Thalassic

Thalassic -adjective
1 of or pertaining to seas and oceans.
2 of or pertaining to smaller bodies of water, as seas and gulfs, as distinguished from large oceanic bodies.
3 growing, living, or found in the sea; marine.

I am on a sea-faring adventure but I have yet to hop on a boat. 
My feet remain firmly planted on the ground, except for my zip lining adventure over Reversing Falls.   

Thalassic icons are everywhere. Tourists flood off the cruise ships from New York, creating a tide to match the famous highs and lows of the New Brunswick coastline. The huge vessels feed tourism throughout the warmer months, and tower over the small historic city centre, a city which claims to be the oldest 'incorporated' city in Canada (whatever that means).

The strong Irish and seafaring heritage is omnipresent. Fishing boats, speed boats, waterproof boots for sale, stacks of buoys and lobster baskets.The sea smells. The maritime looking men with their glasses, caps, weathered grey faces, broad bellies and stubby workers hands (occasionally missing a finger). We arrange sight seeing expeditions around the ebb and flow of the cruise passengers, and eat mussels in a 'sports bar'. Every booth has a private TV, and I count six screens on each side of the four-sided bar. I am shown the 'Reversing Falls' where the tides from the Bay of Fundy meet the St John River. Seals frolic in the bay, and I learn the history of lumbering, fishing, local crafts and ecology at the local Museum. Iam however, most amused by the graphic CSI style display and footage of the frozen bodies of explorers seeking the North West passage through the Arctic - dying from Lead poisoning (their tinned rations the culprits). Exhumed frozen bodies are fascinatingly gross and a sure crowd-puller.

All the signage is in French and English, but I dont hear anyone speak French, and I am constantly aware of the industrial  backdrop. Steaming paper mill alongside reversing falls, huge chunks of hillsides exposed by open cut mines, excavations and load-carting trucks commonplace.  I am staying in the suburbs, well beyond the polished pics of the tourism brochures. A city-like oil refinery traverses the hills. Five giant and stocky concrete tanks spell,  I-R-V-I-N-G. (I keep thinking, JR Ewing from Dallas) Along our travels Richard points to many things and says,'Irvings own that'. He talks a lot about 'when I worked for Irving', or 'the Irving family did...', or 'see those old guys, they'd work for Irvings'. It seems all roads in St John lead to the 
Irvings, obviously the biggest employer and possibly, influence, in the town. 

The toursist season is coming to a close and the town is preparing for winter. I try my best to be a 'maritimer' for a few days- I spend an inordinate amount of time in drive-throughs and 'Tim Hortons' ordering coffees with 'three milk'. I am as open mouthed by the menus as the customers are about my hair (a whole blog on this to come). We go to the movies, which are full and personally introduced my the theatre manager. It's a world away from Queanbeyan/ Canberra, and a universe away from New York...

Revenant

Definition:   Noun - One who returns after death (as a ghost) or after a long absence.

I feel like a kid returning to the scene of the crime. I am the Aussie revenant, and the small town of Kensington takes up a disproportionately large space in my mind than it deserves. It was only a five month stint, back in 86, but I remember it as a quaint but creepy place, a more befitting backdrop for a Stephen King novel than Anne of Green Gables. The fog has risen overnight, the sun is out, and the white-panted houses twinkle in the sun. Already, the towns 'creepy' mythical status is dissolving. The weather is uncharacteristically warm, around 25 degrees and balmy. The weather is important and here and it's an oft talked about subject (next to potato farming of course).

The first big 'store' is a 'Bakin' donuts', and because I am with witty wordly people (only one untypical ex-islander amongst us) we laugh about the double-entendre (Bacon donuts) and from now on we call it 'pig donuts'. There is a **new** frosty treat across the road which opened 5 or ten years ago, but was previously the Kensington Dairy Bar (been there). We have scallops, chips, cheeseburgers and 'pop' for lunch. While we wait for our 'meal' the locals on either side can't help but 'chat'. Between big long icecream slurps I hear about 'the friend that got away' (an off island visitor that came while the host was away...!) It would be normal to expect to 'drop in' and visit an island without announcement. Afterall, it would be usual to expect them to be there. Richard, my ex-island 'buddy' doesn't need to drop in on anyone (except his mum), as we lunch, dinner, drive and generally galavant about, people are where you expect them to be. 'That's old Donald blah blah blah's farm...I see someone in the field. Let's just drop by'. Donald blah blah is 'sprayin' potatoes', and gives Richard permission to 'pull some tops' (dig some potatoes). Richard points out all the local contacts -lots of 'cousins', people he's worked with and old school pals - all who have stayed 'on island'. 'Hey Richard, how's it going?' we hear from the next table...'remember when....?' Richards old school house is still standing (just), it's barn-like structure greying and sunken, and the windows smashed. Ethan gets closer and hears a radio coming from the barn. It's back to Stephen King scenarios again...

