I’ve always known it was a little odd. The girl raised in West Texas in the dry, harsh wind whose only sea was endless prairie grass and amber waves of grain falling in love with the ocean before she had even really seen it. But I can’t deny it – I am in a life-long love affair with the sea.It isn’t about the destinations – the postcard perfect sandy beaches, the sunlit cities around calm, blue harbors. It isn’t about the lifestyle, the surfing, or even the weather. It’s always been about the ocean – her majesty, her beauty, her sounds, her strength. Ask me what my favorite color is – it’s the blue of the deserted beaches of Abel Tasman National Park. My favorite sound – the waves at sunset in Maui. My favorite smell – well, here I have to say that the salty sea breezes come in second to rain on a fresh plowed field. But it’s a close second. For as long as I can remember I’ve been in awe of the ocean and what lies beneath her waves. It’s a love affair that renews itself each time I see her from a new shoreline or in a new light, aboard a different vessel, or from a different depth.It should come as no surprise then that my idea of a perfect day has always involved sand and sea.
For those of you who know me you know I’ve been writing about “perfect days” for a long time – my own and others. But even in my most imaginative and carefree writings I never dreamt of a day like this.My perfect day actually lasted longer than 24 hours. Two days and two nights on a sailing cruise to be exact. A sail boat larger than any I had previously been on carried me through my 48 hours of bliss. Her name was Freight Train but unlike her moniker suggests, she was a smooth and graceful vessel 18 meters in length with a deep blue hull and pure white sails. She carried eighteen varied and interesting individuals and three crew members. She was my home for 2 days. I slept on her deck for two nights and hung my feet from her bow for most of the 25 nautical miles between Airlie Beach and the strand of 74 islands known as the Whitsundays. Her main sail was the first sail I ever hoisted (though it will certainly not be my last).
We left Airlie Beach at 1:30 pm on Wednesday. The sky was a clear, stainless blue. It was the best day they had had in months, or so we were told. The wind was just strong enough to fill the sails and keep us moving at a steady clip. Yellow butterflies drifted lazily above the azure waves in a graceful, dreamlike dance. It was startling to see so many of those delicate insects fluttering about so far from shore.
At the helm of our boat was a salty sailor named Johnny. Johnny looked as if he had stepped out of a Jimmy Buffet song – his hair was bleached a sandy blond, his skin a dark and leathery tan, his tattoos and roll-your-own cigarettes only adding to his genuine appeal. His mannerisms were befitting of his post as a captain of a hand-me-down sailing yacht full of backpackers – a grudgingly pleasant captain short on patience and long on tall tales and sea stories. I felt a certain appreciation for this man, the son of an outback doctor who in his youth had fallen in love with an ocean he had rarely seen in his rugged childhood. It is a love he could never shake – even if he had wanted to. And I believe he had an appreciation for the two Texan girls on his boat who helped with the sailing and lent a hand without his request. He seemed to enjoy our tales of home and Hawaii as much as we enjoyed his tales of diving and sailing abroad. It never fails that good characters make a mediocre story great. Without Johnny and my fellow travelers this would just be another story of sand and waves.
Our first night on the boat was spent moored in Tongue Bay. We had dinner on deck and got to know Antoine, Xavier and Gregory – fellow passengers from Switzerland that would keep us in stitches for most of the cruise. If there was a costume to be made of random items, they wore it. Dances to be done, they did it. They weren’t out to entertain anyone but themselves but the rest of us profited from their antics. Johnny busted out his guitar and serenaded us with local favorites, Jimmy Buffett tunes and contemporary hits while we enjoyed the high class goon our Swiss friends were eager to share. (For those of you re-reading the above sentence for a clue as to what “goon” is, please let me clarify. Goon is a nickname for super cheap boxed wine whose most obvious feature is the inclusion of “fish products, eggs and milk” found in the ingredients. It’s about as appetizing as it sounds.)
That night I slept on the very front of the boat with the crumpled jib as a bed. It was damp and chilly but the stars were so numerous and the moon so brilliant that I couldn’t help but fall asleep with a smile on my face. It was a smile that would last the rest of the trip.
I awoke early the next morning (5:30 am – you would be proud Grandad!) and joined Johnny on deck for coffee. The cove we were anchored in was just beginning to glow with pre-dawn light. Just over the tree-covered hills directly in front of us lay Whitehaven Beach, the object of a million postcard pictures and rumored to be one of the (if not the) best beaches in the world. A last minute decision on Johnny’s part led to 6 of us early rising passengers to jump into the dingy and make a mad dash to for the lookout that faced due east – directly towards the approaching sunrise.We half walked, half jogged the short trail up the hill and arrived just in time to watch God splash a new day’s canvas with radiance and beauty. Several failed attempts to watch the sunrise on this trip had left me drab but this morning all hope was restored. The sunrise is truly the suns best moment of the day. These were no dying rays of light. These were vibrant living beams caressing a sleepy sea and calling forth light to meet the new day. The water was lit as if from within with a fiery cascade of oranges and reds.
I was reluctant to leave behind this masterpiece but we returned to the boat for breakfast. On board we were informed about the beach we would shortly set foot on. Whitehaven is a large expanse of pure white sand that bubbles up from a crack in the earth’s crust. It is so pure (approximately 98% silicon) that they used this sand to make the Hubble Telescope lens. At high tide several of the ocean’s fabled creatures swim into the large, shallow pools to feast on soldier crabs. Low tide inevitably strands some of them in knee to thigh high water.
When we finally sank our feet in the sand, we did so breathlessly. This expanse of shallow turquoise and azure pools made you want to abandon all care and run crashing into their coolness – which is exactly what we did. The water was refreshing. After a bit, I wandered further into other pools of water where I found myself in the company of several stingrays that glided at a safe distance or darted out of sight. We even caught a glimpse of a baby shark, no longer than two feet, gliding through the shallows. I followed him for a while – my first ever ‘shark encounter’. I was grinning from ear to ear. I could have stayed there all day. Heck – I could have lived there if they would have let me. But my day had much more in store so we turned and walked slowly back to our rendezvous point.
The next couple of hours were spent on the open water. We cruised past more tree-covered hills and sandy beaches floating on endlessly blue seas. Our destination was Luncheon Bay on Hook Island where I would do something I had been dreaming of since I saw my first Shark Week on Discovery Channel – if not before. Today, not far from the famed Great Barrier Reef, I would finally Scuba Dive.
There were two groups doing the introductory dives – short 20 minute dives of only 8 or so meters in depth. Lisa and I were in the second group. We snorkeled while waiting. The water was covering a virtual wonderland of coral and fish.
Finally it was our turn. We strapped on all the necessary equipment which seemed very heavy out of the water, slapped on our fins and mask and took the basic lessons on how to clear your mask and breathing device, what hand signals to use, and how to equalize your ears and sinuses. Then down we went. It was amazingly easy. No butterflies or panic overtook me. Breathing was decidedly easier than snorkeling. And the views – oh the views!
No longer were you floating above the action, an observer to an underground kingdom. Now you were a participant, a unique and strange being drawing attention from the locals as you cruised through their neighborhoods and communities. Some swam right up to have a better look, some eased away but most of these finned citizens kept right on doing what they had been doing before your arrival – eating, sleeping and escaping other larger fish. Even in visibility that left much to be desired their colors were striking and clever. Black stripes cut across fields of brightest yellow, green spots glimmered on brown, blues of varying depths and brightness sparkled and shone. It was a moving, shifting rainbow. All around us the coral formed structures to rival the most beautiful buildings on land. They towered, they formed canyons and walls, they swayed and fanned out all the while showing colors to rival their tenants. The twenty minutes flew by. I wanted more. I want more. Another addiction – why must they all be so expensive?
