Thus begins yet another chapter of my vacation and another entry in this journal. It's strange in a way, being on my own again. I've become so dependent on the people I've left behind that's it's hard to travel solo now -- it was almost too easy getting used to someone else planning my itinerary (and having others to share every activity with), and now that sole responsibility has reverted back to me, it seems a little overwhelming. I'm sure I'll get back into the groove eventually, but for now -- ehhh!
This morning brought the arrival of a new Contiki group. Scott and Carl were all smiles as they greeted their new troops -- just like that, they had moved on. It was strange watching a whole new flock of people don their Contiki backpacks and board the bus (our bus). They were all somewhat ill at ease, not quite sure where to sit or what to do -- wondering just what might be in store for them. I smiled knowingly as Scott grabbed the mike for the first time and gave his introduction to the tour. I knew the new busload would have a good time, perhaps one of the greatest of their lives, but you wouldn't know it from their current tentative expressions (ah, to be so young and naive again . . . I truly envied them). The bus started up, and as it pulled away, Scott and I exchanged one final wave.
My shuttle bus soon arrived, and I set off for the airport. It had been so long since my last plane ride that the whole ordeal seemed a bit surreal -- the shuttle ride, the wait in the terminal and the jet journey itself were all one big foggy dream. It wasn't until I collected my baggage and called the Cairns Hostel (Caravella 149) that I finally snapped out of my hazy daze.
Upon arriving at the hostel, I was informed that the cheap dorm-style accommodations were all booked, and the only remaining room available had a bathroom, air conditioning and four French girls, all of whom -- I was "warned" -- had a very European habit of walking around in the nude. Hmm. "Well," I said. "If you are sure that's all you have . . ."
Sure enough, when I went to my room, one of the girls had just gotten out of the shower (sans towel), but that didn't stop her from introducing herself along with the others. As Annie famously sang, "I think I'm gonna like it here!"
Putting carnal thoughts aside (at least for the moment), I shifted into professional planning mode and started organizing the remainder of my trip. After scanning through the guide book, I soon realized that the time I had originally apportioned to spend in Cairns would not be enough to accomplish all I wanted to do, so my first order of business was to call Ansett Airlines and change my flight (again!). The I wrote out my itinerary for the next few days. Are you ready for this? O.K. Here goes: Monday (tomorrow) I'm going skydiving from 12,000 feet; Tuesday I'm going scuba diving at the Great Barrier Reef; and Wednesday & Thursday I'm traveling to Mossmon, Daintree and Cape Tribulation to see the rainforest. I'm going broke, but it should be an awesome four days!
My night was spent enjoying a complimentary meal (not "free" per se, but it was included in the room price) of Lamb Stroganoff at "The End of the World" Bar and Restaurant with my new British friends from the hostel, Donna and Julie. All of our finances were so severely strained that in order to keep the meal completely cost-free, we were reduced to ordering glasses of ice for our beverages (they charged $.50 for water, but ice was on the house -- thus my audacious plan, which the girls giddily agreed to). Assuredly, there are but a handful of sights more amusingly pathetic than a person shaking and breathing on a glass full of ice in the hopes that enough may melt so that he can eke out a few refreshing drops of life-sustaining water. But hey, 50 cents is 50 cents.
After dinner, I had the option of going back to the hostel common room with Donna and Julie to watch a movie or staying at "The End of the World" for Pajama Night, where drinking games and partial nudity would abound. Inexplicably, I opted for the movie.
As it happened, we never got as far as the movie. We arrived an hour early, and after a few regrettable minutes watching Beverly Hills 90210 and a "TV Movie of The Week" on the Menendez Brothers, I excused myself to return to my room for a few pages of "The Client" and an early bedtime. I had several busy days ahead of me, and the rest would do me good.
Showing posts with label Oceania '94 (3): Australia Alone. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oceania '94 (3): Australia Alone. Show all posts
Oceania: Day 36: 8-8-94: Skydiving Down...Down...Down Under
Today was ex-cell-ent! I was picked up at 8:00 a.m. by Down Under Parachuting and took a 90-minute drive to a town called Tully. Here I was informed that there was a special option for my dive, only newly offered as of yesterday: for an added thrill (and fifty more dollars), I could jump out of a helicopter (!) instead of an airplane. I said, "What the Hell, how many times will I skydive?". This additional option brought the entire cost of my jump to $403 ($198 basic jump at 8,000 feet, $80 to jump at 12,000 feet [tripling the freefall], $50 for the helicopter upgrade and $75 for a video immortalizing my insanity). Two thoughts immediately occurred to me (I better enjoy this and prepare for more ice-blowing at tonight's dinner). Before I signed my life and first-born away on the dotted line, I was informed that I would be landing on the beach -- not on an airstrip or open field as I had assumed -- which sounded like an amazing finish to an epic jump. I was stoked!
Soon it was time for me to suit up. My tandem partner Max was very professional and helpful, and I felt confident in him leading the jump. Unfortunately, just before we boarded the helicopter, we were given the bad news that current air traffic would restrict our jump to 8,000 feet and we would have to land on an airfield after all. I felt equal measures of disappointment and anger (the height and landing location of the jump were the two things I was most excited about). There wasn't anything I could do about it though. Sucks for me!
I shook off the bad feelings and pumped myself up again -- this was still a once-in-a-lifetime thrill! The camera started rolling, and so did I. We took a practice fall, boarded the helicopter and went up, up and away!
It was a simply gorgeous, sunny day with nary a cloud in the sky...
...1,000 feet (the view was incredible)
...2,000 feet (time to unbuckle myself)
...3,000 feet ...4,000 feet ...5,000 feet (a bit of nerves kicking in, to be honest)
At this point, Max suggests radioing control central to see if we might not try landing on the beach, after all -- unexpectedly, delightedly, they give the go ahead. (I'd still jump out at "only" 8,000 feet, but at least now I would get a more scenic landing pad -- plus an $80 refund for the lowered height). I was fully psyched again!
...6,000 feet (Max and I start preparing for our leap)
...7,000 feet ...7,500 feet ...8,000 feet (Bingo!)
It was now or never. Max chanted "in...out...in...OOOUUUTTT!" (bye-bye)
We fell out of the helicopter with tremendous speed and more than a little stomach squirming. Flipping backwards through the clouds and plummeting to Earth at approximately 130 m.p.h., I couldn't help but wonder whether skydiving was a particularly safe thing to do. We quickly righted ourselves, and Max tapped me, his signal that I could release the arms-crossed-against-my-chest position that I had assumed for our helicopter exit.
The cameraman was soon in front of me, which I took as a license to flash a big thumbs up sign and hoot & howl like a schoolboy (The free fall was exhilarating!). Another tap from Max (all too soon, it seemed) and ZWOOOOOP, the parachute was released. BOING! -- We shot up like a cannon ball! And now the relaxing part: we slowly drifted to Earth, and I took my first real look down at the world beneath my dangling feet. The shimmering turquoise blanket of the Great Barrier Reef spread out below me for countless miles, hugging the beige sandy shoreline. Spin, spin, spin. The parachute spiralled through the air like maple seeds in Autumn, a more thrilling descent courtesy of Max's daredevil steering.
Ever so slowly, we approached the beachfront, and Max told me to bend my legs in preparation to land. SWOOOSH! -- we plopped down on the sand. Celebration time!! I was caught up in an adrenaline tidal wave, and the camera caught all my post-landing excitement.
Soon it was time for me to suit up. My tandem partner Max was very professional and helpful, and I felt confident in him leading the jump. Unfortunately, just before we boarded the helicopter, we were given the bad news that current air traffic would restrict our jump to 8,000 feet and we would have to land on an airfield after all. I felt equal measures of disappointment and anger (the height and landing location of the jump were the two things I was most excited about). There wasn't anything I could do about it though. Sucks for me!
I shook off the bad feelings and pumped myself up again -- this was still a once-in-a-lifetime thrill! The camera started rolling, and so did I. We took a practice fall, boarded the helicopter and went up, up and away!
It was a simply gorgeous, sunny day with nary a cloud in the sky...
...1,000 feet (the view was incredible)
...2,000 feet (time to unbuckle myself)
...3,000 feet ...4,000 feet ...5,000 feet (a bit of nerves kicking in, to be honest)
At this point, Max suggests radioing control central to see if we might not try landing on the beach, after all -- unexpectedly, delightedly, they give the go ahead. (I'd still jump out at "only" 8,000 feet, but at least now I would get a more scenic landing pad -- plus an $80 refund for the lowered height). I was fully psyched again!
...6,000 feet (Max and I start preparing for our leap)
...7,000 feet ...7,500 feet ...8,000 feet (Bingo!)
It was now or never. Max chanted "in...out...in...OOOUUUTTT!" (bye-bye)
We fell out of the helicopter with tremendous speed and more than a little stomach squirming. Flipping backwards through the clouds and plummeting to Earth at approximately 130 m.p.h., I couldn't help but wonder whether skydiving was a particularly safe thing to do. We quickly righted ourselves, and Max tapped me, his signal that I could release the arms-crossed-against-my-chest position that I had assumed for our helicopter exit.
