The shuttle arrived promptly at 5:00 a.m. We shot over to the Auckland airport, where I waited zombie-like for my 8:00 flight. My 3 hour journey from Auckland to Sydney flew by (no pun intended), as I slept almost the entire way. This was followed by a 2 hour wait at the Sydney airport. Next came a 1 hour flight to Melbourne. After a speedy connection at the Melbourne airport, I boarded my final plane of the day for a 3 hour flight to Alice Springs. Phew!
Three flights, five processed meals and twelve hours later, I arrived stiff and exhausted at the Frontier Oasis Hotel in Alice Springs at 5:00 p.m. I met James (Singapore) Autal & Robby (Sydney), John (Melbourne), Max & Chris (other parts of Australia) and my old friend Roger (The Good Ol' USA). We went to a local pub called Bojangles for a beer and some dinner. I had my first taste of kangaroo -- kangaroo shishkebab, to be exact (it was sorta like beef, only leaner and tougher).
After dinner, the lot of us roamed around the "city" of Alice Springs (supposedly the second largest in all of The Northern Territory, though it seemed more like a ghost town to me), desperately seeking something to do (or even "Susan"). It was 9:00 on a Saturday night, but the town was dead -- nothing open, nowhere to go. Following a final few fruitless searches, we gave up and went back to the hotel bar. I shot some pool until fatigue overcame me, and then sought the comfort of my bed. One burning question haunted my dreams: "Were there any women on this tour?!"
Showing posts with label Oceania '94 (2): Australia Tour. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oceania '94 (2): Australia Tour. Show all posts
Oceania: Day 21: 7-24-94: Contiki Tour Begins
I woke up at 5:00 a.m., along with my "roomies" Autal, Robby and James. We played a game of Hearts before grabbing some "breakie" and meeting the rest of my Contiki cohorts. And the answer is yes -- there are indeed women on our tour (although the men drastically outnumber them, and several are married).
----------------------------------Standley Chasm-------------------------------
------------------------Simpsons Gap (See The Wallaby?)----------------
------------------------------The Contiki Tour Bus----------------------------
Today was a busy, yet easy day. During the first part of the morning, we went to see a war memorial, a telegraph station and the springs that gave the area its name (at least, that's where Contiki went -- a few of us [myself included] ditched the latter two stops on the official tour in favor of climbing a nearby rock mountain). Next, we went to view the twin ghost gums (two alabaster trees immortalized in a famous painting) and Flynn's Memorial (the grave of a missionary -- credited with initiating the Royal Flying Doctor Service -- capped with one of the "Devils Marbles" [a red boulder from the eponymous conservation reserve]).
After a quick lunch, we continued our tour in the afternoon. We went to Standley Chasm (where I did some neat rock climbing) and Simpsons Gap (where I saw my first wallaby). Finally, we went to visit the Royal Flying Doctor Service Museum, where we learned all about the volunteer emergency medical fleet charged with airlifting ill/injured folk from the isolated desert environs of the Northern Territory (The "Australian Outback") to the nearest hospital. Though the RFDS is certainly a great idea and a vital service, the museum was really quite boring. Our visit ended with the showing of a painfully dull film on the history of the organization, the "lowlight" of which was Ted Egan's (a local balladeer) pathetic singing tribute to the fallen Flynn (let the man rest in peace already -- must we besmirch his good name and great deeds with a sappy dirge?!).
After a quick lunch, we continued our tour in the afternoon. We went to Standley Chasm (where I did some neat rock climbing) and Simpsons Gap (where I saw my first wallaby). Finally, we went to visit the Royal Flying Doctor Service Museum, where we learned all about the volunteer emergency medical fleet charged with airlifting ill/injured folk from the isolated desert environs of the Northern Territory (The "Australian Outback") to the nearest hospital. Though the RFDS is certainly a great idea and a vital service, the museum was really quite boring. Our visit ended with the showing of a painfully dull film on the history of the organization, the "lowlight" of which was Ted Egan's (a local balladeer) pathetic singing tribute to the fallen Flynn (let the man rest in peace already -- must we besmirch his good name and great deeds with a sappy dirge?!).
----------------------------------Standley Chasm-------------------------------
------------------------Simpsons Gap (See The Wallaby?)----------------
In the late afternoon, we all had some free time to explore downtown Alice Springs. I bought the last of my gifts (Aboriginal coasters and a CD for Rich & Scott, plus a souvenir pin for Rich's collection), and I headed back to the Oasis, where I did my laundry, sunbathed, competed in a pool match (lost in the first round!) and wrote in this very journal.
At 7:00 p.m., our entire Contiki crew went to the Overlander's Steak House, where we feasted on an unlimited buffet of exotic Aboriginal vittles such as emu, camel, barramundi (fish), kangaroo and crocodile. Each was tasty in its own right, but I still think kangaroo is my favorite. I washed down this Aussie Animal Kingdom meal with two bottles of Strongbow Dry Cider. The fermented apple brew was very smooth and extremely intoxicating. During the course of all the courses, I came to memorize a whole slew of names and faces. In addition to the aforementioned Autal, Robby, James, John, Max and Roger, I met the following: Brad, Sharon, Jody and Rachel (Australia); Mark (England); Bonnie (Florida -- the only other American besides Roger and myself); Ria, Fumi and married couple Titsumi & Satomi (Japan); Luciano & Luciana (Italian couple); Sonjia and Kirsten (Germany); Espi (Tasmania -- the "forgotten" part of Australia); Noam (Israel); Dave, Paola and Monique (The Netherlands); Ralph, Rolph and Ralf (It may take me a while to sort them out!); and Scott & Carl (Our Aussie tour manager and Kiwi bus driver, respectively).
Soon after dinner, it was time for the raucous Australian merriment to begin. An old, but lively, man took the stage and began to sing Australian folk songs (Waltzing Matilda, Tie Me Kangaroo Down, etc.). It was during the latter song that the man chose Sharon and myself to come up on stage and play the "wobble board" (Basically, the name says it all -- you hold a thin board by the ends and wobble it). I must say that I took to the new instrument quite readily, and I'm seriously considering a career change.
At 7:00 p.m., our entire Contiki crew went to the Overlander's Steak House, where we feasted on an unlimited buffet of exotic Aboriginal vittles such as emu, camel, barramundi (fish), kangaroo and crocodile. Each was tasty in its own right, but I still think kangaroo is my favorite. I washed down this Aussie Animal Kingdom meal with two bottles of Strongbow Dry Cider. The fermented apple brew was very smooth and extremely intoxicating. During the course of all the courses, I came to memorize a whole slew of names and faces. In addition to the aforementioned Autal, Robby, James, John, Max and Roger, I met the following: Brad, Sharon, Jody and Rachel (Australia); Mark (England); Bonnie (Florida -- the only other American besides Roger and myself); Ria, Fumi and married couple Titsumi & Satomi (Japan); Luciano & Luciana (Italian couple); Sonjia and Kirsten (Germany); Espi (Tasmania -- the "forgotten" part of Australia); Noam (Israel); Dave, Paola and Monique (The Netherlands); Ralph, Rolph and Ralf (It may take me a while to sort them out!); and Scott & Carl (Our Aussie tour manager and Kiwi bus driver, respectively).
Soon after dinner, it was time for the raucous Australian merriment to begin. An old, but lively, man took the stage and began to sing Australian folk songs (Waltzing Matilda, Tie Me Kangaroo Down, etc.). It was during the latter song that the man chose Sharon and myself to come up on stage and play the "wobble board" (Basically, the name says it all -- you hold a thin board by the ends and wobble it). I must say that I took to the new instrument quite readily, and I'm seriously considering a career change.
------------------Sharon And I Play The Wobble Boards----------------
Next up, Autal, Bonnie, Titsumi, Satomi, Luciano and Luciana went on stage to perform a silly song called Give Me a Home Among the Gum Trees. (It was amusing to watch the two foreign couples, neither of which spoke much English, as they attempted to understand just what exactly was going on. Note: The newlywed Italian couple was equally puzzled during a later impromptu celebration of their honeymoon -- a cake with sparklers came out and they looked scared/confused when it suddenly popped over their shoulders and everyone started shouting out good wishes. ) Autal was his usual colorful self, making a suggestive humping gesture everytime the group sang the line about the "old rocking chair." At the end of the song, a few brave souls opted to get their butts branded with the restaurants logo (Bonnie had a hole burned right through the pocket of her jeans!).
When the smoke cleared, a bunch of us went to the hotel bar and listened to a local band. I cut out at 11:30, suddenly remembering that I had to be up in 4 1/2 hours to go ballooning.
Oceania: Day 22: 7-25-94: Hot Air Balloons, Aborigines And Didgeridoos
I awoke bleary-eyed at the ungodly hour of 4:00 a.m. and met Rachel, Satomi & Titsumi in the lobby (the four of us were the only Contiki members going ballooning, but we were soon joined by several strangers). We took a long, cold bus ride into the outback, stopping occasionally so that the driver could release a helium balloon (watching its flight path allowed him to gauge wind direction, which, in turn, helped him determine our launch site). The driver (now our pilot) eventually chose a spot, and we helped him unload the wicker basket and deflated balloon. After the pilot attached the massive balloon to the burner, we spent the next half hour watching it expand as it slowly filled with hot air. Then it was time to load ourselves into the basket -- not as easy as it may sound, as it was on its side. As I hung on to the ropes inside the basket, it steadily began to right itself as hot air continued to flame up into the balloon. Soon we were off! Ever so carefully, we inched off the desert floor and began to hover over the ground . . . 1 foot . . . 5 feet . . . 20 . . . 100 . . . 1,000!
WOW!
The feeling of ballooning was very strange -- the hot air balloon wasn't as turbulent as a Cessna nor as hair-raising as a helicopter . . . this was something different. Exposed to the great wide open, floating along with the gentle wind currents, I experienced the surreal sensation of walking on air -- stable, yet vulnerable. As the sun rose over the distant mountains and reflected off the crimson desert plains, we sailed 1,700 feet high and had a birds-eye view of an outback dawn. My keen eye detected kangaroos out for an early romp and the tops of gum trees swaying silently in the morning breeze. All was at peace with the world below.
The sky was likewise illuminated by the sunrise -- a steadily brightening orange glow soon revealed other balloons adrift nearby. So that's what we look like, I thought, before returning my gaze to the desert floor.
-------------------An Aborigine, Hunting Spear in Hand---------------------
-----------------------(Talk About Scalping Tourists!)-----------------------
----------------An Aboriginal Artist Paints A New Creation---------------
---------------------------Corroboree Ceremonial Dress-----------------------
----------------------------Dreamtime Ritualistic Dance------------------------
WOW!
