Georgia On My Mind

One of the most interesting features of road tripping down the East coast has been watching the environments change – a change that can only be appreciated by watching it whiz past you on the highway.

 The further south we drove after leaving Durham, North Carolina, the more apparent the change of scenery became. The green belt that runs the length of the highway became thicker and thicker as if the trees were shuffling closer together and everything seemed to be strangled by ivy and weeds. Then sure enough, after crossing the border into South Carolina, the trees became covered in Spanish moss, a pale green moss that looks like old man’s beard and dangles limply from the tree bends. Everywhere you looked, these massive trees sporting long low branches were heavy with strings of moss, like they’d gone un-dusted and were now covered in spider web. I can see why with the South’s ghostly heritage and thick forests covered in Spanish moss, it gives everyone the spooks. I definitely felt like an extra from True Blood.

Two hours south-east of Durham is Charleston, where we stopped for lunch and a shop. The main street of Charleston is King Street, a cute cobblestone street which sports expensive couture boutiques and just plain expensive chain stores. There’s a good selection of eat-outs though and we had a nice ‘southern’ lunch at a pulled pork cafe, before wandering around King Street and admiring the things we couldn’t afford.

From Charleston we drove further south again, crossing the border into Georgia where we stopped twice – once to get some home-grown peaches and peach cider (a Georgia tradition) and once to get a speeding ticket. It seems I’m leading Caitlin’s squeaky clean record astray.

If speeding down the highway didn’t provide me with enough Spanish moss, our stop-over in Savannah, Georgia certainly did. If Charleston was a prissy, perfect school-girl, Savannah would be her secretive sister with a wicked smile. On the outside, Savannah is a gorgeous city made of Southern plantation homes, Spanish moss and cute light-up fountains which the kids run about in. But once the sun go down, she strips out of her Sunday best and goes partying.

Ironically, Savannah is as mischievous as she is expensive. We had a difficult time finding a last-minute motel or inn to stay at which wouldn’t cost us a fortune and our first-born. We wanted to keep well away from the divey-motel we passed on the way into the city, but as it sported the ‘best rates in town’ our last resort ended up being the resort we resorted to.

The Thunderbird Inn turned out to be a diamond in the rough. From the outside it looked questionable, but once we got into our room we found cable, a modern bathroom and the biggest, most comfortable beds we could have hoped for. We even managed to bat our eyelashes into scoring another double room, leaving each of us to have our own king-sized bed (which after a night of bar-hopping lulled us into a sleep-in and a late check out).

The streets of Downtown run parallel to the Savannah River and everything is within easy walking distance – a feature of town planning I’ve found consistent in America. After accidently ordering a Pedicab (a bicycle-drawn carriage ridden by very desperate employees who get pissed off when you cancel your order because you were after a ‘real’ cab), we had a light late dinner at the Half Moon Brewery and Grill where I had my first serving of fried green tomatoes. (I thought of you, Mum). I’ve taken quite fondly to southern cuisine, but all that deep frying is certainly leaving me with a little more weight to carry around than just my backpack.

Around the corner was Congress St which is full of bars, clubs and dives and a steady stream of tourists, under-age teenagers and students from the Savannah College of Art and Design moving from bouncer to bouncer. We found some live music, but the real discovery was the bar with a free Mrs. Pac Man machine which became a source of much amusement.

From Savannah, we headed onto Gainsville, Florida – a short 4 hour drive which after the night we had, felt like an eternity. Gainsville is a bit of a hole in the middle of nowhere with the only thing of interest being the University of Florida. An old friend of Caitlin’s went to school there and was kind enough to put us up for the night with her gorgeous westie terrier, Bucky. The University of Florida is one of the major state universities in America and with school having recently gone back, the town was crawling in the morning with college kids riding their scooters to class. The university is also home to the UF Gators, the universities representative football and basketball teams who are greatly esteemed by Gainsville and its surrounds. Unfortunately, I only just missed out on attending a game and seeing the town explode with blue and orange. But it was comforting to know the college sporting stereotype (ala One Tree Hill) is not so far from the truth.

Gainsville was the last stop-over on Caitlin and Kristen’s East Coast Road Trip and as I write this, we are cruising (but not too fast) down the turnpike to Miami.

