An Unlikely Ambassador

During a regular video chat with my brother a consensus was reached on eBook readers. We both agreed for a whole host of reasons that you can't beat a real book. We mentioned how you can pickup almost anything you want at the library, at no cost, so why would you need to buy a new book, or for that matter invest money on an electronic device. In converting the simplest form of popular media to digital you are now locked into filling it with content that you need to purchase, your old books are not welcome. I figured I would get by with the popular time tested tech of the good old fashioned book, and when I feel the need for new digital content I can refer to the many ebook reader apps for the iPhone.

You may find that this is a bit of a lighter post. I should serve to equalize my blog a bit from discussing only the positives of life in Tasmania for a New Englander. This should provide a little equilibrium so the people at home don't think I've tore up my passport.

Lucy and I both had a busy week, and haven't really had much of a night life in months so we dressed up a bit and decided to head into the city for a drink.. it was 7:00pm.

There are several bars that we had to choose from, and we settled on one called "The Northern Club". Located on one of the main streets in town it was selected because it wasn't full of the post-work crowds. We entered into a very dark oak bar and glanced through their extensive cocktail list. Lucy selected a glass of champagne while I decided it was time I ventured back into Martini-ville. I asked the barmaid for Lucy's champagne and then for a Dirty Vodka Martini with Stoli, extra Dry. She cocked her head like a curious dog and said she'd need to consult another employee. I was then told that they didn't have any "stolichee" vodka (a terrible massacre of the name Stolichnaya), so I said that Grey Goose is fine, which it is not, but at this point I was trying to be magnanimous, and I didn't want to be that "picky American". She began making the drink, clearly unaware of what "extra dry" meant, using half a shot of vermouth.

She went out back and returned saying "We don't have any olive juice, only olives, is that okay?" I said that it was, although it wasn't. As I waited I brought out Lucy's champagne to one of the lovely tables outside that lined the street. It was across from the old Launceston post office, one of the more historical landmarks in town, home to a large clock tower that had me scanning the streets for Doc Brown.

I was back at the bar watching the glass of vodka and vermouth get progressively warmer when she returned with something in her hand. "These are the only olives we have, they are brown, and they have pitts". I could not hide my disappointment and said, well the drink as it is will be fine (no it won't). She returned the olives.. I presume to be used in someones salad later that evening and handed me my drink, and the bill. The glass of champagne and my drink cost $29.

Lessons learned:

-Never be shy to back out of a drink order if you see it is heading south.
-Always have a backup drink ready to go, in this case a double Johnnie Walker Red on the rocks would have sufficed.
-A Dirty Martini is a rare drink in Launceston, or Australia for that matter and I must take it into my own hands to craft that elusive mix of vodka and salt so delights my palette.

I've decided that going out in the future will see my ordering beer. If not for the cost, for the ease of ordering it. When we went to the next bar I confidently ordered a Guinness. Alas, they did not have it, in fact after a bit of research I found that nobody has Guinness on tap in Launceston. I ordered a "Crown Lager" which is a tall thin looking dark bottle with a gold label that extends up the neck. It looks to me like a beer bottle from the 70's. It was good, but not great.

After much deliberation I have decided that my new Beer of choice will be Boags XXX. It comes in bright red "stubbie" (bottle for westerners) and tastes quite good despite its vibrant packaging.

I can handle the fact that my DVDs won't play, that my electronics will need adapters, and even that I had to relearn to drive, but when I can't get Guinness on tap, a decent Dirty Martini, and of course.. clam dip, than I do realize that I am indeed quite far away from home.

Last night I decided that I would do something worthy of writing about.

I don't know why 1000 push-ups came into my head, but it was the first thing, and I decided I would stick do it. I am a man of my word.

As far as I know, nobody can bust out 1000 push-ups at once, so attempting to do that would be as useful as punching myself in the face. What I can do, is perform 25 with little difficulty, so I should be able to do 25 push-ups every 15 minutes. This will give me 100 per hour, and if I start the moment when I wake up I should get to 1000 push-ups by 5pm.