We sailed on from there to Black Island were we did more snorkeling and wasted what was left of the sunny afternoon jumping off the boat into the calm, clear waters. That night we stayed up late. Several of us gathered at the stern to listen to more of Johnny’s tunes. During breaks he and I swapped tales and goon. I fell asleep to a strumming guitar watching plankton light up in a failed attempt compete with the brilliant stars above. The Southern Cross watched on accompanied by millions of his less luminescent cousins. The Earth and the Sea seemed to sigh in contentment. If anything, my smile had gotten bigger.
I know that this day will haunt my daydreams during the future. There was enough peace to settle my soul, enough adventure to spark my imagination, and enough memories to write a thousand stories. It was as perfect of a day as I ever hope to have.
Our time is winding down here in the great land of Oz. We have a little over a week. I'm pretty pumped about Indonesia - land of cheap food and cheap accomodation. We'll meet up with Desirae there and begin the leg of our trip guaranteed to expose us to more culture and less comforts than we've seen thus far. For the next week, though, we'll be enjoying the hospitality of our hosts here in Cairns - Steven and Kelly Real. You simply can't overestimate the value of friends from home living overseas.
Till we meet again, sweet dreams from the road...
Monday, March 31, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Round Two - One Gypsy's Definition of Adventure
You are in for a real treat today! I'm posting twice in one day! A real two for one special. :)
Actually I have been writing most of my "blogs" in my journal so they are ready when I have time to sit down and type them out. This is one of those times.
We've been staying in the coastal town of Airlie Beach since last Thursday or Friday, I forget...It took us 14 hours via bus to get here which made for one long night. After hopping from hostel to hostel we have finally settled for a few days in the Koala Hostel here in town. It's a good place with nice open grounds and the rooms are in their own little bungalows with a mini-fridge and an en suite bathroom. Lisa and I have taken on roles as working class individuals for 3 hours a day cleaning toilets and hotel rooms here on site. Three hours gets you a free nights stay and a free meal - not a bad deal. It's a good way to pass some time as well. Airlie is a small town. Most everyone comes here to get on board a sailing boat headed for the Whitsundays - beautiful islands just off the Great Barrier Reef. That's what we came for as well but found all the boats booked until this Wednesday so we extended our stay.
All that blabbing was to give you a bit of a background for today's final post. So without further adieu...
A while back, my friend Rose said to me "Ah, that's travel for ya..." She was referring to one of those times when travel becomes tedious and frustrating. Those inevitable moments when nothing goes right and (it seems) no one speaks your language. Those moments are definitely out there, part of every traveler's experience, but that phrase - Ah, that's travel - has two sides to it. A simple change in tone and suddenly you are talking about the discovery and uniqueness of travel - those other moments, the ones you talk about for years, the ones you compare with fellow travelers around hostel tables or at bus stations and airports the world over. These are the moments that answer that unavoidable question "Why are you travelling?" It's a question that has no singular verbal answer but one that brings to mind a million seemingly unrelated moments. This is one of those moments, one of my answers to that question.
It's a day as humid as it is hot. The air is still with brief breezes that make you smile for the joy of that momentary relief. We've been this way on several occasions in our short stay in Airlie Beach - once for a run, once to visit a grocery store that turned out to be closed for Good Friday. It's that grocery store that takes us this way again. It's a 5 km walk roundtrip along the boardwalk passing extravagant sail boats docked or moored in turquoise waters, calm and inviting. The fact that no one is swimming in those waters gives the ocean here a certain untouchable mystique. We walk slowly in the heat, savoring shade and breezes alike.
The outrigger glides into view. This is a narrow hulled canoe long enough for 6 people to sit in, and for good reason as it usually takes all 6 people working in unison to get it and keep it moving. This outrigger is noticeably different in several ways. It has an obvious homemade quality about it. The hull is fiberglass, yes, but the rigging is painted bamboo strapped together in an odd, helter-skelter pattern. But the most obvious difference is that there is only one person in the canoe. He wears a bright yellow tank top and well-worn Panama Jack hat. It's obvious by his tanned and toned body that he is not new at this singular steersman/paddler role. His movements are fluid and calculated.
We watch with interest. Having spent some quality time in outriggers ourselves we decide that this singular man steering his way towards us is either crazy or brilliant. He calls out and we wander over to his canoe to chat. Our conversation follows a natural course - Did we paddle? Yes - in Hawaii. Where were we walking to? The grocery store near Cannonvale beach. Did we want to paddle down there and save us time and get out on the water? Yes. Of course.
We climb aboard. He has only one extra paddle so we take turns paddling from the first seat. He tells us about the area - how some big storms blew through a month back running several boats aground in the mangrove trees we were paddling past. We paddled closer to see their sinking hulls and to get glimpses of the sea turtles that frequent the area.
His homemade rigging of bamboo was perfect to stand on he says. We can get a higher perspective of the glassy water we are gliding through. We stood in turns balancing ourselves with the ebb and flow of the canoe's movements. Standing there on a homemade outrigger in Australia with an eccentric local playing tour guide and enjoying the warmth of the brilliant sun, I had to smile. Ah, that's travel for ya...
Our guide let me steer giving me pointers on how to control the boats movements instead of reacting to them. He was one of those guys whose exact age is hard to pinpoint. 40? 50? He was slightly eccentric talking of grand plans and ancient techniques. He had a deep seeded belief in being connected to the ocean and it's benefits not only physically but spiritually. He was Maori but had been in Australia for 15 years. He talked of business plans, environmental concerns, steering techniques. I loved every minute of it. He was like those distant figures from my paddling days in Hawaii - older Hawaiian guys that sat in circles I was never going to be part of sharing stories without saying a word, a language of the ocean etched in their tanned faces.
From our guides boat the ocean became a living thing, a part of life, more than just a background for photos and postcards. The stories and commentary brought the area to life as well. A reminder that there is more here than backpackers and tourist sites.
It's often debated what the difference is between a traveler and a tourist. For my part, I believe it has less to do with the number of days you spend on the road or the luxuries you allow yourself on the way and more to do with your definition of adventure and experience. To the tourist, adventure can be bought in a package deal found on a glossy brochure. To the traveler adventure has no price tag and is a sense of expectation in small every day events. Adventure to the traveler is something you create - its the way you frame the event, not the event itself. Adventure can be found in the grocery store line, the menu of a local restaurant, bathroom stalls the world over or, in this case, the hull of a ramshackle canoe. Adventures are those moments that answer the questions of why and that make you pause to say "Ah, that's travel for ya..."
May you find your own adventures.
Love from the road...
Actually I have been writing most of my "blogs" in my journal so they are ready when I have time to sit down and type them out. This is one of those times.
We've been staying in the coastal town of Airlie Beach since last Thursday or Friday, I forget...It took us 14 hours via bus to get here which made for one long night. After hopping from hostel to hostel we have finally settled for a few days in the Koala Hostel here in town. It's a good place with nice open grounds and the rooms are in their own little bungalows with a mini-fridge and an en suite bathroom. Lisa and I have taken on roles as working class individuals for 3 hours a day cleaning toilets and hotel rooms here on site. Three hours gets you a free nights stay and a free meal - not a bad deal. It's a good way to pass some time as well. Airlie is a small town. Most everyone comes here to get on board a sailing boat headed for the Whitsundays - beautiful islands just off the Great Barrier Reef. That's what we came for as well but found all the boats booked until this Wednesday so we extended our stay.
