The Seventh Badge

Let me finish by making one thing perfectly clear to any and all who are still reading: I had the time of my life during my brief affair with Australia. 

I whined too much about the conditions.  I complained when I should have kept my mouth shut.  I focused too much on the challenges, the struggles and hardships, the harsh reality of foreign travel I faced during my ten, amazing days Down Under.  Please allow me to refocus for this last round. 

With embarrassment now, I look back at the stories I've told.  Some of them are painful. It is true: this trip was not easy.  It was an endurance test, the ultimate episode of "Survivor" in which I was the only player, or a Level IV video game come to life in which I had my hands on the joystick navigating through unfamiliar, unexpected, ever-changing hurdles and curve balls that were presented to me from the second I stepped into Sea-Tac Airport my very first day out. Within hours of departing, I already had one (literally) bloody crisis to solve.

This trip was not a walk in the park; there is no question about that.  I asked my angel-of-an-agent, Kathy, to get me to Australia and back in as short a time as possible. I just really only wanted to go there and see it real fast. We chuckle when I first told her that honestly if she could just fly me to Sydney so I could just walk around in the airport, go outside, get my soles on Australian soil and then just fly me back, I'd be OK with that. Both of us knew I wasn't actually serious.

But bless her heart, she gave me just what I asked for and warned me it was a lot to chew off.  Kathy tailor-made the perfect tour for me, at a very affordable price, and designed precisely a Tour of Oz that was exactly what I needed with my brief timeframe and unrealistic parameters.  I could spend, as many for generations have, an entire lifetime in Australia and never see all of its beauty or hear all of the glorious and inspirational history of its people.  Nonetheless, I got what I needed:  an in-depth, intense, often-thrilling, wonderful, super-satisfying, comprehensive, short-version adventure that took me from one extreme to another and then back again. 

I walked streets of two of Australia's largest, deepest, metropolitan, urban jungles and then explored the dusty, sun-baked, desert of the Outback- the wildest and most spiritual, mystical part in the Red Center.  I touched the Mother Rock of Uluru.  I ate crocodile for goodness sake!  I can genuinely say I passed Australia 101.

In short: I had a fabulous, fun, exciting, fulfilling, unbelievable, magical time. 

As vacations go, this one is near the top as all of my world expeditions go. And even though at times I was worn to the bone, nearly-crushed and fatigued beyond imagination, for nearly two weeks I didn't make my bed once, shop for groceries, wash a dish, cook a meal, drive myself anywhere, and at times I even had people carrying my luggage for me.  I was pampered, driven, served, cleaned up after, informed, guided, flown, bandaged and toured around by professionals and servants who took care of me every day I was Down Under.  They got me there, showed me all I needed to see and got me back home safely, soundly- and now with a smile on my face. 

Traveling, at least the kind I thrive on, should be about truly "getting away". And I must tell you- I got so far away from home, it seemed like another lifetime ago.  And that, my friends, is what a vacation is all about.

I bring home with me a wealth of knowledge about Australia just as I suspected I would from the beginning. I was so admittedly and woefully ignorant before.  Consider me now at a high school level of understanding.  In my heart, I will always feel the up-beat, kind, cheerful, laugh-from-your-gut, buoyant spirit of the Australian people.  I bring back so much more than just bags of painted boomerangs, t-shirts, koala bears, postcards and Aussie tourist-shop nick knacks.  What I bring back is a memory of a land I will forever hold.

I saw a land so seemingly-empty at first glance, and it yet revealed itself to be incredibly full of life.  As a matter of fact, 80% of all life forms in Australia are found nowhere else on Earth.  Australia is bursting with life; it is another world unto itself.  The Great Barrier Reef, which I did not see on this round, is the largest living organism in the world.  The flora and fauna that I observed and was blessed a few times to touch with my own hand were enchanting, exotic and beautiful beyond words. Some of the landscapes- breathtaking!  And in the expansive desert in its center, life is abundant in some of the harshest conditions and unbearable heat found on the planet.

The similarities between Cousin Australia and the Great Land of America are also present, not only in the landforms with its large cities clinging to the cool coastlines and the rugged, mountainous, flat and dry inner plains.  The original people, the dark-skinned, indigenous people there share the very same story of invasion, exploitation, relocation, land-snatching, discrimination and modern racism as we experience back in America.  Australia is also relatively newly-formed federation populated by tough-knuckled Europeans immigrants settling in a new, promising world and trying to make the best of it one acre at a time.  In many ways, Australian life mimics American life. 

But most important of all, I bring home with me the most-coveted and most-anticipated badge in my travel sash, the one that I've always dreamed of having- the mighty Seventh Badge, greater than any Cub Scout could hope to earn.  The elusive seventh continent: done!  My world travel black belt of sorts! The crown jewel.  The completion of my mission. As with other "power trips" like this, there have been times of overwhelming emotion for me.  I welled up with tears a number of times on this historical trip to Australia. 

Somewhere along the route, I did the math.  Only one in 25,000,000 people can claim that badge, and I must admit in retrospect (with a modest and measured amount of humility) that I am proud of myself for doing it.  Mostly though, I feel blessed and honored.

