Boagens. They are everywhere.

I really think coming to Tassie was one of the best decisions of my life. As I self reflect on my past 20 or so years of living in the States, I can't help but think that everything I lived through and experienced had somehow contributed to my arriving here.

For instance, in the States, I was taught to tolerate obscene driving thanks to Sam. I learned how to talk to random strangers at gas stations compliments to Dad. I learned that scary, middle of nowhere towns are actually just red neck towns thanks to Walla Walla.

This weekend was one of shear ridiculousity- it's officially a word. This weekend was that of the second annual Cold Water Classic international O'Neill surf contest. 22 of the 44 best surfers in the world all came together to a small, one pub town called Marrawah in the North West coast of Tassie. Corey was our designated driver. I was in a 5 seater car with 6 people. This trip initially comprised of Corey, Mattie, Amy, April, Carmen and myself. Yay me! I got stuck in the back seat with four people. We were snug to say the least.

The drive up was 6 hours long. We left Hobart at around 1 in the afternoon. Though we were supposed to leave at noon, Mattie and I ran into this street performer that I had seen before and I wanted to talk to him. He is this old English man who plays clarinet wherever he goes. He wears a cap, old slacks and button down collared shirts. With Mattie's help, I was able to sit with him and listen to him play soulful jazz and blues. He started talking to us and asked us where we were from. When he found out we were from California, he immediately played "California Here I Come", "California Dreaming", "I love LA" and "I left my Heart in San Fran". I always see the clarinet man because he plays out on the water front outside the art school. Maybe one day I will see him again. I hope so.

So back to the trip. Corey's driving was considerably better than the other male drivers from my last trip. That doesn't mean however, that there weren't moments when my life flashed before my eyes. It was a montage really, of my 20 years of life; when a possum ran in front of the car, or when we were passing a car and an on coming truck appeared out of no where, or when the road just randomly ended and there was only one lane and we were going the wrong way. So many near death life flashes. But let me tell you, driving on tiny, curvy, ancient Tassie roads is way more fun and death defying when all the light in the universe is consumed by gravity and begins to travel to the Northern hemisphere. As the sun said goodbye to the Southern most tips of the hills, a brilliant sunset baffled us with its beauty, and mocked us with its morbidity: knowing fully well that we were heading into a void of darkness. While driving endlessly in the night, we had a joke session about how our car was going to break down and we would get eaten by boagens (Australian red necks without fire arms--important tid bit) or that the boagens would put tacks in the road to pop our tires and then once again, eat us. We laughed and then sat in honest horror, praying to god that we would make it to Marrawah, without becoming a true life scary movie.

We entered the town of Marrawah around 9pm. We pitched our tents, ate some dinner, explored the nearby beach and then headed up to the one pub: the Tarrawah Tavern. I read up on Tarrawah before leaving for the contest. I knew fully well that there was only one pub and that there was a high possibility of meeting some pro-surfers there. When we arrived at the pub, there were a few locals and halleluyah! Pro surfer heaven! My group of American friends started on an US card drinking game when a few local surfers and a pro surfer came up to talk to us. The pro surfer was named Dylan from Kawaii. He was so cool! Basically, his life is a dream. He is 20 but has been pro since 18 and travels around the world, living to find the most beautiful surf locations.

The next morning we woke up early and left to the competition at a nearby beach called West Point. It is a national reserve, so the beach was spectacular. The girls, Corey and I set our stuff down behind a group of vans, not knowing to whom those vans belonged. Turns out, we were seated directly behind the pro surfing cars: the place where the pros would go to change after their heats. As the girls and I drooled and Corey rolled his eyes, hours of surfers and crazy surf tricks dominated the beach. We met up with Dylan and he told us more about his fantasy life. We also met older veteran surfers who were once crowned world surf champions and came down to support their friends and their sport of choice.

Later that day, we left the beach to find some potable water at a nearby river campsite. On the drive, a Tassie wasp flew into Corey's ear. As he tried not to kill us while driving, the girls in the back seat screeched and I couldn't help but laugh at this awful scene. I took the map and tried swatting the devil wasp down but it ended up under Corey's seat and tried to get him from below. Thankfully, Corey pulled over and the wasp got out of the car alive. Seriously, everything in this country wants you dead.

That night we went back to the tavern and met even more surfers. But the highlight of my night was meeting a hippy from San Francisco who lives in Tassie and plays his guitar for money. He was very nice and played American music that reminded me of Whitman. The next morning, the gang drove to "The Dismal Swamp" because Corey wanted to see it. The girls all conceded because we felt badly that he actually just watched the surf contest while we were multitasking: swooning over our new husbands-to-be and watching crazy surf tricks. In case you were wondering, I am marrying a Brazilian surfer. I do not know his name, but I know he has bright green head phones, a black and red wet suit, and a very cute dog.

The Dismal Swamp was essentially a gigantic slide that twists and turns through the Tassie rain forest and ends in one of Tassie's biggest natural sink holes. This island has some interesting tourist attractions... The group decided against actually sliding down the thing because it was firstly, super expensive, and secondly, we wanted to save our energy for The Nut.

The Nut: a decaying volcano towards the central coast of Tassie in a town called Stanley, is famous for having the cleanest air in the world. Of course, because the world being fair and Tassie is part of the world, the hike up this Nut was vertical. Literally. I had to lean forward and hold onto a railing because it was so steep. And of course my over achieving, enthusiastic crew didn't want to take the chair lift up the mountain because why hinder the experience of sweating, panting, turning obscenely red, and wanting to keel over. I realize this may sound absurd, but these Tasmanian national forest guys don't want to harm the nature here so they don't do switch backs; just vertical climbs up cliffs. Going down hill was even more fun! That way, not only are you quads pulsing, but if you fall, there is nothing to stop you except for maybe the kind human-being in front of you.