All that blabbing was to give you a bit of a background for today's final post. So without further adieu...
A while back, my friend Rose said to me "Ah, that's travel for ya..." She was referring to one of those times when travel becomes tedious and frustrating. Those inevitable moments when nothing goes right and (it seems) no one speaks your language. Those moments are definitely out there, part of every traveler's experience, but that phrase - Ah, that's travel - has two sides to it. A simple change in tone and suddenly you are talking about the discovery and uniqueness of travel - those other moments, the ones you talk about for years, the ones you compare with fellow travelers around hostel tables or at bus stations and airports the world over. These are the moments that answer that unavoidable question "Why are you travelling?" It's a question that has no singular verbal answer but one that brings to mind a million seemingly unrelated moments. This is one of those moments, one of my answers to that question.
It's a day as humid as it is hot. The air is still with brief breezes that make you smile for the joy of that momentary relief. We've been this way on several occasions in our short stay in Airlie Beach - once for a run, once to visit a grocery store that turned out to be closed for Good Friday. It's that grocery store that takes us this way again. It's a 5 km walk roundtrip along the boardwalk passing extravagant sail boats docked or moored in turquoise waters, calm and inviting. The fact that no one is swimming in those waters gives the ocean here a certain untouchable mystique. We walk slowly in the heat, savoring shade and breezes alike.
The outrigger glides into view. This is a narrow hulled canoe long enough for 6 people to sit in, and for good reason as it usually takes all 6 people working in unison to get it and keep it moving. This outrigger is noticeably different in several ways. It has an obvious homemade quality about it. The hull is fiberglass, yes, but the rigging is painted bamboo strapped together in an odd, helter-skelter pattern. But the most obvious difference is that there is only one person in the canoe. He wears a bright yellow tank top and well-worn Panama Jack hat. It's obvious by his tanned and toned body that he is not new at this singular steersman/paddler role. His movements are fluid and calculated.
We watch with interest. Having spent some quality time in outriggers ourselves we decide that this singular man steering his way towards us is either crazy or brilliant. He calls out and we wander over to his canoe to chat. Our conversation follows a natural course - Did we paddle? Yes - in Hawaii. Where were we walking to? The grocery store near Cannonvale beach. Did we want to paddle down there and save us time and get out on the water? Yes. Of course.
We climb aboard. He has only one extra paddle so we take turns paddling from the first seat. He tells us about the area - how some big storms blew through a month back running several boats aground in the mangrove trees we were paddling past. We paddled closer to see their sinking hulls and to get glimpses of the sea turtles that frequent the area.
His homemade rigging of bamboo was perfect to stand on he says. We can get a higher perspective of the glassy water we are gliding through. We stood in turns balancing ourselves with the ebb and flow of the canoe's movements. Standing there on a homemade outrigger in Australia with an eccentric local playing tour guide and enjoying the warmth of the brilliant sun, I had to smile. Ah, that's travel for ya...
Our guide let me steer giving me pointers on how to control the boats movements instead of reacting to them. He was one of those guys whose exact age is hard to pinpoint. 40? 50? He was slightly eccentric talking of grand plans and ancient techniques. He had a deep seeded belief in being connected to the ocean and it's benefits not only physically but spiritually. He was Maori but had been in Australia for 15 years. He talked of business plans, environmental concerns, steering techniques. I loved every minute of it. He was like those distant figures from my paddling days in Hawaii - older Hawaiian guys that sat in circles I was never going to be part of sharing stories without saying a word, a language of the ocean etched in their tanned faces.
From our guides boat the ocean became a living thing, a part of life, more than just a background for photos and postcards. The stories and commentary brought the area to life as well. A reminder that there is more here than backpackers and tourist sites.
It's often debated what the difference is between a traveler and a tourist. For my part, I believe it has less to do with the number of days you spend on the road or the luxuries you allow yourself on the way and more to do with your definition of adventure and experience. To the tourist, adventure can be bought in a package deal found on a glossy brochure. To the traveler adventure has no price tag and is a sense of expectation in small every day events. Adventure to the traveler is something you create - its the way you frame the event, not the event itself. Adventure can be found in the grocery store line, the menu of a local restaurant, bathroom stalls the world over or, in this case, the hull of a ramshackle canoe. Adventures are those moments that answer the questions of why and that make you pause to say "Ah, that's travel for ya..."
May you find your own adventures.
Love from the road...
Sunday, March 23, 2008
A Day at the Zoo...
It's been awhile! Australia seems to move in erratic bursts - slow days, slow nights and then a full week will fly by. There's a beauty here that is less majestic than that in New Zealand but more constant. Every beach is beautiful - even if you can't get in the water because of the "stingers" or jelly fish that will supposedly send you directly into shock and cause you horrific pain...I'll stick to the shore.
We've done a lot and seen a lot since I last wrote so I don't know where to begin. Hopefully I will have more time in the near future to write a more comprehensive account of our time here but today I think I will share with you one even that sticks out in my mind.
There are some things in life that really never fail to bring about a child-like joy and a trip to a zoo filled with exotic animals is definitely one of those things. Lisa and I made a special stop in a little-known town called Beerah to see the Steve Erwin Zoo there.
I have to note here that while I admit that I thought Steve Erwin was a bit loony for doing things like messing with poisonous snakes and hugging large, obviously unhappy crocodiles, I have to admire his commitment to his cause. On our way to the zoo (via a free shuttle), we got to watch a film that included interviews and home videos from Steve Erwin's life. His death here was much like losing Johnny Cash in the US - an absolute icon in his career who also happened to be a great individual. They say if you find a job you love that you will never work a day in your life. In that case, they should have put the words "A man that never worked a day in his life." on Steve Erwin's gravestone. This man loved wildlife and his passion was obvious in every detail of his life - work, family, and fun. His desire for the zoo was to create a place where people could interact directly with the animals and learn about them. It was his belief that humans want to protect what they love. His goal was to teach people about these exotic animals and allow them to interact with them so that he could create a loving bond that would encourage conservation and protection.
He perfected that goal on the beautiful grounds of the zoo. Unlike many zoos I've visited, these were not animals behind bars in crowded pens. The animals chosen for the zoo were those that could excel in the areas created for them. Every crocodile pond was painstakingly created to provide maximum viewing with minimal obstruction to the animals. The water was still murky, the areas swamp-like and shady but there were elevated boardwalks for visitors to watch from as these great, dinosaur-like beasts cruised along. There were koalas in open air gazebos just out of touch but completely content to nap away in the shady eucalyptus. There was even a large area of grassy hills and shadowy clearings where you could stroll among several types of kangaroos. Imagine my surprise when we walked through a gate and met an animal I had never though I would see hopping up to us in expectation of the feed you could buy to give him. These funny creatures looked and acted like a hopping combination of a dog, a rabbit and a deer. They were quirky and slightly intimidating in their exoticness. They lounged about or hopped directly up to you to be petted and touched.
Other animals were enclosed in borad areas or bushy paddocks. Some of them never made an appearance but we did see the short, squatty wombat (a pig-like creature in actions but furry and rodent-like in appearance), the famous Tasmanian Devil who created a whirlwind of excitement by simply jogging laps around his paddock, and the big Asian Elephants complacently fanning themselves with their ears and wallowing in the dirt of their large encloser.
