Ladies and gentleman, I have an important announcement... (Singapore)
...The trafficking of drugs in Singapore will result in death. Thank you very much.
Ah, Singapore. Finally, I had arrived--the gateway to Southeast Asia, the beginning of what I see as the second leg to my trip. The real travel shall now commence. After picking up my bag from the carousel (and silently hoping that no one had tampered with it, resulting in my imminent death), I emerged from customs in search of the guy who'd have my name on a placard. How exciting! I'd never had someone waiting for me with a sign at the airport before. It was all very VIP and posh.
I found my sherpa for the evening and we set out into... a wall of moisture. Welcome to the tropics, y'all!
It was midnight by the time I arrived, so I didn't get to see too much of the city as I sat glassy eyed in the back seat. We passed Victoria St. and Queen St., and I wondered if I was back in Oz. Then a Spanish song started playing on the radio and I just got completely culturally confused. I needed some sleep.
Unfortunately, sleep didn't come. This annoying cough I've contracted from Byron Bay kept me awake for the second night straight.
The next morning I set out in a desperate search for coffee. After procuring some (and some french toast!), I headed out to Orchard Street, the shopping mecca of Singapore, which is itself a shopping mecca. How many 6 floor malls can you have on one street??!! I stopped counting. You know me and malls: I quickly became overwhelmed and irritable, and decided to stick to the shops outside. And I am proud to report that, in doing so, I managed to successfully haggle for my first time in SE Asia! Without even meaning to! I was looking to replace my UV filter for my "real" camera, which had somehow shattered and ended up having the lens capped lodged within it. I replaced the lens cap in Oz, but was waiting for SE Asia to replace the filter, hoping it would be cheaper. No such luck--38 Singapore dollars! I told the guy at the counter "Thanks but no thanks", and he of course came back asking me why, it was the best quality filter he had, good glass, blah blah blah. Well, I informed him that I was able to get a UV filter for 12 dollars at home, and that it wasn't that important; I only used it as protection for my lens and could wait until I found it cheaper. So he sold it to me for 10 US dollars! From $38 Singapore to $16--not bad for my first time, eh?
At that point, it was disgustingly hot and muggy, and I was exhausted. So I found my way to the tourist office and bought myself a ticket for the City Buzz bus, a circuit (well, 3 circuits) that takes you around the city, giving you an idea of the sites. So, thanks to Joey's advice, I spent the remainder of the day admiring Singapore from the comfort of the second story of an air conditiond bus. Sweet as.
The next morning, I met up with Sam, a guy I'd met in Oz on the bus from Byron Bay up to Brisbane, and we spent the morning admiring the charms, colors, plentiful markets, and hawker food of Chinatown. When we emerged from the subway in Chinatown, Sam was ambushed at the exit by an Indian "swami" (so he claimed) who proceeded to tell Sam his fortune, which involved going on another big trip with his girlfriend (indicating me) before the end of the year. Then he did some trick predicting Sam's favorite color and number of siblings, and got mad when Sam gave him a coin in payment, saying "I'm a swami, I deserve paper money! Paper!" Right.
At any rate, we spent the next few hours walking about, admiring the goods at the markets, and marvelling at the ornate Hindu temple. That's the lovely thing about Singapore (and, so far, Malaysia): it's such an amalgam of different faiths, cultures and ethnicities. Here we were in Chinatown, at a Hindu temple, where a number of Indians were worshipping. It's a bit heart-warming really. Rene White, you would LOVE it in this part of the world! We also explored the Chinese Cultural Center, providing us with the history of the Chinese migrants who came to Singapore, and including a really cool replica of an entire tenement/shop building of old, complete with an outhouse whose waste bucket was exquisitely detailed. In other words, a replica of poop. I of course took pictures. Which I would post here, but I seem to have lost the USB cable for my camera. Oops.
After stopping for lunch at some of the hawker stands in Chinatown, we headed to the Raffles Hotel for the obligatory Singapore Sling, for which we paid $21 Singapore. Each. But so worth it. The Raffles hotel is an ornate white building from colonial times, replete with balconies and balustrades. It is also the birthplace of the aforementioned fruity concoction. Stepping into the Long Bar at the hotel, you were whisked back to the colonial era, surrounded by wicker furniture and straw fans affixed to the ceiling that slowly, thanks to the marvels of electricity, waved back and forth. Beyond the dark interior (still muggy and hot), the hazy light shone in the windows that looked out on a massive balcony. All that was missing was my white linen suit and safari hat. I felt straight out of Casablanca. Yes, I realize that a complete different continent, but it had that feeling.
After a lazy evening (still not feeling well) and another restless night of sleep, the next morning I headed out to Little India. Quite honestly, I've been feeling a bit travel weary, and while the charming streets, lined with stalls selling fresh floral leis to bring to the temple and place on one of the many statues to the gods were lovely, I was tired, and there was a lot less to see than I had thought there would be. I was also disappointed that the woman whose parrot reads your fortune wasn't around--I'd been looking forward to that. So, a little dejected, I set out looking for some Indian food for lunch. Yes, I was in Little India, but this being Singapore, that lovely amalgamate of religions and cultures, all I could find were Chinese, Malay and Arab hawker stalls. After a lot of walking in circles, I finally settled on a proper restaurant, and allowed myself to be talked into something for the first time (of many, I'm sure) by the Indian woman behind the counter.
I was meant to meet up with Mark, a guy staying at the hostel, at 3 that afternnoon for a trip to the zoo. Honestly, I was not looking forward to it. I was hot, tired and coated in sweat. Thankfully, it started raining, and we made an executive decision not to go. I would have liked to go have tea with an orangutan and see some kimodo dragons, but I need to convince myself that, being on the road for a year solid, it's ok to not see everything and take some time off in front of the TV. So, I looked forward to doing just that for a few hours. First, though, I enquired at the (USELESS) reception about getting a bus ticket to Melaka for the next day. I was hoping I'd be able to rock up to the bus station in the morning and get a ticket. The annoying, clueless, and snobby kid behind the counter laughed at that suggestion, though, and advised that I go to the bus station today to get a ticket. It took a further 15 minutes to get directions to the bus station. USELESS. I am a backpacker. I don't want to take a damn taxi, especially when it's easily reachable, and much cheaper, by subway. Ugh.
