O What a Day

Unless you’ve been living under a rock (or somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere) you’d know that Oprah was in town. My town. I tried desperately to get tickets to see her show outside the Opera house. I’d given up hope, but I still wanted to be part of her trip to Australia.

I went down to circular quay the day of the filming, right by the Opera House (dubbed the Oprah house). I didn’t make a lot of money, and I was getting upset watching all the people with their Oprah bags walking past.

After lunch I went to see what was going on. There were two massive queues outside the Opera House; one for ticket holders and one for us regular folk. I joined the latter. I asked the woman in front of me what the line was for. She wasn’t exactly sure. Typical, 1,000 people in a queue and no one knows what for. There were 100’s of people in front of me and the line didn’t seem to be moving. The whole exercise seemed pretty pointless, but I figured it was worth a shot.

The best thing about waiting in a long line is meeting all the people around you. My favourite was a woman in front of me. She was determined. While I was being uncharacteristically pessimistic, she was certain we’d get in to the limited viewing spaces on the side. She saw people pushing in to the line.

“I’m going to say something”

“Just leave it honey” said her husband

“Look at those policemen not doing anything” she said ignoring him

“It’s not worth it” he tried

“I’m going to say something” she said again and marched off

She came back looking smug. The people in our section of the line applauded her efforts. Minutes later it happened again; another woman pushed in.

“Leave it” said the hubby

“No, I’ve had it. It’s not in the Oprah spirit”

She stormed off again, but this time, she didn’t come back. The hubby got a phone call not long after.

“She’s in” he said grimly.

I felt a mixture of shock, admiration and betrayal as I realised that the heroic woman who had stopped people pushing in, had just pushed in.

The queue was moving slowly by this time, but it was moving nonetheless. It looked like I might actually get there. A security guard walked by.

“All children to the front” he yelled “all children to the front with their parents”

I watched jealously as mothers with prams made their way to the front. Then it hit me. What’s a child? I swung around to the people behind me.

“Wait” I said anxiously “How old is a child?”

“Under 18” said one woman

“That’s you!” said another

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” I said dreamily

I grabbed my polka dot headband, put it on and swung around again.

“How old do I look?”

“16” said the first

“No, 15 and a half” said another

I turned to run towards the front. This was it. I was going to meet Oprah. She was probably going to pull me up on stage; we’d totally click. She was going to invite me to dinner, then I’d replace Gayle as Oprah’s best friend.

I stopped halfway to the front and ran back to my place in the line.

“Wait” I said to the crowd of women “who wants to be my mother?”

A 25 year old Asian women raised her hand.

“I’m sorry” I said sympathetically “I don’t think that’s going to fly”

I looked at a woman behind her. She looked a bit like my Mum. Perfect.

We held hands as we introduced ourselves. I skipped a little. We were both thinking how wonderful it would be when we met Oprah. That didn’t quite happen. What did happen was my fake mum and I got ushered past the Oprah stage, waaaaaaaay out back behind the Opera House where a giant screen was waiting. We watched Oprah on TV, but we were so close. All that stood between me and Oprah was a giant building and 6,000 people. It was as close as I’m ever going to get, but if you ask me, it was pretty damn close.

No Sword Swallowing

Bloody show-off

Some busking licenses are really simple to get. In Kingston all I had to do was pay $27 and I was good to go. The City of Sydney wasn't hard either, just a little more expensive; $45 and a photo-still not a bad deal. Quebec city was harder. I had to wait for an appointment, audition then trek to the other side of town to pay and get my photo taken- and that was only for 3 days!

The city of Sydney license is pretty good. It covers a lot of ground and it gives you a fair bit of flexibility. The problem is it doesn’t cover Circular Quay, one of the best busking spots in Sydney (where the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge live).

I checked the website to see how to get a license, only $20 for a year; it sounded too good to be true. It was. Turns out I needed public liability insurance. I called GIO.

“You’ve called GIO insurance, this is Karen. How can I help you?”

“Hi Karen, I play the trombone, I’m looking to get public liability insurance.”

Silence.

“Hello? Karen? Are you there?”

“Ummm yes, I’m sorry Miss….”

“Sebestyen”

“Miss Sebestyen. What is your enquiry today?”

“I just wanted to get a quote for public liability insurance. Do you do public liability insurance?”

“Yes we do. What is your business?”

“I’m a street performer”

“And you require insurance for….”

“Busking.”

“Busking?”

“Yes, I play the trombone”

“Ummmmm, right, ahh OK, hmmm... do you mind holding? I’ll just go ask someone.”

“No problem.”

One minute later.

“I’m sorry, we don’t do that.”

Fortunately the people at duck for cover specialize in insurance for entertainers. We’re talking every kind of entertainer under the sun from clairvoyants to baton twirlers to whip crackers and fortune tellers. I’m now covered as a musician, a bingo caller and a balloon sculptor for up to $20million. Unfortunately, I’m not insured for sword swallowing or anything to do with bed of nails. Shame.

The good news is I didn't have to get the extra special safety busking permit. When I went to get my license, the woman asked what my act was.

"You play the trombone? Oh good, so you don't need a special permit"

"I guess not."

"Wait, you don't light your trombone on fire do you?"

"No. Not intentionally."

2 Days Later

Those of you who know me well, may have called me ‘Lucky Maya’ at some time or other. For good reason too; I tend to land on my feet, and quite often on a step ladder of sorts.

2 days after I wrote my last post, I got called over by my manager at work.

Sidebar: I got my old bartending job back.

My manager sat me down with a woman I’d never seen before.

“Hi I’m _________, I work for _________” she said

“Hi, I’m Maya”

“We’re doing a free hospitality training course for employees”

“Cool, I love free stuff!”

She smiled and continued. “It’s all on the job training so you don’t have to go to TAFE or anything; and at the end you get a certificate in hospitality!”

“OK” I started flipping through the forms. There was a question that asked if I was a ‘new employee’

“You count as a new employee because you’ve been away for more than 6 months” she said reading my mind.

“Does that make any difference?”

“Not really, it just means you’re eligible for a concession card”

“What?” I hadn’t heard right. There’s no way this could be happening.

“Yeah, you get a student card, cool huh?” she said

I slowly raised my arms towards the sky and looked to the heavens, saying a silent prayer of thanks.

“Yay, cheap movie tickets.” said the woman in mock excitement

“I feel like all my dreams are coming true”

Probably not what she expected to hear.

“Seriously” I said, resisting the urge to grab her hand, “you have no idea what this means to me”

OK, that might have been a bit intense

“Ha, well that’s good. Just fill out those forms for me…”

“Just to clarify- I don’t have to pay, in fact I GET paid, AND I get a student card?”

“Yes. And don't forget you get your Hospitality Certificate 3.”

"Uh huh.... so I get the student card for a whole year right?"

"Actually you have 3 years to complete the course."

“3 years?!?! Oh this is too much..”

“Yes, but it might only take you 8 months to finish.”

I laughed. “I think I’ll take 3 years thanks”

The Eternal Student?

I’ve been lying to you all. This whole blog has been a lie. The truth is, I don’t know what you can do with a Bachelor of Arts, because I don’t have one. Gasps, shrieks of horror; I can hear you all now. My whole ‘life as a university graduate’ thing is a big farce because I haven’t actually graduated yet.

Why not? The short answer is, I’m lazy. Basically, the second I left Australia, I stopped dealing with anything related to my home university. When I finally did check my Sydney University email 9 months later, I was bombarded with emails telling me how I didn’t fill out my subject approvals properly and that my exchange report was due 6 months ago. I skimmed the subjects of my 300 unread emails that included words like ‘Important’, ‘Overdue’ and ‘Urgent’. I read one about how the orchestra had a concert a few months before, then calmly shut my computer, saving the rest for another day.

That day never came. I still have to get approval for two of the subjects I took on exchange. It’s not hard, I just don’t want to do it. Partly because of laziness, but now there’s a new reason as well; maybe I don’t want to graduate.

