Toothbrush Nomads

Website Now Open

2007-01-22T21:12:00.000+10:00

Yup, that's it for this old blog folks. It's now officially closed down, won't be updated anymore, and will be entirely deleted soon.

Why? Because we got a brand new website of course! So stop sitting here gaping and go check out http://www.toothbrushnomads.com to read the newest news (unpublished in this here blog), see the photos going alongside with them and more, including some hotter than hot travel tips, tricks, stuff and things.

http://www.toothbrushnomads.com

See you there ;-)

And a Happy New Year!

2007-01-01T20:54:00.000+10:00

Goodbye 2K6, bid hello to new-born kid brother 2K7. It's 7 PM in Sydney on the 31st of December, and men and women come down into the streets by the thousands, a crowd of casually worn jeans, elegantly showed off evening dresses, random sightings of a man in scottish attire complete with kilt, a tiny woman quietly weaving her way in a kimono; all those massive throngs of people from all over town, all over the world, all converging towards the seafront, towards the shiny promise of the brightest, noisiest, craziest fireworks to come. Roads are closed off to cars, and the whole bunch of us humans claim them to ourselves. You would think it's a powerful demonstration, you'd think it's war breaking out, you'd think it's an exodus, but no - it's New Year's Eve in Sydney, gaudy lightsticks of all forms and manners already glittering on heads, ears and chests.

By the time we get to Circular Quay, half of it has already been sealed off, full to the brim, unable to take any more. Entrance to the Botanic Gardens, where we naively hoped to go see the fireworks from Mrs Macquaries Point, is strictly restricted to ticket holders and VIPs. We wind our way among this overflowed river of tourists and locals, to go back on our tracks and search for another way, elsewhere.

In the end, we walk along the Rocks up to Dawes Point, finding a spot so close to Harbour Bridge we're almost right under it, with a clear view of the Opera House on the other side. We sit amongst others, and count ourselves lucky - it's a nice vantage point, even if probably not the best, and here the crowd has thinned out enough so we can actually breathe. Believe me, that's not the case everywhere, as we'll come to see later on. The family fireworks start at 9 PM and we watch them happily pressed again the railing, hugging the fence.

That's all well and done, but I'm beginning to feel the first pangs of hunger. We leave our spot, praying it'll stay there and wait for us, to go hunt for food. A roast beef & gravy roll later, we decide to try our luck at another vantage point, at Campbell Cove. The place is positively packed with people sitting cramped together everywhere, leaving just a thin queue of us to try making our way to find a spot of our own. Unfortunately, we can but stomp around waiting, for no room is left. Stuck in the middle of madness, it seems we can neither go back or forth, squeezed between bodies, afraid to step too heavily on a finger or toe, and it takes a hot-tempered drunkard angrily pushing a short Japanese man aside to finally prod us into action, for I don't want to wait and see what's next. We hold hands and aim for the flanks, diving into the crowd to make our escape, shouldering our way through.

Finally, to breathe again.

We're soon back at our spot at Harbour Bridge, and settle down there for good. Brain, Heart and Courage are the values projected on the wall above, and I can see how you need'em all to tackle the crowd. On the bridge, the red question mark keeps shining, until replaced by a diamond of gold. Trumpets and whistles, shouts and chit-chat rhythm our wait, until the final countdown to midnight appears, the HAPPY NEW YEAR concluding it sending the crowd into a roar, the fireworks into explosion, the night into a burst of lights, the river a twirl of reflected colors. Next to us, a girl jumps up to grip the railing, sending her fist into the air, screaming at the top of her lungs from the look of her, though you can hardly hear it amidst the ruckus of a million voices. Joyful chaos celebrates the end of a great year and welcomes the beginning of another and then, just like that, it's already over, the last sparks gently falling down on the water, clouds of powder-scented smoke caught into the breeze, people milling out. In the city, the human river is flowing once again, taking up all the space, on the footpaths, on the road, everywhere - people walking home, people headed for a bus stop or train station, people going to party on elsewhere.

We quickly catch a train to go back home to the warmth and peacefulness of our blanket and pillows.

Good night, New Year.

