With sun the altar upon which we worship, this year we’re chasing summer half a world away to the ‘Land Down Under’, where today is already tomorrow. Marooned from the rest of the world, Australia is an outdoorsy kind of place offering unique wildlife found nowhere else on the planet and we’re just chomping at the bit to check it out.
Our first lodging is at the Sydney Youth Hostel. I know this may sound strange, but the truth of the matter is we just couldn’t seem to find an ‘oldth’ hostel. Straddling an archaeological excavation called the ‘Big Dig’, the odd building’s redeeming feature is a rooftop deck with sweeping views of the bustling harbor and one of the great buildings of the twentieth century, the Sydney Opera House.
Trying to adjust to our new time zone we ferry to the beach-side suburb of Manly and collect our legs for a windy stroll. Boating past the entrance to the harbor, known as ‘The Heads’, on our return to the city a heaving sea batters the boat sending giant walls of water up and over its top.
Getting wetter than an otter’s pocket, those outside like Christine and I, frantically struggle to get back inside the rockin’ and rollin’ boat. Soggily ashore with teeth chattering like a Gatling gun we’re hell-bent for a hot shower, keen to test the capacity of the hostel’s hot water tank!
Today, calmer seas allow us to stand outside on the bow of a fast catamaran making our way to Watson Bay. After a clifftop walk to Lady Bay Beach we boat back to Sydney to explore the areas of Miller point, Nurses Walk, and Barangaroo.
Stopping to munch brunch at Phillips Foote Restaurant we’re aghast by the outright robbery that would have a pirate blushing. It’s $8 for a beer, $20 for a salad, and if you’re considering animal flesh you had best be prepared to sell an internal organ. Yes, Australia’s convict past is clearly reflected in its pricing, and I’m convinced the sounds we hear are their buccaneering ancestors proudly applauding from the grave!
Sauntering the shoreline of the famed Bondi to Coogee Coastal Walk we pass sun-browned bodies sprinkled over the blonde sand, and on Tamarama Beach, a ‘Sculpture by the Sea’ display of a rhinoceros partially buried in the sand on its back with head, horn, and hooves reaching towards the sky.
We wander from the inner-city’s Kings Cross to Woolloomooloo and wonder if the aboriginals were smoking wacky-tobaccy out of their digeridoos when coming up with this voluminous-voweled variant. Once out of the ‘o-zone’ we roam the sprawling Botanic Gardens and introduce our bums to a chair in the 175 year old Lord Nelson Brewery.
During our week in Sydney we’ve logged over 20 kilometers of walking every day and visited the outlying areas of Enmore, Newtown, Paramatta, and the odd Vietnamese town of Cabramatta where our insides get a warm hug from a tasty bowl of Pho the size of a manhole cover.
Landing in Adelaide after a jerky flight we face much more than an arrogant breeze, and is in fact, the strongest wind the city has had in over a quarter of a century! Rubbing grit from our eyes we use a 45 degree lean into the pant-flapping gale while searching for our hotel somewhere in the proximity of the life-size bronze pigs residing in Rundle Mall.
After a nippy run along the Torrens River I collect Christine for a bike ride to the protruding piers of Henley Beach. Stately red gum trees line the path and we’re scolded by cacophonous cockatoos probably hoping, like ourselves, that the fickle sun will soon uncloak itself in this th-awful weather.
Today, with “Wind-elaide” minimizing in the rearview mirror, we chase the heat further north to the wine-famous Barossa Valley and are happily greeted in the town of Tanunda by an obliging sun beaming down from a faded denim sky. Our funky cabin is in the vineyards of the 20 acre Blickinstal Retreat, and offers intriguing morning wakeup calls from clever magpies performing amusing vocal gymnastics.
Lamenting with Christine over not having any kangaroo sightings yet, I say to her; ‘wouldn’t it be great if we could spot one near the vineyards’. Ten minutes later as if by magic my wish is granted, and we witness a hoptical illusion. Illuminated by the soft afternoon light, a large kangaroo suddenly rears up from between the aisles of grapes to give us a full-on inspection!