Allow me to elaborate. I’ve never been the most studious of students, but I have embraced student life with open arms. 4 month holidays, 5 day weekends, being able to go to the beach on a Tuesday. In truth, I can probably maintain this quality of life in my post university state. What I can’t get, are the student discounts that I love so much. Transport, movie tickets, entry into pretty much anything, and most importantly for me, student flights. I want to be a ‘concession’ forever.

So here’s my idea. I was supposed to graduate in November, but that’s not going to happen. If I got my act together now I could graduate in May. But now I’m thinking of NOT getting my subjects approved, enrolling in a full course load for next year, waiting til they send me my student card, then dropping out before they charge me.

Does this sound like a good idea or what?

Cast your vote on the right hand side of the page.

Poutine

My poutine. 

I've been back in Australia for over a week now. I've been to the beach, eaten Oporto, heard the kookaburras and gotten seriously sunburnt. Now I'm missing Canada. And when I say I'm missing Canada, what I really mean is, I'm missing poutine.

This delicacy of hot chips, gravy and cheese curds was my favourite thing about Canada. I was desperate to bring it back to Australia with me. The chips aren't a problem. Hot chips, or 'fries' as they are known over there, are similar enough. The only difference would be that a lot of the fries used for poutine are double fried (genius right?). The gravy isn't so hard either. Most poutineries use powder for their gravy, so my last day in Canada was spent buying every type of powdered gravy I could find. The cheese curds are the problem.

I spent hours researching where to get cheese curds in Australia, but alas, none exist. I've read discussion after discussion, posted by poor Canadians who have found themselves out in the big, bad world, without poutine. The most responses recommend finding substitute cheeses, the most common being mozzarella. Although the texture of mozzarella is probably the closest, the flavour doesn't quite cut it, thus haloumi is often mentioned. A number of other curd like cheeses are said to be substitutes; cottage cheese, paneer, quark, queso blanco. Any self respecting poutine lover knows, none of these are going to cut it.

I found some places you can buy it online in America, but they don't ship internationally. I toyed with the idea of sending it to someone in the US and getting them to send it to me. However, it was going to work out about $80 for 100g of cheese curds. Not only that, but the chances of a) it surviving the trip and b) getting it through customs, seemed slim to none.

The other day I had a brainwave; what if I could make cheese curds. I would like to thank the Internet once again for knowing absolutely everything. I found an article entitled 'How to make cheese curds for poutine'.

My dear friend Lynne was up for the challenge. Although she had never tried poutine, she has been fascinated with the concept ever since I described it to her.

We spent 4 hours making cheese curds, researching dairy of laws of Canada vs. Australia and trying to figure out why on earth we can't get cheese curds here.

I think we got to the bottom of it. Australian agricultural laws are insanely strict. Raw (unpasteurized) milk and all raw milk dairy products are illegal in Australia. I'm talking people sell this stuff on the black market, it's so hard to come by. The only way I found to buy raw milk legitimately in Australia, was if it was being sold as a bath milk, and costs about $40 a litre. Not ideal. Raw milk is also illegal in Canada, so how come they get away with having these delicious cheeses? Well it turns out Canada permits the sale of raw milk cheeses that are aged over 60 days, and in 2009, the province of Quebec modified regulations to allow raw milk cheeses aged less than 60 days to be sold. This may or may not have anything to do with why we don't have cheese curds here. I just wanted to show y'all how much I learnt about dairy regulations.

So how did the home made cheese curds go? Surprisingly well actually. It had a nice flavour, and was wonderfully fresh. The texture was a bit too creamy, it didn't have that squeakiness that is so important. I think this was a combination of not letting the curd refrigerate for long enough and not using raw milk.

Next we made the gravy, pretty simple using the powder I'd bought from Canada. We put the hot gravy in a thermos, the cheese curds in a plastic bag and headed to the shops to hunt down some appropriate chips.

We ordered large chips from a fish and chip shop in the food court, and asked them to fry them a little longer than usual. They looked perfect. We carefully constructed our poutine, trying to ignore the strange looks from people walking by. The poutine was delicious. 5 hours well spent.

My Luncheon With An Ex-Con

Because when I asked if I could take a photo of him he said: "Should I take my shirt off?"

I spent the last few days with my cousin in Fresno, California, also known as 'the armpit of California'. I decided to check out the downtown, but being me, I began walking the wrong way. After a considerable amount of time I resolved to ask the next person I saw for directions. Minutes later I saw a young man wearing a wife beater and a whole lot of tattoos. He looked kind of scary so I decided to ask someone else. I asked a guy a little further down the road who told me I was going the wrong way.

On my way back I saw the tattoo guy again. He asked where I was going. I told him downtown. He asked if he could walk with me. Usually I'd be up for it, but I wasn't really in the mood.

"I'd kind of prefer walking on my own" I stuttered

"Aw, I'm not after nothin'. I got out of prison yesterday, I just want someone to talk to"

Man! How do they always know exactly what to say? This I couldn't resist.

"Sure" I said, now grinning goofily.

We began walking together down the street.

"So, yeah, I just got out of prison" he said

"Oh cool" Not exactly sure if that's the right thing to say. "You must be happy. Ummmm How long where you in, ummm there for?"

"10 months"

"Oh OK"

I know you're all wondering what he did. So was I, but I've been taught not to ask, so you're going to have to wait.

We made small talk for a while 'where are you from? family etc' then drifted into silence. I wasn't exactly sure what questions were appropriate. He said he wanted to talk, so I took the opportunity to find out all I could about prison.

"So how was the food?" I asked

"Not bad. I mean, like, you got pretty full of it, but it don't got a lot of flavour, ya know?"

I knew.

"But prison ain't that bad. I mean people bitch about it, but like, if you don't got any other place to go, it's alright"

"Mmmmm. What did did they feed you on a typical day? Did you get hot food?"

"Oh yeah, Monday we got hot cereal, Tuesday was eggs, Wednesday- waffles"

"Oh yum I love waffles" I chimed in

"Thursday, ummmm, Saturday was pancakes"

"Wow, sounds pretty good!"

"Yeah, man, we have it so good in the US. There was a guy in there called Russia. Well I think his name was Eugeney something, but he was from Russia, so.... yeah. He said that in Russia all you get is 4 slices of bread and water and some cold potato soup. Everyday. That's it."

"Wow. That sucks."

"Yeah, prison here isn't that bad. What's it like in Australia?"

I thought about it for a second. I had absolutely no idea. Why would I? I’ve never been to prison. I don’t even know anyone who’s been to prison in Australia. In fact, I’m not sure I know someone who knows someone who has been to prison in Australia.

“I’m not sure…” I confessed

“Oh, yeah, right. Guess you’ve never been?”

“No”

More silence

“So what did you do during the day?” I asked

“1124 crunches, 123 push ups; diamond or wide….”

A million other exercise things I’ve never heard of…

“I also read books on anatomy” he continued “some guys waste their time in there but I like to make the most of it. Learn stuff, ya know?”

I nodded

“Tibia, jugular, fibula…” he said pointing to various parts of his body.”clavicle, jaw”

There was no denying it; the guy loved to list things.

“mandible, palatine, scapula....”

I wondered if this information would come in handy for him someday.

"....sternum, humerus, cervical..."

Wait. was he still naming bones?

"...radius, ulna.."

Yep.

“Wow” I said genuinely impressed.

“Yeah, I know. I also learnt some Spanish in there.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I can say ‘I know a little Spanish’, and ‘I just got out of prison’ and ‘Would you like to buy this from me?’”

“Wow”

We were getting closer to downtown, but I didn’t want our conversation to end. I decided to take Mitchell out to lunch.

He ordered a beer, and when the woman asked for ID, Mitchell piped up, “I only have prison ID, is that OK? I just got out of prison see, so…. Yeah”

Sometime during lunch we got onto the topic of tattoos. He took of his shirt in the restaurant to show me. One was his name, one was his mother’s name and one was a picture of a jester in memory of his friend who got beaten to death with a chains and a baseball bat last year.