I cried quietly knowing that the little boy that led me to this incredible feat of setting foot on all seven continents actively, relentlessly pushed me along as I grew older and continued to tap on my shoulder for so many decades just so I wouldn't forget to actually go out and DO it.  I cried tears of relief, tears of gratitude, tears of belief and disbelief, but mostly tears of celebration that a dream once long ago dreamt had at last come true.  My crybaby sentimentality once again broke through the surface of my tough, vagabond exterior in those poignant, private moments of actualization and realization just as it did the first time I saw the magnificent Taj Mahal or the day I landed and walked on the icy shores of Antarctica, greeting by chattering penguins.  I cry when I'm happy. 

SEE?  I told you I had a good time! 

I leave with a quote I found by Anais Nin that sums up not only my boyhood dream to see the world- but also this particular expedition to Australia, and I encourage each of you out there reading to dream for your life. Don't stop until you achieve it.  It's what we are put here on Earth to do.

“Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country.”

Grinding to a Screeching Halt

It must not come as any surprise to any of you- or perhaps just to those who 'get' me' by now - that my bags were fully unpacked, all my clothes put away or in the laundry, stacks of souvenirs piled by categories in neat arrangements, toothbrush and toiletries already stored back in their formerly-empty places, all electronic devices blinking green again returned to their chargers, my suitcases breathing deep sighs of relief out in the garage, and a hot bubble bath drawn and ready for my weary bones - all within just over an hour and a half of my arrival home last night.  My Type A chromosomes kicked in immediately just as they did before I left. Call me Mr. Organized, but also call me Mr. Exhausted.

 

It was a day that went on forever (and then some) - from predawn to predawn - all in one, extended unforgettable day.  Crossing back against time does some serious tricks to your mind and eventually and inevitably on your body. Up becomes down.  Night becomes day.  Most of us live a 24 hour day.  Mine yesterday lasted almost 40!  I waded through a crazy, mirror-like time warp returning from Oz across the rainbow of time from the bottom of world back home to the top of it. 

Imagine fighting against - defying  really- the powerful rotation of the Earth, flying eastward racing against the sun, packed into a pressurized, claustrophobic Boeing 747 scraping the atmosphere at 36,000 feet above the Pacific Ocean for nearly fifteen hours with 467 other passengers, slogging and shuffling through four airports, submitting to two full security screenings and immigration checks, weaving through a sea of suitcases on wheels. Cross over seven time zones, herded and shuffled about like a cow for a day and a half, and travel for a total distance of 8,872 miles (a "world record" for me by over 700 miles), and then stay up until middle of the night, not even feeling the need to sleep but only sleeping because you know you HAVE to.  Try putting all that into one day.  That's the kind of day I had.  Time stretched like a piece of taffy.

 

The time difference from Sydney to Seattle is 17 hours, so all the time I 'lost' on my way down was ALL given, compressed and squeezed back to me on the return trip back. Thanks, Time!  I needed that; as if the traveling itself wasn't enough. Changing winter to summer, night into day and then back into night again, crossing over the International Date Line, passing over the Equator, and traversing over the immense curvature of the planet from one end to the next is literally a mind trip even for the most seasoned of globetrotters!  It wreaks havoc on your system. South overnight becomes north. Winter suddenly wakes up to summer just by going from airport to another.  I tell you- it's unlike anything I've ever felt. Talk about falling up (and at times crawling) through the Australian rabbit hole! 

 

The trip home was absolutely grueling at times. I don't do well sleeping upright under any circumstance, and on an airplane full of human sardines- especially when I was seated apparently in the children's section of the aircraft, much to my horror-  it's nearly impossible.  There was a 10-week-old baby sitting directly across the aisle and had no problem letting us all 468 of us know how much she wasn't enjoying her first airplane ride. 

Another 3-year old, put on an epic, non-stop, temper tantrum that took her completely upside down a few times, her face bright red, squealing like a piglet and her mother ineffectively trying to bribe and then muzzle her.  It only encouraged her. That lasted a full 15 minutes and finally the flight attendants showed up, and it finally stopped. How I wound up with misfortune of sitting in the nursery escaped me, and I thought back to my day with the grandparents at King's Canyon, smiled and suddenly missed them.

 

I'm sure I only slept in brief, stolen, 20-minute chunks all the way halfway around the globe and across the Pacific in between the four and a half full features films I watched in the dark.  It was Hollywood Night in a jet!  I only slept when my brain was numbingly sleepy and numb- and thank goodness for those complimentary sleep masks. There was a noisy, whiny brat behind me who thought it was great fun to kick his annoying little orange Nikes into my ribs in the tiny space between 81C and 82C a few times (and once too many) until he felt my disapproval by getting his restless foot firmly shoved back at him and saw the evil, "read-my-glare" look I strategically sent in his direction that pierced the small gap between our seats.  I only had flash it just once, and he didn't dare do it again the whole way. The look on his face was priceless.