The cameraman was soon in front of me, which I took as a license to flash a big thumbs up sign and hoot & howl like a schoolboy (The free fall was exhilarating!). Another tap from Max (all too soon, it seemed) and ZWOOOOOP, the parachute was released. BOING! -- We shot up like a cannon ball! And now the relaxing part: we slowly drifted to Earth, and I took my first real look down at the world beneath my dangling feet. The shimmering turquoise blanket of the Great Barrier Reef spread out below me for countless miles, hugging the beige sandy shoreline. Spin, spin, spin. The parachute spiralled through the air like maple seeds in Autumn, a more thrilling descent courtesy of Max's daredevil steering.
Ever so slowly, we approached the beachfront, and Max told me to bend my legs in preparation to land. SWOOOSH! -- we plopped down on the sand. Celebration time!! I was caught up in an adrenaline tidal wave, and the camera caught all my post-landing excitement.
--------------------"This Is Major Tom to Ground Control"---------------------
With three people left to jump, I was faced with the wonderful prospect of tanning my Earthbound buns on the beach for a couple hours. I slathered myself in SPF 30 (no ozone layer in these here parts, you know) and shamelessly sun-worshipped for a tick or two. Eventually, my newfound friend, a Bristol bloke by the name of Ross, landed nearby, and we spent the remainder of the day crowing about our fearless dives and playing Rummy 500.
I didn't return to the hostel until 5:00 p.m., at which time I made some hasty amendments to my itinerary. I decided to blow off Brisbane, because I realized I wouldn't have enough time to visit Fraser Island (my main reason for going), and I still had more than enough I wanted to do right here in Cairns, anyway. I canceled my one-day reef diving trip in favor of a two-day excursion (It allowed for four extra dives [including a night dive] at two additional locations for only $95 more -- the $80 skydiving savings sure came in handy!). Tuesday and Wednesday were now booked, so I had to try to move my Daintree/Cape Tribulation trip to Thursday and Friday, which proved doable. So far, so good. The only thing left to square away were my new flights, so I called Ansett Air yet again. For a while it looked like I would not be able to swing a Saturday night arrival (and thus miss my intended visit with Rachel), but the agent was patiently persistent, and we eventually worked something out -- I'd fly into Brisbane at 3:30 p.m. on Saturday, have a two hour and 45 minute stopover and then catch my previously scheduled 6:15 p.m. flight to Sydney. Simple (not!).
By the time the new logistics were sorted out, it was suppertime. I returned to "The End of The World" for a good spicy chili dish. I met an English girl named Michelle, with whom I had a merry chat. Then it was back to the hostel to pack a daypack for the next two days and put the rest of my luggage in storage.
Now it's 9:45 p.m., and I plan to read a tad more of "The Client" before I drift off to sleep.
Oceania: Day 37: 8-9-94: Scuba Diving In The Great Barrier Reef
Unbelievably, this vacation just continues to get better and better -- I have a damn good life!
Today I started my two-day scuba adventure in the Great Barrier Reef (that's right, you heard me correctly: the Great Barrier Reef, as in the one-and-only-natural-formation-visible-from-the-moon Great Barrier Reef). This was the part of the trip I'd been most anticipating -- it's the reason I shelled out $250 to get SSI diving certification in the first place.
Actually, the trip didn't start off particularly well. Although we would be spending the bulk of the excursion on a sleek clipper ship, we first had to take a four-hour boat ride on a small dingy to get to it. This wouldn't have bothered me so much but for the incredibly rough sea, which rocked and tossed our boat about like a plastic tub toy. Nonetheless, the first half of the journey found me managing quite nicely. But eventually, the churning sea elicited a churning stomach, and I found myself searching for the lowest, most central part of the boat. There I met Chloe', a fellow seasick traveler from France. We engaged in light conversation and attempted to ignore the rolling Pacific. Ironically, Chloe' is studying to be a marine biologist -- an odd career path for a self-professed chronic seasickness sufferer! She was interesting to talk to (and spoke English remarkably well), so the time passed cheerfully enough -- especially after Chloe' offered me an anti-nausea pill. Eventually, I met Chloe's friend Marie and several other passengers, including Monika from Sweden, four girls from Austria and, somewhat surprisingly, three guys from the U.S., one who hailed from New Jersey (thus effectively doubling the number of Americans I've met on my entire trip).
Today I started my two-day scuba adventure in the Great Barrier Reef (that's right, you heard me correctly: the Great Barrier Reef, as in the one-and-only-natural-formation-visible-from-the-moon Great Barrier Reef). This was the part of the trip I'd been most anticipating -- it's the reason I shelled out $250 to get SSI diving certification in the first place.
Actually, the trip didn't start off particularly well. Although we would be spending the bulk of the excursion on a sleek clipper ship, we first had to take a four-hour boat ride on a small dingy to get to it. This wouldn't have bothered me so much but for the incredibly rough sea, which rocked and tossed our boat about like a plastic tub toy. Nonetheless, the first half of the journey found me managing quite nicely. But eventually, the churning sea elicited a churning stomach, and I found myself searching for the lowest, most central part of the boat. There I met Chloe', a fellow seasick traveler from France. We engaged in light conversation and attempted to ignore the rolling Pacific. Ironically, Chloe' is studying to be a marine biologist -- an odd career path for a self-professed chronic seasickness sufferer! She was interesting to talk to (and spoke English remarkably well), so the time passed cheerfully enough -- especially after Chloe' offered me an anti-nausea pill. Eventually, I met Chloe's friend Marie and several other passengers, including Monika from Sweden, four girls from Austria and, somewhat surprisingly, three guys from the U.S., one who hailed from New Jersey (thus effectively doubling the number of Americans I've met on my entire trip).
-----------------------------------Chloe' and Marie---------------------------------
Although I had my doubts at times that it would, the boat trip from Hell finally ended and the Atlantic Clipper came into view. A redesigned 19th-century sailing vessel, the ship had a lot of charm and was far more comfortable and stable than the "Dingy of Death." We boarded the ship, met the crew and were shown to our berths (I was one of the fortunate few to get a room all to myself).
---------------------------------The Atlantic Clipper--------------------------------
Then it was time to dive! I donned my gear and met my diving buddy (who turned out to be the lovely Monika -- did I mention she was from Sweden?!). We did our pre-dive buddy check and then entered the sea. I had done a so-called "reef dive" in Hawaii, and as great as I thought that was at the time, it didn't prepare me for this. Before me were huge walls and gardens of colorful coral (brain, antler, mushroom and every other type), which formed an underwater world of breathtaking beauty, one with its own forests, mountains, valleys and caves. And the fish, my goodness! I saw school upon school of brightly-hued ocean dwellers, shimmering curtains of sealife. There were countless varieties and I was hard-pressed to name many, but I did pick out some parrot fish, moorish idols, butterfly fish and giant tropical clams. I took pictures like a madman and quickly used up the entire roll. Unfortunately for me, I had no film left when I came upon a gaint Maori wrasse (easily five feet long and 300 pounds), a greenish-brown monstrosity, as ugly as it was impressive -- so this Kodak Moment will only be exposed in my mind's eye.
------------------------"I'd Like To Be, Under The Sea..."-----------------------
---------------"...In Our Little Hideaway Beneath The Waves"-----------
Within a half-hour, the dive was over. Monika and I reboarded the ship, delighted and amazed by what we had witnessed.
After a one-hour surface interval, Monika and I dove in again, determined this time to explore some caves and crevices in the reef. We found several openings, but most were too narrow to squeeze through. The first navigable one we found was "The Tunnel of Ooohhh," which has a very low entrance, but leads to a larger chamber. Upon entering the cavern, you pass through a thermocline and the cool water suddenly warms considerably (so much so that one is inclined to say "ooohhh," hence the name) and your eyes are greeted by a new coral and fish wonderland. Another tunnel started at about 16 meters down and worked its way up through the coral bed, terminating a few feet below the surface. This passage was even tighter than the first, and I got momentarily stuck. Extricating myself proved costly, as I cut my exposed upper arms and lower legs to ribbons on the sharp coral, necessitating a healthy application of antiseptic cream when I later resurfaced (coral spores are known to lead to nasty infections). A couple of other caves we found were larger and offered a window to otherwise hidden sealife, but they proved less adventurous. As our air supplies dwindled, Monika and I decided to try one last tunnel (it ended abruptly in a coral cul-de-sac) before making our ascent.
After drying off and donning civilian clothing, I joined the others for dinner. It was a good meal which I ate greedily, enjoying several servings of meat, potatoes and vegies, an entire loaf of bread and two heaping bowls of apple crumble a' la mode for dessert (I guess scuba diving builds up an appetite!).
