LLWorldTour

Whatever you call it: café, coffee, espresso, café latte, or just a ‘cup of joe,’ coffee has been drunk for centuries and varies depending on the species of coffee plant the bean comes from - a misnomer for seed (arabica, robusta, etc.) - and the type of roast (Italian, French, American, etc.). It was discovered originally in Ethiopia, spread through Arabia into Turkey and eventually to the thriving trade port in Venice. Today coffee drinks are big business and, for better or worse, a cup of coffee has become part of the uniform of the American worker (and an eco-disaster). Noted as one of the world’s largest, most valuable, legally traded commodities after oil, coffee has become a vital cash crop for many Third World countries. Brazil is the world leader in production of green coffee, followed by Vietnam and Colombia. Of course with all this demand comes big ecological impacts as well. A major issue concerning coffee is its use of water. According to New Scientist, it takes about 140 liters of water to grow the coffee beans needed to produce one cup of coffee and coffee is often grown in countries where there is a water shortage.

The concept of fair trade labeling, which guarantees coffee growers a negotiated pre-harvest price, began in Europe in the ’60s.  Fairtrade is about better prices, decent working conditions, local sustainability, and fair terms of trade for farmers and workers in the developing world. By requiring companies to pay sustainable prices (which must never fall below the market price), Fairtrade addresses the injustices of conventional trade, which traditionally discriminates against the poorest, weakest producers. It enables them to improve their position and have more control over their lives.

The production and consumption of “Fair Trade Coffee” has grown in recent years as some local and national coffee chains have started to offer fair trade alternatives. Starbucks, one of the largest buyers of Fair Trade Certified coffee, will double its purchases to 40 million pounds in 2009, making the company the largest purchaser of Fair Trade Certified coffee in the world.   A number of studies have shown that fair trade coffee has a positive impact on the communities that grow it by strengthening producer organizations, improving returns to small producers, and positively affecting their quality of life. The families of fair trade producers were also more stable than those who were not involved in fair trade, and their children had better access to education.

I used to never drink the stuff; all through high school, university, and through my twenties – not a drop. After the Starbucks craze (and, in case you don’t live in the US, there are also many independent cafes and coffee bars in the US) I was sucked in just a little and would maybe treat myself to a few coffees each month. And since I wasn’t a true coffee drinker, these were, of course, the frou frou coffee ‘concoctions’ of Starbucks – like a mocha (espresso with a shot of chocolate syrup…for me minus the whipped cream). Now as I’ve traveled around the world and through Europe, my coffee and thus caffeine intake has dramatically increased - for a few reasons. First, when you are walking around towns and cities for months…you simply need something to do when you ‘take a break.’ And, of course, there are all these inviting cafes lining the streets beckoning you in with happy patrons laughing while they sip a cappuccino. So it was nice for me to join in. Plus if I sat down and ate something every time I wanted to take a break, I’d be as big as a house. Next, I did actually start to appreciate the taste and differences of coffees around the world. From the surprising, yet good, café culture in Melbourne, Australia (where I worked as a barista) and the chains of Asia to the less-than-stellar instant coffee commonly served up in Eastern Europe and the pleasing café au lait of France and rich espressos in Italy. In fact, the more coffee I drink, the less milk I add. I’ve gone from a crazy Starbucks caramel macchiato (not the real macchiato—an espresso ‘stained’ with a drop of milk) to a simple, yet robust, real Italian espresso (in 3 sips you’re done). I used to never order an espresso thinking it was too strong and dark for me, but I have to tell you, these are delicious.

The one coffee I just could not force myself to like is Turkish. For me, it’s just too strong. The grounds are left in the cup which makes for a bit of a sludgy beverage. But the after show is nice…having someone read your fortune in the bottom of your cup. Maybe mine would say, ‘you are drinking too much coffee.’ Well, probably not since the fortuneteller probably gets kick backs from the establishment.

With the proliferation of the internet and WiFi, I have found myself sending a lot less postcards then on former trips. But when you’re on a ‘round the world’ tour like me, you will inevitably have to send some packages home from various countries. I’ve been fortunate to have a few friends visit me while I travel and not only of course is it great to see them, I also benefit by being able to shove some crap into their bag that I no longer need—like some memorabilia I’ve collected or the hiking boots I haven’t worn since the rainforests of South America or the magic walking stick from New Zealand or the conical Asian hat I got in Vietnam. This way they can cart it home for me and I save a ton on postage and mostly am saved from the stress I would suffer by worrying if my precious package would ever make it safely to the shores of ‘Amerika.’ When I could not pawn things off to friends, every few months I’d put a little care package together to send home. I’ve learned that the post offices around the world are as varied as the toilets. And some are just as stinky.

Monteverde, Costa Rica—This was a tiny post office up in the cloud forest with one window and one man. No muss no fuss. Signed, sealed, delivered.

Galapagos Islands—In the middle of an empty beach on an island only inhabited by animals three hours from mainland Ecuador is a ‘post office.’ Well, it’s actually just a wood barrel with a door cut out, but it may actually work better than some real postal systems that I have come across. Here’s the deal: You write a postcard to someone you know (or perhaps a stranger if you are feeling friendly) who lives anywhere in the world. You address it and sign it, but you DON’T put a stamp on it. You leave it there in the barrel. Then you look through the other postcards that have been left in there and take one that is supposed to be ‘sent’ to your country…or a country where you are headed. Once you get to that country you can either hand deliver it if you are near the address or just buy local postage and just send it off. It’s a postal system by the people, for the people. Sounds perfect, but, by the way, has anyone ever received my postcards from here??

Melbourne, Australia—Fairly similar to going to the post office in the US: fill out some forms, pay way too much money, stamp it with some official looking seals and away it goes—all the way around the world and up into another hemisphere. Too efficiently boring to give me anything interesting to write about.

Hong Kong—Here I remember playing ‘musical windows;’ the first window guy said to go to another window across the room. At the second window, they weighed my package and addressed it. Then I had to return to the first window with some kind of receipt which I gave window guy #1. Here I had to pay and he stamped it. Then I returned to finished package the second guy. Got it?