We watched in awe as they brought a crocodile of considerable size (8 ft or more) into a stadium set up for shows and fed him. The 'guide' told facts about this impressive animal - how they use vibrations to sense pray on the shores, how they are lightening fast in the water but unusually slow and awkward out of it - as he stomped the ground and the crocodile lurched at him from a very unsafe looking distance. As soon as the guide would throw a chunk of red meat into those massive jaws of death the croc would slide placidly back into the water and wait for the next vibration from the edge. I had seen the final "trick" on many Discovery Channel specials but seeing it live struck a whole new kind of fear and awe into me. The guide stood on a platform suspended about 5 feet above the water. He hung a tasty morsel of red meat above the waiting head of the crocodile which was completely submerged in the water below. Right on cue, the giant leaped into the air and snatched the dangling treat. Leapt is perhaps the wrong word - the crocodile actually used his tail to propel himself upward until at least half of his massive bulk was above the water. Many a fisherman among us realized he was no longer safe dangling fish over the edge of his boat or fishing from the safe haven of a tree on the shore. The croc show came to an end and I felt wiser - if not safer - for it.
The zoo was excellent. Something that was pleasing in a very basic "ooohh, ahhhh" kind of way but also impressive because you learned the intent and purpose behind the design and then see the practical manner in which it was implemented. It was in a short a very successful day.
Time keeps marching along in it's determined manner. We have about 2 weeks left on this huge continent and if anything I think the mystery behind it is more realistic and grand than when I arrived. I think you could spend a lot of time in Australia and still always have something to see. Yes - I could be hinting at a return trip. :)
I hope all of you had a great Easter and are enjoying good health and good weather. Missing you all.
Love from the road...
We've done a lot and seen a lot since I last wrote so I don't know where to begin. Hopefully I will have more time in the near future to write a more comprehensive account of our time here but today I think I will share with you one even that sticks out in my mind.
There are some things in life that really never fail to bring about a child-like joy and a trip to a zoo filled with exotic animals is definitely one of those things. Lisa and I made a special stop in a little-known town called Beerah to see the Steve Erwin Zoo there.
I have to note here that while I admit that I thought Steve Erwin was a bit loony for doing things like messing with poisonous snakes and hugging large, obviously unhappy crocodiles, I have to admire his commitment to his cause. On our way to the zoo (via a free shuttle), we got to watch a film that included interviews and home videos from Steve Erwin's life. His death here was much like losing Johnny Cash in the US - an absolute icon in his career who also happened to be a great individual. They say if you find a job you love that you will never work a day in your life. In that case, they should have put the words "A man that never worked a day in his life." on Steve Erwin's gravestone. This man loved wildlife and his passion was obvious in every detail of his life - work, family, and fun. His desire for the zoo was to create a place where people could interact directly with the animals and learn about them. It was his belief that humans want to protect what they love. His goal was to teach people about these exotic animals and allow them to interact with them so that he could create a loving bond that would encourage conservation and protection.
He perfected that goal on the beautiful grounds of the zoo. Unlike many zoos I've visited, these were not animals behind bars in crowded pens. The animals chosen for the zoo were those that could excel in the areas created for them. Every crocodile pond was painstakingly created to provide maximum viewing with minimal obstruction to the animals. The water was still murky, the areas swamp-like and shady but there were elevated boardwalks for visitors to watch from as these great, dinosaur-like beasts cruised along. There were koalas in open air gazebos just out of touch but completely content to nap away in the shady eucalyptus. There was even a large area of grassy hills and shadowy clearings where you could stroll among several types of kangaroos. Imagine my surprise when we walked through a gate and met an animal I had never though I would see hopping up to us in expectation of the feed you could buy to give him. These funny creatures looked and acted like a hopping combination of a dog, a rabbit and a deer. They were quirky and slightly intimidating in their exoticness. They lounged about or hopped directly up to you to be petted and touched.
Other animals were enclosed in borad areas or bushy paddocks. Some of them never made an appearance but we did see the short, squatty wombat (a pig-like creature in actions but furry and rodent-like in appearance), the famous Tasmanian Devil who created a whirlwind of excitement by simply jogging laps around his paddock, and the big Asian Elephants complacently fanning themselves with their ears and wallowing in the dirt of their large encloser.
We watched in awe as they brought a crocodile of considerable size (8 ft or more) into a stadium set up for shows and fed him. The 'guide' told facts about this impressive animal - how they use vibrations to sense pray on the shores, how they are lightening fast in the water but unusually slow and awkward out of it - as he stomped the ground and the crocodile lurched at him from a very unsafe looking distance. As soon as the guide would throw a chunk of red meat into those massive jaws of death the croc would slide placidly back into the water and wait for the next vibration from the edge. I had seen the final "trick" on many Discovery Channel specials but seeing it live struck a whole new kind of fear and awe into me. The guide stood on a platform suspended about 5 feet above the water. He hung a tasty morsel of red meat above the waiting head of the crocodile which was completely submerged in the water below. Right on cue, the giant leaped into the air and snatched the dangling treat. Leapt is perhaps the wrong word - the crocodile actually used his tail to propel himself upward until at least half of his massive bulk was above the water. Many a fisherman among us realized he was no longer safe dangling fish over the edge of his boat or fishing from the safe haven of a tree on the shore. The croc show came to an end and I felt wiser - if not safer - for it.
The zoo was excellent. Something that was pleasing in a very basic "ooohh, ahhhh" kind of way but also impressive because you learned the intent and purpose behind the design and then see the practical manner in which it was implemented. It was in a short a very successful day.
Time keeps marching along in it's determined manner. We have about 2 weeks left on this huge continent and if anything I think the mystery behind it is more realistic and grand than when I arrived. I think you could spend a lot of time in Australia and still always have something to see. Yes - I could be hinting at a return trip. :)
I hope all of you had a great Easter and are enjoying good health and good weather. Missing you all.
Love from the road...
Thursday, March 13, 2008
The Thing About Australia...
Here's the thing about Australia - it somehow manages to fit all the cliches you've heard about but still remain unexpectdly and pleasantly different.
Take Australians themselves for example. When I conjured up a picture in my head of the typical Australian man he looked a little like Crocodile Dundee and a little like the Crocodile Hunter - a brash, burly man in short shorts with an outback hat, suntanned skin, muscular build and big smile. And in many ways I wasn't too far off. True to form, Aussies are generally boisterous and their speech has an almost poignant quality to it. Unlike the light-spoken and proper English you hear in New Zealand, here the words seem rough around the edges. It is also true that Australians like to drink. There are bars on almost every corner and if there's not a bar there's a 'bottle store' (the Down Under equivalent to our liquor stores). And Australian's have the most endearing disdain for modern fashion. Where elsewhere in this world board shorts and cargo shorts are all the rave for guys my age, Australians are more prone to speedos and the short shorts from the early 80's complete with the colorful neon accents that I wasn't even aware could still be purchased outside of Goodwill. And the haircuts! My generation has dedicated websites, t-shirts and entire theme parties to the infamous "mullet," a hairstyle that you rarely see in the US other than on burly man-women and deep south rednecks. Not the case in Australia! They've taken this hairstyle to a new level. You frequently see the old classics - the business-in-the-front-party-in-the-back mullet, the "I only had enough perming treatment to do the back half of my head" mullets - but they have even gone as far as to modernize this classic 'do' with a cut I call the "mo-mullet," a short cropped mohawk that ends in a longer mullet in the back. You really must see it to truly appreciate it's value. True story - Lisa and I saw a guy in a business suit with all the trimmings of professionalism (brief case, serious expression and hurried step) rushing to work in Brisbane sporting the mo-mullet. Now try to imagine that guy presenting the year of end fiscal reviews at your annual meeting...It would bring some humor to the work place to say the least.