Here are some other things I learnt over our 2 hour luncheon:

• 23 year old Mitchell got 8 months because he stole a car
• Then he got in a fight in prison and they gave him another 2. And they put him in high security for a couple of months.
• You don’t call someone a ‘bitch’ in prison. If someone calls you a bitch you HAVE to fight them
• Faggot, mutha fucka, nigger is OK
• Being called Caucasian, Oriental, African American or Latin is an insult, it’s White, Black, Asian or Mexican
• Trades happen in prison. For example, Mitchell would often trade his Monday, Wednesday and Saturday lunch meat for peanut butter.
• He would even trade his bread because ‘bread holds water’ and he wanted to get an 8 pack.
• It sucks when your girlfriend of 4 years send you a letter breaking up with you while you’re in the slammer
• She was a good girlfriend though, when Mitchell got shot, she held him, her hands covered in his blood, all the while a gun was pointed at her head.
• It’s really easy to get medicinal weed in California

We continued walking after lunch. He said he was going to show me around the downtown.

“Hey do you want to split a bottle?” he asked

“What kind of bottle?”

“A bottle of gin… or something?”

“Ummmm no thanks, I’ve got to get back to my cousin…. Sober”

“Awww come on…”

“Mmmmm, not today”

“You sure? We could get a hotel room or something?” He asked hopefully

I was wondering when this would come up. I was almost insulted he hadn’t asked me sooner.

“Ah no thanks” I said

“We could get one for like, $40”

“Tempting, but no thanks”

As we fell into another awkward silence, I began to question whether walking down a deserted alley with this guy was the best idea.

“Going once….”

“Yeah, no. Sorry” I said

“Awwww come on. I just got out of prison, show me some love”

“Hmmmmm, nah, sorry.

“Well I had to try”

“Yeah….”

Suddenly he had to go. He was ditching me. He was ditching me. Ouch. Anyhoo, that was my lunch date with an ex con.

Screw the System

Here's the thing about the Greyhound; it's disorganised, unreliable and unpredictable. This suits me just fine. Usually.

I went to book my ticket to San Fransisco online because it's cheaper. Unfortunately, the website didn't like my Australian credit card, so I asked my cousin's hubby Jeremy if he could book it for me.

Greyhound charges an additional $18 if the credit card holder is not travelling, so I told Jeremy to print the ticket under his name.

"What if they check your ID?" he asked

I laughed 350+ hours on the greyhound and they'd never asked me for ID. Actually they had asked me once, but that was because minors aren't allowed to ride unaccompanied. They were checking that I wasn't under 16. Never anything to do with the ticket.

"I guarantee they won't ask for ID" I told Jeremy confidently.

"But it says you need to show ID with the ticket" he said.

"Trust me" I was being plain cocky now "I know the greyhound. There's no way they'll ask for ID."

"She knows what she's doing" piped in cousin Sharon.

"OK'" Jeremy said. He looked unconvinced.

I got to the greyhound station my usual 2 minutes early. I was at the back of the line. It was taking longer than usual. I finally made it to the front and handed the driver my ticket.

"ID?" he said

WHAAAAAT????? YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING!!!!

"Ummmmmm....." I faltered

"Are you Jeremy?"

Time to look sweet and innocent.

"No. That's my Dad's name" I said in my best 13 year old voice.

The impatient greyhound worker didn't care.

"Go to the ticket office and tell them the name on your ticket doesn't match your ID"

Bugger. I went to the ticket office. No one was there. this is greyhound, remember? The bus was due to leave any second. After being called on the PA system, a ticket officer eventually appeared.

"I can't re-issue this ticket" he told me "the name has to match the traveller"

"Oh. My Dad booked it."

"Well, I can't re-issue it."

"But why?" I asked innocently

"Because the name has to match the credit card name"

"Oh. But why?"

Yeah, I was playing the 'but why' game.

"It's a special promotion for internet fares"

"Oh."

"If you want to get on that bus you'll have to buy another ticket."

My eyes grew wide.

"But... but... but I.... I can't"

"I'm sorry, maybe your dad can get a refund. There's another bus that leaves in 5 hours, otherwise you'll just have to buy another ticket"

I can't fake cry, but I can make it look like I'm holding back tears. I did that now. My breathing was starting to get heavy, and occasional whimpering noises were escaping my mouth.

"Can't i just pay the $18?" I asked desperately. "I don't have enough for another ticket, but I can pay $18".

The man behind the counter looked at me somewhat sympathetically. I was giving him my best puppy dog eyes. He called his supervisor over and told him what was going on.

"You're Dad was trying to get out of paying the $18, wasn't he?" said the supervisor

I shrugged. "I dunno... maybe"

He looked at me. More puppy dog eyes.

"OK re-issue her a ticket and tell them to hold the bus"

BOO-YA!!!! VICTORY!!!!

The bus was 15 minutes late. Everyone hated me when I stepped on the bus. I didn't care; I just saved $18.

I Majored in Greyhound

Time I Spent on the Bus* vs. Time I Spent in Class** from June 30 2009 - June 30 2010

I caught the bus from Missoula, MT to Portland, OR yesterday. I began to reminisce about all the time I've spent on the bus this past year. In late June 2009, I purchased a 'Greyhound Discovery Pass' which allowed me to travel anywhere in North America for 60 days. I spent over 150 hours on the bus during those 2 months.

Months later, I bought another discovery pass- this time for 15 days. I went from Toronto to Vancouver and back. That's another 150+ hours. Over the past year I have spent over 350hours on the Greyhound, more than double the time I spent in class. Not surprisingly, I know a whole lot more about the Greyhound than I do about linguistics. Here are my tips on what to bring and why:

• Water- duh.
• Duct tape slippers- Waterproof and easy to slip on when you just want to get off the bus for a minute. Not great on ice.

My duct tape slippers

• Travel scrabble- in case I find a friend
• Knitting- in case I don’t
• Ipod- Not nearly as important as people seem to think. On a 76 hour bus trip, 7 hours of ipod battery doesn’t get you very far.
• Sleeping bag- every time I pull out my sleeping bag people look at me like I’m a genius (funny that). This isn’t rocket science folks, if you want to sleep on the bus- do it properly.
• Eye mask and ear plugs- KEY! Get in your own little bubble.
• Swiss army knife- This is greyhound, safety first.
• Food- Before every long bus trip, the most common question I get asked is ‘Do you have snacks?’ which is usually followed by them trying to give me some, even though I said yes. They always give me easy-to-eat snacks like chips, nuts, apples, candy etc. They mean well, but to be honest, it’s not what I want to eat on the bus. When you eat a muesli bar, you unwrap it, eat it, then throw away the wrapper. This will take 10 minutes at best. I want something that’s going to take me ages to eat and prepare.
• Boiled eggs are a favourite of mine. First you have to find something to put the egg in, then you have to peel it and find somewhere to put the shell. Next, you need something to mash it with and maybe something to mix it with ( I usually bring sachets of mayonnaise, salt and pepper). Then you might have to wait an hour til the next bus stop, at which time you can look for some kind of bread. Maybe it will be a hot dog bun, or perhaps you’ll get corn chips and use it as a dip. Get creative. Finally, it’s ready to eat, and you’ve killed close to 2 hours.
• If you do want some easy-to-eat foods, I recommend getting them at the bus station. I know it can be a little more expensive, but I can kill a good 40 minutes looking at a vending machine deciding what I want.
• Thermos- Greyhound stations don’t have much, but most of them have boiling water, and you can do almost anything with boiling water. Tea, cuppa soup, instant mash potatoes, 2 minute noodles, those awesome camping meals. You can have yourself a very satisfying 3 course meal right there on the bus.
• Toiletries- Sure it’ll make you feel fresher; whacking on some deodorant is pretty much the same as having a shower, but be warned: the better you smell, the more likely it is that someone will sit next to you. That’s a bad thing.