The alarm went off and I was up immediately ready to get started. The first 25 were rough, but they woke me up. I set my watch to go off every 15 minutes and went about my normal daily activities. Sure enough as the morning progressed the beeping noise would proceed my dropping to the ground and pushing out 25. As I reached the 350 mark I noticed fatigued setting in at push-up number 20. That number began to get lower. By the time I reached 500 at lunchtime, I was wobbling at number 16, and hesitating before commencing. Do a few more, rest before finally getting to 25.

Fatigue would case strength to leach out of me so rapidly, one moment I'm sticking to a decent cadence, and in just a few repetitions I would be gritting my teeth just to do one push-up. I could see that I was losing the battle, my muscles weren't able to recover in the 15 minutes I gave them. I dipped into my long distance running training and did what I would have done had I hit the wall on the road. I gelled. I sucked down a "Gu" and took an hour break.

As the afternoon went on I continued, slowly reaching 700, then 800. I felt confident. If marathon training teaches you anything, you know that the human body was built for the long haul. If you give it enough time, it can perform almost anything you ask of it. As I moved up the to the golden number I was again wobbly nearing 25. 5pm came and went, as any breaks, or hesitations I took cumulated in my original completion time being extended.

We had company at 6:30, and I had to excuse myself while I double-timed-it to the guest room to eek out my final few sets. Yes, it is embarrassing, how do explain as an adult that you are trying to do 1000 push-ups? My poor wife was not in an enviable position.

I was able to record the finish, so here it is in all its anti-climactic glory.


I did it. I can now say that I did 1000 push-ups in one day. It was not as hard as I thought it might be. I was only inconvenienced the next day when I experienced soreness in my pectorals so intense it felt like the muscle itself had the flu. Aside from this however, the challenge wasn't that challenging, and I may have to up the ante next time.

This is not a post about an exercise regimen, or about how you too can get a better workout in 6 minutes or less. This is a post about the idea of creating stories to tell.

I was inspired by the television series "The Long Way Around" to create something worthy of telling. The Show follows two motorcyclists as they travel east from London, all the way around the world.

It gets your blood going, and I asked myself what can I write about? What story would I tell? Truthfully I'd rather not bore my readers. If I were able to read these posts out loud and get yawns or notice people checking email on their phones or texting in would feel like i would need to up the ante some how. I'd do things like move my hands, be animated, and embellish facts in order to validate my time with you.

I'm sure I could spend an entire day writing a description of the mundane with every ounce of creativity and a dog eared thesaurus to open new insights into something that is in fact dull. I've decided that I am going to work for it instead. So i ask myself what I can do that will make for a good story to tell. What kind of adventure could I undertake that I could bring up at a party and turn some heads. I don't want to do this just for your benefit, but for my own.

Because I am currently unemployed, and have few limits on what I can do with my time, I'd thought I'd give this creative philosophy a try.

Tomorrow I will complete 1000 pushups.

Wish me luck.

Eaglehawk Neck is the name of the 150 meter wide bridge that connects the Tasman peninsula to the rest of the island of Tasmania. While spending a few days in the area recently I realized that the Tasman peninsula contains everything I like about Tasmania. It has a rich and brutal history, an astounding collection of natural wonders, and an abundance of stunning views. Where each cell in our body contains our complete blueprint, I believe the Tasman peninsula reflects the identity of Australia.

The penal colony of Port Arthur was opened in the 1830's in a little tucked away harbour, and stood as the endpoint for some of the worst offenders to the British crown. Typically these were incorrigable men who wouldn't adapt to the prison system elsewhere. These men were tasked with carving out by hand their own prison. This harsh prison system had the men providing all the labor necessary to support their incarceration with no thought towards ease of conditions, or efficiency of action. Once they established a meager living and their numbers grew they then moved on to public works projects such as roads, increased farming, etc.

