Hilary for Park Ranger with Hilary Billings

Living in Las Vegas, I have been lucky enough to meet Hilary Billings – The NomadGrad – in person a couple times.  Actually the first time I met her in person was when I accidentally ran into her while attending my first Swing and Lindy Hop dance night at the Aruba – Thunderbird Lounge in Vegas.  

And let me tell you, can this girl dance!  

Hilary has quickly become one of my favourite people in Vegas mainly because of her love for life.   Her enthusiasm is infectious!  You just can’t be around this girl (or even talk with her on Facebook) and not get smiley.  So when I heard she was up for Park Ranger in Australia’s Best job in The World contest, I couldn’t help but be super excited for her.  

And I am thankful to announce, that Hilary has made some time in her ridiculously busy schedule to let me interview her about her blogging, how she became one of the 25 people on the short-list for Park Ranger, and how you can follow her/support her for this job.   

Hi Hilary, so where are you from?

Originally from Southern California, but I have been raised in Las Vegas and attended college at The University of Nevada, Las Vegas.

How old are you?

24 years-old. But depending on the day, I may act like an excited twelve year-old.

When and why you became a travel blogger?

I started my blog after I graduated college.  I faced the biggest rejection of my life when I was rejected from graduate school, even though I graduated summa cum laude and was named Outstanding Graduate of my class.

I decided to attend this surf retreat in Nicaragua, run by this awesome pro-surfer, Holly Beck.  And right before I left, I decided to blog about the journey.  After all, my life was suddenly more ridiculous than fiction.  Little did I know that two years later I’d still be blogging and have an amazing following from around the world.  Now the amazing and ridiculous is my everyday.  And I encourage others to find everyday adventure as well.

What’s the most unusual/unique/craziest thing you have ever done?

Over the past two years, I’ve done some pretty unusual and crazy things. But the one that sticks out right now is volcano boarding down the world’s most active cinder cone volcano.  As if that wasn’t crazy enough, I did it during a thunderstorm, which apparently is a big no-no.  Turns out volcanic ash is a great conductor of electricity, so now I know.

You recently entered Australia’s BEST JOB IN THE WORLD contest and got picked as one of the 25 finalists (from over 45,000 people) for the Park Ranger job. What made you want to apply for this contest?

I was on Facebook one day and saw a lot of my travel blogging friends (including Going Nomadic) talking about this amazing contest and I had to go check it out.  It seemed too good to be true… getting paid generously to travel, explore, conserve, and share my adventures with the world? It really couldn’t get any better.  So I figured I had to give it a shot.

Why did you apply for the Park Ranger position?

I love nature and being outdoors. I’m an adventurer and advocate for wildlife conservation. We’re so lucky to live in a world that offers such awe-inspiring landscape and I feel like it’s our job to not only enjoy it, but preserve it for future generations as well as all the other creatures we coexist with.  I’ve worked with sanctuaries in the past and thought I would be a good fit for the position.

How long did it take you to make the video?

It took about two weeks to plan, write a script, pick locations, photos, and edit it together.  Of course, a lot of that time was deliberating back and forth as to whether I was taking the right angle and ensuring I was addressing everything that Tourism Australia had asked for in their terms and conditions.

Were you nervous?

Incredibly. I wanted this so much, but I didn’t tell anyone that I had entered because it sounded like such a long shot.

Did you ever think you’d get on the shortlist? (be honest)

No. I believed in my video and my abilities, but there were 600,000 applicants.  And it’s a tough situation because you’ve got amazing candidates from around the world and you have no idea what their videos or backgrounds are.  And at the end of the day, you never know what they’re really looking for, or what conversations are being held in the decision room.  So I wasn’t going to believe it until it happened.

How did you find out you got on the shortlist?


My parents told me. They called screaming and hollering and telling me to pack my bags. But I reserved my happy dance until I saw my video up on the website.

What was the very first thing you did when you found out?


I probably spent ten minutes jumping up and down.  And then I think I sat on the floor to let it sink in.  It’s all such a blur.  But I remember feeling sky high!

What part of the Park Ranger job are you most excited about doing?