The feeling of ballooning was very strange -- the hot air balloon wasn't as turbulent as a Cessna nor as hair-raising as a helicopter . . . this was something different. Exposed to the great wide open, floating along with the gentle wind currents, I experienced the surreal sensation of walking on air -- stable, yet vulnerable. As the sun rose over the distant mountains and reflected off the crimson desert plains, we sailed 1,700 feet high and had a birds-eye view of an outback dawn. My keen eye detected kangaroos out for an early romp and the tops of gum trees swaying silently in the morning breeze. All was at peace with the world below.
The sky was likewise illuminated by the sunrise -- a steadily brightening orange glow soon revealed other balloons adrift nearby. So that's what we look like, I thought, before returning my gaze to the desert floor.
-------------"Up, Up And Away, In My Beautiful Balloon . . ."------------
Suddenly, our 30 minutes were up (literally), and we floated down for a surprisingly smooth landing (save for a tiny jolt as we brushed the brush and hit the ground). Exiting the basket, Rachel, Tatsumi, Satomi and I were whisked off to our outback picnic breakfast -- we enjoyed an appetizing meal of chicken, egg & ham quiche, cheese & crackers, fruit, cake and a glass of pink champagne.
After breakfast, the four of us rejoined the rest of our Contiki compadres on the "Aboriginal Dreamtime and Bushtucker Tour." We took a bus ride out to the middle of the bush to meet a group of modern-day Aborigines who perpetuated the traditions, laws, belief system and lifestyle of their ancestors (although the cynic in me wonders how much of it was authentic and how much was just for show -- clearly, daily busloads of tourists must have some effect on "traditional" Aboriginal culture). They demonstrated how to hunt with boomerangs and spears (I attempted to throw a boomerang myself, but the results were rather pathetic!) and they taught us how they lived off the land (using plants, trees & rocks for food, medicine, tools, weapons, etc.). The Aborigines also introduced us to their painting style: Aboriginal art traditionally consists of only four colors (red, yellow, black and white -- hues readily found in the natural environment, mostly obtained from ochre and charcoal) applied in dots and symbolic shapes to whatever "canvas" presented itself (ground, rock, boomerang, etc. -- though nowadays, actual canvas is quite commonly used). The symbols depicted in Aboriginal paintings usually represent the natural world or the gods, and -- though some are standard -- many are personal to the individual artist. I was informed that every picture represents a specific story and/or location, and, as such, no artist would part with a particular piece until he shared its meaning. I would have loved to bring a painting home, but I couldn't afford one on my meagre budget (Judging from the prices of the artwork on display, the Aborigines have learned about modern commerce all too well!).
-------------------An Aborigine, Hunting Spear in Hand---------------------
-----------------------(Talk About Scalping Tourists!)-----------------------
----------------An Aboriginal Artist Paints A New Creation---------------Additionally, I had the opportunity to watch a Corroboree, a ceremonial storytelling performance which is used to pass on Aboriginal Dreamtime Stories from one generation to the next (Dreamtime is White Man's translation of Aboriginal law and heritage -- it represents the past, present and future, starting before mankind existed and going "beyond time"). The Aboriginal men wore body paint, donned ceremonial headdresses and brandished spears, and the women wore body paint . . . and precious little else (they were "hanging out" in all their National Geographic glory). Several of the men chanted and clapped boomerangs together as the women and a few other males danced and reenacted Dreamtime history.
---------------------------Corroboree Ceremonial Dress----------------------- ----------------------------Dreamtime Ritualistic Dance------------------------Before leaving the tour, I learned a lot about Aboriginal marriage laws and family structure. For example, if I were an Aborigine, all my brother's children would be MY children, and all my father's brothers and mother's sisters would be MY fathers and mothers -- somewhat confusing, but quite fascinating.
After the tour, Carl picked us up and we headed off for Ayer's Rock. We arrived after sunset, just in time to see Indiging, an Australian musical ensemble which keeps traditional Aboriginal music alive and well. Mainly instrumental, with occasional vocalizing, the music was enchanting and mystical -- just like the natural wonders (rain, wind, rock, etc.) it evoked. I had my first chance to hear a didgeridoo, an Aboriginal wind instrument (quite simply, a tree branch hollowed out by termites). The man and his twelve-year-old son who played the didgeridoos were incredible, blowing out other-worldly rhythms and animal calls.
By 9:00 p.m., after a nondescript supper, I was totally spent, and I crashed in bed.
Oceania: Day 23: 7-26-94: Ayers Rock (Uluru)
This morning, we climbed "The Rock," alternately known as Ayers Rock, or by its native Aboriginal name of Uluru. The world's largest monolith, Ayers Rock is a solid chunk of sandstone thrusting up from the bowels of the Earth.
We awoke early and arrived at the base of Ayers Rock while it was still dark, affording us the chance to see it undergo its morning metamorphosis. Since sandstone changes colors along with the sunlight it reflects, the best times for viewing Uluru are during dawn and dusk. I watched mesmerized as the rock phased from black to brown to red to orange, like a giant mood ring worn by a schizophrenic. It was a beautiful sight to behold, and I took photos at 15-minute intervals to document the transformation (I also did a running commentary, with Bonnie as my cameraman [er, lady] -- a fake news broadcast we called the "Rock Report.")
--- "Get Your Motor Running, Head Out On The Highway..." ---
We awoke early and arrived at the base of Ayers Rock while it was still dark, affording us the chance to see it undergo its morning metamorphosis. Since sandstone changes colors along with the sunlight it reflects, the best times for viewing Uluru are during dawn and dusk. I watched mesmerized as the rock phased from black to brown to red to orange, like a giant mood ring worn by a schizophrenic. It was a beautiful sight to behold, and I took photos at 15-minute intervals to document the transformation (I also did a running commentary, with Bonnie as my cameraman [er, lady] -- a fake news broadcast we called the "Rock Report.")
--------------------------The Many Hues Of Uluru...--------------------------
-----------------------------------(6:30 a.m.)--------------------------------------
------------------------------------(6:45 a.m.)-------------------------------------
------------------------------------(7:00 a.m.)-------------------------------------
Soon it was time to stow away the camera and commence the climb. Before I began, I was (unfortunately) told that the record time to the rock's summit was 12 minutes -- suddenly, the leisurely, scenic walk I had originally intended became a timed challenge (my competitive nature allowed for nothing less!). In my blind enthusiasm, I forgot the age-old lesson taught by the fabled tortoise (i.e. "slow and steady wins the race") and made a rather foolish blunder -- I sprinted up the 57-degree gradient, eschewing the safety chain. Here's how this tragic comedy played out . . .
I started out strong, chugging along at a record-breaking pace, counting my proverbial chickens as I gave a hearty thumbs-up sign to my cheering travel companions below. This lasted all of two minutes. I made it about 75 feet up the slope before I started wheezing and hacking uncontrollably. I grabbed the chain in a last-ditch effort to keep my forward motion -- I pulled, straining my weary muscles, my body hunched over, eyes fixed upon my shuffling feet. I wanted more than anything to stop, to rest, but how could I? Dozens of people were watching and rooting, and I was loathe to reveal any weakness. Fear of public humiliation can be quite a motivator, so I kept going . . . sort of.
I made it about 30 more steps before dizziness set in. My brain had become so depleted of oxygen that a blackout was imminent. I tightened my hold on the chain ("an iron grip," literally and figuratively) -- not for momentum this time, but for balance. Alas, it was too late. I had gone too far, too fast. My head throbbed, my vision blurred, my lungs ached and my equilibrium faltered. Reasoning that fainting would be even more embarrassing than resting, I reached down a tentative hand, barely touching ground before my legs buckled under me. I collapsed, leaving me sprawled on my back, baking in the blazing desert sun (perhaps I was more like a tortoise after all, I thought abashedly, though not without humor).
Panting in rhythm to my spinning head, coppery blood crawling its way up my throat, I fought desperately to maintain consciousness. I was certain the last threads of alertness would slip away -- and that I, in turn, would slip away off the rock, becoming the 27th such victim of Uluru.
In time, however, my breath became less labored, my head less fuzzy. Eventually, I was able to lift myself into a sitting position, where shapes realigned themselves and darkened colors regained their proper hues. I slowly struggled to my feet (not daring to peek down at the Contiki crowd) and began anew . . . cautiously, this time.
Somehow I managed to make it up the remainder of the slope and the tricky bit was done. The rest of the hike was relatively easy-going (rolling hills, a few crevices to navigate). Cooee! The summit was in sight. I dipped into my reserve energy bank and suddenly became fleet of foot, booking over to the large metal cylinder which marked the peak. There was a logbook on the cylinder for all those who survived the climb. I barely qualified. My entry: "It's a mighty big rock."
-------------------------------The Path to the Peak---------------------------
I made it all the way down without further incident. At the base, I acknowledged the good-natured jeers of my peers with a mock salute. Perhaps as a consolation prize for my failure and pain, a magnanimous Aussie treated me to a Harley ride around Uluru -- I donned a leather jacket, gloves and a helmet, and I held on tight. It was a cool, "Easy Rider" kind of moment (I could even swear at one point that I heard "Born to Be Wild" playing in the background). Midway through our journey, a pack of wild dingos came out of the bush and started nipping at our legs, seemingly without fear of being crushed by the half-ton of metal bearing down on them (maybe they really DID take that woman's baby).
--- "Get Your Motor Running, Head Out On The Highway..." ---
After a rest break, Scott and Carl gave us a brief tour of Ayers Rock. We studied some of the honeycomb and cornflake patterns cut into the rock face by eons of weathering, went into one of the rock caves, and eyed some millennia-old cave art.
We went to our hotel for a nap before returning to Ayers Rock for a sunset viewing. Once again, the rock underwent a panoply of palette changes, and the lot of us enjoyed the spectral scene while slugging down champagne and an assortment of "nibblies." After 4 or 5 glasses of the bubbly stuff and all the cheese and crackers I could swallow, I anchored an evening news "Rock Report" in front of Bonnie's camera. While perhaps not as professional as my morning broadcast, it was equally as enjoyable.
The bus trip back to the hotel was lively indeed, as our normally tame coach turned into a "disco bus." Inebriated Contikis danced, sang and even flipped in the aisles (Yours Truly), as the radio blasted and the overhead lights blinked.
After much drinking and merriment at the hotel bar that evening (I did my share of dancing), it was off to bed. Dare I say that I slept like a rock?
Oceania: Day 24: 7-27-94: The Olgas And Kings Canyon (Via HELLicopter)
Today it was off to the Olgas. The Olgas are a conglomerate rock formation, equally as impressive as Uluru, in their own way. We went for a three-hour hike through the "Valley of the Winds" and marveled at the gargantuan ochrous domes which climbed to the sky. As I walked through the red, barren landscape, I felt like some future astronaut exploring the surface of Mars.
------------------------------The Choppy Chopper---------------------------
--------------------------Kings Canyon From Above-------------------------
After dinner later that night, the exhaustion and sickness I had been fighting ever since the Ayers Rock debacle overwhelmed me, and I went to bed at 8:30.
