Never be tamed: Oz, Chapter 3: The Epic Chapter (Heading Bush through the Outback)
30 October - 11 November, 2006
In the red dust and dry heat of the Outback, I found home. It was a ten-day journey of truly epic proportions. To borrow an expression from Karel, I am shaped. I leave behind the past couple of weeks a different person, molded into something new by my experiences and the people who accompanied me during them. There, where "it never rains", I found a new beginning as yellow ochre was painted on my face, freedom as I danced wildly under pouring rain in the desert, and true peace as I listened to the wind rustle the leaves in Kata Tjuta. My adoptive family was truly a motley bunch. From 18-year-old Emma, out on her own for the first time, to Claire with her many tattooes and 30 piercings, to Hans, a 51-year-old professor of horticulture from Switzerland, we were the Breakfast Club, Part Two. Yet out there in the Outback, something incredible happened. Within hours, we were a true family. I have never felt more at home, less insecure, more accepted. It was incredible. It was "sensational".
It all started at six thirty in the morning. As I walked out the door of the hostel in my full turtle incarnation, someone held the door open for me. Blinking in the bright sun, eyes straining to stay open at this ungodly hour, I thanked him and looked around. A woman stood outside with him. "What tour are you guys doing?" I asked them. "Heading Bush," he replied. "Oh, me too." As if on cue, a white Toyota truck pulled up with
Heading Bush printed above the windshield. The vehicle of my self-transformation: after the next 10 days, I would never be able to get into another without getting a bit teary-eyed. A red-headed young guy popped out of the driver's side, way too cheerful given the hour. Our tour guide, Mike. By this point, a few other tired people had trickled out of the door. We started to pile our backpacks into the trailer and scrambled into the back of the truck, taking our places on one of the two benches facing each other. I sat behind the passenger's seat (on the left in this country, don't forget). As we pulled away from the curb, I had no idea that the journey of my life was about to begin.
Further on down the road, we stopped to pick up the ninth member of what would become a ten member (well, eleven, including Mike) family. An older gentleman, decked out in a striped tank top, cargo capri pants, a bandana, two digital SLR cameras, and the coolest glasses I have ever seen. The frames looked liked two little houses. He was Hans, from Switzerland, and he was a legend already.
As we drove on to the boss's house, where we'd meet the final member of our group and sort out all the money stuff, Mike, with his trademark enthusiasm, prepared us for our journey. As he said, we'd be living a month in 10 days. It was more than that. It was more than a lifetime. I think I died and was reborn at least a dozen times during those 10 days, and I'd do it all again and again.
At the boss-man's, as I ran outside to grab some money from my pack in the car, a slightly lost-looking girl walked up. As I asked if she were on Heading Bush and introduced myself, I noticed a buzz cut, more facial piercings than I had time to count and at least 3 large tattoos. She was Claire, 25, from near Manchester, England, and, given my insecurity around girly-girls, I liked her already.
And then we were eleven. As I said, our new family was a truly motley bunch. Apart from Claire and Hans, our group also included Sam, the one who'd opened the door for me, and Mariellen, his wife. They were from the States (Pennsylvania and New York, respectively) but are 2 years into a 4 year stay in Melbourne, where Sam is working in insurance. Keith and Sile (that's pronounced Sheila, not Silly, though she doesn't mind if you call her Silly... ;) ) were a young couple from 2 nearby villages in Ireland, villages where street addresses don't exist because the postman knows everyone personally and sometimes comes in your house to drop off your mail. Alex, 23, and Emma, 18, were from England, and had found themselves in a bit of a difficult situation. After being together for about a year, they had broken up right before coming to Australia together for a year of travel. It was a choice between remaining within their comfort zone with each other or taking off on their own for the first time in either of their lives, something particularly tough for Emma, a girl exceedingly wise and mature for her age, but who was still the same age as many of my students from home. Susanne, 31 (don't kill me if I'm wrong on that, Suus), from Holland, was completely nuts in the absolute best of ways. Outspoken and inclined to say precisely what's on her mind, I'm afraid to experience Susanne's way with words in Dutch: English is her second language, and she's still the sharpest and most clever linguist of English I have yet to meet. Susanne also provided the image that remains in my mind as the essence of Heading Bush: dancing in a sarong to Xavier Rudd's "Let me be" next to our truck. Finally, our guide Mike, from Adelaide, South Australia, who reckons he'll be the next Steve Irwin. I wouldn't doubt it: full of an incredible, unadulterated lust and enthusiasm for life that was both inspiring and familiar, Mike was an amazing person to meet and the best tour guide you could ask for.
And so, as we made the obligatory introductions and small talk, our journey began.
Day 1: Getting to know each other as we head into the Flinders RangesOur first stop was the Kanyaka Homestead, a set of ruins from an early settlement here in the middle of the desert. A bright blue sky highlighted the starkness of the surrounding arid land. Imagine life here--it must have been difficult. We then headed to a nearby region where caves once served as classrooms for Aboriginal Youth and the walls as the blackboard. As we admired the cave art, along with the view, Mike explained to us the idea of the Creation Stories of the Aboriginals. Part of the purpose of these stories was to explain the topography of the land and how it came to be, and also to create a map of sorts. Stories spread across the land geographically: a group of people from the Northern Territory may know part of a story that could be finished by a group in South Australia. Hearing the story, one could navigate perfectly across the land, finding their way to somewhere they'd never been, all thanks to a story about a snake. He explained that these caves contained unimportant art; they were a training ground. The important stuff was always drawn on the ground, so it could be easily erased. Incredibly, all knowledge among the Aboriginals was passed orally. One had to undergo many rites of passage before being trusted with valuable information. Because of this, any Aboriginal Creation Story we hear is a children's story and one that is not very important. Aboriginals find the western practice of writing down information to be ludicrous as paper can be ripped up or destroyed whereas group knowledge can never be destroyed in such a way.
