The Bodi Saga - Part I

The first time Mark mentioned the possible move to Australia - after my elation subsided - a pit in my stomach surfaced.  Not because I would miss my friends and family, which of course I would but we would be back ( I promise), and not because I had to pack up my house and send it across the Pacific, but because I knew getting Bodi Down Under would be quite the undertaking.  When we first started the conversation with the pet relocation company - yes there is a company that just relocates pets across the world - I thought I was going to pass-out when she dryly said, "Australia has a 6 month quarantine, so we better get the process started."  I wanted to shout, "How dare you blurt that out, emotionless and unsuspecting of the pain surging through my body!"

Let me back up.  I am a dog person.  I've had multiple dogs sleeping at the foot of my bed my entire life.  My family are dog people - not crazy, "Best in Show," type dog people - but real dog lovers, quasi crazy.  When I met Mark I had my precious, sweet, once-in-a-lifetime dog Sam.  Having a dog clued him in that I was a dog lover, but it wasn't quite spelled out on my "resume" just how much I loved dogs.  He didn't get the whole picture until he met my family; parents, grandparents, brothers, and 3 aunts whom each had at least 2 dogs of the same breed running the house like children; that was evidence enough for him to realize there would be more than one dog in our future (I thought).  I even agreed to give up the notion of a 3rd child for a 2nd dog, lucky him considering he already knew that was going to happen - I should have thrown in some diamond earrings with that compromise.  So you can imagine how shocked I was when 12 years after we started dating Mark suggested we, "find a new family for Bodi" before moving to Australia.  It was one of those moments when time slows and you (Mark) hear yourself saying the words in that long, deep, drawn-out voice, but they've already excited your mouth and it's too late, your mouth is still moving, they're out there floating in the universe, and you can't travel back in time and just say nothing!  D'OH!  I'm sure the look on my face was a mixture of shock, pain, and "you-did-NOT-just-say-that-to-me!"  Needless to say, Mark tiptoed around the rest of the night and never spoke of leaving Bodi behind again.        

Now that we've established where this post is headed - doggie love - and my dog status, I'll move on.  For the sake of this blog post there are 2 types of people: dog people, and non-dog people.  You pretty much know which camp you're in.  If you're unsure, take this little quiz... 1.  Was Eddie your favorite character in the sitcom Frasier?  If so, you're a dog person, if not, you're in the other camp.  2.  Does the thought of the Old Yeller movie bring tears to your eyes?  (Be like Bill Murray)  If so, dog person.  If you answered, "Who's Old Yeller?" non-dog person.  3.  If you read Marley and Me and never cried harder than you did at the end of that book (my eyes are welling just thinking about it), or if you saw the movie and had to turn it off and not watch the end - but still cried anyway - then you're definitely a dog person.  If you dismissed both the book and movie as a lame dog movie then you're a non-dog person.  Now that you know which side you're on, read on with caution.

After our initial phone conversation with the pet relocation woman - where Mark had to be on the phone with me because I couldn't talk through my tears - we began the process of getting Bodi to Australia.  Fortunately Australia has recently changed their import laws and animals don't need to be quarantined within Australia for 6 months, but can stay in their home country for 5 months after the first clear blood test, but must be in lockdown within Australia for 30 days, making the entire process 6 months, or 180 days.  But the kicker was that we were leaving in 6 weeks!  Enter the Song's.  Bodi would stay with Katy and Ho Shin for 4 months until he was able to enter Australia on April 30th - exactly 5 months after his first clear blood test.  We also learned in the initial phone conversation that dogs cannot be drugged for the flight - who doesn't want to be drugged for a 14 hour plane ride?!  We were relieved to have a loving, happy home for Bodi for the home country quarantine, but knew the flight and 30 day Australia quarantine would be 32 days of unease.  

You may ask, why is Australia's animal import law so rigid?  Australia has never had a rabies case reported; it doesn't exist on this island.  What's the first thing you think when you see wildlife in the US?, "Stay away, it could have rabies!"  When we were in Tasmania hanging with our nocturnal visitor, the brushtail opossum, I wasn't afraid to get close to the furry guy because I knew he didn't have rabies.  Granted he could have scratched or bit me, but I wouldn't have had to get 20 shots in my stomach (is that still what they do?).  Nevertheless, I respect their process and desire to keep their country rabies free.

Bodi's departure date was looming.  I was anxious for what lie ahead for everyone involved.  I knew it wouldn't be easy for the Song's to say goodbye to Bodi.  He had become part of their family and I hurt knowing they would sorrowfully feel his absence.  Happily the Song's went to Tahoe for Katy's birthday before he left - his first time in the snow.  Sounds like it was a last hurrah for Katy, Ho Shin, Jane, Luke and Bodi.  We will forever be grateful to the love they showed our B dog during his US quarantine.