Hitting the Rail

2007-01-01T20:53:00.000+10:00

[28/12/06]

Once again, we find ourselves on a lengthy train ride, all the way from Brisbane to Sydney, where we have elected to spend New Year's Eve. A coach gets us at Roma Street around 2 PM, and it's a 3-hour drive before we get a short break in Casino, going straight to the local McDonald's to fill up on a little food and coke before hopping on our 12-hour long train ride. It's an overnight journey once again, and there's nothing to do in those long hours but try to lay down and sleep, curling up into a ball, squeezing our bodies beneath the seats, cramming them up against the window, snatching a precious few hours of rest here and there, folding up clothes under our heads to give the illusion of a pillow. We're getting better at this strange business, but it's still a lousy night.

In Sydney, we get a rail pass and head to our new home in Hornsby, a little under an hour away from the city centre. For a fortnight or two, we'll be staying with Jacqui and Matthew. Jacqui is gentle and soft-spoken as she comes pick us up from the train station. Her son Matt's got Down Syndrome, and it'll be part of our job to go out with him to the movies, zoo and all. We soon meet him in person, complete with mustache and cap, and share interest in movies, which he loves, and a bit about travel, the lad telling us about their trip to Sicily as we go through the photo album.

It's a beautiful day outside, but we still miss most of it catching up on our much forsaken sleep. Well, tomorrow will be another day.

A day to hit Sydney.

A Merry Christmas

2007-01-01T20:50:00.000+10:00

[26/12/06]

Christmas celebrations start early for us this year as we go off to South Bank two nights in a row. Strolling about on the waterfront at dusk, we get to listen to christmas carols sung live by a choir, watch brilliant fireworks over the river and giggle at couples learning how to swing dance. Merriness is in the air as throngs of people crowd the place, bright lights burning, cool darkness settling down, smells of food wafting up, a buzz of enjoyment all over. In the open market, a gypsy reads cards, her stand never empty, as other merchants let passersbys curiously eye their wares. Sipping a fruit crush, hanging out on the beach, we finally decide to change and go for a swim. Christmas is summer in Brisbane, the pool is waiting for us, most people out of the water by now. A refreshing dive, a playful tease as I lift up the girlfriend into my arms. She screams of horror and delight, I laugh and do it again, foolish as only a girl in love can be.

We dine on a late pizza at Amici's and go back home to hit the sack. On Christmas Eve, last-minute shopping to find our kind hosts some presents. Afterwards, some getting lazy on Eagle Street Pier, with hot mocha and glass of wine, beer and iced strawberry - there's no point to the holidays but that of getting fat, as everybody well knows. Stomachs satiated and minds relaxed, we walk to Queen St Mall to check out the lights on the biggest of all Christmas trees, surrounded by ice blue reindeers. Later, home, the barbecue's fired up and the TV ritually plays ET. Tomorrow's the big day.

After a good night's sleep, we kick off Christmas Day with a big breakfast - pancakes, muffins, croissants, all you could ask for is right there on the table, and definitely sets the day's standards. After the traditional exchange of gifts, we soon leave for Raby Bay, on the coast, to have lunch at Deborah's sister. The house is right on the canal, including a view of the sea, Moreton and Stradbroke islands clearly visible in the distance. The meal's as fulfilling as breakfast was, and soon enough we find ourselves dumped in a car again for a 2-hour drive to Toowoomba. On the way, we stop next to a pasture full of emus - the bravest one twists his neck through the fence, wildly pecking at my camera, leaving me to bring back home a blurry shot of the inside of his mouth.

The place we go to, Adora Downs, is a huge farm sprawled out in the fields about 30 km from Toowoomba. But far from doing their business with crops and cattle, the owners of Adora Downs make a living out of tourism, buses packed with holiday-makers pouring in the multiple huts, caravans and lodges spotting the place. Don't misunderstand, though - nothing ugly or cramped here, but a true ingenuity of design to all of the miscellaneous accommodations, including a home-made movie theater: a TV screen installed in an old bus! We put down our bag in one of the caravans, sneering at how comfortable it is compared to our old dairy at Bob's, and go join Keith and Nicole for an evening of drinking, bushdancing and, of course, still more eating.

On the morrow, we make friends with the few pet kangaroos around, stroking and hugging them freely. Farther away, enclosed in a fence, is a very australian strange array of kangaroos, llamas and a fawn. It's our first time seeing a red kangaroo (the taller, stronger sort, as opposed to the usual smaller grey kangaroos). Crouched beneath a ping-pong table to take shelter from the drizziling rain, he looks at us, human-like muscles rippling on his arms and shoulders. Big fella, able to disembowel you in one hit of his claws if he so desires.