------------------------The Contiki Gang Visits The Olgas---------------
---------------------------------A Lone Gum Tree----------------------------
Then it was off to Kings Canyon (by way of Lake Amadeus and Mt. Connor). It was here that I had my second experience with a helicopter, although this one was a tad more rugged -- for starters, there were no doors! Since neither Max nor Chris (my two fellow daredevils) relished the idea of hanging out over a 2,500-foot drop, I bravely volunteered to take the co-pilot position, or, as I would affectionately come to call it, the Death Seat. As soon as we took off, the wind ripped into my body, and a powerful gust blew my headphones into my lap. I was in the midst of fumbling them back on when the helicopter abruptly veered left, trying its darnedest to dump me out!
------------------------------The Choppy Chopper---------------------------
Thankfully, we soon leveled off, and I finally had the chance to enjoy the spectacular view. Kings canyon was a scenic desert valley filled with patches of scrubby green growth overshadowed by colossal cliffs topped with rusty rock mounds. The most harrowing part of the flight was when we zipped out of the canyon, shooting straight up along one of its sheer walls. As we neared the top, I took one look down the emasculating precipice and tightened my grip on the seat. The heli-tour was great fun, but I didn't mind it so much when we landed back on solid ground.
--------------------------Kings Canyon From Above-------------------------
After dinner later that night, the exhaustion and sickness I had been fighting ever since the Ayers Rock debacle overwhelmed me, and I went to bed at 8:30.
Oceania: Day 25: 7-28-94: Ross River Homestead And Bush Pig Bar Olympics
I'm glad I got a good night's sleep, because today we went on the greatest hike of the trip (thus far, at least). We ventured into the heart of Kings Canyon -- as impressive as it had been from the air, it was even more magnificent from the ground. What had been indistinct rock formations now revealed themselves in all their finely chiseled majesty. Leaving the valley, we climbed our way up to a gravity-defying rock ledge jutting out from the precipitous cliff wall -- the perfect place for a precarious photo-op.
------------------------------------Greek Olympiads---------------------------
It was amusing to see what themes the other teams had come up with. Chris (Stickman) and his crew were dressed as Arabs, replete with towels on their heads, sunglasses and charcoal beards.
------------------------------------Arabian Knights---------------------------
Kelly and her teammates were flower children/hippies, covered in neon "peace and love" tattoos and decked out in 60's duds.
-----------------------------------"Oh, Alrighhht" -----------------------------
Then we went up and down several flights of steep, man made stairs and traversed many a bridge until we reached the "Garden of Eden," a verdant oasis in the midst of the crimson desert. A few brave souls went for a dip in the chilly watering hole, but I sat this one out (been there, done that -- see my Mona Kea, Hawaii entry).
Bidding farewell to Kings Canyon, we journeyed back to Alice Springs, stopping just long enough to pose for a group photo (We all piled on top of each other, and I [of course] was on the bottom) and eat camel burgers for lunch (Quite tasty, and only two grams of fat!).
Then it was off to the luxurious (not!) Ross River Homestead, our humble home for the next two days. Upon our arrival, I was informed that I had been chosen as one of four captains for the night's much ballyhooed "Outback Olympics" at the infamous Bush Pig Bar (pronounced "baa"). My first duty was to think of a theme for my team. After brainstorming and rejecting several possibilities, I settled on one that seemed both feasible (given the meagre costume supplies available for scavenging) and fun -- Ancient Greece (To-GA, To-GA!!).
My team seemed amenable to the idea, so I turned my creative energies towards inventing a team name and chant. "Alpha Beta Gammas" seemed an obvious choice for our name, and the song just flowed from there:
We're Alpha Beta Gammas,
We have a lot of class.
These toga-wearing Greeks,
Are gonna kick your sorry ass!
(Catchy, if not so subtle or refined)
Now all that was left to do was costuming -- it was time to don our togas. Everyone rendezvoused at my room at 8:00 p.m. outfitted in sandals, shorts and T-shirts (for the ladies). Patrick helped me dress my teammates with the white sheets we had stripped from our beds. Once all the togas were securely pinned, everybody practiced the chant (By the end, even the Japanese speakers among us had it down pat). Then, it was off to the Olympics.
------------------------------------Greek Olympiads---------------------------
It was amusing to see what themes the other teams had come up with. Chris (Stickman) and his crew were dressed as Arabs, replete with towels on their heads, sunglasses and charcoal beards.
------------------------------------Arabian Knights---------------------------
Kelly and her teammates were flower children/hippies, covered in neon "peace and love" tattoos and decked out in 60's duds.
-----------------------------------Flower Power!--------------------------------
Tatsumi went with an Olgas/Valley of The Winds theme -- his entire team was assembled under a patchwork of sheets, the various head bumps forming the domes and a chorus of voices supplying the wind.
--------------------------------Wind Warriors---------------------------------
We took a round of pictures and imbibed a few round of drinks to set the mood. After everyone was well lubricated, Scott made the official announcement: "Let the games begin!"
The first contest was called "The Orange." Out of all the games we played over the course of the evening, this was the only one of which I was previously aware. Each team lined up in a neat little row, and the object was to pass an orange down the line and back again, using only our necks -- the orange is wedged between chin and chest, cradled against the Adam's Apple (Wait a sec -- am I talking apples and oranges here?!). Naturally, this game lent itself to many a tight, intimate hug in our boy-girl lineup. We were on fire during this event, handily crushing the competition. We proudly and loudly boomed out our team chant.
Next up was "Lifesaver." This game involved passing a Lifesaver from one teammate to another via a toothpick between the teeth. Our candy broke halfway down the line, and we were relegated to last place. Bummer!
The next game had the colorful name of "Schlong." Using a water bottle dangling on a string tied to your waist as your schlong, you had to swing said member (once again, without the aid of your hands) in such a way as to push an orange across the floor to a teammate waiting on the other side of the room. This player would then tie on the titular tool and roll the orange back again to another teammate, and so on. We came in last place again. Yikes!
The fourth event was called "Kitty Licker," and surprisingly, it was the only one which specifically revolved around alcohol (though, naturally, many of us had been drinking in between challenges). The object of this twisted game was to lick a full can of beer out of a bowl, lying flat on your stomach, with your arms crossed behind your back and your legs crossed and lifted off the floor. Three people (2 males and 1 female) had to go from each team. Despite my hesitation, I volunteered for one of the slots, because my team consisted of a large number of Teetotalers, necessitating my participation. I ended up going first for my team, and I soon regretted my involvement. I had only sucked back half the can before I felt viciously nauseous. I sensed the vomit building up and churning in my belly, knowing at any moment I was going to chunder. Somehow, I managed to cap off the rising gorge right at the back of my throat (although I think a tad may have drooled out) and finish the beer. Never again, I vowed as I scrambled to the bar, taking deep breaths and trying to contain my dinner. (Editor's note: As bad as my experience was, it didn't hold a candle to Judd's. His stomach was not as strong as mine, and he spewed right into his bowl. The rules stipulated that the bowl must be emptied before the next player can go, so Judd's teammates actually forced him to slurp up the remaining liquid, puke and all.) Tiffany followed me, and then Patrick (who wasn't a drinker, so he licked up a can of Coke -- which, with all the carbonation, was arguably tougher to down than beer). When the smoke cleared, we had captured third place, and I was well on my way to liver poisoning. Not worth it!
The fifth game was called "Gopher," and involved each team's biggest guy and smallest girl in one of most hilarious races I've ever witnessed. Laying underneath the guy, the girl has to wrap her arms and legs around her teammate, who then scrambles on all fours from one side of the room to the other, carting the girl around like a mother possum carries her baby. We took a respectable second place.
Next up was a challenge whose name eludes me, but it involved cramming a quarter up your anus, clenching your butt cheeks, shuffling over to a can on the floor and releasing the coin ("bombs away!"). For every quarter that landed in the can, the team received one point. We managed to drop 7 out of 11 coins into the can (the top score). Scott acknowledged our winning performance and declared that my teammates and I had the tightest asses on the tour.
Now it was time for the Tug-O'-War, a contest my team was regretting from the beginning because we were minus one guy (Luciano having bowed out). We pulled and struggled, struggled and pulled (mostly struggled), and lost the first round quite quickly. We barely had time to catch our breath before being pitted against the other losing team in the consolation match, where we would attempt to stave off a last place finish. We switched up the order of our team line-up and tried again. We suffered serious rope burns (I got a nasty one under my left armpit) and were twice almost pulled over the brink, but somehow we managed to bear down both times and yank bank, eventually pulling ourselves to victory. Never did third place taste so sweet.
After seven events, all four teams were locked in a virtual tie, so the wise judges (Scott and Carl) announced that the winner of the final contest ("The Broom") would be crowned Olympic Champion. This last game involved holding a broom up to your nose and spinning around a dozen times as fast as you could, dropping the broom, and instantly jumping over it without falling. Scott decided that it would only be fitting if the captains themselves battled it out. Oh great, I thought as I rubbed my "Kitty Licked" stomach, which was only just now starting to settle down. Oh well, nothing could be done for it -- I was the captain, plain and simple, and I couldn't let down my team after all our efforts. Still, basing the ultimate outcome of this competition solely upon my vestibular fortitude was a big responsibility for me and my inner ear. Stickman went first and immediately relieved some of my anxiety: he fell flat on his face, without even attempting a jump. Kelly went next. She daintily hopped over the broom and landed successfully, but as she had failed to hold the broom against her face while spinning and took a major pause before jumping, she received some "reductions." Tatsumi was third, and he awed the crowd with a brilliant display. He zipped around the broom like a Whirling Dervish (way too fast), dropped it and jumped right over (true, he fell on his ass almost as soon as his feet touched the ground, but the amazed judges accepted it). This left me, and I admit I was somewhat daunted by the display I had just witnessed, not to mention a lingering awareness of the onerous burden of carrying the weight (and fate) of the team on my shoulders. I gave it my best shot: spin-spin-spin-spin-spin-spin-spin-spin-spin-spin-spin-spin . . . drop . . . jump . . . stable landing. All in all, it was a good effort -- not as electrifying as Tatsumi's attempt, but my technique was solid and I was the only one who abided by the rules without falling. My team cheered for me and slapped my back, praising the performance. They knew it was good, too. But would it be enough?
No, as it turned out . . . but it was close. Tatsumi (alias, The Broom King), was just too good for me. The judges declared him the winner and The Olgas claimed victory. But we did manage to take the "Silver Medal" and have a fun time doing it!
I told my team how proud I was of them and we congratulated each other all around. We all agreed to go change into something more substantial and then return to the bar for more merriment. On my way out, Paola (a fetching lass from Holland) approached me and said in her Dutch accent, "You know, you look very sexy in that toga." Homana-Homana-Homana, I thought, doing my best internal Ralph Kramden impression. Externally, I didn't quite know how to respond. "Thank you," was all I managed to stammer. "I think everyone will remember the way you look tonight," Paola continued. I didn't know about that, but I was certainly glad that she had noticed. I quickly exited the bar before I said something stupid and destroyed the moment.