And all of this fits into the image of Australia that I had in mind but it was the unexpected qualities that have really proven to be exceptional. For one, this country isn't all red dirt and desert as I expected. Sydney proved to be lush and green and the Blue Mountains were literally overflowing with trees and cascading waterfalls. As of yet, I have seen not one snake, shark, crocodile or spider the size of my fist. Apparently - or at least thus far - the deadliness of this great country has been somewhat exaggerated. But perhaps the most pleasant surprise of all has been the kindness and friendliness of the people. This wasn't completely unexpected - I had heard others say that the people here were great but any discussion of Australia unfailingly turns to sharks or crocodiles so the attitude of Aussie's is often lost in the shuffle. But let me tell you - it's their greatest assest if you ask me.
Here "G'day mate!" isn't just a cliche phrase but a geniune with for your day. People are just nice. They smile at you and say hello on the street. They pick up dropped change and hand it back to you. They converse with you in lines and invite you to join them in their activities on the beach. And they do all of this without the desperation of some tourist locations in the US that smile and greet you with one hand while trying to take your money with the other. They brag about their country in terms of what it has to offer you - not in why it is superior to others - and they seem as excited about the splendor and beauty around them as the visitors that have traveled so many miles.
Maybe I enjoy this so much because I identify with it. Coming from Texas - backwoods, small town, po-dunk Texas to be exact - I know all about stereotypes and cliches. I'm a member of the Redneck crowd - rowdy, simple, bootwearing, two-stepping, conservative and hickish with a strong accent and an even stronger love of God and country. And for the most part many of those cliches hold true. But I also know that you don't often hear the term "Northern Hospitality" as much as it's opposite. For along with my Redneck ways, I'm also the proud decendant of two familes well-versed in Southern Hospitality (nothing against my 'yankee' friends - I can personally attest that hospitality crosses the Mason-Dixon line effortlessly).
I think that I must have known the following for a long time but I had to come to Australia to really appreciate it - you see, no matter where you are or whether you weare boots or jandols or slippers, or have oddly outdated hair and clothing the Golden Rule still applies and a genuine smile and a "G'day mate!" or "Howdy!" or "Bueno Dias" will go a long ways.
So keep your cliches of this land down under but add a new one to your list - Southern (Very southern) Hemisphere Hospitality...
Take Australians themselves for example. When I conjured up a picture in my head of the typical Australian man he looked a little like Crocodile Dundee and a little like the Crocodile Hunter - a brash, burly man in short shorts with an outback hat, suntanned skin, muscular build and big smile. And in many ways I wasn't too far off. True to form, Aussies are generally boisterous and their speech has an almost poignant quality to it. Unlike the light-spoken and proper English you hear in New Zealand, here the words seem rough around the edges. It is also true that Australians like to drink. There are bars on almost every corner and if there's not a bar there's a 'bottle store' (the Down Under equivalent to our liquor stores). And Australian's have the most endearing disdain for modern fashion. Where elsewhere in this world board shorts and cargo shorts are all the rave for guys my age, Australians are more prone to speedos and the short shorts from the early 80's complete with the colorful neon accents that I wasn't even aware could still be purchased outside of Goodwill. And the haircuts! My generation has dedicated websites, t-shirts and entire theme parties to the infamous "mullet," a hairstyle that you rarely see in the US other than on burly man-women and deep south rednecks. Not the case in Australia! They've taken this hairstyle to a new level. You frequently see the old classics - the business-in-the-front-party-in-the-back mullet, the "I only had enough perming treatment to do the back half of my head" mullets - but they have even gone as far as to modernize this classic 'do' with a cut I call the "mo-mullet," a short cropped mohawk that ends in a longer mullet in the back. You really must see it to truly appreciate it's value. True story - Lisa and I saw a guy in a business suit with all the trimmings of professionalism (brief case, serious expression and hurried step) rushing to work in Brisbane sporting the mo-mullet. Now try to imagine that guy presenting the year of end fiscal reviews at your annual meeting...It would bring some humor to the work place to say the least.
And all of this fits into the image of Australia that I had in mind but it was the unexpected qualities that have really proven to be exceptional. For one, this country isn't all red dirt and desert as I expected. Sydney proved to be lush and green and the Blue Mountains were literally overflowing with trees and cascading waterfalls. As of yet, I have seen not one snake, shark, crocodile or spider the size of my fist. Apparently - or at least thus far - the deadliness of this great country has been somewhat exaggerated. But perhaps the most pleasant surprise of all has been the kindness and friendliness of the people. This wasn't completely unexpected - I had heard others say that the people here were great but any discussion of Australia unfailingly turns to sharks or crocodiles so the attitude of Aussie's is often lost in the shuffle. But let me tell you - it's their greatest assest if you ask me.
Here "G'day mate!" isn't just a cliche phrase but a geniune with for your day. People are just nice. They smile at you and say hello on the street. They pick up dropped change and hand it back to you. They converse with you in lines and invite you to join them in their activities on the beach. And they do all of this without the desperation of some tourist locations in the US that smile and greet you with one hand while trying to take your money with the other. They brag about their country in terms of what it has to offer you - not in why it is superior to others - and they seem as excited about the splendor and beauty around them as the visitors that have traveled so many miles.
Maybe I enjoy this so much because I identify with it. Coming from Texas - backwoods, small town, po-dunk Texas to be exact - I know all about stereotypes and cliches. I'm a member of the Redneck crowd - rowdy, simple, bootwearing, two-stepping, conservative and hickish with a strong accent and an even stronger love of God and country. And for the most part many of those cliches hold true. But I also know that you don't often hear the term "Northern Hospitality" as much as it's opposite. For along with my Redneck ways, I'm also the proud decendant of two familes well-versed in Southern Hospitality (nothing against my 'yankee' friends - I can personally attest that hospitality crosses the Mason-Dixon line effortlessly).
I think that I must have known the following for a long time but I had to come to Australia to really appreciate it - you see, no matter where you are or whether you weare boots or jandols or slippers, or have oddly outdated hair and clothing the Golden Rule still applies and a genuine smile and a "G'day mate!" or "Howdy!" or "Bueno Dias" will go a long ways.
So keep your cliches of this land down under but add a new one to your list - Southern (Very southern) Hemisphere Hospitality...
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Our First Days Down Under...
Hello from Australia! As I write this I sit in a hostel in Katoomba - a small town located close to the Blue Mountains which are a two hour train ride from Sydney. Australia has thus far proven to be as exciting and as wild as you would expect from the only island large enough to also be a continent. We've seen only the tiniest bit of this place and already we've got so many stories to tell! So let's get to it shall we?
Our flight out of New Zealand was scheduled for 6:30 am so we got up at 3:00 am to catch a ride to the airport with our gracious host/taxi, Hamish. His job as the "muffin man" for a local bakery starts at 4 am so it worked out well that we could ride with him. However, this convenience didn't make 3:00 am any easier on us. We boarded the plane in a zoombie-like state and landed in a similiar state in Sydney at 8 am.
