No, really. That was the only traffic-related incident of the weekend, though, so I’m going to chalk this one up in the “Win” column. We got into the Blue Mountains pretty easily Friday and made our way to the Melaleuca Chalets. As soon as we stepped out of the car, we noticed that it was frickin’ freezing. Mountains are cold, yo! At Reception we figured out that we were the first arrivals and picked up the key. “We’ve got the fire going in your chalet,” the owner told us. SWEEEEEET. And there it was, perched up on a hill: the Rosewood Chalet, also known as the Cutest Accommodation Ever. It was this tiny wooden cabin with a wood stove, kitchenette, double bedroom, bathroom, and kids’ room with bunks. Oh, and cable TV. We were in heaven. And get this – there were kangaroos all over the property. They’d just bounce right up around your cabin. How weird is that? A really big one hopped out near the resort’s driveway and I nearly drove off the road. It’s like staying in a zoo!

The rest of the gang arrived not long after us and we all got ready for Steve’s wedding. This is when tragedy struck – I felt a telltale tingle in my lip. The stress of getting my license and planning for this trip gave me a goddamn cold sore! I spent the next eight hours frantically rubbing Zovirax on at every opportunity but it was all for naught. That’s why I didn’t take any pictures; I was a horrible scabrous leper the whole time! (Not really, but I’m still gonna airbrush any pictures the other guys send me.)

Okay, the wedding. I offered to drive a group down in our rental car, not realizing that I’d end up doing blind hairpin turns in mist and rain both up and down a friggin’ mountain (and at night, to boot!). The ceremony was held in Cathedral Cave, which required fifteen minutes of climbing steps, ducking down passageways, navigating very short tunnels. (The sight of old people spelunking in evening wear is one I’ll never forget.) The cave itself was beautiful, though I have to admit we were disappointed that Steve and Kate didn’t take advantage of the high ceiling and rickety ladder to attempt a “bride rappels in from above” entrance. We all stood and watched as they exchanged their vows, tying colored ribbons on each other’s wrists and swapping rings. Afterwards we made our way back to the Chalets, hoping to glug some champagne before the reception. The rain and the darkness contributed to some missed turns though, so we barely made it there before the bus came to pick us up again. Then it was over to Duckmaloi Park Lodge for the reception festivities. Many hours and bottles of champagne later, we crashed back at the chalet and huddled as the loud mountain wind tried to blow the roof off.

Saturday started late (as you might expect), and after breakfast there was some debate about what to do to fill the afternoon. Many were in favor of a cave tour, but the Snook and I passed in favor of more metrosexual delights: a three-hour session at SpaRadise. (Rodd’s co-worker Hank went there a few months ago and recommended the place.) This is when the Snook decided it was time for him to take the wheel. He did really well! Once we got there we relaxed in the indoor hot-water bath; we sucked in eucalyptus in the Herbal Steam Room; and we enjoyed a few moments of sunshine (and an incredible rainbow) in the outdoor hot bath. The Snook even waded into the cold water pool a few times, though I couldn’t stand it for more than a couple seconds. We each had a half hour massage too, and I’m happy to report once again that the Asian masseuses are all about my ass. Because you know you were wondering.

Saturday night we got dressed up for the Bollywood Dinner Party and the Snook did some very creative facial hair manipulation. (Other people took photos; I’m sure I’ll post one.) I went overboard on the eye makeup in the hopes of distracting everyone from the second head growing on my bottom lip. We were pretty wiped out though, so after partaking of some of Steve’s yummy, yummy curry, we headed back to the chalet for some rest. We closed out the weekend this morning with a huge group pancake breakfast and a stop off in Leura to visit the world famous Candy Store. Fueled by Jersey Caramels, Sherbies, and Nutter Butter Bites, the ride home to Sydney just flew by…

And there in the bedroom window was our adorable Puss-Puss, waiting for us to come home. Big thanks to Amy for stopping by to check on her…

What? Oh, right, the dead wombat. That was this morning on our way out of the mountains. The sun was finally shining and I was admiring the scenery and thinking how relaxed I was with my driving and how wind-y the road was and how I felt like I was in a car commercial and wondering what song would be playing in the commercial, when suddenly Rodd went: “Wombat.” and I looked down to notice what looked like a big-ass rock at the side of the road right before we THUMPED over it. “OH MY GOD, I HIT IT!” “It was already dead,” he said. Still, that’s the first wombat I’ve seen outside the zoo and I defiled its carcass. I was really bummed out… (until we got to the candy shop).

Well, we finally managed to find some Dublin accommodation. It’s pricy… but the place looks really nice. I’m always torn between the student impulse to spend £14 for a cot in a room with 20 other people and the adult desire to have an en suite bath and full breakfast in the morning. What do you choose?

Good God. Never ever try to book a spur-of-the-moment trip to Dublin. I can’t find a hotel room anywhere. Unless a miracle happens, we’re gonna end up sharing a dorm room with eighteen scruffy backpackers.

Relive the entire adventure. I’m warning you though, set aside a bit of free time before you get started. I wasn’t kidding when I said I took a lot of pictures…

In eight hours I’m leaving sunny Australia for the neverending gloom of the U.K. As if that weren’t depressing enough, I tripped on a sidewalk running to catch a bus yesterday and wrenched my ankle, which is now the size of a grapefruit. I can barely walk. I’m talkin’ serious pain here. On the plus side, my sister would’ve loved it. (She finds pratfalls to be the height of comedy.) I mean, painful though it was, I can see the inherent physical humor in a person trying to simultaneously run, turn, and remove a bus ticket from a backpack, which leads to said person tripping on a crack, stumbling forward, skinning her knees and hands, and finally belly-flopping on the pavement right in front of her astonished boyfriend, a bus driver, and about 30 bus passengers of various nationalities. And let’s not forget the other catastrophes of this otherwise wonderful holiday: I fell on my ass in Snookums’s garage (resulting in an egg-sized bruise on my bum), I had a land leech attached to my right foot (which left a bump that began to itch like mad a week later), I was caught in the worst floods Australia has seen in fifty years, and I got fried to a crisp after spending a mere 20 minutes in the sun (resulting in peeling shoulders and my having to cover myself in SPF 30 every time I set foot out-of-doors). Like I said, it’s probably best that I leave the country before it kills me. The next time y’all hear from me, I’ll be home in the boring (but safe) U.K.