As soon as I changed, I returned to the Bush Pig to dance the night away. This was definitely the wildest night of revelry thus far. Everyone moshed and slam danced (I accidentally knocked over Rachel at one point and stepped on her hand -- I hope she's alright), swung from the rafters (literally), danced on the bar and took diving leaps off the tables into the waiting arms of drunken friends. Tiffany, Donna and I danced to "Mr. Vain" about 30 times. Eventually, I was smoke-logged and just plain plumb tuckered out. I walked back to the bunkhouse with Paola, with whom I had conversed most of the evening. A more confident man would have openly flirted with her or attempted a kiss, but being the awkward sort I usually am, I just said goodnight and slipped off to sleep.
Oceania: Day 26: 7-29-94: Galloping Horses, Bullwhips & Boomerangs, Kanga-Lizard Fricassee, New Stars And Old Injuries
I awoke early and gulped down my first hot breakfast since the beginning of the tour. It was a nice change of pace, and it put me in a good mood for the morning's first activity: horseback riding. Labeling myself an "advanced rider" (a bit of a stretch, but I'd been on a horse before -- as recently as Fiji, in fact), I was placed in the first riding group of the day. I moseyed on over to the stables with Brad and waited for the rest of the posse to arrive. Bonnie, Autal, Marc, Irmi and Jody soon joined us.
We all mounted our horses and started trotting off down the trail. It was a little bumpy at first as I relearned how to ride without hammering my buttocks and thighs against the saddle. Once I matched the animal's rhythm, the ride became more enjoyable. Soon, however, I was craving a bit more speed. My prayers were answered when the trail guide suggested we canter. Bonnie, Jody, Mark, Irmi and I took him up on his offer, whilst Brad and Autal declined, preferring to spare their backsides.
Then we were off -- Yee-HA! We sped across the Ross River Valley, tramping up a cloud of dust that marked our progress.. As soon as the trail opened up sufficiently, we were given the okay to travel at an all-out gallop, something I'd never done before. Holy Shit! It was all I could do to hold on! My feet started slipping out of my stirrups as my horse attained a velocity previously unimaginable to me. Nonetheless, I loved every minute of it and surprisingly maintained my balance and rhythm. The gallop was fleeting, but fun.
We arrived back at the stables just in time for some billy tea (tea leaves and water cooked over an open fire in a can called a "billy") and damper (fresh bread baked in an iron pot under hot ashes). Then I got to try my hand at cracking a bullwhip and tossing a boomerang. The former was an utter failure: I ended up whipping myself more than anything, and as much as self-flagellation appeals to the Masochistic side of me, I was very disappointed with my efforts. (When I later returned for a second round of attempts, I did manage to eke out one or two faint snaps, but Indiana Jones has nothing to fear from me). My boomerang skills were only slightly better. While the results were better than my initial experience with a boomerang on the Bushtucker Tour, I still wasn't able to get it to come back to me. (Though in my defense, the ranch hand told us that boomerangs were never originally intended to truly return to the thrower; they usually, at best, swoop around in an arc. Using that benchmark, I fared fairly well.)
I took a walk over to the bar (not the Bush Pig, but the Homestead's other, nicer one) for some lunch, and I chatted with Paola and Monique over a steaming bowl of vegetable soup. Then I teamed up with Robby and shot some pool against various opponents (lost a few, won a few).
At 2:30, I rounded up some of my friends (Patrick, the other Patrick, Max, Fraulka, Rachel, Mark, Robby, Dave, James and Jody) and organized a volleyball game. My team won every time, thank you very much. Patrick1 and I even took on Robby and Dave in a game of 2-on-2 (another victory).
Soon it was time for our Clydesdale-drawn wagon ride, which brought us out into the bush for a traditional outback dinner. While we all sat on logs around a blazing campfire, sipping some free (or, as Scott would say, "F-R-Double E") wine, one of the ranch hands informed us about the Aborigines in the Ross River area. I'm pretty sure he told us that the local tribe believes they developed from a race of giant caterpillars, which have long since solidified, forming the surrounding mountain ranges -- though as I'm writing this, I'm thinking that maybe I just had way too much to drink!
As the sun set, our dinner was ready. We ate a meaty concoction, consisting "mostly" of Goanna Lizard and kangaroo (trust me, it tasted better than it sounds). After the meal, Fumi, Donna and myself were asked to act out a kangaroo hunt -- as the kangaroos, natch. After hopping around, eating and attempting to mate, I was crippled by a hunter's boomerang. I tried to limp away, but his partner's spear finished me off. Before I knew it, I was kangaroo stew (Jeez -- they could have at least let me finish mating first).
Next, we all left the orange glow of the fire to find a spot with better visibility of the night sky. Our knowledgeable ranch hand pointed out constellations unique to the Southern Hemisphere. He showed us the Southern Cross (an emblem on the Australian Flag), Scorpio, the North Crown and the South Crown. He also helped us locate Alpha Centuri and Beta Centuri, as well as Venus and Jupiter. It was strange to look up and not recognize anything; it was like I was on a different planet.
Then it was back to the campfire, where we looked at Aboriginal weapons, a shield, a coolaman (food tray) and a nulla-nulla (digging stick). We also passed around a didgeridoo, and I had my first opportunity to play one (I produced a sound akin to two geese farting in a windstorm). This was soon followed by a second opportunity (maybe only one goose).
Finally, we returned to civilization. No one was really up to the Bush Pig again, so we went to the place where I'd had lunch. This bar was decidedly calmer and more comfortable. I found a back room far from the maddening crowd (more like a study, really) where Brad, Monique and Paola we're already lounging on leather sofas in front of a raging fire. I decided to join them (next to Paola, of course). The next couple hours passed quite pleasantly, and were among the most enjoyably relaxing of the trip. Paola spent much of the time tutoring me in Dutch, and I proved to be a decent student. Inside of two hours, I learned names for numerous colors, numbers, animals, opposites, greetings and body parts.
As midnight approached, Paola said she was tired and ready to go to sleep. She asked me if there were any final words I wanted to learn -- several provocative ones passed through my mind, but once again, I failed to take advantage of the opening she was offering, and I merely asked her how to say "goodnight" (goede nag).
Brad, Monique, Paola and I decided to head back to the rooms together, and an incident occurred along the way which radically changed the entire mood of the evening. Walking along the unlit dirt road back to the dorm, we passed our friend Rolf. No sooner had we gone 50 feet, when suddenly, we heard Rolf cry out in the darkness. We raced back to find him lying in the street, grabbing his bad ankle (he had seriously damaged it in a car accident 2 years previous) and howling in pain. It was obvious that he was in incredible agony. Through gritted teeth, he told us he had tripped over a sand embankment and twisted his leg. We advised him to rest a bit, and then we helped him back up to his feet, offering to support his weight for the rest of the journey. But Rolf insisted he was well enough to walk unaided. A few steps was all it took to belie him. Rolf winced and moaned, and Brad and I quickly grabbed either of his arms and helped him along. Even "crutching" Rolf in this way did not alleviate his pain substantially, so we ended up carrying him. We managed successfully for a while, until our muscles tired and he became too heavy. We gently eased Rolf down and took a breather. A quick look around revealed that we were still in the middle of nowhere with nary a streetlight or Tiki torch to break the blackness. When Brad and I recuperated enough to have another go at it, Rolf declined our offer to be carried again, but he did acquiesce to being supported. After a good deal more yowling, Rolf seemed about ready to pass out. Luckily, we made it to a dimly lit table, where Rolf could lay down while Brad and I examined his injury. The ankle was indeed swollen, but Rolf assured us that such swelling was normal for his leg ever since the prior accident.
At this point, long suppressed emotions (undoubtedly aided by his pain and whatever alcohol he had consumed) rose to the surface, and Rolf broke down in tears. He jumbled his languages, spewing forth a German/English hodgepodge that was hard to follow (Rolf's heavily accented English was difficult to understand even in the best of circumstances). One word rang out clearly enough, however -- kruppel. "I'm a cripple," he wailed. "I should just cut my leg off!" Wow. We were stunned and speechless. We tried to comfort him with caresses and soothing words, but Rolf could not be consoled; he catharsis would not be squelched. He kept repeating "I am a cripple" in English and in German and in that eerie hybrid language, over and over again, until his voice cracked with the strain. It soon became clear that there was something far more wrong with Rolf than his ankle -- his mind had yet to accept the full extent of his injury from the car accident (at least until this moment), and he was an emotional wreck. The rest of us became uncomfortable: we alternated between calming Rolf and turning our heads away. Tears welled up in Paola's eyes, and a lump formed in my own throat. There was nothing we could do but wait for all the anguish to be released. Hopefully, this would allow Rolf to completely accept his new reality and finally move on. The awkward moment seemed to drag on for hours.
Eventually, the tears dried up and Rolf pulled himself together. We finished our walk to the dorms in silence and saw Rolf to his room. We were all visibly shaken by the experience we'd just been through, emotionally and physically drained. We spoke about it briefly, and I tried to break the tension with some mild humor. After a round of somber "goodnights," we all shuffled off to bed. Any thoughts of romance between Paola and myself were now replaced with more sober musings: How would I deal with such an injury? Hmm . . .
We all mounted our horses and started trotting off down the trail. It was a little bumpy at first as I relearned how to ride without hammering my buttocks and thighs against the saddle. Once I matched the animal's rhythm, the ride became more enjoyable. Soon, however, I was craving a bit more speed. My prayers were answered when the trail guide suggested we canter. Bonnie, Jody, Mark, Irmi and I took him up on his offer, whilst Brad and Autal declined, preferring to spare their backsides.
Then we were off -- Yee-HA! We sped across the Ross River Valley, tramping up a cloud of dust that marked our progress.. As soon as the trail opened up sufficiently, we were given the okay to travel at an all-out gallop, something I'd never done before. Holy Shit! It was all I could do to hold on! My feet started slipping out of my stirrups as my horse attained a velocity previously unimaginable to me. Nonetheless, I loved every minute of it and surprisingly maintained my balance and rhythm. The gallop was fleeting, but fun.
We arrived back at the stables just in time for some billy tea (tea leaves and water cooked over an open fire in a can called a "billy") and damper (fresh bread baked in an iron pot under hot ashes). Then I got to try my hand at cracking a bullwhip and tossing a boomerang. The former was an utter failure: I ended up whipping myself more than anything, and as much as self-flagellation appeals to the Masochistic side of me, I was very disappointed with my efforts. (When I later returned for a second round of attempts, I did manage to eke out one or two faint snaps, but Indiana Jones has nothing to fear from me). My boomerang skills were only slightly better. While the results were better than my initial experience with a boomerang on the Bushtucker Tour, I still wasn't able to get it to come back to me. (Though in my defense, the ranch hand told us that boomerangs were never originally intended to truly return to the thrower; they usually, at best, swoop around in an arc. Using that benchmark, I fared fairly well.)
