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A few hours south from Perth, in the “lower left corner” of Australia, is the Margaret River region. Known for its coastline, wineries, caves, and old growth forests, it had a surprising number of attractions in a relatively compact area – at least by Australian standards. However, it’s not very accessible by public transportation, so the price of entry was renting a car. I don’t mind long road trips in the US, but I had been rattled by driving in New Zealand. The difficulty in NZ was a combination of a large vehicle, roads that were narrow and curvy, being on the opposite side of the road, and not being well rested. After initially losing my confidence, I gradually gained it back, eventually driving solo from Christchurch to Picton. Later, I also drove in Tasmania. So I had a little experience behind the wheel in Australia. Approaching the Margaret River trip, a lot of things were now in my favor. My brain had largely acclimated to the idea of left-side traffic. I rented a small vehicle. My mysterious back pain in late 2023 had faded away, improving my quality of sleep. The roads in WA were generally wider and straighter. Still, I hadn’t driven a car in the intervening 4 months, and I was driving by myself, so there was some uncertainty going into the trip. The moment of truth. I picked up my Kia Sorrento from a rental company called No Birds, located a short walk from the Fremantle Prison. The days and hours leading up were full of careful preparation. I had studied the maps (including street views) and had all the stops planned out. I was caffeinated and had an emergency Red Bull. I installed a phone cradle so I could see the GPS without taking my eyes off the road. And all this preparation paid off! The first 1-hour leg went smoothly. The second leg was similarly uneventful. I stopped just shy of Busselton at a sleepy little country café. The city was currently hosting a triathlon weekend, and there were several road closures in effect. I checked traffic, and saw that things had mercifully cleared up for the day. 15 minutes and a few roundabouts later, I was parked in Busselton. I had a healthy buffer before my time slot at the Busselton Jetty, so I explored the town. There were some incredible parks, with enormous play structures in the form of ships and sea monsters. The triathlon was done for the day, but the event precinct was still busy with food trucks and bike repairs. A Christian lady tried to ambush me with a religious pitch while I put on my sunscreen. The jetty is a whopping 1.8km long, and my tour included a ride on the mini train that runs its length. The electric locomotive had both train wheels and car tires. When it completed each one-way journey, it went off the rails (literally), and reattached to the opposite side. The cars were small, and 6 of us were shoulder-to shoulder in a little compartment. It got colder and windier as we headed farther out to sea. The pedestrians we passed looked exhausted. At the end of the jetty was an Underwater Observatory, a 3-story hollow tube that was bolted to the ocean floor. It was constructed near Fremantle, tugged along in the ocean, and then sunk to the bottom. It’s only 1 of 6 natural aquariums in the world. In this case, it provided views of the coral reef that had formed on the jetty supports. The corals were brought down by the Leeuwin Current, a flow along the coast of Western Australia that brings warm water from the tropics to a surprisingly southern latitude. There had been recent storms (i.e. the rainbows on Rottnest) that had churned up the water, so the visibility wasn’t perfect, but it kicked up food for the corals and fish, so they were active. There were some pretty striped fish, but the soft corals were the real stars. The jetty was covered with structures that looked like red tentacles. On each tentacle, there were dozens of white, flower-like coral polyps. The tentacles jostled with the ocean current, a mesmerizing kinetic sculpture. In videos, it looks slightly uncanny but in real life it was wondrous. A guide provided a 15-minute talk when we entered the observatory, and then we had 30 minutes to gaze and photograph to our hearts’ content. Though the windows spanned multiple levels, there were relatively few on each level. Fun fact, the outside surface of the observatory is also covered in corals, apart from the windows which they clean. The train took us back to the edge of town, and I hopped in the car again. It was a short drive to the place I was staying for the night, with an address on "Caves Road." I had originally reached out a Servas host in Busselton. She was unavailable, but kindly referred me to her friends Sue and Geoff. The couple were former Servas hosts, called out of retirement by this referral, and agreed to host me. It was an unconventional premise, but it ended up working out brilliantly. The two of them had lived in the area for 40 years, and seen it change around them. They mentioned the introduction of the wine industry, damage from a major cyclone in the 1980s, the migration of kangaroo mobs as more farmland was cleared, rising housing prices as the local airport became more accessible, and the death of trees from this year’s extreme dryness. They told stories of their travels in remote areas of Australia, like getting trapped in the mud near Lake Eyre or needing a replacement car part flown to an isolated village in the NT when their car broke down. The conversation was complemented by a filling dinner of rogan josh and local red wine, which really hit the spot after snacking my way through the day. Geoff had played mandolin growing up, and nowadays plays ukelele. He brought out a special mandolin he purchased in Italy and played a few tunes for me. Apparently, he had just hosted a ukelele jam session in their house the night before! I guess that WA is ukelele country. The next morning, we had breakfast and walked the dog, an English Springer Spaniel named Finn. The backyard was full of delights, both small and large, from a frog climbing their hat rack to several Tuart trees, a rare species that only grows in the area. Their house was connected to the beach. In the distance, Geoff pointed out the beach where a hundred pilot whales had been stranded the week before, making national news. I also got a full tour of the garage and vegetable garden. As the name implies, Caves Road connects a string of limestone caves. They span the region between Cape Naturaliste to the north and Cape Leeuwin to the south. Around the capes are some beautiful and rugged beaches, popular surfing destinations (including the home of the Margaret River Pro), and a popular multiday hike called the Cape to Cape Track. Over the course of 2 days, I worked my way from north to south, alternating between beaches and caves, with an overnight stop in the town of Margaret River. I’ll start by describing the beaches and town, and finish with the caves! After leaving Sue and Geoff’s, I made two quick stops at Meelup Beach and Eagle Bay. They had lovely white sand and a few boulders to scramble over. A few photos were sufficient before moving on. The third stop was the Cape Naturaliste lighthouse, on the edge of Geographe Bay. These two places are named for the ships of French explorer Jacques Hamelin. The land was covered in multicolor shrubs, all orange and yellow and green. I embarked on an hourlong hike that went down from the lighthouse to the beach. An area called “Other Side of the Moon” had pockmarked stones and hollowed out plateaus that indeed looked from a different planet. I stopped and had a snack on top of a sand dune, watching the wild and tubular waves. As I headed south along the rugged coast, I stopped at two jagged rock formations. One was Sugarloaf Rock, a pointy behemoth just off the shore. The other was the Canal Rocks, which had a footbridge over a cauldron of violently churning water. I spotted some vibrant purple crabs while exploring the tide pools. Afterwards, I climbed to the top of the rock formation and had a container of leftovers from Sue and Geoff while watching the crashing waves send plumes of foam rocketing into the air. The last beach I visited was called Hamelin Bay. I had heard there were stingrays that frequented the shallows, but I didn’t realize how enormous they would be! I first spotted one from atop a sand dune. It was camouflaged against the seaweed and obscured by surface reflection, but unmistakably a ray. The best viewing was by the boat launch ramp. Nearby were some old jetty timbers, a mystical archway like the floating torii gates in Japan. The rays lingered here longer, flapping their wings above the surface and riding the tides towards the ankles of the curious onlookers. Families with young kids joined forces with camera-wielding tourists to form a small but dedicated “ray watch” to track their movements. As a ray lover myself, it was such a cool opportunity to see them up close in the wild! Thanks to the clear water, I could see them in detail. Including the sharp stinger, so I kept a healthy distance. As I was leaving the beach, a local fisherwoman pointed out something in the water. It turned out to be a shark, with its fin and tail breaching the surface as it pursued some fish scraps the person had cast away. A good reminder of why I don’t tend to swim at Australian beaches! The drive into Margaret River was incredibly beautiful. It was golden hour, and the orange light was filtering through the vineyards and peaceful mobs of grazing kangaroos. The road became lined with majestic Karri trees – more on those in the next post. There was even a fragment of rainbow in the distance. My brief stint in the town of Margaret River was very enjoyable. Lodging options were limited, so I stayed in a funky antique hotel, which ended up being delightfully strange. There was a small foyer with an arc-shaped couch and retro travel posters. The room itself had thick red curtains, decorative wooden paneling on the walls, and two separate patios. One patio was above an Italian restaurant. For several hours the room was filled with upbeat Italian pop music, which I didn't mind. Since the area is known for its food and alcohol offerings, I treated myself to a meal out at the Margaret River Beer Company. It was already dark, and I spotted a tawny frogmouth owl in the forested section of the walk there. At the brewery, I had a choice between a flight of 3 beers or 8 beers. Go big or go home! The small glasses are called ponies, so on the receipt, my enormous crate was tagged as the “Pony Pallet." While I worked my way through the selection, I listened to a live guitarist and snacked on chips. Of the lineup, my favorite beers were all on the dark side – a “red IPA,” a brown ale, and a stout. The next morning, I did a short walk along the town’s namesake river, which was lush and reflective. I also stopped in a bottle shop to pick up some wine for later. Since I didn’t have a designated driver, I sadly had to omit the wine tastings from my itinerary. Still, I was able to end the day with this store-bought sauvignon blanc from the nearby Leeuwin Estate. My interest in caves was piqued a few months earlier by the Skocjan Caves in Slovenia. While in WA, I visited three different caves on Caves Road. Though none as large as Skocjan, they were all picturesque and had their own character. The first was Ngilgi Cave (pronounced “nil-ghee”). Right off the bat, it had a stunning chamber called the Auditorium. Its wide ceiling was coated in thousands of petite stalactites. Due to its good acoustics, it occasionally hosts live music performances. The pathway descended into another set of chambers, with some low boulders that were hazardous for the taller guests. The two highlights of the inner Ngilgi Cave were the shawls and the jewel box. Shawls are thin, sharkfin-shaped stalactities that form on angled rocks. Some had beautiful layers of red and white. The red color comes from tannins (think red wine) that filter into the cave from the topsoil. The jewel box was a tiny little chamber the size of a dollhouse. It’s easy to walk past, but when peeping through its natural windows, there are some literal hidden gems on the tips of the stalactites. It wasn’t too crowded in the late afternoon, and at one point I paused to sit on a bench between the two main chambers. This deep underground, the silence was deafening. The second was Lake Cave, the most “active” cave with frequent water droplets, carrying limestone to new places. The guide pointed out limestone deposits on the manmade walkway, where baby stalagmite nubs were already forming. The entrance to Lake Cave was a doline, a sinkhole formed after the limestone ceiling collapsed. Tall eucalyptus trees rose up and out of this dramatic doline. The water inside the Lake Cave created a stunning reflection that amplified the beauty of the stalactites and stalagmites. Changing water levels created a magnificent “table” formation, which was the centerpiece. A thick pillar of rock suspended a wide sheet of rock above the water’s surface. The hovering table was inches above the lake, but its underside could be glimpsed by its reflection. Another unique formation was a hollow pool, carved in a stalagmite, and filled with rounded spheres of limestone called "pearls." The edges of the pool had ridges like brain coral. At the deepest part of the cave, the guide turned off the lights for a moment to appreciate its utter darkness. He also activated some colorful effect lights, illuminating formations like a dragon. The third and final cave I visited was the Jewel Cave. It was the most popular of the three, with a large and diverse tour group including a few small children. The tour started in the impressive main chamber and followed a fun route through several smaller chambers. Though the stalactites were less picturesque, there were a few unique features like “pendulites,” which resembled a pendulum. There were also squiggly stalactites that looked like tree roots but were purely rock. Many of these caves contained fossils of ancient megafauna, the ancestors of kangaroos and wombats. These animals had fallen into the cave depths, where their bones were protected from scavengers and the elements. The Jewel Cave even had thylacine (Tasmanian Tiger) bones from when its range extended beyond Tasmania.
The road trip was off to a thrilling start. The dazzling caves, scenic coastline, and friendly stingrays had already justified the effort of renting and driving a car. Staying with Sue and Geoff was a surprise bonus that uplifted my spirits along the way. Up next... the fabulous forests.
