n00b

So, It's my first morning in Sydney. Yesterday's plane ride went off without a hitch. ($40 in excess baggage fees but hey, that was to be expected..really) My only complaint is the annoying signor whose constant fidgeting and knee knocking sent my own cool, calm collection right out the window. It was not a kind of intermittent nervous twitch.. but the kind of full blown body tourette syndrome, that try as you might to turn your head so that he isn't in your peripherals, you can still feel the ripples of manic energy.

Next, to catch a taxi and try not to stare in awe and prove how much of a tourist you are to the taxi driver. It's fairly obvious that anywhere outside of Queensland, there won't be Queenslanders (as in the type of house) but I guess it didn't occur to me just how different the architecture could be. I love it! Tiny little gingerbread houses all stacked together up a crooked street. Excellent.

It's a struggle to get my bags out of the taxi and all hooked in together but I can tell you, I was most definitely not prepared for what was to come. I met Lauren's Mum outside and she showed me in the split double security doors (also a massive struggle to get through) that lead off the street into the kitchen.. not too bad I thought, slightly reminiscent of a McDonald's restaurant with it's plastic tables and bolted in swivel chairs but that's okay. Now to the stairs.. yes stairs.. no lift. It seems that this backpackers lodge was not designed by anyone who has ever been backpacking before. It occurs to me they probably never had to carry armfuls of groceries home either.

There's a set of narrow tiled stairs to get to our room. Or so I thought. Followed by that set of stairs, there's another.. and another then finally when you get to the peak there's a set of stairs down. hrmm.. useful.

Now, this may not seem so bad and really, in the grand scheme of things, it's not. But when you're a little weakling girl with not much coordination, carrying 34 kilos of baggage up three flights of narrow stairs is not on the top of your list of things you want to do within your first hour of becoming a interstate superstar model (ha!)

So, we get into our room, auspicious number 22. The first thing that catches my eye is a green ladder that leads halfway up the back wall to meet a green rimmed doorway. Inside this funny little doorway is my bed. Hooray! It seems to me that if it's a struggle to get my luggage up a flight of stairs it may also be slightly difficult to get my humungous bag up a near vertical ladder. Uhmm.. time for resting. Totally not up to this task right now. I skirt around my bag for a while and notice the bathroom. If you can think of what an aeroplane toilet cubicle looks like, size wise, then add in a shower, in the same scale.. this is our bathroom. You cannot bend forward without hitting your head or ass on either a wall or a sink. Now, I've always considered myself a bathroom girl. Not in a gross toilet way, but in a 'this is my forte' kind of way. My bathroom is where i come when I'm half asleep and need to start my day. It's where i centre myself, where I prepare myself for things to come, where I shower myself, nurture myself, dress myself and paint myself. I really enjoy the part of my day where everything is ahead of me and I get to choose who I get to be. All in the quiet solitary sanctuary of my bathroom. Snap back to reality. Tiny box that smells like mould. No bench space. No privacy. Hrmm. You got some adjustin' to do, girlie.

Also, there is a capital lettered sign above the toilet reminding you to FLUSH THE TOILET! AFTER EACH USE! Yes, excellent, please do.

the view from my window

stairway to heaven