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Diving the Great Barrier Reef

In Cairns, on the northeast coast of Australia, we made our first dive-related purchase -- masks and snorkels. Mine are in white, and make me think of A Clockwork Orange somehow. We also attended a "Reef Teach" lecture on the flora and fauna of the reef, taught by the bizarrely theatrical, yet incredibly informative Paddy.

The next day, we boarded a Pro-Dive live-aboard dive boat for a three day adventure on the Great Barrier Reef. The boat was very comfortable, and with a good set of people.

The three hour ride to the reef was incredibly choppy, and most were feeling queasy on arrival.

While at the reef, Jason and I did our first unguided dives together, some more successful than others. We saw some interesting fish, yet the reef seemed rather dead in some areas. We also tried night diving for the first time, and really enjoyed the feeling of floating in outer space. Many large red cod were out at night.

On one particularly good dive, we saw several large sea turtles. One of our fellow divers, Donald Cantlon, took this and all the other underwater shots in this post:

There were multiple types of Clown-fish (Nemo) on the reef.

Lion-Fish (or Scorpion-Fish) were well camouflaged.

At one point, Jason and I were trying to navigate around a big coral formation and find the "swim through" to get back to the boat. We didn't find it, and figured we'd swim over the top of the formation. Unfortunately, the flattish top of the coral was quite broad, and was only about three feet away from the roiling surface of the sea. We were churned around up there, and struggled to get back to the boat. It was exhausting. After a struggle, we finally cleared the coral. Now we know why it's called a swim through. Not to be repeated.

We purchased a slate on the boat for the next dive. A slate is a tablet you can write on underwater. We figured this would help us communicate better. Our first underwater "conversation" was something highly streamlined like,

"Where boat?"

"Maybe that way -->"

"But are you sure we passed this coral?"

"Compass says that way."

"You sure?"

"Think so."

etc.

We spotted a few nudibranches (tiny colorful slugs), a sign we were improving -- diving slowly and observantly.

There were a few rays in the reefs too.

Sydney

We could see the Opera House from the window as our plane approached Sydney. Temperatures were somewhat cooler than in Alice. We got to our hostel in time for dinner in Chinatown.

The next day, we met up with our friends, Savvy and Chris, who we met in Vientiane, Laos. We checked out some of downtown Syney, and went to the Contemporary Art Museum.

We perused a Sam Taylor-Wood show, an exhibit called "Masquerade," and a permanent exhibit of modern Aboriginal works. My favorite pieces were the "Adventure Series" by Tracey Moffat. We also enjoyed seeing some of Cindy Sherman's predecessors and contemporaries in Masquerade. I wasn't aware there was such a tradition of photographic self-portraiture involving elaborate costumes and sets.

While in town, we noticed these terns, which apparently feed on garbage. They look kind of Edward Gorey.

I spent one day shopping along Oxford Street, a long avenue of Soho-like shops and boutiques.

The weather never really cooperated with us in Sydney.

One day, we did the "Bridge Climb," which entails climbing the Harbor Bridge. Apparently, it's the only large bridge you can climb. Before "suiting up," we saw autographed photos of a melange of celebrities including Chelsea Clinton, Frankie Muniz and Pamela Anderson atop the bridge.

Though we'd only recently heard of the Bridge Climb, many in our group had been thinking of doing it for years, and were very nervous. We were put into some rather foul outfits -- jumpsuits with belts that clip onto a wire that keeps you from falling.

After a brief training session, we began our ascent of the bridge. It was actually rather tame; I'd been looking forward to some rappelling, but that wasn't included. We traversed stairways, catwalks and inclines to the top of the bridge.

The Climb was really fabulous -- the harbor views were great, but cameras weren't allowed. One could see lots of inlets and islands, and what looked like a regatta of sailboats -- they love to sail in Sydney. There were several business centers with skyscrapers scattered around the inlets. And, of course, the Opera House was the gem of the harbor.

That afternoon, we wandered around "The Rocks," the charming neighborhood at the base of the bridge. We also saw a lovely old observatory.

Another day, we took a ferry to Manly Beach, one Sydney's loveliest. Apparently, it's called "Manly" because, as he arrived at the beach in 1788, Governor Arthur Phillip was struck by the manliness of the local Aborigines. Hmmm. Though it was chilly, the surfers were out. We wished the weather was warm enough to swim. Nonetheless, gorgeous beaches and comfortable neighborhoods made the Sydney lifestyle look very tempting.