 

With the added bonus of a three-hour delay in Melbourne, enduring a move-me-to-tears, missed connection in LA to Seattle, facing the need to kill a whole fun-filled and unnecessary 7.5 hours of waiting-at-the-airport time (a favorite vacation pastime of mine), floating in an ocean of hundreds of thousands of chattering, swarming, multi-national travelers in every direction around me, hauling 150 pounds of luggage up and down countless escalators, sleeping out of utter exhaustion on the cold, granite floor of LAX Airport behind a cart rack like a homeless man and hoping no one would notice me, by the time I turned the key and stepped into my empty, quiet, welcome-sight-of-a-home, both my brain and body were stunned and beat to a pulp.  (Yes, I know that was a run-on sentence fit for a run-on day.) 

My legs could barely walk. I felt my mind flickering on and off like a nearly-burned-out candle.  It felt like being fully awake yet also in a state of dream-like, lucid, rapid eye movement- a consciousness I have never felt.  It felt like a Salvador Dali painting come to life, and I was in it.  I was sleep walking.

 

And I looked at my feet. I was still wearing my trusty and now-Uluru-dusty slippers that every good story about Oz must have.

 

The silence was staggering.  No human being for hundreds of feet in any direction.  There was no noise.  No electric signs, people breathing down my neck, public announcements over loudspeakers, constant movement and stimulation. Nothing at all moved- nothing.  The only sound was the hum of a small prop airplane in the distance or the sound of a car door closing down the block.  Silence. My ears, all my senses, my confused brain could barely process the sudden, complete, exhilarating stillness.  The Earth had stopped spinning. The absence of people, noise, movement, stress,  and the end of two weeks of sheer survival mode had finally arrived.  Home.  It was as if the rotation of the planet that I had fought for the time-warp, taffy-stretch, rabbit hole day came to a screeching, grinding halt.  For the longest time, I closed my eyes and just sat and listened to the peace and silence.  Amazing.  

 

It was as if I were unplugged in an instant.  And Australia had come and gone.

 

I honestly had planned on wrapping up my trip to The Great Down Under in my jet-lag, REM-like, zombie-like, stupor state today and put my blog to rest...just like I did to my trusty suitcase and passport last night, but this epic tale  of travel (a saga actually), the energy I somehow drew upon to survive it and the exhaustion that imposed on my beyond-over-fatigued physical self was just too rich and important not to include and share with you. 

 

Please, please, please wait for one more entry to my blog about my dream to Australia, my childhood dream come true. I may be unpacked physically, but I am most definitely not mentally. 

 

Be patient with me as I first make the adjustment to No-Place-Like-Home, Pacific Standard time, North America, the other end of the time travel hole.  Today (or was it last night?...I've lost track) I slept for nine glorious hours and then turned around a few hours later, took a long nap and dreamed a bizarre, surreal story about catching two-headed snakes with my brother.  This sleepwalking is wacky, and I am not ready to fully "debrief" with you all.  I have more to tell you. Give me one more day.

 

I will polish this story up with a proper finish, make it "The End" soon and a look back at Australia through my eyes and reflect on this unique country, bountiful, massive continent and magical  island that still cling to me from a world far away.  The story of my journey to Oz deserves one more chapter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Pride of Victoria: A Royal City

How completely fitting on the day that Great Britain's royal couple, The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, brought into the world this morning a new prince- the next heir to the British throne - while I walk the streets of Australia's crown jewel:  The Victorian city of Melbourne.

Founded in 1835, Melbourne wasn't officially declared "a city" until twelve years later when Her Royal Majesty, Queen Victoria, crowned it officially as the capital of her new colony.  Melbourne's population exploded during the gold rush that ensued during the 1850s, and by the 1880s Melbourne was considered on the largest and certainly wealthiest cities in the entire world.  There is evidence of that everywhere one looks in this magnificent city.

As opposed to Sydney, which just grew bit-by-bit in a very random, chaotic fashion, Melbourne was the first major city in Australia to actually be thoughtfully and strategically planned out.  It is set up on a very neat and tidy grid with streets running east-to-west and north-to-south.  Each major street measures exactly 99 feet across- the exact distance it would take to make a complete U-turn with a large, horse-drawn carriage.  Every large street has a smaller, 33-foot-wide, "companion street" that runs parallel to it-- originally intended for more pedestrian traffic.  For example, there is Queen Street and Little Queen Street. And references to the British Crown are ubiquitous.  Prince Albert this and Princess Ann that.

Melbourne was also designed intentionally to be full of public parks.  The standard set was there was to be a park within a 10-minute stroll in any direction.  And the original planners of this lovely city would be proud to see that their master plan has survived and thrived over the past 150+ years.  Lush, expansive parks, all neatly groomed and maintained, are abundant.  Very British indeed!

In one recent survey, Melbourne was rated as the #1 Most Livable City in the world.  It's clean as a whistle with virtually no litter anywhere.  Public transportation (including some pre-WWII trams still working today) is easily accessible, and all the major streets have dedicated bike lanes.  There are many different cultures co-existing here, with seemingly a dedicated section for each nationality. Melbourne is a city of harmony and diversity. There is a very large Chinatown, a Parisian sector full of expensive shops and fine Parisian dining, and a most-aromatic Italian Town full of nothing but Italian restaurants lining the streets.