After our stroll up to and down from the caves, we headed into the Flinders Ranges to set up camp for the first time. Along the way, Mike saved the life of a lizard who'd been sunning himself on the highway and we all stupidly risked ours rushing out into the road to take a picture. At first Mike played it smooth, until he started to get afraid the lizard would poop on him and quickly released him on the side of the road. Eh, you'll get to Crocodile Hunter status someday, Mike. Also along the way, we found a kangaroo skull which Claire scooped up and dubbed Skippy. Skippy became our mascot for the rest of the trip and now hangs out in Claire's car to constantly remind her of us as she travels through Oz.
At camp (Arkaba Station), Sam dug out our bush toilet, outfitting it with a branch to sit on and hang toilet paper and all! Genius! He became the official toilet digger for the rest of the trip. After getting out the food and cutting up some veggies, we headed up the hill to watch the sunset and spot some kangaroos. Later, gathered around the campfire and toasted some marshmallows. Then it was time to roll out the swags and fall asleep for our first, very comfortable, night underneath a blanket of stars.
Day 2: The Mountain Climb and our First Shower (Halloween)
After my first very cozy night in a swag, I woke up naturally early, as the sun rose on my face, the birds chirped, and Mike set a pot of water to warm on the fire next to me. Man, I wished I could have slept more, but I'd eventually get used to this schedule. We ate breakfast, packed up camp, and headed out to Wilpena Pound for a bit of a climb up Ohlsson Bagge. What was that? Ok, Wilpena Pound, from what I remember, is a part of the Flinders Ranges, quite possible the most ancient land on Earth, being the first formation to rise from the sea. Time has eroded the ranges incredibly, and what we see are simply the bases of a once enormous mountain range. Wilpena Pound is a naturally formed crater, originally a mountain, hollowed out by wind and sand over time. Ohlsson Bagge is one of the peaks forming the round Wilpena Pound. I think I got that right.
Either way, we trekked the many kilometers uphill, passing a family of emus along the way, scrambling up rocks like mountain goats, and stopping for many an out-of-breath rest. Finally, completely knackered (exhausted), we reached the top, where we stopped to enjoy the view, take some pictures and watch the many lizards skittering about. Hans sat to one side to sketch the beautiful view in one of his many ink and watercolor masterpieces, and Mike arrived, having taken up the rear in case one of us fell off the mountain, with... CAKE! Hurrah!
We headed back down the mountain, had lunch, and then took a ride through a couple of gorges, where we hoped to spot some rock wallabies. No wallabies, but we did encounter a very large family of emus: dad with innumerable children. We knew it was dad because after a female emu lays her eggs, she ditches her family and leaves the dad to take care of everything. Sweet.
We journeyed on to Iga Warta, an Aboriginal settlement and cultural center that was EQUIPPED WITH SHOWERS! Hurrah! We scrambled to grab a shower, then went for a dip in the pool, rescuing a bat that almost drowned, as Mike prepared some Lo Mein. Later, we gathered around the fire with Terrance. Terrance welcomed us to his land, the most ancient on the planet, saying we'd come home, to our physical origin, whose ancient spirit called us and welcomed us. It sounds a bit hokey, but it felt true. I felt I'd found my purpose for coming to Australia: I'd stumbled across something that had been calling me and guiding me to it all my life. As we sat on our rolled up swags, Terrance played the guitar, forced me to sing in Spanish (everyone who could speak another language had to sing "All We Need is Love" in that language), taught us our new anthem, "Oh My Walla!", and had us dance around the fire like Kangaroos, Witchety Grubs, Eagles and Emus, or, in sum, like idiots. But it was all fun and very bonding. Later we ate Damper Bread, traditionally prepared underground near the campfire.
Day 3: It's the End of the World as I Knew It
Today, for me, for all of us, a new beginning. An armageddon in the desert. A rebirth by lightning. A day of the sort that will only happen once in a lifetime for some, and never for most.
After another shower, accompanied by many insects, we rode out to a nearby ochre field with Terrance, who mixed the ochre with water and painted our faces as he explained the meaning of the colors. Red, representing blood, symbolized the umbillical cord connecting us physically to the Earth. White represented our spiritual connection to the Earth. Pink/orange represented the lungs of the Earth, and thus breath. Purple represented the liver of the Earth, and thus cleansed us. The most significant for me was yellow, which represented the sun, and a new beginning. Here I was, back "home", in the seat of the Earth, the most ancient land on the planet. This, right here, right now, was what I'd been searching for. I felt as though everything in my life had brought me here, to a place I probably would have ever even known existed with people I never would it met if it weren't for a lifetime full of incredible coincidences and random decisions. Life felt big, unimaginably immense. I felt the pressure of something huge weighing on us all. And I felt perfect. After nearly dying in a car accident, after finding myself stuck in a rut, finally, here I was, right where I belonged! It was amazing.
