Sights and Sounds

File Under: Things You Absolutely Must Do

I’ve spent the last week—and will spend the next one as well—on Lizard Island, volunteering at the Research Station, and despite the fact that there’s been more rain than usual I feel 100% confident in saying that this is something that everyone should try to take a few weeks of their life to do. If you look up “Paradise” in the dictionary, you ought to find a picture of this place: palm trees, brilliant white sand beaches, azure water, world-class reefs waiting to be snorkeled just off shore. On the other side of the island, a few short kilometers away, is a $1600/night luxury resort, but as a volunteer at the station I pay nothing but the cost of a plane ticket and the food I had delivered by barge before I arrived. So, for my volunteer efforts I’m essentially recieving a $25,000 vacation for free! Given that I’m not paying a cent, and that this is just a research station, not a resort, I expected fairly meager accomodations, outhouses, communal showers, threadbare sheets over practically nonexistent mattreses in dank bug-ridden old bunkhouses, you get the idea. Imagine my surprise when I found I had a bright, clean room all to myself (eventually with one roommate, a very cool dude named Tane), in a cozy little house with an awesome covered veranda, a well-appointed kitchen, and all kinds of amenities in the main building, like cheap Internet access, an air-conditioned library and free laundry. Don’t get me wrong, nothing here is the absolute pinnacle of luxury, but basically to stay at the resort for the same amount of time, I’d be paying $25,000 for someone to cook fore and an air-conditioned room. I’m perfectly happy to scramble my own eggs and sleep with a ceiling fan on for that kind of money; even now, at the tail end of summer, it’s never too hot to sleep as long as the fan is running. I do have to work a bit to earn my keep, but we’re talking about 4 hours per day of mostly either cleaning walls/windows or helping move stuff around the workshop. Sometimes I might have to work an full 8-hour day, but only because I’m taking the next day off to hik up to Cook’s Look (where the famous captain reputedly spotted a clear way out through the outter barrier reef) or taking a short boat ride to do some more snorkelling on yet another world class reef. The work always flys by and then it’s just another day in paradise. It also doesn’t hurt that the people here are great. Anne & Lyle, the station directors, are nice although they do mostly keep a bit ofmprofessional distance from the researchers and volunteers; Bob & Tania Lamb, the couple in charge of maintainence for 6 months of the year—and essentially my bosses—are just about the nicest, funnest people you could ever hope to play a marimba with (Bob built a huge marimba and brings it down to the beach for the weekly BBQ or invites people up to their house for Marimba parties, often getting 5 people playing at once), they’re the greatest bosses ever. Then there’s also the researchers, an ever-shifting diverse mix of people from acrossthe globe; researchers stay anywhere from a few weeks to a few months and from what I’ve heard, most come back several times; like nationality, ages vary, but most tend to be in their mid-20s to -30s and all are conducting research of e sort that pertains to the reef or life found in/on/around it. If I were single, I’d probably also comment on the extremely favorable ratio of women to men, as well as te fact that most of the women spend all day running around in little more than their swim attire, but as a devoted boyfriend with eyes for no one but Alissa, I’m sure I wouldn’t have anything to say about that. There’s a lot of work to be done here, particularly by the researchers, but that doesn’t prevent a generally festive atmosphere, and indeed, in the case of the weekly BYOE (bring your own everything but the grill) beach BBQ, B & T’s marimba sessions, and our frequent impromptu dinner parties, lots of festivities. The only real downside I can think of is the need to deal with the occasional over-sized Huntsman spider or other exotic insect, but nothing is really more harmful than your garden-variety centipede and the bedrooms tend to be well sealed from insects and impeccably maintained by Tania and volunteers like me, so everyone without an absolutely crippling case of arachnophobia should be fine. I’ll post some more specific stories and photos when I can, but for now the message I want to convey is this: get your butt over to the Lizard Island Research Station as fast as you can, you won’t regret it.

Cape Tribulation & Port Douglas

The final leg of my trip with Alissa was a bittersweet one.  One the one hand, we had a real adventure exploring the aboriginal art galleries of Port Douglas and the Cape Tribulation area of the Daintree Tropical Rainforest (like the Great Barrier Reef, a World Heritage site).  But on the other hand, at the start of our final leg we parted ways with Pat, whom I likely won’t see until August, and at the end I saw Alissa for the last time until June.

On the way north from Cairns to Cape Trib we stopped in Port Douglas, one of the most popular domestic Australian tourist destinations during the winter, in order to enjoy one of the few periods of sunny weather since the rainstorm on Nari’s Beach.  Although I knew it was one of the more popular tourist destinations in Queensland, I was still hoping to find a quaint little shopping district, perhaps something along the lines of Boca Grande.

The reality was a bit more glitzy and corporate: the drive from Captain Cook Highway to the historic downtown district was basically a long stretch of corporate resorts and strip malls, while downtown was more charming, but still basically filled with a mixture of chintzy tourist traps and chains like Coles and Coffee Club.  That said, there were certainly some gems along the main drag, as long as you searched them out, and we had a perfectly wonderful afternoon there.  We spent by far the most time in a pair of aboriginal art galleries (both of which were run by Israelis, oddly enough), where we both picked up some cool, surprisingly reasonably priced pieces.  If you’re interested in getting some aboriginal art in Australia, be sure to go to Port Douglas.

