#other times it's weird road trips and cultural differences across the Pond

[stirringwinds]

first, this blog is awesome and honestly bless. second, my grandfather is from southern Louisiana and, to scare squirrels out of his yard, he yells “gEYAHYA!!!!!” Which is a really slurred, accented version of “get out of here!” how do you think some of the other countries, mostly Lord Father and the Professional Wine Stepdad, would react to Alfred saying something similar?????

thank you, anon! also, this has 0 plot lmao and sorry i wasnt sure how to work in Professional Wine Stepdad, but here’s Garbagedad and Trashson. 

His father’s nose is wrinkled up in the manner of one who has been forced to smell the Thames amidst the Great Stink of 1858. Imperiously, he gestures at Alfred with the very hand nursing a mint julep (which Alfred had of course, made himself. He had the best recipes). Horrifyingly, some of it sloshes over the silver rim of the cup.

“What manner of utter gibberish just streamed from your mouth, lad?”

Alfred stares at Arthur blankly. The old man was certainly drifting more often nowadays. “I was telling the squirrels to scram.”

“You most certainly did not, you said GEY-ARRRRH-YEEEEEAH.”

The sound of Sir Lord Arthur Bloody Kirkland trying to imitate an American accent proves too much for Alfred. His laughter rings out long and loud.

When he finally recovers, “Old man, I totally said ‘get outta here’ to the squirrels.” For good measure, he enunciates it clearly and slowly this time. 

His father snorts. He’s now chewing on a sprig of mint noisily, the epitome of fine British deportment and decorum. “And pray tell, why do you feel a pressing need to scream at random, small woodland animals on this fine day?”

“Didn’t want them getting in my bird feeders, duh.” Jerks his head in the direction of the porch, which the slanting rays of the late afternoon sun had bathed in gold. Lord Father was obsessed with birds, surely he knew that? “Also, some of them carry bubonic plague, so y’know.”  

Arthur nods approvingly. “A horrid time it was, the Black Death.” The brief, misty and distant look that washes over his father’s eyes is undoubtedly him recollecting a seven-hundred-year old memory of picking plague-infested fleas off himself or something.

Then, his father’s gargantuan brows furrow in disapproval, as he backtracks to their previous topic. “In any case, you swallow your consonant sounds rather too much, lad.”

“A mere cultural difference in accents,” Alfred returns. He so could do a clipped and sharp cadence if he wanted to, which he didn’t right now. Fixes his eyes on his father, brows raised, lips curving into a smirk. “And don’t give me that look. You just switched from sounding like the most overstuffed Londoner to some dude from Manchester in the space of two sentences.”

[whitepolaris]

An Interviewed with a Bigfoot Hunter

Several members of the Weird Pennsylvania research team have seen large hairy creatures wandering the hiking trails and byways of our great state, and some of these creatures grunted and smelled pretty bad. Unfortunately, all of them were definitely human. 

So where could we turn for the definitive word on Bigfoot’s comings and goings? Where else but the Pennsylvania Bigfoot Society, which has been collecting evidence of sightings since 1999. The society’s director, Eric Altman, was kind enough to answer our questions. 

People use the terms Bigfoot, Sasquatch, and Yeti interchangeably. Are they the same thing? 

Eric Altman: They may be the same species, but the terms have just been lumped together. Yeti is the name the Sherpa gave to a creature in the high mountainous terrain of the Himalayas, as well as in the dense jungle forests in the valleys. It seems to be more violent type of animal. Sasquatch is one of many different names that Indian tribes call the animal. The term Bigfoot was first introduced to modern pop culture in the late 1950s by the Humboldt Times newspaper, after road construction workers in the High Sierras of California discovered large humanlike footprints around the heavy machinery. Jerry Crew and the other construction workers who found the footprints made plaster casts and presented them to the media. The Humboldt Times called the animal responsible for the footprints Bigfoot, and it stuck. 

Isn’t Pennsylvania way up there in the number of Bigfoot Sightings?

Eric: Pennsylvania has the greatest number of collected reported sightings. The could be due to several factors. During the early 1970s, particularly 1973 and 1974, a slew of sightings occurred across Pennsylvania. Bigfoot/UFO researcher Stan Gordon and his organization investigated over three hundred cases. Stan and an independent Bigfoot researcher, Paul Johnson, have collected hundreds of reports. The Pennsylvania Bigfoot Society has collected over a hundred reports. 