We all love listening to Richards 'growing up in PEI' stories - the classroom with a seated row for each year (year one at front, two second, three third etc). The midnight potato raids. Helpin' out on the 'fa-armm'. We reminisce about broken down cars in deserted summer campgrounds, as the snow fell and wen thought we were going to die until the hair-lipped man saved us...The number of times I put a car into a snow ditch, my feeble attempts at entering licensed premises when everyone on the island knew who I was and that I wasn't yet 19. I love asking him about people, knowing the answer will most likely be 'there still here - on island'. I am mesmerized by the thought that there are people here who have NEVER been 'off-island'.

We chat to lots of people and Richard is proud to introduce his off-shore wife and son, and his Aussie friend. I forget how many times I have been asked about Kangaroos, Koalas and Steve Irwin, but it's considerable. Crocodile Dundee, Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Opera House are a close second. But my favorite question is 'did you have anything to do with Oprah when she was there?'

We are a slightly odd mix to be traveling around PEI. We don't see other Asians or colored people anywhere (or dreadlocks), and even our canine companions are exotic breeds (Tibetan-spaniel and shitsu- chihuahua something-er-other). 

The day is full of advernture though, as we take boardwalks along the marina's explore the crumbling red cliffs along the seaside, and ride motorbikes along the red dirt of then PEI coast. Ethan is a well travelled 13 year old boy and the best motorbike tour guide I have met yet. Vina goes for a jog and Richard stays back to attend to some household duties. Once again I am reminded that my companions are a far cry from stock- standard islanders. 

Quintessential

Quintessential

Adj - Of, relating to, or having the nature of a quintessence; being the most typical: "Liszt was the quintessential romantic" (Musical Heritage Review).

This quintessential PEI 'summer cottage' is a long way from my previous weeks accommodation. I'm now 5 hours north of Bangor, Maine, and we take the Confederation  bridge to 'the island'. The 13 kilometer bridge is the longest 'over ice' bridge in the world.   Last time I travelled this route it was on an ice-breaker 25 years ago. 

Prince Edward Island (or PEI) is the backdrop to Lucy Maud Montgomery's novel, Anne of Green Gables. PEI is a thriving summer vacation spot for three months, and a quiet, provincial potato farming and lobster fishing Canadian backwater the rest of the year. Come December, the island will go into hibernation, iced by a thick layer of white snow. This is how I remember the island, back in 1986 when I came here to live with Mum and Greg who were on a 'teacher exchange'.  Back then,  I was hardly 'Anne of Green Gables' with a bad 80s punk hairdo, Doc martins, and suitcases full of bad teenage attitude.  

The island is quiet, the  summer season well and truly over, even though it's still September. The campground near the 'summer cottage' closes tomorrow, and won't reopen until the end of May next year. Tourists come here to enjoy the red-sand beaches, the seafood, and I have to confess that the island is vey beautiful with rolling green pastures, and quaint seaside cottages. There's a touch of 'tack' and kitsch, with the odd (now deserted) amusement park,  lots of pictures of freckle-faced red- haired  girls called 'Anne' inviting you to eat frosty treats or stay at 'green gables cabins'. It's a bit blackpool, UK meets Tilba Tilba. 

I am assuming islanders know I am 'on island', just as they did 25 years ago when TV crews covered 'the Aussies' as they arrived at the airport. If they don't know I'm coming, they will hear about me shortly. After a wonderful  dinner at Richards' mums delightful Summerside house,  (coated chicken, veg and a big mash of PEI spuds with raspberry and cream cake to follow), we head off to the Summer 'cottage' in the big black Pick-up truck, Vina, Ethan, Richard and I - two dogs, two motorbikes, and another swag of hershey bars and 'pop' (soft drink).  It's foggy and humid-cool, and the quiet of the cottage it,s about as far away from Manhattan as I can imagine. 