The rest of the drive up to Cape Trib was eventful, even if we didn’t stop anywhere else along the way.  We had to take the cable ferry (an approximately 30m ferry that is pulled across the Daintree River on a pair of giant steel cables, not unlike the ones used for ski lifts), but missed the turnoff for it and continued to the end of Captain Cook highway, about 20 minutes past the ferry.  After crossing the river, we had another 40 km to go, the first 10 of which were steep, narrow and winding.  After that, the road was generally flatter and in good repair, but—bewilderingly—at several major stream crossings, they have elected to build a spillway across the road, rather than a bridge over the stream, the practical consequence of which is that we had to drive our massively inadequate rental Corolla through about .2m of fast moving water.  \It’s safe to say I was happy we had taken out the extra damage waiver on the car.

We were staying at the Cape Trib Beach House, which was a budget resort 2 km past the town of Cape Tribulation, slightly beyond the point at which the paved road ends.  We had a bit of a scare just before arriving at the Beach House, when we realized that there was a steep, unpaved hill just before getting to the driveway, which appeared to be more or less a huge mudslide because of all they rain they had been having; fortunately, it turned out not to be a problem, although it wouldn’t turn out to be the last, or least of our road-related worries; the next time I return to Cape Trib, I’m renting a 4WD vehicle, preferably with a snorkel.

The Beach House itself was great, especially for budget accommodations.   We had splurged and spent a total of $89 per night in order to have a private room with a shared bath, but when we arrived they upgraded us to a room with a private ensuite bathroom.  There was a restaurant and bar next to the pool, down near the beach; the food was nothing to write home about, but we did get a free breakfast of bacon and eggs or fruit and cereal (you can probably guess which we opted for), which was extra tasty because it was free.

The weather alternated between light and heavy rain most of our time in Cape Trib, although the skies were clear when we first arrived.  We took advantage of the nice weather with a walk on the beach at nearly low tide.  It’s really a travesty that neither of us brought our camera to the beach, because it was fantastically beautiful in the low, late afternoon light.  A small sheen of water covered much of the beach, just enough to cast beautiful reflections of the sky and jungle—which came right to the water’s edge at high tide—while remaining shallow enough to keep the tops of my flip-flops dry.  We traversed a small stream—perhaps formed only by the receding tide, though I suspect rainwater was a motre likely source—again shallow enough for my sndals in all but a few avoidable spots, and walked all the way out to the furthest spit of dry sand, to watch a nearby fishing boat silently go about its business as we speculated about exactly what they might be catching.

The highlight of our time in Cape Trib was the exotic fruit tasting at the Cape Trib Exotic Fruit Farm.  Although they grow over 150 types of fruit at any given moment, our tasting was of just 10 varieties, all quite exotic, which ranged from delicious (mangos teen, dragon fruit, fried breadfruit chips) to not so great (weird yeasty fruit).  The woman conducting the tasting gave us some pretty detailed information on each of the fruits as she prepared/served it; the whole tasting took about an hour.  After we finished the tasting, we took a walk through their orchards and saw the trees where most of the fruits we had just eaten were grown, as well as some plants whose fruit we hadn’t tried.  The grounds were extremely lush and beautiful, even if it was wet and muddy.

We had lunch before the tasting, and dinner that night, at Whet Restaurant, which I would certainly recommend if you’re in Cape Tribulation.  Lunch was a better value, and the snapper we ordered for dinner was so fish and bad that I couldn’t eat more than a bite, but overall the food was good, as was the service, and the space itself was amazing.  The entire dining area was outside, but under a permanently installed tent covering a deck connected to the restaurant, so you’re basically eating in the jungle.  The restaurant itself had a great funky modern design, with lots of comfy leather furniture around coffee tables and a long bar you could eat at if you so desired.  Each night they screen a movie in the restaurant on a big projector, with people seated on the comfy leather furniture; sadly, though, we missed it because Wednesday night was yoga night, the one day they don’t do a movie.

Dinner was kind of ruined, not only by the fishy Snapper, but also by the fact that I was freaking out the whole time over the fact that we might not make it the next morning back to Cairns and my flight to Lizard Island.  We discovered that afternoon that the large creek we had crossed through on the way in was subject to tidal flooding, as well as more rainfall.  With strong overnight rains, as well as a rising tide, the stream crossing could easily surge over 1 meter—only a few days before it had flooded over 2 meters—and our carolla was only fit to do .2-.3 meters of water at the very most.  I got so worried that I made us pack up that night and leave Cape Trib a night early, even though we had paid for the night already.  Fortunately, Alissa was totally understanding, and we made it out that night fairly uneventfully.  We ended up spending the night back in Port Douglas, at a fantastic hostel that was so empty we got an entire 10-bunk dorm to ourselves; the whole place was practically brand new and everything was cleaner and nicer than most hostels I’ve ever stayed in; not bad for $27AUD per night.

Because we had done most of the drive that night, the next morning was relaxed; we had plenty of time to get back, get Alissa checked back in at Globetrotters, have another great breakfast at the Jamdrop Café, and take care of some last minute food shopping before returning the car and getting to my 2:00pm flight.

