Transcending Borders With Seeds in Our Hands

I reached civilization (Sydney) at about 5 pm on Tuesday. I shared a flight with two girls from the tour: Sabine, a girl from Holland, and Tomb Raider (her real name is Iveta and she is from the Czech Republic but we called her Tomb Raider…not to her face…because everyday of the trip she wore a tube top, short shorts, and a pack around her waist that looked like it could hold guns instead of water bottles. Additionally, she was always climbing a rock or endangering her life to get a better picture or view. Several times she jumped over people so that she could get a better shot. Tomb Raider spoke English with that Eastern European toughness. She was fun though. Besides, I didn’t want to cross her–she had bigger muscles that I have). I knew that Sabine was going to have to rush out of the airport as soon as we arrived because she had bought tickets to see an opera at the Sydney Opera House. The show started at 7:30 so she grabbed her stuff off the luggage belt and ran to catch the train with me. I told her that I might see her because I was going to try to get rush tickets an hour before the show.

I got to my hostel a little later than I expected because I got off at the wrong train stop and I couldn’t get a good map of the Wooloomooloo precinct. I found it and ran to check in. I was all sweaty and didn’t bother to change (I know, ew). I was pretty sure that even if I got to the opera house on time I would not be allowed in because I was a) definitely not in dress code, b) I smelled and looked like I had been rolled down a red dirt hill and had landed in a foul-smelling, stagnant pond, or c) the show was sold out because, well, it is the Sydney Opera. Add all this on top of the fact that I had the incorrect time on my cell phone due to Daylight Savings and you have the perfect way to NOT get into the opera.

I ran up the many, many steps of the opera house, two at a time and made my way to the box office after bumping into several tuxedoed men and fancy ladies. I got to the window and saw the real time on the clock and it was 7:25. I had five minutes. The woman at the counter motioned for me to bypass the will-call ticket line and she asked if I wanted a student rush ticket. She must have guessed by my outfit that I wasn’t exactly looking for the champagne bar. She said, “I have an awesome ticket for you but I need your credit card RIGHT. NOW.” I whipped it out, she swiped it, and in the blink of an eye and the flash of an unseen $33 I had a ticket to see La Boheme.

I slithered past all the older, better dressed folk to find my seat, thinking that I would have to go way up into the nosebleed section, climb over several immobile elderly ladies, and then plop down next to a large man whose personage would extend over my arm rest. I gave the ticket to the usher to analyze and she said “oh, you’re just over there,” pointing somewhere in the middle of the floor section. Turns out, I had a seat eight rows from the stage, right in the center of the auditorium. As I sat down I felt as if I had cheated the system because a ticket to sit where I was must have cost over 200 dollars. Sabine paid $106 for hers and she was in the back row of the second level. I felt conscious of my stinky, hobo state as we applauded the conductor. I kept my elbows in and tried not to stir up too much air with my clapping.

The show was superb and the sets and singing and everything was really well done. Although the opera is a work of Puccini, they brought it into the modern age but still kept that timeless feel at the same time. I thought it quite humorous that I was watching an opera about grungy people who can’t pay their rent as I looked like I could have easily blended into the chorus of people in the background who were rumaging through trash and trying to warm themselves by garbage can fires. At the end of the show I found Sabine and told her the good news of how much I paid for my ticket and where I got to sit. She wanted to slap me.

Our final stop in the Outback was King’s Canyon National Park. Tucker warned us to bring over a liter of water each because, again, people die there every year. The temperatures can become absolutely scorching and you can get heat stroke. We started out on the hardest part of the trail called “Heartattack Hill,” and you can guess why it’s called that. There were over 150 steps to climb but it was early in the morning so it was still cool. We got to the top and started the walk around the rim which lasted over three hours. The walls of the canyons were formed from layers of rocks that had been pressed together as the continent of Australia compressed inward. The change of pressure on the landscape gave rise to the domes and outcrops that exist today. There were ripple marks on smooth slabs of stone, evidence that the desert was once and inland sea. We made our way down into the gorge and sat in the shaded respite of the Garden of Eden. There was a natural pool and lots of vegetation and birds. The birds made beautiful calls back and forth to each other and flew unabashedly inches from our heads. It felt a bit like I was getting a taste of what the Grand Canyon is like. We finally got to flat ground after coming down gradually over the next hour then we took off to high-tail it to Alice Springs. Tucker dropped each of us at our respective hostels and warned us not to walk around at night if we could help it. This advice was taken into more serious consideration as the sound of two sirens was heard in the distance. Everyone wanted to go to the pub for drinks but I was not feeling well at all, so I went and had a $5 dinner and then left early to get some sleep–I had to get up early to fly to Sydney. I ended up walking back to the hostel by myself and I didn’t feel threatened at all. I walked on the grassy median in the middle of the road and stayed away from the shady park. The next morning I grabbed a coffee in town and saw that it was actually a nicer town than nightime lets on. I was glad to be heading back to Sydney so that I could wash my VERY smelly clothes (I hadn’t washed anything for the whole week in the Outback). My bag still smells so I’m going to have to buy some deodorizer.

