Australia Day

Most people start drinking at 11am on Australia Day.  They wear the Australian flag as a cape, adhere Australian flag stickers to their skin, wet on temporary tattoos, and barbecue.  We had a mind to do all of these things, but we didn’t.  We woke up (me at 9:30, which is ridiculously late for me) and spent the rest of the day lying around doing nothing but catching up on sleep and Friends episodes.  After all, we had spent the last four weeks celebrating Australia Day and we were exhausted.  Our day of veging was perfect.

Later that evening, Patrick picked us up on his way home from a full day of preparing the boat and cooked us up some ‘roo steaks.  After another nice night with his family, we set out for the bars and clubs to dance the night away.  Now every time Patrick and I go out together he tells me he doesn’t dance.  If he doesn’t dance then how on earth do I get him rocking up a storm on the dance floor each itme?  Some day he might let up on that “I don’t dance” crap.  At some point in the evening, as I was dancing a mix of salsa hip hop with a Swedish guy (I guess they have latin dance in northern Europe?), Connor disappeared.  He’s been making this a habit whenever he sees me with a guy and blames it on his biologically induced brotherly anger.  Ugh.  When his scrawny ass starts smart mouthing about how he’s going to beat my next guy up, I can’t help but scowl at how pathetic he is.  Next time he’s with a girl I’ll have to threaten to pull her hair and scratch her eyes out like a ‘proper’ big sister would.  When did we lose sight of what a wingman is really for?  But, since he had disappeared, I didn’t have to worry about his fists of fury.  Patrick and I spent the rest of the night dancing, drinking, and lounging by the lagoon in our shared longing for Africa. 

We realized the sun was beginning to chase away the shadows of night so we made our way back to his place to pick up his boat bag.  For hours we lounged in and out of the boat, watching their large flat screen TV directly below the decks and live tanks, playing with Alexandra, a little three year old saying goodbye to her daddy for eight months, and attempting to soak up as much air conditioning as we could.  It was finally time for us to say goodbye which took on the feeling of ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’ but the knowledge that it may be years before we would see each other again, and probably only in the hills of East Africa.  It’s quite serendipitous how my relationships in my travels have occurred, grown, and been put on pause.  Meeting Patty is just one example of why everything happens for a reason.  He saved me a lot of hassle with my passport, showed me and Connor around Cairns, introduced us to his family, whom will likely visit me during my semester in New Zealand and who Connor will work for in Tasmania picking apples, and he reiterated for me the fact that you should never judge a book by its cover.  Time will only tell what other reasons and lessons I met Patty for, but I’m sure there are more to come.