Cairns

Cairns came pretty highly recommended by most people I spoke with about Australia, so it was pretty disappointing that we arrived deep in the middle of one of the wettest wet seasons in recent memory. All those awesome beaches people spoke about?  Not an option.  The saving grace was our hostel, Globetrotter, which was definitely the nicest accommodations I’ve ever stayed in for under $30/pp per night.  IT was originally going to be $29, but because we added a 3rd person, they dropped the price to $25.  The room was clean with a hardwood floor (very nice, because carpets are almost always the dirtiest part of a hostel), air conditioning (essential in Cairns), a fridge and a TV.  The place was also blanketed with free wifi, which was practically a miracle considering that most places charge a hefty sum by the hour and/or megabyte.  The kitchen was pretty well appointed and had a bunch of freely available cookware, another plus.  They even had a nice looking pool in the back yard, which we never used, but was pretty awesome to have in a hostel.  Also, Brian, the guy who runs the place, was really nice and helpful.  If you’re going to Cairns on a budget, you HAVE to stay at Globetrotter.

Alissa was awesome and found us a brewery in downtown Cairns where we could take a tour.  Blue Sky Brewery is a young brewery, not even 3 years old.  Their production capacity is extremely limited compared to an operation like Lagunitas, but they do a decent business out of their big brewpub and distribute throughout Australia.  The tour was brief but interesting, particularly because it was conducted by their brew master, Hayden, who kindly answered all of my questions.  The $10 cost was a disappointment, though, after being spoiled by Lagunitas’ free experience, particularly when we discovered that a tasting at the end would cost us an additional $12 for 6 beers.  Their beer was, for the most part, to light and not hoppy enough for my tastes, with only a few Ales and mostly only lagers to choose from.  Their smoked wheat ale was the most interesting/unique thing on tap, but its uniqueness was about the nicest thing I could say for it.  IT really tasted smoky, like a campfire in your mouth.  Yuck.

The other memorable part of Cairns, for me, was the amazing early birthday dinner Alissa treated me to at Ochre, a restaurant that specializes in locally-sourced sustainable cuisine.  We ordered the “Taste of Australia, a four-course extravaganza (including a home baked bread course with peanut oil and some sort of tasty crushed nuts), which included crab, prawns, trout, emu, kangaroo and crocodile, among other things.  The crocodile, in particular, vastly exceeded my expectations; it was perfectly prepared and not at all gamey.  The emu was also notably delicious, and looked shockingly similar to beef for a bird.  We were both sated and satisfied after the meal.

Unfortunately, we went from our amazing meal to the casino, where I intended to join Pat at the hold ‘em table, but because of a long waitlist I ended up playing pretty much the worst 8 hands of blackjack that anyone has ever played.  Not a single winner.  I left in a hurry, extremely dejected.  It wasn’t the best way to end our last night in Cairns.

Townsville

Thanks to our early departure from Whitsunday Islands National Park, we found ourselves with an extra day before our reservation in Cairns.  Without a full day’s drive ahead of us we were able to take our time getting out of Airlie Beach, the little tourist town nearest the Whitsunday Islands with a big partying reputation.  First order of business: bask in the car’s air conditioning.  It’s amazing just how sweaty, sticky and gross you can get after barely 48 hours in the tropics with no showers, sleeping in a hot, poorly ventilated tent.

While we sat in the car, relishing the wonderfully conditioned air, we consulted our trusty Lonely Planet guide book and decided that it would be best to leave Airlie that day and drive up to Townsville, another North Queensland city with a reputation for lots of nightlife.  We didn’t have to leave the Whitsunday area until sometime after 3:00 in order to make it to Townsville before dark, so I went straight to an internet café (shocking, I know) to check my email and reply to anything urgent.  Normally I would have done that from my phone, but my iPhone had gone dark on me that morning after I pulled it out to listen to some tunes as we were packing up the camp site.  Losing my iPhone was very difficult, not because it’s an expensive piece of equipment, but because I’m a bit of an Internet junky and—especially while I’m traveling—that’s the way I usually get my fix.

Alissa and I spent some time on the beachfront, taking in the view of Airlie’s beach (muddy and ugly at low tide) and reading to each other on a park bench.  From there, we moved to a sofa on the patio of a café facing the waterfront, which had pretty decent coffee and an excellent warm brownie, but was pretty pricy for Airlie.  Their sofa was comfortable enough, though, and made for a great place to read and wait for Pat to find us, which he finally did.  Overall, the value of Airlie Beach seemed to me to lie exclusively in it’s location as the jumping-off point for camping the Whitsundays, beyond that it was expensive, inconvenient and unmemorable.  Travelers in North Queensland, budget or otherwise, would be well-advised to spend their time in Byron Bay rather than Airlie Beach if they’re looking for a small, remote town in North Queensland.

Townsville, true to its reputation, had a decent nightlife, seemingly disproportionate to its size.  The main draw for Townsville, beyond its many pubs and clubs, was Magnetic Island, as I discovered while reading about the area and talking to other travelers in our hostel.  Sadly, because our stay was merely a brief, unplanned stopover, we never made it to the Island and I can’t tell you anything about it; interested parties are invited to kindly Google it themselves.  Our hostel, The Reef, was located just off the Esplanade (the main drag along the waterfront), directly adjacent to what seemed the rowdiest strip of nightlife.

The immediate proximity to the bars meant that the common areas, almost all of which were outside, were very noisy at night, but they did a pretty good job of soundproofing the rooms.  Sadly, all the soundproofing in the world couldn’t prevent the two loud German girls—Germans are everywhere in Australia—who barged back into Alissa’s room at four or five in the morning from waking her up.  Then one of them proceeded to turn off the AC, and the get up and shut it off again after Alissa turned it back on; eventually Alissa had to tell her that she shouldn’t have paid for a dorm with AC if she wasn’t going to use it.