If you should ever like to do a study on the least productive and most inefficient places in the world, may I recommend starting at any international airport. Look up the word "customs" in the dictionary and I'm pretty sure it would say something like "long lines leading to more long lines followed by intrusive questioning by some very bored individual keen on detaining you for as long as possible in the airport." After we finally had our bags, gone through customs, and had booked a hostel for the night we made our way to the train station which rambled through Sydney and delivered us to one of the more beautiful harbors that I've had the pleasure of seeing. To my right there was the famed Sydney Opera House, a dazzling white structure resembling some kind of exotic shell. To my left was the intimidating and equally beautiful Harbor Bridge spanning the expanse of the harbor. We hopped on the waiting ferry and headed to our hostel in Manly Beach. The ferry ride meanders through the harbor past beautiful homes perched on the multiple penisulas that jutted into the ocean. Trees of dark, rich green blanketed the shores which was a pleasant surprise for me as I expected the whole of Australia to look like those ominous pictures of the Outback with red dirt and scraggly trees. We saw beautiful sailboats, other ferries and large vessels all cruising through the dark, navy blue waters.
We didn't spend long in Manly Beach that day. The sky was overcast making the city more appealing than the beach.
Sydney was a city of contradictions - modern skyscrapers towered above old neighborhoods and ornate churches. Businessmen hurried through crowds of backpackers and street performers. All of it had the feel of city who was not dependent on the tourists that lined its streets - but was happy to oblige them all the same. We walked around the Opera House, halfway across the gorgeous bridge and through the Rocks - an area of bars and resteraunts that seemed to have been left out of the modernization of downtown Sydney. Both of us were exhausted by a day of travel and made the decision to have a quick dinner in Manly and turn in early.
Apparently, turning in early is a very foreign concept in Manly. At 9:30, as Lisa and I were climbing into bed, the rest of the occupants of our hostel were just beginning to climb the walls. I mean this almost literally. Somewhere directly above us loud bursts of the most awful noise, which I guess someone somewhere once mistook for music, blasted through the windows. Our small dorm smelled like a mix of strong cheese and old gym socks - so it was either deal with the techno-disco screech from above or asphyxiate ourselves from the smell. I took a tylenol PM in hopes of drifting into a fitful sleep. No luck. Sometime in what should have been the dead of the night there was a "ruckus" upstairs. It sounded as if someone had dropped every glass bottle in a two block area onto the cement floor. After a short pause all hell broke loose. Apparently there was a full on bar fight just above us. I laid there waiting for someone to break up the fight. (I should inject here for all the mothers and grandmothers reading this that I was happily tucked away in a locked dorm with steal bars on the windows - mine and Lisa's safety was not a problem). It looked like my much needed rest was out of the question. After a couple more hours of light dozing I finally got up and walked upstairs to use the restroom. I half expected to find the living area (the site of the party the previous night) to be covered in glass and completely wrecked. It wasn't - the only reminants were the three Aussie's still drinking and talking on the couch. I shook my head. Was this Australia? All night parties and yelling matches??
Thankfully this was a poor first impression. That day we were blessed with sunshine in great quantities. Not a cloud in the deep blue sky. We wandered down to the beach after a stop at the local market and began our beach bumming. It was a great day on the beach. Lisa joined in the beach volleyball and I wondered into town in search of new flip-flops, some lunch and a cheap surfboard to rent. I was successful in all three areas.
I returned to the beach with a 7'10" board rented from a nice guy just across the street. The Aussie hospitality was beginning to show as everyone was helpful and pleasant. I hopped on the board headed for the small waves that were just off the shore. They were ankle biters at best but the draw of the ocean got to me -as it always does. I surfed for about an hour and then headed in on a nice long ride that dropped me at the edge of the shoreline. The water here was clear and chilly but it felt amazing just to be soaking up this long awaited summer sun.
I gave the board to Lisa so she could have her turn. She loves surfing and was ready for a nice long session. But true to form, Australia proved to be unpredictable. I had just settled onto my sarong and gotten out her camera to capture her tearing up those tiny waves when I noticed she was actually heading in. I was pretty confused...She wasn't the type to give up so early. As she got closer I noticed she was touching her ear tentatively and then staring at her hand. I got up to meet her and noticed the trickle of blood running down her ear. Needless to say I was a little alarmed! After over a year of surfing those famously ferocious and powerful waves of Hawaii's south shore (please note the sarcasm - Hawaii's waves, while much larger than those in Manly, are tame and generally perfect), Lisa had recieved her first surf wound. She had fallen off her board and because of the shallow waters was unable to avoid the board bearing down on her. It nailed her on that most sensitive area at the top of your ear. She got right back on the board thinking it nothing more than a good bell ringing but noticed shortly that her ear was bleeding. Not wanting to end up as some type of American appetizer for the infamous sharp-toothed and big-finned sharks in this part of the world, she headed back in. We got it cleaned up and she assured me that she was feeling at least remotely normal. It was decided that our time in Manly Beach had been eventful enough. It was time to head for the hills - literally. Our next destination was Katoomba, the quaint village at the edge of the Blue Mountains that promised to be at least slightly more serene.
Now came the next great adventure - the two hour train ride. We had been told that our transport passes would take us as far as a bus stop called Libcombe. However, when we arrived there and asked the security guards what train to take next they directed us to a train that was leaving shortly. Nothing was said of buying another ticket nor was there a place to buy one had we wanted to. The same thing happened at the next stop - which was the last stop before the longest leg of the train ride.
Now, train rides are always interesting. This was by far the furthest I had travelled by train but in my limited experience the hum of the rail and the fast or slow pace of the train gives the whole thing an air of yesteryear. There is a laid back atmosphere when you glide along with out the grunts and groans of a bus or the stop and go traffic you see elsewhere in the city. The other thing I've noticed about trains and subways is that they attract the most interesting passengers - who with nothing more to distract them from the ever-flowing scenery - always want to talk to you. Lisa and I shared a car with an older man who whistled and talked to an imaginary individual the whole time and a middle aged lady who seemed to be completely obvious to the fact that she was somewhat different than the rest of the world. She was very nice and helpful but also very random. I got the feeling social situations aren't an everyday affair for her. However, I must point out that we were dressed in somewhat wrinkled clothes, carrying large bulky bags and one of us was bleedy slightly from her ear so I doubt we appeared to be very "normal" ourselves.
Just before we got to our destination two security guards started to come through and ask everyone for their tickets. Hmmm...well, we had transport passes but I had a feeling that this was going to be an intersting interaction all the same. I was right on. The guy stopped and took our passes. He looked wearily at our backpackers and asked how long we had been in the country while explaining that our passes only took us as far as Libcombe. I put on my best southern accent and innocent face while trying to explain that we didn't understand where we could go with this pass and were soooo sorry to have made this mistake. I'm pretty sure that my innocent face turned quickly to a mask of shock when he told us that normally this kind of trangression would cost us $200. With an air of as much power as a train security guard can muster, he let us off the hook and directed us to buy another ticket as soon as we got to Katoomba. Needless to say, by the time we finally arrived at our destination we were ready for the serenity we had heard about.
That night we bought a super cheap pizza and enjoyed the local music that was bubbling out of a couple of the pubs. Our new hostel, we were thrilled to find, was a much calmer and quieter place than the previous night. The whole town had the feel of a small Colorado community in the summer. The people were nice, the weather enjoyable and the prices cheaper than Syndey.
There is more to tell of the Blue Mountains - including the great hike that led to an amazing waterfall and beautiful view of the hazy mountians - but I am holding up the day by sitting at this computer (which has already tested my patience by shutting down once) so I'm off for now.