We had to continue our journey: there was a long road ahead of us into, finally, the true Outback, the barren desert that forms the middle of Australia. We made a few stops along the way. First we stopped at the Leigh Creek coalfield where we took pictures of ourselves in giant machinery and ducked out of the dust that the wind pushed across the field. The wind progressively got stronger, and as we pushed on, we found ourselves in a veritable, though brief, windstorm. The weather began to give the desert a bit of an end-of-the-world feel. Our next stop, to meet Talc Alf, just made things feel even odder. Talc Alf is what happens when you spend too much time in the desert. Genius or insane? Perhaps both, Talc Alf was an incredible man who lived out in the middle of nowhere and created beautiful sculptures out of talc, hence his nickname. Talc Alf sported a long white beard and lived in a thrown-together complex of shacks complete with a washing machine run by a bicycle. He also could tell us the complex meaning of every single letter of the alphabet, a meaning that united all humans on the planet, regardless of their language. He was truly a character, and truly fit in among his surroundings. The desert just wouldn't accept any other sort of person living within it.
We stopped for lunch in Marree, a town marking our true entry into the desolate Outback. Mind you, I was able to check my email here, still with ochre on my face. Driving on, a few drops of rain fell onto the windshield. Mike, who had assured us that "it never rains in the desert" drew us out of the car to do a raindance. The drizzling quickly ended, and we marvelled at a few rainbows in the sky, realizing what an uncommon treat it was to see rainbows in the desert. We figured the weather had passed, but as we hastened on to Mutonia, the sky grew darker and the wind picked up. Mutonia--how to explain it? I suppose you can call it a settlement in the middle of nowhere, filled with random sculptures, that serves as a ground for winter solstice raves. The residents of Mutonia believe aliens will descend upon the Earth in 2020-something. (To see some of the sculptures, go here and find Day 3.) With the darkening sky and the odd surroundings, it truly felt like armageddon.
And then. Armageddon really did settle upon us. We drove along, listening and singing along to Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody, hoping to make it to William Creek. We stopped briefly to view the gigantic salt lake, Lake Eyre, and then picked up old pieces of the Ghan Railroad for firewood-- I got completely coated in mud in the process. Finally the threatening skies opened up and, after teasing us with a few small showers, it started to pour. Mind you, we were on a clay and dirt road, and even Mike's expert driving couldn't keep the car going straight. Luckily we were near the Curdimurka railroad crossing, an old shelter for workers on the now defunct Ghan railroad, and we pulled in for the night with a roof over our heads. The shelter was fully reminiscent of the Blair Witch Project house, but, hey, better than sleeping in rain or in the cramped truck.
As we unloaded the truck, the rain fortunately eased up. After performing our duties, we turned Bohemian Rhapsody back on and proceeded to headbang around the truck (the rain had interrupted us earlier, leaving us unsatisfied.) And then it again began to pour. So we did the only thing to do-- stripped off some clothes and danced around like complete lunatics in the pouring rain. Hey, we wouldn't be showering for a while, so may as well. It was incredible.
The rain cleared and the sky became again dotted with rainbows. Some clouds remained in the sky, providing us with an incredible sunset. As we sat on the porch with a few beers to enjoy the sunset, a couple of Gallas (totally spelled that wrong), beautiful white tropical birds with pink necks and heads, twittered above us in the tree. Can life get better?
Yes, it can.
As if the afternoon hadn't been enough, what with the dancing in the rain, the rainbows, and the sunset, as night descended, it brought with it a lightning storm of truly epic proportions. It was in the paper the next day: no fewer than 50,000 lighting bolts made contact with the ground that night. And there we were, in the flat clear plain of the desert, surrounded by 360 degrees of absolutely incredible views of the energy of nature in the form of lightning, holding hands across the clouds and rushing down to meet the Earth. It was a once-in-a-lifetime storm. I felt blessed. It was the perfect end to an amazing, life-changing day. I felt the electricity course through me as my life began anew.
To be continued...
No clever title for this one: Oz, Chapter 2 (Melbourne, St. Kilda, Adelaide, Aus)
My first overnight bus trip during this journey was not a happy one. I was sad to leave Sydney, for one. Also, my Queenie cold was still with me, and a tickle in my throat combined with the air blasting from the AC guaranteed a sleepless night. As I pulled into Melbourne, it was cold and drizzling. The rain fell more quickly upon me as I trudged down the street, one backpack on the front, one on the back, and a shoulder bag slung on top of that. I studied my Lonely Planet and realized I was on the complete opposite side of the city as I thought I had been and my journey to St. Kilda, a beach suburb of Melbourne where I was staying, would be more of a pain in the ass than I had anticipated. Sighing, I found the closest tram stop and negotiated my way to the ticket purchase machine. After studying the machine for a bit, puzzled, I finally purchased a 2-hour ticket, which I ended up not needing. They never check for tickets on the tram. I still bought a ticket everytime, though--not about to play with my karma. Everytime I have, it's wreaked havoc. You'll see an example of this soon.
Anyway, after changing trams, I finally made it into St. Kilda, and then to base Backpackers, my home for the next few days. I dropped off my bags and went in search of food, coffee, and a movie theater. I was desperately yearning for a nap, but I know the ways of travel: best to stick to a normal schedule or everything gets thrown out of whack. So instead I treated myself to a marvelous breakfast at a great cafe. St. Kilda proved full of great cafes, and I was thankful for that. Next was the movie theater. It had been a long night and it was raining, so I felt I deserved a low-key day. The movie proved exorbitantly expensive, though, and the sun came out, so I spent the afternoon wandering through little St. Kilda instead, and checking out a few of those cafes.
I had come to St. Kilda on the 25th to meet up with Pete, a friend from the Kiwi Experience: he'd be there for a night before flying out to Bali. As I sat behind a computer at base, wondering how I'd find him, in he walked. Problem solved. We went to grab some dinner and beer. We took a while eating and drinking and catching up, and the shift changed as we sat there. They didn't realize we hadn't paid... We sat for a bit, arguing over whether to leave or not. Our light pockets won, and I made my biggest karmic mistake thus far by walking out. I was paid back big time though: the next night my whole wallet was stolen, complete with 200 bucks, my ATM card, my credit card, my license, a phone card, my backpacker's card, my "youth" id card, my teacher id card... I think I paid back more than my share. Anyway, I resolve to never play games with my karma ever again.