The most interesting one I investigated occurred from June to August 2003 in central Pennsylvania. A farmhouse near Dubois was visited almost nightly for two months. An unknown animal would scream and crash through the woods and leave foul odors in the air. Farm animals disappeared, a burn barrel was destroyed, and several fish vanished from the pond. When we showed up to investigate and hang game cameras-motion-detector cameras with an infrared beam that takes pictures whenever anything trips the beam-the activity quit. However, I witnessed the odd behavior of the family dogs as nighttime approached. They would whine, cry, and act very scared as the woods got dark. 

What kind of equipment do you use for your investigations?

Eric: All kinds. We have audio equipment with parabolic microphones, shotgun microphones, digital recorders, twelve-hour recorders. We broadcast predator calls, supposed Bigfoot calls, primate calls from apes to see if they attract anything. We have 35-mm cameras, digital cameras, infrared cameras, Night Owl Optics equipment, and game cameras. 

Have you ever seen Bigfoot yourself?

Eric: No, I haven’t. I hope I will someday, but I have better odds of winning the lottery. Some longtime researchers have not. But several members of our organization joined because having a sighting and want to learn more about what they saw. 

What common themes emerge in the reports you get of Bigfoot sightings?

Eric: Not every report is the same. Some include odors, while others don’t. Some include animal vocalizations, others don’t. The most typical information shared by most reports is the description of the animal: usually standing between four and twelve feet tall, weight usually estimated between three hundred and eight hundred pounds. The animal is almost always described as walking on two legs, with hair covering most of its body, about three to four inches in length. The hair color is most typically described as brown, dark brown, reddish brown. Some of the reports indicate facial features closely resembling those of humans. 

We don’t have live animals or fossil records or bone remains of a dead Bigfoot to categorize a species or even more than one species of Bigfoot. Except for eyewitness accounts, what evidence do we have?

Eric: The only thing I can point you toward are the casts of footprints. There have been three-, four-, and five-toed footprints collected. Forensics specialist Jimmy Chilcutt from Texas has studied footprints casts that show dermal ridges. Humans have dermal ridges. They are found on your hands, fingers, feet, and toes. The dermal ridges Jimmy has studied has convinced him that these animals do indeed exist. If someone were to have faked them, they would have to extensive knowledge of human anatomy. Also Dr. Jeff Meldrum, associate professor at Idaho State University, has several of these casts in his possession. 

Some people say that Bigfoot isn’t a matter of belief-if you look at the evidence, the conclusion is obvious. 

Eric: I agree with that. 

So what Bigfoot evidence convinces you?

Eric: There are several things that convince me-hair samples that come back with DNA matching no known animal, footprints with dermal ridges found all across the country. But to me the most compelling evidence is the thousands of sightings reported by people from all walks of life-from doctors, lawyers, police officers . . . from blue-collar workers to white-collar workers. People from all backgrounds have reported seeing these animals. I do not believe that these people are lying or making it up. If just one report is true, then these animals do indeed exist. 

I’m going to play devil’s advocate here. We’re talking about a creature seven or eight feet tall. How come it’s been so successful at evading detection and capture?

Eric: Well, people say they have a more acute sense of smell and eyesight then we do. They see us something, and they get out of there. Also, they’re generally brown in color, which is natural camouflage. You could probably step past one and never know it was there. 

What advice do you have for people who are interested in investigating Bigfoot for themselves?

Eric (laughing): I warn everybody who’s interested and writes in. I tell them, “Run away now! Run away, and don’t look back,” because once you get hooked on it, you have to get the answer. No matter how long it takes, you’ve got to know.

So that’s the expert’s opinion. Alternatively, you could visit www.pabigfootsociety.com and run the risk of getting hooked. But don’t say you weren’t given fair warning. 

[rememberthattime]

Chapter 37. Tasmania

Tasmania is isolated. It’s an island off of an island, way down at the edge of the world. ...If Australia is down unda, Tassie is down unda the down unda.

All of this isolation has made Tasmania a little different from other Aussie states: from climate to culture to cloud coverage, and everything in between. For a (rare) three-day trip, Chelsay and I set out to experience these unique Tassie charms.

Our road trip itinerary would bring us all around the relatively small state, but Day 1 began near Cradle Mountain, Tassie’s iconic peak.

Before our hike though, the trip began with breakfast at Christmas Hills Raspberry Farm. Not much more needs to be said here... Breakfast. Christmas in the name. Raspberry farm. Waffles. French toast. Fresh jams and mascarpone. Just a great start.

We pigged out, but it was okay because we’d need the energy for our day at Cradle Mountain. The surrounding National Park is a haven for hikers, with a surplus of trails, wildlife, and unique vegetation. In the winter, there’s also an extreme deficit in other hikers, so Chelsay and I would have the trails all to ourselves.

