In a Van, Down by the Ocean

by Stephanie

Seven percent of Australians are living in poverty. This is defined by sleeping places other than a bed within four walls including: under bridges, on the beach, or in a car. Good thing expatriates don't count, because Anna and I would hate to be responsible for helping break the ten percent mark. We moved into our car two weeks ago.

It was easy to pull off "car camping" when we were in the Blue Mountains, a place where everyone is actually camping. But then we came back to Sydney.

Everyone we ever met outside Australia sang the glories of Sydney. It was sold as a terrific city on the water. "Nice people, nice beaches, nice clubs, plenty of opportunity to work and meet people and have a good time." After six and a half weeks in the "Harbour City," my less-than-flattering comments could be limited to "ridiculously expensive." When apples cost one dollar each, you cheer like you're at the racetrack with all your money on the American dollar when the news stations put out their daily economic report.

So, back to our heroines re-entering Sydney from the relaxing mountain scenery. With one week to last until Mardi Gras and only a van for accomodation, we had to be creative.
For some reason, Lonely Planet doesn't list that you can park at Bondi Beach for free if you leave between 11pm and 7am. The lovely parks people even leave the handicapped bathroom open all night. Said bathroom is entirely handicap inexcessible: the toilet is seatless, the sink flooded, and the cockroaches do the Mexican Hat Dance until dawn. At this rate, I'll pay Sydney prices for a coffee to use the restroom at a regularily cleaned establishment. Trusty Lonely Planet lists a cafe near the beach that is "as cute as a bug's ear." Field research told me there is nothing "cute" about it unless you count free-postcard decor, freezer-burned ice cream, and a bathroom paper-mached in dirty toilet paper, the smell pathetically masked by an open bottle of peppermint oil. Two strikes, LP.

Next on the list of van-resident needs is food. In our days in Redfern (a dodgy district of South Sydney), Anna and I found a few bargains: There is a completely free BBQ at the Shannon Hotel on Sundays for all those prideless enough to scrounge through a line like penniless university students. The Lansdowne Hotel has good steaks for five dollars, though they pull a classic Sydney: "*conditions apply." You have to buy a $3.50 drink (beer, wine or unrefillable Coke) to enjoy with your meal. Mamma's Kitchen on Broadway has a massive bowl of spaghetti for the bargain price of $4.50. No catch, except that it tastes like it came out of an army ration can. None of these bargains are listed in "the world's best budget travel guide," so we'll go ahead and add our thick Lonely Planet to our van-ready stack of toilet paper.

At the beach we did not know the local deals so had to carefully pick through menus and screen for asterisks. Finally, we chose a modest Italian place. And, treating ourselves, as people that live in a van must sometimes do, we started with garlic bread: four dollars. Wait... damn asterisk: "*per person." Eight dollars for four pieces of crappy garlic bread.

Anna and I are the owners of expensive brains, so collaborating them we came up with one final plan: if we can make ourselves look like we don't live in a van, maybe we can meet some nice gentlemen with lots of money who will buy us a condo. Execution of this brainchild required a trip to the laundromat. We combined our most necessary items into one load and brought in our own soap. One wash, one dry: $8.10. That condo had better have all amenities included.