Things to remember:

• Set small goals. Don’t think ‘I’ll be in Vancouver in 70 hours’ think ‘I’ll be in Sudbury in 2 hours (hoorah!)’
• Go west to east if you can. Thinking it’s 10pm, then all of the sudden it’s 9pm again, is incredibly depressing.
• Don’t multi task. Ever. Multi tasking is your enemy. If you’re eating, don’t listen to your ipod. If you’re talking to someone, don’t be knitting. Etc.

*'Other buses' include Mega Bus, Orleans Express, Coach Canada and all buses used for Queen’s Bands. Excludes local buses and all other types of transportation including rideshares.

** 'Class missed' is based on 4 weeks I was absent as well as 2 classes missed every other week.

Book Club

This isn't them, but it's close enough

Every Wednesday the girls have knitting club from 1-5pm (yes, it's 4 hours long). Every 4th week it becomes a book club. I was fortunate enough to briefly attend one of these meetings.

I stepped into the living room where there were knitted afghans everywhere, except the back wall. That had a deer head mounted on it. The room smelt of freshly baked maple pastries and cheap perfume. I sat down in an easy chair and tried to become invisible.

I'd missed the book discussion so the conversation had turned to how sexy Robert Duvall was and how saggy various body parts had become. The girls are Sue's friends; Betty, Muriel, Melin and Geraldine.

It came to discussing what book to pick for next month. No one wanted to choose one. Then someone said: "Maya what was the last book you read?"

I thought for a moment. I've been reading books set in the places I've been travelling. The last one I read was set in Nova Scotia.

"Fall On Your Knees" I finally announced.

"Was it good?" Geraldine asked

"Yeah, it was actually. Very well written"

"What's it about?"

It was hard to explain. It wasn't about anything in particular.

"Well it's set in Nova Scotia, and it follows a family across a few generations."

"Ooooh it sounds wonderful!" They exclaimed.

"It was pretty intense" I continued "I found it very emotionally draining".

"Oh it's not like 'The Shipping News' with all that incest is it?" asked Betty

Actually that was exactly what it was like, but with a lot more incest. Man, if they thought 'The Shipping News' was bad, this was 10 times worse and far more graphic.

Spoiler Alert: Fathers raping daughters who become pregnant and prostitutes, suicide, murder and lesbian sex scenes. I'm not sure these god-fearing women would like this book.

I tried to back track.

"That book Muriel mentioned sounded good" I said "I think I've heard of it. Great reviews. Maybe you should do that one?"

But it was too late. They were already making a bulk order off Amazon. I'm not going back there again. I think I'll stick to Oprah's book club.

What Would Oprah Do?

The poll is closed, the votes have been counted. You, my blog readers, have decided that I should open Sue's untouched Oprah's 20th Anniversary DVD box set.

I've been thinking about it all week. Every weekday afternoon at 4pm I sit down with a beer (or two) and watch Oprah. I learn how terrible the US public school system is, what life is like as a hostage in Iran and why Jon Stewart's new book is 'faaaaaabuloooous!' But I want more, and it's all on that DVD.

I want to be as prepared as possible for Oprah's upcoming visit to Australia, so I was relieved that the majority of you said 'yes'. Yet, as I stood there, ready to lay my hands on the holy grail of television, I couldn't help but think, 'what would Oprah do?' I tried to convince myself that she would want me to watch it so I could become more educated on, well... everything, but deep down I know she would never open the DVD, and so, neither will I. Not now anyway. Who knows what the long, Oprah-less weekend will do to me.

The Philipsburg Mail

While his white hair and whiskers may be indicative of his age, local miner Tom McQuire still competed in the Miner’s Union Day Events.

If there's one thing I learnt from doing a Bachelor of Arts, it's that plagiarism is a wonderful thing, not to mention full proof.

The Philipsburg Mail comes out every Wednesday. I will never be able to write anything as funny as this, so I copied out the Sheriff's report. Enjoy.

Tree tags car in Sheriff's Corner

"August 29, 1:36a.m. Report of men fighting in Drummond tavern and one, a Bozeman resident, was hit in the nose. The men were apparently intoxicated.

2:25 a.m. A Bozeman resident was charged with Driving Under The Influence of Alcohol.

August 30, 9:19p.m. Powell County Sheriff's Office reported two possible missing people. Soon after the report the two were located in Drummond.

August 31, 11:19 a.m. Report of dump trucks speeding through Parkerville in Philipsburg.

September 1, 5:03 p.m. Report of a dog running loose in Drummond.

September 3, 8:27 a.m. Report of a man taking some firewood not belonging to him, from a Rock Creek resident.

9:50a.m. A Rock Creek resident reported nuisance dogs belonging to a neighbor.

2:21 p.m. A man reported some unknown person making charges against a credit card account, he is not responsible for.

3:02 p.m. Drummond Ambulance responded for a person not feeling well.

9:43 p.m. Report of a possible lost person in Philipsburg. The person was found playing video poker in a tavern.

11:05 p.m. A Philipsburg resident reported a small white car being driven past his home and the tires spraying gravel onto his parked pick-up.

September 4, 12:50 a.m. Report of an intoxicated man being disorderly outside a Philipsburg tavern.

9:41 a.m. An alarm company reported a burglar alarm at a business near Philipsburg Someone had left a door unlocked.

2:22 p.m. A man was attempting to fell a tree near his home at Georgetown Lake when it fell in an unintentional direction, struck a power line and a neighbors vehicle.

5:07 p.m. A Georgetown Lake resident reported a bear in their garage."

Other favourite article titles:

• Parents go out for coffee - children go to the pub
• The quilting torch is passed on to a new president
• Bear trouble
• Justice court deals out justice and fines
• 'You cannot reread a phone call'
• Non paying camper spotted in the Corner
• Librarian looks forward to typical day

If you want more information on any of these articles, don't check out the Philipsburg Mail website, it's useless. Email me and I can give some more detail. I've got time. Clearly.

My Life as a 60 Year Old Divorcee.

Yeah, this is a timer shot

It's Saturday night. I'm not at a bar or a party. I'm not drinking or dancing and I'm not about to. I live Sue's life now.

I didn't just take over her hotel; I took over everything. I got her house, her dog, her car, her cat and even a few of her friends. Now this is my Saturday night.

Dinner for one. I flick through the CD collection to find some mood music. Enya, Italian Dinner Music, Mozart in the Evening, Spa Music; in the end I go for The Three Tenors- it would go nicely with the pasta I was having. Not my usual pasta meal with stolen spaghetti and nasty pesto from the free food section, this one has chicken. And cheese. Parmesan cheese. Organic parmasen cheese. I light a candle and use a cloth napkin. I talk to the dog over dinner. Afterwards, we dance.

After bathing, I get into my robe and slippers and settle down to read a book by the fake fire. I'm surrounded by titles such as Being Peace by Thich Nhat Hanh, Selected Maya Angelo Poems and How to Be Your Own Best Friend.

I'm lying. As if I'm going to read a book. I look for a DVD; they are all art house foreign films, but I'm not in the mood. I snuggle up in front of TV to watch The Biggest Loser; a ritual that's not complete without a bag of cookies and a block of chocolate.

Time to check my email. Someone has forwarded an email with funny pictures of cats, another person sends some jokes about about Rabbis and doctors. Time for me to send them back an e-card or two.

It's 10.30, time for bed. I retire to my room with it's 200 pillows and lavender incense. The sounds of the rainforest put me to sleep.

Things that make me unlike a 60 year old divorcee:

• I don't have an ex husband to bitch about
• My cigar butts are in the flower bed
• My slippers are made of duct tape
• I don't know the cat's name

Moral Dilemma: Sue has The Oprah Winfrey Show: 20th Anniversary Collection on DVD but it's unopened, still in the plastic. I desperately want to watch it; I mean, it's there to be watched right? Should I open it?

Free Gas

Yesterday didn't start too well. I was behind on my breakfast duties, I was feeling a bit crook and one of my cleaners was having a serious marital crisis. Then my mate Richard called and I was happy. He told me he was in Missoula, only an hour and a half a way; all I had to do was pick him up. I was so excited that I ran to the car without a license, money or keys. The car didn't start. I went back for the keys.