Made my way to the underground station where the bus station was apparently located. Couldn't for the life of me find it though. Thanks for that, reception. So, I spent the next 2 hours walking in circles, getting directions to nowhere, with my feet being torn to shreds (my beloved flip flops finally broke the day before. After spending an hour walkng through Singapore barefoot--hey, at least it was Singapore and not Delhi or something--being unable to actually find a mall in this land of malls, I finally found flip flops. Which did exactly what I'd been afraid of--rip my feet up). And then, as if that weren't enough, it started to rain. No, not rain. POUR. Monsoon style, as it is the wet season here. So this pathetic little drowned rat took shelter in one of those 6 floor malls. Where of course they were playing Christmas music. Let it Snow, of all songs. I wanted to hop in a cab to the airport and fly home then and there. It was awful. But, there in the mall, a tourist agency, with very nice ladies who were able to point me in the right direction and who offered me lots of much-needed pity. So I took refuge in Starbucks to wait out the deluge, where I discovered Singaporian Starbucks coffee is just as awful as American, and finally managed to find a place to buy a bus ticket. Not without one final insult though. After all that hassle, I decided to hell with it, I'd take a taxi back to the hostel. But after finally finding a free taxi, he laughed and drove off after I told him where I needed to go. Thanks. So I took the train.
After I got back, sans afternoon rest, I met up with Mark for the night safari. We had missed out on the zoo, but I still really wanted to go to the night safari, next door, which was as it sounded--a zoo full of nocturnal creatures. We hopped on the tram to voyage around the safari, spotting rhinos, hippos, elephants, lots of different types of cattle, deer and goats, pigs, hyenas, tigers, lions... it was really cool, especially as the night safari had the same sort of set-up as the zoo, where they have a bit of a "roam free" philosophy. Instead of being fenced off or behind glass, the animals were out in the open, the more dangerous ones restrained by moats, and, only when necessary, sections of glass or fence. You could have reached out of the tram and touched some of them. Pretty cool. We also checked out an animal show, where we watched an otter recycle glass, plastic and aluminum. It was a positive end-note to an awful afternoon, at least. I'm glad I wouldn't be leaving Singapore on a sour note the next day.
While I was leaving relatively upbeat, I was still ready to leave. Singapore is nice, but a bit bland, really, and I was ready to get my hands dirty, to soak myself in Southeast Asia. Malaysia, here I come!
(11-15 December, 2006)
Better than I could ever put it...
I realize I was a bit verbose with my Heading Bush entries, but the desert speaks to you, for sure. If you want further proof, you MUST go read Tamas's interpretation of his experience in the desert, and how it specifically spoke to him. It humbled me and absolutely blew me away. Beautiful. Go here, and read the Novermber 7-11 entry.
http://www.chestershelton.com/blogs.php
Am I back in Cancun??!!-- Oz Chapter 4: The East Coast
I have to admit that arriving on the East Coast, a haven of tourists, schoolies (Aussie kids who've newly graduated high school), wet t-shirt contests, jelly (that's Jell-o in the States) wrestling, and people whose sole aim is to get as wasted as possible at night and then sleep all day, was a bit of a let-down after the Outback. It didn't help that the first couple of days the only people I met were girls who piled on the make-up and curled their hair to go snorkelling. I mean, they were lovely girls, and fun to hang out with, but not really my style. Fortunately, through them I met up with a fun group of guys, and we decided together to take a road trip up to Cape Tribulation. At the Cape, we waded in potentially croc-infested waters, hung out under a blanket of stars (almost as good as the Outback) on the beach, played Uno, stopped at a bat sactuary and an ice cream factory, the latter being sadly a let-down, swam in as many water holes as possible, skipped stones, and had a picnic at Port Douglas. All the while, I got to listen to talk of girls and toilet humor galore. I was in my element. Brought me back to my roadtrip down to NYC with the Chez Pascal boys and Alyson.