Last night, I walked to Italianoville for my long-overdue plate of lasagna and garlic bread.  It was like heaven on a plate!

For me personally, the most intriguing and fascinating thing of ALL about Majestic Melbourne is the presence of thousands upon thousands of absolutely elegant, grand and spectacular Victorian homes and terrace houses (a.k.a. "row houses").  Coming in from the airport as my limo (I still like saying that) delivered me into the inner part of the city away from the modern and mundane suburbs near the airport, my attention was immediately captured by the sight of these incredibly fancy, highly-embellished and beautiful old homes.  I have always had a fantasy of owning a Victorian home and feel blessed to own an "Edwardian" one from the period that followed; that's close enough for me!

What makes most of these properties so amazing is the wrought-iron "gingerbread" that graces the balconies and front porches of these beauties.  It seems that the lacework and degree of complexity of the designs were a status symbol for the owners- the more elaborate, ostentatious, complex and pretentious grillwork you had, the richer you were.  And apparently, the early residents of Melbourne spared no expense to express their wealth and good fortune during these golden, Victorian times!  People were keen on impressing their neighbors! There was so much architectural eye-candy all around, my head was spinning.

In addition to the individual homes that I find so captivating and dear, all around Melbourne there are hundreds of spectacular, extravagant, imposing and extraordinary structures from the past that remain interspersed between the uber-modern buildings that now dominate the city's skyline.  There is certainly NO shortage of high-rise, uber-contemporary, often-wacky skyscrapers here also.  The juxtaposition of old and new is fascinating.

The Royal Exhibition Hall, built in 1878, designed by a local architect and constructed for Melbourne's International Exhibition in 1880-81, is likely the grandest of all the old-world buildings here- and probably my favorite.  It's imposing, partially-gilded dome can be seen from many parts of the city.  For me, it was a comforting landmark that helped me keep my bearings. Listed now on the World Heritage Registry, it is currently under renovation and soon to re-open - looking just as exquisitely regal as it did when it first opened.  It is an absolutely stunning structure.

I mentioned previously that Sydney was a city in which I could envision myself living.  Strike that.  I would now choose Melbourne instead.  It lives up to its moniker as "Marvelous Melbourne" and is, indeed a most-livable, comfortable, beautiful and imperial city.

My time in Australia is rapidly coming to a close.  Tonight, I find myself re-packing my suitcase - and this time I'll only do it once and not repeatedly as I did as my journey to Oz began what seems like ages ago - and preparing myself for the arduous, return trip back across the Pacific, across the Equator, and back over that pesky International Dateline that created so much turmoil for my pointy head on my way Down Under.  The flight back to Seattle via LA leaves early in the morning, and I'm honestly ready to be coming back home.  Tonight, I am feeling both excited and nostalgic looking back at the amazing adventure I've had. 

But first, one last stroll around Melbourne to say farewell to this royal city of Victorian grandiosity and elegance. Melbourne- thank you for restoring me, for rolling out your majestic welcome mat and for being here just at the right time when I needed you!

For all of you reading, this is NOT the end.  Far be it from me to end without some final reflections after returning back to lil' ol' Everett, Washington.  But from Australia, the end of the road is here.  This action-packed journey is soon to be expired.

Reborn in Melbourne

I have re-emerged  from the dusty, red and rugged Outback and returned to - literally - a land of Victorian civilization: Marvelous Melbourne.  Talk about Australian contrast.  My stay in Alice Springs was a brief one, and I was actually rather happy have it behind me. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone but a bootlegger or thief.  Read on...

From Kings Canyon, the two-hour bus ride through the flat, arid desert was agonizingly and unnecessarily long.  Even though the distance from the canyon to "Alice" (as they Australians call it) is only a smidgeon over 60 miles, the government requires that passenger vans and busses must travel at a moderately slow speed (approximately 40 miles per hour) even though the "truckies" are allowed to drive at a considerably faster pace.  It seemed mighty unfair to me.

The driver, whose name was "Shorty", was not certainly not short in the jaw-jacking department.  I swear, he talked non-stop the entire trip from start to finish.  At one point, I honestly considered getting up, tapping him on the shoulder, and saying, "Could you kindly give it a REST, mate?"  It was really "getting up my nose"- an Aussie expression I'm exporting back to the U.S. and using for sure.

Shorty did have some interesting facts to share along the way (the ones I didn't tune out), so it wasn't all bad.  He told of how it was important to get to Alice before sundown since no one wants to be caught dead (literally) on the highway due to potentially-fatal camel and kangaroo accidents after dark. And sure enough, caravans and motor homes were beginning to pull off the road into safe locations as dusk began to shroud the desert. He also told some funny and amazing stories. 

One of my favorites (and sadly there were TOO many to choose from) told of how the Australian government in the mid-1800s began the Overland Telegraph system. It took almost a year to install 36,000 poles to run from Adelaide north to Darwin right through the Red Center, but the wood they initially chose was prone to termites, and within months most of them had rotted and were falling down.  So they re-poled the whole line again (another 36,000 of them) with a newer, stronger and taller type of wood- which was more susceptible to lightning strikes, and the system failed a second time.  At last, after devastation and failure, they installed a third set of metal poles and were finally successful. That's the Aussie determination and grit I've come to love.

