We drove back to Lasseter's Casino in Alice Springs (where our tour first began). We had to retake our infamous group "pile-up" photo (the photographer had suffered a power outage over the weekend, which destroyed the original negatives). Once again, I was relegated to the bottom tier, where I could experience the full crushing impact of all that weight (Paola was tantalizingly close, just two bodies above me -- only Mark [damn him] came between me and some truly memorable frottage).
-------------------------------The Whole Famn Damily------------------------------Then a group of us went camel riding. After my hair-raising horseback riding experience of the day before, I couldn't wait to mount a camel and go racing across the Outback, like Peter O'Toole traversing the desert in "Lawrence of Arabia." All my dreams of derring-do were quickly quashed however, when I learned that the camels were all tied together in a slow moving caravan. Moreover, it was two to a camel (Rule #1: Heroic Adventurers ride alone -- having a "buddy" is . . . well . . . not so cool). To make matters worse, camels aren't nearly as handsome nor pleasant as horses: they are dirty, buck-toothed beasts with foul breath and a nasty spitting habit. Chris and I teamed up and tried to make the best of the long, slow, boring trip. It was truly a hump of a ride, in more ways than one.
------------------A Face Only A Mother (Camel) Could Love---------------Next it was time to pick up our group photo (I got all the people leaving to sign it) and share a final lunch together. It was a simple (and somewhat somber) meal of French Bread and cappuccino at the Alice Springs Bistro. We were all understandably depressed to part after such an intense, albeit brief, time together.
Far too quickly, the time came to part ways. We all walked together to the Contiki bus, and hugs and handshakes abounded. As I turned, finally and reluctantly, towards Paola ("But I'll miss you most of all, Scarecrow"), I told her there was one Dutch word she had yet to teach me: that word, of course, was "goodbye." She searched for the most appropriate version of the word and ultimately settled on Vaarwell. I repeated the word as I gave her a final hug, and I promised to visit her in Holland. Then I boarded the bus and watched Paola (and all the others, of course) disappear as we pulled away, wondering forlornly what might have been.
It took me some time to get out of the funk I was in. As the bus ride continued, however, the conversation and games we played took my mind off it. The first game we played was "Bus Bowling." Scott lined up six "pins" (half-filled water bottles) at the front of the aisle and explained the object of the game: each "bowler" had to go to the back of the bus and roll a tennis ball down the aisle, knocking down as many pins as possible. "Stickman" and I (or "Mouth," as I had now inexplicably come to be called) were chosen as captains and we selected our teams. It was an amusing diversion, and when the pins settled, my team was declared the winner.
We also played a game called "Celebrity Heads," in which two people were chosen to come to the front of the bus and try to guess who or what they were (Scott, after showing the rest of us first, taped the name of a celebrity or an object to each of their backs). The guessers alternated asking yes/no questions until one of them figured out which famous person (real or fictional) or thing they were assigned.
By the end of this game, we had passed the Tropic of Capricorn and made it to the Devils Marbles, a National Park consisting of piles of huge boulders out in the middle of nowhere. We arrived just before sunset, and we had enough time (if we wanted) to climb to the top of a couple formations before it became too dark to see. Robby and I proved to be the most adventurous, risking our necks more than the others. At one point, I posed for an amusing photo, showing me attempting to "hold back" a particularly precarious boulder that I imagined was about to break free and roll over our group. (I guess I got to be a "hero" today, after all.)
------------------------------The Devils Marbles----------------------------------------
---------"Must...Hold...Boulder...And...Save...Village (Uggh!)"--------
Next it was off to Wauchope, our last destination of the day. We had a big barbecue dinner and got to mingle with our new recruits (including Deborah, Roger, Peter, George, Ron and Michael) at the campsite pub. At one point, Rachael and I challenged Scott and Carl to a game of pool (we won -- yes!). Finally, it was time for what Scott would call "a major play." The pool table was covered with a board, the jukebox pumped up all the way ("this one goes to 11"), and everyone started dancing on the floor and the table.
It quickly became clear that the local women, particularly the owner of the bar and her daughters, were quite sexually aggressive (and most decidedly fugly). One of them actually pinched my ass! But things really got out of control when the matriarch (not a day under 50) started dancing suggestively with the male patrons. Her Bump N' Grind was bad enough, but when she started stripping off her partners' clothing, I high-tailed it to a far corner of the room. Her first victim (albeit, surprisingly willing) was Stickman -- she peeled off his shirt and then proceeded to caress his chest. Her boldness increased exponentially with her inebriation, and she started putting her hands down his shorts, squeezing his buttocks and cupping his Family Jewels. At one point, she tore his shorts clear off. All the while, one of her daughters (the one who goosed me) was snapping photos like a giddy tourist on safari.