Locals inform us there are plenty more ‘roos’, as they’re called here, in nearby Kaiserstuhl Conservation Park, and acting on this advice we arrive at dawn with the park entirely to ourselves. Within minutes we spot a motherlode of the zany marsupials including some cute little joeys. Not liking to travel much, the little ‘pouch potatoes’ seem content to stay put and curiously peek out from mama’s kid-cradling pocket.
Having a head like a deer, standing upright like a man, and leaping like a frog, the quirky critters are a confusing conglomeration. With lovely licorice eyes and lashes longer than a Canadian winter they look very peaceable; but preposterously huge hind feet that make Michael Jordan’s sneakers seem like baby-booties are capable of delivering a bone-breaking kick should they be in a dim frame of mind.
The pogo poster boys also seem licensed to carry small arms, with tiny Thalidomide-looking front arms that pale in comparison to huge back legs and a muscular T-Rex size tail acting as a fifth leg. Venturing too close to a family of the laughable limbs, a huge alpha male is not exactly quaking at my approach. It looks positively pissed at my proximity and postures up on rear legs with menace to his movement.
Now at eyeball to eyeball height, the focused specimen parades bulging pectoral muscles and radiates an unmistakable ‘test me and you shall learn the meaning of regret’ vibe. Armed with only with my sparkling wit I have an elevated sense of vulnerability, and back off to leave the truculent ‘roo’ to its morning meal.
Known here as ‘laughing jackasses’, a pair of Kookaburras seem to enjoy my confrontation with the cantankerous kangaroo, and taunt me with a maniacal ‘hohoho-hahaha’ laugh that one might associate with an inmate breaking out an insane asylum!
Amidst their raucous ridicule we have an unusual visit from a spiny echidna; a critter one part Pinocchio and two parts porcupine. Not renowned for outward displays of emotion or a broad vocabulary, the long-snouted chap seems a well-mannered sort, and politely noses on by without passing further judgment.
The Barossa Valley is clearly the cherry on the bejeweled cake of Adelaide, but it’s time for our flight north to Cairns. Exotic corpses from an archipelago of bug splatters quickly turn the rental car’s windshield into a Jackson Pollock-like mess. The memorial of bug martyrdom requires constant cleaning while driving a ribbon of road called the Cook Highway; the only thing separating the rainforest from the reef.
Stretching out our cramped legs on a beach during the drive to Port Douglas, a dolphin gracefully glides by near shore as if offering a welcome. After dumping our things in the room at the Lazy Lizard Motel we immediately head to gorgeous Four Mile Beach. We prowl for seashells beneath flamboyant red Poinciana trees hosting posh-plumaged rainbow lorikeets, and our only disappointment is warning signs posted along the beach banning swimming due to an influx of poisonous jellyfish known as ‘stingers’.
Driving to Daintree before the sun wakes we are escorted out of town by giant fruit bats folding and unfolding their wings in the car headlights. Fifty kilometers later our car is winched across Daintree River by a cable ferry and we enter a national park said to be the earth’s oldest tropical rainforest and more tree species than in the whole of North America and Europe combined!
The park’s anorexic roads leave no margin for error, and caution signs are posted on behalf of the legendary Cassowaries; the world’s most dangerous bird. Heavily clawed and easily pissed off, the solitary throwbacks living in the rain-forests look like a turkey and a velociraptor got together and had an angry kid. With monstrous feet and a claw up to six inches long, they have been known to occasionally kill humans. After failing in several hikes to catch a glimpse of one, we come to the realization that they’re better at hide-and-seek than ‘Bigfoot’, so we unfurl the white flag and continue on to Cape Tribulation.
Our next hunt for the phantom jungle-bird is at Mossman Gorge. A locked gate blocks access until 8 a.m., but keen to get started we go rogue and trudge up a side road for an illicit foray into the gorge. We follow a river carving through car-size granite boulders and a surrounding rainforest rife with strangler figs, gigantic ferns, and tree-swallowing vines.