Oh man. There are so many great things about this position.  Not only would I get to learn alongside experienced guides, but I’d get the opportunity to talk with The Aboriginals, play with wildlife, and most importantly to me, keep their state parks protected.  But, as is the driving factor behind my blogging, I love to share what I’m doing with others and inspire and motivate them to have their own adventure.  So the most exciting part for me is showcasing all that Australia has to offer and getting people interested in visiting and helping to protect their parks.

Have you ever done anything like this before?

Enter contests?  Not really. I won’t even call when there are giveaways on the radio. There was something about this that called to me and I’m thrilled that I listened to my intuition.

Do you have any other talents that you think would help you do this job?

I’m a great communicator, and am so lucky to have a following that believes in my writing.  I know I can tell a story, I know I can engage readers and I know I can market.  I also have a TON gumption and spice for life, so having a new adventure everyday appeals to me greatly! I think my travel experience and coming from Las Vegas, a city that boasts 40 million tourists a year, are also additional brownie points.

What skill would you like to learn as a Park Ranger in Australia?

I think I’m most excited at the potential to immerse myself in the culture, land, and history as a whole. There’s so much knowledge to be had on such a thrilling backdrop.

What animal are you…

 - Most excited to see?
A cassowary. They look like real characters!

 - Want to hold?
Certainly koalas because they are fuzzy and adorable, so who wouldn’t want to snuggle that?  Also would like to pet a kookaburra. But really, I’m such an animal lover, you’d have to convince me not to cuddle a snake because it’s poisonous.

 - Want to learn about the most?
I think as a surf enthusiast and beach bum, I’m looking forward to learning about sharks and colorful marine life.

What is your plan to get picked for this job now?

We’re all in the middle of battling it out via social media.  I can’t give away my secrets just yet, but know I’ve got a plan and it’s growing daily due to increased involvement and community interest.  Please check for updates on my Facebook page and blog as to what I’m up to!

What can people do to help support Hilary For Park Ranger?

I need as much social media support and help as possible!  Please LIKE my Facebook page, FOLLOW on Twitter, and check out my blog to see what crazy adventures I’m getting into along this journey.  I can only do this with your help! So please support  #TeamHilary  for  #ParkRanger!

Contact Info: (click the links)

Blog: www.NomadGrad.com

Facebook:  HilaryForRanger and TheNomadGrad

 Twitter: @TheNomadGrad  and @HilaryForRanger

Support Hilary by sending her tips and ideas on how she should prepare for her Park Ranger position!  Want to see the video that got her on the shortlist?  Check it out:

This captain is having way too much fun cutting across the waves at high velocity.   The boat flies into the air then smacks down onto the water, sending salty spray everywhere.

“I can’t even wipe my eyes!” I complain to Diego.

Even with my sunglasses on I can barely see. The spray is getting behind my glasses from all angles, in my eyes, up my nose, and in my mouth. Everything is soaked! Diego semi figured out a way to hide my camera bag and cover it with towels so it’s mostly protected, but that leaves the two of us without anything to use as cover.

The bow fills with college-aged frat-type boys who are (trying miserably) at timing their jumping so they can make the boat bounce more. It would help if they could even time their jumping as a group, let alone with the up and down of the boat, but watching them try to jump in rhythm is like watching rich white people try to dance; sad and comical.

I walk over to the side of the bow to get some cool angled photos of the spray coming up around the sides and soaking all of us. I’m also trying to get the wind in my face, because, having just finally started to feel better while visiting Playa Blanca, this choppy boat ride is not what my stomach wants right now. As I’m filming Diego, who is also soaked and breathing in salt water, decides to brilliantly walk over in front of me, lean over the side, and…

“DID YOU JUST SPIT ON ME?” I yell in disgust and

disbelief as a giant loogie lands square on the side of my nose.

“OH MY GOD HONEY! I’M SO SORRY!” Diego is profusely apologizing while I am simultaneously disgusted and laughing hysterically at his obvious disregard for physics.

Yes, when you spit upwind from someone, on a boat, moving at rapid haste, said spit WILL fly directly backwards from your oral cavity, not cut outwards and perpendicular to the wind, and you will end up spitting on whoever is behind you. In this particular case, your girlfriend.