Then it was time for my third (and most eagerly awaited) dive of the trip -- the night dive. There was something downright spooky about the thought of going into the open ocean in pitch-darkness (true, I'd have a torch, but that would only illuminate the path directly in front of me) -- there were many angles from which sharks, lionfish, barracudas and Lord-knows-what-else could stalk me undetected and pop out of nowhere at any time, frightening me half to death or even (shudder, shudder) taking a little nibble. I knew I'd be like a kid in his first haunted house, simultaneously dreading that sudden scare and looking forward to it. First however, I'd have to face an even bigger fear -- leaving the warm, comfortable cabin and my dry clothes to put on a damp wetsuit on the windy, 50-degree deck.
I poked a tentative limb out out the cabin door and my worst fears were realised: the frigid wind seared my naked flesh. I took a couple of deep breaths and bolted for the relative protection of my wetsuit -- though damp, it kept the worse chill of the bitter wind at bay. I then prepped my scuba unit in record time and got into the temperate sea as soon as possible.
I welcomed the warmth of the water, but hesitated diving down nonetheless, still a little freaked out by the eeriness of it all. But curiosity prevailed over cautiousness (as it almost always does), and down, down, down I went.
The reef looked very different at night, and thus it called for a very different approach. Instead of zipping through it, trying to cover as much ground (er, water) as possible, my buddy and I slowed things down. We lingered at places, closely examining cracks, crevices and hollows for resting fish and feeding coral. Our patience was richly rewarded: we saw two sea turtles (one of which we coaxed into a late night swim), a lionfish and untold pairs of apparently ownerless eyes with an orange aura (upon closer inspection, we discovered that those tiny glowing orbs were attached to scores of prawns).
The night dive was all too brief, and I was sorry to see it end -- there was an added mystery and drama to it that can't be duplicated during the day.
As soon as I got back on deck, I quickly stripped off my gear and wetsuit and dashed inside the ship to escape the cold night air. Utterly exhausted and chilled to the bone, I gladly took a hot shower and put on some dry, comfy clothes before joining the others in the main cabin. I sought out my French friends, Chloe' and Marie (attracted as I was becoming to Chloe', I could think of no better way to spend the rest of the evening than talking with her). As the night wore on, I suggested a game of cards -- the three of us played Rummy, followed by a round of Hearts.
At 11:00 p.m., we decided to call it quits, and I bid the girls au revoir.
Oceania: Day 38: 8-10-94: Sea Sights And Sensual Delights
I awoke refreshed and famished. After breakfast, it was time for my final dive. Once again, Monika and I jumped into the South Pacific Ocean. Unlike the day before, where we rushed around trying to explore as much as possible before our air/time ran out, we purposefully set a more leisurely pace. We knew we wouldn't see as much this time out, but we figured we would more greatly appreciate whatever we did come across -- and we were right.
Whether it was, in fact, due to my new frame of mind or just a more vibrant morning sun, the coral reef did indeed look brighter and more colorful this time out. We explored new sections and were rewarded with new sights. Monika spotted a manta ray and I claimed the "top prize sighting" of the day -- a whitetip shark. About four feet long, the reef shark patrolled the ocean floor, flanked by two small fish hoping to scavenge a free meal. As in Fiji, I was once again overcome with a mixture of fear and excitement as I watched this potentially deadly creature swim freely in its natural environment.
As the last dive of my vacation came to an end, I applauded my pre-trip decision to get scuba certification, as it had opened me up to the unique, magical world of the sea.
Exciting things began happening back on the boat, as well! After showering and changing, I met up with Chloe' once again and actually built up the nerve to "make a move," as it were. While sitting across from her in the main cabin and half-heartedly writing in my dive log, I casually and ever so smoothly (if I don't say so myself) maneuvered my bare feet under the table until they rested against hers. Emboldened by the fact that she didn't leave or pull away (or worse yet, kick me), I reveled in our glorious footsie embrace for another ten minutes or so before breaking the passionate silence with a request to sit by her side. She readily approved of the idea, and I joined her.
The queasy swell of the boat (we were now en route to the ship exchange point) was a perfect excuse for me to reach out to Chloe' with a comforting arm. She was indeed comforted (as was I). Eventually, our arms and legs were all intertwined and we braved the rocky ride together in our seated embrace. At some point, Chloe' and I shared our first starry-eyed glance and (admittedly awkward) kiss. We made plans for the evening and engaged in small talk about things, for the life of me, I can't recall at all now.
Eventually, we reached the exchange point and boarded the boat that would return us to shore. It was newer and faster than the "Dingy of Death" we rode on our outbound journey, but no less sickening. In some ways, the speediness of the boat made things more unpleasent, because in addition to the nausea, it produced a constant spray of water that started soaking us. Since there wasn't any indoor cabin to escape to, Chloe' and I worked our way to a relatively dry portion of the deck and cuddled together for the duration of the trip.
Back in Cairns, I rebooked myself into the Caravella 149 (alas, my exhibitionist roommates had moved on) and walked a kilometer further down the esplanade to Chloe' and Marie's hostel. The plan was that the three of us would grab dinner and a movie, but it didn't quite work out that way. Marie didn't want to go out at all, and her excuse was serviceable, but suspicious -- she complained of sunburned feet (which were indeed red and swollen) but Chloe' and I suspected that there was more to the story (understandably, she may have been feeling a bit like a third wheel). No amount of cajoling on our part could sway Marie to join us (she said she was just going to stay in for the night and remain in bed to heal). Chloe' was noticeably upset, and I was too (sort of), but eventually we decided to keep our plans and go out as a twosome. Before we left, we bought Marie some sweets, ostensibly to make her time alone more pleasurable, but also undeniably to assuage our guilt.
Then our date (for indeed, that's what it had become) began. We ate dinner at "The End of The World" and decided to see the 9:15 showing of "Speed" at the local cinema. With two hours to kill before showtime, I suggested to Chloe' that we take a stroll around town -- conveniently stopping at my hostel first so I could get my jumper (the night air was a bit chilly, after all)...
Somehow we never made it to the movie.
Our youthful exuberance led to a night of sultry, sweaty shenanigans, which were also decidedly safe (our clothes stayed on, but our hands roamed free). We parted company, exhausted but fulfilled, around 11:30, vowing to reunite on Friday night when I returned from Cape Tribulation. I like Chloe' a lot, and I truly hope to see her again this weekend and, as crazy as it may sound, perhaps sometime in the future in France or New York, as well. They say it's a small world, so who knows?
Whether it was, in fact, due to my new frame of mind or just a more vibrant morning sun, the coral reef did indeed look brighter and more colorful this time out. We explored new sections and were rewarded with new sights. Monika spotted a manta ray and I claimed the "top prize sighting" of the day -- a whitetip shark. About four feet long, the reef shark patrolled the ocean floor, flanked by two small fish hoping to scavenge a free meal. As in Fiji, I was once again overcome with a mixture of fear and excitement as I watched this potentially deadly creature swim freely in its natural environment.
As the last dive of my vacation came to an end, I applauded my pre-trip decision to get scuba certification, as it had opened me up to the unique, magical world of the sea.
Exciting things began happening back on the boat, as well! After showering and changing, I met up with Chloe' once again and actually built up the nerve to "make a move," as it were. While sitting across from her in the main cabin and half-heartedly writing in my dive log, I casually and ever so smoothly (if I don't say so myself) maneuvered my bare feet under the table until they rested against hers. Emboldened by the fact that she didn't leave or pull away (or worse yet, kick me), I reveled in our glorious footsie embrace for another ten minutes or so before breaking the passionate silence with a request to sit by her side. She readily approved of the idea, and I joined her.
The queasy swell of the boat (we were now en route to the ship exchange point) was a perfect excuse for me to reach out to Chloe' with a comforting arm. She was indeed comforted (as was I). Eventually, our arms and legs were all intertwined and we braved the rocky ride together in our seated embrace. At some point, Chloe' and I shared our first starry-eyed glance and (admittedly awkward) kiss. We made plans for the evening and engaged in small talk about things, for the life of me, I can't recall at all now.
Eventually, we reached the exchange point and boarded the boat that would return us to shore. It was newer and faster than the "Dingy of Death" we rode on our outbound journey, but no less sickening. In some ways, the speediness of the boat made things more unpleasent, because in addition to the nausea, it produced a constant spray of water that started soaking us. Since there wasn't any indoor cabin to escape to, Chloe' and I worked our way to a relatively dry portion of the deck and cuddled together for the duration of the trip.
Back in Cairns, I rebooked myself into the Caravella 149 (alas, my exhibitionist roommates had moved on) and walked a kilometer further down the esplanade to Chloe' and Marie's hostel. The plan was that the three of us would grab dinner and a movie, but it didn't quite work out that way. Marie didn't want to go out at all, and her excuse was serviceable, but suspicious -- she complained of sunburned feet (which were indeed red and swollen) but Chloe' and I suspected that there was more to the story (understandably, she may have been feeling a bit like a third wheel). No amount of cajoling on our part could sway Marie to join us (she said she was just going to stay in for the night and remain in bed to heal). Chloe' was noticeably upset, and I was too (sort of), but eventually we decided to keep our plans and go out as a twosome. Before we left, we bought Marie some sweets, ostensibly to make her time alone more pleasurable, but also undeniably to assuage our guilt.