With no fashion police on duty, I decide to go into Cassowary doppelganger mode by wearing a red trimmed ball cap and matching red necktie in hopes of attracting one of the elusive zoological mysteries with my infinite charm and sense of style. Yup, I think senility is going to be a fairly easy transition for me!
Slaloming through the Survivor-ish setting Christine lags several paces behind; perhaps to avoid a potential encounter with the menacing bird, but more likely to disassociate herself from the flamboyant avian-wannabe hopscotching through the flora ahead of her. There are no Cassowary sightings again today, only a couple of Brush Turkeys – or three if you count the stud-muffin so fetchingly rocking the cap and tie!
Tempted by a clearer than crystal pool in the river, I can’t resist a dip in nature’s exotic jungle spa. During the soak I find myself under the watchful eyes of a stoic Boyd Forest Lizard as we listen to the exotic bird calls hauntingly wafting out of a curtain of vines in the pristine 400 million year old rainforest.
Back in Port Douglas we look into booking a snorkeling trip to Great Barrier Reef, but the trip requires a deep wallet and is far too crowded for my liking. Oh yes, and in the domain of the Great White Shark my yearning to go swimming always diminishes with the possibility of leaving the planet as lunch!
Sharks are built to chomp, and in millions of years they have not changed their agenda. Called ‘The Man in the Grey Suit’ by locals, they always seem up for a slaughter in the water by sinking their 300 pearly whites into anything with a pulse that should happen to stray into their salty pond!
A more likely concern however is the ‘stingers’, as even these venomous beyond reason Box and Irukandji jellyfish seem to have caught the ‘we hate humanity’ virus. Their sting can cause cardiac arrest; leaving about three minutes before you become unable to breathe, paralyzed, and communicating with eye blinks. Apparently these slimy vessels of pain kill more people in Australia than sharks and crocodiles combined!
Now, while possibly forcing myself to come to grips with all these evil entities capable of sending me to the coroner for a final checkup, there’s an even more serious show-stopper! The stinger danger makes it mandatory for anybody entering the water to wear a ‘stinger suit’; a poofy-looking head-to-toe Lycra body suit that comes in only two revolting Day-Glow colors; violent fuchsia-pink or nauseous chartreuse-green!
To me, paddling about with fellow floaters pimped out in a giant condom so appallingly bright it can be spotted from outer space has about the same appeal as anchovy wine! Factoring in that Christine has a camera it’s an absolute no-brainer for me to forgo this ludicrous aqua fiasco. Instead, on the morning of my birthday, my lungs breathe in the fresh sunrise as my feet grope the squeaking sands of Four Mile Beach.
For a pre-dinner happy hour we luxuriate at a Port Douglas waterfront bar called Barbados. Kicking off our shoes we sprawl out on a bed-like booth and are blessed by the breeze of the largest oscillating fan we’ve ever seen. With generous drinks sliding down far too easily, we sniff the air like hungry bears and follow a symphony of swell smells wafting out from ‘Bel Cibo’ Café.
Our succulent Barramundi dinner coincides with nature’s rush hour, as an implausible ‘Hitchcockian’ scene unfolds with a gargantuan gathering of screeching lorikeets landing in an immense tree beside us. Though the absurd volume of bird squawk impairs conversation it does make for a B-day shout-out like none other!
Then, just when we think the evening couldn’t get any more bizarre here in the ‘twitter capital’ of Australia, we learn that United States just elected the self-serving parasite Donald Trump as president! What the F…? We both give our passports a great big hug, ever so happy to be Canadian.
Crouched on the water’s edge in front of a scenic Port Douglas cane shed waiting to take a photo at the sun’s first rays, I’m rewarded with a different kind of ray. A stingray surprisingly erupts from the sea and takes to the sky, gliding through the air in front of me. Who knew these water pancakes could fly?
Passing an attractive viewpoint on the drive to the Atherton Tablelands, Christine and I stop at a parking area and walk back around the corner to appreciate the view. All of a sudden I have an uneasy premonition about our belongings, and rush back to the car. Quickly, two bad guys jump back into a non-plated van and it spits out gravel as it fishtails onto the road and flees the scene. Close call!