I'd wager that I am a lot like many modern people who have never felt awed by the power of agriculture, being conditioned to having instant access to every conceivable product. I have to admit that I became awestruck of the elements of primitive life in Tasmania, and how they resembled a machine getting up to speed. Cut trees down, and you get buildings, plant crops and you will get vegetables, raise sheep for wool, cows for milk and beef. There is a complicated relationship between all these pieces. There was no alternative than to exploit the land, no Wal-Mart, no air-drops, trains, or even highways as a supply line to any other resources. They were limited to what they could grow, harvest, or slaughter. This is akin to going camping in the remote woods, and then slowly building into a town with almost no outside assistance. Expansionism and fronteirism akin to manifest destiny was powered by the labor the detritus of society.

As with anyone who really wants to understand history, I often put myself into the position of those who were there. What must it have been like to be a British Solder in 19th century England to be shipped halfway across the world to a distant land? It must have felt like the beginning of time. Imagine being forced to leave everything you know and love for an indefinite period because of a criminal act. While there is certainty that many men were guilty of the crimes they were prosecuted for, there must also have been men who's guilt was a machination of state incompetence. Both men, innocent and guilty lined the sweltering and filthy bunks of the convict ships headed south.

I'm on a beach facing the sun, there is no noise but the waves, and the heaviness of the heat seems to push me deep into the hot sand. I have just walked across the thinnest part of Eaglehawk Neck, from the inner bay to the beach. I have followed slowly and methodically along the path of the infamous dog line. The reason this peninsula was selected was due to this particular feature, in concert with a similar neck to the north it forms a natural barrier to escape. The method to keep the convicts from escaping was to chain a line of ferocious dogs at intervals along this point. The line consisted of as few as 10, to as many as 18 snarling dogs stretching out onto platforms that extended far into the surf, taking account for the tide. There is a monument to the dog line that resides only a few feet from the road. From there I followed the short path to the sea. I struggle to look for any signs.. a raised mound, a rusty chain on the bushes, but they are all long gone by now.

The peninsula is a popular tourist destination now. In addition to the obvious historical interest the area attracts, it is filled with rare geological formations. There is the tesselated pavement only a few hundred meters from the dog line up the beach, as well as the Tasman Arch (see picture), and the Blowhole. Each one of these features would draw crowds on its own, but it is all within a few kilometers of area upon entering the peninsula.

Eaglehawk Neck is the reason for the Penal colony that was built here, and Port Arthur has become a thorough and informative national monument which respects both sides of the law whose history it bears. There are informative tours, that includes a moment when the visitors, rather sinisterly, select cards from a deck. Each card represents a former inhabitant of the prison, gaurd, or prisoner. You earn your card by chance, and I can't think of a more fitting way to instill a respect for past then this. What was once a prison, is now a place that people flock to, to learn about their own past and to gain insight to where they come from. I'm standing on an empty beach appreciating the contrast between my heaven and their hell.

As of 1 week ago I began my job search in earnest. I have created an "office" in the lounge room for the purpose of getting down to business. I have my laptop, a label maker, a desk, chair, and I'm open for business... finally.

Since finishing up at Tufts on December 18th, it has been 59 days that I have been essentially unemployed. That sounds like a lot of time, but consider that I spent the first week after leaving Tufts packing and shipping the remainder of my belongings. I also spent some time in a "farewell tour", traveling around and visiting friends and family. For a lot of the time I lived out of my carry-on luggage and was in a constant state of flux.