Hanoi, Vietnam—I think I could have sat in this tiny post office (similar to a small bar with some round stools at the windows) all day and never have been served. They certainly didn’t ask me if I needed help and when someone local came in she would literally just shove in front of me at the window and be helped before I was even acknowledged. Before I ‘went postal,’ I finally pushed my way in and was handed, I kid you not, about five different convoluted forms to fill out—each one just about the same as the last. My current address, the recipients address, the address of my second cousin once removed, several lists of what the contents of the box where, the value of each item in Vietnamese Dong, the total weight, etc. I was given two different total costs by two different people. I was not feeling confident about this one and thought I would never see my Vietnamese trinkets and souvenirs ever again…but alas it arrived weeks later intact and unharmed.

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam—One of the prettiest post offices, it was in a grand old building and kind of looked like an old fashioned train terminal. I had been told ahead of time by fellow travelers that I did not need to scavenge for a box prior to my arrival here. The young man that helped me here was great—he found me a box behind the counter, we put everything in it exactly how I wanted it and he spent the next ten minutes taping it up so good—that the whole box was covered in blue tape and you could not see one speck of brown from the original box color. I filled out one form and paid in cash (only). I noticed that the ‘form process’ was much simpler than in Hanoi—kind of strange considering it is the same country, no? In the end, I made a possibly detrimental decision and chose to save money by sending it ‘sea mail’ as opposed to the modern method of ‘air mail.’ I pictured my sad little package all wet and moldy with crabs and seaweed clinging to it on the decks of some old pirate ship. Four months later it arrived in the US and apparently had no sea creatures in it. Amazing.

Istanbul, Turkey—This was a doozey. There were only five windows at this post office and yet none of them wanted my package. They actually ushered me through the ‘employees only’ door and behind the glass partition that usually must separate postal worker and postal user. I had brought my package unsealed to show its contents. Not only did they not care one iota of what was inside, they did not have me fill out one form at all. No, actually there was one form—it was practically the size of a postage stamp and had three lines on it—one for the sender’s name, one for the recipient’s name, and on the final line they scribbled the word ‘Amerika.’ Doesn’t seem like enough info for an important international parcel, does it? I already did not have a very confident feeling. After finding out my package was going to ‘Amerika’ the postman told me, like nearly every other foreigner I’ve met, ‘America? George Bush bad man.’ I agree, but it gets tiring after a while being a spokesperson for our entire nation and carrying the weight of the American government’s often bad decisions on my shoulders. Plus, at this point, I just wanted to mail my package, not be a diplomat. I actually forced the two Turkish postal workers that were helping me to just take a gander of what was inside my box, just out of habit. Then they haphazardly taped the box shut, took it away, and told me the price as if we were finished.

“What about the address??” I exclaimed.

“Oh yeah, address, address.” The two men said in unison. Then they proceeded to slap on some plain white stickers onto the top of the box where I was to write in the address.

No official stickers. No official cards. The postage meter machine apparently had a maximum of nine lire per sticker so now he had to slap about five different meter stickers all over the top of my box wherever they would fit. Lastly he licked an ‘airmail’ stamp and a “Turkey” sticker and slapped them on as well. By the end of this unofficial process I just about decided I would certainly never see this package or any of its contents again. When the nervous security-crazed U.S. Customs Department sees this crazy looking, hand scrawled box coming from 99% Muslim Turkey…they will probably just blow it up on site.

In actuality, all of my packages traveled half way around the world and have arrived safely. BUT ironically, the postcards I sent out from the most efficient, anal city in the world, Singapore, never made it. Makes you wonder. Maybe Turkey is on to something.

Here are some general tips for you if you decide to send packages from abroad:

1. Bring your passport.
2. Bring cash and lots of it. Many post offices in other parts of the world do not accept credit cards.
3. Bring your package unsealed. Oftentimes for Customs purposes, they will need to look inside (excluding Istanbul) to see what kind of contraband you are actually sending, so be prepared to explain your ‘apocalypse now’ shot glass from Vietnam or the ‘opium pipe’ you picked up for decorative purposes in Phnom Penh. Also be aware that many post offices can provide you with a box and tape it up for you.
4. Bring your patience, sense of humor, and comfortable shoes.
5. Before you go, make a list of what you are sending. This will make it easier to fill out all the forms and keep them all consistent rather than you repeatedly shuffling around the contents of your package (like most guys I know tend to do).
6. Of course, wrap everything breakable very carefully. And then you will inevitably unwrap it and wrap it again after you show it to the postal worker.
7. Don’t mail anything from Singapore.

My last stop on the ‘Aussie Tour’ was in Cairns, Queensland up in the northeast corner of the country. And there was only one reason I was there—the reef. The Great Barrier Reef has almost one fifth of the world’s reef area making it the largest coral reef in the world. Actually, the GBR is a chain of 2,900 separate reefs stretching some 1,200 miles along Australia’s east coast. To give you a perspective, the Great Barrier Reef is larger than the Great Wall of China and is the only living thing visible from space.Reefs form where temperatures don’t fall below 18 degrees Celsius (64 degrees Fahrenheit) for long periods, so are usually found between 30 degrees north and south of the equator. Most require very saline water; also the water must be very clear so light penetrates. Washed by the warm waters of the South-West Pacific Ocean, the world’s largest system of coral reefs has the perfect environment. The Great Barrier Reef is listed by the World Heritage Trust as a protected site and is therefore managed by the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park Authority to ensure that its beauty is maintained for many generations to come.

I booked a boat tour for a day to discover the reef myself. I chose Tusa Dive tours because there would only be about thirty folks on the boat…better than some of the larger trips where you are bumping into more snorkelers under the sea than fish.

It was the rainy season so there was some sediment churned up, but luckily at our spot on the reef, the visibility was pretty good. We did a morning dive and then after a tasty lunch buffet we went down for a second time. The sun was shining and the water was wonderfully warm at about 85 degrees Fahrenheit. I wasn’t going to use a wet suit as I hadn’t in the Galapagos. Then the guides started scaring me with talk of jellyfish and other ‘sea lice’ that sting and bite. I went bare on my first dive and did feel some sharp random stinging here and there and saw a scary looking jellyfish float by. This was enough to scare me into wearing a ‘shorty’ on my next dive. Much better. The sea life was pretty amazing—lots of colorful tropical fish, clown fish, clams, sea anemones, and even a sea cucumber.

Sadly, I didn’t see the coral colors I expected. Global warming is also affecting this precious and magical place. The concern: As global warming heats the ocean surface, the coral can get bleached-out more often, giving reefs less time to recover. Coral bleaching occurs when the animal organisms that make up the coral die, leaving behind a white limestone skeleton. The biggest way we can help prevent further destruction of coral reefs is to help curb global warming by educating people and making them aware that global warming exists and the consequences of it. Unfortunately, awareness isn’t enough. People have to do something. The governments of many nations have met and passed bills and mandates to reduce greenhouse gas emissions. These include the Berlin Mandate and Kyoto Protocol. The Kyoto Protocol is the first international agreement to fight global warming. It was signed by 141 nations, including all European and all other developed industrial nations…except the US and Australia.