I was so excited I didn't even check to see where I was supposed to be going. I ended up, not going a completely wrong direction, but taking a scenic route. No matter. It was quite pretty, and I had time.

Eventually I saw signs to Missoula. I missed the main highway, and ended up on some old dodgy one. No matter. It was quite pretty, and I had time. The road wasn't in the best condition; big rocks had fallen from nearby mountains onto the road. I dodged one, then another; James Bond eat your heart out! I smashed straight into the third. BANG. Bugger. No matter, accelerate through the pain, it'll be fine. It wasn't. I pulled over when the car started to make horrible groaning sounds. It had a flat tyre. Nay, it had two flat tyres. Awesome. I wished I knew how to change a tyre, but even more than that, I wished there were two spare tyres in the car.

I fumbled through the glove box and found the number for AAA.

"What's your policy number?"

"mhsdfjksaglre"

"Are you Sue?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, we can only provide assistance if the AAA member is in the car"

"Oh"

Bugger.

I fumbled through to find an insurance policy. I called them.

"Are you Sue?"

"Yes"

"OK. Where are you?" the woman asked. A much better response.

"I don't know. I was driving from Philipsburg to Missoula. I'm somewhere in between."

"Are you on the i-90?" (that's the main highway)

"No, but I can see it. I'm on a road that is running parallel to it."

"Did you pass (insert random animal) town?"

"I don't know"

"How about (insert some kind of land formation)-ville"

"I don't know"

"I'm going to need more information than that"

"OK"

"OK, so where are you?"

"I don't know."

"Are there any landmarks around you? Any signs or houses?"

"No."

"Well, I'm going to need a bit more information than that."

"OK"

"Where were you coming from?"

"Philipsburg"

"And you're on the way to Missoula?"

"Yes"

"So you're on the i-90?"

"No, I can see the i-90"

"Are you on a highway?"

"I don't know?"

"Did you pass (name of famous lumberjack)?

"I don't know."

"Well, I'm going to need a bit more information than that."

"OK"

And so it went on like this until we figured out that I was on the old highway parallel to the i-90. The insurance company sent out a tow truck for me. It would cost $84 with the insurance and about $180 without. I didn't really want to put this against Sue's insurance but I didn't really want to pay $180 either.

I asked the driver how much he thought tyres would cost.

"Well you're looking at about $85 for a new tyre, so $100 all up, but you might get a bit off for warranty".

I had no idea what that meant, but I was pretty sure I was going to get screwed over because I don't have a clue about cars or tyres, and you can tell.

This was looking like a very expensive day. Fortunately I factor these kind of costs into my budget. I generally travel quite frugally, but I end up spending as much as everyone else because of money I waste due to disorganisation and stupidity. This includes: paying extra for accommodation for not booking in advance, booking transport last minute, missing transport and having to buy another ticket, losing cameras, wallets, ipods, tickets, sleeping bags, shoes etc. I recently lost my ipod, but it is magically being returned to me, so I figured the tyres were just a way of evening things out.

We got to the tyre place. I didn't have my wallet. I told the man I was 90% sure I'd memorized my credit card number and he could just type it in. At the last second I asked if it made a difference if I was a AAA member. He said yes. I showed him Sue's membership card. He said it was all covered and drove off. Awesome.

The tyre man came over. he'd looked at the car.

"I think we're going to have to put 4 new tires on"

I knew they were going to screw me over.

"Hmmmm" I pondered "is there any way we could..... not?"

He rambled on about the balance of the car, then "I'll see what I can do"

He came back minutes later and told me that he'd found 4 tyres with similar tread, so he'd put them on and take the old tyres. Sounded reasonable to me.

I went for a walk, they did their thing, then the guy took me inside for the payment. I prayed my credit card number would work.

He typed things into the computer.

"Oh" he said "it looks like you don't owe us anything."

He showed me the invoice:

4x $40.00 = 160.00

-$160.00

Grand Total: $0.00

That made absolutely no sense. My mouth fell open, partly in shock and partly to ask what the hell that meant. I decided asking questions was a terrible idea. I grabbed the keys and drove off in a flash. So after getting myself 2 flat tyres, all that happened was I got a tow that saved me money on gas.

Philipsburg, Montana

Population of 923, and I think I've met them all now. I went into a pizza shop on Friday night. When I walked in, everyone turned to look at me.

"Who are you?" someone asked.

That's what people here say when they see a stranger.

I introduced myself to some people the other day.

"Hi, I'm Maya, I'm running The Broadway Hotel for a couple of weeks while Sue is away."

"Yes" the women replied, "we know."

According to the 2000 census, the racial makeup of P'burg is 95.08% white, 1.97% mixed, 1.31% Native, 0.44% Asian and 1.2% from other races.

23.6% of the town is under the age of 18, 6% between 18 and 24, 20.5% from 25-44, leaving 49.9% of the population 45 and over. That's slim pickins my friends.

For more information about Philipsburg, check out their website.

Hotel Management 101

I've spent the last 3 days learning how to run a hotel from Sue, the manager. The stuff I have to do here isn't particularly difficult, doing it Sue's way is the problem. This 9 room, boutique hotel, is her baby - right down to the most minute detail. Although I'm reasonably competent at this job, detail isn't my thing, but don't tell Sue that.

Sue: "Make sure you put a '#' before you write down the room number."

Me, thinking: 'What's the difference?'

Me, saying: Nothing

Sue: "We make fruit plates for breakfast. I like to make a pattern with the oranges and melon, like this."

Me, thinking: 'How about I dump massive chunks of fruit on a plate and be done with it?'

Me, saying: Nothing

Sue: "You can do whatever you like, as long as it looks pretty."

Me, thinking: 'I'm totally going to make a fruit face!'

Me, saying: Nothing

Sue: "You're doing a really good job folding those sheets!"

Me, thinking: 'Wow, folding fitted sheets is the hardest thing in the world. Lucky I'm good at origami.'

Me, saying: Nothing

Sue: "We have to make sure the beds always look attractive, so when you've finished, stand back and see if it looks nice."

Me, thinking: 'A sleeping bag in a bus shelter looks nice to me.'

Me, saying: Nothing

Click here to check out the hotel I'm managing.

Fun fact: On www.ehow.com, 'How to Fold a Fitted Sheet' has 8 dot points, while 'How to Run a Hotel' only has 4.

Airport Security

I love telling people that I’m off to run a hotel in Montana. It’s so random, they always end up looking dumbfounded. Unfortunately, so do the US custom officials. It turns out hopping from one place to the next and doing all sorts of different things, without a plan or a care in the world, makes me look very suspicious to the US government.

“Why do you have a visa?”

(They always start with this one. I won’t go into the details of the US visa I have, but basically it’s enabled me to go between Canada and the USA with ease this year).

“I spent this year in Canada on exchange and I wanted to be able to cross the border a few times.”

“When were you last in the states?”

“March. No, wait, May. Yeah April/May.”

“Where did you go?”

“Chicago”

“What were you doing there?”

“Just looking”

“You have family there?”

“No, I met my family over there though”

“Why?”

“Ummmm…. ” she was starting to freak me out. “I like Chicago?”

The woman was not a smiler. She looked over my passport.

“You were in America in March. Why?”

“Ummmm I went home for a couple of weeks and had a stopover in LA. Oh yeah, and I went to Boston.”

“How long did you spend in Boston?”

“ Only a few days”

“What were you doing in Boston?”

“I was in band and we had a performance there.”

“What kind of band?”

“A marching band”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You went to Boston with a marching band and then you went to Australia?”

“Yes”

Wow. That does sound kind of strange.

“You said you were on exchange? At a university?”

“Yes”

“So how did you manage to get so much time off?”

She had me there. I was starting to look very guilty.

“And where are you going now?”

“Montana”

“Montana?” she repeated. Her eyebrow now seemed to be floating above her head. “What are you going to do in Montana?”

Bugger. Hadn’t thought this one through, I can’t legally work in America. Quick. Lie.

