— Had the desire to unironically use the words ‘whilst,’ ‘mate,’ or ‘bloke.’ Too much Outback will do that to you.
— Experienced a state of unconsciousness while remaining conscious. (Our Kelly Caves tour guide, who brought us to fierce stalactites, growing stalagmites, and unique helactites, decided to blow out the candle and tell everyone to shut up. ‘Terrifying,’ I though out loud. When prodded, I finished the thought: ‘Terrifyingly cool.’)
— Had an Australian Pelican, the largest in the world, sucker-punch me in the eye during a mad scramble for raw fish.
— Watched wild kangaroos grazing, wild wallabies (unsuccessfully) hiding, wild dolphins skim by my ferry, wild Wedge-Tailed Eagles pick apart kanagroadkill, wild penguins return to shore (and proceed to mate, which, though rare, was loud enough to wake their neighbors), wild New Zealand Fur Seal pups duke it out as the rest of the colony sun-bathed next to two-story-high spray over a rocky outcropping, wild koalas do, um, nothing but sleep, scratch, and look cuddly, wild White Bellied Sea Eagles partake in a bout of domestic fighting, a wild camel muck about the Outback, wild dingoes roving their territory, or a wild brushtail possum stare daggers at me with his saucer eyes. And don’t even get me started on the dozens of non-birds of prey I saw. (Upon meeting Jan, a prescient 20-year old Darwinian German, he said ‘You like birds, huh.’ Yup.)
— Talked for nine hours with an Indian maxillary-facial resident (nor have I ever written those words in succession)
— Seen
— Lost a staring contest with a Thylacine (Tasmanian Tiger)…although to be fair, this guy was taxidermized, since his species is extinct and whatnot.
— Spent so little time looking at a stuffed horse that I thought my
— Been awestruck by the Tin Man. Then again, the Tin Man wasn’t Ned Kelly (read this, and you’ll see why I made a point of seeing the armor of Australia’s greatest legend).
— Thought Adelaide was the sketchiest city this side of post-Katrina Houston (and, obviously, the only Houston I’ve ever known). I mean, I’ve had cracked-out skin-head zombies stumble by me before, but never had cracked-out skin-head zombies stumble by me with their shoes untied!
— Had a drunken German roommate wake me up in the middle of the night, turn the light on, see me roll over, wave, and then slur something in German to me. (Nor have I ever had another German invite me to the Lake Constance region - 50 km’s north of you, Aunt Jean! - to ‘eat apples and look at cows.’)
— Seen sheep get milked. That was actually quite traumatic, so I’d rather not go into it right now. (‘I'd like to recharge my batteries and shut down the engines, and get myself back to neutral.’) But my, do they make good cheese.
— Beheld hundred-foot high ocean-side rocks, each in a shape only [insert famous postmodern abstractionist artiste here] could have imagined. There’s a reason they are described ‘Remarkable Rocks.’
— Donated to a fund protecting the remaining 11,000 Australian Sea Lions, whose population, sadly, is decreasing by 25% annually. What convinced me to shell out my Dad’s hard-earned money? Look at these pictures, and you’ll understand.
— Discussed with Richard, a 60-something UK national-turned-Kangaroo Islander, why Sarah Palin is more terrifying the Japanese version of The Grudge; listened to a 70-something English couple describe their courtship and subsequent travels; and had a 70-something English woman tell me how much it snowed when she visited Nebraska (what’s with me and Ye Olde English?)
— Seen the Melbourne bishop proceed to a mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral after I had patrolled the hip, café-and-bistro-laden Brunswick St. after my 11-hour overnight train
— Eaten honey from the purest strain of bee left in the world. Originally from Italy, the Ligurian bee has been isolated on Kangaroo Island for over 100 years, spreading peace and goodwill between honeycombs and taste buds ever since.
— Learned of the role clipper ships played in bringing early (non-convicted) immigrants to the Australian shores (a few artifacts of the Lightning, a ship constructed by my great-great-great-great grandfather, Donald McKay, were on display in the Melbourne Museum.)
— Watched stick bugs go for each other’s jugular for almost a half hour. That was cool.
— Seen (and instantly lost interest in) how eucalyptus oil was produced (and sometimes paired with emu fat for all sorts of disorders. Relevant, it was not.)