I took a walk over to the bar (not the Bush Pig, but the Homestead's other, nicer one) for some lunch, and I chatted with Paola and Monique over a steaming bowl of vegetable soup. Then I teamed up with Robby and shot some pool against various opponents (lost a few, won a few).
At 2:30, I rounded up some of my friends (Patrick, the other Patrick, Max, Fraulka, Rachel, Mark, Robby, Dave, James and Jody) and organized a volleyball game. My team won every time, thank you very much. Patrick1 and I even took on Robby and Dave in a game of 2-on-2 (another victory).
Soon it was time for our Clydesdale-drawn wagon ride, which brought us out into the bush for a traditional outback dinner. While we all sat on logs around a blazing campfire, sipping some free (or, as Scott would say, "F-R-Double E") wine, one of the ranch hands informed us about the Aborigines in the Ross River area. I'm pretty sure he told us that the local tribe believes they developed from a race of giant caterpillars, which have long since solidified, forming the surrounding mountain ranges -- though as I'm writing this, I'm thinking that maybe I just had way too much to drink!
As the sun set, our dinner was ready. We ate a meaty concoction, consisting "mostly" of Goanna Lizard and kangaroo (trust me, it tasted better than it sounds). After the meal, Fumi, Donna and myself were asked to act out a kangaroo hunt -- as the kangaroos, natch. After hopping around, eating and attempting to mate, I was crippled by a hunter's boomerang. I tried to limp away, but his partner's spear finished me off. Before I knew it, I was kangaroo stew (Jeez -- they could have at least let me finish mating first).
Next, we all left the orange glow of the fire to find a spot with better visibility of the night sky. Our knowledgeable ranch hand pointed out constellations unique to the Southern Hemisphere. He showed us the Southern Cross (an emblem on the Australian Flag), Scorpio, the North Crown and the South Crown. He also helped us locate Alpha Centuri and Beta Centuri, as well as Venus and Jupiter. It was strange to look up and not recognize anything; it was like I was on a different planet.
Then it was back to the campfire, where we looked at Aboriginal weapons, a shield, a coolaman (food tray) and a nulla-nulla (digging stick). We also passed around a didgeridoo, and I had my first opportunity to play one (I produced a sound akin to two geese farting in a windstorm). This was soon followed by a second opportunity (maybe only one goose).
Finally, we returned to civilization. No one was really up to the Bush Pig again, so we went to the place where I'd had lunch. This bar was decidedly calmer and more comfortable. I found a back room far from the maddening crowd (more like a study, really) where Brad, Monique and Paola we're already lounging on leather sofas in front of a raging fire. I decided to join them (next to Paola, of course). The next couple hours passed quite pleasantly, and were among the most enjoyably relaxing of the trip. Paola spent much of the time tutoring me in Dutch, and I proved to be a decent student. Inside of two hours, I learned names for numerous colors, numbers, animals, opposites, greetings and body parts.
As midnight approached, Paola said she was tired and ready to go to sleep. She asked me if there were any final words I wanted to learn -- several provocative ones passed through my mind, but once again, I failed to take advantage of the opening she was offering, and I merely asked her how to say "goodnight" (goede nag).
Brad, Monique, Paola and I decided to head back to the rooms together, and an incident occurred along the way which radically changed the entire mood of the evening. Walking along the unlit dirt road back to the dorm, we passed our friend Rolf. No sooner had we gone 50 feet, when suddenly, we heard Rolf cry out in the darkness. We raced back to find him lying in the street, grabbing his bad ankle (he had seriously damaged it in a car accident 2 years previous) and howling in pain. It was obvious that he was in incredible agony. Through gritted teeth, he told us he had tripped over a sand embankment and twisted his leg. We advised him to rest a bit, and then we helped him back up to his feet, offering to support his weight for the rest of the journey. But Rolf insisted he was well enough to walk unaided. A few steps was all it took to belie him. Rolf winced and moaned, and Brad and I quickly grabbed either of his arms and helped him along. Even "crutching" Rolf in this way did not alleviate his pain substantially, so we ended up carrying him. We managed successfully for a while, until our muscles tired and he became too heavy. We gently eased Rolf down and took a breather. A quick look around revealed that we were still in the middle of nowhere with nary a streetlight or Tiki torch to break the blackness. When Brad and I recuperated enough to have another go at it, Rolf declined our offer to be carried again, but he did acquiesce to being supported. After a good deal more yowling, Rolf seemed about ready to pass out. Luckily, we made it to a dimly lit table, where Rolf could lay down while Brad and I examined his injury. The ankle was indeed swollen, but Rolf assured us that such swelling was normal for his leg ever since the prior accident.
At this point, long suppressed emotions (undoubtedly aided by his pain and whatever alcohol he had consumed) rose to the surface, and Rolf broke down in tears. He jumbled his languages, spewing forth a German/English hodgepodge that was hard to follow (Rolf's heavily accented English was difficult to understand even in the best of circumstances). One word rang out clearly enough, however -- kruppel. "I'm a cripple," he wailed. "I should just cut my leg off!" Wow. We were stunned and speechless. We tried to comfort him with caresses and soothing words, but Rolf could not be consoled; he catharsis would not be squelched. He kept repeating "I am a cripple" in English and in German and in that eerie hybrid language, over and over again, until his voice cracked with the strain. It soon became clear that there was something far more wrong with Rolf than his ankle -- his mind had yet to accept the full extent of his injury from the car accident (at least until this moment), and he was an emotional wreck. The rest of us became uncomfortable: we alternated between calming Rolf and turning our heads away. Tears welled up in Paola's eyes, and a lump formed in my own throat. There was nothing we could do but wait for all the anguish to be released. Hopefully, this would allow Rolf to completely accept his new reality and finally move on. The awkward moment seemed to drag on for hours.
Eventually, the tears dried up and Rolf pulled himself together. We finished our walk to the dorms in silence and saw Rolf to his room. We were all visibly shaken by the experience we'd just been through, emotionally and physically drained. We spoke about it briefly, and I tried to break the tension with some mild humor. After a round of somber "goodnights," we all shuffled off to bed. Any thoughts of romance between Paola and myself were now replaced with more sober musings: How would I deal with such an injury? Hmm . . .
Oceania: Day 27: 7-30-94: Camel Caravan, Depressing Departures, Bus Bowling, Dusky Devils Marbles, Wild Wauchope Women And Disappearing Diary
Today was rather a sad day, because it was the last for 20 of my friends: Dave, Jody, Tiffany, Bonnie, James, Fraulka, Marina, Dave A., Britta, Rie, Monique, Fumi, Tatsumi, Anja, Satomi, Patrick 1, Patrick 2, Judd, Kelli, and (sigh) even Paola were leaving the tour after lunch. At breakfast, I started gathering addresses, promising to write (and even visit) many of them.
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----------------------------------------
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!
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!
Oceania: Day 28: 7-31-94: The Wheels On The Bus Go Round And Round
Undoubtedly, this was the most uneventful day of the tour -- a 12 hour bus ride. Surprisingly, however, I found it neither boring nor uncomfortable. I caught up in my journal, read a little more of A Time to Kill ("Time to Kill" was more like it), slept and watched 3 videos (a documentary on kangaroos, Kindergarten Cop [basically my life, without all the muscles] and a documentary on native Australian animals -- koalas, roos, platypuses, crocodiles, echinos, Tasmanian Tigers [now extinct], etc.). I also joined in a few more bus games, including "TV Themes" (Chris and I joined forces to form CHRIS2 [Chris squared], and we were the winning team, correctly identifying 33 of 36 tunes) and "World Trivia" [everyone wrote down an interesting question about his/her home country and quizzed everyone else].
We also made several stops along the way. Chief among them were the Daly Waters Pub, the oldest bar in the Northern Territory (and one of the oldest in all of Australia) and Mataranka Thermal Pools, natural hot springs with an average annual temperature of 34-degrees Celsius.
Finally, at 6:30 p.m., we arrived at the Frontier Hotel in Katherine. For once, we had first class accommodations: every room came equipped with real beds, TV, phone, refrigerator, microwave, sofa, chairs, table and bathroom (with a shower). The hotel even had laundry facilities. The previous night's swag was but a cold, hard memory. I was in Heaven!
I took a shower, washed some desperately needed laundry, pigged out at the buffet and chatted with Sharon and Rachel over a frothy Powers Ale (one of several new brews I had tried on my trip -- the others being Victorian Bitter [VB] and Strongbow Cider [Draught and Dry]). When my eyes began to droop, I headed back to my room and snuggled into my warm and cozy queen-sized bed (the only down side was I had to share it with Peter).
We also made several stops along the way. Chief among them were the Daly Waters Pub, the oldest bar in the Northern Territory (and one of the oldest in all of Australia) and Mataranka Thermal Pools, natural hot springs with an average annual temperature of 34-degrees Celsius.
Finally, at 6:30 p.m., we arrived at the Frontier Hotel in Katherine. For once, we had first class accommodations: every room came equipped with real beds, TV, phone, refrigerator, microwave, sofa, chairs, table and bathroom (with a shower). The hotel even had laundry facilities. The previous night's swag was but a cold, hard memory. I was in Heaven!
I took a shower, washed some desperately needed laundry, pigged out at the buffet and chatted with Sharon and Rachel over a frothy Powers Ale (one of several new brews I had tried on my trip -- the others being Victorian Bitter [VB] and Strongbow Cider [Draught and Dry]). When my eyes began to droop, I headed back to my room and snuggled into my warm and cozy queen-sized bed (the only down side was I had to share it with Peter).
Oceania: Day 29: 8-1-94: Katherine Gorge
Today we took a bus ride out to downtown Katherine. Unfortunately, it was a state holiday (Picnic Day), and the whole frickin' town was shut down (save one "Woolies" [Woolworths]).
Then it was off to Katherine Gorge. We took a four hour boat ride down the Katherine River, exploring gorges 1-3. The first gorge was rather unimpressive -- modest tree-lined cliffs rose up gradually on each side of the river.
Since it was dry season, the water level in the Katherine River was very low. Hence, we had to dock boat #1 and walk a few hundred meters to boat #2. Along the way, we got our first look at authentic Aboriginal cave art (or more precisely, cliff art) which dated back some 10,000 years.
We hopped in the second boat and visited a second gorge. This one was more in line with my expectations: a narrow portion of the Katherine river was flanked on either side by vertical granite cliffs towering high above us. I snapped a few shots and then laid back and enjoyed the ride.