The pact went into effect on February 16, 2005, and expires in 2012. The Kyoto Protocol has been celebrated by its backers as a lifeline to save our planet from disastrous human-caused effects of a warming global climate. It sets legally-binding targets for developed countries to reduce greenhouse emissions within 7 years, to about 5% below 1990 levels. To reach this goal, countries must put greenhouse emissions controls on its largest polluters, which are corporations and militaries. Productivity will only be maintained if the polluters seek cleaner, renewable alternative energies to replace fossil fuel (gas) energy. Solar, wind and geothermal energy are examples of renewable sources.

Vice President Al Gore was a main participant in putting the Kyoto Protocol together in 1997. President Bill Clinton signed the agreement in 1997, but the US Senate refused to ratify it, citing potential damage to the US economy required by compliance. The Senate also balked at the agreement because it excluded certain developing countries, including India and China, from having to comply with new emissions standards.

George Bush made campaign promises in 2000 to regulate carbon dioxide as a pollutant. However, in 2001, he pulled the US out of the Kyoto accords as one of the first acts of his presidency. Bush dismissed the Kyoto Protocol as too costly and lately, the White House has even questioned the validity of the science behind global warming, and claims that millions of jobs will be lost if the US joins in this world pact.

After six weeks, my short-lived career as a sandwich engineer and coffee chemist is over. For the most part I really enjoyed learning some new things–like the correct way to slice capsicum or dealing with a currency that has six coins–and meeting the real (and hungry) people of Melbourne.

At the Licata’s café, I had the unique honor of being the only American they had ever hired. But, coincidentally, about 9 out of 10 customers asked me if I was from Canada. This has been happening to me during my entire trip and isn’t surprising because of the fact that Canadians simply travel the world much more than Americans. And in turn, I’ve already met more Canadians than Americans in my few months on the road. When I answered this common asked question of ‘if I was Canadian’, most askers would always apologize because, apparently, when it’s the other way around most Canadians find it rather insulting to be called an American. Sadly, I can sometimes understand why. Of course, the few Americans I have met are very interesting and not an embarrassment at all to our country. But, of course, I haven’t met any Mississippians or West Virginians (there are about ten to fifteen other states I could throw in here) traveling the world just yet. Now, I certainly don’t mind being mistaken for a Canadian—I mean seriously, we do sound and look very much alike…well, unless you’re from the ‘country’ of Quebec, oui monsieur.

The best part of working at a café (besides the fun and free sandwiches or yummy salads for lunch everyday—I’m a lunch junkie!), was getting to know my co-workers and meeting all the different people and quirky characters that came in everyday. There was the ‘never-smiling’ Eastern European guy who ordered his lunch like it was always his last meal on earth. “Give me the Rye Cobb Loaf. No, not sliced! In a bag. Goodbye.”

Or Margaret who was a regular—she always ordered the same two sandwiches everyday, and wanted them exactly the same each time. “No, it’s tom-mah-to, then the cucumber and then capsicum, then pepper and just a dash of salt on top of the pepper.”

There was the Australian Football hottie whom all the counter girls drooled over as he ordered his ‘manly’ tuna sandwich on white bread. Just as I was finally remembering that John came in every day and ordered a ‘regular capp., two sugars’ or Greg, a tall, dark in the goth way, guy that lived around the corner wanted his latte with ‘one and a half sugars,’ it was time for me to leave.

But, I also was quite ready to leave because it was also at this time that the Italian owner, Charlie, was really starting to get on my nerves. It didn’t matter if he was an Italian with a ‘funny’ Australian accent—he was still Italian through and through and innocently ‘hit on’ me and all the café girls in his charming yet skeevy way. This fifty-year-old Sicilian also kept things interesting by being the biggest micromanager I’ve ever had in my entire working career.

“Is that a piece of lettuce in the to-mah-toes??”

“Someone just walked in this second—have you asked them what they want yet???”

“Did you ask this customer if he wanted salt and pepper on his take away sandwich??”

“It doesn’t matter that there are tons of customers waiting, you must write take away orders on this color paper.”

“You just scratched your ass wrong. Up and down, not left to right.” (okay, he really didn’t say that, nor did I scratch my ass at work, but you get the picture)!

He was unquestionably condescending to all his employees and even though they were all much younger than me, no one deserves to be talked to that way. You could have just finished serving a dozen customers, he would walk in from the kitchen and see dirty dishes on a table and remind you to always check the tables. Or you could be cleaning off the dirty tables when customers would walk in and he would come in and ask you why you aren’t behind the counter helping these starving customers. Believe me, the customer service here was great compared to anywhere else I went in Melbourne and no one here ever waiting longer than a minute to be served and were always told ‘hello, we’ll be right with you’ as soon as they walked in the door. In fact, I really appreciated this since one of my pet peeves today is some of the poor customer service out there where cashiers don’t even look up at you when they ring you up or never even utter ‘hello’ or ‘thank you’ (I’m distinctly thinking of Walgreens back in the states). But now being on the other end—the constant barrage of reminders could be maddening. He would tell us ad nauseum how to ‘build’ a sandwich or how to write up an order ticket (because he just didn’t read it correctly when it got to the kitchen) or how to freaking mop the damn floor. Now, don’t get me wrong, I totally respect the amount of work that goes into owning and operating a food establishment. I realize now how non-stop the work really is and learned it first hand (and foot)—especially since we were dealing with perishable and bug-attracting food—a restaurant is inherently susceptible to so many more problems or challenges than, say, a gift shop where at closing time you can literally switch off the lights and lock the door at 5:01pm. At closing time in the café, we knew we’d be around for at least another hour wrapping foods, cleaning out toasters and pizza warmers, cleaning and wrapping up each individual dish in the sandwich bar, and every cake tray, washing dishes, taking apart and cleaning the entire espresso machine, sweeping, cleaning tables, mopping, taking out the trash, tossing old breads, and pre-made sandwiches, and on and on.