But, I digress. Before the whole wallet debaucle went down, I spent the night hanging out with Pete and 2 friends he'd made a few months ago in Fiji (there's travel for you... We also worked it out that Pete and Ric had been on Beachcomber Island in Fiji the same night I'd been there. If I hadn't had a migraine, I probably would have met them then).
The next day (Pete left super early to Bali that morning) I fatefully spent the morning at the travel desk at base Backpackers. Fatefully? Well, I had stopped by the desk just to ask about prices on flights to Alice Springs when Paul, the agent, started telling me about this tour through the Outback called Heading Bush. I'm not normally swayed by salesmen, but this tour really did sound like exactly what I was looking for: a gritty, real, rough trip through the Outback, complete with bush camps and swags every night. The tour was pricey, but hey, what else am I here for? The money for this trip was hard-earned, and I deserve to spend it on what calls to me, and this trip was calling me. So I booked it. It was the best decison I've made to date.
After planning my future travels, I made my way into Melbourne proper. First I stopped by the Old Melbourne Gaol, an old prison that once housed Ned Kelly, a famous Australian outlaw of the same vein as our Western outlaw heroes. Then it through downtown and down to the river, where I happily stumbled upon an amazing (and free!) outdoor photographic exhibit by a man named Yann Arthus Bertrand. The exhibit was called Earth From Above, and Yann combined some magical aerial pictures of the Earth with commentary on its condition. It really spoke to me, and you should check it out
here. That's his homepage, but navigate through until you find the exhibit. The images are wonderful and inspiring, and the reflections they provoke are strong. See for yourself, although you may not have the same experience I had, on the banks of a river near Federation Square in Melbourne, Australia. ;)
After spending time perusing the exhibit, I walked along the river, sitting for a bit to ponder as rowing crews made their way down the river, their coaches shouting through megaphones from bikes on the banks, and then through the highly modern and funky Federation Square. Then it was back to St. Kilda. I stopped at the ATM and then, on the way up to my room, the hostel bar, to say hello to some people I'd met the night before. I should have just gone to bed. My stupid decision of not dropping my important, non-necessary stuff back in my room, as I normally do, met dreadful consequences. I started chatting with a group of 3 local boys, who seemed nice enough. I was glad to talk to some Australians instead on your typical British backpacker. I had my bag firmly attached to my shoulder all night, with my wallet securely inside a zippered compartment. I put down my bag for literally 5 minutes, at which point one of the local boys dragged me out onto the dance floor. I assume that when he did that, one of his friends went into my bag and grabbed my wallet. Bastards.
Without realizing what had happened, I went up to bed fairly early, as I had a tour on the Great Ocean Road at 7:30 the next morning. When I woke up, I quickly organized my stuff and went through the list. Camera? Check. iPod? Check. Journal? Check. Wallet? Wallet? WALLET!!!??? Oh no. This was bad. I felt my blood rush to my head as I made my way downstairs. Maybe I left it at the bar? No, I hadn't even taken it from my wallet: it was free champagne for the ladies night last night. Well, maybe it fell out? When I went to inquire at the reception desk, the girl just smiled and said, as cheerfully as though she were informing me I'd won a free night at the hostel, that it was probably stolen. They'd had about 12 wallets stolen from the bar in the past few weeks. Thanks for that, love.
So, my bus down to the Great Ocean Road was leaving in 15 minutes, some random strangers had 2 of my credit cards, and I had not an Australian cent to my name. No way I was skipping out on the tour: I'd paid a pretty penny for it! Thank god the parents are so willing to help--they took care of the cards and arranged to wire me money, and off I went down the Great Ocean Road.
The Great Ocean Road was built to resemble the highway in California that runs down the coast. Route One is it? It was beautiful, but I must admit my road trip through New Zealand ruined it a bit for me. The Great Ocean Road is probably equally beautiful as the eastern coastline of New Zealand, but nothing can beat the isolation of NZ. After driving along the winding coast, passing through the 3 sections of the Road--the surfing section, the green section, and the shipwreck section, if I call correctly-- we made our way to the Twelve Apostles. The Twelve Apostles are sandstone (or is it limestone...?) formations shaped by time and the sea. Pancake rocks in New Zealand were again more remarkable in my mind, but my experience at the Twelve Apostles was heightened by the fact that I got to experience precisely what those piles of stone have for years. The weather at this point had turned quite menacing, and as I sat with the wind whipping sand against my skin and nearly blowing me away into the frantic sea, I understood first-hand the force of nature that has come to create such beautiful works of art.
By the way, there are now only 11 Apostles. One crumbled into the ocean last year.
Afterwards we made our way to London Bridge, a naturally formed sandstone bridge. London Bridge used to have 2 arches. Years ago, the arch connecting the structure to land crumbled into the sea. During the day. While people were walking out on it. After someone noticed a bit of the rock crumbling, everyone made a dash for solid ground. Most made it back to land, except for 2 unlucky souls. The others drove into town to notify someone to rescue the stranded couple. Unfortunately it took a little while; apparently, a few people have made the very clever joke in the past that "London Bridge is falling down!!", and it gave the whole situation a bit of a boy who cried wolf feel. Finally, the locals realized it wasn't all a joke, and called the proper authorities. And the press. As the press helicopters circled the now-island, zooming in on the alarmed faces of the stranded couple, people watching at home noticed something odd. Every time a camera zoomed in, the couple was hiding their faces. Apparently the couple was married. Just not to each other. They'd had the grand idea of skipping off from work and taking off to the Great Ocean Road, a fair distance from home, where surely no one would be around who recognized them... Don't you love karma?