With the help of a park ranger (who had just returned to Tassie after 5 weeks in Seattle... what are the odds), we mapped out a 5 hour hike that would take us 10 miles and up to 12,700 feet in elevation. The terrain reminded me so much of Scotland: crisp air, overcast weather, rugged and rough heather in green, red, brown, and yellow.

Another similarity with Scotland was the heavy fog. When Chelsay and I first arrived, we had a sliver of blue sky to take in our surroundings. Within an hour of our ascent to Marion’s Peak, the visibility quickly changed.

This isn’t rare though: 9 out of 10 days at Cradle Mountain have this kind of cloud cover. That said, it had been a long time since I’d been on a cold, damp, foggy hike. I’d been dying to go in Seattle, but because we only visit in winter, no one will go with me.

For this trip though, Chelsay and I were well prepared: layers was the name of the game, and we had backup ponchos just in case. Besides, we get blue skies everyday in Sydney, and this fog actually added to the rugged mood.

One difference between Cradle Mountain and Scotland or Seattle: the wildlife. Along our 5 hour hike, Chelsay and I came across about a dozen wombats and wallabies. #Tassie

We were physically exhausted that evening, so passed out early (after watching Mission Impossible 3 in preparation for Fallout!). The next morning, I made breakfast before heading out for the day: eggs, toast, and fresh jam from our cottage’s farm.

We’d be making the 3.5 hour cross-state drive from Cradle Mountain to Bruny Island (an island, off an island, OFF AN ISLAND!), but had all the Getting Curious podcasts we’d need to fill the trip. The foggy roads kept our attention too, as we zipped through winding alpine turns.

One other thing that kept my attention: the fuel gage. Tassie is isolated, and Cradle Mountain is the MOST isolated. There is a “major” (two-lane) highway that would’ve likely had more gas stations, but Chelsay and I opted for the scenic, more rural route. There has to be a gas station somewhere though, right?

Well, Chelsay and I made our way through the winding roads and were enjoying the foggy ride. We got about 45 minutes in, still no gas stations. Hmm. Another 45 minutes. Nothing... Anxious. 2 hours in, we finally found a station (whew!) and I raced to fill up the tank. Crisis averted.

We pulled out of the extremely rural gas station in Miena, TAS (population: 87), but only got about 1 minute before the engine started to sputter. Far ouuuut (Aussie for f***). I knew exactly what I’d done... I put diesel in instead of unleaded. I was so anxious about the low fuel light, that I didn’t even check the pump label at the station.

We were in the middle of nowhere, so the rental company had to send a tow truck from Hobart to Miena to grab me, Chelsay, and the car. All in, this cost us about 8 hours (not to mention the cost of the tow truck) on an already short trip. Chelsay says it was the most mad she’d seen me since the Christmas Eve orchestra in Vienna.

In just a few hours, I exhibited all 7 stages of grief:

Shock: “What!? I just filled the tank!”

Denial: “I swear I put in the right fuel.”

Anger: “F”

Bargaining: “Is there a fuel drain? Anyone have a siphon?”

Depression: “No drain... No siphon... And the tow truck has to come all the way from Hobart... There goes the trip.”

Testing: “Well, maybe we can still fit some things in...”

Acceptance: read on

Chelsay held it together, mostly because she was entertained by the friendly locals. The gas station seemed to be the hang out spot in Miena, so all kinds of characters passed through. The most entertaining was an older man wearing all camo.

Barb, the wonderful woman running the register: “Back from a hunt?”Older man: “Saw about 200 kangaroos.”Barb: “How many you get?”Older man, sheepishly: “Oh I don’t want to say.” (Translation: none)Older man: “Look, I lost two of my dogs... You seen em?”Barb: “What are their names?”Older man: “Uh, ones name is Miley. Can’t remember the other.”Barb: “Well gonna be tough to find based on that description.”Older man: “Got 12 so hard to keep track!”Barb: “Gimme your number and I’ll let you know if I see em. What’s your number?”Older man: “Uhh, can’t remember.” *Goes to truck to pull out his massive journal, flips through several full pages of phone numbers, and gives one to Barb*#Tassie

Only Chelsay got to experience the Miena locals, but we both enjoyed our ride back to Hobart with the tow truck driver, Young George (age: 70). Swiss, but somehow a 45 year-Tassie vet, George told us about his many interesting tows across Australia. His strangest: he picked up a wrecked car... from the Gold Coast... a 31 hour non-stop trip (including ferry) up Australia’s east coast! #Tassie

Despite the entraining locals, this was a bad day. Our worst ever while on holiday. We had two options once our tow truck finally arrived in Hobart: fail fast and minimize the damage, or lean in and push on. There was more hesitation than I’d like to admit, but we ultimately leaned in. We rented another car, and were on the ferry to Bruny Island in no time.