“Ummmmm… I have family there.”

“When are you flying back to Australia?”

“Hmmmmm a couple of weeks, I guess” I said vaguely. Not a good response.

“Do you have a ticket book?”

Lie.

“Yes.”

“Can I see it?”

“Ummmm I don’t have it with me.”

“Why not?”

“Ahhhhhh, well, it’s… it’s on the computer! It’s an eticket”

Ha! Take that!

“What date?”

I froze. My brain stopped. I couldn’t for the life of me think of a date.

“You know, 3 weeks from now”

AGGGGHHH! Pick a date, any date!!!

“I need an exact date”

“Oh yeah, ummm October…..”

“October?”

“October 1st”

She looked unconvinced. Rightfully so. She then lectured me on all the horrible things that will happen if I stay in the country for too long. Some people just don’t appreciate spontaneity.

Top 10 Canada

10. 'Eh!'

It's no stereotype, they really do say it a lot here. It's said to be a politeness marker, making regular statements into questions, as a way of seeking agreement.

Examples
1. I need my toque* before I go out on my skidoo, eh?
2. Don't suck maple syrup out of the tree, a bear might attack you, eh?

*'Toque' - Canadian term for beanie

9. Quebec

Canadians everywhere just started throwing things at their computers. The rebel child of Canada is hated by a lot of Canadians because they want to separate from Canada, but keep all their government funding. Frankly, I don't care. The Quebecois drink more, smoke more, work less and have more sex. They are a confusing mix of French arrogance and Canadian politeness. Quebec has better food, better beer and better coffee. And that's why it's on my list.

8. Tim Hortons

Named after a dead hockey player, this coffee shop is EVERYWHERE! Every product of Tim Hortons is a Canadian rite of passage.

I was talking to a Nova Scotian about Tim Hortons recently.
"Have you tried Tim Hortons?" he asked me
"Yeah"
"Have you tried the donuts?"
"Yes"
"The Canadian maple one?"
"Yes"
"How about the maple dip?"
"Yes"
"Have you tried Timbits? You've gotta try Timbits?"
"Yeh, I love Timbits!"
"The chilli?"
"Yep"
"The chicken wrap?"
"Yeah, I've had the chicken wrap."
"An ice cap?"
"No, actually I haven't tried an ice cap"
"WHAT??? You haven't tried an ice cap???? Oh, you HAVE to try an ice cap!!"

2 minutes later we were in a Tim Hortons,
"Hello" he said to the boy behind the counter " I need a large ice cap supreme with an extra shot of chocolate. This girl is from Australia and she's NEVER had an ice cap."
Shocked looks from the workers at Tim Hortons. "We'll make i very special" the boy said earnestly.
3 Tim Hortons employees worked together to create this master piece pictured above.

7. Winter

Haha. No. just kidding.

7. Flip Cup

I like drinking, but I'm not the biggest fan of drinking games. That was until I discovered flip cup. A relay based drinking tournament, this 'game' gets pretty competitive. You might forget everything about the night, but you'll still remember if someone cheated at flip cup.

6.Maritime Hospitality

That's Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island and Newfoundland and Labrador. I'm leaving out New Brunswick. Not that they weren't nice; it was just more of a ' don't stay in the park after dark or you might get raped' kind of hospitality.

The rest of the Maritimers were ridiculous. I couldn't go anywhere without being invited to stay at someone's house (or their cousins), offers to drive me wherever, to feed me etc. The only time I ever saw cars honk was if they saw someone they knew.

5. Kitchener-Waterloo

Canadians may be scratching their heads at this one. It's kind of like saying Bathurst is your favourite place in Australia. Most people think it's OK, but nothing to write home about. Well I'm writing home about K-W. I love it, and I don't need a reason.

4. Ice Skating

I've always considered myself a decent skater (by Australian standards at least). The first time I went skating in downtown Kingston, someone asked me if I knew how to stop.
"Pfft. Of course I know how to stop. I'm not THAT bad."

Then I realised the outdoor rink had no walls to crash into. And that's when I discovered I had no idea how to stop.

Nonetheless, I loved ice skating. I carried my $7 skates with me wherever I went, even if it meant my school books would no longer fit in my bag.

3. Vancouver 2010

Yeah I went. It took me 76 hours by bus to get there, but it was worth it. It was worth it the second I got off the bus and saw the streets buzzing with people high fiving each other and singing 'O Canada'.

Canada put on a great show, even though they are not exactly the most competitive country in the world. I was near a Canadian and an American watching the first Canada vs. USA hockey game (the one Canada lost). 20 minutes into it, the Canadian turned to the American and said "Wow this game is so intense, eh? I'm so into it, it's taken me this long to introduce myself". O Canada.

Special thanks to my mate B for making my Olympic experience the greatest of all time.

2. Queen's Bands

This one isn't in the Lonely Planet, but this club made my year. This 100 piece kilt-wearing, pipe-playing, beer-guzzling, whisky-skulling, tiger-skin-lovin', hotel-destroying, football-heckling, Christmas-parading, liver-wrecking, reggi-checking, final-count-downing, flip cupping, bus-singing marching band was insane. Insanely awesome!!!!

1. Poutine

I love my family. A lot. They mean the world to me, but if I had to choose between my family and poutine; I'd really have to think about it.

Hot chips sprinkled with cheese curds and covered with gravy. So. Good.

If anyone has any information on where I can find poutine or cheese curds in Australia, please let me know immediately.

For more of my favourite things, try playing my sporcle quiz

And Then?

What's next?

I'm flying to Montana.

Erm, why?

Because it's landlocked.

Ummmmm?

I'm looking after a small hotel there for a few weeks.

Why?

Because the woman who normally runs it is going away.

Who is this person?

My Mum's friend's daughter's aunt's friend of a friend. Or something like that.

OK, but why are YOU doing this?

Someone along that line said "Maya's in North America, she'll do it."

Any idea how to run a hotel?

No, but it can't be any worse than the boat.

Financial Statement

First image that came up when I googled 'funny financial statement'

So how did I do eh? Well I made it from London to Sydney via Newfoundland, and I'm now back in Kingston.

The money was good. Really good. Initially I was feeling guilty about taking so much money from unsuspecting communities - it felt like stealing. Fellow Kingstonian busker Heather assured me that I wasn't stealing, merely redistributing funds back into the local economy.

For the last few months I have been working 10-15 hours a week, and I've come back with a small, but useful, profit. I now see the world as a buffet of money; whenever I run out, I just go and get more. It's that easy.

Likes and Dislikes

Busking Likes:

• Kids
• People who throw money from cars/ buildings
• People who cross the street to give me money
• People who give me money when I'm not playing
• People who give me $20 notes
• John Corbett
• People who dance (especially tap dancers)
• People who comment on what a difficult instrument I play
• Mexican waves (yeah, that happened)

Busking Dislikes:

• Kids who cry
• Dogs that cry
• Kids who don't give all the money their parents have given them
• Kids who take money from my case
• People who ask for change
• Other buskers
• Stephen Harper
• People who sing along
• People who put hands over their ears
• People who say "Look, a trumpet!"

A Day in the Life

I get going at the crack of noon. I set up on Main St (and yes, it’s always called Main St). In a town with a population of under 10,000, the entire town will have seen or heard about me within the hour.

Some or all of the following things will be said to me during the day.

“A guy in the office told me that someone was playing the trombone down town, so I came to check it out.”

“We don’t get many buskers around here” pauses to think. “Actually there was a guy here a couple of months ago. He played the guitar. He was a backpacker too…. From Vancouver. Do you know him?”

“”That’s a big instrument for a little girl” chortle, chortle. I smile shyly and play with the pink ribbons in my hair.

After an hour or so, it’s time for lunch. Waiting inline, someone will give me money. “I saw you playing across the street”. I love it when that happens.

After idling away a few hours in the sun, I’ll get back to work.

“Oh you poor thing! You’ve been out here ALL day”

Then this conversation inevitably occurs.

“Where are you from?”

“Australia”

Eyes light up, smiles widen.