Then our date (for indeed, that's what it had become) began. We ate dinner at "The End of The World" and decided to see the 9:15 showing of "Speed" at the local cinema. With two hours to kill before showtime, I suggested to Chloe' that we take a stroll around town -- conveniently stopping at my hostel first so I could get my jumper (the night air was a bit chilly, after all)...
Somehow we never made it to the movie.
Our youthful exuberance led to a night of sultry, sweaty shenanigans, which were also decidedly safe (our clothes stayed on, but our hands roamed free). We parted company, exhausted but fulfilled, around 11:30, vowing to reunite on Friday night when I returned from Cape Tribulation. I like Chloe' a lot, and I truly hope to see her again this weekend and, as crazy as it may sound, perhaps sometime in the future in France or New York, as well. They say it's a small world, so who knows?
Oceania: Day 39: 8-11-94: Cape Tribulation
Why do I feel so damn guilty about last night? We were two consenting adults sharing a mutually enjoyable, lustful moment (which was actually rather tame when you get right down to it). Maybe it's because lust (as great as it feels) still isn't love, and loveless lust can leave me with a hollowness that's hard to describe. Maybe it's the accumulated sour aftertaste of previous "one-nighters" (though few in number, they've been a mixed bag of fun and regret) -- I just may not have the constitution for them: I think I'm a permanent relationship kinda guy who is sometimes just too weak to resist the temptation of temporary thrills, however distressing they may prove to be in the long run. Maybe it's the monkish voice of John Shaw whispering over my shoulder (he truly has become the manifestation of my conscience on this trip -- my very own Jiminy Cricket -- a Superego with pasty skin and a British accent!). Or maybe I'm just a hopelessly neurotic and psychologically damaged numbnut who over-analyzes everything and sucks the joy out of life. Well, what's done is done. As Chloe' might say, c'est la vis. Time to move on.
Attempting to push my jumbled, confusing thoughts aside, I distractedly prepared for my early morning trip. A tour bus was taking me to Cape Tribulation, promising scenic stops at places of interest along the way. The bus arrived at 7:45, along with an obnoxiously upbeat driver named Paul. No offense to Paul, but in my present state of mind, I just couldn't stand him. I tried to block him out by losing myself in the pages of "The Client," but I was only partially successful.
The "tour" was not all I had hoped it would be -- a cynic might deem it glorified transportation. Our "scenic stops" at Mossman Gorge and Port Douglas were incredibly brief (little more than bathroom breaks) and largely uninteresting. Only in Daintree did we actually stop for any quality time, but most of it (about an hour) was spent on a bogus crocodile tour down the Daintree River (we saw two or three glimpses of small, mostly hidden crocs -- it was bush league compared to my earlier "Yellow Waters" tour). We also had a few minutes at the Daintree Eco-Center, where I saw butterflies, emus, crocs, wallabies and some flying foxes (fruit bats, which were admittedly cool to see so close up).
Fortunately, the ends did indeed justify the means. Our final destination was Crocodylus Village, a youth hostel smack dab in the middle of Cape Tribulation National Park. Far removed from tourists and shops, Crocodylus Village is an idyllic haven of tranquility, where you can relax amidst the sights and sounds of a living, breathing rainforest (as long as you heed the sound advice of the "welcome sign" posted to the Stinging Tree near the hostel's entrance, which warns all visitors to avoid that particular tree and its friends sprinkled throughout the area, as they are "home to the most poisonous leaf in the world" -- a single touch can lead to a burning rash that lasts for weeks).
My accommodation was a handsome tent house, surrounded by a host of tropical ferns and covered by the rainforest canopy. Once I saw the place and heard about the wide range of things to do in the area, I immediately regretted my short stay. But I vowed to cram in as much as possible (while still allowing time for some simple relaxation and contemplation). After exploring my options, I decided to go on a mountain rainforest hike in the afternoon and a guided night walk in the evening.
The day hike set out straightaway, and I attached myself to two Brits (their names escape me) for the duration. It was a good introduction to the Australian Rainforest and provided a pretty decent view of the Daintree River. The highlight of the hike was a rare sighting of a wild cassowary (a large emu-like flightless bird with a blue neck and a red waddle). Although the bird is very dangerous -- it's been known to disembowel several sorry tourists with its razor-sharp middle claw -- I couldn't resist a closer look. I shadowed the five-foot bird through the forest until he suddenly stopped, sensing my presence. I cautiously approached to within four feet of him (leaving some protective foliage between us), and he stared at me every step of the way. We studied each other critically, simultaneously sizing up one another. We stayed that way for quite a while, mesmerized and paralyzed by each other's unrelenting glare, until my dangling camera made itself known by slapping against my thigh. Barely daring to breathe, and keeping constant eye contact, I worked my hands over to the camera and brought it up to my face with slow, controlled movements. I quickly snapped several photos, hoping the flash wouldn't disturb my feathered friend. The English girls hesitantly approached and beckoned me away for my own safety. I gave a final look and headed off. The cassowary continued on its leisurely way, eventually disappearing into the trees.
---------------------------------------The Cassowary--------------------------------------
------------------------------A Boyd's Rainforest Dragon------------------------
Strangely enough, I was almost as excited by what I didn't see as I was by what I did: things like fruit bats and possums hanging from the rainforest canopy by their various appendages and pythons slithering along the forest floor without the aid of any. I didn't need to see them -- it was enough to know they were out there, somewhere. Indeed, my favorite part of the night tour was when I literally couldn't see anything at all. It was the moment when the guide stopped us, made us extinguish our lights, and instructed each of us to find an isolated log to sit upon, where we could sit in the dark for a private "listening experience." For the next 15 minutes (it felt longer), I stared out into the nothingness and focused my ears on the rainforest. Just like a blind person who displays raised awareness in his other senses, I found my hearing to be more acute, and I picked up sounds I hadn't noticed before. Each rustle and cry seemed magnified and triggered an urge to turn my torch back on and locate the source, which I thankfully suppressed. The only thing I did manage to see during the "blackout period" was a singular glowing fungus, the sole bioluminescent star in my dark botanical universe.
"Lights on" was the magical incantation which returned me to my own world -- a world of light, shapes and colors. As we walked back to the Village, we heard a possum calling out in the trees above us. Try as we might, however, we never managed to find it (as I later learned, the so-called possum was just Phil "playing possum" and pulling our communal leg -- Anna told me the next morning that she barely contained her laughter when the lot of us shined our expectant beams within a few feet of her and Phil's hiding place).
When we returned, it was almost midnight, and time to join my diurnal tentmates in sweet slumber.
Attempting to push my jumbled, confusing thoughts aside, I distractedly prepared for my early morning trip. A tour bus was taking me to Cape Tribulation, promising scenic stops at places of interest along the way. The bus arrived at 7:45, along with an obnoxiously upbeat driver named Paul. No offense to Paul, but in my present state of mind, I just couldn't stand him. I tried to block him out by losing myself in the pages of "The Client," but I was only partially successful.
The "tour" was not all I had hoped it would be -- a cynic might deem it glorified transportation. Our "scenic stops" at Mossman Gorge and Port Douglas were incredibly brief (little more than bathroom breaks) and largely uninteresting. Only in Daintree did we actually stop for any quality time, but most of it (about an hour) was spent on a bogus crocodile tour down the Daintree River (we saw two or three glimpses of small, mostly hidden crocs -- it was bush league compared to my earlier "Yellow Waters" tour). We also had a few minutes at the Daintree Eco-Center, where I saw butterflies, emus, crocs, wallabies and some flying foxes (fruit bats, which were admittedly cool to see so close up).
------------------------------A Flying Fox Fruit Bat------------------------------
Fortunately, the ends did indeed justify the means. Our final destination was Crocodylus Village, a youth hostel smack dab in the middle of Cape Tribulation National Park. Far removed from tourists and shops, Crocodylus Village is an idyllic haven of tranquility, where you can relax amidst the sights and sounds of a living, breathing rainforest (as long as you heed the sound advice of the "welcome sign" posted to the Stinging Tree near the hostel's entrance, which warns all visitors to avoid that particular tree and its friends sprinkled throughout the area, as they are "home to the most poisonous leaf in the world" -- a single touch can lead to a burning rash that lasts for weeks).
My accommodation was a handsome tent house, surrounded by a host of tropical ferns and covered by the rainforest canopy. Once I saw the place and heard about the wide range of things to do in the area, I immediately regretted my short stay. But I vowed to cram in as much as possible (while still allowing time for some simple relaxation and contemplation). After exploring my options, I decided to go on a mountain rainforest hike in the afternoon and a guided night walk in the evening.
