An American in Sydney

Or shall I say...A Stupid American in Sydney. For the story I am about to share with you clearly outlines my knack for disregarding the common sense and whole heartily pointing my head in the direction of doing stupid things. I am also a stubborn bastard sometimes. But the difference between me and other stubborn bastards is the fact that I am a lucky stubborn bastard. Lucky stubborn bastards get away with the stupid things they do (for some reason). Just ask my mom. And if this story doesn't prove that then I don't know what will. I have no pride. Otherwise this would be a made up story. Unfortunately it is not and the events that I am about to relay to you are 100% percent true.

I have been enjoying my time in Sydney. It is a young vibrant city with lots to do. One of those things to do is to visit one of the many beautiful city beaches at its disposal. This story starts with Sydney's most famous beach of all...Bondi Beach. Nestled between to coastal cliffs and squeezed out of the town of Bondi Beach, this small beach has all the bark and the bite. Being the most famous beach in Sydney it also attracts the crowds both local and international despite its relatively small size. Leeron (who has been the most gracious of hosts) and I decided to take a day and visit its tranquil ocean front and trendy vibe. We made our spot on the beach our own and soaked up the rays of the sun for a couple of hours. Maybe it was too much sun or too much peanut butter... I don't know... but the next thing I did was probably the stupidest thing I have ever done. Neither of us had been in the water yet and we both wanted to sample a bit of the Tazman Sea before the weather turned sour. But what to do with our stuff? Had it been NZ then I would have left it but this was Bondi Beach after all. As a compromise I decided to take what most would call "their life" and buried it in the sand. When you travel the things most important are your drivers licence, credit cards, debit card, bus pass, phone card, student card and five dollars in cash. So that is what I lightly buried next to my towel. And I thought I was being clever. You can guess what happened next.

Lets put it this way. I was back at the house waiting for Leeron to finish up a meeting for school and nearly 9pm that evening before I remembered that I had done that. And I was by myself. When you lose your entire identification and means of pulling any money out of your bank account in foreign country you suddenly feel like a fish out of water. I had nothing but my passport and a twenty dollar American bill. I could cancel my cards, but how would I get money? I wouldn't be able to rent any more cars with out my licence. And do you know how hard is to get a new licence from the state of IL? I felt my trip would get increasingly harder. Worse off I had done this to myself? Stolen I could deal with but it was my hand that dug the hole that I found myself in. They still had to be there buried somewhere on the beach? Right? I suddenly became determined. I could grab Leeron when she was done, see if we could get a refund for our tickets to see Slumdog Millionaire (which we were able too-only in Australia) and systematically comb the beach starting from roughly where we are sat earlier this afternoon. I phoned her cell phone:

"You have a headlamp and a rake?"

Now when I think back..there are but two problems with a plan like that. The first is the fact that because of the change in tides and no visible land marks but sand and more sand- you have no real fixed reference for where you are or were on a beach. Especially when you come back hours later and in the dark. The second is the very obvious fact that finding a stack of cards 2inch by 4 inches long buried on a beach that is at least half a mile long is like finding a needle in a hay stack. I think the chances are greater that Elvis really will come back from the dead than finding that stack. But I am stubborn. And before I continue with this, let me interject with another short story to just illustrate how stubborn I can be.

Take surfing for example. When you really think about it surfing is a stupid sport. You get all waxed up, get a big piece of wood or fiberglass that essentially acts like a giant sail and fight your way against crashing waves. This is not even an easy thing to do and we haven't even gotten to the sport part yet. That giant piece of wood you are holding onto likes to float and each time it gets hit with a force of a wave picks you back up again and deposits you twenty feet back closer to the shore. At some point you manage to get on the board and paddle further out into more crashing waves each one pushing you back ten feet for every twenty you paddle. This usually goes on for about 20 minutes until you can reach a point where you feel as though you are in the right place whatever that means. Then you wait. And then you wait some more. And then you wait for a little while longer. All the while trying to avoid stinging jelly fish and currents that could sweep you out to sea. Searching for the perfect wave of which you have no idea what it looks like. When one finally comes along you try to position yourself with the wave behind you and paddle as if your life depended on it. (most of the time it does..). In a perfect world the wave pushes the board forward and you get up on it and its Hawaii Five-O. That usually doesn't happen. What usually happens is you paddle like a madman, the board gets pushed upright, you get thrown off, the board shoots out of the water like a bullet, the world fills with water, the sky tumbles over and over again, and in the end, you hope to God that the board doesn't come back and whack you in the face. You find yourself back where you started on the beach to start the process over again. Repeat and then you have something like surfing.

And that is supposed to be fun? I had gone out to Manly Beach north of the city to repeat that process over and over again. And after about four hours of repeating that process I got up on the board but twice and for only a brief 20 seconds. Four hours of life endangering hell for 20 seconds of standing on a moving board. Why? Because I am stubborn and I wanted to say I did. I suck at surfing. But now I can say I have sucked at surfing in Australia.

So comb the beach we did in the middle of the night. Each taking a large square of beach that I would section off and pushing our feet through it in the hopes of finding buried treasure. I am sure the romantic couples strolling on the beach had no clue what these two strange people were doing wearing headlamps and walking back and forth-back and forth for hours. After a while I lost Leeron as she headed back to the car to nap and to wait out my stubbornness knowing full out that this was an impossible task. (Bless her sole for even helping). I was left to the beach, the emptiness of my situation and a lot more ground to cover. Four hours later and six skinny dippers later I had accomplished nothing more than to make a huge geological pattern in the sand nearly a football field long. I silently wondered if this is why crop circles were created. It was 1:30am and I was tired and defeated and alone on Bondi Beach. I guess I had learned a lesson. Don't be so stupid and lax with your credentials. But then again I was stubborn and I covered ever square inch possible? Maybe someone had stepped on it? It wasn't buried that deep.

Upon returning home I phoned the New South Wales Police at 2am to report my missing life. The gentleman on the phone was a pleasant bloke who not only took the time to make a report for me but also took the time to give me phone numbers to cancel my cards. He even urged me to get some sleep afterword. Perhaps the Aussies have got the social services right. I felt as though I was ordering something off the home shopping network not the usual "I don't care because you are an idiot" attitude that I have come to expect from the police. I went to bed exhausted and confused. We were to leave for the Blue Mountains the next morning and surely I shouldn't do that. I was try one last option in the morning before giving up.

When I awoke I phoned the Lifeguard station on the beach. When I asked them if they had found anything on the beach the Aussie on the phone told me to wait a minute. He asked me my name.

"Yep..no worries mate...we got it right here".

That MACK truck that had been parked on my shoulders for the past day finally started its engine and drove away. The clouds parted and the sun came out. I think I heard angels singing somewhere.

In the end miraculously someone had found my little buried stack and had actually walked it over to the lifeguard station and crammed it underneath their door in the middle of the night. Think that would happen in the states? Possibly? Possibly not. But it did. And I got my life back. Minus the five dollars in cash that was also in the stack. But they can have that five dollars. And I am embarrassed that I didn't have more money in the stack to "give" them for their good deed.

Am I lucky? Yep. Am I an idiot for burring my stuff in the sand? Yep. Moral of the story? Don't be clever. Chances are you are just being stupid.