprived. How 'bout, 'Bye, bye Bangor, baby bye bye..'.? Or, 'Im leaving on a jet plane...(don't know when I'll be back again...). Or possibly,  ''I will survive' (the next 30 hrs in planes and airports)? 

And then I find  my word. Denouement. My National Lampoons Vacation is nearly over, and I am in the denouement of my adventure.   

We made the best of our last 24 hours in Bangor. We are four musketeers who have made an impression  on this small Harley Davidson riding town, if the conversations we have struck are any indication. We met Jordan (pictured above), a gorgeous emo (I think), and  shared a cross- sales counter conversation about vampires, Texas and being 'emo' in Bangor. Barry, our lithe and smiley breakfast waiter offered us free breakfast in exchange for my 'Darwin' ring. (I have his address to despatch the goods). The housekeeping staff, quizzed me about 'dreadlock maintenance ', determined to impart this newfound knowledge to their sons.  We don't sleep much, spending the night wandering, people watching, shopping, eating, coffee drinking,  iPod movie making, and general loitering. As I  leave, my reputation precedes me,  the airport security staff remembering 'the bag and the hair 'when ya came in with thar fellow before...'They point at Richard. I am reminded how easy it is to be notorious in small towns, and how being different can become your identity. And I am reminded that this is how it all started, my Canadian friendship, 25 years ago. Yes, we are legends  in our own lunch boxes. 

As i fly off through an Indian Summer afternoon, I am already planning a sequel...

Gadabout - the final chapter

I'm on a mission. Time is running out and I have sightseeing to do, rain or no rain. I tuck my camera under my wafer-thin top and in commando fashion, I disembark from the truck, ducking for rain-cover intermittently along the quaint shop fronts of seaside villages. First mission is Mahone Bay and the scarecrow festival.  I duck and dive through front porches and yards, shooting photos with swiftness and stealth. I snap all manner of scarecrows, some drooping in the rain, and others with neat plastic bags tied over their scarecrow heads. I see the Royal Family, wrapped in plastic, and I see myself  - weaving and positioning to get the shot, I realize the absurdity. I feel like a CSI snapping the workings of a serial killer, their victims wrapped in plastic and duct tape.  Richard drives my rescue vehicle, maintaining a slow and steady pace, angling for the best (dry) rescue point. I remember I have another 'mission', and I bolt into a the pewter shop, go straight to the counter, dreadlocks dripping, camera wedged under the armpit of my top, and to the sales assistants suprise I say, 'Have you got any cat earrings'? I must have looked like a seaweed creature dragged in by a fishing boat. 'Ah, pardon me?' 'I need cat earrings'. I think she was used to non- Aussie accented 'browsers'. I do in fact, leave with some earrings, and when Richard scoops me back into the vehicle I am sopping  wet, cold and he says 'You're one crazy Aussie'. 

We continue along the coast, defence force style, picking recruits Ethan and Vina  for the extended tour. Vina provides an excellent bargain shopping adventurer and we leave the factory outlet stores with more plastic bags in the truck tray than the bag-wearing scarecrows of Mahone Bay. 

Peggy's cove is our final must-see destination, and as we near the white and red lighthouse, the clouds and rain magically clear and the icy blue Atlantic rolls and smashes against the rocks. I am Australian, I have seen plenty of coastlines before, but there is something hauntingly beautiful about this place. This patch of the Atlantic holds the bodies of all the passengers and crew of Swiss air flight 111 which crashed in 1998, and many of those from the Titanic. But historical significance aside, I am mesmerised by the swelling ocean-crashing waves, which pound and withdraw from the flat, rocky headland. We watch the sun sparkle on the sea until an ominous fog descends and the ocean water disappears, the rain resuming again.  

The fog follows us home, and full double rainbows frame the road ahead as we say goodbye to Nova Scotia,  the garbage bag covered shopping purchases flapping in the wind. When we pull into a truckstop for 'supper' , starving, bedraggled, and exhausted, dogs in tow, and a truck load full of 'stuff', we look like we have hailed from a trailer park ourselves..

Gadabout 3

Big lunch at Little River

It's been, wet, wet, WET in Nova Scotia. We arrived In a downpour, tour in a downpour and will leave in a downpour. But onwards we venture, well into the depths of the island in search of Petite Rivière (or 'little river'). We note athat Adele is on the radio again. From The first turn ofthe ignition in Bangor, through PEI, onto St John and now Nova Scotia, this is the feature album. We decide that Adele is the soundtrack to this Canadian adventure.