During my tour, lunch was fortunately included. Dinner, however, was not. Mind you I had not a cent to my name. Fortunately, I had befriended a wonderful Dutch girl named Sandra, and she was kind enough to buy me dinner. :) Ah, the kindness of strangers who become new friends.
I got back to St. Kilda and took a lovely 10 PM stroll down to the police station to file a report, then it was off to bed. The next morning, after a HUGE test of wills and a few tears, all thanks to the LOVELY workers at the St. Kilda post office, I finally procured some money from Western Union, paid for my flight (that was leaving the next day) and my Heading Bush tour, and got the hell out of St. Kilda to stay at the YHA in Melbourne proper.
Spent the morning at the markets on Victoria street, wished I had someone to share a picnic lunch with, and then headed to the museum, where I was too uninspired and tired to put effort into the whole museum thing, so I went to the IMAX instead. And I'm glad I did. Watched a film called Mystic India, a dramatization of a historical story about a young 11-year-old boy who set off walking across India as the youngest swami ever. It combined elements of history and culture, and scenes of the country, its people, its temples and its festivals. Anyway, the film helped me dust off some of my travel weariness and I became newly excited to be out in the world again. At least I had shoes, unlike the boy in the film.
That night I met up with Sandra and we together reminded ourselves of how amazing spontaneity is, after wandering into a bar called Transit and meeting some blokes who renewed my faith in Melbourne locals. We had a grand time playing a bit of a game, for lack of a better label, the boys called Shake-a-Face. Relax your face completely, shake it, then take a picture. The results are riotous. We proceeded to coax tables of strangers to join in on our fun, and as a result, I have lovely photos of random strangers looking like a bunch of weirdos to remember the night by.
Came back home at 2 AM. It was daylight savings time. So it was really 3 AM. My flight to Adelaide was 7 AM. Meaning I had to catch the 5:30 AM shuttle to the airport. Lovely.
No bother, I figured I'd sleep the day away in Adelaide--I'd been told there's not much there. Me being me, though, I of course couldn't do that. I spent the majority of the day in Glenelg, a beach suburb that I would've had no idea existed if I hadn't crossed paths for 5 minutes on the tram in Melbourne with an American girl who'd just spent a week there. I love travelling. I dipped my toes in the Southern Ocean and had an ice cream. Then I headed over to the Wine Centre of Australia, where I enjoyed a glass of shiraz out on the patio, located within the gates of the botanical gardens. Life was good. I had no inkling of how much better still it would soon get. As I had some dinner and went to bed that night, I felt a bit lonely, hoping my Outback adventure, starting the next day, would be fun and that I'd meet nice people. I had no idea what I was in for: an experience that would change my life and friends that will stay a part of me for all the days to come.
It feels good to not be a backpacker for a while--Oz, Chapter 1 (Sydney, Aus)
15-25 September
I awoke on Cheryl and Adam's couch, on my first morning in Australia, with daggers in my throat. Queenstown had won its battle and done me in. However, there was no one around me snoring or rustling through a damn plastic bag, my backpack wasn't locked to the bed, and when I took a shower, I used a real, actual, FLUFFY towel, not a quick dry one, so life was still good.
When Lance had picked me up from the airport and we walked out into the drizzling rain, he kindly pointed out that that afternoon had been beautiful weather-wise-- 30 C and sunny. The trend that greeted me at the airport had continued into the following morning, I realized as I glanced out the window and shivered when I opened the sliding glass door onto the balcony. Well, perfect weather for doing nothing, which was exactly what I needed. I managed to venture out of the flat once. This was a feat in itself. Cheryl and Adam's building is very secure, and it's a game getting out of it--all sorts of flashing a plastic thing-a-ma-bob in front of sensors and pressing buttons. I was hoping I'd be alone the first time I ventured outside by myself, but that was not the case. First I had to ask whether the elevator was going up or down. Then I flashed my plastic thing when I didn't need to. Then the man who had been with me in the elevator stared at me funny as I stood in front of the wrong side of the door and it subsequently didn't open automatically as it was meant too. Oh well; that's life. For me at least.
Already a bit insecure, I stopped by a coffee shop that Adam had recommended and couldn't figure out where to order the coffee. It was one of those artsy pretentious places. Well, it was really only pretentious because I couldn't figure out how to order coffee there. And, no, it wasn't because of the different coffee jargon on this side of the planet. I'm set with that-- long black, no sugar, thanks. I actually couldn't find the physical counter at which to order a coffee. So I nonchalantly carried on, pretending I didn't want coffee there anyway, and stopped at the much more familiar Starbucks. I hate Starbucks coffee, mind you. This was enough of the out-of-doors stuff for me. I bought a phone card and retreated back upstairs, like a spooked turtle. The rest of the afternoon was spent on the phone and on the internet. It was lovely.
That night, I hopped on a bus down to Circular Quay, where the ferries pick up, to meet Cheryl and Adam. We'd be crossing Sydney Harbour to have dinner at their friend's house. I sat on the bus for a full 5 minutes before realizing I was sitting right next to Adam. Hey, his head was buried in his sketch book, alright? So, as you see, my first day in Sydney was typical for me. At any rate, had my obligatory (though chilly) ferry across the Harbour and had a lovely dinner and lots of laughs over toilet jokes and talks of inbred relatives (not mine thank god) with Cheryl and Adam's friends.