The day hike set out straightaway, and I attached myself to two Brits (their names escape me) for the duration. It was a good introduction to the Australian Rainforest and provided a pretty decent view of the Daintree River. The highlight of the hike was a rare sighting of a wild cassowary (a large emu-like flightless bird with a blue neck and a red waddle). Although the bird is very dangerous -- it's been known to disembowel several sorry tourists with its razor-sharp middle claw -- I couldn't resist a closer look. I shadowed the five-foot bird through the forest until he suddenly stopped, sensing my presence. I cautiously approached to within four feet of him (leaving some protective foliage between us), and he stared at me every step of the way. We studied each other critically, simultaneously sizing up one another. We stayed that way for quite a while, mesmerized and paralyzed by each other's unrelenting glare, until my dangling camera made itself known by slapping against my thigh. Barely daring to breathe, and keeping constant eye contact, I worked my hands over to the camera and brought it up to my face with slow, controlled movements. I quickly snapped several photos, hoping the flash wouldn't disturb my feathered friend. The English girls hesitantly approached and beckoned me away for my own safety. I gave a final look and headed off. The cassowary continued on its leisurely way, eventually disappearing into the trees.
---------------------------------------The Cassowary--------------------------------------Back at Crocodylus Village, who should I run into but my old Contiki pal Mark Day, he of the growing didgeridoo skills. He'd stayed here the previous night and would remain for another two. He was serving dinner tonight (in exchange for a free meal -- great idea!) and said he would catch me later. More than a bit financially strained myself, I resisted the temptation to buy dinner and whipped up my own meagre meal (eight slices of toast with Vegemite and some water).
An hour later, I met up with Mark and three of his friends: Phil (a local who worked for the National Park ); Anna (an attractive Scottish lass); and Robin (a girl from Melbourne who bore an uncanny resemblance to Elaine from "Seinfeld," which coincidentally, happened to be her favorite TV show). They were involved in a game of cards and kindly dealt me in.
At 9:30 p.m., it was time for my nighttime rainforest trek (Mark, Phil and Anna decided to join me). We met our guide and donned a rather bulky flashlight mechanism (the cumbersome battery strapped around my waist and was quite heavy) that made us look like coal miners. So equipped, we headed off into the night. The darkened rainforest was peaceful, but not entirely still. An occasional screech above or scampering below reminded us that even at nighttime (or especially in the nighttime), the rainforest harbored life. Our nocturnal exploration uncovered Boyd's Rainforest Dragons deceptively camouflaged on tree saplings, hunter spiders with torch-induced golden eyes crawling silently on the forest floor, cockroaches scampering over decayed logs, a rat scavenging for a late-night snack, a stick insect laying eggs in the bark of an ancient tree, a butterfly in enclosed wings dozing upside-down on a palm leaf, a white bird with its sleeping head nestled under a feathery wing, and a bandikeet doing . . . whatever it is bandikeets do. We also stumbled upon a massive ground nest, built over a period of several years, by two very determined and industrious brown ducks.
------------------------------A Boyd's Rainforest Dragon------------------------
Strangely enough, I was almost as excited by what I didn't see as I was by what I did: things like fruit bats and possums hanging from the rainforest canopy by their various appendages and pythons slithering along the forest floor without the aid of any. I didn't need to see them -- it was enough to know they were out there, somewhere. Indeed, my favorite part of the night tour was when I literally couldn't see anything at all. It was the moment when the guide stopped us, made us extinguish our lights, and instructed each of us to find an isolated log to sit upon, where we could sit in the dark for a private "listening experience." For the next 15 minutes (it felt longer), I stared out into the nothingness and focused my ears on the rainforest. Just like a blind person who displays raised awareness in his other senses, I found my hearing to be more acute, and I picked up sounds I hadn't noticed before. Each rustle and cry seemed magnified and triggered an urge to turn my torch back on and locate the source, which I thankfully suppressed. The only thing I did manage to see during the "blackout period" was a singular glowing fungus, the sole bioluminescent star in my dark botanical universe.
"Lights on" was the magical incantation which returned me to my own world -- a world of light, shapes and colors. As we walked back to the Village, we heard a possum calling out in the trees above us. Try as we might, however, we never managed to find it (as I later learned, the so-called possum was just Phil "playing possum" and pulling our communal leg -- Anna told me the next morning that she barely contained her laughter when the lot of us shined our expectant beams within a few feet of her and Phil's hiding place).
When we returned, it was almost midnight, and time to join my diurnal tentmates in sweet slumber.
Oceania: Day 40: 8-12-94: Rainforest And Beach
Having toured the rainforest during both the afternoon and the nighttime, today it was time for a change. As Monty Python would put it, "and now for something completely different." You guessed it, I decided to take a morning tour of the rainforest. For an added thrill, I wanted to go exploring without a guide. There was indeed a self-guided tour called the "Orange Rope Walk," which involved, coincidentally enough, following a trail marked with an orange-colored rope. I looked for company, and much to my delight, Anna agreed to join me. We wandered our way through an array of tropical palms, fanning out all around us and above us. Many varieties of these palms had survived millions of years and were among the first plant life ever to exist on Earth. One touch of their needlelike fronds was all it took to determine why the species had lasted so long -- they were tough, sharp and painful (these were some hardy trees!).
Among the more interesting sights that we saw on the first part of our our hike were a strangler fig (a parasitic plant which winds its thick, tawny limbs around an unsuspecting tree, stealing its light and nourishment until the unfortunate host eventually dies), a big black feral pig, towering trees with buttressed roots, and the bluntly-named "Tree with Breasts" (actual brochure description!) which had two bulbous bumps on its trunk -- Anna and I reached out and fondled them (we couldn't help ourselves) and we wondered briefly whether such a violation of Mother Nature was a natural impulse for most visitors or a select act carried out by the perverse few (like us).
The second half of our journey was all a big blur, mainly because our walk turned into a run when the rainforest suddenly decided to live up to its name. What started as a rather refreshing drizzle, soon gave way to a torrential downpour. We raced beside the orange rope all the way back to Crocodylus Village, where we sought the protection of the dining area.
At 10:00 a.m., Anna, Robin and I decided to hike to Cow Bay Beach, "where the rainforest meets the reef." The brochure proved accurate once again, as we traveled through a new section of the rainforest right onto the sand. It was a majestic sight, indeed: the ocean came rolling in to greet us, its white-capped waves slamming into rocky outcroppings dotting the shoreline, producing frothy sprays that soothed our sweaty bodies. While Anna and Robin settled down to sunbathe, I decided to explore the area. Following the coastline, climbing over aggregations of jagged rocks, I eventually discovered two more beachfronts, each as pristine and deserted as the first. As I stood atop one of the larger rocks, I felt like Robinson Crusoe, deserted on my very own tropical island.
-----------------------------------------Anna Takes A Dip------------------------------------------------(Robin's Photo Didn't Get Past The Censors!) --------------
Among the more interesting sights that we saw on the first part of our our hike were a strangler fig (a parasitic plant which winds its thick, tawny limbs around an unsuspecting tree, stealing its light and nourishment until the unfortunate host eventually dies), a big black feral pig, towering trees with buttressed roots, and the bluntly-named "Tree with Breasts" (actual brochure description!) which had two bulbous bumps on its trunk -- Anna and I reached out and fondled them (we couldn't help ourselves) and we wondered briefly whether such a violation of Mother Nature was a natural impulse for most visitors or a select act carried out by the perverse few (like us).
The second half of our journey was all a big blur, mainly because our walk turned into a run when the rainforest suddenly decided to live up to its name. What started as a rather refreshing drizzle, soon gave way to a torrential downpour. We raced beside the orange rope all the way back to Crocodylus Village, where we sought the protection of the dining area.
At 10:00 a.m., Anna, Robin and I decided to hike to Cow Bay Beach, "where the rainforest meets the reef." The brochure proved accurate once again, as we traveled through a new section of the rainforest right onto the sand. It was a majestic sight, indeed: the ocean came rolling in to greet us, its white-capped waves slamming into rocky outcroppings dotting the shoreline, producing frothy sprays that soothed our sweaty bodies. While Anna and Robin settled down to sunbathe, I decided to explore the area. Following the coastline, climbing over aggregations of jagged rocks, I eventually discovered two more beachfronts, each as pristine and deserted as the first. As I stood atop one of the larger rocks, I felt like Robinson Crusoe, deserted on my very own tropical island.
------------------Taking In The Sights At Cow Bay Beach--------------------
-------------------------Waves Smack The Rocky Shore-------------------------
When I got back to check on the girls, Anna was taking a dip in the water and Robin was splayed out on her blanket without her top on (!). To say Robin's bosom was ample didn't begin to do it justice (the Tree had nothing on her), and it took a Herculean effort to hold my eyes and tongue in my head and attempt natural conversation. "You're chest is sunburned," I blurted (doh! -- way to be subtle, Chris!). "I burned it yesterday," she replied casually, as if referring to her nose or back. Well, if she was comfortable being topless in front of me, I guess I could get comfortable with it, too (after all, I did briefly share a room with those French girls, but they were total strangers -- I had come to know Robin and was used to her with her clothes decidedly on). We proceeded to make small talk as if her ponderous pair were not on display, and I almost reached a point where I stopped staring.