Those problems aside, the hostel was pretty cool and unique.  It was basically a group of buildings arranged around a series of courtyards and passageways, rather than being a single structure.  It had lots of amenities, though some of them, like the video games and dart board weren’t really in working condition.  The one cool thing we did get to use were the hammocks, which Alissa and I read in until far too late at night.

Although I stayed back at the hostel to write about our time in Sydney, Pat and Alissa went out for some drinks.  They were able to drink at Molly Malone’s, the pub across the street, but they were turned away from at least one club due to Pat’s refusal to don footwear and general dirty hippy-ness.  That was pretty much my favorite story of our time with Pat.

The next morning, before hitting the road, we had a big, mostly delicious breakfast at The Coffee Club on the Esplanade.  Sadly, though, the steak that came with the Big Breakfast was mostly leathery and the service was atrociously slow.  Don’t go to The Coffee Club (at least, the one in Townsville, which we didn’t realize was part of a chain until we saw one in the mall in Cairns) unless you don’t mind overpaying and waiting 20 minutes for your coffee to arrive.

Camping: Whitsunday Island National Park

After picking up Pat in Noosa Heads, having a leisurely lunch at Cafe Le Monde, we hit the road for a 1000km drive to Shute Harbour and our 7:00am departure for the Nari’s Beach campsite on Whitsunday Island.  Sort of.  First, we spent 20 minutes lost among the countless, nearly unmarked roundabouts of Noosa, trying to find our way to the Noosa Civic Shopping Centre, to pick up a cooler and stove fuel at the BCF (Boating, Camping & Fishing) and some perishables at Woolworths to stock the cooler.

Even using the map on my iPhone (with Pat hassling me every 2 minutes about using my iPhone… naturally), it was nearly impossible to navigate the winding system of roads and roundabouts.  The name of nearly every street, subdivision, district, town, and all other points of interest in the area includes “Noosa”, which is in itself difficult and problematic for navigation.  Added to that problem, most intersections in the area are roundabouts—the Aussies really do seem crazy about roundabouts, using them whenever possible—without street signs.  Instead, they have large signs as you enter, giving you a list of destinations in one direction and “all other destinations in the other directions(s).  Maddening!  For someone who has no idea what area or district a particular point of interest might be located in, this is a nearly impossible system; essentially, you have to be guided by some mysterious combination of intuition and luck; a limitless supply of patience is essential.  What took us 20 minutes would undoubtedly have taken anyone familiar with Noosa no more than 5!

Eventually, we got all geared up and on the move.  1000km is a long way to go, especially if you don’t start moving until almost 3:00pm, but we had no choice other than to push through.  Scamper, the boat for Whitsunday campers, was pulling out of Shute Harbour at 7:00am with our without us…  unless it wasn’t.  Even as we were departing Noosa, we still weren’t certain whether or not we’d be able to head to our campsite the next day.  For the past week, Cyclone Ului had been hammering Northern Queensland.  The Whitsunday Islands were particularly hard hit and it wasn’t clear if any of the campsites would be reopened by the Parks Service.  We started driving despite the uncertainty and finally, at 5:30, we were told that Joe’s Beach, our original campsite, was too damaged, but that we could use Nari’s, which was close by and allegedly a nicer beach.

13 hours, three large KFC combo meals, two fuelling stops, one 2-hour nap while Pat drove, and an Australian version of the 5 Hour Energy shot later, we made it to Shute Harbour just in time for a strong squall.  I was worried that the rain meant our whole drive would be for naught; there was nothing we could do but hope.  It was tough to sleep when I had taken the energy shot only 2 hours prior, but I did manage about 2 hours of fitful sleep in the car, in the parking lot of the harbour.

None of us were particularly well rested when 6:30 rolled around, but we were ready to go.  The harbour was in pretty rough shape.  Signs were torn down and missing; several yachts were tossed up on land or resting below the waterline in various states of disarray; it was quite obvious that they weren’t close to recovered from the Cyclone.  Unfortunately for them, the power hadn’t even been restored; fortunately for us, this meant that the parking meters were offline and we could park down by the water, in what would normally be short-term parking, for free.

Fortunately, the Scamper was not numbered among the wrecked ships, so we and two other groups of adventuresome campers were onboard at 7:00, heading out to the islands.  As it turned out, not many of the sites were in working order yet, so although there were only 3 groups of campers and nearly 20 campsites throughout the Whitsunday Islands, we ended up with a couple from Britain at our campsite.  This was a bit of a bummer: we had expected a bit of isolation and seclusion and now, because much of the site remained uncleared and unusable, we were shoving three tents into an area that would hardly fit two.  At low tide there was plenty of space on the beach for hundreds more tents, but the water there rose somewhere between five and ten feet, almost to the edge of the forest-covered campsite, so anyone foolish enough to pitch a tent there would wake up soaking wet and-or drifting out to sea.  Our poor fellow campers from Britain ended up pitching their tent on the somewhat slanted path from the dining table to the bathroom; they were gracious and didn’t seem much bothered, but it wasn’t an ideal scenario.

Fortunately, the Brits (Noami was actually Swiss but lived in Britain with her husband) were both nice and they spent much of the day away from the campsite/beach on their rented double kayak.  The guy, Matt, was pretty interesting and kind enough to humor me when I pestered him with questions about his cool job and even cooler photographic equipment.  He worked as an electrical engineer for a super-high end British hi-fi company, but his real passion was photography.