Finally, after hearing about every, minute detail of every shrub we past, every rock that passed us by, and every possible historic event that happened in-by-inch along the route (rolling my eyes in retrospect), we arrived in Alice Springs- and  thankfully just after dark, too.  Shorty warned us that it was not a safe place to be after nightfall.  I noticed 7-foot fences around all the residences and business in town and asked if was to keep the kangaroos, wallabies and lizards out bounds, and he reported that unfortunately they were installed to keep the criminals out.  Apparently, Alice is not a Wonderland.  It is rampant with crime.

The hotel in which I had the (mis)pleasure of staying for one night was a bit rough around the edges.  They put me on the second floor, which wasn't a problem until I realized there was no elevator. Trying to lug my luggage up the concrete staircase (two bags, the largest of which must weigh at least 180 pounds or more) was excruciating, one step at a time (with breathers in between).  It took several, long minutes to ascend. The craziest thing of all- the reception desk shuts down completely at 8:00 p.m.!  I went down to the reception office to inquire about a few urgent matters around 8:10, but there was a sign on the door: "Back at 6:30 a.m. tomorrow".  What hotel in the whole world does THAT?!  Apparently, we were just all on our own for the rest of the night. Geez. I was not impressed with Miss Alice one bit.

Luckily, the bed was extremely comfortable, and I didn't have to meet my limo for transfer to the airport until 10:30 (YEA!!!), so that allowed me my first, full, 8-hour night's sleep in what seemed like eons.  I slept like a baby.

Flying from Alice to my next and final stay in Australia - Melbourne - was a relative snap.  The entertainment video screen for my seat had a little, yellow tag labeled "Inoperative" on it (my bet it was the only one on the plane, thank you, Qantas!), so I finally opened up a book I'd brought with me on the trip thinking it would be a great way to pass the time.  Five pages into it and my eyelids started to get heavy, and I drifted off to sleep.  Happens to me every time; it must be why I'm not much of a reader. My next memory is of the captain telling the flight crew to prepare for landing.

Flying into Melbourne was surreal.  Perhaps it was because I was still waking from that two-hour snooze, but I could have *sworn* I was flying into Seattle.  I felt like I was dreaming. Same size, same skyline, same weather, same green lushness, same on-a-big-bay location, foothills in the distance.  The two cities look identical!  It made me homesick suddenly.

Another seamless connection to my hotel with a comparably-talkative driver (Shorty still takes the cake), and I get to the Ibis Melbourne Hotel where I am given the keys a beautifully-appointed, four-room, luxury suite (with a tub!), a king-size bed with crisp, white linens stretched so tightly there isn't a wrinkle in them and two televisions.  It is restorative heaven for this up-to-now weary wanderer. 

I am shaving my beard, which is scraggly, long, ratty and entirely overdue for a trim.  I am luxuriating in as many soaks as I can for the duration here.  I have no insanely-early rises for two whole days, so I plan on sleeping IN for a second and third time. Tonight, I am going to dine on Italian or Greek cuisine in the many fine restaurants that they say can be found in this cosmopolitan and modern city.  At last, I can launder some clothes! I am going to peel off the layer of exhaustion that has clung to me like a second skin through the first two phases of my amazing Australian adventure. 

I will be a completely new man after my stay here in Melbourne. I will be rejuvenated, rehydrated, exfoliated and totally reborn before I become repatriated in the next two days.

Crocodile Doesn't Really Rock

They say when in Rome, do as the Romans do.  So why not the same for Australia? 

In that spirit, I was adventurous and brave today and just finished my first Crocodile Caesar Salad.  I should have gone with the Camel Burger because the meat was tough, tasteless and gamey. Frankly I gagged a little with the first bite. But I had to eat something since, in another twist of scheduling insanity, I had to be up at 4:00 this morning to be ready for my next tour. With every bite I took, all I could think of was the image of the rather unattractive animal I was consuming. 

The tour to King's Canyon (Australia's version of the Grand Canyon) was originally scheduled to leave this morning at the buttcrack of dawn- 5:15.  But as I entered my room yesterday afternoon upon returning from my extensive and magical trek around Uluru, I found an envelope neatly placed on my bed addressed to "Mr. John" from AAT Kings, the tourism agency that is organizing most of my tours here in Central Australia. It read something the effect of: "Please note that your tour bus to King's Canyon will be ready to pick you up tomorrow morning at 4:50 and not 5:15 as your itinerary stated previously.  Please be ready 10 minutes prior to pick-up. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you."  Once again, all I could think (once again) was- REALLY?!

What kills me is that we, the tourists, are here "on holiday" (as the Australians call vacations) and supposed to be relaxing, taking it easy and enjoying ourselves - not losing sleep, keeping up with schedules that no human being should expected to adhere to and dragging our tired asses around from sheer exhaustion.  Who dreams up these unrealistic and laughable timetables anyway?!