We did part of the "Manly Scenic Walk" along the shore, and considered knocking on several doors to ask, "How much?" It must be amazing in the summertime.

That evening, we took in a performance at the Opera House. While in Sydney, we never saw the Opera House gleaming in the sun, like it is in most photos. The weather was cloudy for much of our stay. But it was lovely to see the hemispheres glowing in the night sky. Up close, you can see a herringbone structure to the brickwork that isn't always apparent in photographs. The Opera House is just as wonderful as I thought it would be. It's hard to imagine the it was built in the '50s, as it truly transcends eras or styles, and appeals to many.

The performance we saw that evening was "Ruby's Story," about an Aboriginal woman's life. She was part of the "lost generation," who were taken away from their parents and fostered out. The government thought this was a way to correct perceived social ills in aboriginal communities. It was a traumatic event for many involved.

Before leaving, we spent about a day doing chores -- errand-running, hair appointments, chiropractor, and planning for Cairns.

Despite the grey weather, we had a great time in Sydney, and can't wait to come back.

Baby Kangaroos and the Thorny Devil

In Alice Springs, we had an amazing experience -- cuddling orphaned baby kangaroos.

Kangaroos are very common in Australia, and are often hit by cars. Many people don't realize that the joey can still be alive in the pouch after the kangaroo is hit. This organization urges people to check the pouches of dead kangaroos hit by cars, and to rescue any live joeys. The joeys aren't dangerous at all, and won't bite. So, on the off chance that you find an orphaned joey, put it in your lap, or under your shirt while you're driving, and call the Kangaroo Rescue Center for pickup.

The joeys we held were adorable, with their over-sized eyes and ears. They licked our noses as we held them in simulated pouches, spindly legs and tail sticking out. Their tails were velvety and squishy. One of the caretakers bottle-fed the 'roos, and another held a "pinky," a young joey with no hair. At one point, it was time for the 'roos to exercise -- to jump around outside the pouches for a few minutes. The whole experience was just amazing, and I got my cuddly animal fix.

Alice Springs itself was great, and we wished we had more time. It felt a like a smaller, less frequented Boulder, Colorado in some ways. The population is only 27,000, but it feels somewhat cosmopolitan, as people are always coming and going. The food was good too.

And the Alice Springs Desert Park was wonderful. It's mostly an outdoor experience, where you walk through the bush and see some of the local flora and fauna. Lots of animals have highly specialized adaptations for the extreme desert climate. For example, there are frogs and fish that can survive in damp areas underground for years, until a rainfall.

We hadn't realized how big cockatoos are. We finally saw a Thorny Devil, as our group hadn't found one in the wild.

The nocturnal exhibit, with mysterious small marsupials, toads, bats and snakes. And the real highlight was an open air birds of prey show, featuring large hawks and eagles. In an unscripted moment, two of the park's giant Wedgetail Eagles fought with an eagle from outside the park.

The prehistoric-looking Goliath Stick Insect was literally bigger than my hand! You are looking at a foot-long bug.

We also enjoyed the Aboriginal art galleries in Alice, and bought a painting. Some of the motifs are really wonderful, and I'm surprised they don't have wider exposure in the U.S.

Sublime Outback

I've been reading "The Art of Travel," by Alain de Botton, which is, incidentally, a great book. Concepts in the book have corresponded in poignant ways to our journey. He discusses the idea of the sublime in western perception of landscapes, starting in the mid-eighteenth century. It reminded me of some wonderful college courses I'd taken on landscape painting and history of the same era, taught by Prof. Henry Sayre.

Scientific discoveries on evolution and the formation of landscapes during that era corresponded with the "sublime landscape." People felt a new mastery over the land, and over some of the mysteries of life.

As a result, some began to question their religious beliefs. And for some, religious awe was transferred to nature, and the wonder of the landscape, and of nature's creation -- the forest as cathedral. Hence the interest in the sublime landscape -- a landscape they felt, despite their knowledge, was overwhelming, and more ancient and inscrutable than humans could fathom.

Places like Uluru feel this way. They briefly make you indifferent to human concerns -- make you realize you're just a blink in the metaphorical eye of the universe.

The era's new-found awe for the scarier bits of nature resulted in paintings that broke out of the traditional, calm pastoral landscape style. The majestic North and South American landscapes of Frederic Church, or the tumultuous seascapes of Joseph Turner fall into this new category of landscape. I'm negligent in knowing whether Australia has a similar tradition, but the landscape is certainly deserving.

