Next stop, Freycinet (pronounced frai-si-nai), named after
French navigator Louis de Freycinet. We stayed
at the Freycinet Lodge in the Freycinet National Park at Coles Bay, on the
Eastern coast of the island, about a 4-hour drive from Cradle Mountain. We basically crisscrossed Tasmania – it’s not
that hard, it’s not a big island. The
highlight of our road trip to Freycinet - other than our newest, favorite car
game, ‘name that marsupial road-kill’ - was we stopped in Deloraine again, as
we had on our way to Cradle Mountain, for the BEST yellow curry I’ve ever had
the pleasure of tasting. Yep, that’s
right, the best yellow curry I’ve ever had was in a podunk town in the middle
of Tasmania; don’t judge a book by its cover!
We arrived at the Freycinet Lodge to 70-degree temps and
sunshine; we were delighted to thaw out a bit from our last excursion. We were
eager to throw on shorts and soak up the sun.
Mark generously offered to take the boys to the beach while I got to go
for a run - what a gentleman.
Freycinet is a peninsula with the Great Oyster Bay on one
side and the Tasman Sea on the other. There
are little bays within the sea and bay and some fabulous hiking. One of the most well known hikes in the area
is to a beach called Wineglass Bay – love the name. It’s a stunning beach and has repeatedly been
voted one of the top ten beaches in the world.
You can’t reach this bay by car, thus making it all the more beautiful
and secluded. It’s about a 45-minute
hike and 200+ meters up to the vantage point.
Mark and I would have loved to hike up the mountain and descend the
other side to visit the beach, but realistically we knew this would be too much
for the boys. So we decided to venture
to the lookout point where spectacular views of Wineglass Bay could be had.
We started the hike in great spirits. We couldn’t have ordered better weather;
perfect conditions for a hike. Fifteen
minutes into the ramble as we began ascending Parker started complaining that
his legs were tired and began dragging his feet saying he couldn’t go on. Reid was as happy as a clam in the
backpack. Per Jen’s suggestion (thanks
Prima), we decided to teach him, “99 Bottles of Beer” since he’s so in to
counting, skip counting, and counting backwards – whatever thrills you dude. What a hit this was! We made it to 68 bottles of beer before
another distraction fell into our laps.
About 2/3 up, the trail turns into intermittent flights of stairs, so we
counted each stair, and hit 254 before reaching the lookout.
At the peak it was quite a view, breathtaking really. The beach was so inviting and Mark and I
wanted to plunge down the other side, but as Barry always said, you have to
leave something for next time. We had a
snack, took some pictures, found a bush for Parker to pee in, and then made our
descent. The stair counting and singing resumed,
whatever it takes to keep the complaining to a minimum.
Back at the cabin our favorite nocturnal visitor followed us
to Freycinet. The bold brushtail opossum
is apparently bolder on this part of the island. While sitting on our patio having a glass of
wine the courageous critter returned to inquire. This little guy had the audacity to tip over
my glass of wine and start drinking the spill and then stuck his snout in my
glass to lick the remnants. Little
drunkard! Mark and I watched in disbelief;
he was like a cat. I thought he was
going to jump in my lap next, so we went inside and he sat by the door like a
cat wanting to be let in. He eventually
sauntered off. Hope he didn’t get too
much of a buzz.
Unfortunately, the brushtail opossum was the only nocturnal marsupial
we encountered. Apparently Tasmanian
devils are very difficult to find unless you want to hike in the wilderness
with a flashlight, which I was tempted to do.
However, because the devils are loud you’re supposed to be able to hear
them, which we did on our last night. We
were sitting on our balcony cuddling with the opossums (not really, obviously) and
heard a guttural, high-pitched growing/screaming sound, it was definitely a unique
sound that echoed and carried, and we knew it was those little devils. How fitting for our last night in Tassie.
All in all Tasmania was enriching and quite enjoyable, but
we were ready to head home at the end of our 10 days. “Home,” a confusing word in our vocabulary. Mark and I have made a point to refer to our
house in Manly as our “home,” for the boys sake, we don’t want to confuse them. After all, home is where the heart is,
right? But wait, where is my heart? –
don’t know the answer to that question.