Can’t wait to get me a deep breathe of that Florida humidity.

Ciao for now. xo

The Duke of Durham

With some bagels in our bellies (my new breakfast favourite which is fast going to become the obese death of me), we waved goodbye to Washington and started the long drive south towards Virginia.


 Anyone who’s roadtripped can vouch for the cabin fever one starts to feel after sitting too long in one seat, so we planned to pit stop at the Shanandoah National Park, a corner of the Appalachian mountain peaks which stretch south-west down the coast.

That’s right Mum and Dad, we stopped to do some ‘hiking’ in America. Are you proud?

The Appalachians is Caitlin’s favourite mountain range and it isn’t difficult to see why. The range is beautiful and after the smoggy air of New York, my lungs didn’t know what hit them when they got a few breathes of brisk mountain air. We did a short hike along the Fox Hollow Trail – an easy half hour walk – which unfortunately didn’t result in seeing any wild life. I was particularly hopeful about seeing a black bear, but a few clouds of gnats were about the extent of it.

Lunch was an eclectic spread of leftover beef and noodle stir fry, hummus, strawberries and trail mix which we gobbled down in front of the look out before returning to the road. The next portion of the drive took us through Virginia and North Carolina where both The South environment and society started to rear its head. We stopped to ask directions at a pulled pork roadside restaurant, which had a pig on a spit cooking on the highway side.

In the late afternoon, we finally reached Durham – home of the Durham Bulls baseball team, Bull Durham the movie and Duke University. The Super 8 Motel was kind enough to charge us the same price for two double beds as they would one single, not that we were interested much in sleeping. We quickly donned our dinner best and headed out to The Fishmongerer, my first taste of Southern cuisine. My Fishmore Stew, a mix of ‘shrimp’ (prawns), ‘slaw’ (coleslaw), spiced potatoes and corn on the cob went down a real treat with the Woodchuck Cider I was happily introduced to.

Night time in Downtown Durham becomes the stomping ground of Duke University students and, this being the case, has a reasonable selection of alcoholic water holes. With school back in session, the clubs and pubs became overrun by students shortly after midnight and while we had the desire to stay out and potentially meet a doctor from Duke, a day of driving got the better of us and sent us home to sleep.

It seems I was denied seeing both black bears and boys in their natural habitat.

Ciao for now. xo

Why Hello, Mr Obama.

Shooting out of New York on the 25th (after a blundered train ride to Brooklyn courtesy of my inability to read a subway map correctly), the first stop on Caitlin and Kristen’s East Coast Road Trip was Washington DC, a four hour drive south of NYC. Despite not being home at the time, a friend of Caitlin’s allowed us to stay in his empty house in Silver Springs, a suburb on the edge of DC. This was the first time either of us had been in a house since camp and being able to cook, shower and watch a movie before falling asleep in REAL BEDS was one of the most comforting experiences imaginable.

 We took the next day off to venture into Washington DC, described by my Lonely Planet as the city of M’s – monuments, museums and memorials. Despite being stereotyped as a boring political pocket (its home to the White House, after all) I found it to be a beautiful city. The metropolitan area is quite spread out, but the moments, museums and memorials are all fairly accessible as long as you’re wearing comfortable shoes. The best part, however, is that all these buildings offer free admission. F.R.E.E – is there any more glorious a word to a backpacker? There’s something just a little imbalanced about paying $20 to see the view from the 86th floor of the Empire State Building yet not paying a cent to see some of America’s most invaluable historical artefacts.

After paying the Obama family a visit at the White House, we moved on to the Smithsonian Institute Museums, a collection of museums, galleries, libraries and historical emporiums situated within a few blocks of each other, referred to as The Mall. Here, we took a turn through a few galleries before heading to the National Archives to see America’s big guns – the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and the Bill of Rights.

As with everything important in America, the security was stringent but getting to the documents themselves – also referred to as the Charters of Freedom – was fairly painless. Groups of 50 at a time are allowed into ‘the rotunda’ so that the viewing cabinets don’t become overcrowded and everyone can get a good eyeful. The three charters, as well as the supporting documents that surround them, are kept in the best protective cabinets technology can provide and you’re not allowed to so much as touch the glass, let alone take photographs.