Variegated

Variegated

-adjective - 1 varied in appearance or color; marked with patches or spots of different colors. 2varied; diversified; diverse.

As I fly into Bangor Maine, through the 'rough air' and fog, the green pine trees come into focus. The landscape is variegated, marked with pockets of yellow and red, hailing the 'fall'. I am flying from one extreme to another, my day varied and diverse.

The airport is reminiscent of Canberra airport in the seventies, but smaller and we wait almost as long for our luggage as we spend in the air. My fabulous Canadian 'mate' Richard and his son Ethan meet me at the airport. They say, I wasn't hard to spot. And I say, 'you guys weren't either!' Together we are a motley crüe,  varied in both colour and appearance, easily spotted as we travel north.

While I notice the complete extremes of my day- breakfast in Manhattan New York, dinner in a diner in a two bob border town, Calais, the vast gap between the two worlds is lost on me at first. Until we enter the diner in Calais. Half a dozen or so customers are seated in the diner, and they immediately gaze our way. Each head follow us in a long slow movement. Their bottom lips drop a little. 'They don't even know I'm Australian', I say to Richard, and he says 'yeah -ar, but they ain't seen 'twigs' like that before'', referring to my hair. We are seated at a large booth with a red gingham table-cloth. There's a line-up of mustards, ketchups, and condiments, and a paper placemat with the '50' US states in a word find. (Hawaii apparently doesn't exist here). We order from the high-fat menu, and Richard asks the waitress if she's ever seen anyone from Australia before, and she says 'no'. 'Well you have now!' She seems pleased and we get 4 copies of the wordfind placements to take home. I order the half-size meal (chicken Parmesan which comes with onion rings, salad and pasta) and eat less than half. I guess I should have ordered the 'quarter-sized meal'.

Sitting at the diner, even though two of us are white, we are obviously not locals. We stand out. Vina, Richards wife was born in the Phillipines, so Ethan is not only dark-skinned, but Asian, and me with my 'twigs', well...So from cosmopolitan NY, where anything goes, to a backstreet diner in Calais. that's a variegated 24 hours.

We hop back into the big black Dodge pick-up truck, and drive through the fog, on the wrong side of the road, eating Hershey bars and competing for conversation time. It's been 25 years but so far, it seems like nothing has changed.

Quotidian

quotidian
(quote-tid'-ee-an) adj. 1: occuring every day. 2a: belonging to each day; everyday. 2b: commonplace; ordinary. [from Latin quot "(as) many as" + dies "days".]

Here are some of the everyday, commonplace happenings I experienced in NY, presented as NY in numbers. Since Quotidian wireless caves are no longer commonplace, I will have to post quickly while wireless is at hand.

Here is my 'NY in numbers':

8.2 million - the number of people who live in NY city

8 - the number of times I overhead people talking (loudly) about their 'therapist'
3 - times I have made friends because I have an iPad
2 -(2am)  my self imposed curfew so I can wake in the morning
120 - number of words my NY host can talk per minute. 
9 - the number of Lives I'll need if my host finds out I mentioned her in my blog (one of her 'rules')
6 - Rules broken at hosts place
842 - miles of subway track in NY
468 - number of subway stations
3 - Times I was reprimanded by security for taking photos
122, 8500 -estimated number of steps walked across Manhattan in 5 days
14 - Times I've been stopped in my street to ask 'where I got my cool pak' (picture to come)
18 squilliion - The number of rubbish bags on the streets.
12,000 - number of pets buried in the NY Pet Cemetary
1876 - The year the 'first boys club' s launched in NY
3 - number of times I got lost
3 - number of times I caught wrong train
4000 - number of street vendors
25 - total number of hours sleep in 7 days

Hyper-vigilant

Hyper
- A prefix appearing in loanwords from Greek, where it meant “over,” usually implying excess or exaggeration.

Vigilant
-adjective. keenly watchful to detect danger; wary: a vigilant sentry. 2)ever awake and alert; sleeplessly watchful.

I know I'm breaking the pattern by using a double-barelled word, but it's about the only trend I'll be able to break today. I'm traveling to Bangor and hyper-vigilance has descended on NYs La Guardia airport. 

Now that I am on the plane, and can reflect, it is possible that security is a little 'tighter' given it's the final day of the UN meeting in New York.