Continuing on to the Tablelands we stop in the little town of Yungaburra for the night. Dropping our bags in the little cabin, we rush off in pursuit of elusive platypus rumored to inhabit a nearby creek. Hiking less than an hour we spot bubbles rising to the surface, followed by two beady little eyes and a bill that looks as if it should quack. It appears a very clever surgeon grafted this bill onto the face of a cockamamie critter with a furry otter-like body, webbed feet, and beaver-like tail.
Christine and I have just stumbled upon the world’s most puzzling mammal; the duck-billed platypus! I’m so excited trying to capture a picture of it that I slide down the river bank and really ‘stick my landing’; with both my shoes and ankles disappearing into the swampy mud!
If it’s laughter you’re after this cartoonish hodgepodge with a questionable gene pool should certainly do the trick. It looks like it was designed by a committee, in a pub, and assembled from a box of leftover bits and pieces. Not often observed in nature, the wacky mammal lays eggs like a bird, walks over ground on its knuckles, has no stomach, hunts via electricity, and is armed with venom delivered from a spur behind its hind feet. Well of course it does; here on the absurd Aussie turf absolutely everything seems to be armed!
While I decant Peterson Creek’s mud and water from my shoes, a panicky Water Dragon Lizard leaps into the water to join a pair of serrated snapping turtles that in addition to possessing a fierce bite, can also breathe through their butts! Again, we would expect no less!
Ambling through the adjoining woods of Nerada Tea Factory looking for timid tree kangaroos known to frequent the area, I tell Christine to be on the lookout for a long tail hanging down that looks like a dog’s. Sacrilegiously fumbling with her iPhone and not closely attending my words, she responds with a start; ‘They eat dogs?’.
Hmm, nobody ever told me that when you get a wife the ears are sold separately! In any case, trying to keep the smile out of my voice I reply, ‘Why yes honey, and I believe they have a preference for Great Danes!’ Call me callous, but I simply cannot restrain myself.
Sure enough we spot one of the portly fuzz-balls curled up in a tree, but since it seems content to just snooze we just let it be and sit down for tea. Returning to the car, we have a wild sulphur-crested cockatoo suddenly swoop down beside us and get up close and personal with my camera, but trying to give the flirtatious parrot’s head a gentle stroke, large yellow head feathers stand up like fingers and it lets loose the ear-agitating screek of a large unoiled hinge.
Next stop Curtain is Fig Tree National Park; so-named for a massive fig tree with extensive aerial roots dropping 15 meters to the forest floor and forming a ‘curtain’. The approximately 50 meter tall tree is estimated to be over 500 years old and has a trunk circumference of 39 meters!
An elevated boardwalk protects the tree from people, and people from the bordering Gympie-Gympie plant. Touching the ‘world’s most painful plant’ can trigger an intense allergic reaction capable of causing anaphylactic shock; and an excruciating pain lasting for months, said to feel like being burned by acid and electrocuted at the same time! Once again we are reminded that this country is choc-a-block with butt-clenching peril – even in the form of a stationary shrub!
Hiking near a campground at Etty Beach hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive Cassowary, suddenly out of the haystack the needle appears. We’re lost in astonishment as our extensive search becomes a reality. One of the feathered apparitions struts out of the rainforest right beside us! These humongous blue-necked forest dwellers are about as rare as a visitation by Halley’s Comet, and reaching 6 ½ feet tall and 160 pounds, should probably have been wiped out with the dinosaurs but somehow missed the memo!
Clearly deluged with demonic hormones, the hostile fowl clearly telegraphs a sinister ‘I’m not to be trifled with so don’t test me’ kind of glare. Feeling electricity coursing through my body I risk a photo before quickly changing direction to veer out of its way. However, the red-wattled the Queen of Mean suddenly shows an uncomfortable interest and begins to follow.
Attached to bizarre behemoth powerful legs, immense three-toed feet with dagger-like claws are capable of disemboweling its enemies, and it has an odd strut with backward bending knees. However, even as a runner for nearly forty years, I don’t want this dinosaur descendant in pursuit. They are capable of running at speeds up to 50 km per hour; a pace that would make Usain Bolt look rather sluggish!