We're en route to to have lunch with Norm and Francis who are long time (and probably suffering) friends of Richards. Doing things 'our way' we decide to use the GPS  rather than Norm's instructions and I get an unplanned tour of the countryside. The roads get thinner, more twisted, and the asphalt  is long gone. I'm thinking, Stephen king horror again...

We arrive at 'petite Riviere' just in time for 12 o'clock lunch. Francis and Norm show us around their 19the century 'country home', which they have lovingly restored and made habitable over seven summers. He shows us his latest 'add-on', a cosy and light-filled sun room. The materials, I am told are all second hand or thrifty finds, but I see no evidence of this. All my Canadian hosts to date have one thing in  common - they are home renovators or builders.  

I am fond of the 'doll-house-like' architecture of the Canadian maritimes. White walls and peaked roofs, quaint attic  conversions, coloured shutters, flowering window boxes, the occasional spire. I visit the homes of many as I gad around with my Canadian pals, and the conversations inevitably lead to their houses, which I thoroughly enjoy. Everyone is a carpenter, a home builder or renovator, and there seems plentynof 'mates' around to lend a hand. Every single person I visit has built a major part of their house, if not built it themselves. I feel enthused to go home and add another room to my 'Queanbeyan 'bungalow' , and bring some Nova Scotian charm to Queanbeyan. I'm sure I can follow Norm's lead and make do with  a few hundred dollars, some odds and sods from magnet mart, and a trtip to Revolve? Any volunteers? 

Norm and Francis are 'snowbirds', who drive to Florida for the Canadian Winter. They live six months of the year in an RV park (recreational vehicle park), and Richard quickly reprimands me each time I forget my manners and refer to 'the traileer park'. 'RV parks and trailer parks are NOT the same, here, Mel!' There's no evince of Trailer Park boys here...

We eat a hearty and wonderfully tasty meal of turkey sandwiches, and we get an 'advance tasting' of the most delectable  Cranberry sauce, specially prepared by Francis for upcoming Canadian Thanksgiving. The sides inclu fresh vegetables from the garden and potato 'crisp'. I eat some sandwiches with my cranberry sauce. Norm shares his love of history, and we leave with an assortment of gifts (including some -Alaskan gold), maps (norm suspects we may need these...) and heads and bellies full of soul food. It's still raining but we head on to Mahune Bay anyway, and once again, Adele sings soulfully in the background..

Gadabout 2

Episode 2 - the Casino

We are at the Halifax casino, and we spend our spondulicks fast (American slang term for cash). This is not surprising because we have a meager budget of around 15 or 20 spondulicks each, except Richard who is always the exception to the rule. He spends 'just a little bit more', and Vina is the only  winner, keeping us on the gambling floor just long enough to do some people watching. 

The scene is not unfamiliar. We could be in downtown Dickson Tradies. From the ring of smokers at the entrance, their long strong outward breaths mixing with the fog, to the zombified faces in front of rolling poker machine screens,  addiction hangs in the air. This is not a 'high-end' casino.  Richard and I do a quick 'straw poll'. 1 Zimmer frame, 2 young chicks dressed to the nines in stiletto leopard pumps, 1 skimpy black dress, boobs falling loose around the ruffles, a family of four with 'twinset tracksuits'.   We count the number of polyester dresses drawn tight across oversized middle-aged midriffs. Lots of old people. 'Isn't it passed their bedtime?' I say to my people watching comrades. 'I can't see my granny teeterring on a poker machine stool, sipping free 'pop', wearing an adult diaper' (yes, I have it on good authority that avoiding the toilet by using an adult 'nappy' is  not an urban myth.)

I feel somewhat, well 'little', and almost stylish. (if you know me, while I attempt to be stylish, I am not 'small').  In comparison, the people are big (brobdignagian even). We're a small posse, the 'two Asian chicks', Vina and Evelyn, and me the honorary 'Asian chick' (well, I hail from that corner of the world). Include Richard, and together we are mini and well groomed, comparatively (which probably doesn't say much). The occasional 'fabulously gorgeous young things', dot the crowd, but Richard and I suspect they are 'hired in'. I muse about the 'blind-date' I was offered for the evening (but declined). I decide that the odds of scoring a 'good date' were on par with winning the jackpot at this casino. That is, statistically, according to Mike, 32,768. to 1.