So, while I did get a bit depressed with all the empty, bloated party-hard ways and wet t-shirt contests, I have to admit my voyage down the coast was not an awful one. There was snorkelling in the Great Barrier Reef, where I was actually I supposed to scuba dive, but they didn't let me thanks to my collapsed lung. Stupid car accident. I sailed for 3 days in the Whitsunday islands, where I ate breakfast surrounded by turtles and bathed in the water at Whitehaven Beach, supposedly the world's most beautiful. I camped for 2 nights on Fraser island, where we had a great time powering through deep sand, swam at the beautiful Lakes MacKenzie and Wabby, and spotted turtles, sting rays, and sharks in the waters below the look-out at Indian Head. Thanks to Joey, I stopped in the town of 1770, whose quiet charm and laid-back vibe really became my respite and restored my sanity after my low point in awful Airlie Beach. In 1770 I overcame my fear of motorbikes (which Nate and Karel can both attest to. I'm surprised both of them are alive after me squeezing onto them while on the back of Nate's motorcycle and Karels' rented scooter) and drove a MINI-HARLEY!! It rocked! Such a highlight! I also went sea-kayaking. My partner Max and I made a great team and kicked some butt and caught some great waves. In Noosa's National Park, I walked in pure solitude in dappled sunshine on a path through the forest and then along the coast, where a turqoise ocean lapped the shore and a tear came to my eye as I remembered all the beautiful things I've seen. Before settling down in an isoloated beach tucked into a cove in the National Park, I spotted a koala up in the tree and thought of Tate, who was saying "koala" in the background as I spoke to my brother on the phone one day. And I made some amazing friends. Herve and Fred, two guys from Paris, on the Whitsunday trip. Fred, a former male stripper and an absolute character, can speak English well, but Herve can't really. He CAN, however, speak Spanish, so I got to polish off the Spanish skills in interesting ways, like trying to teach the rules of Texas Hold 'Em. I reunited with them in Brisbane, where we hung out at the casino, danced until the wee hours of morning, and got to catch an amateur male strip show, in which I tried to get Fred to participate. I also met Yarin, an Israeli who fought in the recent war with Lebanon, and who saved my life at the lagoon at Airlie Beach, all thanks to a plastic bottle that blew my way. After growing depressed by the vapidity surrounding me, finally, here was a down-to-earth person with whom I bonded immediately and who will remain my friend for a long time to come. We met again in Brisbane, after another twist of fate cancelled his planned scuba course in 1770, and through him I met Kirsten, an amazing girl from Brisbane, fluent in Portuguese and skilled at Capueira, thanks to having lived in Brazil. Thanks to Kirsten, my last few days in Oz were fantastic: beer on one of the many outdoor patios in Fortitude Valley, goon on a ferry down the river, Christmas Carols while we wore shorts and tank tops, sushi, a ride on the ferris wheel, fire dancers, live music. Phenomenal. On Fraser Island I had an amazing crew. Billy, Craig and Jamie became like my brothers, and we had some great times as we reunited in Noosa and Byron Bay-- stumbling upon live music just when I was craving it dearly, burping contests, wearing Santa hats into the club, dancing on tables, rides home in a shopping cart, causing a run-in with a disgruntled and drunk old man, late-night chilling out on the beach. It was grand. I also made friends with the enemy on Fraser Island, the enemy being Marianne, one of the Groovy Grapers who was in Coober Pedy while we were. Small world! Marianne and her friend Joelle turned out being very cool chicks though, so I suppose I can forgive her for her error in judgment in choosing Groovy Grape. And, true to the travel tradition of single-serving friends, I met many others along the way with whom I shared an entertaining night or two before parting ways. In Airlie, it was spontaneous karaoke with Chris, Lisa and Jenna, and a girly night of bonding with Polly, Sophie and Lucy. After the nightmare that was a homesick Thanksgiving in Airlie Beach, I realized as I plodded along down the coast, becoming happier with every new move, that everywhere I went, I had friends there to meet, true friends, people with whom I'll stay in touch for years to come. Travel. It's amazing.
So, after so many amazing experiences and people, it was with a heavy heart that I prepared to leave Australia. Arriving in Byron Bay, the town that made me want to move here two years ago, I recalled that desire, and recognized that it's within me still. As Emma said, Oz is a magical place. That day as I walked along the coast in Noosa National Park, looking for koalas, I shed a tear. A bittersweet tear. A tear in appreciation for all the amazingly beautiful things I've seen, a tear in worry that I'd maybe grown weary and stopped appreciating the beauty around me, a tear in the heavy recognition that, as the waves crashing below me brought me back to New Zealand, time has a way of slipping by too fast, a tear for all the people I've met along the way, a tear for my family and friends at home, whom I miss. A tear in the knowledge that, very soon, I'd be leaving this beautiful, magical land. As I shared a final Victoria Bitter with Sile, Keith and Yarin in Brisbane, the morning before my flight (yes, morning. It's the Irish, I tell ya. Bad influence.), I knew I couldn't think about the finality of leaving. I know I'll be back one day, but it won't be the same: the unique combination of people, experiences, and fate made this part of my journey what it was. I can never have it back, perhaps, but at least I had it to begin with. And for now, enough with this feeling bad for myself. I had a plane to catch! (Which I VERY narrowly missed, by the way.) It was time to be happy and excited for the new adventures that awaited me!
And with that, my friends, I am actually up-to-date with this thing!!! Now I just need to add photos... For now, though, you can check out my NZ pictures at
www.flickr.com/photos/rizzoloca. Enjoy!
The End of Days: Heading Bush's Grand Finale
The tour had officially ended with our big night out on Wednesday the 8th, but fortunately all of us were staying at least until Thursday, and most of us through until Saturday, meaning I'd actually have friends aroung on my birthday! So it wasn't time for goodbye yet. Thursday morning some of us planned to meet at 12:30 for lunch and spend some quality time at the internet cafe burning all of our photos onto shared cds, then meet poolside at Mike's hostel to finish up the beers left over from the road. Lunch ended up being a bit later than 12:30 (oops), and quality time with the internet turned into 4 hours for poor Claire. Hans ended up by himself waiting poolside for a bit--poor guy--but we eventually all showed up, ready for a dip and beer o'clock. Unfortunately Mike had fallen asleep and we couldn't get into the truck. After a bit more frustration, finally we were reunited happily with each other and our beer. It was a lovely, low key afternoon that stretched into evening, complete with plotting to kidnap Mike and make him drive us to Darwin and then down the West Coast (fortunately he was keen on the idea, so we didn't end up having to buy the roofies we'd planned to buy. He even rang his boss to see if he could work something out, but, alas, it was an impossibility), a chat about politics with Hans, and interesting conversation with a guy who'd be travelling south with Mike and Claire that I called Daisy, thanks to his penchant for wearing skin tight daisy dukes. I fell asleep happily on my last night as a 26-year-old, content to know I'd be surrounded with my close friends the next day.