Most serious amateurs in photography these days—a category in which I would include myself, albeit at the very least serious end of the spectrum—content themselves with a prosumer DSLR, like the Sony A700 (mine, lower end) or the Canon 5D (higher end).  Matt, however, was in a whole different league.  Despite being extremely tech-competent, if not entirely tech-savvy, he still hadn’t moved from film to digital.  He had a whole array of cameras and lenses—from your run-of-the-mill 35mm SLRs up to several large format cameras—several of which he actually brought with him.

The coolest of Matt’s cameras, which fortunately he had brought to the beach with him—was a fully manual large format camera he bought in China.  Although it was only a year or two old, it looked much older with its wood frame and old-school accordion-esque style, he even had an attachable tarp to provide a dark space for the ginormous viewfinder, like old-timey cameras of yore.  The camera could handle several different film sizes up to 7x10cm.  By comparison, most prosumer DSLRs provide you with something in the 12-20 megapixel range, while a professional scan of a 7x10 exposure would result in a several-hundred megapixel image, if not gigapixel+.  With the proper printing equipment, you could practically cover the side of a small building with an image from that camera.  A professional scan of even lowly 35mm film would yield approximately 25 megapixels.  With the output of even high-end professional DSLRs barely keeping pace with simple 35mm film, Matt felt that moving from a nice film camera to a DSLR would be like going from a power tool to a toy.  The downside to Matt’s super camera was its extreme bulk and the nearly 20 minutes required to set up, prepare and capture an image.  The more time I spent talking with Matt about photography, the more inadequate my A700 seemed.

Beyond Matt & Noami, we soon discovered that we were sharing the campgrounds with a 4-foot monitor lizard.  Black with bright yellow markings, formidable claws and very quick when he wanted to be, the lizard would have been pretty disconcerting if he had been more aggressive.  He made his first appearance while the Brits were off kayaking and we sat around the table eating PB&J sandwiches.  Looking into the forest to discover the source of a soft rustle, we saw him, perhaps 10 feet away, slowly circling the campsite.  If we made any move to approach him, he’d scurry away in a flash.  He’d reappear periodically, in different places around the campsite.  ”He’s got us all surrounded,” we’d joke.

Our joke was closer to the truth than we realized when we discovered a second lizard the next day, then a third.  We spent a lot of time just watching them laze about and try to sneak up on one another.  When we first discovered the 2nd lizard, it was clear to Alissa from their markings that the first was a male and the second a female, so we named them Richard and Virginia Lizard, in honor of Grams and Pops.  Richard was a sneaky little rascal, or so he thought, because he’d spend a lot of time trying to get the drop on Virginia, without ever enjoying much success as far as we saw.

As time went on, they grew more comfortable with us, until their distance from us shrunk from 10+ feet to, at times, nothing.  If we sat up on the table, Richard would come crawling right up under us; as Alissa walked past him on the beach at one point, Richard whipped his tail out and struck her on the shin.  Bad Richard!

With no kayaks of our own and murky post-cyclone water mostly unsuitable for snorkeling, our main source of entertainment each day, other than watching the machinations of Richard and Virginia, was walking along the shore at low tide.  With the water level at its nadir, vast expanses of jagged moon rocks—complete with scurrying crabs and the occasional tide pool—were revealed on both sides of the beach.

The first day, Pat and I hoped to find a cliff suitable for some Australian cliff jumping, but the water below was always too shallow.  The next day we set off in the other direction to get a look at Joe’s Beach, our original campsite.  Before we had quite made it to Joe’s; however, struck up a conversation with a man fishing in a small craft just of the shore.  Buddy was a “7th generation convict” who lived on a boat in the Whitsundays and wanted us to tell the Brits we were camping with to pass on the word back home that “the convicts are happy here, thanks.”  He had four small cod and another small fish, which he said he’d normally use to bait his lobster traps, but which he graciously offered and we eagerly accepted.

The cod were very spiky, so we carried them on sticks threaded through their gills back to camp.  Pat cleaned and filleted them, then Alissa worked some of her culinary magic. With a bit of butter, garlic, salt and pepper she created a seafood masterpiece; having some just-caught fish also helped.  The fish guts also proved irresistible to Richard Lizard, who hopped on top of the table while we were on the beach and tore the plastic bag we had put them in to bits, stealing all the fish remains.  That had us worried that the monitors were getting a bit too aggressive, but they mostly left us alone for the rest of the time there.

That afternoon, we also donned our full-body blue lycra stinger suits—the coast of Queensland has many marine stingers, especially during the summer months (November-May), including the extremely deadly box jellyfish—to attempt some snorkeling in spite of the cloudy water.  Sadly, visibility stayed extremely low and our snorkeling adventure was short and mostly unsuccessful; we did, however, get an awesome team photo in our Zisseu-esque protective gear.

That night we were struck by some rain.  Rather a lot of it, actually; nothing biblical or cyclonic, but enough to discourage midnight bathroom breaks.  There were a couple of really small holes in my tent’s rain fly, which hadn’t been a problem yet, in spite of some light rain and dew in New Zealand, but which allowed in enough water to dampen some things in the tent, including Alissa and me.  That, combined with the fact that a cold I caught about the time we picked up Pat was peaking with a vengeance, meant that I had a very difficult time sleeping that night.  When we woke up the next morning, it looked as if the weather wasn’t going to improve much, so we left a day early when the boat came to pick up Matt and Noami.