But the Illuminated faces tell a different story. 'Some people here are even tied to the machines! Look!' says Richard with what I think is mock surprise. Turning to give him a friendly 'stop pulling my leg' whack on the arm, I see the bungee cord. There is...in fact...a person...attached by a cord to a poker machine (or slot machine as they call it 'ere). A female, sits stunned, alien- like, huge round bulging eyes. The eyes are intense, fluorescent, never blinking. The only movement is a well-timed flick of the wrist. Muffled sounds emanate from a small crevice between her lips. She glows, as if radioactive.

'What the?' Our small posse try not to stare. I inch backwards following the bungee cord with my eyes, and see a retractable cord, extending around her neck to a slot in the machine.  I assume the 'slot' encases a credit card, or frequent gamblers reward card or the like. 

I continue to be amused, for about an hour or two (a maximum attention span for a good gadabout). I see touch screen 'help stations', where you can choose from a variety of 'help' options (I.e, problem with gambling? Money problems? Need help?) followed by my favorite one, 'get cash instantly'. I'd like to add a fourth,  'all of the above'.

Now there's only so much free diet coke a girl can drink before the tiredness outweighs the caffeine. We go home empty handed, but I have satisfied my gadabout  needs for the day. I must rest-up for tomorrow's social adventures,  touring the wilds of Nova Scotia...

Gadabout

Gadabout  -noun- one who roams about in search of amusement or social activity.

We've been right gadabouts this weekend, flitting from one social occasion to another. So much so, the Halifax weekend requires episodes.

Episode 1 - Bubbles and the crew go to the big smoke...

Halifax, Nova Scotia was our destination, and with 3 episodes of Trailer Park Boys under my belt, I felt prepared but apprehensive. Richard arrived at the car wearing bubbles glasses.

'We're taking the car with the doors on' he says, which is lucky, because we are packed to the brim, Vina, Richard, Ethan and gadabout dogs, Sookie and Flash. We don't want anyone to go the way of the squashed road skunks...

It's wet and raining, and there's a faint smell of skunk (the live sort)Tim Hortons and industrial fuel. We drive through towns called Quispamsis, Tatamagouche and Shediac, and Vina and Richard challenge 'the Aussie chick' to pronounce the towns correctly. We skip between 200 satellite radio stations, avoiding Richards country music wherever possible. There's an unusual amount of cars on the sides of the roads, and I am told this means its 'gone deer season'. 

can't get enough of Richards 'hillbilly' stories - the time he was billeted during an away hockey trip and his 15 year old host spent the evening at the pub and he stayed home with his billets mother...the horror stories that match the plots of a Stephen King novel, the  notorious Nova Scotia Goler family - (this is my oft told 'living in Canada' story, stemming from a 60 minutes show I watched when I lived on PEI, where a reporter asks a Nova Scotia family who live in the backwaters about 'incest', and they responded through rotting teeth and with broken English, 'Dar 'ittle creatures dat run  dacross da floor'. Google 'Goler' NS for more...) My memories are now confirmed, and my suspicions of embellishing this story as an attention seeking teen, or naïvely succumbing to an urban myth, fall with the autumn Leaves...

My fear of being abducted by a goggle-eyed duck shooting drunken inbred hillbilly and taken to his trailer home in the wilds of Nova Scotia are dispelled when we arrive at Dartmouth, Halifax. Mike, Evelyn, and Madalyn feed us a wholesome meal of ginisa (sweet and sour pork), sinigang (broiled fish including the head), and a desert of pumpkin pie and apple pie ice cream. The house is 'self-built' by Mike and his dad, and Mikes career as a designer shines through. The place feels palatial, 4 bathrooms, 1000s of cupboards and lights, and hand crafted edging. Phillipino born Evelyn prepares food that is befitting of the  impressive surroundings, and provides me with much needed alternative food groups (I have been indulging in the food groups, 'fatty', 'crispy',' salty', 'sweet', and 'caffeine'.) We play the Virtual PS3 on the biggest TV I have seen outside of Times Square NY, and do what all good gadabouts do, and seek the most amusing and entertaining company  possible. We agree on the Casino, and venture out to try our luck...tune into episode two, 'tied to the machine' posted live tomorrow...