And it’s not surprising as the documents themselves are pretty amazing. Despite being considerably worn and faded (but wouldn’t you be if you were over 200 years old?), you can still make out the signatures of George Washington, John Adams and alike. I may not be an American, but even I’ll admit that seeing the cursive hand of ‘We, the people...’ was an empowering sight.

A sight I’ll get to experience again and again, as I bought the souvenir magnet to take home.

Ciao for now. xo

Caitlin and Kristen's East Coast Road Trip Rules

/From the moment I started planning my tour of the US, I knew that flying from destination to destination was out of the question. What could I possibly see and experience from an airplane cabin window? Taking public or private transportation and actually seeing the country was the only way I wanted to do it. So when one of my besties from camp, Caitlin, said she was driving home to Miami along the East coast, I asked if there might be a spare seat in her car.

And so Caitlin and Kristen’s East Coast Road Trip was spawned.

Leaving New York on the 25th and with my plane to New Orleans booked for the September 2, Caitlin and I have nine days to get from NYC to Miami (with a few days spare to see the city itself). After the structure and reliable routine of camp, we had definite plans that there would be a considerable lack of plans on our trip. We’d stop when we wanted to stop, eat when we wanted to eat and drink when we wanted to drink, leaving much of the journey up to the twisting highway before us and any friends we can couch surf with on the way.

With just the two of us, a four day drive and Caitlin’s unreliable Ipod auxiliary cable to keep us entertained, we knew a substantial amount of music was going to be required. So, before leaving camp, we gave our fellow counsellors the opportunity to provide us with mixed CDs of their favourite tunes. What resulted was a stacker full of Glenn, Mary, Merci, Molly, Will, Andrew, Amanda, Chris, Rachel, JQ, Tim and Stu-inspired mixed CDs (and a mix they are indeed).

So with our music sorted, some yummy snacks at arms’ reach away and the United States Road Atlas as our trustworthy tour guide, Caitlin and Kristen’s East Coast Road Trip was ready to roll out.

Ciao for now. xo

Empire State of Mind - Part Two

After watching the Miss Universe pageant on television and seeing Miss Australia come in third, we settled down to get some rest before our last day in New York. But if it was a good night’s sleep I was hoping for that night, I certainly didn’t get it. It was interrupted after Nel and I woke to hear rustling coming from the Subway bags we’d left on the floor. Knowing it was either a mouse or the world’s biggest cockroach, we were quick to extract the bags, much to our roommates dislike at 4am in the morning. It seems every dive motel comes with complimentary vermin.

To top off our tourist experience, day three was spent visiting lady Liberty. In every action/end-of-the-world movie where the State of Liberty has been destroyed by water or aliens or fire and brimstone, she has always seemed so big. But rounding the edge of Liberty Island and seeing her draw closer, I was a little disappointed that she wasn’t as big as the blockbusters portrayed. But as with all women, it’s not size that matters, its character and Lady Liberty certainly has plenty of it. The statue, a gift from the French in the 1900s, is a beacon of freedom and independence for America, representing the people who flocked from all corners of the globe seeking refuge and hope in ‘The New World’. Ellis Island, the second stop on the ferry ride to Liberty Island, is now a museum dedicated to the history of America’s social founding. With all this represented by the Lady Lib, you can see why Americans are so proud of her.

Proud and protective. The security screenings for both the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building were as strict as you would find in an airport. I had my laptop with me during the security screenings for the State of Liberty and the inspection process was so thorough I had to remove and replace the battery before they would let me board the ferry. The city is definitely a different place post 9/11, even 10 years after the attacks on the Twin Towers.

I was expecting my first glimpse of Ground Zero to be an eerie and off-putting experience, but with the new Tower now under development, the whole area is covered in scaffolding and building works. But even despite that, standing in the very site where that horrific event occurred made me feel uncomfortable. A temporary memorial is located further up the street (the new Tower features a mass memorial as part of the design) which was a museum of sorts, with time-lines and images of the September 11 events. As I read over the events of the attacks and saw the images and dedications to those who lost their lives that day, it was hard not to feel emotional and overwhelmed. Talking to my American friends and hearing their stories of what unfolded in their cities and towns, it’s not worth imagining what it must have been like to be in the country at that time, let alone in New York – so much fear and panic. A decade later and the city appears to have rebuilt itself, but there will always be a scar where those towers stood.