Pat

We picked up Pat in Noosa Heads, the day after we left Sydney.  He’s also in the midst of an around the world odyssey; however, his journey is moving east and is focused almost exclusively on surfing.  You can read about his trip here.  He had just spent a week in Noosa for some sort of surfing festival, staying in a condo with a group of great lakes surfers from Michigan and Chicago.  By the time we found him, the rest of the lake surfing contingent had taken off the day before and he was crashing at the apartment of Clive and Stuart, two old west coast Australian surfers who came to Noosa to get away from their day jobs for a bit and make a surf movie.  Their place was baller: gigantic, right on the water, with a private pool on their balcony.  According to Pat, Clive had a birthday party earlier in the week and the Roxy women’s surf team showed up.  I don’t think Pat had any fun in Noosa at all.  Alissa and I were only there briefly, but the guys were extremely friendly and welcoming.  They offered us the use of their expansive master bathroom shower, which we graciously accepted; it was crucial before starting our 1000km overnight drive to Shute Harbour.

It has been awesome to see Pat.  He’s been working on a sweet, scraggly beard; it really suits him, even if it only reinforces my image of him as a “dirty hippy”.  Australia really suits him.  He has taken to going barefoot 24/7 since arriving in Indonesia and it amazes me how many bars/restaurants/supermarkets/etc. don’t say anything about it.  ”No shirt, no shoes, no service” doesn’t seem to be the policy most places on the east coast of Australia.

Sydney was a whirlwind of surf, sun and hardcore tourism.

Day 1: Arrival — (Too Much) Fun In The Sun

I arrived at 8:30 on Saturday—meaning I had to wake up in Christchurch at 4:00am!!!—and met Alissa just past immigration at the baggage claim, where she had been waiting for almost two hours.  We made it to our hostel, Bondi Backpackers, by 11:00am, despite being dropped off at the wrong hostel because we both thought we had booked at the Bondi Beach House YHA.  We only lost a few minutes (thank you, iPhone) but it was not fun walking those few extra blocks with two packs weighing in at over 70 pounds.  Fortunately, those extra blocks took us to 110 Campbell Parade, possibly the best location in Bondi, right on the waterfront.

Unfortunately, our room was, as Lonely Planet put it “a bit down on the heel”, or as Alissa put it “really dirty.”  Not smelly, thankfully, but generally worn down with an overall feeling of dankness and carpeting that appeared to not have been washed in ages.  The throw rug beneath the mattress (no need for frivolous items like bed frames at the Bondi Backpackers) had so much hair on it, it seemed to be shedding.  Also, no AC, which we thought we had for our room in Bondi, and which certainly would have been nice for  the 70+ degree nights.  Bummer.  But we did have a private room with a large locker we could padlock for extra security while we were out for the day, so we didn’t spend much time in the room except to sleep; we even both agreed that our accommodations grew on us during our time in Bondi.

After checking in and starting my laundry we went for a quick swim at Bondi Beach, which highlighted the best feature of our digs: location.  We could walk out the front door of our hostel in bare feet and swim trunks and be in the water within 3 minutes.  Unfortunately, I let Alissa tell me it would be ok to head to the water without putting on sunscreen because we were “only going down for a minute” before coming back to get my laundry from the dryer.  Bad mistake.  The conditions were perfect for some of the best bodysurfing I’ve done in years and an hour or so later I was on my way back to the hostel, done extra crispy.  I could feel the heat radiating off my back and shoulders while we were still walking up the beach from the water and when we were back inside it became quickly apparent that most of my upper body had a nice Irish tan.  We finished up that first night with burgers (ok), fries (good), and a milkshake (phenomenal) from Moo, the gourmet burger joint down the street.  Overall it was a decent meal, although worth closer to $20 than the $50 we paid; I’d take a double-double, fries and a chocolate shake ($8.57) from In-n-out over Moo any time.

Day 2: Hardcore Tourism

Both mornings started with an early morning walk down to the beach to watch the sun rise, although on Sunday it only started so early for Alissa.  After a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon (not streaky American bacon, but very good bacon), tomato, hash browns and toast for $9.00 AUD at Gabby’s, we spent Sunday morning taking the 333 bus to Circular Quay, enjoying the view of the bridge (we skipped the 3.5 hour, $190/pp bridge climb… that’s right, it’s almost $200 to climb to the top of the bridge!), circling the Sydney Opera House and walking the length of the Royal Botanic Gardens.  The Opera House was absolutely stunning in person as expected, though we both agreed we were surprised to find it covered with smallish white ceramic tiles, rather than larger strips of white material.  The Gardens were HUGE, had some gorgeous centenarian trees that reminded me of the Banyan trees in Boca Grande, a very cool garden of cacti and succulents, some pretty, very tame birds, and a CRAZY amount of huge bats; certainly one of the coolest things you can do for $0 in Sydney.

We spent the early afternoon at the Australian Museum (in honor of my forthcoming time volunteering at their Lizard Island research station), where we were extremely happy to have paid an extra $10 total (before a 20% off coupon from the free guide to Sydney Alissa picked up at the airport) to check out the “Best of Wildlife Photography” exhibit.  The exhibit showcased an incredible variety of beautiful wildlife prints, many of which can be found on the museum’s Flickr page.  Some of the coolest shots were from the children’s competition; I now feel extremely inadequate as a 25-year old hobby photographer when I compare my best work to, e.g. the best of the under-10 category.  We also checked out an exhibit on aquatic life indigenous to Australia, most of which it seems can kill you within minutes if the proper antivenin isn’t administered, or CPR isn’t performed for 24 consecutive hours.  The poison of at least one deadly critter, the blue-ringed octopus, has no known antidote. It was a cool exhibit, but we both became somewhat afraid of swimming while camping on the Whitsundays and agreed that we must avoid touching anything at all costs.  We spent practically 90 minutes in the museum and felt as if we barely scratched the surface.