After building up a sweat, I regretfully took my leave of Robin (thinking thanks for the mammaries and unashamedly amused and at my adolescent pun) to cool off in the ocean. I joined Anna (her own top disappointingly secure) in the water for a brief while before seeking out a shady palm where I could do some reading out of the carcinogenic sunlight.
-----------------------------------------Anna Takes A Dip------------------------------------------------(Robin's Photo Didn't Get Past The Censors!) --------------
At noon, we decided to head back to the hostel for something to eat. Robin (now cruelly clothed) suggested we all have veggie burgers for lunch. There were only two left, so I ordered a slice of veggie pizza, and Anna and I shared half of each other's meal. Both dishes were very tasty and vegetable-laden.
Sadly, my brief but memorable stay at Crocodylus Village had now come to a close. I got the girls addresses and said my goodbyes.
I had the dubious honor of once again having the one-and-only Paul as my bus driver for the ride back to Cairns. Surprisingly, he seemed more amusing than obnoxious this time (though perhaps I was just in a better frame of mind). I spent the journey chatting it up with Rosie from Ireland and Joyce from Scotland. They were pleasant enough to talk to, and they both graciously offered to show me around their respective countries if I ever made it out that way (more addresses!). The return trip was a carbon copy of the outgoing one, though I did get to experience the added thrill of a 5-minute Daintree River ferry crossing.
I arrived back in Cairns at 5:30 p.m., cleaned myself up and popped on over to Chloe's hostel. She and Marie were out, so I left a note and went for another free meal at "The End of The World."
When I went back to Chloe's place, I discovered that the girls had just returned from a rainforest adventure of their own. We compared notes over a second dinner and then went out for some drinks and dancing at The Pumphouse.
Chloe' and I shared a few more passionate kisses (there would be nothing more intimate this evening, as Chloe' wasn't about to abandon her friend again, especially now that she was back up on her feet -- all things considered, perhaps that was for the best) and said goodnight. We made plans to go shopping together in the morning -- knowing, unfortunately, that it would be our final opportunity to spend some time together before we parted ways for good.
Oceania: Day 41: 8-13-94: Off To Sydney
After indeed meeting up with the girls for our early morning shopping spree (I bought several postcards, a children's story set in Australia called "Koala Lou" and a book on Australian wildlife), I shared a quick hug with Marie and a lingering embrace with Chloe' before heading off to the Cairns airport for my flight to Sydney (via Brisbane).
Thus began the last leg of my South Pacific Adventure . . .
[Note: Right now, I'm sitting in the Brisbane airport, and the only reason I've caught up with this journal (and thus, speaking in the present tense) is because my connecting flight is an hour late. Assuming I arrive in Sydney safely (not that I'm superstitious, but it is the 13th of the month, after all -- albeit a Saturday), I'll finish this entry tonight when there is something more to say.]
I'm sure the suspense is killing you, so I'll cut to the chase -- I made it to Sydney! (I was two hours late, but none the worse for wear). Rachel met me right at the gate (I had forgotten how nice it was to have someone waiting for you at the airport to pick you up), and we greeted each other like long-separated friends (when in fact, it had only been 7 days).
Rachel offered to put me up in her parents' house for the night, so I called the Glebe Point Hostel and moved my booking to the following evening. We popped into her Alfa Romeo (like many times on this trip, I embarrassingly went to the wrong side of the vehicle!) and drove off into the night. Sydney was beautiful, all lit up like an Australian Christmas Tree -- or more correctly, like an Australian Flag. Everything sparkled a comforting red, white and blue, crisp colors that sharply outlined the sillhouetted structures of the cityscape.
I was pleasantly surprised to learn that Bonnie (a.k.a. Tampa) was in town. Rachel informed me that we had a rendezvous at the Hard Rock Cafe, which was where we were headed. The joint was jumping when we arrived, packed wall-to-wall with Aussies and tourists. Nonetheless, my eagle eye managed to pick out Bonnie's flaming red hair, and we worked our way over to her table. Bonnie was accompanied by two of her friends, a guy and girl she had met on a previous Contiki Tour (in Europe), as well as the girl's new fiance'. We introduced ourselves and joined them for dinner. Not far into the meal, we all realized that the fiance' was a major bonehead (Bonnie, Rachel and I tried to ignore him and have a good time).
Thus began the last leg of my South Pacific Adventure . . .
[Note: Right now, I'm sitting in the Brisbane airport, and the only reason I've caught up with this journal (and thus, speaking in the present tense) is because my connecting flight is an hour late. Assuming I arrive in Sydney safely (not that I'm superstitious, but it is the 13th of the month, after all -- albeit a Saturday), I'll finish this entry tonight when there is something more to say.]
I'm sure the suspense is killing you, so I'll cut to the chase -- I made it to Sydney! (I was two hours late, but none the worse for wear). Rachel met me right at the gate (I had forgotten how nice it was to have someone waiting for you at the airport to pick you up), and we greeted each other like long-separated friends (when in fact, it had only been 7 days).
Rachel offered to put me up in her parents' house for the night, so I called the Glebe Point Hostel and moved my booking to the following evening. We popped into her Alfa Romeo (like many times on this trip, I embarrassingly went to the wrong side of the vehicle!) and drove off into the night. Sydney was beautiful, all lit up like an Australian Christmas Tree -- or more correctly, like an Australian Flag. Everything sparkled a comforting red, white and blue, crisp colors that sharply outlined the sillhouetted structures of the cityscape.
I was pleasantly surprised to learn that Bonnie (a.k.a. Tampa) was in town. Rachel informed me that we had a rendezvous at the Hard Rock Cafe, which was where we were headed. The joint was jumping when we arrived, packed wall-to-wall with Aussies and tourists. Nonetheless, my eagle eye managed to pick out Bonnie's flaming red hair, and we worked our way over to her table. Bonnie was accompanied by two of her friends, a guy and girl she had met on a previous Contiki Tour (in Europe), as well as the girl's new fiance'. We introduced ourselves and joined them for dinner. Not far into the meal, we all realized that the fiance' was a major bonehead (Bonnie, Rachel and I tried to ignore him and have a good time).
------------------------------Rachel And Bonnie------------------------------
After dinner, the lot of us popped into Bonnie's friend's car, and we went to the Circular Quay to see the Opera House and Harbour Bridge in all their glorious illumination. I wasted two exposures in a futile attempt to capture the impressive night scene (unfortunately, the roll in my camera was ISO 100).
At this point, Bonnie and her friends decided to call it a night, but Rachel and I felt like partying on (it was, after all, Saturday night in the big city!). So we went on a metropolitan walkabout and meandered into a hopping local pub. One thought pervaded my mind (and parched throat) -- Strongbow White. Having previously enjoyed the refreshing tastes of Strongbow Dry, Strongbow Draught and Strongbow Sweet, I had long yearned to sample the last variety -- this infamous White -- which promised all the taste and twice the alcohol. Unfortunately, I had yet to find a bar that stocked it . . . up until now, that is. Much to my delight, they did indeed have the ellusive brew (I finally tracked one down!), which I promptly ordered. I'm happy to report that it was good and one was quite enough to ellicit a buzz. Rachel and I listened to a man belt out songs on his guitar while we enjoyed our drinks.
We closed the place down (not such a big accomplishment, since "last call" was at 1:00 a.m.) and drove to Rachel's parents' house. Even in the dark, I could tell the house was quite beautiful. One glance inside confirmed it -- the owners had good taste (and money). Quiet as we tried to be, our arrival awakened Rachel's folks and I awkwardly greeted her father as he poked his bath-robed body out the bedroom door. Then Rachel showed me to my room (her brother's bedroom), and I collapsed on the bed. It was approaching three in the morning and I was beat.
Oceania: Day 42: 8-14-94: Blue Mountains And Jenolan Caves
Even though I vowed to Rachel that I would be up by 8:00 a.m. -- "my internal alarm clock never fails me," I assured her -- it wasn't until her father called up to my room at 9:00 that I got my lazy butt out of bed (no more Strongbow White for me, I guess!). I formally introduced myself to Rachel's parents (I was much more at ease now that it was a decent hour and everyone was fully dressed), both of whom I liked immediately -- we got along quite swimmingly until "Dr. Carter" joined us. Rachel, ever the gracious hostess, set about preparing our morning meal -- she whipped up a scrumptuous "breakie" of eggs, ham, bacon, cereal and vegemite sandwiches. My appetite and thanks were both hardy.
Rachel and I decided to spend the sunny day (or what was left of it, anyway) seeing the countryside. In what ended up being a whirlwind tour, Rachel took me to the Blue Mountains and the Jenolan Caves (a total of six hours and 400 kilometers of driving!). Though we were a bit squeezed for time, the trip was well worth it.