After a bit, we once again stopped, got out of the boat and walked a ways, ultimately boarding a third vessel. The third gorge was much the same as the second, and I didn't bother taking a photo. We stopped around noon for afternoon "tea" (juice and fruitcake) and a quick swim. Those of us who were of hardy stock swam across the (freshwater) crocodile-infested waters to the escarpment on the other side, where we did a bit of cliff diving (Yours Truly did a flip).
After some relaxing sun bathing (a real treat after the cold temperatures experienced thus far on our tour -- I'm told it will be warm from hereon out, all the way up to Darwin), we packed up our things and reversed the 3-boat journey back to the launching point.
We returned to the hotel, where we had just enough time to change before heading out again -- this time for our croc-spotting cruise. As before, we boarded a vessel on the Katherine River. Setting out at dusk, we cruised down the river towards our campsite. Halfway there, a cloak of darkness began to cover the sky. Venus became visible, then Jupiter . . . soon a whole array of stars poked holes in Night's shroud.
Meanwhile, the river and bordering jungle were undergoing their own transformation, becoming a seething mass of gurgles and silhouettes. Soon the birds and nocturnal rain forest denizens started squawking their nightly dirge, providing an appropriately eerie score for our nighttime adventure. One of the guides shone a brilliant spotlight on the water, illuminating the surface and creating a reflective parallel universe. All the eldritch images doubled, and we suddenly found ourselves floating in midair through a shadowy canyon. The scene was so captivating that I failed to make a cynical comment about the serious dearth of sharp-toothed reptiles.
Then it was off to Katherine Gorge. We took a four hour boat ride down the Katherine River, exploring gorges 1-3. The first gorge was rather unimpressive -- modest tree-lined cliffs rose up gradually on each side of the river.
Since it was dry season, the water level in the Katherine River was very low. Hence, we had to dock boat #1 and walk a few hundred meters to boat #2. Along the way, we got our first look at authentic Aboriginal cave art (or more precisely, cliff art) which dated back some 10,000 years.
We hopped in the second boat and visited a second gorge. This one was more in line with my expectations: a narrow portion of the Katherine river was flanked on either side by vertical granite cliffs towering high above us. I snapped a few shots and then laid back and enjoyed the ride.
------------------------------Katherine Gorge------------------------------
After a bit, we once again stopped, got out of the boat and walked a ways, ultimately boarding a third vessel. The third gorge was much the same as the second, and I didn't bother taking a photo. We stopped around noon for afternoon "tea" (juice and fruitcake) and a quick swim. Those of us who were of hardy stock swam across the (freshwater) crocodile-infested waters to the escarpment on the other side, where we did a bit of cliff diving (Yours Truly did a flip).
After some relaxing sun bathing (a real treat after the cold temperatures experienced thus far on our tour -- I'm told it will be warm from hereon out, all the way up to Darwin), we packed up our things and reversed the 3-boat journey back to the launching point.
We returned to the hotel, where we had just enough time to change before heading out again -- this time for our croc-spotting cruise. As before, we boarded a vessel on the Katherine River. Setting out at dusk, we cruised down the river towards our campsite. Halfway there, a cloak of darkness began to cover the sky. Venus became visible, then Jupiter . . . soon a whole array of stars poked holes in Night's shroud.
Meanwhile, the river and bordering jungle were undergoing their own transformation, becoming a seething mass of gurgles and silhouettes. Soon the birds and nocturnal rain forest denizens started squawking their nightly dirge, providing an appropriately eerie score for our nighttime adventure. One of the guides shone a brilliant spotlight on the water, illuminating the surface and creating a reflective parallel universe. All the eldritch images doubled, and we suddenly found ourselves floating in midair through a shadowy canyon. The scene was so captivating that I failed to make a cynical comment about the serious dearth of sharp-toothed reptiles.
Oceania: Day 30: 8-2-94: Kakadu National Park
Today we set off for Kakadu National Park, one of the major attractions of the Northern Territory. Among other things, Kakadu was the backdrop for several scenes in "Crocodile Dundee." Appropos of this, we viewed the film during our morning drive. When we arrived at the park, we set out to trace Paul Hogan's steps.
First we ate lunch in front of Waterfall Creek, at the exact same spot where Paul Hogan and Linda Kozlowski ate goana & yams and shared their first onscreen kiss. There being neither a lizard nor a busty blonde in sight, I sat on a rock and ate some Vegemite sandwiches. (Vegemite -- only known to me previously as an odd-sounding food doled out by an unnamed muscular man in that old Men At Work song -- turns out to be the premier sandwich spread in Australia. It is concentrated yeast extract, which you spread thinly on toast. The result resembles the smeared deposits in a baby's diaper and tastes no better at first [very salty], but I've since acquired a taste for it).
Next, some friends and I decided to climb to the top of the waterfall from which the creek got its name, whereupon we took some impressive photos of cliffs, falls and water pools. I don't want to overstate the danger I faced in acquiring one particular shot, but few would deny that I risked life and limb wading across a murky stagnant pond -- over slippery, algae infested rocks and through the dark, dank depths, where slimy, scaly unknown creatures lurked (undoubtedly snakes and crocs!) -- in order to snap a close-up of a goana sunning itself on a rock.
First we ate lunch in front of Waterfall Creek, at the exact same spot where Paul Hogan and Linda Kozlowski ate goana & yams and shared their first onscreen kiss. There being neither a lizard nor a busty blonde in sight, I sat on a rock and ate some Vegemite sandwiches. (Vegemite -- only known to me previously as an odd-sounding food doled out by an unnamed muscular man in that old Men At Work song -- turns out to be the premier sandwich spread in Australia. It is concentrated yeast extract, which you spread thinly on toast. The result resembles the smeared deposits in a baby's diaper and tastes no better at first [very salty], but I've since acquired a taste for it).
Next, some friends and I decided to climb to the top of the waterfall from which the creek got its name, whereupon we took some impressive photos of cliffs, falls and water pools. I don't want to overstate the danger I faced in acquiring one particular shot, but few would deny that I risked life and limb wading across a murky stagnant pond -- over slippery, algae infested rocks and through the dark, dank depths, where slimy, scaly unknown creatures lurked (undoubtedly snakes and crocs!) -- in order to snap a close-up of a goana sunning itself on a rock.
------------------------------A Goana Soaks Up The Sun---------------------------
After a brief stop at our hotel, the crew and I returned to Kakadu to see Obiri Rock. As we scaled this escarpment, we passed right through the place where Crocodile Dundee and his New York Newsday reporter girlfriend stood and looked out over the Magela Wetlands. We also had an opportunity to see a prominent display of authentic Aboriginal rock art. Some of the etchings dated back 20,000 years, although most of the discernable artwork was considerably younger (some as recent as 30 years old). We saw depictions of fish (some in an x-ray style), kangaroos, turtles, people and even one Tasmanian Tiger, long since extinct. Scott told us a little bit about how the Aborigines created the paint they used -- they mixed clay and ochre (mainly red and yellow-hued) with animal fat, adding additional ingredients to get other colors (ash to make white or charcoal to make black, for example). Scott went on to explain that over time, a natural coating formed on the rock faces, which has served to protect the paintings all these long years. He ended his mini-lesson with a warning: much of the artwork at Obiri revolved around the Rainbow Serpent, an important figure in Aboriginal mythology, and it is said that if you dare to touch the rock art or disturb the Rainbow Serpent in any way, the unspecified reprisal will be quick and deadly.
After viewing the art, we camped out at the apex of Obiri Rock, awaiting the dusk. The setting sun brought about a stunning change to the surrounding wetlands/ food plains as the colors shifted. Once again on this trip, I disregarded all sound advice and stared directly at the glowing orange orb. I snapped several photos, and I hope they develop well (especially one of a flock of birds flying right across the blazing disc).
When darkness fully descended, I noticed a fire down in the wetlands which was rapidly spreading and gaining strength. I was deeply concerned until someone informed me that the blaze was deliberately set by the park rangers as part of their controlled burn program.
Soon it was time to head back to the hotel, where I dined on barramundi and swigged back my first Toohey's Red (good brew). A bunch of Contiki's decided to have "boat races" with a Connections group, but with my solemn vow to eschew drinking games (and that awful Kitty Licker nausea) still fresh in my mind, I ducked out early and went to bed.
Oceania: Day 31: 8-3-94: Rocks And Crocs
It's exactly one month ago today that I embarked upon this South Pacific Adventure -- my holiday is slipping away far too quickly!
Today was a typically busy day in Contikiland. I awoke at 6:00 a.m. and was herded into the bus with the rest of the flock. We shuttled over to the Kakadu Airport for our one-hour scenic flight over Kakadu National Park. I was loaded onto a 14-seater plane and we were whisked away up into the early morning sky. The flight took us above the cliffs, wetlands and rivers of Kakadu (including the East Alligator River, cousin to the South Alligator River, upon which we will cruise later in the day). We weren't low enough to see any wildlife (apart from a few birds), and we weren't small enough to have an adventuresome ride, so overall I was somewhat disappointed, openly questioning this "highly recommended" $95 (!) optional excursion.
Next it was off to visit more "Crocodile Dundee" hot spots, including Anbangbang Billabong (say that 10 times fast!), where Hogan and Koszlowski boated across. Though only half full (due to it being the dry season), the billabong, with its accompanying birdlife, was quite scenic.
We also saw Noulangie Rock, where we had another opportunity to view Aboriginal rock art (Historical Note: I've learned that there were 4 stages of Aboriginal Art, progressing from Handprint Art to Salt Water/Estuarine Art to Fresh Water Art (ex. x-ray fish) to Post Contact Art (ex. European saliling ships). The art here was not as faded as its Obiri counterparts, and thus made the viewing (and photographing) much easier and more pleasurable. My favorite piece of rock art was Nammarrgon, The Lightning Man. A skeletal creature with axes on his knees and elbows, with a bolt of lightning over his head, the Lightning Man is a much feared and respected ancestral spirit. The Aborigines believe that the Lightning Man lives nearby in a special three-columned mountain (which I viewed) and ventures out periodically -- when angered or otherwise inclined -- to create lightning by striking the ground with his axes.
We made a third and final stop at the Kakadu Visitor's Center, where I purchased a wonderful Aboriginal Art storybook for my students and $50 worth of art posters and postcards.
Then it was back to the hotel for a swim and a rest. No, scratch that . . . first we went on our Salt Water Croc-Spotting Cruise down the South Alligator River (why "Alligator" and not "Crocodile", you ask? -- misnamed by "a bloody American," or so I'm told). The South Alligator River, a.k.a. "The Yellow Waters" -- so nicknamed because of the yellowish algae which forms in the river (and not because too many tourists relieved themselves, which was my guess) -- is the perfect place to catch sight of wild crocodiles in their natural habitat.