So it was just another in a string of Candid Camera moment for me, and I could only laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all.  I simply shrugged it off and uttered to myself an expression that I hear at least 150,000 times every day: "No worries!"  Aussies love that one, and it really does represent a very core philosophy of Australian culture.  They are extremely calm, patient, down-to-Earth, laid-back and light-hearted people. Chipper would be a good label for them. It resonates with my Irish heritage; I'm fairly chipper myself.

I hear laughter everywhere here. Not once in the short period in which I've walked this land have I heard anyone angry, upset, impatient or frustrated, so I'm trying my best to assimilate that same mindset with all of the small complications and hoops that I've been asked to jump through.  In the big picture of life, small inconveniences are just that: small.  So I'm learning to be more like an Aussie and so far succeeding. I am inspired by it.

The two hour ride in the blackness of night provided me a few more stolen moments of much-needed sleep. The Pioneer Outback Hotel apparently believes its patrons don't need coffee early in the morning because I inquired at the reception desk where I could get a cup of java as I was checking out at 4:40, and yes- I made it on time.  The sweet Chinese girl at the counter informed me that coffee isn't served until 7:00 a.m. even though there are guests (like ME!) coming and going at all hours of the day and night *and* ridiculously-early morning. With no caffeine surging through my system, I was able to drift off  and doze briefly a few precious times. I hope I wasn't snoring.

At King's Canyon, we were given two options. Option 1:  Climb 500 stairs up to the top of the high ridge and walk the entire upper rim of the canyon for a total of 3.5 hours and 7 kilometers of hiking trail. The guide said it was thrilling but stressed it was very strenuous and not for anyone who isn't physically fit. Option 2: A gentle, easy-paced, 1 kilometer stroll down to the riverbed below to see the canyon from a lower perspective.  I consider myself very physically fit for a 60 year old dude, but today I was just not in the mood for another challenging, hot, sweaty, tiring and surely-sunburning experience. 

I chose Option 2 and went along with the dozen or so grandparents and thoroughly enjoyed the hell out of it.  It was shady, quiet, cool, refreshing and relaxing and gave me an opportunity to photograph some extraordinary rock formations, flora and the majestic cliffs above me.  It didn't bother me one bit that I hung out with the white-haired, elderly folks!  When the Option 1 group returned to the bus- dripping wet, indeed many sunburned, panting and exhausted, I knew I'd made the right choice for myself today. 

Survival in these conditions is all about pacing.  So no worries!

I'm on the bus now, that oh-so-memorable crocodile meat in my belly (for the first and surely last time) and on the highway to Alice Springs- my next destination for one night before flying on to Melbourne for the final leg of my adventure Down Under.  Outside my window, I can see sprawling fields of brightly-colored wildflowers just blossoming from the recent generous amounts of rainfall in this area (although today is warm, sunny with perfectly clear skies).  From time to time, wild camels are seen grazing in the sparse patches of green, tenacious vegetation that springs up from the red Outback.

Giant desert oaks struggle to survive in the arid, sandy soil, many of which are blackened, broken and charred from wildfires and lightning strikes. Small groups of feral horses wander throughout the prickly brush in search of watering holes and something green to munch on. The land is mostly flat with an occasional rolling sand dune appearing from mile to mile.  And everywhere, as far as the eye can see, the red earth of the Outback covers the ground like an ever-present blanket. This is wild, tough, unforgiving territory and not for the faint of heart.  Aussies are a sturdy, rugged bunch to live on this land. 

The next time I'm in Rome, it will be lasagna -not crocodile - for this world traveler.  

Uluru: The Red Center

Today I felt the very heart of Australia beating.

My tour of Uluru, the iconic "Red Center" of this great continent, started in the darkness of night. I rose at 5:00 a.m. even though my alarm was set for 5:45, of course. Who needs sleep anyway?!  My bus was scheduled to pick me up at 6:15, so the little, extra "gift of time" turned out to be a blessing. It gave me time to grab a quick, invigorating, hot shower, which I hadn't planned on  doing considering I had already taken four baths since arriving yesterday.  That's right- *four of 'em*.  I've been making up for lost time!

The tour was titled "Sunrise at Uluru" and was scheduled to last six hours, including a nearly six mile clockwise hike all around the base of this mammoth, monolithic rock.  I wore appropriate shoes this time and felt much more prepared than I was yesterday.  We entered the national park, where over 250,000 visitors from all over the world come to Australia to experience the beauty and magic of Uluru. 

Our tour guide, Artie, a dark-skinned, round-faced, friendly young man of Aboriginal descent who told us as we approached the rock that we were in luck because he could give us (as a member of "The Animal People" as he called himself) a unique perspective on the cultural and historical significance of Uluru.

As we parked the van and prepared for the long trek around the base of Uluru, Artie passed out small backpacks to each of us with a small, simple breakfast inside for us to eat about ninety minutes into our hike. Our group was again quite small- only four others besides myself.  The winds at sunrise, he told us, are typically  very strong, so he warned us to secure our hats (a bandana in my case) and make sure nothing would blow away.