After our long day of travel (not to mention an un-planned journey to Harlem after we caught the wrong express train), Nel, Alyce and I (the three Aussies) donned our Carrie Bradshaw best and headed out to Broadway to see West Side Story. Having pre-bought our tickets at a fairly expensive price, we had amazing seats right on the orchestra and they were certainly worth every penny. It was the quintessential musical to see in New York City and the level of professionalism was unlike any other musical I’ve seen. The dancing and choreography was jaw-dropping and was almost enough to make me want to quit my day job and be an aspiring Broadway star.

Some friends from camp who were joining up with Nel and Alyce to fly to Florida the next day, arrived that evening so being young 20-somethings in NYC, we of course went out on the town to see what we could find. What we found was a bar called Brother Jimmy’s in Union Square which sold a drink named The Fishbowl – a concoction of who-knows-what called Swamp Water which comes served with a large plastic alligator which once tipped into the fishbowl, releases a red shot which turns the swamp water murky. The whole thing is too big for one person alone, so is served with giant straws and shared around the table.

Only in New York.

The 25th was my final day in New York (for this portion of my journey) and my final opportunity to say goodbye to some of my closest friends from camp. It seemed like I had been saying nothing but goodbyes for the last four days and saying goodbye to my ‘girls’ was far from pleasant. But as I waved them off on their next journey, I started a new journey of my own – a week of roadtripping down the East Coast with one of my besties from camp, Caitlin, with our final destination being her hometown of Miami.

One week, one car, one coast. Let’s see just how much mischief we can get into.

Ciao for now. xo

Empire State of Mind - Part One

On my second arrival in New York City, I was relieved that the thrill of being in this sprawling metropolis still sent butterflies flapping through my stomach. It would have been a whole lot more exciting had the bus from camp not dropped us off in Harlem where the excitement fast turned into 'let's get a cab before we get mugged'. But, after 20 minutes of attempting to hail a yellow cab in a non-yellow cab district, we were finally on our way. In New York City.

I had initially planned to stay at a fancy hotel in West End on review, but when those plans fell through at the last minute, some girls from camp were able to incorporate me into their travel plans. We stayed at the Hotel Riverside Studios, a delicate balance between dodgy hostel and dive hotel which offered two double beds, a fridge, a television and a less than appealing interior decorating scheme.

Unfortunately, the rainy weather put a bit of a dampener on our evening plans, but we decided to head out to Times Square anyway. Even though I had seen Times Square the first time I was in New York, getting to see the lights in the evening was pretty remarkable. The whole place looked like a christmas tree of consumerism - everywhere you turned there was an illuminated sign trying to sell a product, a lifestyle. But it was Times Square none the less.

While it was disappointing to wake up to another day of rainy weather, there seemed no better reason to wait it out by touring through New York’s museums. But first things first – breakfast. After nine weeks of camp food, a decent breakfast and a nice cup of coffee was all I was asking for. We popped into a cafe called ‘Gina’ on Broadway, not really expecting much but being happily surprised. Gina’s was a flirty, feminine Italian cafe where fresh bread comes served in a traditional brown bag with strawberry jam (REAL jam!) and the hospitable staff are more than happy to bring refills. On a cold wet day in NYC, a poached egg and tomato dish with a cup of (fairly) decent coffee, certainly recharged the batteries.

We visited the Museum of Natural History first, the setting of Ben Stiller’s Night At The Museum. As one of our girls had to leave at midday to catch her plane home, we were fairly rushed in making our way through the exhibitions. The museum is a multi-level building with exhibits including Asian, Pacific, Indian and Aztec peoples, mammals, marine life, snakes and reptiles, environments and space. As we weren’t able to visit all the exhibits due to our time restrictions, each member of our group chose a specific exhibit they wanted to see and we made sure we visited everyone’s choice before leaving the leaving the museum around lunchtime.