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Rottnest Island is only 19km off the coast from Fremantle and is easily reached by ferry. Here, it’s all about the quokkas. What is a quokka? It’s a small marsupial, like a wallaby shrunk to the size of housecat, with a charming smile and curious personality. They are extremely photogenic, due to their tendency to approach humans and look up at the camera. In the Instagram era, the tradition of taking a “quokka selfie” has become so popular that it’s heresy to leave the island without one. The Dutch explorers mistook the quokkas for rats – their tails are indeed a bit rat-like – and named the island “Rottnest” (Rat’s Nest) in their honor. While mostly extinct on mainland Australia, the quokkas are abundant on Rottnest. All the shops in the main tourist village had heavy plastic quokka gates, intended to stop them from getting in. Unsuccessfully, I might add. I saw several quokkas begging for scraps at the bakery tables. The quokkas had a tendency to loiter around garbage cans, so a jaded Aussie might still spitefully call them “rats.” The day started in Perth, where I finished up my Servas stay and hopped on the bus to Fremantle. Also journeying to Freo that morning were a group of Aboriginal locals, including three boisterous ladies who appeared to be drunk at 11:00am and a large man who reeked of body odor. From the other riders’ reactions, this did not seem to be a typical occurrence. In Freo, I stopped by a local sandwich shop called Peggy’s and picked up two sandwiches, one for lunch and another for dinner. Both were absolutely delicious, including a flavorful pesto roast beef and the most deluxe BLT that I’ve ever had. I made sure to puppy guard this precious food from the seagulls at the ferry terminal, who were keeping a close eye. The ferry was uncrowded. Most people visit on a day trip from Perth, whereas I was traveling from Fremantle and staying for 2 nights. On the island, I picked up the keys from the information desk and began the hike from the main settlement to Kingstown, where the hostel was located. It was walkable, but long enough to get pitiful looks from people on bikes. At the very end, a sympathetic bus driver let me hop on for free. The hostel was located in the Kingstown Barracks, an old military settlement from the WWII era. At the time, Rottnest was fortified to protect Fremantle from a naval attack. Since I had a few hours of daylight, I hiked into the hills along a historical trail that linked several military bunkers. It was a rainy, moody afternoon. The perfect balance of tranquil and creepy. As I walked through the drizzly forest along an old rail line, originally used to transport ammunition, it felt like exploring a video game map. When I reached the top, a quokka scurried away from the center of the gun turret base. It was a funny juxtaposition. I thought of an innocent little quokka firing an enormous cannon. At the entrance to the outpost, a king skink flashed its tongue before slowly retreating inside, its scaly belly rasping on the wet concrete floor. The eerie hike continued down to the beach, which was beautiful even on a gray day. I encountered more skinks, including one that didn’t budge so I had to leap over it, and several of the bobtail variety. Eventually I reached a second gunnery, where I had my BLT sandwich. There were great views of the rocky shore, large cylindrical water tanks, and a few stray quokkas in the bush. The only annoyance was the ugly cawing of the crows. For whatever reason, all the crows in WA had the most whiny, pained caws. The barracks attracted a strange mix. There was an Eastern European-sounding lady who left full cups of tea everywhere, a nice Asian lady with a persistent cough, and two Australian men with an odd-couple dynamic. The large dorm had plenty of vacancies, but the hostel owner had assigned everyone beds in the same corner. Elsewhere in the complex, there were school groups with occasional bursts of playground energy. And at night, the lawn was filled with nibbling quokkas, who sometimes wandered onto the hostel’s porch. Quirks aside, it was a wonderful historic building with all the essentials, including a kitchen that I used to make a pasta dinner the second night. Having a full day on Rottnest gave me the ability to embark on an ambitious biking adventure: the 22km loop around the entire island. Since there are no cars and only a few buses, riding a bike is the perfect way to get around. The bike rental was enormous, with the largest fleet I’ve ever seen. I arrived during the morning rush when they opened at 8:30, so the pickup process was somewhat impersonal. The only guidance given was a flatly delivered: “try not to hit a quokka.” Rottnest had so many amazing beaches, it would be futile to attempt cataloging them all. I probably made 15-20 stops, hopping off the bike whenever it struck my fancy. The stops all had a bike rack and a wooden staircase with beach access. It was a perfect day to have hiking sandals, as I could jump off my bike and walk straight into the shallow, clear water. The sheltered coves were a bright turquoise color with dark patches of seaweed, while the shoreline exposed to the open ocean was dark and frothy. There were often interesting rock formations, from jagged layers to hollowed out archways. At the far western tip, there was a seal colony and an osprey nest. I saw an osprey fly by with a fish in its talons. It was one of those remote places with an aura of last refuge. Looking out to the Indian Ocean, the nearest continent was 3000km in any direction. One of my favorite beaches was the picturesque Marjorie Bay. It felt like I had stumbled into a travel advertisement. The sand was soft and vibrantly tan. The water was blue and foamy. Even the rocks looked like the cover of my Australia guidebook. Did I mention it was completely deserted? I put my phone camera on a timer and took some silly jumping photos. Towards the end of the bike loop, I arrived back in the settled area, and stopped at Pinky Beach. At the foot of a picturesque lighthouse, I took a dip in the water and dried off in the sun. The waves were picking up and I could hear thunder in the distance, so I didn’t dwell too long. I made it back to the barracks just as a burst of rain arrived. The rain subsided, and I ventured out again, which turned out to be an excellent decision. The skies were simply bursting with activity! There was a full rainbow to the east, a gorgeous sunset to the west, and a lightning storm to the south. During this golden hour, the sand turned a beautiful shade of orange. Nature knows how to put on a good show. The quokkas, more active at dusk, continued to put on a good show too. On my last Rottnest morning, I balanced my duffel bag on the bike rack and rode from Kingstown to the main village. I returned the bike and waited for my ferry in the town square, savoring my last quokka encounter. As a transition between my visit to Rottnest and my road trip to Margaret River, I booked one night at a hostel in Fremantle, which had a unique location… within the Fremantle Prison! The prison was built by convict labor in the 1850s and continued operating until 1991. Hence, it had many layers of history, from colonial to modern. The hostel itself was in the former women’s prison, a self-contained wing. I wandered around its halls, lounges, and courtyards, which were more inviting than expected. However, it was still a prison with plenty of concrete and fenced areas. Since I arrived before check-in, I had to temporarily put my luggage in the storage room. The room had an enormous lock and key, which inspired confidence in my bag’s safety while I headed off to the Fremantle Market. The Fremantle Market started back in 1897 and is housed in a beautiful building. Inside was a bustling food court with a dizzying selection of international cuisines, and a more relaxed area with arts and crafts. Many of the artistic wares featured Fremantle landmarks and humor, like a giraffe trying to flirt with the long-necked cranes in the shipyard. I also loved the quirky art style of Stunned Emu Designs. That night, I managed to get a spot on the prison’s Torchlight Tour, which covers some of the darker and spookier elements of the site. The charismatic guide Simon was oozing with humor and energy from the very beginning, calling out “guilty… guilty… guilty” as each attendee was admitted. He was one of the most entertaining guides I’ve encountered anywhere in the world. Not only did he nail the info delivery, but he did a great job of involving audience members. For example, at the flogging post, he had a girlfriend pretend to whip her boyfriend, and hilarity ensued. He also filled the gaps between stops by singing little songs, like “Ring of Fire” when trying to get people into a circle. The tour had some built-in jump scares, including an actor who popped out of a solitary confinement cell to deliver a creepy monologue, which thoroughly freaked out several members of the group. There were also some sobering moments, like a visit to the gallows, where 44 people were hanged. Simon dutifully described how the hangings were carried out, with details that would likely be omitted on the daytime tours. If they couldn’t stand, the prisoner could be seated when the trapdoor opened; the chair was tethered with a string, so it wouldn’t break on the bottom of the pit. The hostel bed was surprisingly comfortable, and I slept well even after the haunting torchlight tour. Between the Kingstown Barracks and now the Fremantle Prison, I was soaking up a lot of history at night.
All in all, the quokkas lived up to the hype and Rottnest Island really surprised me with its amazing beaches. The biking tour was my single favorite day of my 2 weeks in WA. Perth: the most isolated city in the world. When I first started planning my yearlong trip back in 2023, its remote location in Western Australia beckoned to me. What could be hiding in this corner of the world? At long last, I was about to experience “WA”! In some ways, Perth is like the child of Sydney of Melbourne. It’s defined by its location on the Swan River, similar to Melbourne on the Yarra. But it’s also a short distance from a string of amazing beaches, like Sydney and Bondi. The Perth CBD is a fusion of the two larger cities, with the modern quays and promenades of Sydney and the quirky laneways and public squares of Melbourne. But of course, everything on a smaller scale, which makes it more relaxed. Some of the key landmarks included Elizabeth Quay, a ferry terminal with an artistic bridge, surrounded by a ring of cafes, sculptures, and playgrounds. Nearby in Barrack Square was the glass Bell Tower, recently named in the controversial “Top 100 Most Boring Tourist Attractions in the World.” I also stumbled across the newly renovated Yagan Square, an echo of Melbourne’s Fed Square, celebrating its reopening with a special weekend festival. After all this exploring, I treated myself to a cinnamon scroll at a cafe across from the square. I was fortunate to stay with a Servas host named Shirley, a kind and energetic woman who picked me up from the airport. Originally from the north island of New Zealand, she had lived in Perth for over 20 years. Her son Ed, a geologist, was also living at her house. Ed was recovering from the financial ripples of a bust in the mining industry and a difficult divorce, but you wouldn’t guess from his chipper attitude and non-stop jokes. For part of my visit, two of Ed’s teenage kids were also under the same roof. They emerged for dinner and were coaxed to stay for a game of cards called Seven of Diamonds. Shirley later told me she valued the ability of the game to bring everyone together. Shirley had a very interesting life story. After growing up in a rural area, she studied horticulture and worked in the New Zealand kiwifruit industry. However, as the only woman in this area, her career progression was limited despite her tremendous success. She ended up moving to China and living there for a few years, an impactful chapter that often featured in her stories. She also overcame an unsuccessful marriage and the loss of her daughter to cancer. Eventually, she moved to Perth to be closer to Ed (whose mining career had brought him to WA) and worked as an ESL teacher. Nowadays, she teaches ukelele, finding particular joy in creating a community for other transplants like herself. Shirley even has her own ukelele song book that she lovingly compiled. On my first day, I was invited to join a jam session that Shirley attends as a regular member. Happening once a month, the jam was very well organized by a music teacher. The teacher had selected and distributed a song list, including some repeats and some new pieces. The teacher played guitar at the front of the group, and was accompanied by a keyboard, bass, and drum player. The attendees were a general audience, mainly retirees, and playing a mix of ukelele and guitar. Shirley had contacted the teacher in advance and arranged a guitar for me. Since the chord fingerings were provided on the sheet music, I was able to play along. Everyone was super friendly and accommodating to their unexpected guest guitarist. The teacher made sure to highlight the songs by Australian artists for my benefit, and I had some nice conversations during the coffee break intermission. As I was still jet-lagged and had just met Shirley hours earlier, the whole thing was a bit surreal. Still, it was memorable and good fun! Dinner conversation with Shirley and Ed was a key part of the experience. One night, Ed grilled some delicious steak and corn, served with wine. Another night, I prepared a round of jambalaya and sampled local beers. The food and drink greased the wheels for deep conversations about family history and politics. Ed and Shirley were more politically conservative than other Australians I had the chance to meet, and I learned a lot from their perspectives. Ed expressed frustration with Aboriginal landowners because of the expensive cultural surveys needed as a pre-requisite for mining. Shirley saw the prime minister as being too soft. Both of them were articulate and backed up their opinions with anecdotes, though at times I found the anecdotes to be a little reductive. It was fascinating and insightful. Shirley’s place was conveniently located near a train station. Getting to the CBD only required a smooth 20-minute train ride across the Swan River. Along the way, I glimpsed harbors full of boats and a few of Perth’s iconic black swans. The first Europeans to arrive in Perth were baffled by these black swans, leading to the river’s name. The term “black swan event” was definitely not coined in Perth! There were plenty of other things coined in Perth, and I learned all about them at the Perth Mint. When gold was discovered near Kalgoorlie, 600km away, it started the 1890s gold rush. A branch of the British Royal Mint was opened in Perth in 1899, so the fresh gold haul could be struck into sovereigns. Eventually production was shifted to bullion bars, and later to Australia’s own coin designs. Nowadays, the Perth Mint does specialty jobs, while Canberra has taken over for circulating currency. The tour guide spoke fast but conveyed a lot of information in a short time. He also performed a gold pouring demo in a special theater. The molten gold, mostly liquid with a few glowing chunks, was poured into a bar shape and cooled down before our eyes. This same gold bar gets melted and cooled multiple times a day for years on end without deteriorating. The Perth Mint also had an impressive array of exhibits, including the world’s largest gold coin, stamped with a kangaroo and a face value of $1 million AUD. There were enormous gold nuggets and silver specimens, a gold bar you could try to pick up (it was well secured), a scale that would calculate “your weight’s worth in gold,” a place you could get custom-engraved coins, and archives of Australian coin designs over time. I thoroughly enjoyed the Perth Mint’s blend of mining history, materials science, and coin collecting. I visited two other attractions in the CBD, the Art Gallery of West Australia (AGWA) and the Boola Bardip Museum. The AGWA was free and worth browsing. I enjoyed a Yhonnie Scarce glassblowing exhibition. In her work, glass yams were used to represent nuclear fallout from the Maralinga bomb testing site. There was also a gallery of student projects that showcased Perth’s ethnic diversity, with some thought-provoking pieces. The Boola Bardip museum, meaning “many stories,” covered the natural history and human history of the area. I learned about indigenous customs and European industries like mining, logging, and raising livestock. There were excellent displays on biodiversity. Australia has so many unique animals. Just when I got down the difference between a bilby and a bettong, I was confronted with even more marsupials: the numbat, the quenda, the mulgara, and more! There wasn’t sufficient time to absorb it all. One small display that caught my attention was a classical guitar built by Greg Smallman in Esperance, WA. This luthier came up with the lattice brace construction technique, the same technique used in my own guitar back home. Every city in Australia, big or small, seems to have a botanic garden. Perth’s offering was the impressive King’s Park, located on a bluff with views of the CBD and Swan River. There were so many pockets to explore. A raised walkway through a forest canopy offered peeks into tree holes where lorikeets and galahs were nesting. A staircase shaped like DNA was a cleverly designed viewing platform. There was a giant boab tree, which made a long road trip from its original location in northern Australia. The park had kookaburras, but as I learned at the Boola Bardip museum, they are not native to WA. They were introduced by some Europeans who thought WA’s forests were too quiet. I guess the kookaburras got the last laugh. So much of Western Australia’s treasures are in the remote northwest corner, including Ningaloo Reef and the Kimberley. Though alluring, I felt these areas were too remote for a solo road trip, or too expensive for a guided tour. To get a brief taste, I signed up for a day trip from Perth to the sand dunes and rock formations about 3 hours’ drive to the north. The stacked itinerary included sandboarding, the Pinnacles, dinner, and stargazing. Sandboarding on the Lancelin dunes was a thrilling experience! It was my first time trying sandboarding, and somehow I ended up being the first from the group to give it a go. It turned out to be more like sledding than snowboarding. But it could pick up speed, and trying to stay onboard was part of the thrill. A few people tried standing up, usually tumbling off as the board lost momentum. After each round was an arduous climb to the ridgeline, where a constant stream of wind greeted us with sand in the face. It stuck to my sunscreen-covered arms and neck. There were far fewer boards than people, but waiting in line gave a chance to enjoy the views of the ocean. I loved how the sand was jarringly white, a total contrast from the red sands of Uluru. It was also surprisingly cold, so no risk of burning ones' feet. The other main stop on the tour was seeing the Pinnacles of Nambung National Park. The pinnacles were surprising in their quantity – vast plains filled with these tombstone-like pillars. The van traced the park’s main road, an unpaved dirt track marked only with a perimeter of stones. At times the pinnacles were just outside the boundary, looming precariously close to the windows as we drove by. The tour wasn’t really a guided tour, and we were let loose to wander through the pinnacles at our own pace while the “guides” prepared dinner. I took lots of silly photos with the rocks and admired the sunset over the desert. Dinner was a surprisingly good, a spread of salads and sausages. It also included self-pour wine, both a blessing and a curse. Two women from NSW who had been friendly-chatty now became annoying-chatty. As we transitioned into the stargazing part of the tour, they loudly called out every passing satellite (of which there were many). One of the guides, who already had a proclivity for unhelpful banter, squabbled with the tipsy ladies while everyone else tried to enjoy the night sky. I’m glad I already had an amazing stargazing tour in Uluru, because this one was a disappointment. After three days revolving around Perth, my attention then shifted towards Fremantle, its ocean-based sister city. "Freo" is known for its active port and seafaring legacy. I thought it was fitting to start my visit at the Shipwreck Museum. (Also fitting was the weather, suddenly stormy after several perfect days.) WA has experienced its fair share of shipwrecks. During the 1600s, ships from the Dutch East India Company sailed around the tip of Africa and towards its port in modern Indonesia. The original route hugged the coast of Africa and India, but the Dutch discovered it was more efficient to power on east, and later turn north. The problem was, they didn’t have instruments for measuring longitude, so they had to guess when to turn. Ships that didn’t turn soon enough hit the west coast of Australia. The museum’s centerpiece was the hull of the Batavia, one of these unlucky Dutch ships. However, the wreck that really stood out was a steam ship called the SS Xantho which sank in 1872. When it was discovered, the steam engine was covered in concretion – a mix of corrosion and undersea growth. Since no working engines (nor their drawings) had survived from this era, an elaborate marine archaeology project was kicked off. The concretion was removed, the corrosion was chemically stopped, and after over 100 years underwater, it was restored to the point the engine could be cranked. A remarkable feat. Afterwards, I went across the street to Cicerello’s, a fish & chips fixture. The inside was decorated with multiple aquariums. The beautiful fish were unaware of the irony. From the ceiling, hanging kayaks with shark bites were a reminder that humans could also be on the menu. I washed the food down with a flight of beers from the neighboring brewery, called Little Creatures, a reference to microscopic yeast. The flight was superb, especially after a salty meal. The weather started to improve, so I worked my way north towards Cottesloe Beach. Along the way, I passed the Dingo Flour factory, a Fremantle landmark that’s visible to both trains and ships. The dingo logo has now found its way onto beer cans, posters, and t-shirts. I crossed the train tracks via a funky boardwalk and arrived at the beach. WA has some of the most luscious sand I’ve ever encountered, soft and coherent like cookie dough. It felt great on the feet. As I walked north while carrying my shoes, small waves crashed into the gentle slope with an outsized boom. In some places, seaweed had accumulated into natural levees. Eventually the sand ended, and I had to put my shoes back on. The overland pathway passed an elaborate sundial and then descended to the Cottesloe Beach jetty. There were a few fishermen and tourists, but otherwise this popular beach was quiet. I had a few errands that brought me back to the CBD and then got hungry. The local Woolworth’s had some decent hot food options, including dumplings and curry bowls, so I picked up a basic dinner and enjoyed it on Elizabeth Quay, dressed up in its evening colors. I looked up at the skyline. After talking with Ed, I now recognized the names on the skyscrapers – mining companies, like BHP and Rio Tinto. For better or worse, I had found something that made Perth distinct from other Australian cities.