— Failed (in brilliant fashion) at finding the ways to describe Uluru, Kings Canyon, and Kata Tjuta. Although this will sound more than cliché than any Palin soundbite, I felt spiritually invigorated by the three beastly formations. I was dwarfed by Ulur's redness and palpable immensity, so it was not difficult to see why the giant holds a highly-sacred position in Aboriginal lore. With plains as far as the eyes can stretch in the pre-dawn darkness, the silhouette of this behemoth reminded me as much of the Cloverfield monster as a gift from the heavens. King’s Canyon, constructed of 1.5 billion-year old rock, provided me with the widest natural view of the Outback. With multi-layered and multi-color precipices, dozens of rounded domes forming a ‘Lost City,’ and a lush ‘Garden of Eden’ set in the middle of a barring, sun-baked ravine. The three-hour, 90-degree, ozone-less hike meant my breath, quickly taken, has not yet returned. Lastly, Kata Tjuta, also known as the Olgas and largest of the three giants, provided gullies and gorges in between the 36 mammoth sediment piles. Reminiscent of the drone tanks from Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, I’ve never been so happy to turn to my left, to my right, and to my rear and see nothing but rock.
— Fallen asleep abreast a bonfire, swathed in a sleeping bag, mere miles from Uluru and staring at the purest blanket of stars I’ve ever seen, at 1 a.m.
— Woken three hours later, opening my eyes to the same desert stars with a smile on my face. (For the full weight of that statement, just ask my parents how much I enjoy getting out of bed before noon.)
— “Snuck” into a “museum” without “paying.” (The main attraction inside Alice Springs proper is the Royal Flying Doctor Museum. When I arrived no one was at the entrance gate, and the wide-open doors were begging me to save seven bucks. And what a good call that was - the exhibit was all of three rooms, filled only with cheap placards, old transistor radios, mannequins in doctor’s uniforms, and a flight simulator game. I'm still holding out hope that it's a practical joke.)
— Been so disgusted and disappointed with a township as I was by Alice Springs. With rampant, unartistic graffiti adorning almost ever public monument and plaque, trash choking out the main streets’ vegetation, and a homeless population — mostly Aboriginal, unwashed, unshaven, shoeless, and with children — at every turn, the town is truly a craphole. Furthermore, my Lonely Planet book informed me not to go wandering at night, a point I ignored at my peril (fortunately, the three youth who tailed me at 11:30 p.m. ended up wandering off after I headed toward my hostel. Never have I come so close to using my yellow-belt in tae kwan do.)
— Sat idly on the Alice Springs train platform, with everyone in their seats, waiting five (!!!) hours for the locomotive to be fixed. Without compensation, we still got to Darwin on time, but our four-hour break in Katherine got the axe. However, when we arrived for our brief stopover in Katherine, I had the chance to get out and stretch my legs. As the stop was outside the city limits, I wandered into the bush to see what I could. With nose-high grass, random termite mounds, and a few clumps of trees, I startled a couple packs of wallabies and glimpsed a flock of Wedge-Tailed Eagles. Upon returning to the train station, the train manager plopped down next to me, and this conversation ensued:
Manager, in semi-amazement: 'Was that you out in the bush earlier?
Me, flush-faced from the heat: 'Yeah, wanted to get some sun, see what was out there, you know.'
Manager, hearing my American accent, understanding I'm an idiot: 'Yeah, we were watching you from the locomotive. Now, you know we have the three deadliest snakes out there, right?'
Me: 'Uh….'
Manager, returning to semi-amazement: 'Sometimes we see them scurry across the track, so we were really just waiting for you to go down out there.'
Me, staring: '......'
Well, at least they were looking out for me.
— Spent 14 hours (traveling between Uluru/Kings Canyon/Kata Tjuta and Alice) in a car befriending a native Moldovan, and Italian technician, a Melbournian surfing dude and his travel agent quasi-girlfriend, a University of Arizona entrepreneur, a drunkardly tour-guide-in-training, a Buddhist/Aboriginal tour guide (who had taken private lessons from the Dalai Lama himself), and about 10 Japanese folks whose sole purpose seemed to be to sleep (and entertain us when their heads dropped and rose in unison).
— Actually completed - and enjoyed - a Victorian novel. The Moonstone, which T.S. Eliot ignorantly called ‘the first and best detective novel,’ kept me company through the long stretches of train-induced ennui, and was a thoroughly enjoyable read. It’s inspired my next trip: Traveling to India, stealing a palm-sized diamond, and seeing what kind of adventures follow me back to my English mansion. Hopefully, somewhere in there I’ll get to say, ‘Egads! The diamond has gone missing!’
