Sleeping Around (the world).

In true Dara-oddness, I decided very early on in my travels that I would try to capture my worldliness through a different angle. That angle turned out to be taking a photograph of every single bed I slept in during my 16 months of travel.

Everything from couches, tombs, one-man tents, bunk beds, luxury yachts and airplanes.

112 Beds to be exact...

Making an entrance.

The feeling of being homeward bound.

My life as a deckhand/stewardess on a superyacht taught me two valuable lessons:

(1) How to properly fold those annoying fitted sheets.
(2) How to tie a reliable bowline knot.

The second of these came in handy while on my flight home. Basically, I scored big time. Ended up in the middle four seats with NO ONE next to me. AIR NEW ZEALAND SUCCESS. Anyway, back in Economy for some ridiculous reason the armrests don't go all the way up. This nearly thwarted my horizontal sleeping plans until I remembered my knot-tying skills. Four headset cords later, and I was in makeshift bed heaven.



But I'm getting ahead of myself. Backtrack there for a sec. Let's start with getting on the train...



...and then the last known picture of me in San Francisco (airport).



Heading then to the glory of Santa Monica to kill some time with my mate's Pete and Dawn (and George).





As if George wasn't entertaining enough, Dawn decides that TODAY is the day to get a new tattoo. So, being the keen photo-journalist that I am, I took the old Canon along for the ride.





After leaving San Francisco at 9:30am on a Sunday, I get to Sydney at 9:30am Tuesday.



...and head STRAIGHT for a pie and a Boost.

What the Tortoise Taught us

The John Deere Wedding

This was branding at its absolute best.
A wedding, themed around a tractor. Priceless.















I got my first photo with a Marine...




And then hung out in the sun drinking Coors light...


Before hacking into my first lot of real American ribs...


And going on a branding photo expedition throughout the house...












Fascinating.

The day I killed the crab.

These photo's were taken before I killed the crab.




So we're having a lovely day. And I mean lovely in the way that I'm trying so hard to be happy about being on a bike with a hangover, but loving the fact I have familiar faces in town and it's a beautiful day...

Fast forward an hour or so and we find ourselves digging into a bit of fish and chips by the sea in Sausalito...

Simon: "Hey! Look at that crab!"
Sally: "Where?! I can't see it"
Simon: "There! Just down by the rock! About seven metres away. It's a great big crab just sunning itself out on the rocks there...wow, what a beautiful crab"
Dara: "Oh yeah I see it"
Sally: "Where?! I still can't find it"
Dara: "Oh look, let me just pick up this rock and throw it near the crab and you can see where it lands - you'll be able to see the crab then"

Dara grabs a rock which resembles more of a boulder and casually launches it in the direction of the crab...

(CRUNCHING SOUND)
Crab gets annihilated.

I felt like I had killed a baby dolphin.

Hence, this became NOT "that lovely day we rode our bikes over the Golden Gate and down into Sausalito", but rather "The day Dara killed the crab".

Tragic. I'm still not over it.

The City.

So even though San Fran was my home for more than four months and I eventually considered myself a local (insiders tip: the only way to classify as a local is to NOT call San Fran "San Fran" but "The City"), I did my fair share of touristy events.

Let's just get these photo's out in one hit to save the hours of painfully witty comments I will have to devise on reflection of these...

Escape from...the Irish (and Alcatraz)

"Um, excuse me. Have you seen a group of Irish tourists around anywhere? Um, I think they were wearing yellow. Although I'm not sure...the colour has been BURNT ON MY BRAIN and now my colour recognition abilities are failing..."



Now that that's out of my system...welcome to ALCATRAZ.





It was actually really freakin cool. This is a place you would NOT want to hang in for long. It's mother nature handing down the cruelest version of "island living" since LOST. Good luck swimming.