Unfortunately, not everyone was able to stick around for the 10th: Hans was going to meet friends elsewhere in Oz, and Sam and Marianne were heading to check out the Devil's Marbles, yet more rocks in the middle of nowhere that tourists flock to. Still, my birthday was absolutely epic. It all kicked off with a ceremonial shaving of Claire's head into a mohawk at the banks of Alice Springs' dry river. Then we headed back to Bojangles for the boys (Keith, Alex and Mike) to participate in a steak-eating contest. They all finished their enormous steaks (for Alex, gristle and all) and proudly received their certificates. Then it was off for a bit of a nap in preparation for the night's exploits. And man, were those exploits amazing. First, my feral friends presented me with my fitting gift--hand made soap and candles, which I desperately needed after 10 filthy, smelly days, aptly called "Proudly Feral"-- and my birthday "cake"--french fries with candles in them!!! Classic!!! Here I was, in the middle of freaking nowhere, Australia, in a cowboy bar, with friends I'd known for only 10 days but who had become my family, and who went out of their way to make my birthday a special one. My true family, in the meantime, was back at home listening to the DJ at this middle-of-nowhere bar broadcast live on the internet and keep their eye out for me on the dancefloor while Jessica in Israel and Joey in Oz requested songs and the DJ interviewed me (after which I went to grab my beer only to notice there was a huge cockroach on it. Ew.) And to top it all off, Tate, my almost-2-year-old nephew, even wished me a happy birthday via the DJ. What an absolutely insane chain of connections amongst family and friends, old and new. I sang along once again to Sweet Child Of Mine, reminisced about my Tuftonia days to Like a Prayer, and danced my booty off to the must have been 20 songs Joey had requested. :) It was epic, and one of the best birthdays I've ever had.
All good things must come to an end, though, and sadly, the next morning, it was time to part ways. Susanne was heading up to Darwin on an Awesome Adventures tour, which was nowhere near awesome after the HB Experience. Claire and Mike were heading back down to Adelaide on the return trip, and I was off on a flight to Cairns. Emma would stay on for a few days in Alice, after which she'd fly to Sydney and later home. Alex would head up to Darwin in a few days, and Sile and Keith were heading out to Cairns via bus. Hans had already departed, and Sam and Marianne were milking out a few more days nearby before heading back down to Melbourne to return to work. No more sharing spare leg room in the back of a bouncing Trailrunner, no more sleeping huddled together around the fire in swags, no more dancing like emus at Melanka's. Still, we were together in spirit, hokey as it may sound, and my new friends have helped me vastly as I've continued on in my journey. Emails with the whole crew, pictures up on flickr, and copious texts with Claire, Emma and Mike have gotten me through lonely times, and I got to reunite with Sile and Keith a couple of times along the East Coast (the last time almost made me miss my flight to Singapore...Oops). I am sad that my Outback adventure is behind me, but still it remains with me, and the emotions I felt remain just as visceral over a month later. Instead of mourning the end, I consider myself lucky and blessed to have even had the opportunity to experience what I did and meet the people I met. Still, I remain a bit of a wannabe Billy Pilgrim, longing desperately to be able to become unstuck in time (though perhaps have a bit more control over it than poor Billy had). But life moves on, and brilliant new adventures await. I'm sure this won't be the last time I feel this way. And for now, I'll remain with my happy memories and changed life, until I meet my friends again, next year in America's Painted Desert, for our first Heading Bush reunion. It's on!
Still Feral: The Epic Chapter, continued yet again
I almost forgot one of the most important details of the trip! On Day 5, as we awoke in a cave in Coober Pedy, we heard the Groovy Grapers as they started out the day an hour before we did. Thanks to the acoustics of a cave, we could hear very clearly every word they said, which unfortunately robbed us of an hour of sleep. Fortunately, however, our eavesdropping provided us with our nickname and mantra for the remainder of the trip. One of the Groovy Grapers was asking another if she'd spoken at all to us the night before. The latter replied no, that quite honestly she was a bit afraid of us, that we seemed quite, and I quote, feral. Perfect! That's just what we were, and I hope that we remain that way forever! Never be tamed!
Anyway, carrying on...
Day 7: Rolling on in to the RockDay 7 saw us, confused, dirty, and bleary-eyed, return, reluctantly, into civilization. I'd been looking forward to the Rock, aka Uluru, aka Ayer's Rock, since I got to Australia. Unfortunately, along with such an icon comes a vast amount of well-heeled, clean tourists. As we rocked up to a local Aboriginal art center outside of Yulara (the resort town near Uluru), busloads of air-conditioned, cleaned and pressed tourists stared in disbelief as we emerged, dirty, unkempt and fully feral, from our clown-mobile caked in dirt and covered in clever slogans and pictures the Groovy Grapers had drawn on our bonnet/hood. They are too obscene to repeat here, but we were still in no way keen to erase them. We were quite a sight.
After some time at the art center, where I bought a bracelet, we continued down the road. There, finally, Uluru, impressively massive even from a distance. Uluru is an enormous monolith in the middle of the desert, something like 7 kilometers in diameter, but I could be completely off. Nonetheless, it's huge, and its immensity is emphasized by the fact that it's surrounded by sheer nothingness. It's also the tip of the iceburg: the Rock extends underground at a size probably 3 times what we see sticking out of the ground. Understandably, it is considered sacred by the Aboriginals, and many of its rocky outcrops are featured in Creation Stories. We stopped and climbed up a dune for the obligatory far-away shot, mingling with the tourists who were probably refraining from holding their noses. Proving our feral ways, we probably shocked them all as we laughed and took pictures while Sam mooned the Rock.
We were going to save the Rock up close for the next day. Today, instead, after a quick dip in the pool at the Yulara campground, we headed to Kata Tjuta, otherwise known as the Olgas, a group of massive rocky outcrops rising from the desert. At Kata Tjuta we went for a very enjoyable 4 hour walk through the canyons and out to the Valley of the Winds. On the way, as we were heading to a water station where the group would meet up after doing the first part at their own pace, a ranger drove up and hurriedly emerged from his truck. "Is everyone ok here?" Confused, Claire, Susanne, Mike and I replied that we were fine. "Have you seen anyone in distress? We've received a distress signal," he asked, himself seeming as equally distressed as the person he was pursuing. "No," Mike replied, "It's no one in my group." The ranger got back into his truck and drove on to the water station, where we spotted him chatting with Sam for a bit. By the time we arrived to meet the group, the ranger had driven off, again in a rush, but this time probably out of annoyance rather than worry. Apparently, Sam, the constant child, had spotted a button and simply could not stop himself from pressing it, thinking it was an information button, and failing to see the large sign that read "Press in case of emergency." Nice one Sam. Oh Sam, you sure are making a great first impression here in the Red Centre.