Verging on an anxiety disorder, I again circle away from my feathered phobia with purpose in my steps. Then, as swiftly as my stalker appeared, it ghosts back into the rainforest, leaving behind only footprints in the dust. Totally stunned by the encounter, Christine and I try to drag our jaws up out of the dirt.
Later discussing our cross-species drama with the campground owner, we learn that Cassowaries are not known for having a scintillating intellect. Possessing a brain about the size of a garbanzo bean, the bullies are extremely territorial and even known to attack cars if they see their own reflection!
She tells us that a Cassowary once came after her, and as she ran inside a cabin to hide it went berserk and started ramming the walls with its bone-like helmet. Also, she relates a story of a woman who left her cabin door open while taking a shower and had a Cassowary with a Goldilocks complex wander in.
Apparently it flopped down atop the bed and kept the terrified lady prisoner in the shower for three hours by lunging at her every time she tried to get out! Yes, this Darwinian-defying ‘bonehead’ is meaner than a three day hangover, and its shared ancestry with dinosaurs offers a true sense of what was wandering the planet 65 million years ago!
Without ‘feather’ ado we aim the car towards Wooroonooran National Park and Babinda Boulders. We stretch the legs with a pleasant rainforest hike, where as part of their million year mission, a tumble of water-smoothed granite boulders up to four meters high bathe in a photogenic creek.
Our next layover is in a suburb of Cairns called Freshwater and Tabu B & B’s owner Mark is a professional landscaper with manicured gardens that shout lushness. Showing us to our detached cabin his wife Farley says; ‘you have a gecko over the bed and a frog in your closet, is it OK’? Now that is something we’ve never been asked before when checking in!
We inform her that both the cold blooded cuties are indeed welcome to stay, as they’re fun to watch and may also prove helpful in tongue-slapping any intrusive bugs. Returning to our room after dinner in nearby Stratford we see sticking to our outdoor bathroom wall, an enormous green frog more than twice the size of our original closet dweller.
Closing up the windows for the night it’s time for our smaller roomie to come out of the closet, so I sock up and deftly grab ahold of him squeezing just firm enough to stop his hop. After a quick photo I escort ‘his greenness’ outside so he is free to bug-munch with his gargantuan web-toed brother.
Tonight, a unique dinner at Freshwater Railway Station offers the romantic elegance of dining inside a turn of century train. Having not only the railcar entirely to ourselves, but also the entire train, we opt dine in the ‘MacArthur Car’, named after the General who actually rode in it back in the day.
Flying to the Gold Coast we collect a rental SUV and drive to Byron Bay. The beach town is overrun by a tatted up crowd of dreadlocked Woodstock wannabes with facial appendages pierced with enough precious metals to create some lively tunes for the airport scanning machines!
After watching sunup at Cape Byron lighthouse, we drive 70 km inland on a whim to a trippy little village called Nimbin. Familiar fumes have my nostrils twitching before even seeing the alternative commune as this is ‘weed town’; the cannabis capital of Australia!
Less than four hundred, the ‘Nimbinites’ are an eclectic crowd of pot-sozzled grey haired mavericks so laid-back they’re almost horizontal. Set up by hippies in the 60’s, the little commune was the site of the famous ten-day Aquarius Festival in 1973, and many of those same festival goers have lived here ever since.
Streets are awash in colorfully painted stores filled to the gills with cannabis paraphernalia, and banners calling for the legalization of cannabis are plastered in abundance. Hazy little cafes indulge patrons turning ganja into ashes, and as the Aussie’s say, many seem to have a few ‘roos’ loose in the top paddock!
Main Street, and pretty much the only street, is a ripe-with-reefer avenue lined with frontier-style building facades including a feature building called the Hemp Embassy. After a groovy afternoon, we make our way back to Byron Bay via the macadamia nut growing areas of Channon and Dunoon.