But, besides all the hard work all the guys and gals who work there seem to put in, Charlie rarely would simply say ‘good job’ or ‘thanks for the hard work today’ or God forbid actually just notice something good someone did. He continued to find fault with everything and anything and this got me frustrated yet happy I was only working there for a few weeks. He wanted his people to be perfect, but he never got the schedule right (when I told him the two days I couldn’t work one week, those inevitably were the days he put me on and I had to remind him several times to change it. But when I asked for more hours my last two weeks, he actually took me off the schedule). In the end, after going back and forth with him several pointless times on this issue, I had had it. So being the “typical” independent, strong minded American woman that I am, I let him certainly know how I felt. He expected us to listen to him and be perfect, but I felt he wasn’t really listening to us. I mean I literally spent about $100 to change my next two flights in order to work there for a few more weeks. When I was first hired I felt very guilty that they were going to put in the time to train me and then I would leave in three weeks.

I didn’t care if I was just a casual visa-less worker, I still deserved just a sliver of respect. Luckily, it wasn’t just me who felt this way and after a run-in with the boss, I happened to bump into Mark, the thirty-two year old chef from Manchester, England who actually lasted less time than me there—he quit after just two weeks. We commiserated about the minutiae-meddling ways of Charlie. Mark recounted some of his frustrating yet hilarious times in the kitchen with Charlie telling him how he had it all wrong.

“Oh no, Mark. It’s lettuce, than chicken, then mayonnaise–that’s the correct order—not mayo, chicken, lettuce—that’s so wrong. My repeat customers want consistency.” I wasn’t the only bitter and sarcastic one.

Mark jokingly said, “Oh, yes, because I know some of their amazingly loyal customers bit into my Chicken burgers and in mid-mastication stopped and said, ‘something is wrong here. It just has the wrong mouth-feel. I must send this back. The lettuce is on top and it should be underneath. It’s just not right’” In laughing about Charlie’s crazy ways, I realized why he had such a high turnover rate.

But, then my last day came. Charlie and I had mended our fences and he and his wife Rose completely caught me off guard with a lovely ‘goodbye’ gift. I mean it was truly unexpected and unnecessary. I had only worked there for 6 weeks, after all. They had taken the time to write me a sweet card and gave me a tiny gift wrapped box. Maybe Charlie was going to propose to me? Luckily, no, it was a very cute pair of stud earrings.

All in all, it was a fun and educational experience that has me wondering if I really want to run my own café one day. But, at least for now, I know I can work in one. So when I return to the states, Starbucks, here I come!

After living in Melbourne (pronounced ‘Mel-bun’ by the locals) for a month and a half, I feel as if I’ve just about moved here. I’ve become quite familiar with this lovely city on the Yarra river and some of its finer offerings over the last few weeks. In so many ways Melbourne has been competing with its older brother, Sydney, since the 19^th Century. Just as in the U.S., Chicago will always be second banana to New York City, hence its oft-used nickname: The Second City. Here, it seems Melbourne could be called the same thing.

Currently, Melbourne has about 3.7 million inhabitants, but was once Australia’s largest city thanks to a gold rush in the mid 1800s. Sydney was first claimed for the British by Captain James Cook in 1770 (of course the Aborigines were here first—for, oh about 50,000 years) and, it’s no rumor, many of its first inhabitants were British convicts. This Island nation was first seen as a harsh and horrible place—and in many ways it still is very tough for folks to live here—case in point—the horrible drought they’ve been suffering for several years now. Unlike the U.S., Australia has NO water running through the middle of it. More than 168,000 convicts had been ‘shipped’ to Australia by the time the practice was abolished in the mid 1800s. Sydney now has a little over 4 million, mostly law-abiding people who get to admire the Opera House and stunning Harbour on a regular basis.

Melbourne hosted the first Olympic Games in the Southern Hemisphere in 1956 and became the country’s sporting capital. Of course, Sydney ‘one-upped’ Melbourne with the 2000 Games. Since the Australian people are very proud of their hometowns, you can imagine the on-going debate over which is a better city. Just through personal experience alone, I happen to prefer Melbourne. I am the first to admit this is all based on simple personal experiences and if I’d gotten a job in Sydney and had met more people there, I may feel the reverse.

It’s summertime in Melbourne and this city comes alive with moonlight movies in the park , outdoor concerts put on by the symphony, cricket matches, the Australian Open, and Melbournians just getting outdoors for the sake of getting outdoors.

I mentioned in an earlier entry how ethnically diverse this city is. Like most big cities, it’s a veritable melting pot of the world. And there is no day better to celebrate this than on Australia Day. Multiculturalism is the theme here and the live concert on Australia Day was a random mish-mash of local performers—Asian, Maori, Aboriginal, Spaniards, right down to the “robot man” known as—get this—the Sonic Manipulator, who literally is a well known street performer here. Sounds like the next Arnold Schwarzenegger flick—today the California Governator, tomorrow the Sonic Manipulator.

Just like everywhere else I’ve lived, the weather here is the butt of many jokes and is known for its changeable conditions. Here, they always say, “four seasons in one day.” One morning it can soar into the 100s and then later that afternoon it’s 60 degrees and rainy. This January’s 43.9ºC (111ºF) day broke a record and was Melbourne’s hottest since 1939. I think Maria Sharapova was sweating her pants off because she was playing that day (wouldn’t all the guys like to see that?)!

Melbourne’s famous tramway system is the largest outside of Europe and the fourth largest in the world. It stretches along 244 kilometers (152 miles) of track, and has 450 trams. A free city circle tour tram circles the central business district forming a ‘loop’ around it.

The mostly flat city has been named one of the best cycling cities in the world and is criss-crossed with hundreds of bike lanes and paths. Bike lanes here are marked in bright green and when I say bike lane—I really mean it—a solid line separates you from the cars and in some cases there are even traffic lights for bikes! They will soon be trying out some European style bike lanes (commonly used in Copenhagen) where the traffic lanes and bike lanes are separated by parked cars. I took advantage of this Chicago-like cycle friendly city by renting a bike for a few weeks and using it to tour around and as my main transport method to and from work. I also was lucky enough to score an excellent deal on the rental ($50 for 2 weeks instead of $25/day) thanks to the fact that all the Brunswick Street Cycle Shop guys and gals come in to the café where I work to get their lunches and coffees. Apparently TV jobs aren’t the only ones with perks!