Melbourne had skipped from summer right into winter. I heard that some locals try to avoid turning on their heat before ANZAC Day, on April 25th, but this was a year that needed it sooner. After several frigid nights, a new flatmate named Zachary convinced the property manager to turn on the building’s heating. Zachary was older than the other residents. He had long hair and a beard, giving him a rougher appearance, but he had a soft and friendly voice. We often talked in the kitchen as he prepared his healthy lunches for his government office job. He had just returned to Australia after living in Spain for many years, so while he was technically from the area, he wasn’t yet re-assimilated. I asked him about how people observe ANZAC Day. He didn’t think the military was that important to Aussie society, but did mention a workplace ANZAC biscuit contest. The International Comedy Festival was entering its last weekend. One of Gail’s friends had purchased a two-for-one ticket, and she offered me the extra one. There were six of us in total, and we started with a dinner at Bossley in the CBD. While at dinner, Gail and her friend Angela recognized someone they worked with a long time ago. The food and ambiance were excellent. I had a mushroom ravioli and a “Bloody Shiraz” gin spritz. The triple-fried chips were also a hit with the table, which included the gregarious Helen and James. It turned out the comedy show was just upstairs. The performer was a Venezuelan-Australian named Ivan Aristeguieta, who poked fun at both Venezuelan and Aussie culture. He did a hilarious impression of an Aussie trying to pronounce his last name. Early in the act, an audience heckler asked him if living under the Albanese government was worse than the Maduro regime, which Ivan deflected. The jokes had the audience rolling. With comedy as his one job, he had time to ponder the small mysteries of life, so we didn’t have to. Why is there no word for “accountability” in Spanish and Italian? Does this explain their lack of it? And how modern sayings like “strike while the iron is hot” don’t resonate. There are no blacksmiths anymore; the only modern workers with aprons and beards are instead making coffee. There were some excellent recurring jokes, like the absorbent abilities of the Australian breakfast cereal Weetbix and different cultures’ versions of “punch buggy.” The Venezuelan version is “fosforito” (little matchstick) and is called out when a ginger person is sighted. We returned to Bossley for dessert, but since it was now loud in the main restaurant, we sat in the lobby. Half the group ordered at the counter, and half ordered by QR code. When the food didn’t arrive, we checked in with the staff. But once it started arriving, it kept on arriving… until we had two of everything! Double tiramisu, double Snickers, double tea, and double wine. I couldn’t stop laughing as each incremental item was delivered. We got more than our just desserts! As my travel plans started to fill up the month of May, I realized I was slowly running out of time to see Melbourne’s attractions. Over the next few days, I crossed off several destinations that had been lingering on my Melbourne bucket list. One afternoon, I visited the Abbotsford Convent, a short bus ride away. In the late 1800s, it was a rooming house for young women with nowhere else to go: orphans or wards of the state. The convent did not receive external funding and forced these women to do laundry and mend clothes in order to subsidize the operation. Nowadays, it’s the largest community arts center in Australia, with workshops and storefronts for local artisans, cafes, performing arts venues, and a kid-friendly farm. It was mostly deserted when I visited, and a bit creepy wandering between the austere buildings. I decided it was a benign haunted house. Yes, there was disembodied bassoon music and faint shrieks in the distance, but it was only a chamber music rehearsal and the neighboring sheep paddock. I stopped to chat with a jeweler who used repurposed materials like wire insulation in her creations. As the sun set, I walked from the Abbotsford Convent to Yarra Bend Park to revisit the fruit bat colony and see them take flight. The colony was smaller in April compared to my first impression in January, but there were still thousands. The moon was almost full, a wonderful backdrop to this natural show. I also got to enjoy a view of the city skyline at night. Philip Island is one of the biggest tourist attractions in Victoria. It’s famous for its evening penguin parade, where the little penguins return from the ocean and waddle up the beach to their hillside nests. Since it’s a few hours drive from Melbourne and not accessible by public transport, I decided to take a guided tour with a company called Go West. It included some additional stops that ended up being equally enjoyable as the penguins. The first was at Brighton Beach, home of the famous colorful bathing boxes. From classic stripes to elaborate murals, the 80 boxes are easy to appreciate and a fun background for photos. Owning a box is a status symbol in this affluent beach suburb, and the prices are exorbitant. The driver-guide was very talkative at the beginning of the day and offered good information. Though after taking enough tours in Australia, some of the information felt a little entry-level. The second stop was at Moonlit Sanctuary. I was a little skeptical this would be worthwhile, as I had already visited similar zoos in Tasmania and Kangaroo Island. I still had a lot of fun! I bought a container of food and gave out free samples to the cute wallabies (and pademelons?) which honestly never gets old. I even coaxed the shiest wallaby, alone in a corner, to hop over for a taste. The ducks at Moonlit, also interested in the food mix, were quite aggressive and boxed out the poor little pademelons. The keeper talk was also a highlight of Moonlit. It featured a bettong, a marsupial that I’d heard of but never seen before, a pink cockatoo doing tricks, and a tawny frogmouth owl. The tawny frogmouth is excellent at pretending to be a branch on a tree; it had been onstage the whole time, unnoticed until the keeper pointed it out! Finally, we reached Philip Island itself. We stopped at the beautiful, rugged coastline in an area called the Nobbies. The boardwalk had great views of the waves crashing into the rocky shore. There were also swamp wallabies and echnidnas browsing for food on the hillsides. The area was full of tourists on a similar itinerary, including a man with the longest selfie stick I’ve ever seen. The penguin colony is the largest is Victoria, with about 35,000 to 40,000 residents. My expectations were high, as this vastly outnumbered the Dunedin penguin colony that I had seen a few months prior in New Zealand. I had been in Dunedin on a good night, when about 300 of the 500 penguins returned from sea. I figured even a bad night on Philip Island would be an order of magnitude better. While I didn’t get the penguin count for evening, I would guess it was about the same the previous night, which had 1200. The catch was that the Philip Island beach was also wider. The penguins had three different paths they could take from the beach into the hills, and one was a lot more heavily trafficked. Of course, this main path was best seen from the "premium" viewing platform, which cost extra. Though one advantage of Philip Island’s viewing setup was the ability to sit directly on the beach. I was positioned in the front row, about halfway between the two less trafficked pathways, and could see the penguins clearly with my binoculars. After each “raft” landed on the beach, the penguins stood their hesitantly for a few minutes, until they achieved critical mass, a brave penguin led the charge, and the others followed. Every now and then, a penguin would get cold feet partway through the journey and turn back towards the water. Once the parade subsided, the crowd dispersed into the network of walkways with views of the penguin neighborhood. The penguins were loud and active, with lots of catching up, mating, and fighting. The nests were like Hobbit holes. Some were surprisingly far inland. Apparently the penguins can travel over a kilometer from the ocean. Unfortunately, a number of people were taking photos/videos with the flash on, which can disorient the penguins (their night vision is quite good). The conservation center had done an experiment where all visitor photography was temporarily banned. They found it reduced penguin mortality, so they made it a permanent policy, with clear signs in the visitor center and clear announcements from a ranger on the beach. The people with the flash on were mostly Indian families and I told them to stop. (Photos here are from the official website.) After the Phillip Island outing, I embarked on a more hiking-oriented day trip. It was only an hour-long train ride to the Dandenong Ranges. Here was an old growth fern forest with a tall gum tree canopy, and one of Melbourne’s most popular hikes: the 1000 Steps. There were families, noisy school groups, and runners but there were still peaceful moments along the way. The trail is also known as the Kokoda Memorial Track and features historical info signs about the Australian army’s WWII jungle campaign on the island of Papua. The Japanese landed on the north side of the island, then an Australian territory, and began advancing south over the narrow and treacherous Kokoda Track. With help from Papuan porters who carried supplies and injured soldiers, the outnumbered Aussie army managed to stop the advance and emerge victorious. It felt like the perfect moment to learn about this chapter in Australian history, as Prime Minister Albanese was currently in Papua hiking the real Kokoda Track with his Papuan counterpart, as a sign of friendship between the two nations and part of the ANZAC Day commemorations. I had packed a considerable amount of food, which incentivized me to stop for multiple mini-picnics along the way. During my first picnic near the parking lot, I was joined at the table by a kookaburra who seemed very interested in my snacks. During my second picnic on top of the mountain, I was eyed by some magpies who also were getting a bit too close. Apart from these buskers, the variety of birds were a welcome sight. I was lucky and spotted a lyrebird, a bit like a peacock with two prominent tail feathers that curve like its namesake instrument. I had previously seen lyrebirds in the Blue Mountains outside Sydney, so I was 2 for 2. As a lover of lamingtons, I knew I had to try the Japanese-inspired flavors from Tokyo Lamington, a bakery-café located on my same street in Carlton. I picked two flavors, isephan (rose / raspberry) and black sesame, with the sesame being the clear winner. It’s a perfect fusion food: Japan’s passion for artisan sponge cakes and novel flavors meets the simplicity of this Aussie staple. My French flatmate Alexi, who I encountered often but wasn’t very close with, was wrapping up his working holiday and invited some previous residents of 75 Elgin back for a reunion. I stumbled across the gathering while heating up some leftovers for dinner, and they invited me to join. I had only overlapped with one of these alumni and enjoyed meeting others “from before my time” including a nice fellow from Sri Lanka. We told funny stories about the strange flatmates we had collectively outlasted. It also made me a bit sad, as I saw how a different mix of people living the apartment could have made the experience a lot more fun. Though the clouds threatened to rain, it stayed clear while I helped Gail with some yardwork, like removing leaves from the gutter and wrangling heavy potted plants. We had plans to see a Beth Orton concert in the evening, which dovetailed nicely with this working bee. Over the afternoon, we caught up over an ANZAC biscuit and a coffee, a nice homemade meal, and a tram ride to the Arts Precinct. Similar to the comedy show, Gail had offered me an open ticket, which was extremely generous and thoughtful. The concert was at the Recital Hall, a grand theater with fancy acoustic wall treatments. The opening act, Batts, had a beautiful voice and was a surprise hit. There was an intermission which I didn’t realize would be the only intermission, and I failed to take advantage of this fact to stretch my legs. The leg room in our row was abysmal, worse than most planes, so it would have been a good idea. Beth Orton and her three bandmates took the stage and performed two back-to-back numbers from her latest album before breaking the 4th wall and addressing the audience. Before I describe the many things that I liked about the concert, I must get some criticism out of the way. Beth Orton’s singing was terrible: broken and choppy as she mumbled unintelligible lyrics. It was like an SNL parody of a wounded singer-songwriter. I had to stop from laughing as she sang about how “the weather's so beautiful outside… almost makes me wanna cry” (actual lyric). Otherwise, it was a fantastic performance. The multi-talented musicians created a dense and nuanced soundscape far richer than a 4-piece band would normally create. It helped that each musician played multiple instruments. Beth switched between piano and guitar. At one point the drummer ended up on the piano. The best example was a blond-haired fellow who played multiple woodwind instruments, and sometime played the keyboard simultaneously. I loved the drummer’s style of playing, which was both relaxed and energetic, attacking the cymbal with a horizontal motion like the sweep of a conductor’s baton. The music and the concert hall's acoustics were a great synergy. The concert lasted longer than I expected, likely due to the 4 encores, which I felt this reflected Beth’s enthusiasm moreso than the audience’s. At 11:00pm, I ate half a pack of Tim Tams on the walk from the tram station to my apartment. At 4:30am, I ate the rest of the Tim Tams as I retraced the exact same walk. It was ANZAC Day, and the early wakeup was to witness the Dawn