I am so thankful it was neither an inch higher (in my eye) or lower (in my mouth), but yes, even through the constant spray, there is a distinct difference in feeling of a warm, slimy spit-wad just hanging out on the left side of my face.

Awesome!

It’s actually pretty funny and a few people behind us are laughing at it too. I think they are just thankful that I was there, and not them. I don’t blame them.  It’s still gross.  And Diego is utterly horrified at what he just did.   HAHAHAHAHAHA

I’m getting too wet now though. My eyes hurt from the salt, and I really need a minute to break from this constant onslaught of spray and spit.

“I’m going to go get some video out the back”, and start walking like a drunk person as I try to keep my balance walking through the cabin to the back of the boat.

I finally, after a couple semi-falls, and almost landing on an old dude in the inside cabin, I make it to the back door. I set up my camera, open the door, walk out, and…

GAG!

It reeks of diesel fumes! Ok, I can handle this. I just want a little video. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. Oh my god I’m going to throw up!

I whip around and fling the door open, and walk as fast as I can through the lower cabin, back towards the front of the boat. Between the back cabin and the captains room is a small room that I didnt notice before, with open door to the outside, air conditioning, and a couple of benches. This room is perfect, I can be out of the spray and still get fresh air.

I must look like hell, because some lady takes one look at me, jumps up, and lets me slide into an open space on the bench next to a basket. I try breathing slowly, and telling myself I’m fine, but I don’t feel fine. The residual stench of diesel fuel lingers in my nose and on my clothes. I need fresh air. I stumble back outside and sit next to Diego

The boat has started to slow down and turn parallel with the waves, making the ride smoother. I’m ok. I’m ok. I’m getting better. I’m going to be fine.
And I throw my GoPro at Diego, “I need to go” and run over to the side of the boat.

One of the guys who was behind me during the spit session is standing in my way.

“Por favor” as I look up at him and point behind him. At least, in my state, I can still remember common sense science. I know I look like hell now, because he jumps out of the way and gives me wide berth to get around him.

I slump to the floor and lay my chin on my knees, with my forehead on the rail in that ‘I’m going to try not to throw up but if I do I’m pretty much over the rail’ position and don’t move. I think I fell asleep at some point. I don’t know. I can’t move. I cant look. I can’t do anything or I know I’m going to hurl. I just stay in this position until we start coming back into Cartagena’s harbour.

Now that we are crawling along in the greater harbour area, I slowly feel I can start to move again, though I don’t dare stand up – or god forbid walk – yet, but I can lift my head, and sit mostly straight up. After about 10 minutes of this, I attempt the standingish-while-leaning-on-the-rail-looking-out move, to a surprising success. I stay this way until I see Diego walk to the side of the boat and look back at me with that ‘poor baby’ look. I think I can move now, and slowly test my ability to move without projecting lunch into the bay. I make it to Diego and am amazed that I’m feeling MUCH better. So much better I totally forget I just spent the last hour or so, on the sunny side of the boat, in a sitting fetal position, and start running around taking portraits of people in the sunset.

We finally dock in the harbour.

Oh no Jorge! During the trip back, between the spit, the salt, and my extreme nauseus, I totally put the fact that Diego and I left our friend Jorge stranded on Playa Blanca! We now have to deal with the guilt at our lack of Jorge again.
We rush back tot he hostel as quick as we can. Maybe he grabbed a cab and beat us back?

Nope. The hostel hasn’t seen him. His roommates haven’t seen him. We have just had to admit we left our friend all alone. Well, we have no idea if he’s figured out a way back, and it would suck to pass him, so we decide to shower quick and change. If Jorge doesn’t arrive by the time we are done, we are going looking for him. We haven’t really figured out the logistics of this endeavor, but we have to make sure our friend is ok.

Oh man we are horrible people!

As Diego jumps in the shower, and I’m realizing that I have burned streaks on my forehead, arms, knees, and back (just about every part exposed to the sun when you are in a sitting fetal position paralyzed with nasuea). As im changing out of my damp, salty dress I realize something else.; I BURNED MY STOMACH THROUGH MY DRESS! Im going to be a sexy, skin-shedding mess in about a week.

I hear a knock on my hostel dorm door.

JORGE!!!!

I can’t stop myself from jumping at him in a giant hug!