We sleep through most of the way back home. On this rainy day, there's nothing quite like heading off to a hot shower, embracing warm droplets of water as you let the heat soak through to your air-conditioned frozen bones...

Back to Civilization

2007-01-01T20:03:00.000+10:00

[22/12/06]

Waking up at 4:30 AM to catch the 6 AM CityTrain to Brisbane, you can well understand our day was not starting off too well. What's more, we managed to get off the train a station early, and E. forgot her handbag in it - handbag meaning it held all those useful things like credit or insurance cards. Fortunately for us, we have left France behind and Australia is a much more efficient country: going to the nearest office, the girl got her bag back in no time, allowing us to put the whole lot of our luggage into lockers and be off to one of the most fulfilling breakfasts ever in the Pancake Manor. Food galore there, with pancakes with bacon & eggs, bananas & ananas, and pancakes with ice cream and maple syrup - but most delicious of all was the marshmallow cocoa, cherished old favorite for English speakers, mind-blowing new discovery for us Frenchies.

Afterwards, it was just a matter of killing time until 2 PM, when we were to meet up with our new hosts. Nicole and dad Keith pick us up at Roma Street to drive us back home to Sunnybank Hills. The exact opposite to Bob's farm in every way, our new home is modern, spotless and as comfortable as we only dared dream it could be. We enjoy a warm welcome from all of the family, mom Deborah kindly fussing about all of our needs big and small, and blissfully sleep into fabulously clean sheets in a soft bed for the night, making it all the more worthwhile.

In the morrow, we hang out with Keith in the park, watching a dozen teens playing cricket. Keith being a sports teacher, we can finally learn about the rules of this obscure game in an understandable way. Guess what - cricket's actually interesting when you're not wondering what the hell they're doing. In the afternoon, we leave the city behind to head for Springbrook National Park and tour all of the best lookouts. Though the day is overcast, we can still glimpse the tall buildings and skyscrapers of Surfers Paradise in the distance, over miles of forest and rolling mountains. We walk to the Goomoolahra waterfall, spot a few pademelons here and there - they're akin to an extra-small kangaroo, barely reaching knee-length.

All in all, a bit of a lazy day, with more watching and picnicing than walking around, but after a fortnight of rustic life, we decide to allow ourself to indulge in a comfy life for a while...

Country Wildlife

2007-01-01T20:02:00.000+10:00

[18/12/06]

A black snake slithers across the road, lightning fast, the sun lightly bouncing off its dark scales.

Water Closet Adventures: a window by the toilet - a pheasant takes fright as I come in, flying a few feet away to perch in a banana tree.

A fly buzzing, minutes stretching. And then, silence - a spider caught hold of it. We watch as the spider wraps it up neatly in a silky coccoon of death, long legs deftly weaving the web.

A frog sits and thinks on the veranda at night. E. scoops it up the floor and hands it to me. I let it jump on my knee, climb up my arm to the shoulder. Cute little guy.

Water Closet Adventures II: later that night, we come home to the dairy to find a small scorpion in the toilet. It now rests in peace beneath the cast-iron saucepan that ended its life with a bang.

In the morning, we wake to a scraping sound in the roof above. In between ill-adjusted planks, we catch glimpse of a possum.

Next door, our friendliest neighbor: Sam the Lonely Horse, standing by the barb-wire fence, eager to nuzzle against my chest, to try to gobble up my watch.

We get up early one morning to help Bob give the calves a little hard love, feeding them off artificial milk in a plastic bottle. Eager to swallow it all to the last drop, they greedily flock to us, jostling each other. A bit later, we go to another pasture to fix up an older calf - no, no milk this time. Castration. Though the tool Bob produces is as impressive as it is repulsive, the practice is not as barbaric as I first feared. The calf merely shivers for a second, the tool simply severing a blood vessel. Though somewhat weirded out, the little guy quickly gets back up on its feet to resume mowing the lawn.

Still, there's nothing quite like having your love-making come to an abrupt end with the extraction of a tic burrowed in your neck...

Toothbrush Nomads!

2006-10-25T12:23:00.000+10:00

Toothbrush Nomads c'est l'histoire de deux petites francaises qui decident de se prendre par la main et de partir au bout du monde... et qui en font un blog, juste pour faire baver :)