Service at the Shrine of Remembrance. While the crowds flowed uphill towards the shrine, I met up with Reggie and some of their friends from the local Rotary club at a quiet fountain off to the side. Reggie had attended the dawn service for many years as a scout and had kept up with this tradition ever since. We took our place by the front steps, the crowd providing a slight bulwark of warmth against the cold. A welcome to country speech was delivered by a Wurundjeri man (Reggie thought this might have been the first year to include one). Then a keynote touched on the WWI origins of the commemoration, including the front-line horrors of the war – “lest we forget.” After the war, the first flower to grow on the Flanders battlefield was the red poppy, which is now a symbol of ANZAC Day. The speech also highlighted more modern conflicts with Australian casualties, and had peacekeeping forces as the year’s theme. Since WWII, Australians have supported ~60 multi-lateral peacekeeping deployments around the world. The speaker acknowledged a unique trauma experienced by these peacekeeping forces: of being in a conflict zone but not always able to take action. After the speeches, a ceremony inside the shrine was carried out, livestreamed on video screens for everyone outside. There were also choir performances, including both the New Zealand and Australian national anthems. ANZAC stands for Australia and New Zealand Army Corps. It was a joint force at Gallipoli that fostered a sense of national camaraderie, and this tradition is honored even if the current holiday is more domestically focused. It was a cloudy morning and the inspirational sunrise I was hoping for never arrived. Our groggy group had a round of drinks from a nearby coffee cart, then relocated to Fed Square to wait for the parade. A proud military mom who was waiting nearby struck up a conversation with us, eventually going on a conspiratorial tangent about how the Bondi stabber was most likely hypnotized. At the back of her mind was the unease of being at a big public gathering in the wake of the two Sydney knife attacks. From my group’s reaction, I had the sense that she wasn’t the only one. The parade itself was impressive, with veterans in uniform with banners explaining their affiliations, marching bands, youth drum corps, and the army cadets. I learned the cadets were a recruitment pipeline and were seen as being a little insular and haughty, even towards scouts like Reggie. The sun was up but we were all still frigid. We eventually sought another coffee in the CBD. By then I had gotten know the group a little better, including a healthcare manager (Elsa?) and an IT specialist (Lewis?) who were good company. They all knew each other through the Rotary Club. Running on fumes and two flat whites, I was disappointed to find that Wooly’s had reduced ANZAC Day hours. So instead of groceries, I got some basic but satisfying pastries from Baker’s Delight, walked home, promptly devoured them, and took a nap. In the afternoon, I watched the opening ceremony of the ANZAC Day footy game between the Essendon Bombers and the Collingwood Magpies. Military representatives took the field, and there was a flyover above the Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG). I thought of Gail, who I knew was in attendance, along with Ian, her friend who I met in Canberra. The game ended in an anticlimactic tie. For the next 4 weeks, I was planning to travel to Perth and Brisbane. I thought it would be possible to end my lease early and avoid paying for a place in Melbourne while away. After all, the company was called “Flexistayz,” let me choose my lease end date when signing the paperwork, and indicated some adjustability with advance notice. I was totally wrong. Even with a month notice, the only viable option for breaking the lease was finding a new tenant. My postings received zero replies, an indication of the high price. For context, my rent was high because I had signed my lease at the start of a school term during a city-wide housing affordability crisis. Several of my flatmates were in the same boat and couldn’t find replacement tenants either. While I could abandon the place and forfeit my bond, that would be 3 weeks of rent lost. So I decided to continue paying, eating the 1 week differential. It meant that I could leave my stuff there and have a familiar place waiting for me after a long trip. And on a petty level, it also meant that Flexistayz couldn’t re-list the apartment and make a double profit. Although I decided to keep the apartment, I decided it was the right time to return my rental guitar. I made the long journey to the suburb of Chelthenham to drop off the guitar with its owner, a former student of Zeah’s. I didn’t even get to meet the owner, as they were taking a nap (a housemate answered the door). The long train journey wasn’t the ideal way to spend the afternoon, but I still had time to pack my bags and set an early alarm for the 6:20am flight to Perth.
It was hard to forget the first glimpse of Kata Tjuta from the airplane window. After all, the 3-hour northwest flight across the red deserts and white salt lakes had been leading up to this moment. The rounded rocks appeared like a mirage, an enormous city in the haze, as surreal as a Salvador Dali painting, the rock’s intricate texture at odds with the unassuming plains. Soon, the foot-shaped Uluru was visible too, its ridges like rounded toes. The singularity of Uluru contrasted with the “many heads” of Kata Tjuta (its meaning in the Anangu language). Both invited more exploration. I flew directly from Melbourne to the Ayer’s Rock Airport, located in the remote resort town of Yulara. While many people fly into Alice Springs and do the 4.5-hour drive, I decided to keep my itinerary simple. I spent 6 nights in Yulara and only visited places within day trip range. The Ayer’s Rock Resort was really a collection of multiple hotels of varying styles. From the higher end Sails in the Desert to the rough-n-ready Outback Lodge, it had something for everyone. The hotels were arranged in a giant ring, just out of sight of each other. At the center of the ring was a swatch of desert with a hill that had good views of Uluru. The key locations, like the town center, were all connected with footpaths and a shuttle bus. It was an oasis in the middle of nowhere. I read online that the resort is mainly supplied by convoys that make the 1700km journey from Adelaide twice a week. If you hadn’t already guessed, I stayed at the Outback Lodge, the budget option. I was surprised that the 12-person hostel room was mostly unoccupied. One or two nights, I was the only person there. Stepping out of the dark concrete dorm into the bright red sands was incredible. It often took a moment to process where I was, but it made me smile every time. The communal kitchen was in an open-air structure, with screens to keep out the critters, but not very effectively. The crested pigeons and magpie-larks could easily duck underneath the fence, and hunt for scraps. One time I encountered a lizard that ran away in the most comical fashion, standing upright on its hind legs as it scuttled off. Another night there was a cute little gecko climbing the screen. The hostel didn’t provide dishes and utensils, but I was able to rent a crate with all the essentials. The crate was like the prize in a Survivor reward challenge. Worth playing for? You bet. The first night, my only task was making dinner. I had brought some packaged noodles and curry paste from Melbourne, as I wasn’t sure if the grocery store was going to be well-stocked. I still needed a few fresh veggies, so I hiked across the desert to the town center. As it turned out, the Yulara IGA had a surprisingly good selection with all your favorite comfort foods, plus some discomfort foods. The freezer had an entire compartment of frozen kangaroo tails. Eek! I hiked back to the Outback Lodge, getting swarmed by flies. Back in the safety of the kitchen, I cooked an enormous quantity of panang curry with hokkien noodles in an electric roasting pan, as the stove wasn’t working. During the grocery run, I noticed that my new bucket hat didn’t have a chin strap and was useless in the wind. I improvised a solution using a shoelace and a spring-loaded clasp from my binoculars case. The chin strap held up as I walked to the viewing hill to enjoy my first Uluru sunset. The first phase of my trip revolved around my 3-Day Pass for the Uluru Hop On/Off Bus. There were five daily buses that went to Uluru and back, and two options for seeing Kata Tjuta. At the company’s recommendation, I had pre-booked everything. They had two or three different bus sizes and appeared to be matching the capacity to the demand. To get the most out of my ticket, I did two outings a day. The Uluru trip required a significant number of 4:00 or 5:00am wakeups, whether for catching a flight, a sunrise, or a tour bus. The first morning, I had signed up for a bus to Kata Tjuta for sunrise viewing and a 3-hour hike at the Valley of the Winds. When the bus arrived, a gruff man with messy gray hair barked something unintelligible, which in hindsight was probably my last name, and probably a question. After sorting it out, I boarded the bus, and watched as he dealt with other passengers in a blunt, borderline rude manner. Then we were off, zooming along paved roads in total darkness. His name, or nickname, was Snakebite. After the morning gruffness had worn off, and over the course of two drives to Kata Tjuta, I heard his fascinating story. He was working in Queensland and was tasked with removing an abandoned car. It had been occupied by mice. It also had an issue with the brakes. As he sat in the driver’s seat, a large brown snake under the passenger seat woke up from a food coma and bit him on the hand. He had military training and knew how to stay calm, so the ambulance techs thought his vitals looked fine at first. Then he quickly declined. Antivenom was administered at the local hospital, but the treatments weren’t as sophisticated at the time and didn’t work right away. He was airlifted to Brisbane and spent 4 days in a coma while the doctors debated the options. Given his low chances of survival, they took a risk and administered a second, multivalent antivenom. It worked, and Snakebite lived to tell the tale. However, the fangs had left behind harmful bacteria, and the next time he got a routine flu, his immune system had a bad reaction at the bite location. After someone realized the severity of the reaction, he was rushed to surgery and had more tissue removed. Snakebite was an excellent storyteller, using an iPad as a visual aid (yes, with gory pictures of the wound healing process). He speculated that the snake had used most of its venom on the mice, and he wouldn’t have survived the full dose. But he didn’t hold a grudge against snakes. In fact, he has two pet snakes! He showed a trick video of his woma python slithering through the sand towards his bare feet, making it look like a wild animal. The second python was up for adoption when a reptile zoo closed, unable to find a forever home due to its aggressive behavior. Snakebite couldn’t bear to see it killed, brought it home, and managed to tame it through persistence and several more bites. He says they now exchange neck massages and showed a video of it giving him a kiss on the cheek. Back to the journey. We arrived at the sunrise viewing platform and watched as the morning colors washed over the rounded skyline of Kata Tjuta. We could also see Uluru’s silhouette against the fiery gradient. The skies in the Northern Territory are so vast and filled with color. The tour group, slightly intimidated by Snakebite’s first impression, were all very punctual at returning the van. We were the first bus to leave the lot. At the start of the Valley of the Winds trail, most of the group zoomed on ahead, but I stayed back to put on some sunscreen, and chatted with an Irish couple doing the same. We ended up completing the hike together. They were from Dublin and most of the way through a year-long world tour. The wife was a pharmacology professor who had done research in drug delivery, and had heard of one of my professors at Brown. They had good commentary on the places they had already visited in Southeast Asia. Kata Tjuta is made of a conglomerate rock, looking smooth from a distance but quite rough up close. The red color is only on the surface, formed through oxidation, while the actual rock is gray. Thin black stripes also ran up and down its faces, presumably from water flows. The interaction between the rock and the light was magical. In the morning, one side of the valley was still in the shade, but the reflected light caused even the shaded rock to glow. When we completed the loop a few hours later, it wasn’t obvious we’d come full circle as the same rocks looked totally different in the full sun. The Valley of the Winds trail lived up to its name, with a blustery start that kept the flies at bay. Then it followed a quiet gorge, with rock pools and faint streams supporting a lush ecosystem. Climbing out the gorge, we stumbled on views looking out into a vast plain, a green paradise fenced in by rounded rock towers. With a few more animals, it could have been a scene from Africa. Unfortunately, I’m not able to share photos because the Valley of the Winds is considered sacred by the Anangu people. Only initiated Anangu men are told the specifics of its significance. Even though I'd really like to know more, respecting indigenous culture means accepting that the piranpa (white people) will be kept in the dark on this topic. The second outing of the day was to the Uluru Cultural Center. It explained some of the Dreamtime stories, called the tjukurpa. These stories involve ancestral beings, usually associated with an animal, that leave physical marks on the landscape, known as tjukuritja. One of the most important tjukurpa stories related to Uluru involves Kuniya, the woma python lady, who summons great magic to avenge her