I miss you and all and hope that the weather is as agreeable wherever you hang your hat as it is where I am - having finally it seems, caught up with summer.
Adios from the road...
Charlsea
Our flight out of New Zealand was scheduled for 6:30 am so we got up at 3:00 am to catch a ride to the airport with our gracious host/taxi, Hamish. His job as the "muffin man" for a local bakery starts at 4 am so it worked out well that we could ride with him. However, this convenience didn't make 3:00 am any easier on us. We boarded the plane in a zoombie-like state and landed in a similiar state in Sydney at 8 am.
If you should ever like to do a study on the least productive and most inefficient places in the world, may I recommend starting at any international airport. Look up the word "customs" in the dictionary and I'm pretty sure it would say something like "long lines leading to more long lines followed by intrusive questioning by some very bored individual keen on detaining you for as long as possible in the airport." After we finally had our bags, gone through customs, and had booked a hostel for the night we made our way to the train station which rambled through Sydney and delivered us to one of the more beautiful harbors that I've had the pleasure of seeing. To my right there was the famed Sydney Opera House, a dazzling white structure resembling some kind of exotic shell. To my left was the intimidating and equally beautiful Harbor Bridge spanning the expanse of the harbor. We hopped on the waiting ferry and headed to our hostel in Manly Beach. The ferry ride meanders through the harbor past beautiful homes perched on the multiple penisulas that jutted into the ocean. Trees of dark, rich green blanketed the shores which was a pleasant surprise for me as I expected the whole of Australia to look like those ominous pictures of the Outback with red dirt and scraggly trees. We saw beautiful sailboats, other ferries and large vessels all cruising through the dark, navy blue waters.
We didn't spend long in Manly Beach that day. The sky was overcast making the city more appealing than the beach.
Sydney was a city of contradictions - modern skyscrapers towered above old neighborhoods and ornate churches. Businessmen hurried through crowds of backpackers and street performers. All of it had the feel of city who was not dependent on the tourists that lined its streets - but was happy to oblige them all the same. We walked around the Opera House, halfway across the gorgeous bridge and through the Rocks - an area of bars and resteraunts that seemed to have been left out of the modernization of downtown Sydney. Both of us were exhausted by a day of travel and made the decision to have a quick dinner in Manly and turn in early.
Apparently, turning in early is a very foreign concept in Manly. At 9:30, as Lisa and I were climbing into bed, the rest of the occupants of our hostel were just beginning to climb the walls. I mean this almost literally. Somewhere directly above us loud bursts of the most awful noise, which I guess someone somewhere once mistook for music, blasted through the windows. Our small dorm smelled like a mix of strong cheese and old gym socks - so it was either deal with the techno-disco screech from above or asphyxiate ourselves from the smell. I took a tylenol PM in hopes of drifting into a fitful sleep. No luck. Sometime in what should have been the dead of the night there was a "ruckus" upstairs. It sounded as if someone had dropped every glass bottle in a two block area onto the cement floor. After a short pause all hell broke loose. Apparently there was a full on bar fight just above us. I laid there waiting for someone to break up the fight. (I should inject here for all the mothers and grandmothers reading this that I was happily tucked away in a locked dorm with steal bars on the windows - mine and Lisa's safety was not a problem). It looked like my much needed rest was out of the question. After a couple more hours of light dozing I finally got up and walked upstairs to use the restroom. I half expected to find the living area (the site of the party the previous night) to be covered in glass and completely wrecked. It wasn't - the only reminants were the three Aussie's still drinking and talking on the couch. I shook my head. Was this Australia? All night parties and yelling matches??
Thankfully this was a poor first impression. That day we were blessed with sunshine in great quantities. Not a cloud in the deep blue sky. We wandered down to the beach after a stop at the local market and began our beach bumming. It was a great day on the beach. Lisa joined in the beach volleyball and I wondered into town in search of new flip-flops, some lunch and a cheap surfboard to rent. I was successful in all three areas.
I returned to the beach with a 7'10" board rented from a nice guy just across the street. The Aussie hospitality was beginning to show as everyone was helpful and pleasant. I hopped on the board headed for the small waves that were just off the shore. They were ankle biters at best but the draw of the ocean got to me -as it always does. I surfed for about an hour and then headed in on a nice long ride that dropped me at the edge of the shoreline. The water here was clear and chilly but it felt amazing just to be soaking up this long awaited summer sun.
I gave the board to Lisa so she could have her turn. She loves surfing and was ready for a nice long session. But true to form, Australia proved to be unpredictable. I had just settled onto my sarong and gotten out her camera to capture her tearing up those tiny waves when I noticed she was actually heading in. I was pretty confused...She wasn't the type to give up so early. As she got closer I noticed she was touching her ear tentatively and then staring at her hand. I got up to meet her and noticed the trickle of blood running down her ear. Needless to say I was a little alarmed! After over a year of surfing those famously ferocious and powerful waves of Hawaii's south shore (please note the sarcasm - Hawaii's waves, while much larger than those in Manly, are tame and generally perfect), Lisa had recieved her first surf wound. She had fallen off her board and because of the shallow waters was unable to avoid the board bearing down on her. It nailed her on that most sensitive area at the top of your ear. She got right back on the board thinking it nothing more than a good bell ringing but noticed shortly that her ear was bleeding. Not wanting to end up as some type of American appetizer for the infamous sharp-toothed and big-finned sharks in this part of the world, she headed back in. We got it cleaned up and she assured me that she was feeling at least remotely normal. It was decided that our time in Manly Beach had been eventful enough. It was time to head for the hills - literally. Our next destination was Katoomba, the quaint village at the edge of the Blue Mountains that promised to be at least slightly more serene.
Now came the next great adventure - the two hour train ride. We had been told that our transport passes would take us as far as a bus stop called Libcombe. However, when we arrived there and asked the security guards what train to take next they directed us to a train that was leaving shortly. Nothing was said of buying another ticket nor was there a place to buy one had we wanted to. The same thing happened at the next stop - which was the last stop before the longest leg of the train ride.
Now, train rides are always interesting. This was by far the furthest I had travelled by train but in my limited experience the hum of the rail and the fast or slow pace of the train gives the whole thing an air of yesteryear. There is a laid back atmosphere when you glide along with out the grunts and groans of a bus or the stop and go traffic you see elsewhere in the city. The other thing I've noticed about trains and subways is that they attract the most interesting passengers - who with nothing more to distract them from the ever-flowing scenery - always want to talk to you. Lisa and I shared a car with an older man who whistled and talked to an imaginary individual the whole time and a middle aged lady who seemed to be completely obvious to the fact that she was somewhat different than the rest of the world. She was very nice and helpful but also very random. I got the feeling social situations aren't an everyday affair for her. However, I must point out that we were dressed in somewhat wrinkled clothes, carrying large bulky bags and one of us was bleedy slightly from her ear so I doubt we appeared to be very "normal" ourselves.
Just before we got to our destination two security guards started to come through and ask everyone for their tickets. Hmmm...well, we had transport passes but I had a feeling that this was going to be an intersting interaction all the same. I was right on. The guy stopped and took our passes. He looked wearily at our backpackers and asked how long we had been in the country while explaining that our passes only took us as far as Libcombe. I put on my best southern accent and innocent face while trying to explain that we didn't understand where we could go with this pass and were soooo sorry to have made this mistake. I'm pretty sure that my innocent face turned quickly to a mask of shock when he told us that normally this kind of trangression would cost us $200. With an air of as much power as a train security guard can muster, he let us off the hook and directed us to buy another ticket as soon as we got to Katoomba. Needless to say, by the time we finally arrived at our destination we were ready for the serenity we had heard about.