I slept like a baby that night. The next day Adam was working from home, and when I awoke, I was in desperate need of a coffee. I was hoping Adam would bring me to Pablo's Vice, the place from the day before, so I could figure out how to order a coffee there, but we went somewhere else. As we took the elevator downstairs, chatting along the way, I felt confident. Aha! I know how to get of this place now! I am confident and poised! I will exit this building successfully! As I strode off the elevator, a pro at this now, still in mid-conversation with Adam, I very confidently walked directly into the glass door. Full force. Smack. Yup. I immediately almost peed my pants laughing, and as I turned to Adam to share my laughter and give him a hearty slap on the shoulder, he had an aghast look on my face. I apparently had made a very loud noise walking into the door (that was my knee), and he was fully expecting me to turn around with blood flowing from my nose and tears flowing from my eyes. Oh Adam, you'll learn, this is all par for the course.
Anyway, after our coffee adventure, Lance came by to pick me up. After pointing out my nose print to him on the glass, we headed out for lunch in Chinatown and a movie. We saw An Inconvenient Truth. It was remarkable in many ways. It was not only yet another eye opener on the reality of our environmental situation in a string of eye openers I've already been experiencing in my travels. It also made me angry all over again about the year 2000 and astonished at the huge disparity between the composed, eloquent man on stage in the movie and the buffoon who instead represents our country.
At any rate, enough politics. That night Cheryl and Adam again let me tag along on their social adventures. This time it was a posh industrial design party hosted by Bombay Sapphire, meaning free gin all night. Adam is an industrial design student and had won an award for a fruit bowl he designed last year at this event. As a recent award recipient, he was invited back this year to the very posh event. Posh + backpack does not create a great mix. I borrowed a pair of heels from Cheryl and threw together a fairly acceptable outfit. Only one problem. The top I wanted to wear was strapless. I didn't bring a strapless bra. Usually not a problem, but the top was slightly sheer. Let's just say that Adam put his industrial design skills to use to solve my little problem, and I fortunately looked sufficiently presentable for the occasion. I of course proceeded to make a fool out of myself later in the night after inserting my foot fully into my mouth by ranting about someone while they were fully standing 10 feet away, but that's life. You can dress a girl up nicely, but that doesn't mean she's automatically possessing of poise and grace.
The next few days I was finally starting to feel better and decided to put my walking sandals to use. Lots of hoofing it, through the oldest neighborhood in Sydney, called the Rocks, to the Botanical Gardens, with its iconic view of the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House, to Darling Harbour, through the Chinese Gardens. It was lovely just walking around the city; I'd already played the role of the tourist last time I was here, and it was nice just to be a bit of a vagabond this time around. A lovely week off from the backpacker's life. Phew!
That weekend I headed off to Surf Camp. Real, legitimate Surf Camp. I'm even capitalizing it. Lance works as an instructor for this camp (Waves, I think?) and got me on the trip at a heavily discounted price. So Friday, after heading down to Royal National Park for a walk along the coast, Lance and I hopped on a coach up to Seal Rocks, about 4 hours north of Sydney. The camp is housed at a huge farm in the middle of nowhere, complete with wild kangaroos bouncing around everywhere. It consists of a main "cabana" with a pool outside and inside a small bar, stage, and open area that serves alternately as a dining room and a dance floor. There are also a few lodges scattered about to house the guests. Not a bad setup. A funny aside: the property used to be owned by a guy who owns a number of strip clubs in Sydney. He used this property as his weekend getaway to entertain executives and the like...
Anyway, slept that night in a loft, with a window high in the wall, through which I could see a blanket of stars. It was lovely. I also at some point during the night lost my digital camera. I sadly took it as lost forever, but more on that later.
The next day it was down to the beach for some surfing. Teachers make the worst students, and this proved true for me in surfing. Mind you, I've had 2 lessons in the past, and this time out I had my own personal instructor. However, I was only able to stand up on the remedial board, the huge surfboard that the instructors lovingly called "the Mothership". At first during the weekend I felt like the cool girl: in with all the instructors, ooh, what's her story? But as soon as everyone saw me "surf", that image washed away as quickly as I did with the first wave that smacked me under. Oh well.
We were meant to surf the next day as well, but Lance ended up getting really sick and needed to go to the doctor. I could have gone and surfed anyway, but I'm a good friend so I accompanied him. It had nothing to do whatsoever with my performance from the day before. The trip to the doctor was an adventure in itself: we were in the middle of nowhere and it was a Sunday. The nearest doctor on call was a good hour to hour and a half away. Lance felt ok enough to drove out, hitting a kangaroo in the process (I know, sounds sad, but they're unavavoidable. They literally jump directly into your car), but I got to drive back. An old Ford station wagon with a tricky clutch on the wrong side of the winding, narrow road...It was an adventure.
That night it was back to Sydney. The bus ride back was uneventful, minus a bunch of American college students calling Lance a murderer after I revealed that he had been the culprit behind the dead kangaroo still lying on the road. Sorry Lance!
Only a couple of days remained for me until my energy-rekindling nine days in Sydney came to an end and I had to take the night bus to Melbourne. I was hoping to make the best of it, and fate was kind to me in that respect. I had decided earlier that Monday would be my fake birthday. Fake birthday? See, I was scared I'd have no friends on my real birthday (which definitely ended up not being the case. Hurrah!). So, when my friend Naomi from Kiwi Experience had invited me to join her out on her birthday, on the 24th, I thought to myself, "Hmmm, I have friends in Sydney...Maybe Naomi won't mind if I steal some of her thunder and make the 24th my fake birthday, and I can be sure I'll be surrounded by friends." Fortunately Naomi didn't mind, and as I woke on the 24th, Cheryl and Adam wished me a happy birthday. And man my fake birthday was lovely. Two packages in the mail! Containing: A card from Tate! LOTS of chocolate! A new, silver four-leaf clover to replace the one I lost in Colorado (
See here). PLUS! The post office found my phone! (They had lost it in the mail...Why was it in the mail? I left it at a hostel in Dunedin of course). AND! Lance called in the morning--they had found my camera at Surf Camp and he came by to drop it off! Wow! What a great birthday! I danced around Cheryl and Adam's flat like a kid on a sugar high--it was great!