However, I do know my heart is with my boys, and we want our boys to be
comfortable in Manly, their home for 2 years, so we’ll refer to Manly as “home.” We were all anxious to go “home;” Parker
wanted to get his birthday presents – can you blame him, he’s 5! Mark, had had enough of the 5:30 wake-ups and
the close quarters, as had I, Reid, I think just goes with the flow and doesn’t
really know what country he’s in since he keeps saying, “We’re going to
Australia!” when he plays with his Fisher Price Little People airplane. I wanted to go “home” cause I wanted to be in
MY house. Home is where you comfortably
dwell. It’s where I cook breakfast,
lunch, and dinner for my boys. It’s
where I relax, lounge and sleep comfortably.
So for now, Manly is home. Too
bad we arrived home to a week of rain - an entrance into autumn - colder,
darker days ahead. But how dark can they
be? It is Australia after all!
More fantastic Tassie marketing lured us to Port Arthur, a former convict settlement about 90 minutes southeast of Hobart. Port Arthur was Australia’s largest and most harsh penal colony. Between 1833-1853 the hardest of convicted British and Irish criminals were sent there to do hard time never to return to their homes and families in the UK. The prison was abandoned in 1877 and the prisoners that remained were referred to as worthless old men and were released into Hobart society – good time to be a Tasmanian living in Hobart huh! During Port Arthur’s 44 years as a prison over 1100 inmates died and are buried on a tiny island in the Port Arthur Harbor called the Isle of the Dead – creepy. Tasmanians were haunted by the dark images of Port Arthur for many years, but it has since been embraced as the top tourist attraction in Tasmania, and one of the top ten in all of Australia. Unfortunately this land was marked with recent tragedy too; in 1996 a gunman went on a killing spree in and around the Port Arthur historic area and killed 35 people and wounded 21 others. I found this far more disturbing than the prison itself.
We locked the boys up.
COLD!
With that background we were not overly impressed with Port Arthur. The doom and gloom of this place wasn’t very uplifting. Also it was cold, rainy, and muddy and our guided tour was naturally outside. We also heard maybe every other word of our tour guide because we were busy herding cats, otherwise known as Parker and Reid. Also, Alcatraz is WAY cooler.
Happy Birthday Parker!
The next day was Parker’s 5th birthday. We decorated the less than lovely apartment we rented in Hobart with balloons and a sign – this was a BIG hit - and we gave him a few small presents that fit into our suitcase from Auntie Cailin and Mark and me. We also showed him pictures we took of his big presents at home: a boogie board, wet suit, mask, snorkel and fins. This was a big mistake. He began a barrage of whining and complaining about wanting to go home to Manly that continued throughout the trip. Thankfully one of his presents from Auntie Cailin and Eadan was a sports sticker book where you dress-up the sports players who are in their skivvies with the proper uniforms and equipment. This gave us many hours of solitude, but the book was completed within 2 days, so we were back to square one, which was more whining about wanting to go home to see his presents. Nonetheless, happy birthday to my first born who through his whines and complaints is still my baby.
We left Hobart after a fantastic birthday breakfast at a café in Salamanca Square where you can eat breakfast, do your laundry, AND play chess with life-size chess pieces. We ate all but one meal while in Hobart at different restaurants in Salamanca Square – it became a safe tourist haven for us. Other than Salamanca Square, Hobart was kind of a snooze. We were happy to depart.
We loaded the Simba car and headed out, our destination, Cradle Mountain, where we would stay at the Cradle Mountain Lodge and Spa for 3 nights. Friends of ours recommended we visit Tasmania solely for the purpose of visiting Cradle Mountain and staying at the Lodge. They told us stories of sitting on their balcony at sunset sipping Tasmanian Sparking Wine (which Tassie is known for) and watching the kangaroos and wombats grazing about. This is what I wanted! I was dying to get out and see some animals. Also, knowing our next destination was a spa we were anxious to make massage appointments – that one-hour massage would be our vacation.
Upon arrival Cradle Mountain Lodge was exactly what I imagined; rustic, outdoorsy, rugged - wood lodge, mountainous backdrop, and COLD! I could see the boys’ breath as they exhaled. Again, SO glad we bought the beanies! I could see by the look on Mark’s face that he was thinking what I was; we should have skipped Hobart and come straight here. There were hikes galore from the Lodge, 2 restaurants, a store, and NATURE. We were staying in a family cabin about a 10-minute walk from the main lodge. There were 2 family cabins in each building with its own fire log heap at the entrance – good sign for us, we LOVE the camping setting and building fires. It was like camping, but with the comforts of a wood burning fireplace, warm bed, fridge, shower, jet bath and big balcony for animal viewing – so basically it’s not like camping at all, except that you’re in the wilderness. We were happy to be there.