I arrived in Tasmania and was probably in a state of shock well into the first week. It was sunny out, warm, I was in a busy house with a lot of people and I was adapting to many different changes. It took a bit of time to acclimate to more clean living. As happens during going away celebrations people like to buy you drinks, take you out for dinner, buy you more drinks, and do several toasts. It is fantastic. I practically came into Australia with a drink in my hand. (see photo)

It took awhile to get back to normal, but I had several things working in my favor. The first was the weather. It was so nice out, I just had to be outside, and I felt like I owed it everyone stuck in New England under many feet of snow. I started running again. The other thing that works in my favor is the cost of booze here. With the average six pack costing $15 my desire to have a casual drink while being unemployed seems to have dissipated. I won't even mention the cost of Scotch.

But I digress...

As I mentioned it has been a week since I sat down to my desk determined to spend 8 hours a day on employment related tasks. Thanks to the book "Getting Things Done" by Dave Allen, I have been able to drastically improve my workflow. I won't go into the whole story, but in this $15 book I found a few things that once I put them into place, made me 1000 times more productive. The morning finds me eager to get to the computer to work on one of the many projects on my plate.  I am able to finally focus on the bigger picture.

I have a long laundry list of things to get done, the first was a project for Tufts, the second, is another project for Tufts, but the third... is my own portfolio website.  It is hard to sell your services as a web designer without one for yourself. You also need business cards if you want to do any freelance work.  At the end of the first week I had met with the owner of an advertising business and received a lead on another potential person to talk to.  I am also considering expanding into doing some photography. There seems to be a market for Photographers here, and thanks to Tufts University I received the training, and gear necessary to give such an undertaking a go. 

My prospects look surprisingly good. I have a lot going for me right now. I don't have to be desperate, thanks to our living situation, and can be selective about the work I choose. It is a tight community here, and word spreads fast, if I can do a good job on a project here, I think I'll see the dividends rather quickly.

I've got a lot of momentum, as much support as can be expected and am sincerely looking forward to working again.  Since it always good to end on a high note I will mention that I booked my first paying gig today. I will be photographing the Launceston Cup for the Tasmanian Turf Club.  The Cup draws a crowd of 25,000 people, and I'll be there with an all access pass to every tent and room in order to get decent photos for the management. I'm quite excited about the prospect really.

It should be noted that the Cup has a reputation for being a location for a lot of drinking.  Somewhat like Nascar is in the states, the horse races are here... including all the tailgating. Instead of Dale Jr. jackets and A-shirts, the attendants dress in glamorous clothing with big hats and proceed to get blotto.  I will be there with a camera to capture it all... soberly.  The circle has become complete.  I am open for business.

Matt

My wife planned a trip for the both of us to get away together during the first week of February 2010. Aware that I had just moved away from winter in my home country, and that I would certainly be missing family, friends, and some sort of normalcy, she quite rightly understood that a week away with her during the Tasmanian summer would be like an oasis for me.  Owing to the fact that a friend of ours spoke well of the place and since we could get a deal through her Mum's employment and we were able to book a weeks accommodation without leaking away too much of our financial reserves. The plan, as it existed when we left Launceston for the 180km drive was to relax, spend some time together without any distractions.


We left on a Sunday and traveled at a rocketing 110km/h with the windows open and were kept from overheating.  We had a GPS, a weeks worth of food, no hard and fast plans, and we couldn't be happier.  The drive was one I haven't done before. I have been all over Tasmania, but never north of Launceston. I've been east, and south, so heading on a rhumbline north was somewhat of a treat, and the first time you could remotely say that I was heading home. At the town of Devonport we tracked west and followed the sea to Sisters Beach. You smell the ocean before you see it and we were treated to the hazy blue horizon and the smell of salty air as we moved west.  I imagined we were on the Pacific Coast highway headed south, something I have never done, but could now imagine.  The ocean drives on the east coast of the USA are not this sparsely populated. Most of the places we pass through are towns, with a few blocks that would be considered busy.  Soon we are passing vineyards, and several poppy fields before we break off the main highway and turn down the narrow switchbacks that end at Sisters Beach.  The name comes from the group of mountains called "sisters". The town itself was settled by an ambitious family in the 30's, and a national park was declared in the 60's to keep the area from being over-developed.