In the afternoon, it was off to the Museum of Modern Art which was not only the crowning jewel of my day, but of my entire trip to New York. As we were once again on a time restriction, we had to move quite quickly through the gallery rooms, which was disappointing and certainly not the best way of experiencing the museum. Of the work we did see, Picasso’s etchings, the architecture and design galleries, photography and sculpture works were most impressive. The museum itself is amazing, situated in a beautiful part of New York which offers views of the Manhattan skyline and it’s hard not to get side-tracked by the architectural art which exists right outside.

But this view was nothing compared to that from the 86th floor of the Empire State Building. While the rain once again prohibited the view I was hoping for, seeing the sprawling metropolis of lights and skyscrapers stretching out over the horizon was no less impressive. Standing at the top, freezing my butt off in the dusk air, I was once again hit with that feeling of satisfaction. That at that very moment, I could be sitting at home in Sydney living my run-of-the-mill mundane life. But instead, I was on the 86th floor of the Empire State Building in New York City.

Sometimes, that perspective is all I need.

Ciao for now. xo

Camp Conclusion

After three years of waiting, two failed applications attempts, one year of employment struggle, a very long plane flight and nine glorious weeks with the most talented American kids and artists I've ever met, my camp experience has officially met its end. And it was all worth it.

On the 20th August, I waved goodbye to my second session campers and began the mass clean up of camp and Bunk 22. It felt like a bitter sweet ending. One half of me was relieved to have my life back and my sense of personal space. The other half ached for the experience that was coming to an end and the fear that I would never see some of my, now closest, friends ever again. But endings are inevitable and I know they will be a huge part of my traveling adventure.

Once we'd cleaned the camp from top to toe, the Appel Farm staff came together for the Staff Banquet on Saturday night to celebrate the nine weeks we'd spent together. We drank, we were merry and we saw the last few hours of each other's company were the best we could make them. My staff superlative (the 'award' you are voted for by the staff) was the person most likely to surprise you with another hidden talent.
I think that summed up my Appel Farm experience. I knew when I started this international adventure that I would be challenged and pushed. I knew camp would change me, but I didn't know that I would come out the other end feeling more like a writer than ever. And not just a writer, but an artist. I have spent nine weeks utterly submersed in the arts - visual, performance and literary. I have rediscovered passions which have long been in hibernation, not to mention igniting new interests. I have dabbled in ceramics and learnt the sheer pleasure of throwing clay on a wheel. I've learnt how to intergrate typography into my creative writing and become addicted to a whole new art form. I was employed by Appel Farm but I got so much more out of camp than just money and the counselling experience.

As the rain poured down on the 22nd August, I could not have dreamed a more dramatic way to say goodbye to my friends and the farm. We stood in the carpack, the rain soaking through out clothes and luggage, tears soaking through our cheeks, utterly unable to say goodbye to each other. It felt like a surgeon was removing something from me I never knew was there until the scalpal was slicing through. As the bus to NYC drove away and I sat cold and wet from the rain and tears, shivering from 'the fear' that I would never see Appel Farm again,  it seemed surreal that this was the end. After everything, after what felt like a lifetime of trying and then nine amazing weeks, a bus driving through the rain was marking the end.

And as I type this from a Starbucks on West End Ave, NYC, my throat closing over at the memories and the friendships which have redefined my sense of self, I can only hope the road that eventually got me to Appel Farm would eventually lead me back.

Ciao for now. xo

Off With His Head!

There are a few great things about being a counsellor at a performing arts camp.

1. As an artist, you are continually inspired by the young creative minds around you.

2. As an artist, you are continually terrified that when the young creative minds around you become older, they may kick you out of a job.

3. There is a constant supply of arts and crafts to be consumed (a creative station like none other)

4. There are constant opportunities to wield one’s creative abilities with the arts and crafts supplies

5. Everyone flaunts their eccentricity

6. Nothing is done by halves

And when you add all these things together you get Saturday night’s Dinner Dance, themed ‘Fairy Tales’. Not since college (and even then, this barely compares) have I seen such gusto and detail applied to the costuming and decorations behind a party. But what do you expect when you put 50 of the world’s most hopeful artists in one place and ask them to throw a dinner dance no camper will forget.