“Australia eh? You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”

“Yep”

“You know I’ve always wanted to go to New Zealand…”

Why must Canadians always do this? I don’t tell them I’d rather go to the US, and THEY’RE supposed to be the polite ones? Besides, I’m never quite sure how to respond.

“I’ve never been to New Zealand. I here it’s nice.”

4pm is quitting time. It’s time for a cold beer after another tough day.

Busking Perks

Here is a list of things I've received other than money:

• Lemonade
• Root beer
• Strawberry ice cream
• Maple pecan ice cream
• Beer x3
• Fish and chips
• Note book with a picture of a cat on it
• Nachos
• Jehovah's witness pamphlet
• Crackers
• Concert ticket to see Montreal youth orchestra
• Note saying "God Bless"
• Kinder Surprise

Things I've been offered but haven't accepted

• Drugs
• Sex
• Jobs
• Jobs involving drugs
• Jobs involving sex

Be proud Mum.

How I Met John Corbett

Me and two other girls from the hostel went to Point Pleasant park in Halifax this afternoon. They went for a nap, while I busked. I had just pulled out my trombone when a man walking past said “No way, are you going to play that?”

I knew that voice. I looked up. I knew that face. It was John Corbett aka Aiden from 'Sex and the City' aka the music teacher from 'Raise Your Voice' aka the guy from 'My Big Fat Greek Wedding' aka the sexiest man ever.

“Who plays a horn in a park?” he asked
I tried to breathe. Say something clever.
“Who doesn’t play a horn in the park” I said stupidly. Damn.
“Are you going to play a song?”
“Sure”

I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous to play ‘Oh When The Saints’. I played it 4 times through and he stayed for the whole song.

“You play a mean horn. Do you take it with you wherever you go?’
“Kind of. I’m travelling around Atlantic Canada at the moment and this is funding my trip”
“You know there’s a massive buskers festival at the waterfront right now”
“Yeah, I was there yesterday. I just thought I’d come to the park today.”

He put $5 in my case.

"Well there's a beer..."

Yeah, I now have a $5 note that John Corbett touched, that I will never spend.

“How long are you going to play for?” he asked
“Not too long, I’m just waiting for my friends; they’re taking a nap”
“OK. So I’ll see you in a bit”

I played another song as he walked away, then gained enough composure to message the girls.
They came to my spot soon after.

“Oh my gosh we saw him! It’s really him”
“We walked past him. He was sitting on a bench.”
“He’s soooooooo hot. Agh!!!”

The 3 of us had turned into giggling school girls. Obviously we would wait for him to come back.

After a while I decided to buy a bottle of water from a nearby ice cream stand. The woman in front of me was taking forever. I turned to see John Corbett in the distance, walking towards where I’d left my trombone.

“I’ll get one strawberry and one…. Hmmmm… what do you think is better, the butterscotch ripple or the butter pecan?”
Oh my god. She was trying to kill me. I just wanted a bottle of water. I paced back and forth trying to hurry her. Should I abandon the water idea? Then I’d come back empty handed, that might be weird. I decided to wait for the water.
“I think I’ll get a hot dog as well…” the lady continued.
I got served after what seemed like an eternity but was probably only 30 seconds.
“Keep the change” I muttered after getting my water.

I turned. He was close. Too close. I was going to have to run to get back to my case before he did. I didn’t care, I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity.

I casually, or as casually as I could, ran back to my case. I got there just in the nick of time. He nodded as he came towards me.
“Hi” I said
“Hey, how about you play something and I’ll do a funny walk”
“OK” I racked my brain, trying to think of something I could play and not screw up. ‘I Got Rhythm” seemed like a good option.

He did a funny walk/dance thing as he passed. He turned around and blew me a kiss. Katrina and Phoebe were still giggling on the bench behind me. We have been talking about it ever since.

Crazy of the Week - Homeless People

I'm making a mass generalisation here; many panhandlers are not homeless, but that's who I'm talking about. I have grown to hate panhandlers. They take all the good busking spots, and I'm kind of scared of them. They all know each other and they tend to be very territorial. I've been asked to move by panhandlers multiple times. I have a strict 'don't mess with homeless people' policy, so when they ask, I always move.

Yesterday a man reeking of stale beer approached me while I was busking.

"Do you mind moving? I want to have a beer, and this is my spot."

It didn't make any sense. Why couldn't he have a beer somewhere else? Why couldn't I keep playing while he drank his beer? I didn't ask, I just moved on.

I found a nice spot downtown. I was a little wary of the panhandler across the road, but I figured it would be OK being on the opposite side of the street.

After about half an hour he came over to me. He had long, greasy hair and a beard that looked like a birds nest. His clothes were dirty and full of holes. I sighed this man was going to make me move again. He nodded at me, pulled a few quarters out of his coffee cup and dropped them into my case. I was gobsmacked.

There was another panhandler up the road a bit.

"Hey give her some money" panhandler no. 1 screamed at her.

She shook her head. He threw his arms up angrily.

"Give her some" he yelled again.

She wouldn't, but I didn't care. I watched the scene in disbelief.

In conclusion, I have no idea how I feel about homeless people/ panhandlers.

Busker Ettiquite?

It's common busking practice to ask someone how long they'll be playing for in a certain spot. This way you know whether it's worth waiting for them to finish or moving on.

I went to busk at the farmers market in Sydney the other day. It was the perfect spot - except someone was already there. She sat in the corner with her wire music stand, playing Irish folk tunes on the tin whistle. She looked about 14 and was cute as a button - the exact same look I was going for!

I approached her, my hair filled with pink ribbons and glittery butterfly clips, and asked how long she'd be playing for. She looked kind of terrified.
"Ummm... I'm not sure.... let me ask my Dad"
I waited patiently while she went looking for her Dad.
"Hey Dad, what time are you going to pick me up do you think?"
"I'm not sure honey, maybe around noon"
"Hmmmm" I muttered. It was 10.30. My ride was leaving in 45 minutes. Noon wasn't going to cut it. I smiled and went to find another spot. There was nothing. It was a small farmers market and anywhere I would play would drown her out. I really wanted to play, but I wasn't going to stoop that low.

My time was running out. I only wanted to play for half an hour. I decided to do something I've thought about doing a few times. I was going to try and pay her off.

I waited for her to finish the song she was playing. It was the longest song in history; smart kid, she knew I was bad news.
I took a deep breath.
"I'll give you $15 if I can have your spot for half an hour" I said
"Oh, ummmm... well... you don't have to pay me"
"No, please I'll compensate you. I just need half an hour then it's all yours again"
"I guess I could call my Dad.... he could pick me up early"
"If you don't want to, just say..." I said, but I was already unpacking my trombone.
"No, it's OK. I s'pose I've had my turn." she said shyly "You don't have to give me any money"
"I don't want to kick you out, I just need half an hour" I said putting my trombone together
She moved her stand and chair to the side, and pulled out her phone to call her Dad. I guiltily shoved a handful of loonies into her hat.

After my first song she was gone. I made $40 in half an hour. It really was a nice spot.

Canadian Tire Money

"There is only one store in Canada" Captain Dave used to say. He's not wrong. It has pretty much everything. Need a garden hose? Canadian Tire. How about a toaster, a fishing rod, a new dress or an engine for your car? Maybe you need a person to put the engine in your car, or someone who can sharpen your ice skates. Canadian Tire is always the answer.

Every time you purchase something from Canadian Tire, you receive 3% of the total back in Canadian Tire Money (CTM). This can be used instead of cash at any Canadian Tire. The system is so well known that many Americans believe that the fictional character pictured on CTM, 'Sandy McTire', was Canada's first Prime Minister.

Captain Dave told me that he would actually take CTM instead of cash. I thought he was insane. Then he told me that some shops take Canadian Tire Money. I didn't believe him until I saw this sign in a shop in St John's, Newfoundland.

Fact: Canadian Tire MasterCard lets people earn Canadian Tire Money anywhere they shop, as well as receive double cashback at Canadian Tire.