A long while after we left Coober Pedy we turned off the Stuart Highway and headed towards Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park. We saw what we thought was Uluru (Ayers Rock) in the distance but it was actually Mount Connor. According to my guidebook it is a very common mistake. It was still an amazing sight although we could not get close to it whatsoever (due to Aboriginal law) and were limited to a lookout point. I was intrigued by the color of the sand at this lookout. It filled the spaces between my toes and made me feel like I was standing in a giant pile of paprika. I was so interested in the sand that I took a picture of my feet in the sand (check the photo on Facebook). A short while later we arrived at our campsite, dropped our bags, then loaded in and headed to Uluru for the first time to watch the sunset. It was really nice although it was a little too cloudy for it to create the usual magic. There were throngs of baby boomer American tourists sitting in thier fold out chairs (which sagged to the extreme under their weight if you know what I mean) as they drank too much champagne and talked way too loud. I got some great photos and enjoyed the experience nonetheless.

We woke up at 4:30 to watch the sunrise at Uluru and I have to say that it was not as impressive as sunset. After the full sun hit the rock we left to do the base walk which, as the name suggests, goes around the base of the rock. It was over 9 km, so it gave me a real appreciation for the immensity of the rock. All the while I thought of how there is 90% of the rock extends, unseen, below the surface–it’s like an iceberg of sorts. I walked the trek with Nick form London and we were surprised by how much of the areas were blocked off because they were considered sacred sites by the Aborigines. It was not at all smooth rock but has tons of crevices, caves and indentations all along its circumference. Tucker told us some of the Aboriginal stories of the Ancestral Beings and the creation of the rock. For the Aborigines, every feature of the land is evidence of their ancestor’s existence and their interaction with the land. The Anagnu (original Aboriginal owners of the park) follow a strict set of laws based on ancestral wisdom. It is passed on not by written documents but by word of mouth from generation to generation. The Anagnu withold some of the stories and ancestral knowledge from visitors and only some of the wiser, older Aborigines are allowed to know the stories and pass them along. The Aborigines are against people climbing the rock because only a few senior members ever get to climb it and that is only after they have worked their entire life gaining the necessary knowledge.

It was too windy for any of us to do the climb anyway, so we did not face the cultural dilemma that many face when trying to decide whether or not to do the climb. They strongly encouraged us NOT to do the climb because over 35 people have died attempting it. We opted for heading back to the campground a bit sooner to go swimming since it had gotten up to the 90s by the end of our walk. Tucker knew another guide from a different company that was traveling with dingoes and snakes for an animal tour. He brought them out to us (just about 9 of us) and some put a python around their neck and took photos. I decided I’d rather pet some dingoes however and he brought them out on leashes. They were just like dogs only not as friendly and responsive.

Later, we walked to a secluded lookout to watch the sun set one more time over Uluru. Shockingly, Kata Tjuta (The Olgas) stole the show. I kept looking to my left to see if Uluru was getting better in the waning light but I kept turning back to my right to watch the sun cling to the rounded domes of Kata Tjuta.