"The Art of Travel" also discusses Wordsworth's belief in the restorative powers of nature. Seeing this much countryside, without much evidence of human existence, definitely gives a feeling of calm. It allows one to follow trains of thoughts that just wouldn't happen on the New York subway.

Also mentioned in "Art of Travel" is Ruskin's belief in the power of drawing to help you see -- that it's not about creating an amazing drawing, but rather, to be able to observe the subtle lichens growing on the red rock that the non-drawer wouldn't notice. I'm now aching to draw. I think less literal forms of creation -- compositional or abstract -- can be just as good for the mind -- perhaps they're more about observation of internal ideas and connections than the external.

The book also touched on Van Gogh's Arles landscapes, and his way of seeing the colors and forms of the land. The ideas of editing and expressing colors and auras and shapes in ones own way -- seeing ones own truth of a landscape -- could well have been applied to the distinct features of the outback -- beautiful juxtapositions of red dirt and pale green, sagey, dusty blue, army green plants, and painterly twisted trunks,

The panorama we encountered several days before was also adjacent to this general set of ideas. The medium of the panorama was discussed in those college art history classes. In addition to traditional paintings, and devices like the stereoscope, panoramas were expressions of people's new-found interest in the sublime. They gave a visual idea of the new and exciting frontier, a sometimes fictional majestic landscape. They were also a form of pre-television entertainment.

Journey to the Red Center 5: Brick Beehives

After getting up at a leisurely 6am, we cleared out.

We stopped at Kings Canyon for the last hike of the trip. It another day of beautiful scenery in the desert. Muscular rounded rock formations look like brick domes or beehives.

And there's an oasis; a deep, rugged gorge cut by a stream, filled with plant life.

Cycads, an ancient form of palm tree from the dinosaur days, thrive there -- some are a thousand years old, but they look like they could have grown in a year to my eye. The little valley of green is a rarity in the harsh, dry bush.

You can see layers of stone from the ice age(s) on massive sliced cliff-sides.

We saw some parrots near our lunch site.

After stretching our legs, we got back on the bus for several hours. We stopped at the giant echidna roadhouse again, where I saw this emu resting.

Then we drove several hours to Alice Springs, the end-point of our outback adventure. That night, the group had one last dinner together.

Journey to the Red Center 4: Amazing Uluru

The next morning, we got up at 4am again. Oy. We hopped in the bus for a really long drive to Uluru (Ayer's Rock).

Stopping for sunrise at the Painted Desert, we were at the edge of the old inland sea, which dried out eons ago.

Not too far along, we stopped at the "Dog Fence," an incredibly long north to south fence to keep dingos out of sheep farming country.

Dingos on the right, sheep on the left. I think it goes through most of the country. Oz seems full of quirky, quaint old stuff that seems out of the past, but is actually still holding things together.

Stopping at a roadhouse later, we saw our first "big things." Australia, like the U.S., has a tradition of building out-sized objects get your attention at service stations or small towns. There are big crabs, rocking chairs, koalas, coffee pots, avocados, worms. And of course, there is a big echidna.

Of all the big things to see, this was the perfect one for me, as I'm fond of the hedgehog, which bears a resemblance to the echidna. But, unlike the hedgehog, it is a monotreme.

After hours in the bus, watching relentless scrubby flat landscape, with occasional giant Wedgetail Eagles perched on dead trees, we stopped for firewood. The local, scrubby gum trees die in their teen years, so there are plenty of dead ones. We got to feel macho hauling big trees to the van.

Finally, in the evening light, we saw Uluru! Well, actually, it was Fooluru -- there's a plateau nearby that resembles the rock from an angle, and most on the bus were fooled. Not me.

After another hour or so, finally, we glimpsed the rock. It was purple, blue and red against the evening sky, and looked like an incredibly grand loaf of bread.

What makes Uluru so amazing is that you've been driving through hundreds of miles of (beautiful) nothingness, then suddenly, here's the world's biggest rock, dark red and monolithic. We watched Uluru change color in the sunset.

The rock is sacred to Aboriginal people, and has been returned to their jurisdiction. They have many stories and ceremonies involving Uluru, which they still practice. Aboriginals are one of the world's oldest cultures, and have been on the Australian continent for at least 60,000 years. They have been doing same dot drawings, eating the same bush-tucker, performing the same dances for eons. They remember the ice age. It boggles.