After a brief, unsuccessful detour to print & fax my food order form for Lizard Island (the copy shops in the business district were closed on Sunday) we spent some time at the MCA (down in The Rocks, the historic district adjacent to Circular Quay) walking through the 3 free floor.  It was alright (some interesting aboriginal art, including an awesome painting entitled “We Call Them Pirates Around Here”) but was pretty hit-or-miss and certainly paled in comparison to other museums of modern and contemporary art I’ve seen (the MCAs of Chicago and Nice come to mind, as well at the Moma, the new Modern Wing of the Art Institute of Chicago and even the contemporary installations at the Johnson Museum at Cornell).  Given that it was free, however, it was certainly worth checking out.

We finished up our crazy day of tourism by making the most of our $18 “daytripper” public transit passes to take the ferry all the way across the harbor (30 minutes moving at a pretty good speed) to go to Manly.  We were told that Manly has some particularly nice pubs for a drink on Sunday afternoon, as well as a great surfing beach; however, we wouldn’t know since we were totally exhausted from the miles of walking around in the sun, so we just stayed on the ferry to return immediately to Circular Quay.  The views of the harbor made the trip worthwhile—especially since we had already payed for our passes for the day—but I’d like to actually spend some time in Manly on my next trip to Sydney.

After a quick bit of late-afternoon bodysurfing back in Bondi, we had an Italian dinner at the restaurant next to Gabby’s unremarkable for anything but its portion size.  To work off a bit of dinner—and make room for desert, naturally—we took a walk down to the far end of the beach and discovered an extremely well-named nice restaurant in the far end of the beach house, with an absolute beachside patio.  The restaurant, Nick’s, looked pretty good (aside from their killer location), but perhaps a bit out of our current budget, with a whole lobster clocking in at $115 AUD.  We ended our walk at Chocolateria San Churro, where we thoroughly enjoyed our churros and dark chocolate dipping sauce.  We actually had exactly the same thing the night before but that bothered us both not one bit: if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

Day 3: Serendipity

Our second day started with a pre-dawn walk across the beach to the water’s edge to watch the sunrise.  The beach was nearly empty and almost totally silent except for the gentle sounds of the surf and periodic clatter of the beach groomer as it drove past—in great contrast to the noisy sea of bodies packed onto it during the sunny weekend days.  We returned to the hostel for their free breakfast—milk and cereal—and then walked to the Fresh Market for some fruit and fresh-squeezed OJ.  At this point we were hoping to begin a 2-hour walk from Bondi to Coogee Beach, but persistent light rain made us change our plans.

Instead of starting our day of tourist activities on the path to Coogee, we decided to head for the “artsy” streets of Glebe.  We hopped a bus to Bondi Junction, where we transferred to a train bound for Central station.  At Central we planned to take the tram line, which would take us straight to Glebe, but were doubly thwarted in our attempt.  Disappointingly, our “all-inclusive” daytripper public transit pass didn’t include the tram, so we would need an extra ticket to make the transfer.  I considered paying for the tram fare in order to simplify things, but after walking all the way across Central station we found ourselves surrounded by ooooooold people, moving… at… a… snails… pace.  It was Senior Week, and apparently a significant percentage of the seniors from the greater Sydney area were looking to board the tram ahead of us.  Of course, by the time we realized this, we were already completely surrounded by senior citizens in all directions and had to make our way, slowly, through the crowd to find our way in the direction of the appropriate bus stop.  The whole affair took far longer than it ought to have and highlighted the principle that old people, while generally nice and often interesting to talk to individually or in small groups, are to be avoided in large crowds if you want to get anything done at a reasonable pace.*

Once we finally made it to the correct bus and into Glebe, we hopped off the bus and walked down the main drag past all kinds of lovely little bars, restaurants and second-hand shops.  It was lively (even at 10:00 on a Monday) without being crowded or hectic.  We took a right on St John’s, which I knew from the map would take us vaguely in the direction of our next destination, but stopped almost immediately at cute little cafe where we could both try a “flat white”, which we had seen on the menu at all Australian establishments serving coffee.  A flat white, as it turns out, is pretty much a latte with less milk; lattes are generally too milky for my taste, so I’ve adopted the flat white as my caffeinated drink of choice in Australia.  This particular cafe served up a pretty wicked flat white and had a wonderful breezy outdoor feel with the storefront pretty much wide open and the roof a clear plexiglass that admitted an amazing amount of light, even on a cloudy morning.  Also, they had free wifi, which is pretty much invaluable for an iPhone addicted traveller like myself with a serious data habit.