On our fist night we had dinner at the Lodge Tavern - which would be our lunch and dinner locale for the next 6 meals - and on our walk back to our cabin we saw our first wild animal – the Tasmanian pademelon, which is a type of wallaby, which looks almost like a kangaroo, but is much smaller. Elation was oozing from us - we were in the wilderness!
A brushtail opposum
We arrived at our cabin, put the boys to bed, and enjoyed a bottle of wine by the fireplace. While sipping our wine I heard some scurrying on the deck and threw on my jacket to inquire. There I found a critter, a brushtail opossum, but nothing like the opossums we’ve grown to know that are usually road kill, but a big furry opossum with a long tail. He was just hanging on our deck looking for food I imagine. I again was so excited to see some creatures; especially cute furry ones that I knew didn’t have rabies, since rabies doesn’t exist in Australia, (hence Bodi’s CRAZY quarantine). The next night he came back and brought his mate. Pretty optimistic little fellas coming back a second night when they didn’t get any food on the first. Stay tuned for more brushtail opossum stories…
WOMBAT!
Our first morning after a scrumptious buffet breakfast at the brisk hour of 7am – because our boys can’t sleep past 6:00! - we were walking back to our cabin before setting off on a walk to see some waterfalls and en route we came across WOMBATS!!! I believe that ¾ of my fascination with wombats is because of Sarah – my wombat queen. But really, wombats totally rock. They’re the coolest animals! Wombats are marsupials - like everything else in Australia - which means they keep their young in their pouch, but did you know, that because they’re diggers, their pouch faces the other direction than that of other marsupials? So when they dig they don’t get dirt in their pouch! How awesome is that?! Wombats are cute, fearless, and fat little fuzzy things. I could’ve sat there for at least an hour and just watched them. I even got a little teary eyed to see a wombat in the flesh – something I never knew existed before I met Sarah in 1998. I’m a simple gal…
We saw wombats several times over our stay in Cradle Mountain and it was equally exciting each time. In fact, the last fuzzy mate we saw was downright hilarious. He was crossing the road in front of us and as we saw him we of course said loudly, “Wombat!” At this he stopped, turned his body 90 degrees - because apparently wombats don’t have peripheral vision - gave us a good looking over, turned his body back 90 degrees and continued on his way. I like to imagine what he was thinking as he crossed our path, or rather when we crossed his path…”You got any food? Nah, you look empty handed. I’m outta here.” If you haven’t read, “Diary of a Wombat” you HAVE to, (Dak, don’t worry, I have a copy for you).
Getting their hike on.
The hikes we journeyed on were incredible, and with each consecutive hike Parker and Reid became more adept and moaned and groaned less. We haven’t hiked with the boys in several months, so needed to reset their expectations, and ours.
Some of my fondest memories as a child were hiking and camping, which we did a lot. What else do you do with four kids, three of them VERY active boys?! Throw them into the wilderness, which we were fortunate to have at our backdoor. If we weren’t camping in Gualala, Sonoma Mountain, or Hendy Woods, we were hiking in Muir Woods, Mt. Tamalpais, Pt. Reyes, or Helen Putnam. It’s when I remember liking my brothers the most, and us fighting the least. Nature grounded us and brought calm to a chaotic, energetic, boisterous family – or exhausted the bedlam for a time.
Reid in the dense forest.
I channel these warm memories when we take the boys hiking. I realize they’re young, but never too young to learn and appreciate the gift of fresh air, little sound, and the crunch of dirt trail underfoot. We took several cold hikes while on Cradle Mountain. (Have I mentioned it was 45/50 degrees if that?!) We hiked through lichen-strewn forests with dense mossy undergrowth; it looked like mounds of fallen trees with vibrant green carpet covering the forest, it was spectacular. We hiked to two different waterfalls that made Reid shout with an excitement usually reserved for ice cream and new toys. We made Parker stop and listen to the sounds of the forest, asking him to explain what he heard – he didn’t get this at first - but when he heard the trees creaking in the breeze and the whistle of the leaves he understood that the slightest sound can be heard in the forest. As we approached the waterfalls we made him stop and take note of the sound that grew as we moved closer to the water. I think I saw a light bulb go off above his head. Did he get the beauty and spiritual aspect of nature?! Or was I delusional like Steve Martin in the movie Parenthood who dreams of a future Ivy League valedictorian speech while his son is 8 years old? We all have those delusional daydreams, right?!