We continued up the bumpy dirt road and I could see mirages in the distance. Huge lakes appeared and then seemed to evaporate in a matter of seconds. The only life outside our vehicle was the birds who were feasting on some unfortunate animal that had been roasted by the Outback sun. Tucker had to blow the horn to get them to move away from their meal because they undoubtedly knew that if they did not eat now the chance might never come again. We stopped by the world’s longest fence, which stretches from the Gold Coast to way past Adelaide. The Australians built the fence and then shot all the dingoes on one side to protect their sheep. Sabine, a girl from Holland found an emu foot by the fence. All that remained was the claws and dried-up tendons. I joked with her that it was highly unlikely that customs would let her leave with it. We stopped further up the road to get firewood for our camp-out. I figued we would be collected shriveled twigs but Tucker told us about the Old Ghan Railway and then said, “Well, go out and collect a piece of Australian heritage to burn!” William Creek, where we camped for the night was the tiniest town I’ve ever seen. It was surrounded by nothing but dusk, the road was unpaved and seemed more a piece of the desert than an actual road, and they only had the bare necessities: a pub and a campground. They had a golf course, suprisingly. The “green fee” was $5 and the golf club rental was $5 as well. We would have done it but it was dusk. Just as we were bumming about not being able to do it, a big white pickup truck full of three time-and-desert-worn Australians pulled up and one of them asked us if we wanted to join them at the community swimming hole just up the road.

The town of Coober Pedy was built on shaky foundations. Surface opal was discovered by a young man and the town immediately became home to those seeking the untold and unknown riches below the desert surface. Dynamite began to rumble in the distance as tunnels were created so fast that they lost track of some. Even today, you cannot wander off town property because you could fall into a hidden mine shaft. With summer temperatures soaring into the 60 degrees Celsius range, the idea of tunneling for opal soon became inspiration for a naturally cool house. About 70% of residents live below ground, earning it the Aboriginal name Coober Pedy, meaning “White Man’s Burrow.” The Coober Pedians are said to walk with their heads down and their tongue out. Their heads are down just in case there happens to be opal around and their tongues are out because you have to wet opal to see if it refracts the light and is the real deal, and since water is scarce, saliva is the more economical option. Only 4 inches of rain grace the dead earth each year and, consequently, water is coveted almost as much as the opal. It costs 9 cents to flush the toilet: I was definitely conscious of that fact everytime I did so. The town spends tons of money on reverse osmosis as it is their only option in such a remote, desolate place.

This was the first place that I saw Aborigines. They live in a fenced-off village that is completely off-limits to Whites. When I walked the streets of Coober Pedy I would hear a faint “G’day” somewhere off to my right and I would turn to see a big Aboriginal man with a crisp white beard sitting on the steps of a store watching me go past. They wear large, loose clothing that almost never coordinates but rather clashes in the worst way. They are probably much cooler in those clothes than I was in mine though!

We stayed in an underground hostel which was really cool both literally and figuratively. The underground houses stay at 20-25 C year round, no matter how much the ground above boils. Real estate is really cheap. About $100,000AUD can buy you a four-bedroom underground house. You save on air conditioning costs and you sleep better because it is soundproof and always dark when you want it to be.

There is no way of knowing how close you are to opal: you have to dig and dig some more. I suppose it drives men into a maddening frenzy, like that of the desperate desert flies above ground, knowing that they could always be just a few feet away from opal. Driving out of Coober Pedy on the Stuart Highway, I could see piles of stone stretching across the shimmering horizon like pitched tents; a constant reminder of the fortunes that have yet to be found and those that will remain hidden.

Today I left for the Outback on a tour with 18 other people. Adelaide and even the beginning of the Outback was really cold. Moving north out of the Adelaide Hills the trees and grass began to disappear, being replaced by a carpet of low, dull green bushes. Soon the Flinders Ranges appeared on the flat horizon and we came to a place where the oldest Aboriginal cave paintings were. There were symbols for different Aboriginal ceremonies and items of daily life, like circles which represented watering holes or gatherings and the footprints of emu and kangaroos. The paintings had been created by dipping fingers into a mixture of animal fat and ochre. There were tall ladders leading up to the cave and it was a pain because there were SO many flies landing all over our mouths, eyes, nose, and ears. When I looked ahead at other people, there were tons of flies attached to their backs, holding on for the hot, sweaty ride.

