First night in town I think I was a bit stunned. The camper was a lot more basic than I thought it would be.
After settling in a bit, Greg (my boss) took us out for dinner. British Steve, another guy on the crew, was having a birthday and Greg was shouting us all dinner. We were taken down to the only bar in town, the Plum Thicket Inn.
Walking into the place, several of the stereotypes that had been embarrassingly debunked on my arrival in Wichita, suddenly seemed plausible again.
The bar is quite dark - there are no windows. There is a duke box in the corner playing country music. Two TVs above the bar screen different sporting fixtures. In between them, above the spirit shelf is a neon Budweiser sign and a placard that says "Free Beer.....tomorrow". Most people are congregated in booths that run around the outside of the room but there are a few dusty looking men drinking alone atop a 30 foot long, solid timber bar.
As we enter, everyone looks up from their beer. It’s a Wednesday night and everyone in the place is quite clearly local. At first glace, the faces do not appear friendly. The first person I make eye contact with is a heavy-set man behind the bar, about 6-2, wearing a white cowboy hat. All I could manage was “hi” and a nod. I got nothing back. Greg enters about 30 seconds after us. When he walks in, faces light up; those that stone-walled us eagerly vie for his attention. He is quite clearly well respected. Greg sits down at our table. Everything is OK.
We order beers – two bucks a pop for a pint – and a steak.
Throughout dinner there is a lot of talk about agriculture and machinery. I’ve got nothing to offer. I go back to the camper wondering if I’ve bitten off a bit too much.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
first impressions
The first shock to the system came when I walked into the place I'll be living for the next six months. It's a trailer home, about 15 metres long comprising two sleeping quarters at either end separated by a small living area in the middle through which you enter. Each dorm has two sets of bunks, a toilet and a shower which one walks through in order to get to the bedroom. I'm on the top bunk. At full stretch, the soles of my feet just brush the wall at the foot of my bed and the ceiling is about 40cm from my head.
We're parked in an industrial yard near the workshop of the harvesting outfit that I'm working for. We sleep about 50 metres from the major east-west rail-freight route in the states. Trains pass through every half hour or so. There are several level crossings near-by and the trains are required to blast their horns on approach - 24/7 - Ha! To be honest, being a deep sleeper, it hasn't been too much of a problem but it cracks me up when you hear these trains roaring by horns blaring.
The place has been decorated by the Aussies who flew in before us but left to harvest in California before we arrived...decorations include a bear with a VB logo drawn on its belly strung from the roof, an Australian flag half the size of the camper, and a sticker on the fridge which says "where the fuck's the pub?". There are two types of beverages in the fridge - one shelf for beer - Coors Light is the popular choice - and one shelf for water.
Standing at the sink the other day I looked to my left and saw a gun barrel pointing at me. One of the guys who's in California - a American bloke - brought his .22 rifle with him and had tucked it in to his bed in his absence. Thankfully I'm down the other end of the trailer! Quite a sight for a city-boy.
All of this sounds extreme, but it adds to the adventure. It was a shock at first but it's amazing how I've become quite fond of our camper. There's something homely about the lino floor and the fake wood finish on all the fittings. It's boy's-own; a fantastic bachelor pad.
We're parked in an industrial yard near the workshop of the harvesting outfit that I'm working for. We sleep about 50 metres from the major east-west rail-freight route in the states. Trains pass through every half hour or so. There are several level crossings near-by and the trains are required to blast their horns on approach - 24/7 - Ha! To be honest, being a deep sleeper, it hasn't been too much of a problem but it cracks me up when you hear these trains roaring by horns blaring.
The place has been decorated by the Aussies who flew in before us but left to harvest in California before we arrived...decorations include a bear with a VB logo drawn on its belly strung from the roof, an Australian flag half the size of the camper, and a sticker on the fridge which says "where the fuck's the pub?". There are two types of beverages in the fridge - one shelf for beer - Coors Light is the popular choice - and one shelf for water.
Standing at the sink the other day I looked to my left and saw a gun barrel pointing at me. One of the guys who's in California - a American bloke - brought his .22 rifle with him and had tucked it in to his bed in his absence. Thankfully I'm down the other end of the trailer! Quite a sight for a city-boy.
All of this sounds extreme, but it adds to the adventure. It was a shock at first but it's amazing how I've become quite fond of our camper. There's something homely about the lino floor and the fake wood finish on all the fittings. It's boy's-own; a fantastic bachelor pad.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
The 20-seater, twin-prop American Eagle flight is a long way from the comfort of seat 34C on the Qantas 747. I'm on the final leg of the journey, Dallas/Fort Worth Texas (via LA) to Wichita Kansas - dead centre of the North American continent. It's 20hrs since I left my house in Sydney.