That night, we camped at a site near the rock. We slept in Australian swags, which are comprised of a thin mattress and canvas outer layer. You put a sleeping bag in, and pull the swag's flap over your head to sleep. The combination of a cold night, swagging it, and getting up at 4 again did not result in the best of morning moods.

We went to a lookout point to watch Uluru in the first light.

After sunrise, we took an 8km walk around the rock. It was a coldish, windy morning.

From far away, Uluru looks monolithic. Up close, you realize that pockmark you saw is actually a large cave. Swooping, ribbed, undulating, striated, perforated, etched forms reveal themselves as you view the rock up close.

There's even a sort of inlet with a freshwater spring.

Aborigines painted lessons in some of the caves. They perform sacred ceremonies around other features, but tourists aren't allowed to photograph those.

That afternoon, the flies were out en mass.

We visited Kata Tjuta (The Olgas), a sacred site of Aboriginal men (Aboriginal women aren't allowed there, but have their own sacred sites).

Unlike Uluru, which is mostly granite, they're formed from composite rock. They're stunning forms, like tall cakes about to topple. Perhaps I was craving bread that day. They were carved by erosion, with really unique, generally pointy, light green vegetation growing at their bases.

We hiked through a stunning wedge-shaped valley between two of the rocks that made us feel very small.

It was like walking through a mammoth Richard Serra sculpture.

Fly-nets were the order of the day.

We drove back to the firewood spot, and gathered some more for that evening. That afternoon, another monster bus ride contributed to a rigor mortis-like feeling.

After dark, we arrived at our "bush camp," in an isolated part of Western Australia, after driving through some scrubby country on a twisty dirt road. It was a very nice, clean campground.

We all helped make a satisfying chicken stew and mashed potatoes, then sat by a big bonfire, created with our firewood. Things were more subdued than the previous night, as people had run out of booze. I found a really long stick and we roasted some marshmallows. Some in the international group had never eaten marshmallows and this was their first taste.

We swagged it again, but it wasn't as cold that evening. There was a rock under my swag.

Journey to the red center 3: Coober Pedy, Underground City!

After rising (painfully) at 4am, we started the long drive to Coober Pedy, an opal-mining town. I laid down across some seats on the bus, with our water and juice bottles under my head. After a couple hours of comfortably sprawling, I noticed my jacket was a little wet. And my shirt and sweater were too. Then I made the unpleasant discovery a bottle of juice had leaked, and about a glass full of juice had soaked into my shirt, sweater, jacket and pants. The next few hours were less pleasant.

The landscape flattened out as we drove, with forests turning to scrubby trees and bushes. The dirt was looking redder than before too.

A trucker greeted me over coffee at a roadhouse. A grandmotherly woman said g'day at another truck stop's restroom. Aussies are so friendly.

The barren landscape with service stations in the middle of nowhere reminded me of parts of the U.S.

It was sunny and pleasantly cool out, a relief from the cool, wet weather of Melbourne.

Coober Pedy is one of the coolest quirkiest places I've been. I wish we'd had more time there. As a kid, I'd seen a TV program about it -- I think it was "Real People" -- and had wanted to see it ever since.

Basically, it's an opal-mining town in the middle of nowhere; isolated and in the desert. What makes this town unusual is that the area is mined by individual miners and small companies, rather than big mining companies. So there are lots of individual miners there, trying to make it big.

Also, when these miners were digging, they realized the mines were cooler than the outside air, and began digging cave homes for themselves. As a result, many of the homes and businesses in the town are underground, dug out of the soft limestone, Flintstones-style. You can see ventilation pipes sticking out all over town. This underground architecture is the most famous feature of Coober Pedy. In fact, the name Coober Pedy means "White Man Burrows" in an Aboriginal language.

On arriving, we took a tour of an old opal mine, and learned about the mining, cutting and finishing process. The local opals are beautiful; much fierier than European ones.

Then we got to see the inside of someones home, which looked as though it had been hermetically sealed in the '60s. But someone does live there now. It was amazing.

Then, the nice lady showed us how to make a dynamite bomb.

We took a short tour of the town as well, including the local underground Catholic church. The pastor's sermon is delivered by radio to those too far away to attend in person.

 

The underground homes and churches of course reminded us of ancient ones in Kappadokya, Turkey.

The School of the Air is located in Coober Pedy too. It's a radio-based school for the hundred-some students living in the desolate surrounding area -- an area larger than France.