Melbourne is often referred to as Australia’s garden city, and the state of Victoria is known as “the garden state” just like my home state of New Jersey. Melbourne is chock full of lush green spaces—The Botanic Gardens, Carlton Gardens, Fitzroy Gardens. These are all huge parks with towering trees and bricked curving paths where locals can laze the day away with a picnic of vegemite sandwiches or just play some fetch with their pooches. Sounds nice, but in actuality many are just hanging out smoking. Lots of smokers here. Cough.

Also, like many cities, there is a huge revitalization going on. The Docklands, Southgate and Crown Complexes are all new areas to eat, shop, and stroll around in what was once old industrial port and shipping yards. There is also some pretty amazing public art sprinkled throughout the city—in parks, on bridges, and on sidewalks.

One day I also swapped roles here and took a Melbourne Greeter Tour. I was a Chicago Greeter Volunteer back in Chicago for a couple years. Many cities in the world now offer this great service where a local will take around tourists for a few hours and show them their city from a real local’s perspective. On the tour we discovered one of the best and most defining characteristics of Melbourne–its “little laneways:” Degraves Lane, Hardware Lane, the Block Arcade, the Royal Arcade—these are all virtually glorified alleys that have been closed to traffic, filled with charming European-like cafes and outdoor table seating. They offer the illusion of being secret and hidden even though they are quite famous. Some are darker and narrower than others and some barely feel like much more than an alley except the fact that they lead to an inconspicuous bar—like the Croft institute that is literally at the end of a combo trash/urine-smelling, dingy, dumpster filled alley. What a challenge to get past that and know a cold drink is waiting for you at the end, even if it is in a beaker.

So, Melbourne will no doubt continue to struggle to come out from the shadow of big brother Sydney’s striking yet obvious beauty. But I like to think Melbourne’s beauty is just more ‘hidden’ and more than just skin deep. And, I think one of the reasons I like Melbourne so much is its ‘down to earth’ similarity to my adopted home and my ‘second city’…that I think is number one.

The Great Ocean Road is one of the most spectacular drives, view-wise, in Australia and is up there with the best in the world. It stretches for hundreds of kilometers along the southern edge of the state of Victoria’s rugged coastline. This curvy drive is reminiscent of the Pacific Coast Highway of California—except for one thing, here, your are driving on the left side of the road…so you may want to take care when gazing off into the ocean that you don’t ‘end up’ in the ocean. My friend Kay and I rented a car for two days and took to the open highway to experience it all for ourselves.

On one side we drove past the lush Otway Ranges and National Park filled with rainforests which contrasted much of the nation’s parched outback. We spotted wild koalas sleeping lazily up in the eucalyptus trees. They weren’t too hard to spot—just look for a big round ‘lifeless’ ball. I’m not being facetious when I call them lazy—these marsupials sleep around twenty hours a day. For the rest of their busy day, they will be munching on gum leaves, which are so toxic, the koala expends most of its body’s energy on detoxifying his lunch once it’s inside his system. They also don’t actually drink water, but get their hydration from these same leaves. This sloth-like ball of fur has an unusually small brain for its skull which is said to look like a pair of shriveled walnut halves leaving about 40% of the cranial cavity filled with fluid. It is the only animal on Earth with such a strangely reduced brain. Perhaps it is why they move so slow and seem so polite? They simply have “nothing” on their minds. The Koala needs large areas of healthy, connected forest and will travel long distances along tree corridors in search of new territory and mates. The ever-increasing human population on the coastal parts of the Australia continues to reduce these corridors due to increasing agricultural and residential the Koala here. development, forestry and road-building, marooning Koala colonies in decreasing areas of bush. Save the koala here.

On the other side of them Great Ocean Road was exactly what it was named for—the Ocean. The sight of stunning limestone cliffs, gorges, and arches carved out by crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean was awe-inspiring. The most famous and photographed of these scenic spots is the “Twelve Apostles.” These yellowish-orange rock stacks ominously sit tall in the ocean and were once part of the mainland, but thanks to natural erosion they are now each their own sea skyscraper. Only seven or eight of the twelve are actually visible from the viewing points and no one seems to know for sure if there ever really were twelve—maybe it just sounded good.

We figured once we got out of the city, the ‘funny’ driving would be quite easy since we would just be going straight for several hours and certainly tried avoiding making right turns. Driving is usually second nature to most, but not when you are, not only driving on the wrong side of the road, but also sitting on the wrong side of the car!

There were some definite things that just felt plain odd. For example, as I normally sit on the left side of the car to drive, many normal habits were backwards now and it took actual concentration just to look up and to the left into the rear-view mirror (I ended up using the side mirror a lot more than usual) and also reaching up and to the right to put on my safety belt. This one was funny because even though sitting on the right side of the car in the states means the seat belt is also behind you to the right, since I was driving, my instant reaction was to reach back and to the left where I ended up playing “air seatbelt.” Also, when in a quicker type situation like parallel parking, I tended to immediately reach down with my right hand to throw the car in reverse, but, alas, the gear shift was to my left.

The biggest, and funniest, difference of all was the fact that every time either of us went to make a turn we would instantly put on the windshield wipers by mistake because the lever for them was where our turn signal usually is! This was quite hilarious and I have to say that by the end of our journey—we had the cleanest windshield around.

The one constant in my life this year as I travel around the world is my big backpack. And like all other close companions, I’ve already established a love/hate relationship with it. It’s very hard to pack for one year. In fact, obviously, you really can’t technically pack for a year. I had to get it out of my head that I was packing for 365 days of travel. You really just have to pack for one week and remember there is a lot of laundry in my future and, of course, I can always buy something if I need it.

I’d only been on the road a few weeks and already sent one care package home of extra clothes that I just didn’t need and now, four months in, I’ve bought a few new shirts (re-wearing the same 6 over and over gets old real quick) and plan to give away some others and a pair of sandals in exchange. One thing you always have is a limit—there is just so much I can stuff into my backpack with out the seams starting to burst.

It’s nice to not have TOO many clothes, but I do miss having a bit more variety. But for the first time I really feel like I’m certainly getting the most out of my clothes and shoes.

Packing and unpacking my bag has become one of my new tasks in life. It’s not exactly fun, but I just need to remember it’s replacing things like working 8+ hour days, riding the train for an hour to and from work, vacuuming, unloading the dishwasher (okay, sorry, that’s a bad example since I was super lucky to even have a dishwasher in the first place), etc. The part that makes my obsessively neat side happy is the separate Ziploc-type air-releasing clothes bags I brought. Not only do they help to keep all my clothes compressed, my favorite part is how they keep my garments organized—pants in one bag, shirts in another, and the under-things in a third. This makes life a whole lot easier when you have to crash at one place for just one night. Love these.