The rickshaw.
Anyway, while we were giving Parker the gift of nature, we were giving Reid the gift of Princedom (he’s living up to his “Prince” middle name). Mark was his chariot or rickshaw driver, and Reid soaked it up. He did walk some of the way, but needed to be leading the charge while on foot. Reido’s personality is boiling, bubbling and oozing at present. He makes eyes at every stranger that comes his way; batting his big round brown eyes and plush eyelashes, and looking out of the corners of his eyes as his dimples sparkle – he’s working it. In fact we’ve taught him to say, “I work it, I work it. I live it, I live it.” Mark and I question how so much personality can live in such a tiny person. He makes us laugh all day long.
Our big 5 year old also cracks us up, and drives us insane. He continues to ask constant questions and then tells us we’re wrong when we give him the correct answer. For example, “Mommy, what’s the biggest whale?” “I believe it’s the blue whale Parker,” I respond. “No, it’s not the blue whale, it’s the sperm whale.” He tells us he knows ‘everything there is to know about everything,’ and his second favorite thing to do, next to playing sports, is watching himself play sports in his shadow or the reflection of a window. Mark has also taught him to play chess and when Mark isn’t around to play with him he sometimes plays on the iPad. He knows I don’t know how to play so he narrates the game as he goes, for my benefit of course, “Mommy, the king can move in any direction but only 1 space at a time. The knight can move 2 spaces forward and 1 to the side.” I obviously have no idea whether he’s correct or not, so I just remark, “That’s great P, I hope you’re thinking your moves through before you make them,” because that’s advice I heard Mark give. Then he says, “Mommy, I can teach you how to play chess because I know everything about chess.” Is it normal for a 5 year old to think he knows everything already?! I thought I had a few years until that happened.
Anyway, I digress on my boys. Next stop Freycinet, Tasmania. Stay tuned…
Mark and I are always up for an adventure and we figure our boys are too. How selfish is that?! But really, we parent under the guise of, “roll with it/go with the flow.” Sometimes this works like a charm, others, not so much.
Our latest adventure brought us to the island of Tasmania. Tassie, as it’s affectionately referred, (because EVERYTHING is shortened in Australia – I mean OZ), is 150 miles south of the mainland of Australia and is the 26th largest island in the world. There are 500,000 people that live on the island and state of Tasmania. At one point, 10,000 years ago, Tasmania was connected to the mainland of Australia. Mark and I were thrilled to explore this part of the world that no one other than Aussie’s, or adventurous expats living in Australia, would probably explore. Just the name “Tasmania” invites a raised eyebrow, mainly because we all have a soft spot for Taz, the Loony Tunes carnivorous marsupial who like a Whirling Dervish spun his way into our childhood. But really the Tasmanian Devil is the size of a small dog, and looks rather harmless when not barring its teeth. However, the Tasmanian Devil is the largest carnivorous marsupial and is characterized by its foul odor, extremely loud and disturbing screech (hence Taz’s unrecognizable verbiage), ferocity when dining, and dwindling numbers.
Our flight into Hobart and first day were uneventful, except for the epic meltdowns; dramatic behavior displayed by both Abramowitz boys, and the FRIGID temperatures. The boys’ behavior was traumatizing in fact, and definitely goes down in the, “if you are questioning having children just spend a few hours with ours and you’ll be running to the OB or urologist for the definitive birth control procedures.” And that’s all I have to say about that. The weather on the other hand was shocking. We’ve been living in summer where the thermometer hasn’t dipped below 70, maybe 65 degrees, and stunningly we found ourselves in 45/50 degree temps – truly numbing. It’s amazing how one’s body adapts to temperature.
For our second day in Tassie we booked a boat tour through a company called Bruny Island Cruises. From our initial research we found this attractive excursion around Bruny Island would be teeming with seals, penguins, dolphins, amazing views of unseen cliffs and caves, and perhaps even a whale! Turns out, their marketing is superb. When we arrived at the airport in Hobart, while waiting for our luggage - after we had already booked the tour - a statue of a seal with brochures for the Bruny Island Cruises led the trail of baggage on the carousel – more brilliant marketing! My expectations were high, not the best way to start an excursion. In the brochures there were blue skies and calm water, NOTHING like the rainy, 50-degree weather that we set out in.