son and defeat Liru, the poison snake man. The phases of the battle are reflected in missing chunks of the rock surface. Another tjukurpa story involves the Mala (rufous hare wallaby) men, who are attacked by a monster during a ritual. The Cultural Center also had a fascinating movie on traditional bush foods. It explained the locals’ deep knowledge of how to harvest plants, forage for witchetty grubs and honey ants, and roast lizards and kangaroos using earth ovens. The hop-on bus made its final run of the day, and once collecting everyone from the park, headed to the sunset viewing area. Uluru is roughly the shape of a scalene triangle, with three sides of unequal length. The northern face is sacred, and photos aren’t allowed. The eastern face catches the morning sun and is the focus of the sunrise viewing area. The western face catches the afternoon sun, and that was the view we admired. I absolutely loved the sunsets. Uluru would glow ember red, all of its ridges perfectly delineated in shadow, then slowly fade to purple and black. Some days it even reddened and darkened multiple times as the sun was masked and unmasked by clouds. The sunrise was also beautiful, in a different way. The eastern face had deeper ridges, so the sunlight was broken into fragments, each sliver of light alternating with a pocket of shadow. I realized these ridges were the “toes” of the foot I had seen from above. I joined a guided walk with an Anangu park ranger. He spoke just loud enough for the large crowd to hear and explained his ideas in a very roundabout way. Standing for long periods of time and struggling to hear while the flies attacked wasn’t the most pleasant time. But there were some great nuggets of wisdom. He added context around the places we stopped, including a rock art site, a cave used to prepare food, and a watering hole where animals were hunted. Afterwards, I peeled off and started the Uluru Base Walk on my own. The flies had been a simmering annoyance the past few days, but on the north side of the rock, they started an all-out war. I was shooing them constantly and could barely stop for a sip of water without getting swarmed. One fellow hiker quipped that I had learned the “Aussie salute.” Up close, Uluru had a totally different texture than I was expecting. It was flaky, like a sheet of oxidized fish scales. Unlike the “plum pudding” conglomerate of Kata Tjuta, Uluru was striated, with vertical sheets of sedimentary rock. The most striking feature was its smoothness and round edges. Depending on the angle, the rock seemed more fluid than solid, like bunched fabric, or skin stretched over bony protuberances and superficial veins. As I walked around its perimeter, I also appreciated the variation in the weathering patterns. There were crater holes, pock marks, grooves that looked like hatchet blows, clean faces from rockslides, giant fissures, and incomprehensible tessellations that looked like honeycomb. One of these anomalies was man-made: the pathway used by climbers when scaling “Ayer’s Rock” was an option. I thought of Nola and Graham, the couple I met in the Grampians, who said they had climbed it during one of their visits. The path was treacherous, steep enough to require a network of poles and ropes and had several tourist fatalities. It was officially closed in 2019 out of respect for the cultural significance of the site. The trodden gray path will eventually oxidize and turn red again. The second Uluru sunrise was even prettier than the first, as there were clouds that absorbed and reflected the changing colors. Afterwards I did a short hike called the Liru Walk, a peaceful connector trail between the Base Walk and the Cultural Center. I took some time to admire the amazing variety of desert plants. It’s called the Red Center, but it was surprisingly green! The area is considered semi-arid and had 6 sub-categories of desert habitat, each with a different mix of flora. Two common ones were “puti” which is dominated by mulga trees, and “pila” which has spinifex grass and desert oaks. During a period of time when the traditional owners were forced off the land, mismanagement and bushfires caused damage to the ecosystem. Introduced species like buffel grass have helped with soil cohesion but continue to pose problems for native species. There’s definitely more than meets the eye. Back at the resort, I participated in a Dot Painting workshop in the town square. It was led by a bubbly white lady and a quiet Anangu lady. We started at a sandbox, where this odd couple explained some of the recurring symbols like concentric circles, which indicate an important place but can have multiple meanings (i.e. water source, animal nest, etc.) Then we were let loose with the art supplies, and encouraged to create a painting inspired by our own stories and experiences. In parallel, the Anangu lady worked on a painting so we could see her expert technique. Creating a sea of evenly sized dots was actually a bit harder than I expected. But I had fun trying to translate my own story into abstract symbols, while chatting with other people at the table. My design shows three important places – home with Mom and Dad, college where I learned from “elders,” and Southern California where I was “hunting” for work. They’re connected by travel lines, and surrounded by forests, oceans, and deserts. I gave this mini map of the USA its own Red Center. While in town, I finally decided to buy a fly net. It was a good investment for my remaining days! In the afternoon, I returned to Kata Tjuta for a second, shorter hike called Walpa Gorge. Also on the outing were a few families with young kids, as it was the end of Victoria’s school break and the beginning the NSW’s week off. The steep conglomerate canyon had a wonderful echo as the kids who had run ahead shouted back to their parents. There were even more unique plants that only grew around the rock pools. After dark, I joined a stargazing tour that was a major highlight of the Uluru visit. The tour took place in the sunset viewing area, now free from the usual fleet of buses. First, the guide named the major constellations, using a powerful green laser as a pointer. She also explained the Aboriginal stories associated with these constellations. For example, a tribe in the north has a story about three brothers in a canoe who broke a cultural norm and were lifted into the sky. The brothers are the 3 stars that other cultures may know as Orion’s belt! She also explained how to use the Southern Cross to find south. This important constellation is only visible in the Southern Hemisphere and is featured on Australia’s flag. Thanks to the clear desert skies, the Milky Way was also visible. The guide pointed out a shadow called the Dark Emu, which really does look like an emu. Its position also correlates with the emu nesting season. The tour included a professional long-exposure photo that made the Dark Emu even more visible! In parallel with the photos, the guides also had telescopes aimed at interesting stars. Betelgeuse was due for a supernova and already seemed to be flickering. The “jewel box” had a few multicolored stars in close proximity. It was a nice addition to the tour, but my eyes were a little dry this late in the day, so squinting into a telescope was less fruitful than just soaking in the night sky. One of the wildest parts of the experience was just watching the stars move over time. At the beginning of the tour, Scorpio was still partially hidden behind Uluru. By the time we took photos, it had fully risen! I’ve seen time lapse videos of stars moving, but seeing it with my own eyes was magical. The next day was a much-needed chance to recharge. It was nice to wake up after sunrise for the first time in five days. I visited a camel farm and learned about the role of camels in opening central Australia. The Outback conditions were too tough for horses, so camels and their cameleers were imported from Afghanistan, India, and Pakistan, collectively called the Afghans. With the help of camel labor, the railroads and telegraph lines were built. Afterwards, the camels were released into the wild and there is now a large feral population. The info center had lots of camel fun facts, and not-so fun facts. For example, since camels chew with a sideways motion, then can’t be bridled like horses, so the reins are instead attached to nose pegs. The farm offered camel riding tours that get good reviews, but I was content to watch the camel caravans return to the stables. Seeing their gangly legs fold up as their bodies lowered to the ground was good entertainment. At the leader's prompt, the line of camels popped right back up in quick succession. What awkward, magnificent creatures. The afternoon was all about art shopping. The Gallery of Central Australia (GOCA) was small but had stacks on stacks of canvases from local artists that were ethically commissioned and compensated. Though I also browsed the artwork being offered in the town square by the Anangu ladies, I ultimately bought a painting at the GOCA. I picked it for the design without knowing the backstory. I was pleasantly surprised when the cashier produced a written description of the story it’s based on. It’s called the Emu Dreaming and involves a squabble between the emu and the bush turkey over berries! For dinner, I visited the Outback Lodge’s DIY grilling station. I purchased the mixed meat combo from the counter, which included access to their pre-heated grills and salad bar. The combo included an emu kebab, a camel sausage, and a lamb chop. I can’t say that I would seek out these exotic meats again, but I had to try them. I asked the cashier for tips on the cooking times for the emu and camel, though ironically, I think it was also the first time I had grilled lamb. I was joined at the table by a fellow American named Ayon, who I met the day before. He was the only other person in my dorm room. His alarm had been blasting non-stop at 5:00am that morning, and I had to walk all the way across the room to prod him awake. Ayon was an extroverted solo traveler, with plenty of countries under his belt, and we chatted over a few refreshing draft beers. My favorite beer was from an Aboriginal-owned brewery called Jarrah Boy. In the background, there was also free live music on a small stage. It was a good, laid-back evening. On the last full day, I took a guided tour to King’s Canyon, about a 3 hour drive away. It was an early 4:35am pickup from a large charter bus. The company (AAT Kings) provided a professional service. We stopped for a buffet breakfast, much better than my usual oatmeal, and I chatted with a British couple. The main draw was the 6km Rim Walk, best started early in the day. On hot days, they actually close the gates at 9:00am. The hike itself was led by a guide, which meant that the pace was prescribed, but we got information along the way. It started with a climb to the top of the canyon, which left much of group winded but got the hard part over with. The views were already looking good. Though the Red Center is now flat, it was once an ancient mountain range. As the mountains eroded, the sediment began to accumulate in alluvial fans. Rising sea levels created an ocean that compacted these layers of sediment. More years passed, and the ocean disappeared. Then, a geological event called the Alice Springs Orogeny lifted the sedimentary rock, sometimes rotating it in the process. The exposed rock continued to erode, leaving the landscape we see today. This same sequence of events created Uluru, Kata Tjuta, and King’s Canyon with subtle differences. For Uluru, the layers of arkose sandstone rotated almost 90 degrees in the orogeny, creating its vertical ridges. For Kata Tjuta, its coarse conglomerate goes back to the gravelly composition of its original alluvial deposits. King’s Canyon was even more complex. In some areas, the action of shifting winds on ancient sand dunes created a tangle of layers called “cross bedding.” On top of the plateau, erosion created a cityscape of rounded domes. And the canyon itself started as a fracture line in the soft Mereenie sandstone that widened over 20 million years. The guide emphasized the importance of not getting too close to the edge, as this soft Mereenie sandstone has been known to break off in house-sized chunks. But the smooth faces left behind are stunning. The Rim Walk was a real treat, running alongside cross bedded canyons and fossilized ocean floors. The best part of the hike was descending into the canyon itself, to an area called the Garden of Eden. This hidden oasis was lined with ancient cyclad ferns and ghost gum trees. The trees’ smooth, white branches were striking against the red canyon walls, like a scene from an Albert Namatjira watercolor. We stopped for a break alongside a rock pool before climbing the network of staircases back to the top. During the final leg, we encountered a group of colorful spinifex pigeons, one of the few wildlife sightings. The rest of the day was less eventful, with a stop for lunch and a few bathroom breaks. The guide pointed out a large plateau along the Lasseter Highway, officially called Mt. Conner, but also known as “Fooluru” because people driving from Alice Springs often mistake it for the better-known rock. The fact there’s *another* giant rock in the middle of nowhere was initially mind boggling, but started to make sense after thinking about the geological processes at work. The next afternoon, I savored my last glimpse of Uluru from the window as the plane climbed to cruising altitude. A day earlier, I met a young Australian pilot at the Outback Lodge, who had flown himself and a friend from Sunshine Coast to Uluru. He said that the Red Center was one of the most scenic places he had ever flown. But it was just one of many ways to appreciate this special place. With its stunning rock formations, unique flora, Anangu culture, sunsets, sunrises, and night skies, the Red Center was just so different from everywhere else. There was so much richness in its deceptive simplicity.