However, I am told (while I wait in endless queues at airports), that Hyper-vigilance is commonplace,especially when you travel, in the USA. From one line, to another, to another. The Americans have a wonderful way of coralling people into lines, that appear to have an end, but only send you to another line that is out of sight. I call these 'groundhog lines'.

Today's groundhog line was security. One Coralled area of a couple of hundred people, then another identical human cattle coral, and then a nice little treat - an x-ray (me), complete security check including explosive screening, and then a good ol' fashioned 'pat- down', rubber gloves and all! It was the most personal attention I had received for some time!

The male security officer pulled me aside (personal niceties not required) and yelled 'female assistance'! What? Do I look like I need assistance? I'm the only one here without brobdignagian hand luggage! And I got the full treatment, including thorough inspection of my hair. Not interested in  my offer to show them my scars,  they 'inspected' me, dread by dread, shoulder, hip, knee, ankle, foot. 

As I leave the United States, I promise to be hyper-vigilant about my posts. To those of you I dissapointed with a 'photo only' post yesterday, I promise, to continue to share my stories of New York, and my Canadian adventure as it unfolds.  Stay tuned.

Fugg

(fugg) n. an odorous emanation, especially, the stuffy atmosphere of a poorly ventilated space. adj. fuggy. v.i. to loll indoors in a stuffy atomosphere. v.t. to make fuggy. I am leaving the fug of the Manahattan B and B to the greener pastures of Northern USA and Canada. My head is in a fug from lack of sleep, lack of fresh air, and lack of coffee. My clothes smell fuggy. I'm all fugged out. 

18 squillion bags of rubbish and counting...

Serendipitous (journey)

Serendipitous (or 'going where the flow takes you') -adjective 1. Come upon or found by accident; fortuitous: i.e., serendipitous discoveries. good; beneficial; favorable i.e, serendipitous weather for our vacation.  It's coffee and a bagel (with cream cheese of course) on 33rd street this morning. Today I am going on the metro rail out of Manhattan and into the wider state of New York to a house museum and property  in Katona, Bedford. This is my only 'pre-organized' adventure. The rest of the time, I have been aiming for a serendipitous journey.    Allowing myself to 'stumble' upon things by accident does not come naturally to me. I am constantly resisting the urge to organize, schedule and pack an unmanageable list of 'must do's' into my days. I remind myself, that I have been here before-seen the sights, burnt the candle at both ends, brought the T-shirts. but my instinct is to plan and control- a comfortable default.  But attempting to tread a serendipitous path has it's rewards.Yesterday, with the grid-like numbered streets and subway signs as my only guide (My iPhone compass came in handy too), I explored Manhattan, South to North including an unexpected train journey into Brooklyn across the bridge. I drank coffee on Wall St and saw a man walking the streets with a cat (alive) perched on his head. I watched the crowds in Battery park, Statue of Liberty in the background. The Smithsonian museum of the American Indian was an unexpected discovery in my search for a public loo. I beeped and got frisked at the Museum, the guards declaring I must have a 'metal leg' not a firearm. I walked passed City Hall (think 'Law and Order'), and ventured into St Andrew's church for some serenity. I caught about a dozen subway trains, and only managed to miss my destination 3 times.  I had Mexican for lunch and kicked myself for throwing out 1/2 my sandwich when I passed another homeless person. (I gave him a dollar and another New Yorker brought him some food). Traversing the island I passed Grand Central, managed to get myself in trouble taking photos in all the wrong places, shopped in overwhelmingly huge department stores, and then headed north along 5th Avenue (where window shopping was the only option). I moved, block by block through the sub cultures of NY. Hasidic Jews, with their ringlet sideburns, skullcaps and hats, and 19th century black suits were commonplace on one block. And then they seemed to be gone, replaced by Christian Dior, Fendi, Yves Saint Laurent and Trump tower. limos and convertibles merged with yellow cabs and busses. I heard someone say, 'This is the diamond block', 'The gold district is to your right'.I followed the sunshine that increasingly shone through the buildings to finally reach central park - a suprisingly cool and peaceful haven are the bustling streets of New York. Then, there was more coffee at crowded benches (this time opposite the Hilton). People queued outide of a fashion outlet, and Topless male models were posing in the foyer (the NY Calvin Klein type). Stunningly beautiful. And finally, Times Square at night, then air filled with the smell of leaking subway fumes, street food and chocolate. I went to M and M world (a three floor department store dedicated to little round chocolates!) This was kid present buying time, with Disney and toy stores galore, and there's nothing like the rolling lights and billboards of Times Square to lull you into a spending stupor. Being in Times square was like being in a casino - you are notsure if it's day or night, it's so light, but you don't care because while there's money in your pocket you don't want to go home. At midnight I give up, buy a Korean feast and an apple on my way home, and am in bed by 2am. Not bad for a serendipitous journey...?