Standing in front of me is a sheepishly smiling, tired looking Jorge

“YOU”RE OK!” I say, while also thinking, “We didn’t kill our friend. Thank god we didnt kill our friend!”
“Yea. Do you have anything to drink?” he says exausted.

I throw the Gatorade at Jorge and run to the shower to yell at Diego that Jorge is back.

“HE”S OK?!” Diego yells from the shower, also excited and he rushes out as soon as he can.

Turns out, Jorge went on a walk around the beach. When he got to the end he saw a road, so he decided to loop around and follow the street back. He followed a path that headed back to the beach where the food was, and when he came out through the trees, he emerged right onto …

…an empty beach!

He wasn’t that far behind our departure, but our boat did the Colombian thing and left when it wanted, this time a bit earlier than they said. Even thought our boat captain told us we were the last boat off Playa Blnca for the day, luckily a last, small, fast boat, owned by the same tour company, happened to be leaving Playa Blanca after us, and gave Jorge a lift for free.
But at least we all ended up back fine!

So to recap: Our cheap-skate asses ended up on the wrong tour, got sick, got spit on, got lost, got ridiculously burned, and all ended up back at the hostel with stories to tell. Nothing is ever boring when you wing it.

 CHEERS!

I’ve returned to out tour boat alone. Jorge is nowhere to be found. Diego is running down the white sand beach to find him. I am waiting anxiously with ALL our gear strewn across the 3 front bow seats we’ve claimed during this trip, wondering if i’ll be returning to Cartagena alone.

The second boat comes back with neither of my tour-mates. Shit!

Wait. I can see a third pontoon on the beach filling up with more people (and we are the last real tour boat left, so it is obviously for us.)

“Maybe Diego found Jorge and they are on this boat”, I hopefully think.

People are piling on to the ship. What if Jorge comes back but Diego misses seeing him and gets left on Playa Blanca? What if they both miss the boat? At least they can take a cab back…..

I HAVE ALL THE MONEY!

Oh dammit! Now I’m getting really worried. I have no idea if Jorge has enough, or any, money with him, and I have ALL of mine and Diego’s money. And all the drinks. Oh man. They are screwed if I leave without them.

I make a decision, if I don’t see Diego on this 3^rd boat I’m heading back to shore. As the 3^rd boat come closer, I see the 2^nd boat back on shore making a last and 4^th pickup. Ok. If they aren’t on the FOURTH boat, I’m going back. I have to. I have money to get back. I can’t leave them there stranded.

The third boat comes, still no Diego or Jorge. DAMMIT! I’m semi packing our stuff together so I can make a run for the fourth boat. A couple of guys from the crew have seen me pacing and made gestures that they are aware I may get off. They even nodded no when Diego wasn’t on the third boat.

The fourth boat pulls up. I’m searching and searching, and getting ready to run to go back to shore, when I spot them. Well, Diego. I spot Diego. Where’s Jorge? Maybe I missed his arrival. Maybe I just can’t see him. Diego climbs aboard, I breathe a sigh of relief, but don’t see Jorge. I’m just going to sit down and wait, and try not to look like I’ve been waiting nervously on the boat or anything. Try being the operative word here

(I fail by the way).

Diego comes running up. “Did Jorge come back?”
“I haven’t seen him. You didn’t find him?”
“I couldn’t. I thought I missed the last boat when I saw the third leave. I barely made the fourth boat!”

Uh oh. We have all the drinks. Diego had grabbed Jorge’s beach shoes (so they wouldn’t get stolen just sitting on the beach). We have EVERYTHING!

“Does Jorge have any money?”
“I don’t know”

We just left our lost friend alone. We are horrible, horrible people. We have no idea where Jorge is or if he has any money. At least he speaks Spanish (giant bonus), and I did see the bunch of Chileans that left the hostel last night (obviously to stay ON Playa Blanca), so Jorge will likely find them too.  Yea, so he will be fine.  We hope.  Because we can’t do a damn thing about it now.  Oh man, we have to tell the hostel. We are the most horrible friends on the face of the planet!

“Ok, maybe Jorge will be at the hostel when we get back? Yea, or we will give him like an hour before we go looking for him?”