We had Little Red Riding Hood and her Grandmother Wolf. We had the Gingerbread Man, Peter Pan, Rapunzel and Belle. We had Sleeping Beauty, the Fairy Godmother and enough dancing princesses to probably make up the 12. And then me – the Queen of Hearts – in a costume made courtesy of Appel Farm’s Art Barn.

I’ve got to admit, playing the role of the Queen of Hearts does come with certain perks. There’s really no other character you can play who gives you the opportunity to run around screaming “OFF WITH HIS HEAD” and just genuinely be a lofty, snooty, ‘heart’less bi-atch.

Saturday night’s Dinner Dance was followed by Sunday and Staff B’s last day off of camp. Feeling a little nostalgic, we decided to return to Philadelphia – the scene of our first time off together – where we once again crammed 12 people into our camp director’s studio apartment. After a very comfortable night’s sleep on the wooden floor directly in front of the toilet (which is a great place to park yourself after 12 people have just drunk a few cartons of beer), we enjoyed our last day in Philly by shopping and eating and later slumming it in the car park of Tokyo Mandarin as we stuffed ourselves with Chinese.

On the trip home, it started to occur to me that this was the end. The five people I was squished into a car with and who I had seen every day for the last 8 weeks would soon be going their separate ways, heading off on their grand adventures. Some of them I would see on my own travels, but others, I may never see again. This world I am a part of, this family I am a member in, only exists over the summer and soon the summer will be gone.

Until 2011 that is.

It’s tempting....very tempting.

Ciao for now. xo

Some Australia flag flying, overnight camping and my stint as a parrot

I’m approaching the end of week seven and with just over one short week left at Appel Farm, the cruel realisation that this experience will soon be coming to an end is starting to really affect me.

It feels like I have been here forever, that I didn’t have a life before coming to camp and with that comes a fear for what waits beyond next Saturday – when I wave goodbye to my Appel Farm family, these people I have learnt to trust with my faith and my fears, these people who I may never see again but have been players in this beautiful memory of mine.

And then I watch some kid super-gluing his fingers to a table in the Art Barn and I know I’ve had just about my fill.

With second session starting to wind down to Performance Week (the week all the kids perform their work from the session) as well as the camp itself closing, Appel Farm seems to have been hit by a contrast of extremities. The campers are wearing out, the counsellors are wearing out and now our sheer fatigue seems to have turned into eccentricity. It seems not even exhaustion can slow my girls down.

As the second session schedule is a repeat of the first session, early last week we held our second International Day. However, this time it was centred on the International vs. America soccer game – the only occasion in the Appel Farm calendar when the counsellors and campers are allowed (or more so, encouraged) to act competitively. This game is a HUGE deal and as you can imagine, a camp for performing arts never does anything by halves, even when it comes to sports. There are strategy meetings, coaching, training, warm-ups, referees, rules, red cards, water coolers, commentators, cheer teams and a whole lot of male ego going wayward. The International team is made up of all the international counsellors (primarily British, who as you can imagine, feel they have a point to prove) and the American team is made up of all the Americans (who being American, also feel they have a point to prove). While the Internationals were victorious in the first session match, we did not fair so lucky in the second session where a sneaky goal in the final minutes of overtime saw us beaten by the red, white and blue – and they haven’t let us forget it. All in all though, a good excuse to dress up in as much Australian paraphernalia as I could bring with me and roll my eyes at the children who asked me what language I speak in Australia.

One activity I missed out on in first session due to my day off but got to experience this week was overnight camping – an Appel Farm tradition where your bunk and another bunk traipse out into the middle of the field across the road and camp for the night. For a 22-year-old who spent much of her childhood sleeping on a blow-up mattress in the middle of nowhere, one evening of overnight camping didn’t phase me much (especially when there were smores involved). For a group of 16-year-olds who couldn’t bear the idea of bugs, flat beds and sleeping bags, overnight camping appeared apocalyptic. But with a few smores in their belly and the only beetles being the Beatles hits we sang around the campfire, I think they survived with most of their sanity in check.