We drove for a few more hours and there began to be signs saying “Next Service Station 67 km” more like a warning than a general indicator. We pulled off onto a bumpy dirt road and after a few minutes I could smell all the red dirt I was seeing outside my window. The dust collected in my nose and mouth and I started coughing and sneezing. We all pulled our shirts over our noses so that we could breathe better. After two or so hours of this, we pulled into the beginning of the Brachina Gorge which contained prolific wildlife. There were a bunch of yellow-footed rock wallabies and lots of interesting birds moving about. We arrived at the Arapachina village where we stayed the nights. We feasted on grilled chicken, sausages, and yes, kangaroo while we sat around the fire. In the morning we paid ten bucks to ride bikes through the gorge in the morning light which lit up the multi-colored rock that was in inummerable layers. A big kangaroo jumped out a few feet in front of me as I was riding down a hill and it stopped and watched me for some time. We headed out of the Flinders Ranges after the bike ride and visited a huge coal pit and the home of an eccentric Outback mailman named Talc Alf. He had strange signs and an “art gallery” filled with even stranger rock sculptures. We made our way further and further north, stopping at a TINY town called William Creek. There was literally just a pub and a campground–that’s it. We camped out in swags under the brilliant stars and our guide, Tucker, taught us about the different constellations. I woke up at 5:30am briefly and looked out on a gorgeous desert sunrise.

I woke up this morning and the first thing I thought was I need to go and look to see if the weather had cleared. I popped my contacts in and went to look out over the ocean and it had cleared. This was important because today was the day that I was going to get to take a helicopter ride over the Twelve Apostles. At the helicopter place we checked in (those of us who made the splurge to do the $70 ten minute ride–don’t worry, I got it for free!) and we were weighed. I was pretty sure I’ve gained a little weight from eating out constantly over here but luckily my weight was given to me in kilos so I had no clue what it actually was. Joel (the rowdy, out-of-control Australian I mentioned in the last post) made fun of the other American guy, Kevin, because he weighed the most even though he was the shortest. He called him Heavy Kev-y for almost the rest of the trip. He had no shame.

I had to put on this special flotation device and learn how to use it in the unlikely event of an emergency. Then the helicopter flew up and landed a few feet away and we got in, feeling like celebrities all the way. In a matter of seconds we were lifting off the ground and zooming out towards the coast. The view of the apostles from the air was incredible. You could see and appreciate how far they extended where as from the ground lookout you could only marvel at their impressive size. The pilot told us a bit about the rock formations and the history of the park’s name. We made a steeeeep turn and like that we were making our way back and touching down. It was such a surreal experience I’m still trying to process it. It went so fast and the view was just breathtaking.

We loaded into the Groovy Grape bus and took off towards the Grampians, a really old mountain range in South Australia territory. We climbed Mount Hollow and the view of the surrounding land yielded such nice details from the orange color of the rocks to the yellow blooms of the canola fields. There were several caves and hidden gorges that a few of us went off to explore. We had to cross and 3-foot wide crevice to get to one of the caves. Normally I wouldn’t have thought twice about it but it was a sheer drop-off. I looked down and could not see the bottom. Diana, one of the Canadian girls had already jumped over and was encouraging me to just jump. I handed her my camera, feeling a bit like I was filming a scene in a movie, to render both my hands free in case I needed to grab hold for dear life. I did a one-two-three and jumped. The caves were worth it. They had a bunch of stalactites and neat little grottoes. Of course, my camera started acting up and wouldn’t turn on, so I have no pictures of the caves but they actually ended up being my favorite part of the Mt. Hollow hike.

We drove towards Adelaide with a little more fervor as we had to cover something like 600 km in this day. We stopped in a little town called Frances to have lunch. It was home to just 35 people. We doubled the population that day as we at our leftover kangaroo steak on sandwiches. After a few hours we reached Adelaide and as we neared the city Fleur told us a bit of history and suggested a whole ton of things to do in the city. It is too bad I won’t get to spend much time here since I have to head into the Outback tomorrow. Maybe next time. Maybe next time.

I got up at an ungodly hour this morning to get on the bus to begin our Great Ocean Road trip. I got on the bus and said hello to everyone. We were not really that talkative though because we were still really sleepy. We went around and picked up the rest of our group from their hostels and when we were all in the vehicle our tour guide introduced herself as Fleur and wrote her name on the window with a marker. She instructed us to write our name and where we are from. There were a couple of Canadians, one French Canadian, one Frenchman, two Irish, two Germans, two Americans (finally), two Australians, two Dutch, one Italian, and me; a good mix of people.