Once outside, I went to my swag (a waterproof canvas sleeping compartment, equipped with a foam mattress, that you slip your sleeping bag inside), which originally sounded like a fun place to sleep -- out under the stars and all -- until many people warned me that I would freeze my ass off. Anyway, I wasn't interested in sleeping just yet (it was too early); I just wanted to get my journal and write for a bit.
Well, imagine my surprise when I discovered that my travel diary was missing! I rifled through my bag and my swag a second time just to make sure I hadn't overlooked it. No luck -- it was gone! I took my flashlight and checked the swags to the left and right of mine, hoping I might have just misplaced it (the swags were virtually identical, after all), but my search came away empty.
It was at this moment that Rachel came out from the bar. I excitedly informed her that my journal had been stolen. "Why would anyone want it?", I asked her. "It means nothing to anyone but me." I thought about all the hard work I had put into writing it . . . all the memories . . . all the addresses. Now I would never be able to track down all the great people I met on this trip -- they were from all over the world, and I didn't even know many of their last names. I started to panic. "They stole my friends," I thought bitterly. I'd even lost the group photo which everyone had signed. I was on the verge of tears.
Rachel told me not to worry -- she'd help me comb the area. Together we covered the entire campsite and outside perimeter, searching not just the swags, but even garbage cans and bathrooms. With each passing minute, my hope dwindled. Eventually, we tired out and gave it up for the night.
Utterly dejected, I crawled into my swag and tried to fall asleep. My dreams were haunted by the thought that someone had violated my privacy by reading my most intimate thoughts. I had a fitful rest until about 2:00 a.m., when I was awakened by a gaggle of drunken voices and raucous laughter. Then, much to my surprise, I heard a bottle rocket zip over my head. Peering warily (and wearily) out of my swag, I saw several more flashes of light, all of which were way too close for comfort. I silently prayed the offenders would pass out or run out of fireworks before a bottle-rocket ignited my swag or exploded in my face. Blessedly, the impromptu pyrotechnic display ceased rather quickly, and I drifted back to sleep.
I awoke to a bitterly cold pre-dawn darkness (around 5:00 a.m.), took a quick, equally chilly shower and impatiently awaited sunrise. I needed light if I had any hope of finding my journal. As if knowing this, and desiring a bit of sadistic fun, the sun was awfully hesitant to climb the sky. Inching upwards so slowly as to be barely perceptible, the sun almost seemed afraid of the moon -- perhaps just this once, to piss me off, the sun would lose the sky battle with its celestial sister for daytime dominance. Indeed, for a while the moon was terribly stubborn, glimmering fully and brightly amidst a lingering forest of morning stars. The sun's radiance was but a thin line of reddish-orange light glowing faintly on the horizon. Slowly, but surely, however, the blackness retreated before the colorful, mushrooming brightness.
(Somewhere in the back of my mind I believe I acknowledged the dawn's beauty, but most of my conscious thought was directed towards cursing its slothfulness.)
Finally, the sun shed enough light (though still no discernible heat) to conduct my new search. It proved to be another fruitless hour. By this time, everyone was up, and I informed them that my journal was missing, and I was none too happy. On the off chance that this was a prank, I wanted everyone to know that I did not find it funny. Nobody fessed up to any shenanigans, and I couldn't think of anything else to do, so I returned to my despondent state of mind.
At this point, I know the suspense must be killing you. Did my journal turn up, or was it gone forever? Perhaps I'm giving you more credit than you deserve, but I think you already know the answer (hint: this whole account is recorded in it).
Yes, my journal did indeed find its way back to me -- after seemingly passing through several hands, mind you. I received it from an anonymous newcomer, accompanied by a lame explanation of how it was "discovered" (one of the German girls supposedly felt a lump in her swag, and -- surprise -- there it was). Truly, this was a joke gone bad, an unamusing and unappreciated one. I never asked who swiped it. I really didn't care. I was too busy rejoicing -- I had my baby back!
1 comment:
Awh. So much I missed during my trip, your sounds so incredible. I panicked too reading about the journal before I realized, "Hey, I'm reading it!" and then laughed so hard my kids were concerned when you addressed the reader that way.
Thank you for the lovely comment. It is much appreciated!
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