Sisters Beach only has a few streets and we aren't far from the center of town when we arrive at our rental house.  It is straight out of the 70's and it is glorious.  We open the door to the place, and it is right out of a yellowed photography from my parents photo album, down to the silverware.  Wood paneling, brick walls, and sparse furniture.  After we unpack I get this feeling that this must have been what my parents felt like when they went away together, before they had us.  In that moment I can see in the timeline of our lives exactly where we are situated.  Logistically we quickly realize that we have no phone line, no internet connection, and no cellphone signal.  Even our parents probably had more when they went on vacation.  As you might expect, the reality of being unplugged is really a bit of a relief.  No email, no browsing the internet, and no making phone calls.  I've been in Tasmania for just over two weeks and real isolation has been achieved.  For me the lack of distractions proved be be quite useful, as i sunk my teeth into Dave Allen's book "How to get things done", which is exactly what I needed to read at this point in my career. For Lucy, it was an excuse to pore over a stack of magazines and plow through several books she had in her queue.  I can't believe how fast she reads. 

We head right to the ocean after we have unpacked.  Walking from our place to beach I am aware of the smell of sunscreen, and the feel of flip flops on the dirt path, and the bugs flying around, but they aren't serious, not like the Maine woods. Near the beach is a public area with several campervans housing a small number of travelers. They cook dinner in small groups enjoying the heat of the end of this day. The beach itself is wide, and as usual in Tasmania, practically empty.  There are several patches of sharp sable colored rocks exposed out of the beach sand.   The ocean is cold, and is dotted with glistening jellyfish along with shells and strange foreign things I'm still not used to seeing. which are more tropical in nature  We walk along for an hour or so, running in and out of the sea and laughing like kids.

We make ourselves busy with relaxing over the next few days.  Our goal of detoxifying is put into place and we find ourselves jogging along a dirt track in the brush set up from the beach a bit.  Running later in the evening when the heat has subsided is our method, and as the sun goes down I catch a wallaby out of the corner of my eye bounding along side us before disappearing behind some large scrub.  It is profoundly gorgeous out here, with just us. At night we fall asleep to the sounds of the wave's crashing just a few hundred yards off, and the fierce wind howls now and again and we feel safe and snug.

As we become accustomed to our surroundings we realize how many for sale signs are around. Sisters Beach, like a lot of coastal Tasmania, is up for sale.  It has yet to be subdivided, or crammed with vacationers and rental properties.  You can walk along the ocean and see small beach shacks that were built 50 or more years ago.  It is poised to grow, and there are reminders everywhere.. and for me I can't help but think that when I look back at this trip I will need to remember that I visited Sister Beach during a snapshot of its development. Like this point in my life, Sisters Beach is in the middle of changing and will never be the same for me as it is now.

More Photos of the Gorge The Cataract Gorge is a wonderful natural phenomenon located only 10 minutes from where we live. It is so close that Lucy and I drove there this morning and went for a jog around the perimeter of it. It is a well used feature of Launceston, and on a summer day families and children will spend the day swimming in the in-ground pool at the site, or in the cold and deep waters of the Gorge itself. There is also a cafe, a restaurant, and even a chairlift going over the site. You have to pay to park, but entrance is free. There are very well made paths throughout the area that you will see runners on at all hours. You can do a complete loop around the gorge, crossing over the walking bridge and following the paths to where the river comes into the valley where you cross a larger bridge to the other side and then follow the steep "Zig zag track" over the hills and back to the basin.



We are talking about eventually training to the point where we can run to the gorge from home and go around the basin and over the zig zag track and back. It would be quite an undertaking I believe, and worthy of our concerted efforts.



We walked around on Friday afternoon and took some photos along the way. You can view them on my photo gallery. View the Picasa Gallery of the Gorge.





For more information about the Gorge you can visit their website .