We rode along until we came to a neat little town that is the hub of all things surfing. It is the birthplace of Ripcurl, Billabong, Oakleys, and several other leading names in surfing merchandise. We got some much-needed coffee and set out to our first destination–the Great Ocean Memorial Arch. The men who came back from the destruction of the second World War were given this roadway to build so that they would have a sense of purpose; to have the feeling that they helped to create something beautiful and meaningful that generations, from all corners of the globe, could enjoy. The road eventually lead up to the Loch Ard gorge which is where a ship carrying travelers from the UK wrecked in the 1800s. Our guide Fleur told us the story of the shipwreck and how they were pulled in by the incredibly strong and unpredictable currents and waves of the Southern Ocean. Only two people made it to the shores alive. The rest were pushed into a gorge where they could not possibly climb the sheer cliffs or survive the raging waves that gorge created.

We headed out and a few minutes later came to the Twelve Apostles. There are actually only nine formations still standing, with the most recent apostle crumbling into the ocean in 2005. They were originally called the 12 sows (or something like that…because they were named by local farmers) but the name was changed to promote tourism in the region. I don’t see why the name matters–the rock formations are absolutely stunning. Mere words really cannot describe how incredible the shore line is in the Twelve Apostles park. The limestone rocks emerge from the ocean bed, looking as if they had been dropped right in a row along the coast. Some of them look like big sails on a ship, billowing in the Southern Ocean breeze, or like massive towers standing with the help of an unseen force rather than with the strength of their foundation. It was overcast when we first saw them which was a little disappointing but we headed into the tiny town of Port Campbell to start dinner and wait to see if it would clear up for sunset. And…it did!! We put dinner preparations on hold and went up to the cliffs that overlook the apostles and watched the sunset. The number of different color combinations was incredible. The sunset made all kinds of pinks and yellows and oranges. You have to look at the pictures to get an idea of the beauty of it all.

We came back to the house we all were staying in (which had a fireplace–so nice!) and chatted a bit and ate a delicious meal. We had shepherd’s pie made with both beef and kangaroo and yes, the kangaroo was better than the beef! We also had Fleur’s specialty, apricot chicken and it was delectable. We played a bit of cards and played a rousing game of guess the marshmallow color with your eyes closed. The game went something like Joel, the ridiculous, almost always overbearing Australian, would pick two marshmallows (pink or white), roast them, then put one in each of the taster’s hands and then have them guess the combination. He tried to trick me by giving me two whites but I got it right because the pink had a distinct cherry flavor to me. Others tried to tell the difference–most with no success–but I got it right everytime (I’m not sounding too braggy, right?!) and was declared the marshmallow tasting champion. In the end I ate way too many marshmallows and felt like hurling pink for about 10 minutes afterward.

I got to talk to a lot of different people and got to know where exactly in their country they were from and we talked about the usual cultural differences and so on. We went to bed kind of early because we had to get up early the next morning to beat the crowds of tourists to the Twelve Apostles. We cranked up the heat and curled up in our bunks and slept very well.

I arrived in Canberra, the capital. The city was built with freaky geometric precision. The city itself is divided in two by Lake Burely Griffin with one side being the Civic center and the other being Capital Hill. I had to do a major hike to get to my hostel, which from the bus stop in Civic, was on the complete opposite side of the lake over in a suburb of Capital Hill. I noticed as I was walking down the street that it was shockingly quiet, recalling memories of the strangely vacant streets of Townsville. For a capital city, it certainly lacked the grandeur and palpable history of Washington DC or some of the other capitals around the world. The city was designed by an American architect, Walter Burley Griffin, who was a student of Frank Lloyd Wright. I found the design of the city both impressive and annoying. Everything lined up, from parliament to the house of representatives to the Australian War Memorial across the lake. But what got me was that both the Civic center and Capital Hill had all the roads radiating out in concentric circles, so I had to walk all the way around the circles, cross several circles (which ran opposite of one another–I can’t even explain it because it was so confusing) and try to find the correct back street where my hostel was located.

At last I found my hostel which was in the very nice, quiet suburb of Kingston. I went upstairs and met my only roomate, a french guy, who said, “I’m looking forward to leaving Canberra; it’s a strange city.” Took the words right out of my mouth.