Departure day arrived.  Bodi was picked up by the relocation transit from Katy and Ho Shin's in Mill Valley at 3pm on Monday, April 30th.  He was transferred to an animal station at SFO where he spent the night and awaited his first of two vet appointments the following day.  His first vet appointment, and blood draw, was the morning of May 1st.  His final US vet appointment was at 3pm on May 1st where he was given a complete check and "sealed" in his crate.  "SEALED," which means he couldn't get out until he arrived overseas!  So, his plane left SFO at 9pm on Tuesday, May 1st and arrived in Auckland, New Zealand at 10am, Thursday morning May 3rd, which would have been 5pm Wed afternoon - screw the time change, it's a long fucking time to not pee!!!  He then had a vet check in this hemisphere before getting on another flight to Sydney where he was picked up by quarantine staff and taken to the quarantine facility on the afternoon of Thursday May 3rd.  I endured Bodi radio silence from Tuesday morning until Friday morning.  It was an emotional time.  Visions of Bodi being anxious, alone, scared and jostled to and fro in the belly of a plane haunted me.  I'll never know what he experienced, and I'm sure he has forgotten, cause he's a dog, and dog's aren't smart.  Regardless, during this process I began to question our decision to bring him to Australia.  Katy was sad, I was sad, Bodi was sad - who was happy?!  What would have been more selfish, having Bodi make the trek, or doing what Mark suggested (bad Mark) and finding a new family for him?!  Dog lovers can feel my pain, non-dog lovers stop rolling your eyes.

The drama will continue in Part II where Bodi steps paw in the land Down Under...

Sunrise over the Pacific

Manly is like no other place I’ve ever lived, or visited for that matter.  I imagine it’s a bit like Venice Beach but with more class, more money, and less drugs and plastic surgery – although I don't get out much.  Manly has the energy of what I imagine a “normal” beach town emanates, but since this is my first go of living in a beach town I’m gaining my own perspective and it’s amazing.  I LOVE Manly.

Manly Beach looking South

Manly was named by Captain Arthur Philip, English of course, who sailed with the First Fleet.  The First Fleet, which is a big deal here, was the first fleet of ships that sailed from Britain to Australia in 1787 to establish the first European colony in Australia.  They left in May of 1787, and arrived in Jan of 1788.  Their arrival is marked by Australia Day, which is a PARTY here.  In any other country it would be their independence day, but here, just a day of establishment (cause they’re still not independent, shhh).  Anyhoo, the First Fleet consisted of 11 ships, led by Capt. A Philip.  Total free persons, 348, prisoners, 696; total persons, 1044.  Capt. Arthur Philip was founder of the settlement that became Sydney, and first Governor of the state of New South Wales.  He named Manly after the Aborigines that were living in this area when he “founded” the land.  He said, “Their confidence and manly behaviour made me give the name of Manly Cove to this place."  The Aborigines, or “manly men,” ended up spearing him through the shoulder while they were dining on a whale in Manly Cove.  Guess they really were “Manly!” 

Manly Cove

Manly is a peninsula, and creates the North Head of Sydney Harbour.  The Manly peninsula is curvy like someone with a terrifyingly tiny waist and enormous hips.  The “waist” portion of Manly is 2 blocks wide from harbour side to Pacific side.  Parker’s school is exactly in the middle of the “waist.”  At one end is calm Manly Cove beach, at the other is big Manly Beach on the Pacific side.  You can almost toss a coin, “Do I want waves or calm, sun or shade?”  Because each beach will give you something different.  It’s awesome. 

Manly is a walking town, and we walk - or rather bike, scooter, and stroller everywhere.  Many days it’s calm, clear, and beautiful, however recently, with the approach of winter, it’s blustery, chilly, and sometimes unpleasant.  The ocean proximity is only pleasant if the seas are agreeable.  But currently, autumn is marvelous, better than summer.  We’ve had clear blue skies, warm temperatures, and calm seas.  Several days a week I do a Boot Camp on Manly Beach at 6am.  With the recent daylight saving I’ve had the fortune of absorbing the sunrise on Manly Beach as I work my ass off running in the sand and lifting tires over my head while I do squats.  I’m just thankful for a little light since it’s been black until at least 7am.

Manly Beach looking North

Manly Beach is a magical place.  The beach itself is about 1.5 miles long.  The shoreline has a large pedestrian walkway that straddles the beach wall, then a large grassy area with small parks dispersed intermittently over the 1.5 miles, and then another bike and pedestrian walkway that hugs the restaurant and shop lined street.  It’s how you imagine a beach town would look.  During the day you see every walk of life moseying along the beachfront, but at 6am it’s some of the same, but also a different people that dwell.