We land and de-board on a deserted tarmac in Wichita and have to walk about 100 metres from the plane to the terminal building, a small fibro building with fly-screen doors and a corrugated iron roof. As we approach the building a baggage handler comes out of no-where on his cart. He's belting along. A few other passengers and I have to pull ourselves up to avoid him. He zips by and pushes a couple of bags off his trolley without stopping, one of them is mine. At this point, I'm too tired to care.
Entering the terminal is simply a formality. There's nothing to see or do in there, let alone any space for those waiting to greet passengers: just a couple of counters and a set of scales. It's much like flying into Melbourne via Avalon Airport.
Exiting the building, it's clear who's waiting for me. A big man, about 6-3, with a mustache that covers half his chin, and a 9mm pistol strapped to his waist, pushes himself off the bonnet of a huge red tray-back pickup. There are three Mexicans sitting on the tray with their backs against the cab. They don't look up.
The man takes a couple of big strides toward me and puts out a hand comprising a thumb, two fingers and a couple of stubs.
“Howdy!”, “I’m Stubby. I’m your boss, your mummy, your daddy and your lover for the next eight months”. “This is for you”, he says handing me the pistol from his holster. I was startled enough to see the thing in the safety of it's pouch. “What’s this for?”, I ask. “Everyone can find a use for one of these in this part of the world". He belly laughs and re-holsters the firearm. "Just messin' with ya! Welcome to Kansas!”
All of the above is bullshit. It's one of the scenarios that I constructed in my head at about hour 18 of the journey. Reality was quite a lot different! Big planes all the way. I tracked down the other bloke that I'm working with over here at Dallas Airport. After an hour long flight we landed at quite a sizable Wichita Airport. We were picked up by the bosses wife, a petite blond woman in her 30s.
Despite my porky-pies, there were a few things that correlated to the stereotypes floating around in my head. The woman was driving the biggest, plushest, 4WD I've ever seen, and there were instructions at the baggage carousel explaining where to pick up firearms.
We land and de-board on a deserted tarmac in Wichita and have to walk about 100 metres from the plane to the terminal building, a small fibro building with fly-screen doors and a corrugated iron roof. As we approach the building a baggage handler comes out of no-where on his cart. He's belting along. A few other passengers and I have to pull ourselves up to avoid him. He zips by and pushes a couple of bags off his trolley without stopping, one of them is mine. At this point, I'm too tired to care.
Entering the terminal is simply a formality. There's nothing to see or do in there, let alone any space for those waiting to greet passengers: just a couple of counters and a set of scales. It's much like flying into Melbourne via Avalon Airport.
Exiting the building, it's clear who's waiting for me. A big man, about 6-3, with a mustache that covers half his chin, and a 9mm pistol strapped to his waist, pushes himself off the bonnet of a huge red tray-back pickup. There are three Mexicans sitting on the tray with their backs against the cab. They don't look up.
The man takes a couple of big strides toward me and puts out a hand comprising a thumb, two fingers and a couple of stubs.
“Howdy!”, “I’m Stubby. I’m your boss, your mummy, your daddy and your lover for the next eight months”. “This is for you”, he says handing me the pistol from his holster. I was startled enough to see the thing in the safety of it's pouch. “What’s this for?”, I ask. “Everyone can find a use for one of these in this part of the world". He belly laughs and re-holsters the firearm. "Just messin' with ya! Welcome to Kansas!”
All of the above is bullshit. It's one of the scenarios that I constructed in my head at about hour 18 of the journey. Reality was quite a lot different! Big planes all the way. I tracked down the other bloke that I'm working with over here at Dallas Airport. After an hour long flight we landed at quite a sizable Wichita Airport. We were picked up by the bosses wife, a petite blond woman in her 30s.
Despite my porky-pies, there were a few things that correlated to the stereotypes floating around in my head. The woman was driving the biggest, plushest, 4WD I've ever seen, and there were instructions at the baggage carousel explaining where to pick up firearms.
setting forth
I love airports. A relatively small building represents thousands of stories along with all of the accompanying emotions. I love that the arrivals hall is generally a happy place, full of love, hugs and kisses, whereas departures is full of the same love, hugs and kisses but it's often a lot more sombre.
Each person who walks through the "point of no return" has his or her own story. For some it's comforting to take the first step of a journey back home, it may represent the start of a boring business trip, or for many it brings the relief that comes with starting a long-planned holiday.
For me, it was a daunting experience. It's the first time that I've ever made that walk alone and the first time that I've embarked on an extended trip. I felt relieved, proud of myself, shit-scared, ALONE!
Once you get air-side, it's all a bit of an anti-climax. This is only heightened by the 13 hr trip to LA. I did, however, score the ultimate economy seat; first row of economy, on the aisle, with a spare seat between me and the person next to me. I sat next to a young Canadian girl who was heading back home after a few weeks in Aus.