As the car eats up the kilometers to our next destination we stop along the Clarence River for breakfast in the town of Yamba, and have a couple of audacious myna birds pogoing about our tabletop as crumb janitors, cleaning up errant muffin spillage.
We plan to spend the next few days ‘glamping’ just south of Coffs Harbour at Emerald Beach Campground, but are somewhat dubious about what we may find, as the cabin’s description states ‘bathroom with toilet’. To us, it always seems a little disconcerting when management figures that a great marketing feature is that guests don’t have to take a crap in the sink!
Sulphur-crested and pink cockatoos have been bountiful throughout our travels, but today we are entertained by the beautiful yellow-tailed black ‘cockies’ at the ‘Look-At-Me-Now’ headlands. By the way, isn’t that a great name? Apparently back in the day some young pompous British captain slipped and fell in the mud, angrily exclaiming ‘look at me now’; and like the mud, the name stuck.
On postcard-perfect beaches along the Solitary Islands Costal Walk we race spiky tumbleweeds impelled by the wind; and in the town of Woolgoolga or Woopie to locals, Christine stops for a coffee. Given I’m not a coffee drinker I am crestfallen to learn that the Bottle O shop recently closed, meaning there is no beer. Life can be so cruel, a moment of silence please.
Lamenting my plight to Christine in close to a shoulder-shaking sob, one of the locals kindly offers a solution. ‘Come with me’ he says, ‘I’ll take you to a bottle shop and drop you back off’. With an offer I cannot refuse I eagerly hop into my savior’s Audi TT sports car and we blaze away on the trail of ale.
On my return Christine and I enjoy the comradery of a couple of good old local boys; learning amongst other things that wombat poo is cube shape. Evidently the Mr. Magoo-like marsupials have the eyesight of an oyster and their cube-shape crap allows it to be stacked high to attract other amorous wombats. Man, the things one can learn over a bottle of beer!
Back at our campground during our happy hour we enjoy the company of bizarre looking owl called a Tawny Frogmouth and several chatty Kookaburras; the charismatic little maestros of mirth that have been an unfailing source of yucks for us Canucks.
Late afternoon on the seashore, a sinking sun’s salmon sunset stretches our thirty foot silhouettes out before us like warm taffy. Taking photos we keep an out for potentially lurking Marble Cone Snails. Another of Australia’s deadly medley, the unimposing looking calcium cased escargot is a serious little badass.
Having a barbed harpoon-like spear capable of injecting venom even through a toenail, they have apparently been responsible for 20 deaths in recent years. The numbers would likely be higher, but after all, it is only a dawdling mollusk. Seriously people, we’re talking about death from a fricking snail! No doubt about it, the Australian book of ‘Harmless Creatures’ is one very slim volume with so many critters capable of playing a starring role in your obituary!
With the pink of morning spreading across the sky we clamber up to the headlands to share sunrise with a mob of ‘roos’. Watching the ludicrous leapers skipping over the ground like a flat stone across still water, we realize that gobsmackingingly beautiful Emerald Beach is our favorite spot on the trip so far. However, with still more turf to tread it’s time for us to make like the springy ‘roos’ and bounce.
On our first morning in Port Macquarie we head to the lighthouse to watch the day wake up, then bus into town for a little explore. With nowhere to be and all day to get there, we decide to walk back along the 9 km Costal Walk Path. It’s said adventure comes to those who walk, and we can certainly confirm this today after coming within inches of a near fatal blunder in the Land Down Under.
Stopping on a wide sidewalk near Flynn Beach to put our eyes in the trees to follow the captivating cackle of a Kookaburra turns out to be a divine intervention. Hearing a fearful shriek, I turn to see Christine perfectly mimicking the Karate Kid with her foot frozen midair in premature rigor mortis. The potentially life-saving maneuver avoids her treading onto the back of a sinewy four foot long and not-to-be-fucked-with Eastern Brown – Australia’s deadliest snake!
Despite its rather lame name this scaly menace packs some serious hurt, having the second-most toxic of all snake venoms in the world! If not treated with anti-venom within 30 minutes the ‘Da Vinci of Death’ will have you laying on a cold slab dressed in nothing more than a toe-tag.