We carried on to the Valley of the Winds, a canyon through which the wind blows the leaves, creating a whisper which the Aboriginals believe is the voice of our ancestors. We sat as Mike explained this, and then spent a while sitting quietly with our eyes closed, listening to and meditating on the calmness exuded by the rustle of the wind and feeling ourselves drawn backward through time, visualizing the roots of an ancient tree linking us to ancestors near and distant.
Our peaceful walk came to an end, unfortunately, but as we drove away, we witnessed an incredible sunset paint Kata Tjuta in a magnificent cardinal red, as our ancestors bade goodnight. That night we stayed in a proper campground, with a shower and a kitchen. I longed for the bush, but it was ok: we'd be back out in the middle of nowhere the next night. For now, it was early to bed: we'd be rising at 4AM to ride out to catch the surise over Uluru.
Day 8: Respecting the Rock
Mike overslept the next morning, but fortunately Sam and Marianne had set their alarm. After a bit of a hurried packing up, we headed out to Uluru, preparing ourselves for the massive number of tourists with whom we'd be vying for space. Like a true feral, I fought my way into an empty space up front, and ignored the inane converstaion surrounding me as I marvelled at the brilliant red of an early-morning Uluru. The tourists, here for the day on their $800 package tours, headed out as soon as Uluru had done its lighting up, but we stayed on in the empty lot, where we caught Kata Tjuta light up just as impressively in the distance, and a sky truly on fire above us. Mike meanwhile was preparing us breakfast: eggy bread and beans. Yum. We grabbed our brekky and headed back to the Rock, enjoying the shared solitude and companionship as we enjoyed breakfast in front of Uluru.
After breakfast we drove up to the Rock itself. Most of us would be taking a walk around Uluru, as we spotted the outcrops, waterstains, caves and waterholes we'd read about in the children's Creation Stories. Claire, Keith and Sile had decided to brave the incredibly steep hike up to the top. Have fun with that. As we drove into the National Park that housed Uluru and Kata Tjuta, the sign informed us that the summit walk was closed due to strong winds. After we'd gotten out of our clown-mobile and watered up, though, they were preparing to open the walk back up. We watched in awe as the people, who'd been standing lined up for who knows how long, set off at a run as soon as the ropes were drawn back. It was like running of the bulls, and absolutely absurd. After a show like that, I understood why the Aboriginals asked visitors to not climb Uluru out of respect. Claire, Keith and Sile were walking up calmly and with full awareness of and respect for, after the past few days, the importance and sacredness of the land upon which they would stand. The majority of other visitors playing mountain goat, however, were there for the day, clueless of the stories that surrounded the rock upon which they ran, and looking simply for a story to tell.
The rest of us spent the afternoon improving our karma, as we filled up two large ziplock bags with cigarette butts and, ugh, toilet paper that we found littered around the base of Uluru (don't worry, I used sticks). Here we are, at this incredible marvel of nature, and people choose to disrespect it so blatantly. I mean, when you gotta go you gotta go, but as we'd learned at bush camp, bury it people!!! And the cigarette butts... there are places to throw them away everywhere. People are so lazy. Maybe we spent the afternoon picking up trash, but I felt good. Number one because we'd helped to at least partially return this incredible place to its original beauty, and number two (haha, no pun intended...) because we'd all come together as a group and, without encouragement from Mike, and without a word of pessimism or teasing, took up this pretty disgusting task. It was uplifting.
We didn't just pick up trash as we walked around Uluru. We stopped to sit and think at watering holes, listened to Mike reiterate the Creation Stories we'd read previously as we passed the outcrops and colorations from which these stories arose, and marvelled at the incredible beauty, diveristy and immensity that is Uluru.
It had been a long, hot afternoon in the sun, and we rewarded ourselves with another dip in the pool. As Susanne and I headed back to the truck, we spotted Mike's bare butt as he tried to inconspicuously change behind the door. Susanne was so taken aback that she fell out of the truck as she tried to climb in and ended up with a nasty bruise on her arm. :)
We headed back out to Uluru to catch the sunset. The parking lot was packed with tour buses, tables set up with champagne and steaks cooking on barbeques. Pah, who needs champagne when you have beer and goon? And even if I ate meat, I wouldn't trade in our Mike's stir fry for a steak. As most of the tourists vied for a spot in the packed parking lot, we headed up the hill a bit to a more remote spot with far fewer people. It was a bit cloudy, so the sunset was a bit disappointing, but no matter, we managed to entertain ourselves and mortify nearly everyone else, save one guy who told us he wished he'd been on our trip as he'd never laughed so much in his life. Being our typical loud, raucous and feral selves, we laughed as we took absurd pictures and capped off our sunset viewing with a group photo of us in the red dust with Heading Bush spelled out in sticks in front of us. Mike was very proud of us. After dinner in the parking lot, we rocked on out of there blasting Sir Mix-A-Lot's "Baby Got Back" for the benefit of everyone left. But of course.
That night it was a bit of a long drive to the middle of nowhere, halfway to King's Canyon. It was a truly surreal drive, which I got to experience from the front seat. Mike put his impeccable driving skills to use as kangaroos jumped out into the road from everywhere. It was like a video game. We unfortunately did manage to hit one--unavoidable, really. They hop directly into the truck. Fortunately it died on impact, so Mike didn't have a miserable job to do, other than drag it off the road.