Sunrise over Manly Beach

I’m not accustomed to seeing the sunrise over the Pacific, sunset for sure, but watching the sun sluggishly appear on the horizon, instead of melt with the day is unique.  With this first light a whole new world materializes in an instant.  You see and hear things you can’t during the day.  Like with every break of the water there is a spray that jets off the top just as the water peaks and then breaks into a roll.  The birds commence their chatter just as the sun awakes and you’re surrounded by a cacophony of their prattle where the air was still before.  The older, hairy gentlemen in their speedos are making their way to and fro the water for their morning dip.  Brave men; not only for going to swim at that hour, but wearing those speedos.  The insane barefoot sand runners are crisscrossing the beach as their upper bodies barely move with their slight motion. 

Then all of a sudden the surfers that speckle the waves emerge with the orange glow.  They look like black crumbs bobbing in the water.  Then one of them sees the wave s/he wants and mightily paddles, pops up on their board, and rides on.  I hold my breath as they charge; you never know when their attempt will falter as a second too late, or a foot’s misstep could throw them down where the washing machine churning of the ocean takes control.  Most of the time I gaze in astonishment at these awesome riders of the waves.  They glide with the wave, just moments ahead of its break.  Sometimes the wave will break on them, but they’re still able to storm through the wall and appear on the other side, floating into shore and then sinking, only to paddle out again.  What a rush it must be.  I imagine surfing is like a drug - a good drug - you either “get it”, and are hooked, or you don’t.  Men and women seeking the surf park their cars around the beach and walk to the edge of the ocean wall and stop, stand, and watch.  The first time I saw someone do this I thought they were stalking or looking for someone, but no, they were just watching the surf, evaluating.  I would love to know what they are thinking; what mathematical equation they’re using to determine where on the beach they’ll ride and perhaps what board they’re going to take off their Subaru.  I’m not even a bit tempted to try surfing.  I love to watch and I appreciate and respect their sport and world, but it’s not for me.  However, Mark keeps threatening to learn.  I tell him to go for it and I’ll wave to him from the beach. 

I love the sunrise, not only the visible beauty, but the peace that arrives with the sun.  Being up at that hour makes me feel like I'm getting a head-start on the day.  It's a refreshing way to tackle a new day.  Once Parker and Reid are awake there is no stopping, so waking early and exercising makes me feel like I'm one up on the little rascals, as if I can take them on with more confidence and strength.  

Living here is thrilling, not only in Australia, but Manly.  When in life will we ever have another opportunity to watch the sunrise over the Pacific?!  

The Postman Drives a Motorcycle

As I’ve previously mentioned, I still find it quite shocking at times that we live in Australia.  I’m a visual person, and therefore picture a world map with Australia at the bottom right of the map, and I see myself and my 3 boys (soon to be 4!) happily smiling on this map that lives in my mind.  Before our journey Down Under we explained to Parker how we were going to fly to Australia.  We would lie on his floor and gaze up at his enormous wall-size map that Gram bought him and talk about how we were going to fly west, not east.  A puzzled look appeared on his face as he imagined us flying off the map and then looping back around to Australia (we don’t have a globe, I know, shame on us). He would have understood more clearly had we had an Australian world map.  Down Under, Australia is in the center of the world map and not on the bottom right corner, as if almost forgotten.  Check it out:

Anyway, day-to-day life is still very much the same Down Under as it was back in California.  The boys still wake up too early.  I still have to ask Parker to get ready for school at least 10 times.  I’m still 2 to 10 minutes late for everything.  Our boys still have ear-to-ear smiles at simple things like ice cream and Diego.  I still have to go to the grocery store.  We still have bills to pay.  Mark and I still drink FABULOUS wine, but from Australia now.  But it’s the little differences like the postman riding a motorcycle that wakes me up and reminds me that we’re living an adventure.

The first time I heard a motorcycle charging up the sidewalk behind me I instinctively sprung out of the way with a mix of fear, question, and surprise wrinkled on my forehead.  I think I even said aloud, “What lunatic is driving a motorcycle on the sidewalk?!”  He wasn’t that close to me, but sounded feet away because his motorcycle was thunderous and must have been having exhaust issues.  Well, he proceeded to stop at every house on his approach to where I stood with the stroller and boys looking bewildered, and deliver mail.  He didn’t dismount as he placed the letters in the boxes, just stopped briefly and then rambled on to the next box.  Hmmm, haven’t been faced with a postman on a motorcycle before, do I let him pass as I stand aside, or will he go around me?  The closer he got I could see he was wearing a neon yellow shirt, a white helmet with a matching neon yellow mullet-type flap hanging from the back of the helmet – Australians are serious about their sun protection – matching neon yellow side satchel bags where I imagine the mail resided, and lastly a little neon flag that stood erect off the stern of his vessel.  He was certainly color coordinated.  We decided to wait until he passed and then followed him up the sidewalk where we could see the word ‘POSTMAN’ glimmering on the back of his neon shirt.  Parker said, “Mommy, I don’t think you’re allowed to ride a motorcycle on the sidewalk.” – my little rule follower.  I answered, “I guess in Australia riding on the sidewalk is acceptable, but only for the postman.”  He then corrected me saying, “I think he’s called the mailman Mommy.”  Again, my little rule follower, “Peanut, we’re in Australia and they call him the postman here.”           