The day before our excursion – the unspeakable behavior day – we decided on a whim to buy beanies and socks because we were unprepared for the temperate weather. Thank goodness we did because it was 45 degrees when we left our “not-so-nice” quarters at the Graham Court Apartments in Hobart at 8am. We made our way south of Hobart in our hired metallic green Holden station wagon that the boys called our Simba car because of the Lion logo on the hood. We arrived in a town called Kettering where we would catch the bus that would take us to Bruny Island. We boarded the small 25-person bus in Kettering and loaded onto the car-carrier ferry that took us across Great Bay to the island of Bruny, and then it was a 45-minute drive across Bruny Island to the location where we caught the boat. Now, throughout this ferry ride and drive across Bruny Island it was raining off and on, and even HAILING at times. I like to think of myself as the eternal optimist and I kept thinking, “It’ll clear, the blue skies will come out and we’ll have an awesome boat ride.” But really, in the back of my mind I had visions of our screaming boys begging to go back to shore when we were only 1 hour into a “3-hour tour,” being doused by the elements: rain, hail, ocean spray, and worst of all, puke. Since my youth I’ve been plagued with car and sea sickness and I fear I’ve passed this trait on to my boys – even though Reid has only thrown up once from car sickness and Parker never – regardless, I still worry. My adventurous nature was saying move forward, go with it, all the while Mark’s skeptical eyes peered at me as if saying, “Are we insane?!” I responded with soothing eyes saying, “Let’s go with the flow.” I love how we often speak without words. The last thing we wanted the boys to know was that we were frightened.
As we stood in the queue to board the 40-person boat - that we shall call the Minnow - it was raining, and we were last in line. Everyone ahead of us was rushing toward the covered stern of the boat where the least rocking and rolling occurs. We had been fidgeting with the boys’ jackets, hats etc and ended up boarding the boat last. Commence the dark visions of puking and screaming. As we climbed on board Mark – bless him – told the captain, “We have small children and need to be in back.” The captain brought us to the stern and made people move so that we would have space. We pulled the kid card and it worked! We were sitting in the last row of the boat and had cover. As we found our seats we were given full body – head to toe – rain and wind parkas. Again, this was starting to seem like a bad idea.
The boat left the shore and I held my breath. The seas were angry that day my friends! The sky had opened – not just with rain, but also again with HAIL! I found myself sitting in the back of the boat, covered in a head-to-toe parka that was supposed to protect me from the elements, with Reid sitting on my lap. It was hailing so hard at times, and the boat was bouncing around uncontrollably that I billowed myself over Reid creating a cocoon of sorts trying to keep him dry, warm, and stationary. My fingers and toes were beginning to numb. People were throwing up around us; rushing to the side of the boat and hurling their guts out while their loved ones held on to them lest they fly overboard. After vomiting they would turn back around and embarrassingly smile at everyone who gazed at them with looks of shock and fear that said, "yuck," and "better you than me!" I was hanging on to the fact that the captain gave me ginger tablets before our departure. I also had visions of waves tossing us overboard and we weren’t wearing lifejackets. I was imagining how and where I would grab on to my boys to keep them afloat when the boat overturned. As I’ve said before, the drama is strong in me.
On the flip side, we were on a speedy boat jetting through waves and hail; bouncing and flying – it was kinda thrilling! I looked at Parker and Reid’s exhilarated faces as the engines roared and catapulted us over the massive waves. They had fear and excitement wrapped together in their wet, shiny faces - I’m sure the same emotions were draped on my own. I was torn by the experience! Was I having fun, or not?! At one point the captain said, “This is every school boy’s dream; the rough seas in a 900 horse power boat!” This did not instill confidence in me, but instead made me worry that an arrogant schoolboy having something to prove was piloting us. However, he was a 60+-year-old man who seemed seasoned and professional, but he did have an earring…
We saw caves, one dying seal, a fleeting pod of dolphins – which was really cool, but nothing spectacular. The entire 3-hour tour I was asking myself – what are we doing?! The kicker was that the boys FELL ASLEEP! When I booked the tour the woman on the phone said, “Oh, your boys will most likely fall asleep.” I thought, oh, you stupid lady, you know nothing about sleep training and the beauty of Weissbluth, our boys won’t fall asleep anywhere but in their beds. Well, I eat my words. They were both OUT! As the captain said, it’s the sound of the engines and the rock of the waves.