After a delightful nature getaway in the Grampians, I returned to Melbourne for a weeklong interlude before my next trip, to Uluru. It was a mostly rainy week, so I used it as an excuse to visit some of the indoor attractions I had been keeping in the reserve. I explored some top-notch museums and galleries that added more depth to my understanding of the city’s attractions. The National Gallery of Victoria, or NGV, is so large that it has two campuses. One in the Arts Precinct housing the international collection, and one in Fed Square hosting the Australian collection. I had briefly visited the NGV International with Vincent and Rachel back in January but wanted to circle back to see more. In particular, the NGV was wrapping up its Triennial exhibition – I managed to catch the very last day! I knew about the Triennial from word of mouth, newspaper articles, and intriguing posters around town, depicting a duct-taped banana and Boston Dynamics robots. These were just the tip of the iceberg. The Triennial artworks were not in a single gallery, but rather spread out through the whole building, interspersed with the permanent works. There were too many to describe, but I will pick a few favorites. A series of slow-moving digital animations by the artist group SMACK were captivating and horrific. The installation was a riff on The Garden of Earthly Delights, a 16th century triptych by Hieronymus Bosch. The SMACK version used the iconography of modern excesses, with viral dances, fast-food consumerism, and in the panel representing hell, creative methods of punishment like an angry swarm of security cameras. People were captivated. The Boston Dynamics robots were also worth seeing. It was a zoo-like exhibit, with three robots doing different activities. One was painting on the wall, creating the primitive cave artwork of the AI era. Another was doing laps and engaging with the spectators with knowing looks and head bobs. People were loving it. Though I wish there was more information about what the robots were programmed to do, versus what was spontaneous behavior. There were also interesting sculptures that blended the natural and the unnatural, like a felled tree made of recycled wooden tools, a giant floor rug inspired by weather patterns, and a classroom full of dodo skeletons with grafted tree branches. An exhibit on flowers and transience had rows of preserved bouquets. A room full of projection screens showcased photography from megacities around the world. I found the famous ceramic hamburgers in the China gallery. Continuing the art themed day, I explored some of Melbourne’s famous laneways in search of street art. Thanks to the city’s grid design, which neatly sub-divides the major city blocks with smaller lanes, one doesn’t have to stray far from Flinders Street or Collins Street to encounter graffiti. The laneways were full of eclectic subjects, from Baby Yoda to Aboriginal rights. Nearby ACDC Lane had a few tributes to Bon Scott. Along Hosier Lane, I saw a new painting being created in real-time. The artist had drawn a sketch outline of an elf character and was starting to fill in the base color. The clacking sound of the shaking cans and pungent cloud of solvent turned this primarily visual art into a multi-sensory experience. I returned a few days later to see the finished product, looking very polished. The Melbourne Museum, located in the Carlton Gardens and a short walk from my apartment, was the next destination on my list. It was popular with families, especially during Victoria’s school holidays. An exhibit focusing on Aboriginal culture and history was thoughtfully crafted. There were beautiful possum cloaks, some using 50 pelts, with elaborate artwork and maps drawn on the inside. It described funeral practices, like the practice of wearing a heavy, rounded mourning cap made of gypsum. It also emphasized the Aboriginal groups’ armed resistance to Europeans, such as the Eumerella Wars, to dispel the myth of a passive takeover. The colonists were only able to quell the Aboriginal guerilla methods by using a force called the Native Police, Aboriginal soldiers conscripted from other areas who were able to navigate the terrain. A special photography gallery highlighted the intersectionality between being indigenous and disabled. A shocking 46% of First Nations Australians have some form of disability and are 2.6 times more likely to have a profound disability. The individual stories were diverse and saddening. One man lost his vision after British nuclear bombs were tested near their community in Maralinga in the 1950s. One woman developed a severe disease after an allergic reaction due to medical malpractice. Another man was injured by a land mine in Vietnam. The pictures of each subject were black and white holograms, just as striking as the stories. Upstairs was an exhibit on the history of Melbourne as a city, from the gold rush to the present. It explained the role of individuals like Captain William Lonsdale and Governor Richard Bourke, whose names now grace the major streets in the CBD. I learned some great trivia, like the government’s 1868 mandate of a specific cast iron ornament (featuring the Melbourne coat of arms) that I now notice on buildings all over the city. Also on display was the taxidermy of the famous racehorse Phar Lap. In addition to social history, a huge section of the Melbourne Museum was dedicated to natural history. While many people were there for the dinosaur skeletons, my highlight was the entomology wing. There were beautiful cases of preserved beetle and moth specimens, but also a fair number of living displays… including spiders. Not just the “everyday” spiders like white-tails or huntsman, but several types of the deadly Funnel Web spider. Thankfully, antivenom was developed in 1981 and there have been no recorded deaths since. The largest spider display had tree branches with enormous webs and their weavers, but no glass barrier. I hope the curators knew what they were doing. The museum also had a forest-garden with ferns, birds, and an aquarium. Leaving the museum, I got caught in a downpour and was thoroughly soaked. I didn’t learn from my mistake and was caught in another downpour the next morning while walking to the tram station. The NGV Australia Gallery was in a beautiful building with a network of glass triangles on its façade. On display were works by modern Aboriginal artists, historical colonial paintings, watercolor landscapes from the Hermannsburg School, the personal collection of Joseph Brown, and new commissions from a mentorship program. A few favorites were a 1955 John Brack painting of Melbourne commuters, an eerie wire music box, and a parody of the MacDonnell mountain range featuring the golden arches. After soaking in the artwork for a few hours, I tried an almond croissant at Lune, a well-known bakery with multiple locations in the city. I found the croissant itself to be a little too soft, but the crunchy almond topping was delicious. The bakery had a constant stream of tourists and locals, and it was fun to watch the pastry pipeline in progress. The next day, I went to the Chadstone Mall with Reggie for some shopping errands. “Chaddy” is the largest mall in Australia! It was impressive in both scale and layout. There was a mini entertainment precinct, several food courts, and a hundreds of shops. I bought some lightweight “amphibian” short pants, tried on some adventure hats, and scoped out wedding clothes. I don’t enjoy shopping for clothing and tend to get indecisive, so I passed on a few items. After unsuccessfully continuing the hunt in the CBD, I ended up going back to Chaddy a second day in a row to buy the wedding shirt. It wasn’t the easiest journey, requiring a regional train and a bus connection. I got lost trying to find my way out of the mall, prolonging the return journey. The Melbourne International Comedy Festival was in full swing, with dozens of comedy acts happening in parallel every night at venues around the city. I went to see an Indian comedian named Anirban Dasgupta at the Town Hall, and Gail was kind enough to join. The venue was the Cloak Room, a small but comfortable space. Anirban’s comedy centered on Indian life and politics, poking fun at censorship, Gandhi, and crowded living situations. The jokes were well crafted and entertaining. Afterwards, Gail and I went to a cocktail bar called Nick & Nora’s with a 1930’s art deco theme. The vast menu was organized into different character tropes, like the femme fatal and the bon vivant. I tried two drinks: the “Met your Matcha” with whiskey, pistachio, lemon, and matcha and the “Golden Slip” with cognac, yellow Chartreuse, egg, and nutmeg. Both drinks were phenomenal. It was a cozy bar, with wooden paneling, low lighting, and electroswing music. The perfect place to gossip the evening away. Just as it was quieting down, a flaming drink was elaborated prepared for the table next to us. It was a delightful evening of comedy and conversation. Even after several months in Melbourne, there was so much new to experience. A rainy week was the perfect nudge to focus on museums, galleries, shopping, and entertainment.
As a lover of hiking and nature, the Grampian mountains in regional Victoria had been on my radar for a while. I visited in early April, which is supposed to be a good time as it's the fall. It was indeed extremely pleasant with sunny days and cold nights. The trails, views, and wildlife were also very enjoyable. It quickly became one of my favorite places in Australia! In the week leading up to the Grampians trip, there was plenty afoot in Melbourne. I explored a new running destination called Royal Park. Though I had to cross a few busy streets to get there, it was a nice slice of open space in the middle of the city. It also ended up being my longest run since leaving California, a bit over 5 miles. A few days later, the Carlton Gardens reopened and I resumed my usual route that didn’t require any major crossings. Later I met up with Reggie at the District Docklands shopping mall. The layout reminded me of the big outdoor malls in Southern California, complete with ping pong tables, a ferris wheel, and a Costco. Unfortunately, this mall was quite dead. The ferris wheel hasn’t operated in 3 years and is a sad part of the Docklands skyline. We had lunch at a Nando’s chicken, Portuguese chicken restaurant chain with locations all over Melbourne, known for their peri-peri sauce. I tried the medium and found it to be a little spicy! Reggie warned me that many stores, even Wooly's, would be closed on Good Friday. A very helpful tip, as I didn't expect Good Friday to be such a big deal in Australia. Afterwards I browsed at a sporting goods store, full of Australian football gear, and picked up a Carlton Blues jersey. The Blues were having a great start to the season, and I was hoping to attend a game soon. It was fun to check out the other teams’ jerseys as well. While footy has strongest ties in Victoria, there are plenty of expansion teams all over Australia. In fact, Tasmania just unveiled its first-ever AFL team, the Tasmania Devils. The jersey design, an outline of Tasmania with a capital “T,” has gotten some criticism but the initial membership sales have done extremely well. There was also lots of AFL team clothing at K-mart. In Australia, K-mart is something like Target in the US. Tons of departments, not a lot of depth in any one area, and branding that suggests “affordable middle class.” I found a Carlton hoodie for $25 AUD ($16 USD). The stock remaining on the rack hinted at the different teams’ popularity – sorry Hawthorne Hawks. I successfully found a chocolate Easter Bilby at my local Wooly’s. The bilby is a long-eared, endangered native marsupial and the Australian alternative to the Easter Bunny. This Saturday for our Parkrun, Ben and I tried the Kirkdale Reserve course. It was a smaller event than our usual course at Princes’ Park, which meant less maneuvering through the pack was required. The course-master, wearing Easter bunny ears, explained the route: an out-and-back along the scenic Merri Creek trail. Ben and I agreed it was the best of the 3 courses we’d tried. We sought a post-run coffee, but a lot of places were closed over Easter weekend. We opted for a place near my apartment called Mile End Bagels. After a long bagel-less stretch, an avocado-loaded everything bagel hit the spot. Though it was a bit crispy and dry, probably from the wood-fire baking. I noticed they had an Easter special, so I ordered another bagel to-go. It was inspired by the hot-cross bun, and had a chocolate hazelnut dough and a rich cream cheese that tasted like orange. Another day of shopping errands. I returned to the Docklands District to swap my Carlton jersey for a size that fit better. Then I headed to the CBD and picked up a few supplies for the Grampians including a gym bag. While there, I happened to see a group of actors in Roman costumes enacting the crucifixion of Jesus Christ in front of the Bourke Street Mall. On Easter Sunday, I wasn’t willing to brave the brunch crowds, especially with holiday surge pricing at restaurants in Australia, so I cooked my own. My favorite brunch food is corned beef hash, but I had never prepared corned beef before. I was pretty thrilled with the result! It happened to be a smoky day, probably from a controlled burn, so the Easter picnics in the park were set against a hazy skyline. In the evening, I had strawberry lamingtons and watched a documentary on Bon Scott, the beloved lead singer of ACDC, that happened to air on TV. But the real Easter egg hunt occurred on Easter Monday. I went to an escape room (my first ever) with my Canadian flatmate JL. He had done an escape room with this company and was eager for another go. The one we did together was mafia themed. It started in a diner, which led to a hidden prison cell and a poker room, eventually finishing in the mob boss’ office. In addition to the regular clues, there were actual chocolate Easter eggs hidden in the rooms! As a lover of puzzles, it was a fantastic experience. Since there were only 2 of us, we needed a few hints from the staff (communicated via TV screen) but were able to complete the whole room in time. One of the cleverest puzzles was at the poker table, which had four partially obscured cards underneath the glass. Using a loose deck of cards, we had to identify them by matching against the sections that were visible. The four matching cards spelled out the combination to a lock. JL said it was one of the best escape rooms that he’d visited. I was able to travel to the Grampians via public transportation. The process was a little convoluted, but surprisingly cheap. From Melbourne I took a train to Ballarat, changed to bus and went to Stawell, then took a second bus to Hall’s Gap. Round trip the whole thing cost about $12 USD. But it’s an infrequent route, so if the rainy weather in Melbourne had caused delays, I could have been stranded at one of the layovers. On a Tuesday after Easter weekend, I was the only person taking that journey. I had the eerie experience of spending 30 minutes at the beautiful and completely deserted Stawell train station, which was decommissioned in the 90’s and now only serves as a bus stop. Hall’s Gap was instantly recognizable as the archetypical outdoors resort town. It was in a scenic valley and had one main road with a visitor center, a general store, and a few restaurants and ice cream shops. There was a mix of accommodation, including camp sites, caravan parks, motels, and eco lodges. There were plenty of families on their Easter vacations, whose abandoned picnic tables were quickly investigated by the cockatoos. The afternoon was still plagued with rain showers, and the hostel check-in wasn’t available until 4:00pm, so I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I went to the visitor center for hiking recommendations, had a cup of coffee and read The Age, and watched the birds in the picnic area. Of course, when I finally decided to walk across town towards the hostel, the rain picked up. I stopped to pity the wet kangaroos in the Recreation Reserve, who looked very unhappy. The hostel was quiet when I arrived in the lobby, clad in waterproof gear but still rather wet. Even though the room wasn’t ready, the owner kindly lit a fireplace in the lounge so I could dry my bags and wait in comfort. Not long after, a Welsh backpacker arrived. I learned his name was Morgan, he was on a working holiday, and had a potential lead on a job in Hall’s Gap. The YHA Grampians hostel was modern, spacious, and nicely laid out. There was a large dining area, a duplex kitchen separated by pantry cubbies, and two lounges. These common areas were separated from the rooms by a long corridor with glass windows looking into the courtyard. At one point, I spotted a large kangaroo in this courtyard, trying to scratch an itch on its back It was one of the most ideal hostels I’ve encountered! And it was a key part of the trip, because I stayed there for all 4 nights. For dinner, I had packed myself a shelf stable meal kit in Melbourne. I prepared this meal of pasta and red sauce in the lively but not overcrowded kitchen. There, I met a teacher from New Hampshire who was also on a year-long trip around the world, and had been many places including Antarctica. Our dinner table also included a few Spaniards – the Grampians drew an international crowd. The room itself only had 3 beds, a refreshingly low density. I had arrived first and claimed the bed without a bunk above. My second roommate arrived, a middle-aged American named Christophe who was talkative but down to earth. And as luck would have it, Morgan became the third roommate. The three of us got along well and stayed up talking even after lights out, like a sleepover. Three full days in the Grampians. Three hikes