First up were the Blue Mountains, so-named (and so-colored) because of the gases given off by the abundant gum trees (eucalyptus) in the area. The views at Honeymooners Ledge and Echo Point were breathtaking and my camera couldn't keep up with my furious finger. The Three Sisters ( a trio of rocky outcroppings) provided triple the fun and formed the majestic centerpiece of the mountainscape.
Then it was off to the Jenolan Caves, an equally impressive natural wonder. We only had time to see Lucas Cave, just one of the 300+ caverns in the extensive underground network, but I was not disappointed. If the Blue Mountains were the sky gods of New South Whales, there was little doubt who ruled the Underworld -- Lucas Cave was an awesome spectacle of rainwater-sculpted limestone. It's massive chambers, filled with armies of stalactites and stalagmites, were a true testament to Nature's power, whereas the flowing beauty of the skirts and curtains showcased its artistry. My favorite formations were also among the most famous, including Broken Pillar, Bishop's Rock and most notably The Cathedral, where we spent the majority of the tour.
-------------------Lucas Cave (At The Jenolan Caves)--------------------
The Cathedral got its name because of its size (it was the highest chamber in the park), natural church-like architecture and acoustics. The guide attempted to wow us with this last feature by blaring a Bee Gees CD over the cave's built-in speakers. I have to say that this temporarily tarnished the experience for me -- not only was the music selection incredibly sappy and inappropriate, but the whole idea of building a sound system within a natural wonder seemed tacky, touristy and just plain wrong. I toned down my criticism somewhat when the guide switched to "A Night On Bald Mountain," which was admittedly more emotionally evocative than "How Deep Is Your Love." On our way out of the hallowed halls of the Cathedral, the guide informed us that the chamber was occasionally used for church services, classical concerts and even weddings (it would be a cool place to get married).
We explored a few more chambers (one had a clear stream running through it), and then we bolted for the car, hoping to make it back to the city for our 7:30 dinner reservation.
Unfortunately, it became apparent quite early on during our return trip that, despite the lack of traffic Rachel had feared, we'd have to call ahead and cancel our dinner date at Doyle's (supposedly the premier seafood house in Sydney) because we'd never get there in time. It wasn't all bad news, however, since the more liesurely driving pace allowed us to relax a little and better appreciate the scenic ride home (we witnessed a spectacular sunset behind the Blue Mountains, and we stopped the car when a black kangaroo hopped right in front of us -- a rare sighting, according to Rachel, who swears no one in her family had ever seen a wild roo cross the road in NSW before), and we got to eat a deliciously impromptu meal at a Thai Restaurant along the way.
After dinner, I thanked Rachel for a truly wonderful day. I told her I looked forward to returning the favor next year in New York, when she plans to visit (I hope I can be half as good a host as she has been).
Rachel and I decided to spend the sunny day (or what was left of it, anyway) seeing the countryside. In what ended up being a whirlwind tour, Rachel took me to the Blue Mountains and the Jenolan Caves (a total of six hours and 400 kilometers of driving!). Though we were a bit squeezed for time, the trip was well worth it.
First up were the Blue Mountains, so-named (and so-colored) because of the gases given off by the abundant gum trees (eucalyptus) in the area. The views at Honeymooners Ledge and Echo Point were breathtaking and my camera couldn't keep up with my furious finger. The Three Sisters ( a trio of rocky outcroppings) provided triple the fun and formed the majestic centerpiece of the mountainscape.
------------The Blue Mountains (See "The Three Sisters?")--------------
Then it was off to the Jenolan Caves, an equally impressive natural wonder. We only had time to see Lucas Cave, just one of the 300+ caverns in the extensive underground network, but I was not disappointed. If the Blue Mountains were the sky gods of New South Whales, there was little doubt who ruled the Underworld -- Lucas Cave was an awesome spectacle of rainwater-sculpted limestone. It's massive chambers, filled with armies of stalactites and stalagmites, were a true testament to Nature's power, whereas the flowing beauty of the skirts and curtains showcased its artistry. My favorite formations were also among the most famous, including Broken Pillar, Bishop's Rock and most notably The Cathedral, where we spent the majority of the tour.
-------------------Lucas Cave (At The Jenolan Caves)--------------------The Cathedral got its name because of its size (it was the highest chamber in the park), natural church-like architecture and acoustics. The guide attempted to wow us with this last feature by blaring a Bee Gees CD over the cave's built-in speakers. I have to say that this temporarily tarnished the experience for me -- not only was the music selection incredibly sappy and inappropriate, but the whole idea of building a sound system within a natural wonder seemed tacky, touristy and just plain wrong. I toned down my criticism somewhat when the guide switched to "A Night On Bald Mountain," which was admittedly more emotionally evocative than "How Deep Is Your Love." On our way out of the hallowed halls of the Cathedral, the guide informed us that the chamber was occasionally used for church services, classical concerts and even weddings (it would be a cool place to get married).
We explored a few more chambers (one had a clear stream running through it), and then we bolted for the car, hoping to make it back to the city for our 7:30 dinner reservation.
Unfortunately, it became apparent quite early on during our return trip that, despite the lack of traffic Rachel had feared, we'd have to call ahead and cancel our dinner date at Doyle's (supposedly the premier seafood house in Sydney) because we'd never get there in time. It wasn't all bad news, however, since the more liesurely driving pace allowed us to relax a little and better appreciate the scenic ride home (we witnessed a spectacular sunset behind the Blue Mountains, and we stopped the car when a black kangaroo hopped right in front of us -- a rare sighting, according to Rachel, who swears no one in her family had ever seen a wild roo cross the road in NSW before), and we got to eat a deliciously impromptu meal at a Thai Restaurant along the way.
After dinner, I thanked Rachel for a truly wonderful day. I told her I looked forward to returning the favor next year in New York, when she plans to visit (I hope I can be half as good a host as she has been).
Oceania: Day 43: 8-15-94: Love Sydney! (No Silly, Not That 80's Tony Randall Sitcom)
I spent today on a self-guided tour of Sydney (I'm not necessarily a big fan of doing so-called "touristy things," preferring to view myself as a more "serious traveler," but even I put on the tourist cap once in a while).
First I visited the Queen Victoria Building, a historical structure with gothic architecture and colorful stained glass windows . . . which has been shamelessly converted into a mall (Just because I'm doing touristy stuff doesn't mean I can't be critical!).
Then I went to Darling Harbor, another beautiful landmark which has become a shopping center and all-around tourist trap (there was even an Aboriginal Show which had everything except authentic Aborigines). Nonetheless, it was a prime viewing spot to watch the ships (and monorail) cruise by the shiny cityscape (See, I can find the positives, as well).
---------------------------------------------Sydney-------------------------------------------
First I visited the Queen Victoria Building, a historical structure with gothic architecture and colorful stained glass windows . . . which has been shamelessly converted into a mall (Just because I'm doing touristy stuff doesn't mean I can't be critical!).
Then I went to Darling Harbor, another beautiful landmark which has become a shopping center and all-around tourist trap (there was even an Aboriginal Show which had everything except authentic Aborigines). Nonetheless, it was a prime viewing spot to watch the ships (and monorail) cruise by the shiny cityscape (See, I can find the positives, as well).
---------------------------------------------Sydney-------------------------------------------I held out as long as I could, but with all the gift shops assaulting me, it was only a matter of time before I gave into the urge to purchase something. I scoured the stores, looking for something special. As I window shopped, I discovered that Sydney is damned proud of its selection as the host city for the 2000 Summer Olympics. "Sydney 2000" was plastered everywhere, and the multi-million dollar stadium was already completed -- a full 6 years before the torch will be lit! The logo was attractive (a combination of the Opera House and the Olympic Rings), but I ultimately resisted buying a T-shirt, since I plan to return to Sydney and experience the event firsthand. Instead, I purchased an Aboriginal Art shirt which had a smart looking, authentic print and perfectly complemented the kindergarten Australia unit I was putting together (I could wear it when I introduced the Aborigines).
Next I decided to get a bird's-eye view of Sydney by taking a lift up to the observation deck at the top of Sydney Centrepoint Tower (the tallest structure in the city). It was a clear day, and while I couldn't quite see forever as the musical boasts, I did get a great glimpse of Hyde Park, the Cathedral, Sydney Harbor, Darling Harbor and the tower's own huge shadow.
Finally, I took a ride on the Manly Ferry, which shuttles between Manly Island and the mainland, providing excellent views of the Opera House, Harbor Bridge and Sydney skyline along the way (In the bright light of day, I was finally able to capture photos of the city and its landmarks, ameliorating the disappointment of those wasted shots I took on Saturday night).