That night, Cheryl and I made our way down to the Opera Bar (Lance was sick and Adam was freaking out about his major project due within a matter of weeks) to meet Naomi, her husband Daragh, Subodh, another friend from Kiwi Experience, and some of Naomi's friends. My fake birthday was spent in the company of friends, old and new, under the shelter of the Sydney Opera House, with the Harbour Bridge in the background. The next night I was off to Melbourne, but at that moment, I couldn't be asked for much more out of life.
The Bottom Bus and the rest of New Zealand (Dunedin, Curio Bay, Te Anau, Milford Sound, Queenstown, Christchurch, NZ)
5 October - 15 October
Ok, this is getting a bit tedious, and there's so much more to write, so I'm just going to try to get through the rest of New Zealand. It's just such a shame, as I've experienced so much I want to share with you, but perhaps some stories will have to wait until when I get home, if I ever get home...
At any rate, after lack of sleep and late nights dancing in Queenstown, Joey and I decided to travel together down to the southernmost part of the South Island, on an extension of the Kiwi Experience called the Bottom Bus. Joey and I had really clicked; if I had grown up in England I'm sure she would have been my Julie. It's just so incredible and amazing to by chance meet people that you would have never met otherwise but who go on to become one of your closest friends. But, I digress.
After another late night, we boarded the much smaller Bottom Bus at 8 AM. It was me, Joey, Jon, who'd been with us previously, a guy named Steve who ended up being quite the character, and then a group of 4 young guys who so badly wanted to be in a boy band and who were really up on themselves and stand-offish. After the amazing experiences we'd had with our old crew, Joey and I were a bit disappointed with the new company, but tried to make the best of it. When we arrived in Dunedin and walked around a bit, we decided it might be best to stick around for a few days, and catch the next bus to Curio Bay, instead of just leaving with this bus the next morning. Dunedin was much bigger than we had anticipated, and much more interesting. We also could use some rest after the insanity of Queenstown. So I pushed my flight back a bit and we booked the next Bottom Bus. That would leave Monday, and, as it was Thursday, that gave us plenty of time to rest our bones and souls.
That night the whole crew from the Bottom Bus took a haunted walk through Dunedin. Dundedin is an old city, in terms of New Zealand cities, and, as it was modelled after Edinburgh, Scotland, it has a bit of that eerie Old World, Jack the Ripper type feel to it. The walk was quite honestly not scary, although a stroll through a graveyard in the dark can creep anyone out a bit. Joey and I ended up falling over into a tree after someone jumped out at us in the darkness. I so knew it was coming, but it still took us off guard, and over we both fell. At least we didn't scream. The boys did. After the walk, we all went back to a pub for a free beer. Joey and I were exhausted, and I hadn't showered in a while, so we returned to the hostel and hung out with Alex, from Oz, and Dave, from Ireland, 2 guys staying with us whom we'd met that afternoon. They had also come from Queenstown. We showed each other photos of bungees and sky dives, and then Joey fell asleep on Alex's shoulder and drooled a bit. :) Another lovely thing about travelling and meeting people: a rushed platonic intimacy means the people you meet don't mind when you drool on them, even after only having known them for a few hours.
The next day we took a tour of the Cadbury Chocolate Factory. Pure bliss as it entailed lots of free chocolate. The tour was led by a young guy dressed in purple overalls. Our very own Oompa Woompa. Later that night we hung out with a guy named Scott, from Texas, who we'd met in the bookstore the afternoon before. It was a lovely evening of drinks and excellent conversation about travel, politics, the US, the world, life. Have I mentioned how much I love travelling?
The next day, Joey and I literally did NOTHING. Alex and Dave made fun of us as we wrote in our journals, slept and read on the couch all day. Feeling a bit unaccomplished, we decided to try out a cafe mentioned in my Lonely Planet. Dunedin has some absolutely amazing cafes, and most are vegetarian! We carried on updating our journals, curled up on a couch in the corner, then read a bit about the Fringe Festival, which was coming to an end. Both of us having a background in dance, Joey and I decided to check out a piece called In the City, a dance performance meant to symbolize life in New Zealand in terms of the dichotomies of urban and rural, and Maori and European. Yeah. The dancers walked around the stage for about 15 minutes. Then a guy with a very distracting beer belly moved his hand and asked "What's this worth?" Then everyone laid on their backs with their hands and feet in the air and wiggled around a bit. I was just waiting for one of them to fart. Joey and I walked out and immediately burst into laughter. I hate pretentious pieces of art that feign to represent something deep when they're really just dumb.
Afterwards we met Alex and Dave for a bit of a night out. We made our way to a discotech where we sat upstairs and watched people dance on the lower level through the glass wall. It was quite amusing people-watching in a disco. The DJ was also amusing. His turn tables were all set up in front of him. He didn't have us fooled though. All the music was simply selected on the computer. He was essentially a man standing in front of a juke box all night. Very self important though, and dressed entirely in black, he'd pose with his hand on his hip, switch sides, watch his flock with a smirk on his face, switch sides again, sashay, chante, etc... He'd also intermittently put on his head phones and toy a bit with the turntables, although no record could be seen within the vicinity. We of course had our picture taken with him. He was a legend, though not in the way he intended.