-Matt

If you can discount the 16 hours that I lost when traveling, I left the USA 1 week ago.  I wasn't able to really put this whole relocation into perspective before I left, when something this big goes into motion I certainly did the best I could to understand my reasons for doing it, and once that decision was made, I got busy making it happen, regardless of the potential misgivings I may have felt after settling in here. The reality of what it means, or how it will effect me only comes slowly with time, as I realize what parts of home I miss, and what parts of my transplanted life I really enjoy.  The downside caused by the apprehension of making such a large shift in my life was equaled by the positive side of the empowerment that comes along with taking such a risk.  Not everyone gets a chance to live so far away, and I've always tried to appreciate the positive.  My first week away has helped me to breakdown what I love about home in the USA and see what is maintained here in Tasmania, and what is truly 10,000 miles away. 

My opinion will forever be biased, of course. I married a Tasmanian, and my initial impression of it was a wild and rough land that was at first very mysterious and intriguing. Now that I am a resident I can see close at hand the differences to living here versus living in the United States.  Firstly I have to state that the process of migrating to Australia was 1/10th as difficult and confusing as it was to move Lucy to the USA.  Both countries requires essentially every major document you've ever had, combined with every type of background check you can imagine.  Documents are documents, and they are always difficult to get if you don't have them, but the instructions, and the level of support available to you is much different when undergoing migration to Australia.  When Lucy and I had questions regarding US immigration we called the help line, where we would be forced to wait for a long time until we were able to finally squeeze an answer out of the person on the other end. It was time consuming, and required constant repetitive questioning and verification.  It happened several times where the representative of the US Government told us the wrong information, causing us delay, and increasing an already large expense.  For immigration to America it was in our interests to get attorney which cost us several thousand dollars, we were able to do the the Australian immigration on our own.  Australian immigration took 6 weeks from start to finish, the US immigration took 9 months.  When I sent in my paperwork to immigrate I received an email from an agent, and was instructed to inquire with him about any questions I might have.  I couldn't believe it. I had a phone number and an email address of one person who was tasked to help me, whereas if we had questions we had to call the US government, and if we called 20 times, each time we would get someone different.  There is an accountability that you appreciate with such a one on one type of transaction.  It would be unfair of me not to mention that the number of people immigrating to Australia is significantly less than those attempting to move to America.  I don't believe it is only a question of volume however, but symptoms of a massive system that isn't geared toward resolving problems, but towards sustaining itself.  Enough about immigration, what is it it really like here?

Tasmania, I have found is populated in large part with the same kind of people I have seen almost everywhere I have lived or traveled (with the exception being major metropolitan cities), they are conscientious individuals focused on their own lives, and working towards modest goals, and to improved their lifestyle. The people aren't vastly different than they are in a similarly sized city.  Tasmania is an island, and therefore a bit isolated. You don't just show up here on accident, you arrive here on purpose, either by ferry or by jet.  Tasmania's populace is affected by its isolation, and in large part a more condensed version of the Australian Persona at large.  Australians love Australia, and Tasmanians for the most part love Tasmania.  It isn't assumed that you belong to a specific political party if you wear the national flag. Being proud to be an Aussie is a feeling claimed by all types of people. Tasmania shares a lot of similarities with Maine, the state in the US where I grew up.  Tasmania has always had a bit of a frontier feel to it, like Maine, it has always been out of the way of the normal modes of traffic, also like Maine. Australians travel quite a bit, and Tasmanians do also.  Like Maine the youth tend to leave and explore before coming back and settling in their home state.  Once you leave you get a sense of what else is out there, and you generally realize how unique your background is.  I assume this is the same for a lot of people (with Detroit being the obvious exception). Tasmanians like Mainers appreciate the solitude and isolation they once escaped. 