-------------------------The Iconic Sydney Opera House-------------------------
I arrived back at Glebe Point Hostel around 6:00 p.m. and spent a few minutes talking with my colorful bunkmate, a crass but amiable Kiwi who calls everyone (friend and foe alike) a cunt, which just might be the single most offensive word in the English language. I didn't know that particular label could even be applied positively, but this guy considers "He's a fine cunt" to be complimentary (as opposed to "He's an old cunt," which is decidedly perjorative). I thanked the endearing fellow for teaching me all the nuances of the c-word and then went off to feed my grumbling tummy. After scraping together the last of my spare change to buy a modest meal (leaving just enough money to pay tomorrow's Australian Departure Tax), I decided to make the last night of my vacation a truly rockin' one -- I was asleep by 9:30.
Oceania: Day 44: 8-16-94: Final Day, Final Thoughts
So this is it. The time has come. I'm homeward bound (suddenly, I feel a Simon & Garfunkel tune coming on), and that means it is time for my final journal entry. I feel kinda pressured to make this entry a truly smashing one -- the entry to end all entries, if you will -- one that is witty, contemplative and philosophical all at once. I doubt whether I'll win the Pulitzer, but I'll give it my best shot!
As I write this, I've just been handed my complimentary bag of peanuts on Air New Zealand flight #18, bound for Los Angeles, CA in the good 'ol US of A. I've become a connoisseur, of sorts, when it comes to in-flight peanuts and I'm sorry to report that my cultured palate finds this particular bagful lacking both in texture (too greasy) and taste (maybe I've just become too biased towards the honey-roasted variety, but these nuts left me wholly unsatisfied). Snack snobbery aside, I'm starving and gulp the nuts down gluttonously -- scant few calories for my high metabolism, but they should suffice in generating enough energy to continue with this entry.
But enough about my nuts. Moving on . . .
It's hard for me to comprehend all that I've seen and done on my six-and-a-half week South Pacific holiday, much less list everything. As I go back and read snippets of my adventures in Hawaii, Fiji, New Zealand and Australia, I'm awed by the sheer multitude of events and faces contained therein: I've been above the clouds and beneath the waves; I've eaten prawns in a 5-star hotel and goana lizard in the Bush; I've been to Heavenly Paradise (Island) and the Underworld (Jenolan Caves) . . . and I've met interesting people from all corners of the globe while doing it. Throughout it all, I've come to realize how refreshing and expansive it is to leave the narrow confines of my everyday life (pleasant though it is) and expose myself to new experiences and ways of life.
[Note: I'm a bit tired, so I think I'll catch a little cat nap and resume this later.]
Okay, I'm back! Did you miss me? I'd like to start off the second half of this entry by making a confession. I'm an addict . . . addicted to traveling, that is -- to seeing the world, eating new foods, trying new things (even dangerous things), and immersing myself in foreign cultures (in their history, language and customs). I enjoy sharing what I learn with my kindergarten students so that they, too, can gain a broader view of life. I love showing my photos and reading my journal to my friends and family at home so that they can more fully appreciate my globetrotting exploits. Most of all, I passionately embrace the experiences and cherished memories for myself, particularly those I've shared with newfound friends. I have collected dozens of addresses from those I've shared this journey with, and although most of them will never actually see the face of an envelope (as I've learned previously, the responsibilities of daily living have a way of ruining even the best of intentions), some undoubtedly will -- and of those people I do manage to stay in contact with, I'm certain I shall see a select handful sometime in future travels. But even if the worst comes to pass, and I fail to set eyes on any of my travel companions again, I'll assuredly never forget them. In some way, they have all touched me (some more [and lower] than others) and changed me -- adding to the entity I call myself. People are what make my travels so special, memorable and meaningful. Long after the memories of beaches, beers and buxom plantlife have faded, I'll fondly remember passing the cava bowl with my adopted Fijian family, learning to "Cooee!" with Wayne and Murray, discussing the Christian faith with John, traversing the Northern Territory with the Contiki crew and romancing a bevy of beautiful babes (even if much of this last part only took place in my head).
People do indeed make traveling fun. Now if I could only improve my relations with the individuals in my everyday life -- my family -- I'd be truly content. Somehow, I seem to get along better and more intimately with strangers in strange lands than I do with my own father and brother, whom I live with. They deserve more, and I pledge to work harder on my end to give it to them. (Hmm. It seems I've strayed a bit from whatever point it was that I was trying to make, but maybe not.)
My dinner arrived some minutes ago, and it's getting cold, so I'll leave you to your varied thoughts whilst I consume my meal and settle in for the 20 hours of flying that still lay ahead of me (Through an interesting chronological anomaly and a well-timed crossing of the International Date Line, I will actually arrive in the USA before I leave Australia [I left Sydney at 1:30 p.m. on Tuesday, 8/16 and I will arrive in LA at 1:00 p.m. on the same day]. "Holy Worm Hole, Batman!" "Full speed ahead, captain . . . "). I foresee a lot of thumb-twiddling on this flight and the next (from LA to NY) during the looooooooooooooong journey home -- going out with a whimper, it seems. Until next year, then! Keep smiling!!
-- Chris
August 16th, 1994
6:00 p.m.
As I write this, I've just been handed my complimentary bag of peanuts on Air New Zealand flight #18, bound for Los Angeles, CA in the good 'ol US of A. I've become a connoisseur, of sorts, when it comes to in-flight peanuts and I'm sorry to report that my cultured palate finds this particular bagful lacking both in texture (too greasy) and taste (maybe I've just become too biased towards the honey-roasted variety, but these nuts left me wholly unsatisfied). Snack snobbery aside, I'm starving and gulp the nuts down gluttonously -- scant few calories for my high metabolism, but they should suffice in generating enough energy to continue with this entry.
But enough about my nuts. Moving on . . .
It's hard for me to comprehend all that I've seen and done on my six-and-a-half week South Pacific holiday, much less list everything. As I go back and read snippets of my adventures in Hawaii, Fiji, New Zealand and Australia, I'm awed by the sheer multitude of events and faces contained therein: I've been above the clouds and beneath the waves; I've eaten prawns in a 5-star hotel and goana lizard in the Bush; I've been to Heavenly Paradise (Island) and the Underworld (Jenolan Caves) . . . and I've met interesting people from all corners of the globe while doing it. Throughout it all, I've come to realize how refreshing and expansive it is to leave the narrow confines of my everyday life (pleasant though it is) and expose myself to new experiences and ways of life.
[Note: I'm a bit tired, so I think I'll catch a little cat nap and resume this later.]
Okay, I'm back! Did you miss me? I'd like to start off the second half of this entry by making a confession. I'm an addict . . . addicted to traveling, that is -- to seeing the world, eating new foods, trying new things (even dangerous things), and immersing myself in foreign cultures (in their history, language and customs). I enjoy sharing what I learn with my kindergarten students so that they, too, can gain a broader view of life. I love showing my photos and reading my journal to my friends and family at home so that they can more fully appreciate my globetrotting exploits. Most of all, I passionately embrace the experiences and cherished memories for myself, particularly those I've shared with newfound friends. I have collected dozens of addresses from those I've shared this journey with, and although most of them will never actually see the face of an envelope (as I've learned previously, the responsibilities of daily living have a way of ruining even the best of intentions), some undoubtedly will -- and of those people I do manage to stay in contact with, I'm certain I shall see a select handful sometime in future travels. But even if the worst comes to pass, and I fail to set eyes on any of my travel companions again, I'll assuredly never forget them. In some way, they have all touched me (some more [and lower] than others) and changed me -- adding to the entity I call myself. People are what make my travels so special, memorable and meaningful. Long after the memories of beaches, beers and buxom plantlife have faded, I'll fondly remember passing the cava bowl with my adopted Fijian family, learning to "Cooee!" with Wayne and Murray, discussing the Christian faith with John, traversing the Northern Territory with the Contiki crew and romancing a bevy of beautiful babes (even if much of this last part only took place in my head).
People do indeed make traveling fun. Now if I could only improve my relations with the individuals in my everyday life -- my family -- I'd be truly content. Somehow, I seem to get along better and more intimately with strangers in strange lands than I do with my own father and brother, whom I live with. They deserve more, and I pledge to work harder on my end to give it to them. (Hmm. It seems I've strayed a bit from whatever point it was that I was trying to make, but maybe not.)
My dinner arrived some minutes ago, and it's getting cold, so I'll leave you to your varied thoughts whilst I consume my meal and settle in for the 20 hours of flying that still lay ahead of me (Through an interesting chronological anomaly and a well-timed crossing of the International Date Line, I will actually arrive in the USA before I leave Australia [I left Sydney at 1:30 p.m. on Tuesday, 8/16 and I will arrive in LA at 1:00 p.m. on the same day]. "Holy Worm Hole, Batman!" "Full speed ahead, captain . . . "). I foresee a lot of thumb-twiddling on this flight and the next (from LA to NY) during the looooooooooooooong journey home -- going out with a whimper, it seems. Until next year, then! Keep smiling!!
-- Chris
August 16th, 1994
6:00 p.m.
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