Melbourne wasn't so much a destination as a passage point for me; it just happened to be the nearest city with a flight into the outback and so I reserved a seemingly generous 36 hours of our precious itinerary to explore everything it has to offer. While it's clear I terribly misjudged just how much I'd enjoy being here, even a rapidly shrinking amount of time remaining in the food and wine capital of a continent couldn't dissuade me from staying in bed until noon. My first mission of the day after peeling myself from what may be the world's most comfortable bed was to give myself a hair cut. A solid seven days of unrestrained growth had added a full millimeter of length, and I was starting to look like a disheveled hobo. From the second I flipped the switch on the razor it was clear that Australia's 240 volts were sending the thing into hyperdrive, and it screeched like a siren. In hindsight, that's when I should've stopped (before I began) but good decisions are never made in a hair growth crisis and I frantically set about trying to shave my whole head before either the police arrived from the noise or the shaver exploded in my hand. I got about two thirds of the way through before black smoke started streaming from the razor and I stopped in a panic. Whelp...now what? Mullets just aren't as cool as they used to be so I let things cool down for a minute before one last hurrah, just hoping to finish up the back. About half a second in, one unusually large chunk of hair fell to the floor and I painfully realized I hadn't put the guard back on, so I'd just shaved a nice section of the back of my head...completely...off. I finished things up just before the razor burst into flames and now have a nice quirky bald patch in full view of everyone but myself. I'm choosing to forget it's there (for as long as Brittany lets me). In a city like Melbourne people are just as likely to think I did it on purpose as that I'm just too stupid to correctly use a tiny beautician's tool, so I'm gonna make the "self expression" claim. That's just me, sticking it to the man one bald patch at a time! Korean BBQ seemed like a great idea for lunch until a little research made it sound like more work than fun, so we ditched Korea for India on our way to the museum. Like just about every ethnic restaurant we'd seen, it was jam packed with people from the country it represented. That's always a good sign! The dishes were served the way I imagine they would be in India, and it helped to be surrounded by Indians so I could sneak peeks out of the corner of my eye to make sure I wasn't doing something stupid. There's nothing worse then being handed a big plate of food and then having absolutely no idea how to eat it (ok so it isn't all THAT bad. Tu it still makes you feel pretty darn dumb). A cool Australian lager washed down the smokey flavors of my goat biryani and we finished our stroll to the Melbourne Museum, fat and happy. Today's biggest surprise was the huge number of narrow back alleys that can be used to clandestinely crawl around the city. The walls were all covered in vibrant street art (some of it didn't exactly merit the "art" description but there is plenty of talent on display). Sometimes the alley would open up into a hidden courtyard filled with tiny shops and musicians, some one-man bands and some playing instruments I'd never seen or heard before, and it felt like we'd stumbled onto a locally held secret that should've necessitated the use of a softly spoken password. That feeling dissipated a bit when fifty tourists on a seniors-only walking tour barged through, but we relished the feeling of discovery! It reminded me of being in the souqs of Morocco, where you'd walk until nightfall with no particular destination in mind, driven only by curiosity and the possibilities of what you might see next. Finally walking through the museum doors, I noticed a young woman standing by a sign that advertised free guided tours. She was all alone, rocking back and forth from her toes to the balls of her feet. We really had no idea what we were there to see, so an introductory tour sounded like a great idea. I marched up to the lady and told her we'd love to tag along. It was pretty clear we'd have her all to ourselves, and I'm still not sure if she was more relieved at having something to do or terrified at being stuck with just the two of us. She wasn't the most knowledgeable guide we've ever had but we got a taste of everything the museum had to offer, and I was really impressed by the displays. It was king of like MOSI but geared more toward adults and with a healthy dose of history thrown in. This wasn't our first museum rodeo, and with only two hours before closing Brittany and I split up so we could spend the time on what was important to each of us. While I learned all about boomerangs of the aborigines, she marveled at a huge room full of bizarre and exotic animals stuffed back in the 1800's. There were lots of creepy crawlies to admire, and one of the exhibits showcased some of Australia's most venomous spiders. Turns out my theory that only the small ones are dangerous was a bit off; even the big ones'll kill ya. There goes that one shred of comfort... Of course, several big chunks of the displays were reserved to explain evolution in perfectly logical and "this is an obvious fact" detail. One in particular really drove me nuts. It was all about spider silk and how utterly incredible it is. The first half