More shocking than the postman on a motorcycle is the astonishing realization that pedestrians DO NOT have the right-of-way here.  Not only do they not have the right-of-way, but if you decide to boldly walk across the street when a car is approaching they will accelerate and honk until you run full-speed screaming for your life to the safety of the sidewalk – even if you have children and a stroller!  I kid you not!  I’ve never felt so vulnerable on foot!  Last summer I visited Sarah in La Grande, Oregon and La Grande is such a sleepy town that if you were nearing an intersection and a car was approaching, they would stop just ‘in case’ you wanted to cross.  As Sarah said, “They stop their car if they think you might want to cross the street, and then they wave.”  Not the case Down Under.  There are designated crosswalks, but not on every corner, or street for that matter.  And you know how the ‘don’t walk’ sign is optional for some people, well not here.  Even if no car is in sight the pedestrians wait until the little green dude lights up telling them it’s safe to walk.           

Another tidbit of surprise - or reminder that I’m in a different country - is the lack of customer service here.  Customer service is absolutely, undeniably, incontrovertibly appalling here.  Which I think is the case for many countries outside the US.    

Our first brush with customer service occurred 2 days after our arrival.  We dared walk into a mobile phone store and began speaking with a young woman about purchasing mobile phone plans.  She acted as if we were wasting her time, intruding on her space, and generally putting her out.  I wanted to pull a Daniel LaRusso on her ass and give her a crane kick to the chin.  Upon exciting the store I immediately turned to Mark and said, “We are NOT giving this company our business!”  He gloomily informed me of the important fact that there aren’t many options Down Under and there is no competition, therefore, we had to swallow our pride and go with the only option available.  I died a little inside at that moment. 

At some of the grocery stores they don’t even look up from their stool to greet you, they continue to stare head down as they slowly ease your food item over the scanner.  Recently, while making one of my 10 weekly trips to Coles supermarket, I put my groceries on the conveyer belt and the checker didn’t look up, of course.  She began bagging my groceries in the plastic (ruining the earth, killing dolphins) bags.  I said in a very friendly tone, “Oh, excuse me, I have my own bags,” and handed her my bags with a smile.  She looked up at me with irritation and displeasure and said, “Well I already started putting your groceries in these bags and I’m not going to waste them.  You should have told me you had bags.”  My blood boiled and I snapped.  I looked at her, raised my voice and said, “Well, had you looked up to kindly greet me you would have seen that I have bags right here, but you didn’t acknowledge me.”  That’s about as snappy as I can get, so I was proud.  I proceeded to unpack my groceries from those crinkly, jellyfish looking, destroyers of the planet, pushed them aside and repacked my groceries.  Needless to say not another word was spoken between the chipper Coles clerk and myself.

One thing the lack of customer service has done for me is made me appreciate quality customer service.  Now whenever I receive good customer service, which I definitely have, I take note and really appreciate the interaction.  Maybe I was numb to the good customer service that is the “norm” in the US.  In fact, maybe we all need a little shake up now and again to appreciate the things we find important; I guess I find customer service important.                                    

I feel like this has turned in to a bitch session.  I like it here, I really do!  I’ll close with something positive about Australia other than the beautiful beaches, sunshine, good wine, unique animals, and general splendor…

Australians are proud; of their country and themselves.  Most would say Americans are proud, which I believe they are, but not like Australians.  Maybe it’s that I feel America’s pride is not as justified, but I don’t know why I feel that way?  Maybe it’s like being the smartest student in class and continuing to proclaim how intelligent you are.  Australians have an authentic pride that makes you feel like they need no one else on earth in order to survive – not even England, their “mother” country.  With a history like Australia’s, starting as a penal colony, it’s respectable that they don’t look back, but only forward to what this country has to offer, and the future of this vast continent, country, and island.  It’s an extremely unique country for so many reasons.  Going to the grocery store the majority of food announces on their labels, “Proudly made, or grown, in Australia.”  In fact, when it’s not grown or made in Australia they tell you, with disappointment: 

I’m touched by their pride, as it’s palpable.  Therefore it makes sense that Australia would have it’s own version of a world map.  Of course they’re in the center of the world and not falling off the right, as if barely there!  I’m happy experiencing this wonderful country, and it makes me appreciate my own country, and makes me realize my identity - when someone like me barely has an identity in the US.  I also ponder and analyze my own country’s pride – which I do have, truly.  But that’s all for another post, for another day…