This Croc Cruise was one of the best things I've done on tour. Not only did I see a dozen crocodiles (ranging from babies a half meter long to adults a full 4 meters in length), but also a fanciful array of birdlife, including a jabaru (a large beautiful bird with a greenish neck and long, bright orange legs), a pelican, a tawny frog mouth (an owl-like grey-brownish bird which blends in perfectly with the tree it inhabits for life), a sea hawk, several egrets, a bunch of broulgas (ducks and kingfishers) and a partridge in a pear tree. Add to that three goanas, half a dozen wild horses and a feral pig, and it was truly a brush with nature.
----------"Dammit Jim . . . I'm a Croc-tor, NOT an Alliga-tor!"-----------
Then it was back to the hotel for a swim and a rest.
At 7:00 p.m. we all walked over to the Gagudju , a 5-star hotel constructed in the shape of a crocodile, where we had an unlimited feast of salmon, prawns, mussels, cream of broccoli & mushroom soup, turkey, pumpkin, applesauce, squash and tons of other meats, salads and vegies that I didn't have room for. The dessert table was exquisite, and I barely restrained myself to a single slice of blueberry cheesecake and some fresh fruit. I washed it all down with a Carlton Light beer.
After dinner, I shot some pool and danced the night away.
Today was a typically busy day in Contikiland. I awoke at 6:00 a.m. and was herded into the bus with the rest of the flock. We shuttled over to the Kakadu Airport for our one-hour scenic flight over Kakadu National Park. I was loaded onto a 14-seater plane and we were whisked away up into the early morning sky. The flight took us above the cliffs, wetlands and rivers of Kakadu (including the East Alligator River, cousin to the South Alligator River, upon which we will cruise later in the day). We weren't low enough to see any wildlife (apart from a few birds), and we weren't small enough to have an adventuresome ride, so overall I was somewhat disappointed, openly questioning this "highly recommended" $95 (!) optional excursion.
Next it was off to visit more "Crocodile Dundee" hot spots, including Anbangbang Billabong (say that 10 times fast!), where Hogan and Koszlowski boated across. Though only half full (due to it being the dry season), the billabong, with its accompanying birdlife, was quite scenic.
We also saw Noulangie Rock, where we had another opportunity to view Aboriginal rock art (Historical Note: I've learned that there were 4 stages of Aboriginal Art, progressing from Handprint Art to Salt Water/Estuarine Art to Fresh Water Art (ex. x-ray fish) to Post Contact Art (ex. European saliling ships). The art here was not as faded as its Obiri counterparts, and thus made the viewing (and photographing) much easier and more pleasurable. My favorite piece of rock art was Nammarrgon, The Lightning Man. A skeletal creature with axes on his knees and elbows, with a bolt of lightning over his head, the Lightning Man is a much feared and respected ancestral spirit. The Aborigines believe that the Lightning Man lives nearby in a special three-columned mountain (which I viewed) and ventures out periodically -- when angered or otherwise inclined -- to create lightning by striking the ground with his axes.
-------------------------Nammarrgon: The Lightning Man-----------------------
We made a third and final stop at the Kakadu Visitor's Center, where I purchased a wonderful Aboriginal Art storybook for my students and $50 worth of art posters and postcards.
Then it was back to the hotel for a swim and a rest. No, scratch that . . . first we went on our Salt Water Croc-Spotting Cruise down the South Alligator River (why "Alligator" and not "Crocodile", you ask? -- misnamed by "a bloody American," or so I'm told). The South Alligator River, a.k.a. "The Yellow Waters" -- so nicknamed because of the yellowish algae which forms in the river (and not because too many tourists relieved themselves, which was my guess) -- is the perfect place to catch sight of wild crocodiles in their natural habitat.
This Croc Cruise was one of the best things I've done on tour. Not only did I see a dozen crocodiles (ranging from babies a half meter long to adults a full 4 meters in length), but also a fanciful array of birdlife, including a jabaru (a large beautiful bird with a greenish neck and long, bright orange legs), a pelican, a tawny frog mouth (an owl-like grey-brownish bird which blends in perfectly with the tree it inhabits for life), a sea hawk, several egrets, a bunch of broulgas (ducks and kingfishers) and a partridge in a pear tree. Add to that three goanas, half a dozen wild horses and a feral pig, and it was truly a brush with nature.
----------"Dammit Jim . . . I'm a Croc-tor, NOT an Alliga-tor!"-----------
Then it was back to the hotel for a swim and a rest.
At 7:00 p.m. we all walked over to the Gagudju , a 5-star hotel constructed in the shape of a crocodile, where we had an unlimited feast of salmon, prawns, mussels, cream of broccoli & mushroom soup, turkey, pumpkin, applesauce, squash and tons of other meats, salads and vegies that I didn't have room for. The dessert table was exquisite, and I barely restrained myself to a single slice of blueberry cheesecake and some fresh fruit. I washed it all down with a Carlton Light beer.
After dinner, I shot some pool and danced the night away.
Oceania: Day 32: 8-4-94: Litchfield National Park
We spent today going to various locales within Litchfield National Park. First we visited the wonderous Cathedral Termite Mounds. The mounds, made over a period of 60+ years in some cases, can grow up to 25 feet high and hold in excess of 55,000 termites. The industrious little fellas chew on mud and grass, which mixes with their saliva and forms a solid compound that dries as hard as concrete. The resulting mound provides a safe home for generations of termites and continues to grow as long as the colony thrives.
------------------------------Cathedral Termite Mound-----------------------------
------------------------------Cathedral Termite Mound----------------------------- Next we visited two different waterfalls. The first was called Wangi Falls, where I lazed around writing postcards and taking photos of a giant (4 foot) goana lizard that lumbered by. Then it was off to Florence Falls. When we arrived at the top of the 50-foot cliff from whence the water plunged, I was among the brave few who took the "Scott And Carl Cuzzy Bro Challenge" and jumped off the thing. I did it quickly, before I had time to really think about it and potentially chicken out. After a mad adrenaline rush and a (thankfully) painless splash, I realized my mistake -- I was in such a rush that I never asked anyone to capture my "Kodak Moment" and immortalize the daring deed. No photos, no proof . . . no proof, no glory! As I proceeded to mentally prepare myself to jump again, I came to another unsettling realization: in order to take my proposed second plunge (something Scott and Carl said no one had ever been keen to try), I first had to make a dangerous trek up the side of the steep, slippery (not to mention sharp!) rock wall. It was slow going, but I did eventually manage to make it (though my bare feet suffered a few lacerations for the effort). After making sure my volunteer photog was ready to snap away, I jumped again, once more finding a smooth landing without injury (some of my friends weren't so lucky, bruising their backs and/or thighs after just a single attempt).
--------------------------------My Florence Falls Fall----------------------------------
After we all had a brief swim at the bottom of the falls, it was off to see the Magnetic Termite Mounds. While not as tall as their cousins we saw earlier, Magnetic Termite Mounds are nonetheless impressive natural architectural structures. Magnetic Termite Mounds are straight, smooth, wide and thin, and are so named because they always align with the North and South Magnetic Poles. Magnetic Termites need the warmth of the sun to survive, so when the sun rises, they move to the East side of the mound, and when the sun sets, they work their way over to the West side (and no, I'm afraid I don't have time to tell a West Side Story).
We arrived back at the Darwin Hotel, where we had a couple hours to unwind. Then it was off to the Darwin Street Markets, where I had my first taste of South American cuisine -- a chicken dish with potatoes, vegetables and rice -- and bought my very own didgeridoo (now I just have to learn how to play the darn thing!). I also purchased a plastic boomerang toy for the kids to throw around (I plan to get an authentic one, as well, sometime tomorrow).
After leaving the street fair, it was back to Hotel Darwin for a Strongbow Draught with Max, Roger and a couple of his German friends from Roger's previous tour. Then it was off to a self-imposed early bedtime, as tomorrow would be the tour's final night, and I needed to rest up.
Oceania: Day 33: 8-5-94: Territory Wildlife Park And Reserve
Today we went to visit the Territory Wildlife Park and Reserve, and I had the opportunity to closely view some indiginous wildlife which I'd previously only viewed from afar, if at all. The layout of the central portion of the wildlife park was really natural and unrestricted -- it wasn't an American zoo where the animals were jailed up in claustrophobic cages, nor even a typical "reserve," where the animals are visibly penned in larger habitats. It seemed as large and free an environment as actual wilderness to me (which technically it was, I guess, just protected wilderness). What few viewable fences there were served the main purpose of separating animal from animal, not people from animal. In fact, in many areas, animals and people intermingled quite freely. My introduction to this happened quite unexpectedly, when I was walking along and a wallaby suddenly popped out of the brush, looked at me curiously (as if I were the one on exhibit) and then hopped along its merry way. Another wallaby, considerably less skittish than his brethren and obviously used to human contact, allowed me to approach, photograph and even pet him.
Besides wallabies, I also had the opportunity to see Red Kangaroos (males, females and joeys), emus, water buffalo, feral pigs, camels and even the ellusive echidna (though admittedly, mostly in shadow). Moreover, I had the chance to visit the aquarium (which included a walk-through transparent tunnel) to see a sampling of Australian sealife. My favorite encounter was a shockingly close look at a saltwater crocodile. At least 13 feet long, he glared at me with a cold look in his reptilian eyes -- as he opened his mouth, displaying his pointy teeth, he ellicited my respect and healthy fear, and I took a step back . . . despite the thick pane of reinforced glass between us. Don't mess with a croc!
One of the most enjoyable parts of the wildlife park was the aviary. A massive mesh net, encompassing acre upon acre of land and reaching high into the sky, the aviary housed dozens of varieties of birds. The best section, which didn't appear to be caged in at all, was a reproduced stretch of rainforest. Hauntingly beautiful and still, the rainforest was a sanctuary for the senses. Looking at the lush trees, listening to the occasional rustle as a beak poked the ground in search of lunch and smelling the wet, green scent, I was transported out of the wildlife park and back into the thick jungles of Hawaii and Fiji. Untold numbers of butterflies fluttered around me, heightening the peaceful, mystical air of the moment.
Perhaps the highlight of the day was watching the "Predator Show," in which several of Australia's predatory birds (including a strikingly large and handsome Sea Eagle) were shown and flown.
Finally, I had the chance to visit the arthropod and reptile exhibits, as well as the nocturnal house, getting more than my fill of snakes, lizards (including a Frilled-Neck) , scorpions, spiders and bats.
After the Territory Wildlife Park and Reserve, we all had our first (and last) real afternoon to relax -- a full 5 hours. I took advantage of this time to change some flights with Ansett, mail some postcards and do some final souvenir shopping (finally purchasing that wooden, hand-painted boomerang I wanted).
At 7:00 p.m., I had an all-you-can-eat barbecue of steak, pork chops and chicken, and I sampled two more Australian brews (Redback [a wheat malt] and Crown) -- both were mighty fine! During dinner, Rolf was roped into teaching us all some German, my favorite phrase of the night being "Sie sind eines blod mann" (this supposedly translates to "You are a stupid man!").