of the display explained, step by step, exactly how silk evolved from a single trailing strand to an extraordinarily strong thread hundreds of millions of years ago. "First this happened, then this, then this. Duh". After all that it finishes by stating, in an identically matter-of-fact tone, that scientists still have no idea how spider silk is generated or works. Huh? How can someone possibly explain a process that supposedly happened eons ago with an assured air of certainty when they can't even explain a process they can physically see and observe with their own two eyes? I suppose I'll take it as an example of unparalleled arrogance and presumptuousness at work. Overall, the Melbourne Museum was fantastic and I only wish we had more time to explore it, evolutionary ego trips and all. There was some kind of festival going on at the end of the night, but we just didn't have the energy. We'd been out of bed for a full five hours at this point, and it was high time we got back to it. We were still on the hunt though for the old Watchtower building that we'd seen at Bethel. We knew we had to be close because it was on Collins St, which was the street of our hotel. Armed with a picture of the beautiful old complex, we scoured the street, finding facades that were close but never quite right. Imagine our surprise when we got to our hotel and realized that IT WAS THE BUILDING! We are actually staying in the exact building that was used as the branch office (and a host of other things). It was later converted into a hotel, and a small museum inside gave us a little background on its history. Brittany and I just stared at each other, mouths agape in disbelief. How cool is that? I really wanted to enjoy that special bottle of wine we bought in the Yarra Valley with a rack of lamb before we got on a bouncing plane to the 100 degree red center (not exactly ideal cellaring conditions), but not even the concierge could find a restaurant that would let me bring it. Brittany had the absolutely brilliant idea of ordering room service instead, so we feasted on lamb, salmon, a fantastic Shiraz-Viognier blend and coconut crème brûlée from our uber comfortable bed. Lounging around in robes made it even more fun, but am I the only person that feels like a total creep answering the door in one? If you're a fan of Jim Gaffigan, you'll know what I mean. We watched Lion while we ate, a movie telling the true story of a little boy that gets separated from his family in India, is sent to Australia, and then uses Google Earth to find his first family 20+ years later. It was an amazing film, and it totally reaffirmed for us that the only way we'd ever have a kid is through adoption. There are just too many already suffering out there for us to justify having our own. If you haven't seen it yet, check it out! The feel-good ending is totally worth it. Our flight for Alice Springs left at 9:30 this morning, and I got an email from Qantas telling me to make sure I was there extra early: a full 45 minutes before departure! Their everyday security lines are like our special pre-check lanes, and we were sitting at our gate about 15 minutes after pulling up to one of Australia's largest airports. If only it was like this in the States! Once we'd sat down and buckled in for the the two and a half hour flight, I was a but flabbergasted to realize that I had never shown my ID to anyone...not ONCE. That's a little disconcerting because my ticket could've been used by just about anyone that found it on the street, but it was gratuitously refreshing to know there are still places in the world that can operate without the assumed and constant threat of a terrorist attack. The flight didn't last long, but it was as if we'd flown to a different country altogether. My face was glued to the window as thick green forest outside of Melbourne gave way first to muddled brown tracts of farmland, then to a rust-tinged desert. Dried up river beds snaked along the red earth like veins covering muscles in a high school anatomy book. Seemingly from nowhere, massive swathes of white appeared, conspicuously covering huge chunks of the otherwise unbroken desert. A little eaves dropping taught us that these are dried up inland seas. During the wet season, they'll fill up with water and glisten blue under a deadly sun. Upon landing, the 100 degree heat (as dry as it is) enveloped us like an unwelcome blanket, and we only walked about fifteen feet before coming across our first arachnid friend. Our taxi driver was a proud Australian, eager to point out how beautiful his personal speck of the country is, and there's no doubt it's a special place. There is a lot more green here than we expected, but flaming hues show through even thickly covered hills. Sheer red rocks explode from the ground as if they were trying to escape the earth all together, and there's no doubt in my mind that our trip to Uluru will be the most memorable part of our time in the country. The Hilton let us check in nice and early, and a now habitual nap ensued. Who wants to walk around in this heat anyways? Dinner tonight is at the Overlander's Steakhouse, which is described in our guidebook as a "carnivorous institution" where they serve up some of the weirdest meats you'll ever find. Time to reaffirm my spot at the top of the food chain. We'll be barbecuing in front of Uluru by tomorrow night, and I'll be sure to post some pictures of the big red rock in the middle of nowhere.