My backpack is what they call a convertible. Oooh yeah, put the top down! No, it has wheels and an extendable handle so you can roll it, but also has a flap in back that unzips to reveal some straps and a waist belt so you can hoist it onto your back when necessary. So far, I’ve been wondering if I should’ve just bought the regulation huge backpack I see on nearly every traveler I meet. With mine it seemed more like I was strapping a huge suitcase to my back. Fortunately there have been only a few times I actually have had to wear “big red” like a backpack. Boarding a boat taxi in Costa Rica in knee deep water was one of them. Another was in Chile hobbling over a rocky road which became a rocky sidewalk which just turned into a grassy steep hill that led to my hostel with the great view, but the very sweat-inducing and nearly impossible access. Normally I have to actually sit down to strap my pack to my back. Here some old leathery Chilean woman had to help me hoist the forty pound monstrosity on to my tired disoriented body.

But, fortunately, I have already received the always welcomed approval from some fellow backpackers. A girl from Switzerland was admiring my pack in Costa Rica and loved how it opened like a suitcase instead of a rucksack like hers where she had to put everything in through the top and therefore had to dump out the contents anytime she needed to get at something and, inevitably, that ‘something’ was bound to be all the way at the bottom. Plus it is made by Victorinox—the famous Swiss Army Knife Company. It’s not exactly ‘razor-sharp,’ but the name brand also helped woo her Swiss praise.

The big red pack comes with a separate but attachable smaller day pack. This I use just as it says—on day trips to carry my camera, rain jacket and other possibly important daily necessities like ‘womanly items’ or my cool compass/flashlight/thermometer/magnifying glass tool. You never know when you will suddenly be lost in the dark and need to know the temperature and have to read some fine print!

Things I Brought that I Love:

• Packable Rain Jacket
• Laptop
• Camera
• Big hair clip
• Nylon shorts and pants with zip pockets
• Sleep Sack (only used it once so far, but it saved me from some pretty rank sheets)
• Micro Fiber Mini Towel
• Duct Tape (patched up holey screen to keep out pesky Costa Rican mosquitoes—but as most of you remember it did not help with the ant situation)
• Umbrella (this is, of course, already broken, but my next one will be just as cherished)
• Chapstick with SPF protection
• Hiking Boots & Walking Sandals

Things I don’t need:

• A full set of Encyclopedias
• My car
• My U.S. State Quarter Collection
• A beach ball
• A little, cuddly wallaby (oh, but I’d sure love to have one!)

See the “How LL” page for more details on what I brought and how a world tour is planned.

Sadly, since writing this, I lost my cool thermometer-slash-compass. Or it was stolen? I think the latter. I mean who wants a laptop when you can have a cool gizmo like that?

I joined a very exclusive club as I began my trip. No, not the mile high club—I’m talking about becoming one of the ‘elite’ Americans with “the card,” the American Express card.

I had always been hit over the head with all the Am Ex marketing about how good they are with international travel help and benefits. Well, I am here to tell you—don’t bother! Did you know that for any international charges you make with an Am Ex card in another currency they charge you a fee? That would mean a fee for nearly every single transaction I’m doing this whole year! Luckily my other credit card does not do this and pretty much has all the travel benefits that AmEx has. I’m glad I found out about the fees before I left and have basically gotten the Am Ex card for nothing! Until now.

Here in Melbourne I found one good use for it. A few nights ago I joined thousands of Melbournians in Federation Square—the city’s central meeting point and all around ‘hang out plaza”
to watch the final match of the Australian Open.

I had been fortunate enough to go to one match live the first week of the tournament. The Australian Open is the first of the world’s four Grand Slam tennis tournaments, held each January at Melbourne Park. The other three are the French Open, Wimbledon, and the U.S. Open held in Queens, NY.

The Tennis Grounds here are just a quick ten minute walk from the Central Business District and they are beautiful. There are nearly twenty tennis courts with several matches going on at once as well as the bigger matches taking place in the two larger arenas—Vodafone and Rod Laver Arena. Thousands of tennis fans, local Melbournians, and just plain ol’ tourists looking for a party wander around the grounds. It is apparently one of the livelier world tennis tourneys. For a sport that is a bit on the tame side and more ‘adult’ than say rugby or football, the Australian Open does have its share of crazy, possibly not-so-sober fans. I saw many a young mob from Croatia and other parts of the world draped in their country’s flags and dripping with the requisite face paint. You can buy a simple $20 ground pass and just wander in and out of the lesser matches. My friend Kay, who’s here getting her Master’s at the University of Melbourne, and I splurged a little more and got tickets into Rod Laver Arena for the second round. The arena was named to honor one of Australia’s greatest tennis players of all time. Rod Laver is the only player in the history of tennis to have captured two Grand Slams (1962 and 1969) – the ultimate in tennis where a player wins the four major titles in the same calendar year. We got to see a few of today’s biggest stars play and even saw two who would eventually become champs in the end—the U.S. Bryan Twins in Doubles, and Roger Federer, the Swiss Stallion who went on the win the Men’s Final here for the second year in a row. I also got to see our very own Andy Roddick easily defeat Frenchman Marc Gicquel, but unfortunately he later went on to just get mentally crushed by the fierce and ‘on fire’ Federer.

So, of course, I didn’t have tickets to the actual final match, but they were showing it on the big screen TV outside in nearby Federation Square. So, I hopped on my bike and rode over to join the mobs ready to watch some good tennis. I realized American Express was one of the big sponsors of the Open. They had an ‘exclusive’ seating area just for AM EX card holders, like me. I grabbed a seat, noshed on some snacks, and cheered for the underdog: hot Chilean, Fernando Gonzales. Plus I got to practice my waning second language skills with some friendly Chileans sitting next to me. Muy guapo Fernando put up a good fight, but in the end Federer is just a maven on the court.

So for this one night, I guess membership had its privileges.

In many ways, Australia is just like America. But there are a few obvious differences I must discuss. Even though we speak the same language, there are some definite words and phrases that I had to learn. We all know terms like g’day, mate, no worries and the loo. But whereas we say “how are you,” “how’s it going” or “what’s up,” here in the land ‘down under’ they say how ya going instead. When we say “good going” or “good for you,” these guys here say good on ya! We’ve all heard the Ozzie term barbie for barbecue before. But they seem to “cutesitize” a lot of other words as well: breakfast=brekkie, mosquitoes=mozzies, university=uni, avo=afternoon, and therefore, of course, evo=evening. Of course, because of their ties to England a lot of the vocabulary here uses the Queens English: biscuits for cookies and chips for fries.