— Known that ‘cockchafer’ was a word (check out Chapter 13 of H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds, which I began after the close of The Moonstone).
— Wanted another Darwin crocodile burger immediately after finishing off the first one. Halibut can’t hold water to this Mesozoic monster meat.
— Putted around on the lush Mary Ricer, flanked by elegant Brolgas, towering Jabiru, flocks of magpie geese, and Rajdah Ducks who were seemingly ignorant of the toothy dangers lurking not far from shore.
— Gazed, awe-struck at murdering machines, ravenous reptilian rapiers of regrettable repercussions, whose sole purpose in life is to wreak more havoc than (hopefully) Greg Oden: crocodiles. You can’t see it right now, but I’ve just broken out in a nervous sweat. Thankfully, I wasn’t the idiotic American of a few years ago who dove into the river to recover his memory card with a croc only 30 meters away.
— Heard tales of ‘salties’ (salt-water crocs) actually devouring ‘freshies’ (fresh-water crocs) and displaying their prize for a smattering of lucky tourists.
— Eaten the seeds of lilypads, chomped off the aphrodisiacal stem, and utilized the veiny, hairy top as a head-covering. And just like that, I learned how to survive in Kakadu National Park.
— Felt like the humidity in Darwin could actually choke you. Houston has nothing on this town.
— Explored the Darwin coastline’s Bicentennial Park, replete with palm fronds, squawking birds, and WWII memorials - the Japanese Pearl Harbor vets killed 292, including 91 on the USS Peary, on Feb. 19, 1942, and continued air raids through 1943.
— Seen plaques commemorating Cyclone Tracy, which, on the night of Christmas Eve, 1974, razed 60% of Darwin and bulldozed the few 19th-century buildings left untouched by the Japanese. Fortunately, my Tracy only bulldozes my heart…which probably doesn’t sound as romantic as I wanted it to .
— Met a former employee of Lehman Brothers, who not only lost his accrued bonuses (stock options), but also hasn’t cooked a meal in the last five years. Let’s hope he can figure out ramen.
— Felt desensitized - to the expansive rain forest, dewy sunrise, and
— Splashed in a fresh-water destination for the currently barren Jim Jim Falls (who will awaken with the wet season in a few weeks), surrounded by sociable fish, magmatized sandstone rocks, and a concave tower of sheer rock 110 meters high, creating optical illusions and a sense of swimming in Narnia.
— Failed to fathom what 5,000-year old artwork truly meant. Such a span is not only aged, but aged beyond compare. Maybe when I’m my parents’ age I’ll appreciate such ancientness more. Until then, I’ll just be glad I trekked across some hills where Crocodile Dundee was filmed.
— Banged across a road of rock and emptiness for nearly two hours, feeling like I was unwillingly giving my seat a lapdance. (Unfortunately, no money changed hands.)
— Created new, wonderfully non-linear tan lines on my back - seen by my tour group, a chatty kingfisher, and much of the city of Darwin - after I had explored Twin Falls. Fortunately, I shelled out for a t-shirt, although the selection was limited to beer advertisements and sexual innuendo.
— Had someone recognize a Rice Owls hat (thanks Jon and Beth!) while I, with nothing better to do, strolled to a screening of Eagle Eye.
— Had two Korean girls, who both spoke with broken English, titter to one another after they heard my name. ‘Casey’s a girl’s name!’, they laughed. Using that as inspiration, I’ve formulated the motif of the start of my autobiography: investigating how many people named Casey are gentlemen and scholars (such as my ego-stroking self).
— Listened to so much damn Colplay in my life (so much for putting random songs on my iPod shuffle).
— Stared up at a 65-year old, six-meter high termite mound. Since vacated, we couldn’t decide if the tower was the termite government’s high-rise project or actually a once-catchy abode that had fallen on hard times.
— Spent two week traveling through the southern pastorals, central deserts, and northern rain forests of Australia, with no companions, no shaving, no cell phones (save for wishing Tracy a happy 21st), and only one backpack - and finally realized that my study-abroad education was not going to be found in a classroom.
*Until these last two weeks
Videos, in case you missed them:
The greatest commercial of all time?
[Thanks to Common Sense Dancing]
The greatest movie of all time?
1 comments:
Casey, I don't know what you're talking about. Greatest commercial of all-time? No way does it top the Budweiser commercial with the three lizards.
Say it with me: Bud-wei-ser.
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