How many toppings does it take to cover an American pancake?

brobdignagian

(brob-dig-nag'-ee-un) adj. (often capitalized) of colossal proportions or extraordinary height; gigantic. n. a giant. [From Brobdignag, a country of giants, in the book Gulliver's Travels.] I am sitting in a DINER in the Flatiron district drinking my sickly sweet cordial-like carrot and apple juice. The 'Health food' diner serves delectable American treats including waffles, omlettes, and fried everything. My pancake is the size of the plate, and is brobdignagian. The hubcap sized slab of carbohydrate comes with a mountain of toppings - FIVE butters, THREE packets of grape Jelly, and TWO maple syrup sachets (Corn syrup sachets actually). Good thing I asked the waitress to 'hold the sausage and the ham', and just had the bacon on the side. (Who invented maple syrup pancakes with bacon on the side anyway?) Brobdignagian buildings tower around me. Across the street is the Museum on Sex (not a place I am game to look for anything Brobdignagian). To the right is the magnificent Toblerone shaped 'Flatiron building.  It's time to get moving again, otherwise, if I sit here too long, I am sure to begin my journey to brobdignagian-ism. And I'm sure it would be wider, not taller!

Mexican independence day parade, Park Avenue

Gallimaufry!

gallimaufry (gal-li-maw'-free) n. a hodgepodge, jumble; a mixture of diverse things [From French galimafrée "a stew, hash, ragout," from galer "to make merry" + mafrer "to eat heartily."] No one word adequately describes the mish-mash of experiences I have had in a mere 48 hrs. But maybe this 'weird' word come close. Hilary (my air bnb host) rents an artists 'loft' on 31st St and it's a gallimaufry of art (mash-ups of hot glue, silicone and clear-green glass and red paintings), plants, piles of books, chests, flowers and plants, food and merry bohemian chit-chat. My 'room' is a closet sized 'nook' that is three times as high as it is wide. I awoke (at midday) to the smashing of drums, sirens, exuberant cheers and whistles- at the corner of my street. Park avenue was alive with Mexican Independance day celebrations. 'The mexicans know how to party', said my husky voiced New York host. I say, they certainly know how to 'make merry' - no need for coffee, as the costumes, percussion, and jubilance awoke the senses that I'd been trying to subdue on the long flight here. 30 hours on planes and in grubby airports without sleep requires a certain amount of sensory shut-down. Ever slept, face down on a Haagan Das cafe table? Sensory shut-down is not an option in NY. Ambulance and fire-engine sirens, horns, and screeching subway trains become a 'background hum' after a while. The city reaches out to me at night, and it's hard to refuse the prmise of 'something exciting happening' if I step outside. Even the lift to my 9th story accommodation is a sensory experience - each time I pass through the dirty green marble foyer, and step into the 60s faux wood, laminate and steel interior, I feel like I am in a Mad Men episode. I just need DonDraper to complete the picture... I'm in Union square now. I have already shopped for shoes and have a long list of 'must haves'. I'm on mymown, so theree's no waiting for anyone or pleasing others, so I can do whatever I desire in the moment. I have my subway pass and I am heading off, camera, mobile and adventurous spirit on board. And as I step back out onto the street, I must remember to look left first, not right. I'm too early on my journey to be hit by a New York Taxi just yet...

Wanderlust downunder

Wanderlust -noun- a strong, innate desire to rove or travel about. Wunderlust -a noun made up by a girl from Australia who: 1) needed a name for her travel blog that hadn't been taken. 2) 'Wunders' as well as 'wanders' 3) is embracing phonetic spelling 4) likes the pun on down 'under' Wordsandwunderlust chronicles Mel Harwood's adventures in New York and Canada - each day is encapsulated by an interesting word, a short travelers blurb, and as much fabulous content as I can create on the road. Just me, and my technology...