starting in Hall’s Gap. The first was to Chataqua Peak, which had views down the valley towards the reservoir. The second was to the Pinnacle Lookout, the flagship hike on the west side of the valley. The third was to Boronia Peak, opposite Pinnacle Lookout on the east side of the valley. Though the scenery was similar, the journeys up and down were quite different. Chataqua Peak started out as a straightforward hike, slowly increasing in elevation as it skirted along the ridges. But the final stage to the peak itself was more like rock climbing than hiking. Blue arrows indicated the bouldering route. I almost couldn’t believe one that was pointing up and to the left, with no obvious way forward. The summit was like walking along the sharp edge of a giant rock blade. The stones were rounded and packed into orderly rows, and a slightly pinkish gray. I thought of my corned beef Easter brunch. The views were excellent in every direction. I could see Hall’s Gap below, like a miniature replica of a town, and took some photos through my binoculars. While at the summit, a little boy approached me. After a cautious moment, he dropped the cutest little “G’day” in a French accent, and scurried off to his family. On the way back down, I stopped by a waterfall site that’s normally dry, in hopes the recent rain had brought it back to life. It was just a trickle, and fellow hikers joked it was a “waterfall for ants.” The trail ended at the Recreation Reserve, the sports field where I had seen the wet kangaroos. Today the kangaroos were dry, and there was a flock of humans admiring them. One lady had a bag and was feeding them. On this day, for whatever reason, I was inspired to intervene. I tried to explain that feeding wild animals can change their behavior, and even though they’re cute, we need to respect them. The lady claimed she got the food from the local zoo (which I believed) and the zookeeper told her it was okay to feed the wild kangaroos in the park (total BS). She was pretty adamant. Usually people can be shamed into stopping, but not this person. Several onlookers were supportive of my effort, but I couldn’t do anything more, and walked away. Turned out there was an enormous sign about this exact topic right behind us. Some people! Later on, I went for a twilight walk to see wildlife in town. Hall’s Gap surprised me with its abundance of animals. There were kangaroos by the general store, kangaroos by the playground, kangaroos in the park. Though widespread through the area, the focal point was the Recreation Reserve. It seemingly had a different animal every morning – kangaroos, emus, even a group of deer. It was only a block from the hostel, and along this tree-lined corridor there were tons of birds. Kookaburras were easily seen in the trees and flew surprisingly close to me. There were also sulfur crested cockatoos, magpies, currawongs, honeyeaters, and crimson rosellas. The hostel was a lot less crowded that night, but still ended up being social. I ran into the American teacher again, Angela, who was headed back to Melbourne and then onto Oman. I found out that Morgan had successfully got the job and was making his debut as a waiter at the Kookaburra Hotel. After dark, Cristophe (the other American) unexpectedly showed up at the room’s patio door, despite checking out in the morning. He tried to get my permission to stay an extra night without a booking (the staff had already gone home) which I didn’t support. The ascent to the Pinnacle Lookout followed a creek upstream and had regular views of peaceful rock pools like the Venus Baths. The trail had some fun features, like metal staircases, wooden bridges, and navigating across rock fields. I worked up a good sweat, completely soaking through my shirt, but there were some even more ambitious athletes around – rock climbers and trail runners. The path entered a shady trench called Silent Street, which narrowed to shoulder width during the final staircase. The lookout itself was a manmade viewing platform with rails, not for the faint of heart. I preferred to admire the panorama from a rocky outcrop, where dropping my phone would not be an irreversible situation. I chatted with a friendly hippie-hiker who had just come from Confest, an alternative lifestyle event in NSW. She sounded a bird call to locate her boyfriend, who had wandered off. The descent via the Wonderland Trail followed a completely different route, which kept things interesting. It was less crowded, and I got a good view of a large lizard on a sunny rock before it sequestered itself into a shady crevice. The air was fresh with the scent of eucalyptus, and dancing butterflies with patterns I had never seen before. Over dinner, I met a wonderful Australian couple, Nola and Graham. They had driven from Kiama, a coastal town south of Sydney, and were headed to Adelaide. It turned out that Nola had worked for Medtronic for a few years, out of the Sydney office. Graham was a carpenter and used to work at the Sydney Botanical Gardens, where I had seen the NYE fireworks. He had funny stories about drunk partiers getting stuck in trees and helping with the relocation of the gardens’ fruit bat colony. They said I looked like Roger Federer, which I’m now really starting to believe having heard it a few times. When I ran into Graham over breakfast the next morning, he jokingly called me “Roger!” Boronia Peak’s online reviews had claimed it was not much effort for the views you get. I took this to mean it was an easy hike with decent views. What they meant was a difficult hike with stunning views. It started out innocently, with a flat creek-side trail with dozens of kangaroos and no other people. Then it started climbing and didn’t stop. Reaching the summit involved scaling a few boulders, but it was worthwhile. There were 360-degree views, encompassing both the Grampians and the plains of regional Victoria. Using my binoculars, I spotted a field full of emus not far from the town. Instead of going directly back to the hostel, I took a side trail that was recommended by the visitor center. It turned out to go through the field of emus – as I had secretly hoped when adding the extra mileage. There were around 20 of them, grazing in the field, lifting their long necks in between rounds. One was on the path directly ahead and didn’t meander away as I approached. It had a stern, surly look in its eye, and seemed aware of my presence, so I gave it space. In a 1:1 fight with that massive bird, I wasn’t confident I’d walk away in one piece. I gingerly passed after it wandered a safe distance. I had another dinner with Graham and Nola, and afterwards we watched a National Rugby League game in the lounge. They were rooting for the Illawara Dragons, who were defeated by the Newcastle Knights. The were kind and explained some of the gameplay so I could follow along. While the body contact was like American football, the gameplay was considerably faster, with no down time between downs (called tackles). There were major rainstorms on the East Coast, and the playing field was a giant slip-n-slide. Players were skidding off the field and crashing into the boundary walls with epic splashes of water. Still, there was a sizeable crowd. One of the fans was wearing a snorkel mask, and when the camera found him, lifted his foot to reveal a diving fin. A rugby fan himself, Morgan returned from his shift and joined us in the lounge. Graham and Nola complimented him on his waiting, as they happened to dine at the Kookaburra on Wednesday, which was Morgan’s first day. Morgan humbly brushed it off, which was even funnier knowing that he had exaggerated his hospitality experience to get the job. Alas, my time in the Grampians had come to a close. I reversed the elaborate journey. As it was a Saturday, the bus heading from Stawell towards Melbourne was completely full with regional Victorians heading into the city. I squeezed into a crowded tram, an unpleasant but familiar end to the journey.
It’s hard for me to think of a more perfect nature getaway than my time in the Grampians. There were fun and challenging hikes with great views, a social hostel with enough multi-day guests to make friends, and a whole menagerie of cute Australian animals. I could sleep in, catch up on journaling, and make simple but healthy meals. The evenings were pleasantly cool, perfect for sweatpants and a hoodie. Having a car would have opened up a plethora of options to see more of the Grampians, but I was content with my walking-oriented format. On a different trip, I think the area could be appreciated in one day (via the Pinnacle Lookout). In my case, having 4 nights provided a wonderful opportunity to live a bit slower and truly immerse in this natural wonderland. Melbourne’s dazzling events calendar is one of my favorite things about the city. In this post are 7 special events that I attended in March, from a flower exhibition to Formula One. The show's about to begin... open up your QR code ticket and find your seat! At the beginning of March, I returned to South Melbourne to visit Gail and help with some miscellaneous house jobs before going to a live music event together. While there, I got to meet another one of her former Servas guests, an English girl named Aimee, who (like me) had settled into Melbourne for a longer stay. One of my tasks was setting up a small wooden house in the cat courtyard. Katie did an approving walkthrough. The evening's plan was dinner at Claypots Evening Star, the seafood restaurant with the live music that was mysteriously absent the last time I visited. Second time’s a charm! The long awaited music, featuring Jane Clifton, was indeed on. Jane had a beautiful singing voice and big, fun stage presence. The song selection, which was very familiar to Gail and somewhat familiar to myself, included artists like Neil Young, the Beatles, and The Animals. The guitarist, Jeff Burstin, kept up with Jane’s energy with skillful strumming. It was a relaxed performance; at Jeff's feet were a glass of wine and a phone playing the Australian football season opening match. Next door, there was a party at a Greek restaurant and people dressed in all white were regularly passing by. Jane caught on quickly, turning it into a recurring joke. The food and drinks at Claypots were also excellent. Gail and I shared a few plates including sauteed veggies, stingray pinxto, a baked barramundi fillet, and red wine soaked potatoes. I had a rum and molasses cocktail with the meal, and a little port for dessert. It was so thoughtful of Gail to follow up and make sure I got to enjoy the performance that we had talked about so much. Between the seafood, the company, and the music, it was one of the most memorable meals I had in Melbourne! One morning I needed to focus on travel planning, so I went to my local library. It opened late on Fridays, and while I waited, I tried a coffee at the adjacent café. Though a humble little nook, it still served a mean flat white! Yet another reminder of the ubiquity of good espresso drinks in Australia. Once the library opened, I researched tour options for visiting Kakadu, and locked in a 5-day guided expedition. After returning from Canberra, I headed to the Arts Precinct on back-to-back nights. The first evening was a concert, part of a University of Melbourne series called Guitar Perspectives. Zeah had put the event on my radar, and I got to see here there. We caught up before and after the show, and she introduced me to a current student and a Uni Mel guitar professor. The first half of the performance featured John Griffiths on the vihuela, a 16th century Spanish instrument and predecessor of the classical guitar. It appeared to be a very finicky instrument, so it wasn’t the cleanest performance, but it was special to hear it played live. I appreciated the way that Griffiths, a scholar just as much as a performer, described each piece’s backstory and invited the audience into that world. The second half was Peter Croton on the archlute, an enormous instrument with an aggressive number of strings and a deliciously rich bass. He played an impressive array of works, including some familiar Bach pieces. As an encore, we heard a vihuela/archlute duet, which was somewhat comedic due to the ungainly size of the archlute and the fickle tuning of the vihuela. The second evening was a play called “37” at the Melbourne Theater Company. It was about racial tensions on a fictional Australian-rules football team. In the play, a struggling team called the Currawongs recruits two cousins of Aboriginal descent to be their star players, in hopes of finally winning a premiership. The main character, Jayma, is talented and plays footy with joy but is quick to call out his teammates’ racist remarks. His cousin Sonny plays for the money and prefers to let these microaggressions slide. Through locker room banter, the white teammates’ varying levels of cluelessness and malice bubble to the surface. Despite these serious themes, the play was also a really funny, with a few moments that left the audience in stitches. It was both thought-provoking and a crowd pleaser. The play gets its title from the jersey number of Adam Goodes, a professional footy player of Aboriginal descent. At one point, Goodes was called an “ape” by a 13-year-old girl and called the girl out, leading opposing fans to boo him during future games. In a separate incident, Goodes was criticized for pantomiming the act of throwing a boomerang at the opposing team during a celebration dance. Goodes was named Australian of the Year in 2014 for his anti-racism advocacy but retired from the game in 2015. The boomerang incident was referenced in the play and became a litmus test that divided the teammates, with Jayma wearing the 37 jersey to signify his support for Goodes. The choreography was a major highlight, with the game scenes represented through a visually compelling warrior-dance that connected the motions of modern footy to its indigenous roots. As the play explained, Aboriginal tribes in the Grampians region of Victoria played a game called Marn Grook using a ball made from possum skins. The game was of arbitrary length but always ended with burying the ball in the ground, a symbolic recognition of the land. The best moment of the play was the ending, where Jayma has to decide whether he’s going to win the game or throw the game, knowing that the team’s management doesn’t have his back and is only letting him play out of greed and self-interest. As he takes the final shot, he hears the cawing of a currawong, refocusing the audience’s attention on the set’s backdrop: the painted silhouette of a currawong made with overlapping handprints. It was a clever visual symbol to have hovering in the background the whole show, and a brilliant usage of a sound cue to redirect focus from the heat of the moment to this higher symbolic level. To me, it signified Jayma remembering the roots of the game – a community tradition, connected to nature, free from ego and ambition – and realizing that one single game was insignificant in his culture's view. The play ended with Jayma and Sonny burying the ball in the ground, leaving the footy unfinished but completing the game of Marn Grook. Now, every time I hear the cawing of a currawong, I think of this theatrical moment and get chills all over again. The season of Survivor: Australia finished, and was high-quality all the way to the end. Amazingly, the two sets of rivals, who became the de facto main characters, ended up in the final five. Having good players make it late into the game is always a treat. The winner, an HR manager from West Sydney named Feras, aka the smiling assassin, was very deserving. His complicated love/hate relationship with the no-nonsense footy coach, Kirby, really defined the season. I continued my Survivor lamington tradition, discovering that "lamington fingers" were superior to "jam lamingtons," as the fingers had more surface area for the chocolate and coconut. Speaking of food, I made an effort to sample unfamiliar Aussie or British-influenced treats, like Maltesers, ANZAC biscuits, Milo ice cream, and hot cross buns. Unfortunately, a few of my chocolate bars from the Great Ocean Road had melted and deformed during a heatwave, so I put them out of their misery. One was a tasty chocolate bar flavored with native Australian bush plants. On the savory side, I tried a “cheesymite scroll” - a spiral bun with Vegemite. It was a more favorable impression of Vegemite than my initial one. Around the shared apartment, I met Eirik, a Norwegian exchange student, and Joaquin, a Chilean exchange student – both electrical engineers. I also met a French student named Madeline who was researching a cave in Tasmania. But overall, it seemed quieter around the place. Fewer people, and less chatty ones. An exception was the boisterous JL, a Canadian physiotherapist, who was still a reliable source of an energetic conversation. Saturday mornings, I continued attending the Parkrun 5k events with my Kiwi friend Ben, usually going out for coffee afterwards. As faster runners on the course, we had the advantage of getting our coffee orders in earlier! I learned that Ben had lived in Ireland for some time, which explained his hybrid accent. One morning before the run, I saw hot air balloons launching in the distance, a pretty sight from Princes Park. On a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, the Melb-Furs hosted a BBQ meetup along the Yarra River. The free public grills were shiny and clean, as any upstanding Australian citizen would expect from their government. The staff supplied and prepared the sausages, asking only for a “gold coin donation,” an Aussie term meaning either a $1 or $2 coin. Some people wore fursuits, though usually in a lighter version called a “partial,” meaning just the heads and paws (no bodysuit). From the riverbank, the