We were all knackered as we pulled into camp for the night, and most of us didn't even bother to change or brush our teeth as we rolled out our swags, climbed right in, and fell immediately to sleep.
Day 9: Living on the EdgeWe woke up early the next morning to carry on to King's Canyon for our last hike. After a steep and taxing initial push up to the top, the rest of the hike was easy going and fun. I felt like a kid as I hopped around on rocks and hung my head off the edge of a sheared-off cliff. After walking across the top in the sun, we descended into the lovely Garden of Eden, a verdant canyon and water hole cutting through King's Canyon. The water was pretty stagnant, and also considered sacred, so I chose to take a nap in the shade instead of jumping in.
We continued on to our final night in the bush. :( On the way out we passed by an ancient crater formed by an asteroid hitting the Earth some millions of years ago. Then it was one last night by the campfire, surrounded by the Milky Way (and Scorpio!!!). We girls spent some time before dinner sitting away from the fire to view the incredible stars and bond, and then the group spent our last night by the fire shotgunning beers and dancing to Xavier Rudd. Once again, I didn't want to go to sleep--I never wanted this experience to end.
Day 10: The end...for now...We woke up somewhat leisurely, but still early, the next morning. I dejectedly cleaned my swag out (oh the dust!!) and rolled it up for the last time. Then it was out to the Glen Helen resort, standing under the Glen Helen Gorge. Here some of us, myself included, would be taking a helicopter ride over the gorge and the West MacDonnell Ranges. All of us would also go for a dip in the first of 3 water holes we'd hang out at throughout the day. My first helicopter ride ever was incredible, and Claire and I grinned like kids as we dipped and turned, admiring the beauty of the land and waving to our friends down below.
After a dip in water hole number 1, Ormiston Gorge, we headed to water hole number 2, called Redbank Gorge, I think. This was the most picturesque and relaxing one, and after a dip and some time in the sun, we gathered for our final meal in the bush. Then it was on to Ellery Creek, aka Big Hole, which serves as the "beach" for the residents of Alice Springs. Walking down to the creek, we spotted a guy with a shirt that read "feral", so we of course started screaming and insisted on having our picture with him. At the creek we had to roll our shoes and such in our towels as a dingo puppy was running around stealing stuff.
After a final stop to spot some rock wallabies, we pushed back on to civilization. Well, Alice Springs. It was with a heavy heart that Emma, Alex and I left the group and headed into our hostel. We knew we'd see everyone later that night, but it still was the end of a brief but life-changing era.
We gathered for dinner at Bojangle's that night, and as Mike and Hans headed in the door, we caused a raucous by rising to our feet to give Mike a standing, and screaming, ovation. Everyone in the bar stood up to see what famous person was here in Alice Springs of all places. The rest of the night was epic as only was fit. We sang "Oh My Walla!", took over the dance floor, and screamed along to Bohemian Rhapsody. Plus we garnered an adoptive feral friend. Remember Tamas, my partner in fate, whom I'd originally met in Wellington? Well, I hadn't seen him in probably over a month, since Dunedin, and didn't even know if he was in Australia or not. So there I am, at some random cowboy bar in the middle of nowhere, getting a beer, when I turn around, and in walks Tamas. How creepy is that? We gathered him under our wing, and by the end of the night, he was singing along with us to "Oh My Walla" and joining us on the dance floor.
The night drew to an end at Melanka's, a backpacker bar down the road. Claire, Mike and I shut the bar down, willing the night to not end. Well, the tour was officially over, but we still had plenty of fun ahead of us. Everyone would be staying through at least the next day, and most of my feral friends would be there for my birthday, which proved to be one of the best birthdays I've ever had. But that story, my friends, will have to wait. I've been on the internet long enough. Now it's your turn. Give me some comments people!!!
Never Be Tamed: The Epic Chapter continued
Day 4: Just Truckin'After the exciting diversion of being dragged by the feet end of our swags inside by Mike in his blue underwear (Claire, Emma and I had attempted to sleep outside, but then it started pouring and we were to lazy to get out of our swags, so our fearless guide to the rescue), the 3 of us slept soundly in our Blair Witch home for the night. Well, except Emma. I shined a flashlight in her face because I thought she was sleepwalking and afraid she'd bugger off on walkabout somewhere, but she just had earplugs in. Sorry, Em.
Mike spent the morning on the satellite phone, seeing whether we'd be able to drive on the roads and clear out or if we'd be stuck at the railroad crossing again. As fun as the prior night had been, I'm not sure we'd be as keen on staying another night. Plus we were running low on beer. Fortunately, although we couldn't head north in our intended direction to William Creek, the roads were clear enough down south to backtrack a bit. Even more fortunately, we didn't have to drive all the way back to the beginning to catch the sealed road up to Coober Pedy: there was an unsealed road that was drivable enough to cut over on.
It was a lot of driving, but our feral crew of course managed to have fun. We caught up with another, much less cool, tour company that was going to try to head north to William Creek. They were in their cozy cushioned seats in their air conditioned bus, and every single one of them looked absolutely miserable. Meanwhile, we were bouncing along madly with bruised bottoms and no AC, and we were loving every minute of it, blasting music, singing along (well, shrieking) and dancing in our seats. Life is what you make of it, no?
Finally we pulled up to Roxby Downs, where we'd hop back on the sealed highway. As we looked behind us, we noticed a sign indicating every single unpaved road through the Outback as closed, including the one we'd just departed. No problem for our fearless Landcruiser and its fearless captain! Still, our asses were thankful to be back on sealed comfort.
We were meant to spend more time on Lake Eyre, the salt lake we'd grabbed a loook at the day before, but that plan ran amok thanks to the rain, so we settled for a smaller, though still immense, salt lake called Lake Hart. It was truly bizrre to be walking, in shorts, across a surface that so closely resembled an ice rink, and realize, as your feet made a fun little crunch-crunch across the surface, that it was actually salt. All of the numerable salt lakes that dot the center of Australia are remnants of an ancient interior ocean. They remain as a pure, thick pool of solid salt, although they at rare points do flood and acquire a thin surface of water. At any rate, we took the obligatory ice-skating and licking-the-salt photos, and Keith tested to see whether he could right his name on the salt by peeing, and then we kept trucking on.