Eventually, I was ready to tear myself away from the pleasant confines (and free wifi) of the coffee shop and on to our next destination: The Powerhouse Museum and, Alissa hoped, its fabled oversized neon Rubik’s Cube.  The walk wasn’t too long and took us past, for the most part, blocks of picturesque if slightly dilapidated rowhouses that gave the area almost a Cajun feel, rather unlike what I’d expect from a British penal colony.  The Powerhouse Museum was definitely worth the $12 admission, for the wide variety of free 80s-style sit down arcade video games (Pac Man, Centipede, etc) if nothing else. Perhaps I shouldn’t have beaten Alissa quite so soundly, with such vocal gusto, because I had a great time playing her but she gave up after 3 games and refused to play me any more; it probably served me right.  Other highlights included the aforementioned giant Rubik’s Cube (in exhibit The 80s Are Back, which was pretty much exactly what you’d expect, albeit with a distinctly Australian bent, e.g. a much more prominent position for INXS than most Americans would expect), a geektastic exhibit on the birth and development of the digital computer and a design exhibit featuring some amazing furniture (the Zaha Hadid-designed, glacial-inspired sofa was a particularly lust-worthy item, as was the Lockheed Lounger).

From the Powerhouse, we walked several blocks over to the Sydney Fish Market where something incredible happened.  Of the 4+ million residents of Sydney, I knew two: Brett Farago and his mother; on arriving in Sydney, I messaged Brett on Facebook but still hadn’t heard back on our last full day, so I assumed we wouldn’t see each other.  Imagine my surprise when, as I was standing slackjawed, completely overwhelmed, attempting to wade through the vast quantity and array of seafood options available for lunch, I heard “Nick” and looked up to see the one person in 4 million whom I had hoped to see.  The timing was truly serendipitous, considering our unplanned pit stop at the coffee shop and the fact that Brett and his friends Mark and Carl had already finished their lunch but were feeling particularly “peckish” and so had come back around for round 2. We caught up as Alissa and I wolfed down 8 oysters and a sampler plate of prawns, calamari, fish and chips.  We decided to head for Mark’s apartment… but not before picking up another dozen oysters and some (incredibly delicious) salt-and-pepper calamari with chips for the road.

An afternoon in the life of a Sydney 20-something turned out to be incredibly similar to that of an American: beers, xbox and American reality TV (in this case a Smash Lab marathon).  It was a wonderfully relaxing contrast to the rest of my hectic trip so far.  Brett and I reminisced about his time in the states and we all discussed the merits of various American fast food establishments (In-n-out the unanimous favorite) and the implications of a Phish t-shirt.

Once Brett’s girlfriend, Nicole, arrived we watched a bit more of Smash Lab—something to do with bomb-proofing a 747 passenger plane against a pound of TNT… i.e. an excuse to blow up an old plane repeatedly—and then all drove over to Bondi so that Alissa and I could change for dinner with Brett’s mom, brother Miles and his wife, also Nicole.  We went to a great steakhouse just around the corner from Miles’ house, Mumu. Pretty much everything was delicious, but particularly the 1-kg tagliata that Alissa and I split as well as the Moo Brew Heffeweisen that I drank.  After sampling a bit of almost everyone’s meat, I think I had almost every kind of met on the menu, from the fillet to the ribs, and none of it was disappointing—not quite as great as the very cream of the dry-aged crop in Chicago steakhouse meats, but damn close.  Alissa and I thanked Mrs. Farago profusely after the meal; after several days of paying the ludicrous prices for food in Sydney/Bondi—except for the fishmarket, which was damn cheap for great seafood—a free meal was a welcome treat indeed.  Miles finished off the night by showing us a disgusting/hilarious youtube video of a man drinking Ipecac for $1000.  You can watch it here.

Day 4: Great News, Great Brunch

The next morning, I was awoken by a phone call at 4:30am.  Normally, this would be infuriating; however, the phone call was from the assistant dean of admissions at the Johnson School, congratulating me on my admission.  What a wake-up call!  I apologized for the bad connection, explaining that I was in Australia, and he fell over himself apologizing for waking me up, but if there was any other important information transmitted during the conversation, it was lost in the sleepy haze.

When we finally woke up for the day, Alissa and I had breakfast at Trio, a beachside breakfast spot in Bondi, recommended to us by Brett’s girlfriend Nicole.  Anyone who knows me well will know that I am, if anything, a parishioner of the church of the holy brunch; bacon, eggs, peppers, tomatoes and potatoes in their various permutations and combinations are the body of my lord, coffee and juice his blood.  Lately, Alissa has joined me in my little form of worship; together we’ve sampled a lot of breakfasts in a lot of locations.

We both agreed, Trio was exceptional.  From the moment I saw the menu, I had a good feeling.  Almost everything looked delicious, sand many of the items were interesting and unique, things I’d never seen on a breakfast menu before.  We settled on the Boss Eggs (scrambled eggs, prosciutto, sliced avocado and toast) and the breakfast bruschetta (poached eggs, tomato, basil and ricotta on toast).  Fantastic.  Their flat white was also so good, I had to order a second.  The dining space itself certainly didn’t hurt the experience: high-ceilinged and cheerful, with copious sunlight and breeze streaming through the open storefront, on the closest thing to an absolute beachfront location this side of Nick’s Restaurant.  In the end, despite the fact that it was a top-two or -three breakfast spot for both of us, we agreed that it was a VERY good thing that we hadn’t discovered Trio until our last morning,or we would have spent waaaaaaay too much money on breakfast in Bondi.  Despite the expense, it was the perfect way to finish off our whirlwind 3-day tour of Sydney.

*N.B. This isn’t meant to disparage old folks generally, or any of those close to me specifically.  Some, such as my grandmother, Grams, are remarkably spry and could put most jazzercizing soccer moms to shame with their quick pace.  Others, such as her husband John, aren’t any less wonderful for being less quick on their feet… but that doesn’t mean I’d relish the thought of navigating a bus terminal crowded with several hundred of either.