The next day, I walked around the parliament building which was sort of interesting as it was built right into a big hill and people could walk up on the roof which was nicely mowed grass. I crossed the big lawn and made my way over to the art gallery where I took a guided tour. I saw lots of interesting eastern and indiginous art. I wandered across the lake to the place where the Floriade festival was happening and I was quite impressed by the displays. They had planted flowers so that they formed designs that brought to memory famous Australian films. I guess most could make out what was in the designs but I just saw a bunch of beautiful flowers! Plus I was distracted by my stupid camera which, at that time, I thought had lost all of my pictures. I headed over to the Civic center in the late afternoon to do a little bit of window shopping and then wait for my bus. I browsed for a few hours through a couple of the bookstores and then headed over to a pancake parlour that was suggested by my guidebook. I was seated immediately but waited at least 15 minutes to order. Once I ordered it was at least another 30 minutes until I got the food and there was hardly anyone in there! I ate the pancakes, which were okay…and then I waited…and waited…and waited for my bill to come. It was strange but they had free wireless internet access so I was not totally bored the whole time. It got to be about 10:00 pm and I headed over to the bus depot to wait for my 11:55 bus. I sat down and not five minutes later did a guy come over and say, “sorry, we’re closing the station.” I told him that I was waiting for a 11:55 bus and all he said was, “I know–we have strange rules.” I grumbled an “I guess so” and then wandered around the streets, freeezing, until I found a cafe. That too closed soon after I arrived and then I went back over to the bus station to wait for the bus. The bus came and I was glad to be able to thaw and relax. I sat down though and went to recline my seat in preparation for my overnight bus ride and, of course, it wouldn’t recline. And all the seats were pretty much full of people including the one next to me. The bathroom door in the back would not click shut, so the whole ride it kept banging around in the back after every bump in the road.

I awoke and we were just outside of Melbourne; I could see it in the distance. I arrived and perused the streets to find some breakfast. I was feeling pretty good considering what I had endured overnight but I kept telling myself that things could have been worse. Just then it hit me–I left my hat in a bookstore in Canberra.

I’m back in Sydney at long last. It is noticeably warmer than I left it, making me break a sweat as I hiked (mostly uphill) from the bus station to Kings Cross with my strangely-getting-heavier backpack. I don’t know how I have accumulated so much stuff and I sometimes wonder if some prankster keeps putting rocks in the bottom of my bag. There are some things that I have had to buy like shampoo and body wash. But it is still a mystery why my two bags are always full…

I got in to Sydney yesterday afternoon and wasn’t in the mood to do much until later that evening. After a while of traveling you just need to take those nice, long breaks. I headed out to town at about 6:00 and went to an area of the city called “The Rocks.” It is the area right between Circular Quay (where the ships and ferries leave) and the Harbor Bridge. It is an upscale part of town with really old but beautiful buildings which house designer stores the likes of Hermes, Louis Vuitton, and Gucci. I was on my way to a Bavarian restaurant that was recommended by my guidebook. I was in the mood for some schnitzel. I got to Lowenbrau and was immediately seated in the outdoor section by a woman wearing the traditional Bavarian dress. I ordered my food and soon an oom-pa-pa band formed in the street and played for about an hour. It was quite a festive atmosphere, especially because it is Oktoberfest right now. I got my chicken schnitzel but, unfortunately, with my cold I couldn’t really taste much. After I finished my meal I wandered around the harbor area. The Harbor Bridge was fully lit, emphasizing its grandeur. I looked up to the top of it because I saw some objects floating around at the top. I watched for a while and realized they were birds. They swarmed around the lights, looking like ashes being carried upward by a fire. It was one of those larger-than-life moments where you are overwhelmed by where you are and you can’t imagine having to leave.

I did leave though in order to walk around the beautifully lit, billowing sails of the opera house. I noticed, however, a ramp that went from one side of the harbor to the other. They were all lit up and I realized that someone was going to do some stunt on television. I read the side of the ramp as I was walking and it said “Monday 7:30” and that’s when I bit it on the steps of the opera house. I had a water in my hands that went flying and some guy stopped to ask me if I was okay and returned my water. I must say that it was a particularly graceful and painless fall. I expected to have a bruised arm or something immediately after I stood up but I really was perfectly fine…just a little embarrassed at all the Asian tourists who were staring at me.