Also speaking of food, rockmelon is cantaloupe—I much prefer the word rockmelon anyway—I mean what is a cantaloupe—sounds like some antelope in a can or something. Actually the cantaloupe we eat in the US is really a muskmelon. The Cantaloupensis, (look closer the word you think you just saw is not in there!) the true cantaloupe, has a completely different appearance and is only grown in Europe. Oh, and the aforementioned capsicum (red and green bell peppers)? I’ve done some research and discovered that is their actual scientific botanical name. Wow—that’s very deep of the Australians and just so far removed from their other words like brekkie. I was shopping in a department store recently and came across the Manchester section. The what? Apparently, it’s the household linens and sheets section. I’ve been away so long I can’t even recall what we call it. A bottle shop is a liquor store and a milk bar is a convenience store and speaking of, there is a 7-11 on nearly every corner. And I stopped by Target a few days ago to replenish some of my toiletries. But this major coffee drinking town only has a handful of Starbucks, instead there are hundreds of independent coffee shops and cafes where the locals gather and laze the day away with latte in hand and cigarette in mouth.

Flip flops here? Still called thongs. I’m sure that leaves you with an important follow-up question—and yes, here, it’s still called the G-string. Just like the good ol’ 70s. And lastly, this is definitely a nation that likes its booze or piss (what they call alcohol). You can surmise this by all the slang terms they have for vomiting: pavement pizza, kerbside quiche, rainbow sneeze, technicolor yawn, liquid laugh, drive the porcelain bus, and simply chunder. Mmm…nice images.

I can’t imagine driving here as I’m slowly getting used to just walking on the ‘wrong’ (left) side of the sidewalk and standing on the left side of the escalator or passing others on the right instead of left. But occasionally my right-leaning (not politically speaking) tendencies get the better of me and I drift over to that side. It must be a sheer giveaway to the locals that I am American. I can just hear them, “look at her walking on the right, tsk-tsk silly American girl!”

Besides just driving on the left there are some other driving rules you better know before getting behind the wheel here. At some intersections here they have what are called hook turns, a unique driving rule to Melbourne. Now, again, keep in mind they drive on the left here. A ‘hook turn’ is literally a right turn made from the left most lane. At these intersections, you turn right from the left hand lane, leaving the right hand lane free for through traffic and the tram tracks in the middle clear for trams. So instead of getting over to the right most lane, you actually pull as far to the left as possible (basically perpendicular to the cars waiting at the red light), wait in the intersection for the light to change and then pull a wide right turn across the whole intersection. Think about it back in the US as if when you wanted to make a left hand turn you first pulled all the way to the right curb to do it!

Something else I’ve noticed, especially from working here, is they seem to charge for everything—at my café you have to plunk down an extra fifty cents if you want mayo or mustard on your sandwich, and even just toasting it will cost you another two Quarters (if they used Quarters here)! You want that ‘to go?’ You have to ask for take away containers, and guess what? That will be one dollar more, please.

Now for some of the differences I see as improvements. Here there are simply no pennies. These archaic coins are pretty worthless so they just simply round up. For the most part all prices are multiples of five. Makes life much easier.

Like 95% of the rest of the world, Australia is also on the metric system. Why we never switched over completely in the U.S. is perplexing to me. I remember learning it all in the 3rd grade and then it just seemed to ‘go away.’ The United States is now the only industrialized country in the world that does not use the metric system as its predominant system of measurement. But we’re inching toward it, so to speak. Metric is the preferred measuring system for U.S. trade because our overseas trade partners all use it. Doctors do all measures in metrics especially distributing medicine in cubic centimeters. Virtually all scientists in the U.S. use metric measures exclusively. Track and field events have dropped yards and miles all together. I remember running the 100-yard-dash in middle school, now they do not run yards or miles, but events like the 1600 meter event which has replaced the mile. Congress passed a law in 1975 to work toward making the metric system the standard system in America. This was amended in 1988 when it was decided that the Government itself must be metric before it can start asking the private sector to follow suit. That’s right, people. There’s a creeping “metricization” going on. And someday, you may finally have to admit that kilo for kilo, it really is a better system.

Working in the food service industry, I’m well aware that there is virtually no tipping here. As a traveler, it certainly makes things much easier and as a worker its okay, because the minimum wage here is much higher than the sad low wages we have back in the U.S. In fact, New Zealand and Australia were the first countries in the world to put into effect the ‘minimum wage’ back in the late 1800s to ensure fair pay and no exploitation of workers. The current federal minimum wage for full or part time employees aged over 21 in Australia is AU$13.47 (~US$10.50) per hour. As of January 2007, the United States federal minimum wage is $5.15/hour. I think I made more than that in High School nearly 20 years ago. (Coincidentally, the day after I posted this the
U.S. Senate voted overwhelmingly to raise the federal minimum wage to $7.25/hour. But as all things bureaucratic, it would not happen quickly. The legislation would raise the minimum wage in three steps. It would go to $5.85 an hour upon taking effect 60 days after the president signs it into law, then to $6.55 an hour a year later, and to $7.25 an hour a year after that. This is the first raise to the minimum wage in a decade.)

Supermarkets here have virtually done away with plastic bags. It seems nearly everyone uses one of those reusable canvas grocery sacks. They sell them only for 99c right at the register and it just seems silly not to. In fact, they have somehow made it seem cool to be seen with a green canvas supermarket bag. I say this because it seems everyone has one. That is probably the simplest, best marketing strategy. Why has this not become the norm in the U.S.?

Finally, it appears that Australia has the friendliest flies I have ever met. Never have I become so aware of my tiny winged friends buzzing around me. Back in the States, it is very rare that I’m bothered by flies. Normally if one is around you, you can ‘bat’ it away and that’s that. Not so here. The “blowies” are just like our standard house fly, but these little buggers are lazy, slow moving, and stick to you like American flies on shit. Seriously, here you bat a fly away and it flies in a circle to land right back on your arm or face. The cute Kangaroo is usually held up as the animal that represents the essence of Australia. However in terms of influencing Australian culture, the Kangaroo is no match for the fly. Although the fly doesn’t appear on any flags, it has shaped everything from the manner an Australian speaks to Australian fashion. In terms of speech, it has been said that the Australian accent is a product of Australians breathing through their noses for fear that flies might blow into their mouths. Flies have also inspired a new style of body language. Known as the “Australian Salute”, Australians have turned flicking away a fly into an art form.