Coming into shore and snacking on a Tim Tam.
After 3 hours of this harrowing, almost life-changing boat ride, we arrived back to shore. They had pumpkin soup waiting for us on the other side. Have I mentioned the Australians and their love of the pumpkin?! Well, the Aussie’s LOVE the pumpkin - in their salads, bread, soup, pasta – pumpkin is a winner here. Because my toes and fingers were numb I yearned for something warm to kick-start my circulation. Truly, I was just relieved to be off the boat.
The trip home was less vexing, but not entirely pleasing… Our bus ride back to the ferry was smooth, but they wouldn’t let our tiny bus on due to space so we had to run on the ferry, in the rain, as they were closing the gate. Have I mentioned it was cold?! All I wanted at that point was our metallic green Simba car and a Bailey’s and hot chocolate.
Good Friday and Easter Monday are national holidays here, which means everyone gets the days off. Sweet, four-day weekend! To give you some background, school in Australia is year-round and they get 2 weeks off between each of 4 terms. Parker’s school has a big Easter celebration the last day of Term one, which was today. Part of the Easter celebration was an Easter Hat Parade. Now, first let me start by saying I am sensitive to Christian centered holidays, especially in school. I have nothing against Christianity, or their holidays - as I celebrate them myself - but I’ve seen what it’s like from the other side – the other side meaning non-Christian side. Not only am I married to a fabulous Jewish man but I also hail from San Francisco where you can celebrate Kwanzaa or Waitangi Day and no one would question why. I also realize I am too PC, which makes a lot of people crazed (some of you reading this I’m sure). It’s America’s nature to be PC because of the “melting pot” vision (although the new PC term is “mixed salad” because we aren’t all melted together, but tossed instead – I’m not kidding, I heard this). Nonetheless, not only Kyle Broflovski feels left-out, and since I’m for the underdog I had to mention it.
So an Easter Hat Parade at school is bound to make me raise my eyebrows – it’s so not PC! Also, as an alternative to this time of year, people can’t say, “Happy Spring,” like in America, because it’s autumn! What do they say instead? They say, “Happy Easter.” What about those kids that don’t celebrate Easter? I haven’t heard an utterance of Passover.
Anyway, moving on… So we needed to make Parker a hat for his Easter Hat Parade. The class room parent sent around some pictures of kids wearing various Easter hats in order to give ideas. These pictures contained adorable smiling children with bright, colorful, feathery bonnets. Some hats had little chicks strewn about; others had sparkly Easter eggs decorating the hat brim, or hanging down from strings. Some were cardboard, others straw with ribbons and lace, and some decked-out baseball caps with bunny parts sticking out. I took this email to say, anything goes with the Easter hat. When Parker learned he needed to make an Easter hat he emphatically questioned, “Mom, what are we going to do?!” All of a sudden, (it’s times like these that I pat myself on the back for my brilliance), I said, “Parker, let’s decorate one of your football helmets!” Naturally, he LOVED this idea. Then I began to imagine sticking eggs all over it, or a big bunny on top and thought, nah, that’s not Parker, and again - here’s to my brilliance - I said, “Parker, how about we make your football helmet into a rooster’s head?!” Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. I bring you Parker’s rooster head for the Easter hat parade!
I won’t go into the gory details of how we actually made the hat over several days, many pieces of paper, and many frustrated wide-eyed moments by myself thinking, "Really, you're a strange kid," but I will say, I thought he looked awesome. It was a joint effort, and I had to bite my tongue more than 20 times during the helmet making process, but who wants a polished product created by the parent? As you can see from this video (P is wearing a green shirt, brown shorts, with his socks pulled up (of course), and oh, a football rooster helmet) there were many different styles, sizes, and colors.
Initially I didn’t love the idea of an Easter celebration but it was adorable and allowed Parker, once again, to let his freak flag fly. PC or not, I didn’t mutter my San Franciscan liberal views on Easter – when in Rome, right? I will say that Australians are not PC, but is anyone outside of California?!