Finally, after many more hours of driving, singing, sleeping, and eating potato chips-- sorry, I mean crisps-- we rocked into Coober Pedy, the land of the underground homes. Coober Pedy is famous sheerly due to its importance for opal mining. As we neared the town proper, mounds of dirt marked mines, and sign warned you to not walk backwards or run, so as to avoid a painful death falling down a mine shaft. The people in Coober Pedy live underground in dug-outs. This helps regulate the temperature year round in an area of extreme temperatures. It also provides an excellent reason to add an addition to your house. A few people have struck it rich doing so.
Coober Pedy is a mining town, and as such is full of old, weathered men who enjoy ogling anyone in female form. It's a colorful town indeed. Still, we showed the locals what colorful was as we created our own party outside the underground hostel, dancing on the picnic table to Michael Jackson as we waited for our pizza. The locals literally stopped in their tracks, as did the other assorted tour groups in the town. One such tour group, Groovy Grape, was sharing our hostel with us. They will be important later on.
After finishing up our pizza, beer, and warm goon (that's wine in a box for the unseasoned non-backpackers), it was time to head to the local nightclub! The only nightclub in a town like Coober Pedy was just like you'd imagine it. And it was even underground! As in buried into the ground, not as in hip and exclusive. The juke box was jamming with such tunes as the obligatory MC Hammer, lots of 80s hair-band rock, and AC/DC. A drugged-out woman with her boobs hanging out of her dress swayed around out of beat to the music and tried to hit on anyone who moved. Another crazy woman, a bit older and just as out of her gourd, but fortunately with her boobs safely in her shirt, proceeded to embarass our dear (married) Hans by dancing with him. He just wanted to bolt. None of the Groovy Grapers were there, but, oddly enough, their guide, who uncannily resembled Otto, the bus driver from the Simpsons, was there getting absolutely obliterated on whiskey. Wondering how in the world he'd drive the next day, we felt safe and secure as our Mike sipped his quota of 2 light beers for the night.
We managed to take over the dance floor, playing some air guitar and shaking some booty to Hips Don't Lie (that was for you, Joey!!), and then it was time to go. On the way back, as we marvelled at the number of stars in the sky, Mike informed me that you couldn't see Orion from Australia, which isn't true. Hmmm, maybe Otto slipped him something. He doesn't remember saying this, but I swear he said it. ;) At any rate, Keith stayed up a while making up stories to tell to a very drunk Otto, but the rest of us headed on to bed in the cave.
Day 5: Jumping off the moon and landing in hot springsAfter poor Emma was molested by Otto, who tried to pull off her towel as she emerged from the shower--a real winner, that Otto (who, by the way, the night before, kept pressing Mike to tell him which girls in our group were single so he could hit on us. Pervert.)-- we took a quick tour through the opal mine and underground display home next door, then it was off to play some catch-up.
We were meant to have only stopped in Coober Pedy for a few hours, but thanks to the rain had stayed overnight. I was happy, as I got to have the grand adventure of sleeping in a cave, but now we were unfortunately off course and would not have enough time to get to the Painted Desert. No worries, we drove through the Breakaways, whose other-worldly land formations are supposedly the same as what you'd see in the Painted Desert, according to Mike. But then, this is the guy who told me you couldn't see Orion in Australia. :) We were also able to drive through the Breakaways, something we couldn't do in the Painted Desert, so that was a nice bonus. Also, Mad Max 3 was filmed here. The landscape was dotted with eroded peaks of differing colors, surrounded by vast flatness. The landscape got bleaker and bleaker as we drove on, until we were finally in the depths of the vast nothingness that is the Australian Outback. The Outback was best personified by the Moon Plain-- an immense stretch of land straight out of a sci-fi movie, truly from another world. I was expecting to see an alien or two, but it was so bleak there weren't even any kangaroos.
We pushed on to Oodnadatta, the start of the famous Outback track, aptly named the Oodnadatta track. Imagine that. Oodnadatta consisted of a bright pink roadhouse in the middle of nowhere, once again, aptly named the Pink Roadhouse. We grabbed lunch and consented to listen a while to an older, very nice, but absolutely out of it Aboriginal man with an extremely out-of-tune guitar. We asked him to play "All You Need is Love", which he claimed to know, but the only word we could understand in the unfamiliar tune was "love". These things happen when you live in the middle of nowhere.
Dusk was descending as we pulled into our destination for the night. I'd been looking forward to this night since the beginning of the trip. We were to stay at the Dalhousie Hot Springs, a geothermically active area considered sacred and cleansing by the Aboriginals. I couldn't wait to immerse myself in the cleansing waters underneath a midnight moon. Unfortunately, after a twilight dip, we realized the mosquitos made camping nearby an impossibility, so we set up camp about 9 kilometers away. No midnight swim for me, but we still planned to wake up before the sunrise to drive back and bathe as the sun ascended into the sky.
Day 6: Skinny-dipping in sacred waters and playing footie with the localsIt was still dark as I grew conscious of music in the background: drumbeats and a didgeridoo lulled me back into this world. It was an ungodly hour, but I wouldn't have traded it for anything. I loved being woken by the gentle music, with the knowledge that I'd view the sunrise in naturally warmed waters, surrounded by tropical birds. It was amazing. A few of us, myself included, followed in Mike's footsteps and went au natural. We immersed ourselves in the darkness of the very early morning. As the sun rose, painting the sky with its light, the birds awoke and surrounded us, filling the air with their music as they dipped and dived, feeding on the mosquitos (good on ya', birdies!). I could have stayed forever. As we pulled away, Susanne shed a few tears. I completely understood why. Emotions were high, being surrounded by such utter perfection and bliss, yet knowing that very likely you'd never visit this place again. It was bittersweet.