The climb really wasn't too bad. It was short. That was the best part. It was way less than a mile and at least it was cold outside. Plus, the view, and the air all made it worth it. Though I really couldn't tell if the air was the freshest in the world, it did feel good in my lungs. All those years of breathing in Los Angeles smog and there I was breathing in the purest, cleanest air in the world. The view was obviously unbelievable. As if Tassie would offer anything less. You could see so much of Tassie from up there. There were bays I didn't know existed. One side of the Nut overlooked cliffs that plunged miles into the ocean while the opposite side looked over two opposing bays. To the far East you could see the foreshadows of the rain forest creeping into the towns.

After we left the Nut, I slept in the car for a few hours until we made it to our last destination: St. Claire Lake. Unfortunately for us, it was pouring rain and none of us felt like camping. So we thought, hey, why don't we just drive home. This is where our adventure really began.

In the car were Mattie, Corey, Carmen and I. April and Amy had found another UTAS student to drive home with because six hours in the back seat of a car with 4 squished people just was not pleasant. Anyways. My car crew decided to save buying gas to later in the evening. This would have been a smart idea if Tassie had 24 hour petrol stations. You would have thought someone would have mentioned this fun fact about Tasmania: petrol stations close at 6:30pm outside of Hobart city. At 8pm, we had an eighth of a tank left and drove to some small town called Tanawah or something like that. It was pitch black outside, raining, and all we wanted to do was to go home and sleep. Corey pulled us up to a pub to ask for directions. When they told us the devastating news, we asked if there was somewhere we could stay-like a back packer, a hostel, or a dry spot to pitch our tents. They told us that for $160, we could stay in their hotel, but we didn't want to spend the money. So instead, against their advice, we carefully and fuel efficiently drove to a town called Hamilton to find a place to crash for less money. As Mattie was looking through her travel guide Tasmania book, she noticed that the town we had just visited had a population of TEN people. TEN PEOPLE! What IS this place?? TEN PEOPLE? I would go crazy! Thank god we didn't stay there because the movie The Hills Have Eyes definitely needed another bad sequel and I think "Tasmania has Incest and Boagens" was going to be it, starring yours truly.

In Hamilton, our luck finally changed. We found a gas station that accepted credit cards and was open for independent fueling. Oh my god. I really thought for a second that we would have had to car camp in the middle of nowhere. I was definitely more okay with this idea than my co-campers however. They were all having silent anxiety attacks while I was slowly but surely getting myself more and more cozy in the back seat.

All I wanted was sleep. I love sleep. I am a professional sleeper. The benefits to sleeping in the middle of nowhere during a rain storm are just obvious: it is pitch black (so one can fall asleep quicker without the bothering of artificial lighting), the rain acts as a soothing lullaby (so one can have sweet dreams), and you are so far deep in sleep and concentrating on the sound of the rain that if a boagen or zombie attack were to in fact go down, you would be in such a deep sleep you wouldn't have to worry about being scared. I thought that no, this wasn't the best idea in the world (to sleep in the middle of nowhere) but hey, this will be the most terrifying bonding experiment ever. Perhaps I should take notes in case leadership camps want tips. "Tip #1, nothing builds trust or bonds people together more than a life scarring road trip through Tasmania"

Don't worry mom, we made it out alive. AND the important thing to note is that I had a great time AND I got to see so much of Tassie that no one ever gets to see. I saw massive waves, massive spiders, massive mullets and massive abs (thank you O'Niell surf tour).

So now I am back in Hobart. Home sweet home. I attended one of my various psychology lectures today and I finished and turned in my first research paper of the year. Tomorrow I will be finishing the other two massive art projects I have due on Wednesday, and later I will be attending a Seder. It is being held in the back of a church by the oldest synagogue in Australia. I think I may be the only one attending plus my 4 other goyim friends who insisted on coming--probably out of curiosity. Seriously, what is it and me being the first Jewish friend of people? When I talk to the Aussies here and they find out that I am a Jew, they freak out! Partially because some of their ancestors were SS, but partially also because they are so happy to meet a Jew. My American friends here also have never met Jews! It's like there arnt many Jews in the world or something. But no worries. I will not be fooled by this illusion. I know the truth. Thanks to my Jewish school upbringing in Los Angeles, California and my somewhat frequent visits to the East coast and Israel, I know that there really are tons of Jews everywhere. I just happen to find the only places in the world where no one has ever seen one!

Wednesday at noon starts my Easter break, speaking of Jewish inspired holidays, and I will be heading off on a different kind of adventure. Corey, Mattie, Tess, Corey #2 and I are heading off to Melbourne and then Sydney to tour city life. This will be so significantly different than to what I am currently used to. I have this awful feeling that it will be very similar to Beverley Hills Hillbillys, but Melbourne/Sydney invaded by American Tassies...

Hag Sameach for all you passover people! I am a day ahead of you so this is my first night of passover. Lets see if I can make 8 days without eating grains or breads...there is no matzah here so I may or may not have the resilience to last the entire time.

OH! MOTHER! I know you read this so I know you will get this message. Thank you so much for the package of shirts. I am so excited to have more than 5 wearable t-shirts. More importantly however, thank you so much for those three family photos. You know, the adorable ones with you and Sam, or of Dad in his 1970's pale blue button down, or my personal favorite, the one of you wearing my prom dress....ahem. ahem. hag sameach ;)