Fact: I now count CTM as cash.

I Want To Hear Your Life Story

I didn't say that did I? Maybe I did, or perhaps I have it tattooed across my forehead. That must be it, otherwise why would so many people insist on telling me their life stories?

There is no way to stop it. They start by asking a question like "how long have you been playing for?" or "are you from here?". Then, all of the sudden they're saying things like

"I was born in Trenton, Ontario, but my father was from Germany, which was actually Poland at the time, or was that where he moved to? I can't remember. Anyway, it was 1938 at the time. Or was it '39? Nope, it was '38 because that was the summer my great Aunt Gladys married William. Now they could paint! My goodness, what wonderful artists they were! You should have seen them. They painted landscapes mostly, but sometimes they'd paint a portrait and the likeness! Iiiincredible! Some say my Aunt was better than Picasso, but no one noticed women in those days. Not like today, eh? You study music?"
"Ah, no."

"When I was in college, which was, oooh, 46 years ago? Or 47? hmmm..." etc etc

In the last week, I've heard everything from how to join the salvation army band and avoid conscription to how to kill a moose to the rise and fall of Austro-Hungarian empire.

A few days ago, a man telling me his life story sensed my impatience.
"Don't worry. You'll get compensated for listening to this." He said pulling out a $10 note.
You should have heard the 'oohs' and 'aaahs' I made. I love hearing people's life stories!

Be Nice!

I'm used to being kicked out of spots. Shopkeepers, security, other buskers, office workers, police and even homeless people, ask me to move on a regular basis. I play a loud, obnoxious instrument. I get it.

Most people are really nice about it. "I'm sorry to do this, you sound great, really nice, it's just, well... you can't play here". At this point I'll smile, apologize for the inconvenience and move on. Chances are I've been expecting it and it's taken longer than I thought.

I set up near a beaver tail stand in Cavendish, PEI (Anne of Green Gables land). I was in a little park so I didn't think I was in any one's way.

The second I started playing, the beaver tail stand turned up their music. I played louder. They turned it up even more. Every time I stopped, they'd turn it down again.

The staff were the kind of cool girls you'd find working at Boost Juice. While I played, I could hear them saying things to the customers like "this isn't my choice of music" and "sorry I couldn't hear you over the TROMBONE".

I went for a break and when I came back they said "Oh my god, she's back" "Ugh! Seriously? Whhhhhhyyyyy?". I was hurt. I didn't even feel like playing anymore, but I couldn't let them win.

I'd barely played 2 songs before an older woman marched up to me.
"You can't play here" she said angrily "you're driving away my customers" and stormed off before I could say a word.

I left upset, trying not to make eye contact with the satisfied beaver tail girls. I wasn't trying to be a menace, I just wanted to play some jazz on my trombone.

Places I usually get kicked out of

• Malls
• Supermarkets
• Restaurants
• Residential areas
• Markets
• Places where homeless people hang out

Places that I don't

• Banks
• Parks
• Places where there aren't any people

Hot and Cold

Canadians like to talk about the weather. A lot. I’ve spent at least 15 minutes everyday, for the last year talking about the weather. I’m willing to take some responsibility for this; winter was long and cold, and the way I got through it was by whinging about it. Unfortunately Canadians, weren’t particularly sympathetic. Every time I complained about the cold, I would get promises of how much colder it would get and stories about all the different body parts that can freeze.

It’s summer now, I assumed the weather talk would stop. Not so, everyone is complaining about the heat, but I can’t get enough of it. These days, when I’m busking in the glorious sunshine, every second person exclaims “it’s too hot to be out here” or “you poor thing, standing out in the heat all day”. It’s only 24°, but finally I’m getting the sympathy I deserve.

Fun fact: In winter, when talking about the temperature, Canadians say it’s -18°, -27° with windchill. In summer, it’s 24°, 30° with humidity.

Back on the Horse

I didn’t exactly enjoy my time on the boat. As fate would have it, I was invited to go sailing less than a week after getting off the boat. I wasn’t particularly excited.

I was staying by beautiful Antigonish harbour with couchsurfer Sean. His friend asked me sailing.

“So Sean tells me you know how to sail?”
“No.”
“No? Didn’t you spend a month on a sailboat?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t know how to sail?”
“No.”
“You must have learnt something about sailing while you were on the boat”
“I learnt I don’t like it.”

I spent a glorious summer evening sailing around Antigonish harbour, watching the sun set, drinking beer and eating cheese and crackers, but all I wanted to do was get off the boat.

Crazy of the Week - Drug Adrian

OK, he wasn’t really crazy, but I spent all day with him. And he made me laugh.

I was busking in the small town of Baddeck near Whycocomagh. Adrian came up to me and asked where I was from. He said he was from New Zealand - didn’t sound like it. He said he was 18 - didn’t look like it. He asked if he could watch me play for a while, he was a busker himself apparently.

“Do you smoke weed?” he asked when I’d finished a song
“ Ummmm…”
“Do you want to go smoke with me?”
“No thanks”
“OK, I’ll be back in 5 minutes”
“OK.”

5 minutes later

“That was quick eh?” he said grinning
“ummmm, yeah…”
“I just smoked 2 grams of weed”. More grinning.

He continued watching me. I wasn’t impressed, he was cramping my style. I was relieved when he finally left.

A little later I went to grab some lunch at a nearby café. He found me. He sat down at my table and waved his friend over.

“Yo, so my Mum is bringing my guitar so we can jam later”
“Cool.” I wasn’t in the mood.

“I’m totally baked” Adrian drawled
“Yeah.” The friend snickered.
“Imagine if you had a million dollars”
“Yeah, even half a million would be sweet”
“Yeah, I mean, I’d be down for $1000”
“If I had $1000, I’d just go and buy everyone a two-four and a pound of weed”
“Yeah. Sweet.”
“Dude, why is my Mum taking so long?”

2 minutes later his Mum arrived with his guitar.

“Lets jam eh?”
“I’m not very good at jamming” I admitted
“Aw don’t worry, I’m like, the jamming master”

We sat down on a bench, ready to play.
“Do you know any Pink Floyd?” he asked
“No, I mainly play jazz”
“Oh, Ok. Ummmm, how about Metallica?
“No”
“How about Led Zeppelin? Can you play any Zeppelin?”
“Nope. Sorry”
“What can you play then?”
“Gershwin.”
“Oh. Ummmm how about we just jam then?”
I sighed. I’m not a huge fan of jamming, mainly because I suck at it.
“Do you know C?” he asked
“Ummmm yes?”
“How about A minor?”
I looked at him sideways. “You know I can’t play chords right?”
“Can you play F?”
“The note?”
“Yeah”
“Yeah, I can play all the notes”
“Cool. So can you play, like C, A minor, E minor and F, and I’ll solo over the top?”

This was not going well. It was time for me to bail.
“I think I’m going to try play outside the supermarket” I told him
“Oh OK. Will you be back?”
“Maybe. Nice to meet you.”

The supermarket kicked me out within 5 minutes of me setting up. Adrian was already walking towards me.

“I think I’m going to try the waterfront” I said
“Do you mind if I come?”
Yes.
“No”

“I ditched my friends to hang out with you” he confessed
“Cool”

I set up at the waterfront while he sat on a bench behind me. He looked down the wharf.
“I think that’s my girlfriend”
He looked again.
“Nah she looks way too young” he said and leant back on the bench.
I played a song. He looked down the wharf again.
“Actually that is my girlfriend” he wasn’t moving.
“Oh”
I played another song. He still hadn’t moved.

A group of 12 year old girls came over to us.
“Sup?” Adrian asked one of them
“Nothin’”
“Hey, meet my new friend, she’s from Australia”
The girl turned back to her friends. Adrian tapped her gently with his foot.
“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you. This is Maya”
The girl looked at me, then silently turned back to her friends. I don’t think she liked me. I got up to leave.

“So yeah, like, if you ever need a place to stay or anything… Like, seriously, here’s my number. Like, even if it’s at 3am. My Mum probably wouldn’t mind”