That evening, we had some pizza at a restaurant run by Greeks; the town is incredibly diverse, as people come from all over the world to try their luck at mining. As a side note, Australia has a huge amount of gambling with "pokies," slot machines, in many pubs all over the country. Coober Pedy seemed to us like a town full of pokies players, with everyone trying to make it big.

We stayed in a cave hotel that night; the second cave hotel in less than a year; the first having been in Kappadokya. Our room looked like a normal, if somewhat '70s, hotel room that happened to have carved stone walls. The temperature was cool and constant. I love cave dwellings.

... And there was a laundry facility to wash out the juice.

Journey to the Red Center 2: Emus, Roos and Slag Heaps

Driving out of town the next day, we saw lots of emus, kangaroos, wild black sheep, Scottish sheep, and garden-variety white sheep. It's amazingly easy to see mega-fauna in the bush.

I picked up a quondong pie at another little town. They call the quondong the "desert peach," though I don't think they're related. Nearby, we saw the cutest cottage in the outback.

We stopped to look at a slag heap, as one does.

Nearby were beautiful old rusty tanks. Not sure what they were for. Perhaps they were used in the manufacture of, um, slag.

Then, we hiked a little through the "Pound," a ring of mountains and their valley. In the old days, farmers kept horses in the Pound, as they were unable to walk out.

After a lunch of hamburgers at the campground grill, we drove through a few other little towns, and finally to a sheep station, our destination for the night.

Our guide, Firie, and some Korean backpackers from our bus made green curry for dinner.

Firie is a sort of archetypal Aussie; a beefy guy with a good sense of humor. And a former fireman, hence the name. Many times throughout the journey, he played a raucous Aussie folk song on the bus, with the chorus of "G'day, g'day. And how ya goin? Whad'ya know? And strike a light," etc. By the end of the trip, we were all sayng "G'day," which was, apparently, the goal.

Journey to the Red Center 1: Panoramas and Fly Nets

We began another "adventure" bus trip -- this time a week-long journey from Adelaide to Uluru (Ayer's Rock) and Alice Springs, visiting many points in between. Our group was a range of ages and nationalities.

The first day, we saw the (fairly) green and fertile landscape of Adelaide change to scrubby desert. The soil near Adelaide supports vineyards and sheep. The land near Parachilna, our overnight stop, can barely support sheep. And with the desert came some warmth, as well as really annoying flies that persistently land on your lips and eyes.

We enjoyed seeing old European-style brick homes in the tiny desert towns. Most were built by immigrants imitating the architectural styles of their native lands. As a result, many were climatically inappropriate, and people had to add verandas to stay cool.

In a little town called Melrose, we walked to a park, and saw two smallish kangaroos grazing. We were able to pet them. They felt soft and downy.

After kangaroo-petting and really fab gelato, we concurred, Melrose did indeed have "much to offer."

At one point, we climbed a rock formation to see some Aboriginal cave paintings.

In Hawker, another little berg, we saw the "Wilpena Panorama," part of the Jeff Morgan Gallery, "undertaken to try and capture the glory of God's wonderful Creation."

A panorama is  usually a cylindrical room containing continuous, panoramic painting of a landscape. In this case it was a depiction of the beautiful local mountains. There was a viewing platform in the middle of the room, and the room echoed when we stood there.

I think most panoramas were painted in the 19th century. I them particularly interesting in the way they corresponded to (then) changing ideas of nature, God, people's ability to "control" nature, manifest destiny etc.

The landscape got pretty flat after that.

Although, somehow, the kangaroos managed to ski.

We were shown the remains of the oldest homestead in the area, which was built in the 19th century. Although it was quite recent, life on the homestead was brutal. As evidenced by the "hut."

That evening, we had our first outback beer at Parachilna.

Watching the sunset with an Ozzie beer (or, in my case, a cocktail), the flies swarmed our faces with unexpected tenacity. They go for the protein in your eyes. This led to the donning of ridiculous-looking bush hats with attached nets (photos later).

There was "bush tucker" for dinner, as Steve Irwin would say -- kangaroo steaks.

That night, we stayed at the charming Parachilna hotel, built in the 19th century, and enjoyed the luxury of a bathtub.

Adelaide

We stayed in Adelaide a couple extra days, so I could get over the cold bug. At a million plus residents, Adelaide feels like a really big town or a really small city. We both had really nice massages by a bearish Bavarian guy. Otherwise, we didn't get out much, as I was mainlining chicken soup and juice. So, unfortunately, there isn't much of an entry for Adelaide.