Then it was time for our final Contiki night out. First it was off to Diamond Head Casino, where I had loads of fun losing $35 playing slots and blackjack. Then back to the hotel to the Pickled Parrot Bar, where a wonderful duo (man on piano, lady singer) performed sing-alongable songs. I even got in on the act, joining up with Carl, his cousin Tom and Stickman to sing "You've Lost That Loving Feeling."
------------------------------I've Lost That Sober Feeling--------------------------
--------------------------------A Very Friendly Wallaby-----------------------------
Besides wallabies, I also had the opportunity to see Red Kangaroos (males, females and joeys), emus, water buffalo, feral pigs, camels and even the ellusive echidna (though admittedly, mostly in shadow). Moreover, I had the chance to visit the aquarium (which included a walk-through transparent tunnel) to see a sampling of Australian sealife. My favorite encounter was a shockingly close look at a saltwater crocodile. At least 13 feet long, he glared at me with a cold look in his reptilian eyes -- as he opened his mouth, displaying his pointy teeth, he ellicited my respect and healthy fear, and I took a step back . . . despite the thick pane of reinforced glass between us. Don't mess with a croc!
One of the most enjoyable parts of the wildlife park was the aviary. A massive mesh net, encompassing acre upon acre of land and reaching high into the sky, the aviary housed dozens of varieties of birds. The best section, which didn't appear to be caged in at all, was a reproduced stretch of rainforest. Hauntingly beautiful and still, the rainforest was a sanctuary for the senses. Looking at the lush trees, listening to the occasional rustle as a beak poked the ground in search of lunch and smelling the wet, green scent, I was transported out of the wildlife park and back into the thick jungles of Hawaii and Fiji. Untold numbers of butterflies fluttered around me, heightening the peaceful, mystical air of the moment.
Perhaps the highlight of the day was watching the "Predator Show," in which several of Australia's predatory birds (including a strikingly large and handsome Sea Eagle) were shown and flown.
Finally, I had the chance to visit the arthropod and reptile exhibits, as well as the nocturnal house, getting more than my fill of snakes, lizards (including a Frilled-Neck) , scorpions, spiders and bats.
After the Territory Wildlife Park and Reserve, we all had our first (and last) real afternoon to relax -- a full 5 hours. I took advantage of this time to change some flights with Ansett, mail some postcards and do some final souvenir shopping (finally purchasing that wooden, hand-painted boomerang I wanted).
At 7:00 p.m., I had an all-you-can-eat barbecue of steak, pork chops and chicken, and I sampled two more Australian brews (Redback [a wheat malt] and Crown) -- both were mighty fine! During dinner, Rolf was roped into teaching us all some German, my favorite phrase of the night being "Sie sind eines blod mann" (this supposedly translates to "You are a stupid man!").
Then it was time for our final Contiki night out. First it was off to Diamond Head Casino, where I had loads of fun losing $35 playing slots and blackjack. Then back to the hotel to the Pickled Parrot Bar, where a wonderful duo (man on piano, lady singer) performed sing-alongable songs. I even got in on the act, joining up with Carl, his cousin Tom and Stickman to sing "You've Lost That Loving Feeling."
------------------------------I've Lost That Sober Feeling--------------------------Another hour of dancing and singing, and then the stuffy, smelly room became too much for me and I retired to my boudoir.
Oceania: Day 34: 8-6-94: The Tour's Final Day
One thing is for certain: Contiki's Territory and Outback Tour will never be accused of saving the best for last. The tour ended as feebly as it began, though thankfully I was spared another torturous encounter with Ted Egan's strained lungs. Why Contiki chooses to bookend this tour with the least palatable sights and activities, I couldn't hazard a guess (in their defense, however, Alice Springs and Darwin are not the most exciting places on Earth -- in fact, if given a choice of living out the rest of my days in one of the two towns, I'd be hard pressed to choose the lesser evil).
In any case, this is how the final day played out . . .
It started out promising enough, with a hearty breakfast. Then we went to the Darwin Museum, which had Aboriginal Art and other exhibits which proved interesting . . . for about 45 minutes. This was followed by an hour long wait in the Darwinian heat and humidity. Restless and sweat-soaked, we headed off to our next stop -- Fannie Bay Gaol.
Most of Fannie Bay Gaol, like most of Darwin itself, was destroyed during a 1974 cyclone. Hence, there wasn't much to see -- bare kitchen/mess hall, cells, isolation pens and gallows. Scotty promised us, however, that the best was yet to come. He extolled the high entertainment value of a video of the infamous Cyclone Tracy (in retrospect, it's clear he was kidding).
Honestly, I believe more people have died from boredom watching the video than perished during the cataclysmic cyclone itself. The movie held the distinction of being neither entertaining nor interesting . . . or well-paced . . . or evocative . . . or (well, you get the picture). The filmmakers must have worked very hard to make the video so sleep-inducing, since the subject matter was indeed fascinating. The story goes like this: early in the morning on Christmas Day in 1974, the fiercest cyclone ever to strike Australia hit Darwin with full force winds, said to reach in excess of 250 mph (roofs were torn off, real cars and boats were tossed around like toys, full grown trees were uprooted and people flew and bounced about like tumbleweeds) -- the death toll and property damage was devastating, the whole city literally leveled. (The destruction was even more pitiful when you take into account the fact that Darwin was the only city in all of Australia to be bombed -- and flattened -- during WWII).
Unfortunately, as I've already alluded to, the movie wasn't half as riveting as this journal entry and most of us nodded off (only my strong sense of journalistic integrity kept me conscious). By the time we loaded back onto the bus and headed back to the hotel, we were all sweaty, exhausted and depressed (what a way to end the tour, eh!). But that didn't stop us from mounting a proper goodbye. Stickman gave an emotional farewell speech which mirrored all our thoughts and touched all our hearts. I got the last of my addresses and exchanged sweet parting words with those leaving right away. Finally, we passed around a card for Scott and Carl (which we all signed) and I shared my "Top 10 List" of Scott's favorite sayings on tour (plus one for Carl) which ellicited some guffaws and good-natured needling/mimicking. I've reproduced the list below (along with a reminder of Scott and Carls's ubiquitous Day and Dance songs -- both of which were played every single day at FULL BLAST over the bus speakers).
SCOTT'S TOP 10 SAYINGS. . .
10. (Three-way tie) "Make your own fun"/"Trash the place"/"We'll have a major play"
9. "It's not a problem"
8. "It's not sexy"
7. "Wakey, wakey"
6. "This is not a holiday. This is a Contiki tour."
5. "You snooze and you lose"
4. "It's Free -- F, R, double E"
3. "'Cause I'm your father, your mother, your brother, your sister, your doctor, your psychologist..."
2. "'Cause I love you guys, yeah"
1. "Not!"
CARL'S ONE-AND-ONLY SAYING. . .
"Okie Kokie"
DAY SONG = "All Fired Up" by Pat Benetar
DANCE SONG = "Sweat" by Inner Circle
--------------------Our Fearless Leaders: Scott and Carl--------------------
In any case, this is how the final day played out . . .
It started out promising enough, with a hearty breakfast. Then we went to the Darwin Museum, which had Aboriginal Art and other exhibits which proved interesting . . . for about 45 minutes. This was followed by an hour long wait in the Darwinian heat and humidity. Restless and sweat-soaked, we headed off to our next stop -- Fannie Bay Gaol.
Most of Fannie Bay Gaol, like most of Darwin itself, was destroyed during a 1974 cyclone. Hence, there wasn't much to see -- bare kitchen/mess hall, cells, isolation pens and gallows. Scotty promised us, however, that the best was yet to come. He extolled the high entertainment value of a video of the infamous Cyclone Tracy (in retrospect, it's clear he was kidding).
Honestly, I believe more people have died from boredom watching the video than perished during the cataclysmic cyclone itself. The movie held the distinction of being neither entertaining nor interesting . . . or well-paced . . . or evocative . . . or (well, you get the picture). The filmmakers must have worked very hard to make the video so sleep-inducing, since the subject matter was indeed fascinating. The story goes like this: early in the morning on Christmas Day in 1974, the fiercest cyclone ever to strike Australia hit Darwin with full force winds, said to reach in excess of 250 mph (roofs were torn off, real cars and boats were tossed around like toys, full grown trees were uprooted and people flew and bounced about like tumbleweeds) -- the death toll and property damage was devastating, the whole city literally leveled. (The destruction was even more pitiful when you take into account the fact that Darwin was the only city in all of Australia to be bombed -- and flattened -- during WWII).
Unfortunately, as I've already alluded to, the movie wasn't half as riveting as this journal entry and most of us nodded off (only my strong sense of journalistic integrity kept me conscious). By the time we loaded back onto the bus and headed back to the hotel, we were all sweaty, exhausted and depressed (what a way to end the tour, eh!). But that didn't stop us from mounting a proper goodbye. Stickman gave an emotional farewell speech which mirrored all our thoughts and touched all our hearts. I got the last of my addresses and exchanged sweet parting words with those leaving right away. Finally, we passed around a card for Scott and Carl (which we all signed) and I shared my "Top 10 List" of Scott's favorite sayings on tour (plus one for Carl) which ellicited some guffaws and good-natured needling/mimicking. I've reproduced the list below (along with a reminder of Scott and Carls's ubiquitous Day and Dance songs -- both of which were played every single day at FULL BLAST over the bus speakers).
SCOTT'S TOP 10 SAYINGS. . .
10. (Three-way tie) "Make your own fun"/"Trash the place"/"We'll have a major play"
9. "It's not a problem"
8. "It's not sexy"
7. "Wakey, wakey"
6. "This is not a holiday. This is a Contiki tour."
5. "You snooze and you lose"
4. "It's Free -- F, R, double E"
3. "'Cause I'm your father, your mother, your brother, your sister, your doctor, your psychologist..."
2. "'Cause I love you guys, yeah"
1. "Not!"
CARL'S ONE-AND-ONLY SAYING. . .
"Okie Kokie"
DAY SONG = "All Fired Up" by Pat Benetar
DANCE SONG = "Sweat" by Inner Circle
--------------------Our Fearless Leaders: Scott and Carl--------------------During the remainder of the afternoon, I took one last stroll in downtown Darwin (it was 2:00 p.m. on a Saturday, and everything was closed, naturally!) and napped away my logeyness. At 7:00 p.m., Roger, his two German friends and I all went to Sizzler's for their all-you-can-eat soup, salad, pasta and dessert bar.
Back at the hotel, I got together with Rachel, Sharon, Donna, Alicia, John, Autal, Robby, Mark and Stickman. We looked at John's photos, listened to Mark play the didgeridoo (he took a lesson and he is quite good now -- he says it's all about the "circular breathing"), laughed and reminisced. We would surely miss each other.
We all went down to the bar to share one last drink together (although I declined a beverage). After an hour of pleasant conversation, I made my final round of farewells. We all said we'd keep in touch, and perhaps we will.
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