We left the disco at 1 AM, but somehow managed to extend a 5 minute walk back to the hostel into 2 hours. It involved a bit of wrestling on sidewalks, walking without purpose, then taking an hour to find something to eat at the 24-hour store. When we finally got back to the hostel, the hummus we had bought ended up tasting like ass, so Joey and Alex would decide a better use of it would be to smear it in each other's faces, and a hummus fight of epic proportions commenced.
The next morning Joey and I had planned to rent a car out to a local peninsula for some time with wildlife. We didn't get up until 11 however. Oops. All we managed was a very worthwhile stop in the Botanic Gardens, considered the best in New Zealand, and a tour of Speight's Brewery. We got to taste test a bit aterwards. My favorite was the chocolate beer. Yum.
Finally, Monday had arrived and it was time to hop back onto the Bottom Bus. Our new driver, Bloke, fit his name well. In his 50s, but very weathered, Bloke, with his piercing blue eyes, could have been Nick Nolte's father, rolled his own cigarettes, and was full of stories from his childhood in the south. He was truly a Southern Man. That day, we made a few stops on the way to Curio Bay to peep some seals, sea lions, and penguins. The sea lions were incredible. Three laid asleep on the beach, and we stood within 10 feet of them. They'd prop themselves up intermittently, look at us quizzically, yawn, showing their bright red mouths, and then lay back down. By the time we got out to see the penguins, though, it was absolutely frigid, and the skies were pelting down rain and hail. We didn't get to fully appreciate the beach of ancient petrified forest upon which we stood and the penguins in the distance, but no matter. That night we curled up next to the fire as the wind howled wildly and the hail smacked against the roof.
The next day we stopped briefly in Invercargill and then pushed on to Te Anau. Te Anau, a small scenic town surrounded by a lake and mountains (the youngest brother to Queenstown and Wanaka) was quaint, and Joey and I enjoyed a stroll around before meeting up for a few beers with Bloke and the others. That night we had an epic movie night at the hostel-- Legally Blonde (Yay Boston!), Me, Myself & Irene (Yay Rhode Island!!!!!!!!!!!) and The Sixth Sense. Only Joey, Steve and I lasted past Legally Blonde. Steve was progressively drinking himself into a stupor, as he was apt to do, as Joey and I chowed on Cadbury and Tim Tams. Then Oliver came in. Oliver was a French guy who we'd met earlier when he was looking for jumper cables for his car. Let me pause a moment and explain the TV room. Someone had hand-built it to be tiered, and it was a cross between a movie theater and a church. On the ground level was a normal couch and 2 chairs. Then someone had built a wooden tiered platform with 2 built-in benches. Joey and Steve were on the ground level. I was laying across the first tiered bench. When Oliver came in, he sat on the upper bench. The last thing I knew I could hear Oliver behind me laughing as we watched Me Myself & Irene. Then not even 5 minutes later there was a loud thud as Oliver somehow managed to roll off the bench and fall to the hollow wooden floor. I covered my face with my duvet as I shook with laughter (I can't help it. I always laugh when people fall.) There was about 2 minutes of silence. Then Oliver got up and walked out, and I burst into hysterical laughter. I couldn't even talk. I don't know why it was so funny. Maybe because there was no reaction out of Oliver? Maybe because he'd clearly been awake 5 minutes prior? Maybe because of Joey's reaction of, "Wow, that's really high. I hope he didn't hurt himself." All I know is that Joey and I, for the rest of our trip through NZ, would each commence into a fit of giggles, and the other one would always know, "Oliver?"
The next morning, we said goodbye to Bloke and boarded another bus out to Milford Sound. The drive was spectacular: snow-covered mountains threatening to release an avalanche, winding roads, a pitch-black tunnel through the center of a mountain, reflective, tranquil lakes. In the Sound itself, we took a cruise. It was pretty drizzly and overcast that day, as it tends to be in the area. The vista was eerie and ethereally beautiful, but not as stunning as I had anticipated. I think next time I make it out this way, I'll actually go to Doubtful Sound instead.
After Milford, it was back to Queenie. Here we go again. Joey and I had a few more nights of dancing until dawn. It's nice to know I still have it in me. We also became groupies to a local cover band called Afterglow (meaning we followed them around and had drinks with them...not groupies in the biblical sense!!!) which was fun. We felt very cool and important for a while as they showered us with attention and brought us around with them after their gig. Until they realized we were not the true groupie type and ditched us for Britney Spears in her trashy stage and Jessica Rabbit, with the teeth but minus the boobs. Oh well.
On Saturday we headed up to Christchurch. I made my final journey as Ditte Jensen. :( In Christchurch we bumped into Dave, our friend from Dunedin, and then later met up with Naomi and Daragh, a couple from England who'd been with us earlier until Franz Josef. We checked out a band at a bar called Dux D Lux. They didn't compare to our Afterglow boys. The next day we checked out the city a bit and walked around, then Joey came with me on the shuttle to the airport. It was time to say goodbye to New Zealand and to my new close friend. It was sad saying goodbye, but I knew Cheryl, Adam, and Lance awaited me in Sydney, so that helped. When we hugged our goodbyes, Joey told me to think of her as the plane sped up to take off--her favorite part of the flight. I did just that, and as the plane raced down the runway, I looked out the window. One last New Zealand rainbow appeared in the sky to bid me a final farewell. Goodbye New Zealand. I promise to return, but now it's on to the next chapter.