With my heart thumping through my shirt and threatening to leap out onto the ground, I put camera’s optical stabilization feature to the test with a quick picture of the toxic terror tasting the air with its fiendishly forked tongue. Then, regaining possession of my mind, race away with my sandal soles sounding like enthusiastic applause in an attempt to catch up to Christine, already fleeing in full Olympian mode!
Gasping like a fish dragged to shore we finally stop and wait for our heart rates to return to something approaching normal. Something then rustles in the dry leaves beside us, and with Christine still unquestionably shaken she grabs my arm, squeezing it like she’s wringing out laundry. Fortunately the noise is only the reptilian scuttle of a large Lace Monitor Lizard disappearing into the bush.
I’m afraid the ever-so-lucky Christine is finished with sightseeing on this walk, with eyeballs glued to the ground and viewing options reduced to the toes of her shoes. It’s time to leg it back to town in search of a shower, a change of underwear, and a liquid lunch! Christine’s traumatic ‘heart-in-mouth’ encounter has folks emphasizing how fortunate she is that the cold-blooded slayer didn’t make her a part of hiss-tory.
Seriously folks, here in the ‘Land of Venom’ the saying of ‘No worries mate’, or it’s cousin ‘no wucking furries’, seem a great fallacy given the minefield of silent assassins that walk, crawl, swim, or slither; and eager to make your birth certificate a worthless document. And here we are, a couple of tender fleshy bipeds from Canada roaming about in the presence of peril; criminally unprepared and vulnerable with our soft unarmored skin, clipped nails, fang-less flat teeth, clawless limbs, and inadequate non-poisonous spit!
It has indeed been an emotional day, but there is yet one more surprise in store. Walking home from dinner we spot two Koalas perched up in separate eucalyptus trees near our Bed & Breakfast. It’s difficult to get a good photo with their faces mostly hidden in the leafy branches, but one of the fuzzy-eared tree-huggers lifts his big black nose skyward and makes a grunting sound like a little pig.
Channeling my Dr. Doolittle I try imitating it, and sure enough it works. Moving like molasses, the leaf-muncher exposes its face and dozily peers down at me; no doubt assessing my ‘koala-fications’. Well, well, it seems there’s a new Koala whisperer in town. These little dudes are at the very top of the cute-meter and offer a perfect ending to an incredible twelve hours. From killer to Koala; truly a day for the ages!
Moving on again today with stops at Diamond Head and Crowdy Bay National Parks we wander about the Stockton Sand Dunes in Port Stephen before arriving at our lodging in Nelson Bay. A feast of fresh prawns fuels an energetic hike to the summit of Tomaree Head Lookout for sunset, and our day culminates with a romantic candle-lit soak in our private outdoor spa at the B & B. I flame up a little herb from Nimbin, and submerged to our chins, we steep like a pair of tea bags in the luscious warmth of the hot tub being reduced to two puddles of contentment.
Returning to Sydney, we squeeze in walks to Manly and Mosman before Mother Nature gets her knickers in a knot. Given the punishing H2O is a serious happiness-retardant, my strategy is to forfeit any last minute outings and immerse myself between the pages of a good novel and enjoy a tasty bottle of Zinfandel.
Dear Christine on the other hand, bless her little heart, suddenly becomes a magician. Pulling an umbrella out of her suitcase she proclaims she’s going out to brave the elements and plunder the shops. I should know better after 35 years of experience, but foolishly I ask her to reconsider. However, this is like trying to unscramble an omelet, it’s just never going to happen. There is no weather on this planet capable of denying my darling diminutive diva’s quest to separate herself from her cash! The door closes and I am left alone with my book. The wine helps.
With our exhilarating and exotic trip at end, we feel we’ve gone from surviving to thriving in checking this captivating continent off our bucket list. And heading for home in lingering awe of our Aussie adventures, we both agree that while many countries in the world would rate only a limp clap, Australia is different. This, after all, is a check-all-the-boxes kind of destination deserving of nothing less than a full standing O!
Mark Colegrave 2016