Friday night brought the first dance for the session and the first opportunity for our camper couples to test out how much bumping-and-grinding they could get away with before intervened by the counsellors. The theme for the Friday Night dance was Pirates and Mermaids and not feeling like dancing with a fish tail between my legs, I went, instead, as a pirate’s parrot. Thankfully, the camp costume shop comes in handy for events like this and just so happened to have a meticulously detailed parrot costume waiting for me to use. A beak, a pirate patch and some extensive eye make-up later and I was ready to dance the night away (between the bumps-and-grinds).

Being at a performing arts camp has been a pretty humbling experience. The sheer talent of the campers I am surrounded by and being privy to the unadulterated passion they have for their art form has been inspiring. This being so, I’ve taken a deep breath and returned to the stage. I performed a few times in first session – singing and playing an original piece on the piano and fronting the jazz/funk band’s rendition of Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag. And on Monday night, I took up my guitar and accompanied a friend’s first performance on the piano. Playing on stage again has really stirred something in me and it’s one thing I’ll definitely miss once camp is over. Below is the YouTube video of our performance - Imagine.

The leadership team like to keep us and the campers on our toes, so yesterday they sent the camp schedule into mayhem by hosting Reverse Day. When your day-to-day existence comes to rely on the mechanical comfort of a routine, suddenly flipping it upside down leaves you feeling the strange effects of vertigo. We had dinner for breakfast, evening activities in the morning, majors in the afternoon, breakfast for dinner and early-bird activities in the evening, where we sat around drinking coffee and reading the paper.

Only at camp.

Ciao for now. xo

Atlantic City, Baby!

What do Sex In The City, Gilmore Girls and Beaches have in common?

At one point or another, they've all featured Atlantic City as a destination.

And yesterday, it became a feature destination for six very satisfied camp counselors.

I've heard Atlantic City described as Las Vegas' cheap and dirty second-cousin and like most cities, there are areas which put the ass in classless (our motel being in one of them). But in the bright light of day (and the casino lights) Atlantic City can certainly hold its own. The boardwalk boasts all the goodies we are denied in Elmer, New Jersey - beach, bars and boys - so for six female counselors who were in great need of a girls' weekend away, we could not have asked for a better destination.

Once we survived the Martinique Motel from Hell, Sunday was spent doing...well, nothing... and it was fantastic. We ate, we shopped and we spent two hours in Claires having ears pierced (don't worry Mum, I haven't got any additional holes anywhere on my body... yet). Not to mention visiting possibly the BEST shoe store ever known to women (and yes Meudell, that includes the Brazillian shore store on Bourke St). I have never seen so many shoes in one place and. all. on. sale. For those of us not backpacking and who don't have to consider space and weight with every purchase made, the girls went a little crazy. Let's just say there were quite a few pairs of shoes which returned to Appel Farm that evening.

While I didn't win it big on the slot machines or meet Donald Trump or see Smash Mouth and Counting Crows who were both performing that evening, I did get to see a lot of old ladies playing the pokies in sequined hats, and that was good enough for me.

Oh, and spending 36 hours with six of the best blondes (and one brunette) in the world.

Ciao for now. xo

Fight Club

It frightens me how quickly time is passing by. We are already at the end of our first week of Session 2!

And I've only written 16 blogs in that time - what have I been doing with my time?

The first week of camp has been great - a little tiring as it's a constant struggle to keep up with the energy of the 2nd session campers. They're like Energizer bunnies that never die! Thankfully, because they are so different from my first group, I haven't been comparing them or struggling to move on from the intersession.

As a way of helping us come together as the new Bunk 22, Thursday night evening activities was Bunk Activities - an opportunity for us to mix and interact with our new roommates. Molly (my co-counselor) and I organised an Appel Farm tradition which was met with both delight and disgust by our group of girls - shaving cream fight.

This involves getting in your 'swim suit' (togs just confuses them) and spraying/flinging/slapping/covering each other in shaving cream until you are coated like an iced cup cake.

And surprisingly, shaving cream is quite a maliable substance. Once it's in your hair, there's no limit to what you can do with it.

80 percent of our girls thought this activity was genius and ran around like crazed snowmen. The other 20 percent, who had already showered and put on a face of makeup in anticipation of seeing the Bunk 26 boys, looked on in fear that at any moment they might be attacked.

It all felt like a throw-back to my old college days (although without the alcohol and probably nudity which would have ensued.)

Ciao for now. xo