Later on that day we stopped by the Aboriginal settlement of Finke. Finke is a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, with few options for those who reside within it. Alcohol is banned and the gas pumps are locked up to prevent the inhabitants from huffing the petrol. The ground is littered with aerosol cans, proof that people will find a way to drown their hopelessness and misery no matter what you try to outlaw and control. Finke is the picture of the Aboriginals' current reality. As is the case with most indigenous peoples, the ways of the Aboriginals ran contrary to the ways of the white man. Somehow, yet again, the people who actually seemed to have it right, who actually lived in unity with nature, who, had they emerged historically triumphant, would have led us to a much less bleak present, were overpowered by the people with guns. They were dislocated from their ancestral land, which, for a people whose land defines their identity, was absolutely ruinous, and forced to live in a way and under values that they couldn't understand. An entire generation of children was ripped away from their families and brought to orphanages, in the name of progress. Their foundation was quite literally ripped away from underneath them. The current situation of the Aboriginal population is complex, and it's not entirely the fault of the white man, but still, are we surprised by the societal problems that surround a group of people for whom the future offers no hope?
At any rate, as we drove into tiny Finke, we were amazed and saddened by the bleakness. What do people DO here? How can they be happy? As we drove on, though, a little boy, Dylan, who recognized Mike from the last time he'd driven through, ran up to the car and hopped up into the window as we stopped. Soon his friends joined him. Here, in the middle of this sad hopeless town, the pure innocence and enthusiasm of youth triumphed still. They marvelled at Claire, called everyone with glasses on "Harry Potter", wore shirts displaying Tupac and reading "G Unit", and introduced themselves to each and every one of us. We joined them at the local footie field to play some Australian Rules football, which I don't understand at all. I still had fun until I got smacked in the nose by the ball. Damn nose gets in the way of everything. We marvelled at the kids' ability to run around barefoot on the searingly hot sandy ground. It was great to share a laugh with these kids, and know we brightened each others' days. Still, it was bittersweet: as we pulled away, we wondered what would become of them in a few years' time, and knew we could only hope for the best.
On the way to our bush camp for the night, we stopped at the geographical center of Australia. I'd been to New Zealand's center, now it was time for Oz. Fortunately, this time there was no lung-exploding, awful hike to the top. There was, however, a picturesque, ideally-Australian red dirt road that made driving fun. We stopped for the always necessary group photo, made some feral comments in the comment book, and pushed on to camp, crossing into the anything goes (apart from camp fires) Northern Territory in the process. Our home for the night was a spot called Kulgera rocks. As Mike prepared dinner, we climbed up the rocks for which the spot was named to watch the sunset. It was a full moon that night. I thought back to my night photo crew at home, wondering where they had shot this full moon, and thinking of the amazing places I'd seen during the last few full moons: a bonfire on the beach in Fiji, a wild hailstorm in the Catlins in New Zealand, and now the desert of Australia. Sam fortunately had a tripod, and I pondered these and other things as I basked in the contented solitude of night photography I'd missed so much. I was so happy I didn't want to go to sleep, didn't want yet another perfect day to end. As everyone drifted off to sleep, and Mike climbed up the rocks to play his didgeridoo, I read my book with the crackle of the fire and the eerie sound of the distant didge in the background.
To be continued again...
Just when I needed it.
Well, since I've shared the clover story with y'all already, may as well share this one. If you don't know what I'm talking about, read
this first. Oh, and you'll also need to know that my grandfather used to live in Baltimore, Maryland.
Anyway, some of you know I've been having a bit of a hard go of it as of late. After the high of the Outback, I hit a bit of a wall, dealt with being homesick for the first time, and overall started wondering whether I'm strong enough to do this or not. Well, just as I was on the phone with my friend Karel, discussing this exact topic, someone walked by with a shirt that read "Maryland" across the front. It made me smile, thinking of home, and of my family, and of a night shirt someone, either my Mom or my Nana, I think, bought me in Maryland when I was a bratty little kid. It read something like "Don't bother me, I'm crabby. Baltimore, MD", with a crab on it. (For those of you not from the States, Maryland is known for its crabs.) I had a bit of a laugh with Karel as I told him how I think I threw a fit when someone gave the night shirt to me, thinking it insulting. It was obviously a fitting shirt for me at that time.
Anyway, after getting off the phone, I went to an outdoor cafe for some dinner. As I sat enjoying my pad thai and beer, someone walked by with a shirt that read, this time, "Baltimore". Ok, a bit of an odd coincidence. I half-jokingly texted Karel, saying maybe it's a sign. Then I sat back to ponder that a bit, and thought how weird it would be if I saw someone with a four-leaf clover on their shirt. Now THAT, that would be a sign. Kept my eye out as I finished my meal, but of course no one walked by with a 4-leaf clover on their shirt, and I laughed at how silly I can be sometimes.
So I paid my bill and walked down the street to the STA travel office to pick up my ticket to Singapore. By this point, Lance had rung me and I'd forgotten about the whole sign thing as I chatted with him. Then I spotted in the corner of my eye a shirt that looked vaguely familiar. As I looked closer, I realized it was a Flogging Molly shirt-- an Irish-punkish band popular around Boston. Hey, I wonder if that guy's from around Boston, I thought. Then I realized the more significant element of the shirt. Behind the logo of the band, a four-leaf clover. So, there it was, not just any t-shirt with a clover on it, but one that held some significance for me and that would therefore surely grab my attention and make me study it for a moment, even while I was otherwise distracted.
Again, maybe I'm making something out of nothing, but regardless it was significant to me. And just when I needed it, here, a source of strength and confidence. I send up my gratitude.