For the first half hour, we walked in the cool, cover of dawn until slowly the sun began to peek over the horizon and illuminate Uluru, revealing its distinctive, deeply-saturated, orangish-red sandstone surface.  Underneath, we learned later, the rock is actually grey inside.  The terra cotta exterior is only "skin deep" and caused by the oxidation of the iron ore found in the rock.

Artie cautioned us to remember that Uluru is not a recreational site; it is now and always has been a sacred site. There are many places along the 12 kilometer base walk that are considered "Sensitive Sites" in which photography is not allowed.  The native people feel that photographs take energy away, and each time a picture is taken- that energy is removed bit by bit.  So we made certain to respect those boundaries.

Without question, THE most thrilling portion of our day came right after breakfast. Artie was drawing a diagram in the sand when suddenly, the youngest member of our group, a boy about ten years old named Thomas (who was probably bored and not paying attention to the lecture about erosion and sedimentary rock), shouted out, "LOOK!!" He was pointing toward the base of Uluru.

What we saw next was like a National Geographic documentary. 

A solitary kangaroo was leaping and springing in enormous strides along one of the lower ridges of the rock at a very rapid, break-neck speed.  Following him was a very hungry, tan-colored dingo who was chasing him at an equally fast and frantic pace.  We all stood in amazement watching the dramatic scene unfold.  The dingo was incredibly fast and was beginning to gain ground on the desperate kangaroo, and I was sadly braced to see a kill. But equipped with some of the most powerful legs of any animal on Earth, the kangaroo cleverly moved toward a large gap in the rocks and sprang gracefully over a gap that must have spanned twenty feet leaving the dingo at the edge of the crevice disappointed and panting. Unbelievable!

I know as I look back on this trip to Australia, that scene of pursuit, survival and victory will be at the top of my favorite memories.

It's very difficult to adequately describe Uluru and do it justice, but the most obvious feature (aside from its unique color) is its mind-boggling mass.  It rises from the red ochre earth at a height of 1,135 feet, 95 stories high- nearly twice as tall as the Space Needle in Seattle.  Its surface is covered by textures of every kind- smooth, scaly - as if suffering from a rocky eczema, ridged, undulating waves, giant domes, crevices, colossal cracks and holes carved out by the relentless power of erosion. It was difficult for me to fully grasp Uluru's size and scale until I stood at its base and look upward. There was so much visual stimulation and eye candy to observe and photograph that throughout most of our trek my head was turned sideways or toward the sky as I walked.

Inside the many caves that we explored, there were dozens of ancient petroglyphs painted by the Animal People an estimated 20,00 years ago.  There were drawings of animals, body shapes, maps, items of clothing, handprints and all kinds of fascinating designs.  How amazing it was for me to be standing so close to these primordial works of art that have been preserved in these sheltered environments and survived over millennia under some of the harshest conditions on Earth!  I was transfixed! My first instinct was to reach out and touch them with my own hand and connect with the ancient ones who crafted these beautiful, intricate designs, but out of respect I resisted the temptation.

Four and a half hours later, after hearing stories of the Python People, the Aboriginal clan that still live in this region, picking wild berries and plums off the bush, inspecting Bloodwood trees that produce natural iodine that the nomadic people used for medicine, spelunking through caves, hearing the ancient "Dreamtime" or creation stories (think The Old Testament- only on steroids) of how the Animal Peoples' ancestors rose from the ground and created Uluru, my legs were slightly weary and our time at Ayers Rock/Uluru was over.  It was a day to remember forever. 

The heart of Australia, like I said, beating right in front of me...it doesn't get much better than that for me! Such a powerful, vivid moment to witness.  Kangaroos, dingoes, a real Aboriginal clansman and Uluru all in one day...and converging at the Red Center of Australia.

                   

If You Need Me, I'll Be Out Back

As I predicted yesterday, the hurricane has  returned- and with a vengeance. The eye of relief only lasted one day. It has been another long, long, long day.

I don't even know *WHY* I set my alarm to get up early in the mornings for tours, check-outs,
transfers and flights, although I still do just out of habit and common sense.  I seem to wake up
hours ahead of it, preventing me from catching even the most modest and desperately-needed amount of
sleep each and every night.  For example, at 7:15 this morning, I needed to meet my limo outside the
hotel for my flight out of Sydney. (I know..."limo"... that sounds so Hollywood, doesn't it?  But
that is indeed what they call the airport shuttle vehicles over here.  And it was a Mercedes Benz!)
So I set my trusty alarm clock for 5:45 a.m. thinking that would give me plenty of time to shower,
grab a bite to eat, pack up, pay for my incidentals at the reception desk and be on time. Remember:
being on time is critically important to me, and I consider myself a good time manager.

And, of course, in the dark of night - 4:15 -  not a creature was stirring (not even a mouse), my old brain just wakes the hell up and says, "Good morning!! Time to get up!!!"  And there was no use even trying to get back to sleep.  I've given up on that strategy. No matter how tired I feel physically, my mind seems to have a mind of its own! 