I’d been in Melbourne for only three days and I’d already found a place to stay, made a new best friend, joined a tennis league, and landed myself a job in a café.

Finding a job was not easy since I (shhh…) didn’t have a work visa and was not going to be here very long so no one wanted to take the time to train me if I was giving notice in three weeks. I was at a point though, where I need something “real” to do and didn’t want to just be a tourist anymore. I knew having a real routine and getting a job would allow me that insight into a place and its people that you just can’t get as a tourist taking the double-decker city bus tour. Plus, this country ain’t cheap and I could use the dough to help offset some of the costs.

My first day here I searched for jobs all day walking up and down Brunswick Street which is filled with, what seemed like hundreds of eateries and cafes. I really had to put on my biggest confident smile and sell myself even though fifteen years of TV experience does not a barista make. I had two ‘real’ retail jobs in High School, but, let’s fact it, that was quite a long time ago. Most places I stopped in to would not hire me because:

A. I had NO coffee experience, B. I would not be here very long, and C. I had no work visa.

One place I tried is called “Beans & Bagels.” We have a place in Chicago with the same name. And, of course, like nearly everywhere in the city, I’d done a story there. I told them about ours and they knew about it because apparently when you Google (funny how that is now a verb in our vocab) it—the Chicago one comes up first—naturally! I was really excited and thought this would be perfect—I’m a Jew—I have tons of ‘bagel experience’ (well, noshing on them) but, nope, they said by the time they trained me I’d be leaving. Oy Vey! That’s when I had to start lying.

I HATE lying, but toward the end of the day, I was giving up hope and the few people I talked to said I should. Maybe a place would hire me if they didn’t know they would train me and then in less than four weeks I would leave. Plus many of the area cafes used a lot of ‘casual workers’ that only worked during their school holiday breaks and such.

After about twelve different cafes telling me ‘no’ for one reason or another, I was getting a bit dejected. This is a huge café town and they take their lattes and cappuccinos very seriously. Was this even going to work? I tried one last place. It was a little coffee/deli/sandwich shop. It was more ‘real’ and not as trendy as some of the other cafes. The manager, Vince, greeted me with a smile.

“Do you have coffee experience?” He asked.

“No.”

“Have you worked in a sandwich shop before?”

“No.”

“How long will you be here?”

“Oh, I’m not sure yet…depends if I get the job,” I said with a smile.

“Okay, come in for a trial tomorrow.”

What? He was actually giving me a chance! And I didn’t even know the name of the place! He was the only one all day who didn’t want to see my resume. I had told him I worked in TV and was a professional, but had never really worked in food hospitality before.

“It’s all about the attitude. I can see you are friendly and have a warm smile—that’s the most important when serving our customers.” Vince said.

Cool, I like it here already. I’ve always seen the importance in customer service and completely agreed. No matter where you go or who you call, the person saying “hello” and first helping you is truly acting as an ambassador to that company and this first impression, at least in my opinion, can really determine whether or not you shop there again. I really hoped I’d get the job—then I will at least I would meet some people, make a little cash, and have a routine.

The next day, I walked into Pane Provinciale and became a student of coffee and sandwiches. Vince showed me how to make lattes (one shot of espresso, steamed milk, and only one centimeter of perfect foam and in a glass not a cup!), cappuccinos (one third espresso, one third steamed milk, one third foam or ‘froth’ with a sprinkle of cocoa on top. These are named after the Capuchin Monks who work white flat hats) and then how to make sandwiches—their way—with margarine as a spread instead of mayo or mustard and besides lettuce and tomato they also love their beet root here! Apparently I’d passed the test because he asked me back the next day and I’ve been working about 20 hours a week ever since.

The Licata Family emigrated to Melbourne years ago from Italy. They had run a catering business and took over this café about two years ago. Charlie and Rose Licata owned the place and ran it with their son, Vince and their niece, Natalie. They were all as nice as could be and I loved their Italian/Australian accents. They reminded me of every warm, funny Italian I’ve ever worked for and with.

My first week I was nervous and in that new job phase where it’s frustrating because you don’t know everything yet. I had to keep asking everyone how much the sausage rolls were or what a hedgehog slice was (a brownie). I was hardly a coffee drinker myself so the learning curve was a little steeper. Plus, even the money was new to me—they have way more coins than we do—including a two dollar and one dollar coins. Plus they have a twenty cent one and another for fifty cents. Also—they seemed to stock their register backwards—the bigger bills were on the right where I was used to seeing the singles. This took a lot of concentration as I certainly didn’t want to give someone change of a fifty-dollar bill instead of a one dollar coin! I was most nervous that someone would come in and shout some crazy order at me in ‘Aussie speak’ and I wouldn’t be able to understand a word of it. This, of course didn’t happen –it was just new job jitters. But I certainly was in the disadvantage because not only did I have to learn they way they did things at this particular café, but had a crash course in what they ‘called’ things here in Australia.

• Whole Meal=Whole Wheat
• Mince Meat=Ground Beef
• To-mah-toe=To-may-toe (“You say To-may-to and I say To-mah-to…”)
• Tasty Cheese=Cheddar Cheese
• Capsicum=Peppers
• Sauce=Ketchup
• Flat White=Coffee with milk
• Short Black=an Espresso
• How ya Going=How are you?

Besides the perks of getting a free lunch and being able to take home sandwiches and breads that would just get thrown out (freebies are always nice for the poor traveler), it was great to be part of the workforce again. I hadn’t worked a job where I was literally on my feet all day since my teenage afternoons at Nagel’s Candy Barn and Image Photo & Video. Now, I was dipping my toes into the chilly waters of manual labor again…and I have to say it really felt good. My former job as a TV Producer was sometimes tiring, but it was more a brain exhaustion. Now, I was physically exhausted after a day on my feet running around making sandwiches during the lunch rush, serving up the locals’ daily dose of caffeine, and washing dishes as they stacked up. There is really something to be said for earning money this way—I felt like I was literally working for it, and haven’t felt this for a long, long time. The extra cash would help cover the more expensive costs of traveling in Australia. Plus, I just really liked the feeling of being part of the Melbourne working world and all the benefits that came with that—meeting the locals, the regulars who frequented Pane Provinciale and getting to know my co-workers. And the mocha lattes are starting to win me over.