I said earlier that Bruny is an island off an island off an island, so needless to say, it’s sparse. There’s zero light pollution though, so Chelsay and I stared up at the clear star-filled sky. The universe has a way of taking care of things, and this was a reminder to put our problems in perspective. The universe even ended its statement with an exclanation mark: a shooting star. That’s not a joke either... I thought it was a firework. Genuinely the longest, closest shooting star I’ve ever seen. Emphatically telling us to “get over it!”

Heeding the universe’s advice, we threw on some tunes and had a pasta night at our quiet AirBnB. Occasionally, we turned down the music to hear penguins chirping on a nearby beach. #Tassie

The next morning, we woke up and quickly realized what an incredible house we were staying in. It was too dark to see anything the night before, but the morning gave us two things: (1) light to take in the house’s charming design, and (2) a reason to use the Nespresso.

Now, the troubles of yesterday were behind us. I’d gone trough the 7 stages of grief and accepted the place we were in. But wait, we were literally in the same place we’d planned to be: Monday morning, Bruny Island. Granted, we’d lost quite a bit of time, but while waiting for hours at the Miena gas station, Chelsay and I actually reconfigured the itinerary. If everything went just right, we could still fit in my original plan...

First up for the day. Bruny Island Cheese Co. Breakfast. Cheese toastie. Spicy (yet subtly sweet) chili paste. Something called an Otto: a cheesy omelette wrapped in prosciutto. Red pepper relish. Condensed strawberry. Ughh.

Next up: Bruny Island Chocolates. 10:30 sweets? Gimme ‘dat orange fudge. ‘Dat chocolate covered coffee bean. Ughhhh.

Third: Tassie World of Whisky. A whisky tasting at 11 AM? Hit me. We’re talkin’ Lark, Launceston, and what’s that? The 2014 best single malt whisky in the world? Sullivan’s Cove. Bitey, but with a smooth and silky length. Ughhhhhhh.

Now, batting cleanup. Chance for a Grand Slam before 1:00 PM: Willie Smith’s Apple Shed. Apple pie, cider, and Alt-J and Hozier playing in background. Ughhhhhhh, na-na na-na!

This trip went from a 2 to a 6 in that morning alone. Three quick hits and towering, monster, goodbye baseball grand slam to save the whole trip. It will from here-on be known as The Great Tassie Turnaround.

Also, it was only 1:00, so we still had time for the final place I wanted to visit: MONA, the Museum of Old and New Art.

MONA was founded in 2011 by eccentric billionaire David Walsh, who made his money as a “professional gambler”. Let that sink in. #Tassie

This place was a bold, artistic reflection of its founder. Or was it just weird... Only time will tell. Some of the highlights:

Two live fish, in a bowl of water, with a butcher’s knife, on a chair. That’s it

The fat car

An exhibit where visitors throw glass milk jugs against a wall. One of us was better than the other at this art

A room with nothing but a blue felt pond (?) in the middle

A robot that precisely mirrored the human digestive process (both sight AND scent)

A representation of CERN’s particle accelerator, which was Chelsay and I’s favorite

Not pictured: Event Horizon, which is the seizure-inducing strobe-light colored room that Drake filmed the video for Hotline Bling in.

So that’s it. That was our trip to Tassie... After MONA, and all of the other strange experiences over the past three days, I’m not really sure how to pull this one together.

On one hand, we had our worst travel day ever, but on the other, we hit all the places we wanted to see. It certainly wasn’t the route I planned, but we still somehow managed to get everything we’d hoped for from Tasmania.

I guess the most fitting way to wrap this up would be to say we found a unique way to experience unique landscapes, unique climate, and unique culture... Is there anything more #Tassie than that.

[senegirl]

Quiet Thunder

FIRST NOTE: So the old blog on my time in Senegal still has the same RSS feed, I've been informed. Feel free to unsubscribe or keep subscribed!  If you have a new email, feel free to subscribe on the side form.

NOW - THE BILTONG AND POTATOES:

The trip to Pretoria started off with boarding a plane, sitting down, getting settled and then having an announcement by the pilots that something was wrong with the fuel system. The mechanics attempted to work on the problem for a short stint before they decided we would take another flight.