There's nothing like US immigration to get the adrenaline going again. Here's a tip...when you're flying into Hollywood claiming to be making your debut on the agricultural circuit, don't tell the immigration bloke that you've got a background in film production. I was interrogated for about 15mins while they did background checks. Those guys wield a lot of power and they're not afraid to splash it around a bit. I swear so much has to do with the officer you get and the mood that that person is in. I think my guy was a bit pissed that he was on the early shift.
Each person who walks through the "point of no return" has his or her own story. For some it's comforting to take the first step of a journey back home, it may represent the start of a boring business trip, or for many it brings the relief that comes with starting a long-planned holiday.
For me, it was a daunting experience. It's the first time that I've ever made that walk alone and the first time that I've embarked on an extended trip. I felt relieved, proud of myself, shit-scared, ALONE!
Once you get air-side, it's all a bit of an anti-climax. This is only heightened by the 13 hr trip to LA. I did, however, score the ultimate economy seat; first row of economy, on the aisle, with a spare seat between me and the person next to me. I sat next to a young Canadian girl who was heading back home after a few weeks in Aus.
There's nothing like US immigration to get the adrenaline going again. Here's a tip...when you're flying into Hollywood claiming to be making your debut on the agricultural circuit, don't tell the immigration bloke that you've got a background in film production. I was interrogated for about 15mins while they did background checks. Those guys wield a lot of power and they're not afraid to splash it around a bit. I swear so much has to do with the officer you get and the mood that that person is in. I think my guy was a bit pissed that he was on the early shift.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Marcs to Mascot
Totally Workwear in Mascot is a long way from the familiar shop fronts of Pitt Street Mall. I realised the other day as I was purchasing some King G workwear that my apparel for the next little while is going to be all about practicality, less about aesthetics.
Anyway, I thought I'd go all-in and follow suit with my personal grooming, so I got myself a freakin buzz-cut! Just Cuts Leichhardt is a long way from Toni & Guy Balmain. Unlike my $80 Toni & Guy masterpiece, my $18 job at Just Cuts has a 24hr satisfaction guarantee. I pointed out to my stylist that rectifying the cut would be a bit tricky.
The last buzz-cut I got was back in year 4. I never did it again because I got teased. But I'm bigger and stronger now and I can carry a gun in the US if I choose...bring it on!
Anyway, I thought I'd go all-in and follow suit with my personal grooming, so I got myself a freakin buzz-cut! Just Cuts Leichhardt is a long way from Toni & Guy Balmain. Unlike my $80 Toni & Guy masterpiece, my $18 job at Just Cuts has a 24hr satisfaction guarantee. I pointed out to my stylist that rectifying the cut would be a bit tricky.
The last buzz-cut I got was back in year 4. I never did it again because I got teased. But I'm bigger and stronger now and I can carry a gun in the US if I choose...bring it on!
Sunday, May 4, 2008
It's easy to have a fair-weather relationship with reality. The truth can be a close ally but it can also be a harsh critic.
Only acknowledging the truth when in its favor, one runs the risk of walking a path of self righteousness. Learning to sit in it when it is showing up and exploring deep short-fallings is a confronting, frightening and often lonely experience, but this is a path to healing and growth.
The past 12 months have been challenging for many reasons. But loss and hardship can force reflection and action. If it weren't for all of the crap, I wouldn't be making plans for myself. I certainly wouldn't be going to the US!
Only acknowledging the truth when in its favor, one runs the risk of walking a path of self righteousness. Learning to sit in it when it is showing up and exploring deep short-fallings is a confronting, frightening and often lonely experience, but this is a path to healing and growth.
The past 12 months have been challenging for many reasons. But loss and hardship can force reflection and action. If it weren't for all of the crap, I wouldn't be making plans for myself. I certainly wouldn't be going to the US!
Friday, May 2, 2008
Wichita
Trip details are firming up. I've got my US consulate interview on Friday 9 May, departing the following Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday. I'll be traveling and working with a 48 y/o guy from New Zealand.
The bloke we're working for is based in Burlington Oklahoma which is a town on the Oklahoma/Kansas boarder. It sounds like we'll be flying in via Wichita in Kansas.
There's a great scene in the film Trains, Planes and Automobiles (starring Steve Martin & John Candy) that mentions Wichita. Neil and Del, two men of opposing personalities, are stranded in the middle of nowhere, trying to get to Chicago. Del arranges a ride.
The bloke we're working for is based in Burlington Oklahoma which is a town on the Oklahoma/Kansas boarder. It sounds like we'll be flying in via Wichita in Kansas.
There's a great scene in the film Trains, Planes and Automobiles (starring Steve Martin & John Candy) that mentions Wichita. Neil and Del, two men of opposing personalities, are stranded in the middle of nowhere, trying to get to Chicago. Del arranges a ride.
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