That night we bought a super cheap pizza and enjoyed the local music that was bubbling out of a couple of the pubs. Our new hostel, we were thrilled to find, was a much calmer and quieter place than the previous night. The whole town had the feel of a small Colorado community in the summer. The people were nice, the weather enjoyable and the prices cheaper than Syndey.
There is more to tell of the Blue Mountains - including the great hike that led to an amazing waterfall and beautiful view of the hazy mountians - but I am holding up the day by sitting at this computer (which has already tested my patience by shutting down once) so I'm off for now.
I miss you and all and hope that the weather is as agreeable wherever you hang your hat as it is where I am - having finally it seems, caught up with summer.
Adios from the road...
Charlsea
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Lessons Learned from the Other Side of the Road - My Life as a Van-living Hippy South of the Equator
My last blog from the land of sheep and Kiwi’s – how time flies when you live in a van!
A short update on what lies ahead – Lisa and I will be taking off for the wild blue yonder of
But for now, I would like to attempt to sum up my time here in this, the first of many foreign lands.
True to form, I have condensed many of the lessons and adventures from my month stay here in
Lessons Learned on the Other Side of the Road – My Life as Van-living Hippy South of the Equator
1. Any illusions of being a subtle tourist or trying to blend in among the natives disappears when you pick up a bright orange Toyota Minivan with the words “Spaceship” and “Naboo” printed in glaring white. You might as well stamp “I’m a tourist and I don’t know how to drive here” on your forehead.
2. Some lessons apply no matter what hemisphere you might be living in at the time:
A. You get what you pay for – be it the cheapest mode of transportation, cheap meat pies (more on this later) or cheap campsites.
B. Three things that can turn a great day into a soggy nightmare: Rain, Mosquitoes, and Sickness.
C. Even a bad day on vacation is better than a great day at work.
D. People are basically the same everywhere you go – some are good, some are bad and some are indifferent. Luckily it’s the good one’s that you remember after it’s all said and done.
3. Mini Coopers are cool – stunt drivers in Mini Coopers dressed as Vikings are even cooler. (Lesson learned while watching them film a commercial on Paia beach on the
4. Love may be what makes the world go round but New Zealand Tip Top Ice Cream is what makes the ride worthwhile…
5. There are as many sheep here as you have heard. It was not an exaggeration.
6. Something about lighthouses and the ocean makes a person introspective and philosophical. There is an undeniable beauty in man’s desire to help others lost at sea.
7. If you get the chance, you should visit any area where two oceans meet. I’ve seen it twice here and I must say it’s a pretty amazing sight – a show of power in Cape Reinga on the North Island where the waters clashed and fought against each other and a peaceful meeting at Separation Point on the South Island where the waves seemed to combine to form a union of clear blue water and warm calm skies.
8. There are places left in this world where commercial development and ocean front property are still miles and miles behind rolling hills and pastures that lead right up to the sea, where sheep and cattle have views many American CEO’s would kill for.
9. The best way to see a city is with someone that lives there. A small town offers little in the way of nightlife but you have a much greater chance of stumbling upon the most happening pub in town when there is only one pub to begin with. To truly appreciate what a city has to offer – be it museums, nightlife or just the random parks and shops – it is a tremendous help to know someone who knows someone from that locale. And for this reason (and many other’s) I am forever grateful to the infamous Rose Winn whose friends and various connections have shown us around
10. The human mind has the irritating habit of becoming numb to even the most magical and amazing sights. If you walk for hours through beautiful forests or across miles of barren volcanic craters you often find yourself thinking about mundane things such as weather, comfort and food. It must take a dedicated and experienced traveller to appreciate grandeur for hours at a time.
12. Blue, green and yellow are such boring terms for the colours I have seen in this country. It’s like eating the most amazing meal of delicious grain fed American steak and home grown sweet corn on the cob, garlic and butter mashed potatoes and cornmeal fried okra while drinking Rosalee’s sweet tea and then saying “That was some good meat and vegetables and tea.” Those that have experienced it know there is so much more to it than words can really contain.
13. Nothing beats a little sand between your toes.
14. A sore body is proof of a well spent day. Like the sleep that follows hard work, it’s your muscles way of say “Ah that was worth it!”
15. “What is the most important thing in the world? It’s the people! It’s the people!” A quote I saw painted in graffiti in
16. Travelling is as much about who you meet as what you see.
17. Language is as much about expressions, patience and desire to communicate as it is about letters, words and pronunciation.
18. Hippies are people too.
19. Take a chance – go the extra mile – ignore the rain – find your own path – look to the sky – dive in head first. Nothing worth talking about ever happened while waiting for adventure to find you – get out there and find it yourself.
20. The strangest of introductions can turn into the best of acquaintances. We met some of the most genuine and helpful Kiwis on a Brewery Tour in Greymouth while one of them was wearing a Superman suit… Good things come in strange packages…
21. “Do one thing every day that scares you.” That was the advice of Eleanor Roosevelt. Well, thus far, I’ve paid to go into a cave whose ceiling was covered by small, glowing maggots; walked on ice so slippery I have never longed more for the flat Texas Plains; driven through dimly lit tunnels too long and narrow for anyone’s comfort and swallowed my fear of spiders again and again as they seem to be viewed as small friendly guests here instead of the demons they are. I think I’ve covered the scaring myself thing…
22. Beauty can outshine rain.
23.
24. 2 minute noodles – there is nothing better that can be bought with 40 cents.
25. A warm bottle of wine and a cold beach can make for a great conversation starter.
26. Free-ninety-free doesn’t always mean yummy or comfortable but hey – it beats the pants off paying for food or camping sites!
27. Penguins and Kiwis are cool.
28. The best way to really get a feel for the culture of a place is to try the food. Here’s a list of must tries while travelling in New Zealand: Meat Pies (Lisa does not recommend Mince and Cheese meat pies…) Tip Top Ice Cream, Barry’s Bay Cheese, a Pinot Gris or Sauvignon Blanc from the Nelson area, Green Mussels, Vegemite/Marmite, a Kiwi-grown Kiwi fruit, Monteith’s Beer, anything Boysenberry, muesli bars (also known as granola) and lollies (also known as gummy treats).
29. Somehow – even years after the last episode – having the last name Ewing and being from
30. Never turn down an opportunity to visit someone’s family and never turn down the opportunity to volunteer on a farm. Both of these inevitably lead to a free meal (or multiple free meals!). And free home cooked food is one of God’s greatest blessings on the road.
31. I feel like I have overused the terms “amazing,” “impressive,” and “breathtaking. In a place like
So please take these stories for what they are – one person’s perception of the beauty at large in this world. And if - like myself in my childhood riveted by the stories Boo told around kitchen tables after returning from some exotic destination – these words grab your imagination or kindle within you some flame of desire to see it for yourself, then let me be the first to welcome you to the world of travel. Oh the places you’ll see…
Take up the Traveller’s Creed
It tells of foreign lands
But only enough to concede
That you must go there yourself in the end
Take up the Traveller’s Creed
Written on many a wishing star
That it matters not where you have been
All that matters is where you are
Take up the Traveller’s Creed
Passed by word of mouth and hand to hand
It is not a law or decree
But a desire found in every man
Take up the Traveller’s Creed
It is not written – but this I will write
Fortune will smile on the man
Who travels by his own might
Love from the road
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