We succumb to the fact that we can’t do a damn thing until we get back to land, and hope Jorge will figure it out. I mean, it’s not me with my limited Spanish that was lost, so that’s better…

Maybe the boat will wait?

Nope.

The boat pulls anchor and heads off for Cartagena. We just left our friend shoeless, possibly penniless, and waterless on Playa Blanca…..

Congratulations to the winner – Jessica Crisp of Norfolk, England! 

Jessica is starting on her own journey soon.  Be sure to follow her on twitter at:

@JessicaRose_91

(more…)

Yup. I became illegal in Colombia.   What’s it like to be illegal you ask?

Well, first off, I’ve had a number of illegal friends, and boyfriends, in the U.S., so you know, I wanted to give it a go.  Turns out, becoming illegal in Colombia goes something like this….

MY OVERCONFIDENCE/DUMBASSNESS….

I was in Colombia in October 2011.  I told La Migra (a.k.a immigration;  a.k.a DAS) at the Colombian border entrance I was staying 2 weeks.  They gave me 60 days in the country.  It was awesome. I ended up staying Colombia for almost a month.

When I returned to Colombia in December of 2011, I told La Migra at the Medellin airport customs desk,  I was going to stay for a few months.  I handed them my passport.  They stamped it.  I headed out to grab my bags and get back to the city.  Never really thought about it after.

So on day 30 in Medellin, at around, oh, 3:30 in the afternoon, I was suddenly like, “Oh shit.  It’s been a month.  I don’t even know how long I have here!”.  So I rushed upstairs to look at the number of days DAS (Colombia’s immigration) gave me.  

It said nothing.

Really.  They never wrote a number of days.  But in October they gave me 60.  So, knowing that for 2 weeks DAS gave me 60 days, I just assumed this time I had 60 days too.  I mean, NO ONE got just 30 days, and this time I told them I’m here for a few months.

Did I worry?  NOT AT ALL.  I mean, there is no days written on my passport stamp, so who cares.  It’s there mistake, and I’m a cute chic, of course they’ll be like “Oh don’t worry.  Our bad”  and let me stay.  A few people told me to just write 60, but I opted towards not forging government documents.  So on about day 50 or so in Medellin, I headed down to DAS to extend my tourist days.  I’ve never dealt with a visa before in my life.  So this was all new. 

AT LA MIGRA…

I walked in to the DAS office, all, ‘This is no problem, I’ll just play dumb and I’ll be fine!  I’m cute. I’m a gringa.  They’ll love me!’

I hand the lady at the reception booth my passport and visa renewal papers. She opens my passport, shows the man behind her, and they both look back at me with blank stares. 

“Where’s the number of days [tourist days] you have?” they asked me. 

“The officer never wrote the days.”

“Why?”

I decided to play confident and ignorant.

“I don’t know.  It was really busy. But my 60 days isn’t up yet, so here are the papers.  I would like to extend my visa and stay in Medellin with my boyfriend.”

So she punches a few numbers into the computer, looks back at me and says,

“You are illegal. You need to talk to the lawyer.” 

Then she writes 30 TUR (for tourist) over the entry stamp, and hands my passport back at me. 

WHAT?!?

Yup, I got 30 days.  I told them I didn’t know.  I thought it was 60.  How can I fix this. 

But DAS, being brand new, awesome DAS, that you can’t just hand them, a $50 and have them look the other way anymore, told me that I should have checked. 

That is is my (gasp) responsibility to know how long I should have here, and that I (gasp) should have come down to DAS and found out myself (gasp gasp) when I realized the number of my tourist days was not written on my passport. 

(Not that it would have mattered.  Like I said before, I never even thought to check until around 3:30pm on daythrirty in Colombia anyway).

Now of course, I’m all freaked out.

WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO ME?…

I’m from the USA.  So in my mind, being illegal means things.  Horrible, bad things, like: I’m going to jail. I’m getting deported never to return. I’m going to jail THEN getting deported never to return.  Colombia will take my first born son, then send me to jail and deport me never to return. I’m never going to see Diego again. 

Things like that.

So after biting my nails till they bleed in the waiting room for about 40 minutes, the lawyer, a rather cheerful and somewhat rotund gentleman brings my nervous as shit, shaky ass into the back room. 