The footprint of life here is smaller.  I have been here for 5 days and I haven't generated 1/10 of the garbage I would have in the states.  I've used less water, driven less, and even consumed far less electricity.  I'm not sure what this means yet, I'm still wrapping my head around the implications of doing things a bit differently.  Cars are generally smaller, the suburban streets are wide, clean, and the lawns well manicured (albeit not as green).   In town, parking is still an issue, and I have to admit I was kind of hoping it wouldn't be.  The Economy here is better than the states, there is business all around, and since there isn't a pool of immigrant labor to abuse you pay more than you would for services, but they are well done and you don't have that big box store feeling that you are paying in to some huge collective, but to a craftsman. I can't help but think how far things have gone in the states when it comes to big business. I don't know if that means that in 10 years there will be Wal-mart on every corner here, and a Home Depot also, but I certainly hope not.  There are so many small business's here and the community seems to be far better for it.  YES, you do pay more, but as stated above, it goes to someone who might be your neighbor, and not siphoned off to an account overseas. 

My Father-in-law has a garden, and I couldn't believe how sweet the cherry tomatoes were that came out of it.  I can now understand that a tomato is actually a fruit. In Tasmania a good part of the fruit, vegetables, and meat that you see at the store are from the island.  They cost more, but they are made here under the same conditions that we live in.  This is massively appealing to me. 

I miss my friends and family of course, this goes without saying, but so far, I kind of like how they do things here. The few issue's I've run into that aren't great are the taxes, and of course the way they limit your broadband connection to a certain amount.  Right now we have used our 5GB/month plan in the first week.  Lest you think I would be throwing away my US Passport, remember that this is.. a huge difference to what we have in the states.  I cannot watch many video's online, post all my images, or unconsciously browse all those facebook photos that people post. I hope this part of Tasmania gets better... and soon.

Matt

My trip began the night before my flight.  I had booked an airport hotel in order to make the 5:00am check in time. I had a teary goodbye with my Brother and Father, but we got through it and once they were gone I knew things had changed.  I got to logan at 5:15am on Tuesday morning and begun the familiar rigamarole for frequent fliers, which for the uninitiated is a series of hurry up and wait maneuvers. 

At check-in I was given the choice of picking which side of the plane I'd like to sit one, left window or right window. Being the poncy sentimental type I thought I would enjoy a final view of the Boston Skyline as I flew out.  I picked the right side, knowing that the plane flies off the runway heading south.  In actuality it was the wrong side.  As soon as the plane left the ground it turned a hard right, denying me my promised skyline… and the small video footage that I wanted to shoot to accompany it.  I did however get to pass right over Medford.  I'm certain I saw my old apartment building on Governors avenue for one last time, and might have seen the tufts campus, but couldn't be certain. As we moved higher and farther west the landscape dropped away and I settled in for the long haul.

I got into LA after enjoying free onboard wifi. I conducted business from the air, I edited a website, communicated with my previous employers and chatted with a few people. Going from several feet of snow (Grant Camp in northern NH) to palm trees in LA is such a shock to the system.  It is like waking up from a dream and it forces a mental calendar reset.


















Arriving in LA was smooth, you could see the heat coming off of the runway. The smog prevented the kind of views I was hoping for.  I was able to book my day-stay at the Holiday Inn express on La Cienega and met the shuttle at the red sign.  All went smoothly until this nice little old southern lady on the shuttle began screaming, "my purple bag.. where's my purple bag???"  Poor lady.  Now… I was tired, had been up since 4 am, knew I had a long day.. and not all of me was of the opinion that we should turn around and see if we can pick up her luggage.  The driver decided to drop us off and bring her back around. I left the shuttle with all my massive cumbersome baggage and when I got to the lobby… I suddenly realized I left my carry on bag onboard the shuttle. Panic.  Camera, toiletries, paperwork… I bolted back out the front door at sprinting speed.. yelling "WAIT".  I caught up easily , grabbed the bag avoiding certain disaster and checked in and had a rather nice hotel room to relax in until my night flight. It is worth the $75 to spend your 13 hour layover in a hotel.  I ate lunch, worked out, and even sat out in the sun for 10 minutes appreciating it.  After a brief nap, shave and shower I left the hotel and was on the shuttle to the airport. I heard my first Australian on the shuttle. She was an older lady, from Sydney who met her husband while living in Canada. The whole family moved to OZ with their two teenage sons a few years ago.  I asked the boys what that was like, because I have honest curiosity on the matter, knowing that in the future, potentially my own children will experience something similar. I bid them farewell and entered the departure area and was immediately in an hour long line to check in to my LA - Melbourne flight. 