2 hours and then 15 hours later in the middle of the middle, I arrived with a total of 6 bags, 4 checked, 2 hand. I AM THE MASTER OF THE CARTS! Fine print: Official title of "Master of the carts" is only given to families with babies in tow and who appear to be moving their entire lives across 1-2 oceans

The first thing I noticed before entering my large Greco-Roman style room at the hotel was how utterly quiet the neighborhood was at around 10:30PM. I remember feeling similar after moving to Seattle from vibrant Washington, DC. So it was quieter than a quiet city.  I had entered the suburbs!

Things I most love about development: being able to drink the water and taking a hot shower. However, I'm experiencing a bit of suburban culture shock, not unlike coming back to the south after living my car free, art-loving city lifestyle. I am surrounded by high-class malls and gated housing compounds. Everyone drives; if they're driving correctly, they're on the left side of the road. And most people drive nice smaller cars like Volvos, Audis, BMWs with even a Corolla here and there - a few drive approximations of my dream safari vehicle.*

My first outing in South Africa's version of suburbia that Sunday was to a bird park for a nice lunch overlooking a pond filled with soaring and squawking birds. I was finishing up my buffet procured lamb, when a large blue crane walking past my feet startled me. There was plexiglass to separate us thank goodness. This was also a start of a closer relationship to wine as the Chenin Blancs and Pinotages of South Africa are relatively cheap and suit my tastes.

Dinosaurs in the feather!

Most of my office time my first week was spent meeting people and trying to acquire goods, access, etc. Nothing new there…. Also, please note I might limit work chat in this blog for a variety of reasons. Feel free to email me or contact me privately if you really want to know.

On Friday, I settled in to my new apartment, 3 bedrooms, 2 baths. There's nothing to complain about in this high class lifestyle, except…it's amazing how quickly you forget that even a furnished apartment doesn't have TP or dish soap or any of those little touches we take for granted in our lives. Saturday was spent rectifying that, thanks to Woolworths which was described to me in Atlanta orientation as "Target meets Trader Joes" except it isn't stand alone, it's in the nearby large mall. I also went to Hazel Food market where my hipster bloomed into an Afrikaans space. I had my first instance of someone turning to me and asking something in Afrikaans only to be met with a weird look and have them follow up with "where did you get that drink?"  Ah yes, lemon mint slushie, "by the front." Oh, and I had an amazing biltong everything omelette, because when in bougie Pretoria, get the feta, avo(cado), and veggies, but add the local jerky because South Africa! I spent the evening eating food delivered by an online service with my Seattle friend Gabi who is in town/the country working on thesis stuff, so it was great to break in my nice place to some hosting.

Yum, jerky omelette

Sunday I struggled with my front-loading washing machine not opening. I think the only other laundry machine related panic that would supersede not being able to access your clothes the day before the business week starts is being IN the laundry machine while the door won't open. My landlord and I disagree on whether the workaround is a faulty pressure switch that needs to be fixed or "just how that model is."

Onto slightly less boring subjects. I did my first visit to the local pool. I swam my ½ mile swim on a 50 m pool. So, out of shape me took a few more breaks than I thought I should, but I guess I'm doubling the length of nonstop swimming compared to Seattle YMCA's facilities. I'm going to try to figure out how to go during the week but I don't think the pool is heated until the winter season. The mornings are around 65 F, seems like a chilly dip. Remember geographers, it's summer here! I finished my evening trying to beat the supermarket sweep clock as most close around 5 or 6 PM on Sundays. I successfully bought some more dinner worthy ingredients as well as random things like Himalayan salt (the only small sized salt with a shaker/grinder available), biryani spice (because yaas South African Indian influence!), and muesli… So, there's no shortage of variety and choice here. One thing I really appreciated about the grocery store compared to the US is that the junk food is only about an aisle and a half and somewhat hidden, with a large fruit and veggies section up front.  One thing I do not appreciate about the experience is my continued lack of ability to conceptualize Rand to Dollar amount.

 Well, that's my first update from "Africa Light" as some people call it, pretty mundane stuff day to day. That isn't to say that I won’t experience more of South Africa’s diversity on my job’s field visits. My night and my note ends with thunder and lightning in the distance. Thunder is a sound I'm keenly sensitive to after living in Seattle for 2.5 years and only hearing it twice. I guess there’s different types of quiet. Until next time!

 *1990s LandRover with a snorkel, a front pulley, maybe even a back pulley, tow bar and at least one spare. I'm convinced you can make it through anything in that vehicle; maybe even across the Democratic Republic of the Congo.