He starts off with the whole, imposing, harsh, ‘You’re illegal.  Do you know what this means” reprimands.  I tried to explain what happened.  That I am really sorry. What can I do to fix this (basically hoping he’d tell me give him $50 and I can go), but no.  None of that.  He is speaking Spanish too, which of course, I don’t.  So I’m massacring Spanish and barely able to make out what he is saying, and suddenly he starts laughing at me.

 What.

 The.

Fuck.

The lawyer guy, after about 15 minutes of treating me like I’m about to end up on Locked up Abroad, just starts laughing,at me, then joking with the other guys in the office they are just going to have to handcuff me and leave me there (in the office) as an example for other gringos, and stuff like that.   Turns out, they pretty much knew exactly what kinds of horrible sanctions I was expecting to endure, (stupid USA), and were totally playing it up to scare me.

Suddenly I’m relieved, and feeling like a total idiot at how nervous I must have looked, but I’m still being told there’s going to be consequences of my overstaying.

WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENS TO ME…

In short, the lawyer tells me:

“You are not allowed to leave the country until you pay a fine.”

“Wait, what?  But the whole reason I’m here is because I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE!”

I know I’m starring at him with the ‘you dumb P.O.S.’ look, while more gut-grabbing laughing from my lawyer, and his office bff behind me, continues. 

“Yes”, he tells me, “but you can’t do that.  We know where you live now” (I so smartly put down the hostel AND Diego’s information on my visa renewal application), “and if you don’t come back and pay, then you can get in real trouble and not be allowed back to Colombia”.

Fine.  Now I have to pay $200 in fines.  It’s around $35-40 to renew the visa.  Dammit.

“Oh, and you have to leave the country for 15 minutes”.

What?

I literally have to walk out of Colombia, go have a coffee, then walk back over the border.  This is actually the exact scenario they told me to do.

This is ridiculous, especially being in Medellin, which is near no border.  I’m not about to cross into Venezuela.  I’ve been to that border before, and there is no way in hell, if something goes wrong, I’m being stuck on that Mos Eisley-ish border town alone again!  Fuck that!

My other options:

-Go to Panama (too expensive).
-Bus to Ecuador (about $200 total round-trip, by the time I’m done with a hotel, food, and a minimum 40 hour round-trip bus ride). 
-Fly to Quito for the weekend, for $250 round-trip, an hour and a half flight each way, AND I get to stay with a friend for free and see my friends in Descomunal play again. 

Yea, I opted for choice 3.

WHAT HAPPENED WHEN I RETURNED TO COLOMBIA?…

After paying the fine, and leaving Colombia for the weekend, I had absolutely no problem coming back in.  And this time Colombia  gave me 90 days.  Mostly because I put down Diego’s house, in Castilla, as my residence.  The DAS agent at the airport looks at ‘Castilla’ on my paperwork and says,

“But gringo’s don’t go to Castilla”. 

“I know, but I live there with my boyfriend.”

“But you go to Poblado or Envigado.  Not Castilla.  Castilla is a Colombia neighbourhood.”

And after explaining directions and landmarks on how to get to Diego’s house (because I couldn’t remember the full address), the DAS lady stops me and says,

“You know where you are going.  You had me when you said the empanada shop with the nightclub on top of it”.

Turns out this DAS lady grew up in Castilla down the street from that empanada shop.

WHAT DID I LEARN FROM ALL OF THIS?…

1. Being illegal is not nearly as much fun, or as exciting as I thought it would be.

2. Dealing with visas suck, and I have much more empathy for all my non-American born friends now

3. Colombia LOVES all the gringos who become illegal.  Especially in Medellin.  Turns out it, it’s so common, the government makes a nice penny off the fines from illegals.  Because it’s rather common for visitors to totally get caught up in Colombia’s beauty, and forget we don’t actually live there.

4. If you do stay too long in Colombia, you are forced to stay even longer (oh nooooo) until you pay a fine.  So if you find yourself illegal, just don’t go to DAS until you actually want to leave.  Because once you turn yourself in, you have to pay a huge fine, then leave, before you can come back.  Or, just don’t become illegal, it is way cheaper that way.

CHEERS!