Aboard the Boeing 777 I was surrounded by Aussies, something I realized would be the norm for a while to come.  I was able to watch "ZombieLand" after eating dinner, then I fell asleep for a few hours. A few more movies, TV shows, then few more, a little sleeping, more movies.. and eventually the 15 hours passed. I watched the shadow of the plane out the window get bigger until we touched down and I was now a Foreigner.  Immigration was simple,  although I did made the mistake of getting behind a family of people who didn't speak english, which in hindsight my better judgment would have cause me to avoid when entering a line.  From immigration I passed quickly through customs and went directly to the Domestic terminal to check in for my quick flight to Launceston. It cost me $610 US to ship 1 cubic meter of property, Virgin charged me $10/Kilo for the overage on my luggage, when added to the other baggage fees I paid amounted to $420 extra for having heavy luggage.  In the future, when booking a flight, do it all together, avoid doing it piecemeal like I did.  I could have avoided those costs.  However, I got a ridiculously cheap flight, so even with those charges the whole trip over here cost me less than $1500. 

Once my bags were checked in I realized I had 4 hours before my flight so I made a call, and enjoyed a VB, (Victoria Bitter) somewhat of a tradition when it comes to traveling through Melbourne. I of course ate a meat pie (tradition) and made sure to check my email at an internet kiosk and leave a cat wearing a costume on the screen when I left.. tradition.  The accents filled the air,  people were noticably tanner, thinner and dressed in summer clothing.  On average you notice older people are more likely to dress younger, sporting tattoos, gelled hair, and skinny jeans. 

Onboard the Virgin flight to Tasmania I made the rookie mistake of getting my seat wrong.. not sure how that happened, but such a politeness by the older couple who belonged in seat 9D.  I was looking forward to a window seat, but instead got the aisle and barely got comfortable before the plane touched down in Launceston.  The great thing about the Lonnie airport is that it doesn't have a large suspended bridge to the plane, but a large stairway that you walk out on like a visiting dignitary. I walked out of the plane into the bright sun, put my sunglasses on and scanned the scene.  I caught a furiously waving hand from the behind the terminal glass and recognized Lucy.  Once inside I found her immediately, have her a huge hug and a kiss and at that moment the 36 hour, 10,000 mile journey had finally ended, and I knew that I was now home.

The quick answer is that I will try to find work in Web development.

The more complicated answer is that I am going to try and find a fulfilling job that combines video production, photography, web publishing and design. I was spoiled at Tufts. I was able to sink my teeth into many different projects from designing a digital archive to traveling to India to shoot a documentary of the student photojournalists.



Thankfully we know a lot of people in and around Tasmania. I get the exciting opportunity to reinvent my career a bit. While this is justifiably frightening, and should be, it is also an opportunity to change direction a bit. My career goal is to combine a lucrative vocation with something I am enthusiastic about.



I would love to work in the University setting again. That being said I think I will investigate the University of Tasmania and see if there is an opportunity there. In Launceston there is a top tier maritime college that I would very much enjoy learning more about.





I have a personal website with my porfolio up at www.matthewmercier.com. I am adding to this often and expect it to evolve.

With any luck I'll be able to sink my teeth into something challenging that is just outside my comfort zone.





monster.com.au?



Matthew Mercier