Finally, after entertaining myself and grumbling about the fact that I had to wait until 6:30 for the restaurant in the lobby to open (which meant no coffee for all that time, ugh), I was able to get back on my original timetable for the morning. I checked out, enjoyed a swift ride in my fancy limo to the Sydney Domestic Airport, and off I went again into the sky to travel northwest into Australia's infamous Outback to see Ayers Rock (known by the Aboriginal tribes as "Uluru"). This is the second of three segments of this trip to Aussieland and one I have been anticipating with extreme enthusiasm.

You might recall that today was the day I was supposed to land at Ayers Rock Airport at around
1:20ish, get my luggage, transfer to the Pioneer Outback Hotel, check into my room and be ready to
get on my first tour bus at 1:45.  Really?!@  25 minutes for all that?  Well, believe it or not, I
got to the front door of my room, put down my bag and looked at the clock- 1:48. Crazy.

The funny thing was- I had been SO anxious all day long to get to my new hotel and see if there was
a bathtub in the room, and THAT was supposed to be my FIRST point of business upon arrival at my
room.  But literally, within seconds, just as I checked the clock and was marveling at the super-human feat that had just occurred, the phone rang.  As I fumbled clumsily to pick it up, I dropped it, and it rang again.  It was the reception desk telling me that my tour bus driver was outside waiting impatiently for me and wondering why I was late. She said he was about ready to leave without me. Really?!@  This must be a Candid Camera prank or something, I thought. Absolutely surreal.

Resisting the urge to launch into a tirade of cursing and complaining about how unrealistic it was to expect me to be ready THAT fast, simply drop everything and run to the bus without even a minute to catch my breath, I told the receptionist calmly (but still cursing up a storm inside), "I'll be right there."  I was raised to be a good boy and not complain too much. Thank you, Mom.

Without grabbing a hat to protect my bald head against the scorching Outback sun or changing into
proper shoes (I'd worn my bedroom slippers on the plane to stay comfy) or even grab a liter of water
to take as they recommend out here in the wild Australian Outback, I walked by the bathroom, which
was still dark, and was unable to see if there was a tub or just a shower. Still unclear.  I dashed out the door to meet the tour bus guide. I explained to him that being late was not my doing and that I had no control over any of it. I let him have it a little bit, just enough to make my point. I was also raised to stand up for myself. Thank you, Dad.

See what I mean about the return of the hurricane? This was a Category 5 at this point. Just 24 hours earlier I was blissfully lounging in my room without a care in the world. 

I took a deep breath, calmed myself down and refocused my attention on the extraordinary, indescribable beauty all around me. After all, this is what I came here for - to see Uluru, not to be stressed out. The land is barren and dry and very flat. The sky was a rich, dark blue (a striking contrast to Uluru's red stone), and the air was warm, fresh, clear and still.  It reminded me so vividly of Eastern Washington with its tumbleweed and desert-like environment.

A herd of fifty or more wild camels grazed on tough, bright, bluish-green bush grass that grows in small clumps on the sandy, red soil. Birds of prey were flying overhead, screeching and looking for lizards and other tasty treats to prey upon. The magical, mystical, deeply-saturated terra cotta-colored Uluru - the rock sacred to the first inhabitants of Australia - jets out of the Earth defiantly almost 30 stories tall and dominates the horizon from every direction. 

Far in the distance, the multi-headed brothers of Uluru- the many, equally-impressive, massive and imposing domes of Kata Tjuta (a cluster of Uluru-like rocks nearly as big) dotted the skyline.  It was all truly breathtaking and much more beautiful than it appears in the pictures I've seen over the years.  The Outback is vast, unforgiving, ancient, sunburned and treacherous.

My much-anticipated tour of Uluru is scheduled for tomorrow, 6:15 sharp. The tour today was a long
drive, about 25 miles, to reach the Kata Tjuta Domes. Our bus only had the guide/driver (a young
Aussie chap named Troy with bushy beard, a wry smile and deep-blue eyes), a married couple from Hong Kong (both university instructors) and myself.  So we got a very personal, intimate tour of the giant domes and walked through a very sacred canyon called "The Canyon of the Wind" where it was cool, shady and full of clear springs bubbling up from the crimson earth.  A semi-full moon was rising quietly in the sky, and Troy said it was a special sign to the indigenous people when the moon was overhead at Kata Tjuta that their ancestors were happy and looking down at them.  How perfect is that?

By now, I had been up for almost 14 hours under a ton of pressure, standing in line at the airport most of the morning, going through security, flying almost a thousand miles, going through the "hurry up!!!" portion of my arrival, a three-hour tour including a hike (STILL in my slippers!) and now - at last - we were done with our tour. Troy dropped me off back the hotel, and I literally staggered in complete exhaustion to my room where my room was way "out back" (get it?) in a nice quiet corner of the resort. A perfect spot for my typical three hours sleep tonight.  I swear I'm gonna look 100 years old when I return.

I turned the key, and stumbled into my room. A quick flick of the lights, and halleluiah, thank the

stars above:  there in front of me, almost as if it were a mirage, was a deep, long, white, porcelain bathtub waiting there for me.