fursuiters sometimes caught the attention of the boats cruising by and exchanged waves. A first-time attendee named Sed, a freshman at RMIT, imprinted on me and followed me around for the afternoon. It was kind of endearing, and I tried to help him integrate into the community. Afterwards, people continued hanging out at the Central Mall, where I refueled my social batteries with a Vietnamese iced coffee. The Tuesday barmeets continued as well. Each week I got to know my new friends a little better. I found out that Walter is a fellow classical guitar player; that Rowdy went to boarding school in the UK; that March was going to an upcoming convention in Thailand. Daniel explained the concept of the “Easter Bilby,” an Aussie alternative to the Easter Bunny. The barmeets were well-attended and I only ever recognized about a third of the folks. New characters frequently emerged from the woodwork. For example, a wide-eyed fellow named Ossi who arrived wearing pilot goggles over his mane of hair. Despite his unusual appearance, he turned out to be a pleasant conversationalist. Over the course of my travels, the wheels on my rolling Swiss Gear suitcase had eroded into unrecognizable blobs of rubber. The suitcase may have been under warranty, but to save shipping time, I completed a DIY repair using replacement wheels from Amazon. As part of the job, I had to detach the old wheels by cutting through steel bolts. Having few tools at my disposal, I resorted to a serrated butter knife. Slowly but surely, it sawed through. I guess I’m still a stubborn engineer at heart. The larger-than-life Miriam Margolyes is a British actress who became an Australian citizen, best known for playing Professor Sprout in the Harry Potter movies. Before my trip, I watched her TV miniseries called “Almost Australian” where she travels around the country interviewing a diverse set of locals in her signature style, full of comedy, empathy, and foul language. In a wonderful coincidence, I had the chance to see her live at the Melbourne Arts Centre in a one-off event. Miriam shared the stage with a friend, who loosely acted as moderator, and an Auslan sign language interpreter. The Auslan interpreter quickly became an accomplice to the comedy. Right off the bat, Miriam rattled off some of her favorite swear words just to see how the interpreter signed them. It was a hilarious and inclusive moment. Later on when Miriam was doing an impression of an unpleasant high school teacher, the Auslan interpreter added goofy facial expressions and nervous tics that totally captured the spirit of the bit, to Miriam’s and the audience’s delight. The first half was a stream of consciousness, including a funny anecdote about Maggie Smith, more lewd humor, and a commentary on the Israel-Gaza crisis. Miriam, a Jewish woman, strongly condemned the Israeli government while also condemning antisemitism. She mentioned that that her cousins in the audience didn’t agree with her views, but without making them feel bad. The second half was based on audience questions. One question teased out a story about the AirBNB Miriam owns in Dover. Unbeknownst to Miriam, the AirBNB's roof had been used as a drop point in a cocaine smuggling operation! Another question referred to her as a "queer icon," which she appreciated but deflected by saying that one shouldn’t focus exclusively on icons from one background, but rather on holistically interesting people. The show ended on a slightly strange note, with Miriam performing a stage reading of a passage from Dickens. Overall, it’s her warmth, sincerity, humor, and willingness to tackle uncomfortable topics that I’ll remember. In my own backyard in Carlton, the International Flower and Garden Show was in full bloom. Over the previous few weeks, I had witnessed the maze of white tents slowly taking over the Carlton Gardens. Despite all the anticipation, I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect. I figured if the event was going to close off my favorite running paths for a few weeks, I might as well check it out. I convinced my running mate Ben to join. The event was enormous, with an area inside the Royal Exhibition Building and outdoor displays that had that terraformed the park into an unrecognizable landscape. It was my first time inside the Royal Exhibition Building. After running dozens of laps around the outside, stepping through the entryway was a magical moment. The interior was spacious and grand, with lots of natural light, soft wooden floors, and decorative artwork. The color scheme of dark green and burgundy with gold highlights gave me nostalgia for an era I never witnessed. The segmented framework supporting the ceiling and the pattern of circular windowpanes were unique architectural details that jumped out. The hall was built in 1880 for the Melbourne International Exhibition, used as a temporary government house while Canberra was being constructed, and later named a UNESCO world heritage site. I appreciate that it’s still in continuous usage as an events center, a living piece of history. The indoor space included dazzling competition entries, like floral arrangements, table centerpieces, and enormous dioramas. There was a bedroom display made out of flowers, a fashion area with dresses made of native plants, and a particularly charming animatronic garden snail. The second floor had a gallery of plant-themed artwork and tables with hands-on crafting workshops in progress. The outdoor space was more vendor oriented, with lawn ornaments, hammocks, greenhouses, birdhouses, hot tubs, tulip bulbs, and lawnmowers for sale. Someone was dressed up as a giant jug of plant growth solution, advertising their brand. We stopped to look at the impressive selection of small potted houseplants. I’ve never seen so many cute succulents before! Ben picked one out to bring home. I particularly liked a spindly looking tree that looked like it was about to pull its roots out of the ground and go for a walk. There were also landscape architecture displays, which looked like slices of paradise that were infused into the park. Near the food trucks, a live jazz band was performing on a mini stage that, naturally, was also a garden arrangement. Meandering through the gardens in the background were performers on stilts dressed up as giant flowers or butterflies. With all these sights to take in, plus a lunch and coffee break in the middle, we ended up spending a few hours – much longer than we both expected. It was a worthwhile outing. The final March event to highlight was the Grand Prix, the annual Formula One race that sees the peaceful Albert Park turned into a roaring circuit. The Netflix series “Drive to Survive” has caused a surge in F1 viewership, and a record crowd of 452,000 fans attended over the race weekend. Like seeing the Australian Open at Rod Laver Arena, it was a privilege to witness another international sporting event at an iconic Melbourne venue. I attended two out of the four days, on Thursday and Saturday. On Thursday I managed to get in for free, as it was community day where local residents were given free entry – a tacit bribe for the noise pollution (I could hear engines all the way from Carlton). As luck would have it, I had a piece of mail with my name and one of the qualified postal codes, a relic from when I first arrived in Melbourne. I showed it at the window and received a free grounds pass. To my surprise, there was a chaotic sea of small children in matching shirts and bucket hats. School groups were also in attendance! It really did feel like a community day. The event grounds were ripe for exploration, from the Melbourne Walk where eager fans waited for driver autographs, to the numerous merchandise stores and food trucks. Artists were live-painting a mural, highlighting some of the Australian drivers like Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo. I quickly learned the locations of the footbridges that crossed from the outside of the racetrack to the inside, which tended to be congested despite having separate levels or lanes for each direction of traffic. There was a temporary floating bridge so that pedestrians could cross the middle of the lake. The bridge also offered great views of the resident waterfowl and city skyline. There was an innovation area with tech talks, military and university recruiters, and historical cars on display. Naturally, it all reminded me of the Michigan FSAE event and my time on Brown Formula Racing! Since it was the first day of the event and no actual F1 races were scheduled, the normally expensive grandstands were open to everyone. I had lunch from a grandstand overlooking Turn 9, and watched as the cars in the Porsche Carrera Cup went zooming by, cutting the corner as close as possible. I did see one car make contact, but the barrier wasn’t rigid and spun around. The Porsche Carrera Cup was one of several non-F1 races that I discovered at the event. These parallel competitions kept the track lively between the F1 rounds. Sometimes, a parade of classic cars took over the track, showcasing different vehicle styles. Over the course of the afternoon, I hopped along the perimeter of the track, scoping out the different vantage points. There were several grassy hills with good views, useful knowledge for Saturday. Getting to and from the venue was a little tricky, even with some prior knowledge of the trams. Key areas in the CBD had signage about tram rerouting, which I misunderstood, and ended up taking a long bus ride instead of getting on the bullet tram going directly to the gates. And on the way back, the trams arriving at the station were already full of people from the previous stop. Still, with sore feet from a day on the grounds, waiting was better than walking. On Saturday, I paid for a grounds pass, as the day’s agenda seemed worthwhile: F1 driver interviews, F2 and F3 races, F1 practice, and F1 qualifying. I missed the initial round of ticket sales but managed to snipe one on the secondhand market. In Victoria, ticket resales are capped at 10% of their face value so I got it for a decent price ($94 USD with ticket fees). It was also my first direct encounter with the dreaded Ticketmaster, but thankfully the frustration was minimal. The Saturday crowds were significantly larger than Thursday. I arrived in time to catch the interviews with the BWT Alpine team and the Mercedes Benz team, including the famous British driver Lewis Hamilton. The interviewers were more focused on bringing out the drivers’ personalities, asking them questions about their impressions of Australia and playing quiz games. The large crowd was lapping it up. Several cardboard cutouts of the drivers’ heads bobbed above the masses. Afterwards, the crowds took their place by the side of the track. The F2 and F3 races were just as fast and exciting as F1, with lesser known but up-and-coming drivers. During the F2 race, there were a few crashes, including one car that spun out within my view. When a crash happens, a safety car enters the course and drives in front of the pack. The safety car sets the pace and consolidates the active drivers, creating a window for track cleanup. However, the laps behind the safety car still count, so the crashes take away from the actual race and make it less exciting. The F1 practice sessions were a good preview of the cars and teams. But it was the F1 qualifier that gave the first taste of real stakes, as the fastest cars earned a better pole position for the Grand Prix race. The qualifier had several rounds, with the slowest cars eliminated each round. As a result, I got to see the best teams like Red Bull, McLaren, and Ferrari each complete a dozen or so laps. The F1 engines were quieter than some of the previous racing categories, but I still wore earplugs around the venue. It was a lucky coincidence I already had a stockpile of earplugs, intended for noisy hostels but just as good on the racetrack. On Sunday, I watched the big race on my TV. There were so many details I now appreciated, having walked the course. I could pinpoint the cars’ location based on the advertisements in the background, and when they showed aerial tracking shots, I knew how fast the helicopters were flying to keep up. It was a disappointing race for the dominant Max Verstappen, who dropped out early due to a mechanical issue, ending his winning streak. I was rooting for Oscar Piastri, the young Australian driver on McLaren, who was in 3rd place in the first half. No Aussie driver has made it onto the podium in Melbourne, and it seemed like Piastri had a good chance of breaking the curse. Alas, his teammate Lando Norris was having a better race and Piastri was instructed to let him pass. Norris took 3rd for McLaren, while Ferrari took 1st and 2nd. The winning driver, Carlos Sainz, recently had his appendix removed – and joked the extra weight loss was the secret to his win.
Attending the Grand Prix was super special, and my first time at an F1 event. However, it’s not the best spectator sport, as you can only see one segment of the race. There were speakers with radio broadcasts at regular intervals around the track, and video screens in select locations, so it was possible to follow the narrative of the race. But I felt much more connected to the story when I could see it all unfold on TV. The combination of traditional cameras on cranes, helicopter footage, and onboard driver/car footage is just so much more compelling than a flash of red or orange. That said, the visceral thrill of the engines roaring and the smell of burning tires and gas could only be appreciated from the track. Canberra, the national capital of Australia, is understandably omitted from many tourist itineraries. Located in the Australian Capital Territory (ACT), a remote region of bushland 250 km away from Sydney and nowhere near the coast, it has a reputation for being a perfunctory political hub. However, this seeming contradiction between government grandeur and accessible nature was actually what caught my interest. When I found out about the hot air balloon festival scheduled for March, I booked my trip. As far as cities go, it has an unusual origin story that’s worth highlighting. When the Australian colonies federated in 1901, rivals Sydney and Melbourne couldn’t agree on the new government’s location. As a compromise, they specified a capital city somewhere in the state of New South Wales, but at least 160 km away from Sydney. The current site was selected in 1911, and was followed by an international competition to design the city layout. The winning team was a husband-and-wife duo from Chicago, Marion and Walter Burley Griffin. One of the key features of the Burley Griffin design was a “land axis” from Mount Ainslie to the future capital hill, and a perpendicular “water axis” along the Molongo River. Parliament officially moved to Canberra in 1927, working in a temporary building as the city was gradually built up. In 1968, the construction of a dam turned the river into Lake Burley Griffin, now the focal point of the city. The Old Parliament House was superseded by the current Parliament House in 1988 – more on both buildings later. From the Parliament House, two radial roads emanate like spokes, one towards the CBD and one towards the defense precinct, creating the Parliament Triangle. I flew from Melbourne to Canberra, an easy <1 hour journey. The first three nights, I stayed at a hostel in the CBD. It was the only hostel in Canberra, and a sad place. One of my roommates was an overly chatty middle aged Australian man who narrated the entire process of booking a flight to the Philippines. At one point, I encountered a drunk skateboarder vomiting on the sidewalk in front. Apart from that, it was a central location and the rest of the area was fine. On the way to get groceries, I walked through a polished shopping mall with a Lego store – the center display was a minifig taking a selfie with a kangaroo. Like Washington DC, the concentration of top-tier museums is one of Canberra’s strongest points. I visited 8 different galleries, and all of them were free! The first was the National Gallery of Australia (NGA), home to impressive international works and even better Australian ones. A particular highlight of the NGA was a gallery dedicated to Vincent Namatjira, whose colorful and playfully irreverent paintings lampooned colonial icons (like the royal family) and celebrated the musicians and athletes that inspired him. One series of paintings told the life story of his great grandfather, Albert Namatjira, also a famous painter. I liked Sidney Nolan’s series of paintings chronicling the life of bushranger Ned Kelly, drawn with a cartoonish representation of Kelly’s signature suit of armor (which I had just seen in Melbourne). An enormous room of hollow log coffins arranged in the shape of a specific river in the Northern Territory was a beautiful memorial to Aboriginal people killed by European settlers. Another powerful work with colonial themes was a painting by Gordon Bennett that adapted imagery from 9/11 and Jean-Michel Basquiat into an Australian invasion setting. But my gallery visit didn’t stop when I left the building! As part of the Enlighten Festival, there was a live concert right outside, featuring a rapper named Briggs from the rural city of Shepparton, and he was very proud of his backwater roots. The concert led up to the start of the light projections, the signature feature of the Enlighten Festival where prominent Canberra buildings are dressed up with colorful animations. The animations are different every year and reflect the building’s spirit. The NGA show was titled “Aboriginal All-Stars” and projected Vincent Namatjira’s dazzling artwork onto this grand canvas, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Some of the other noteworthy Enlighten displays included cartoon characters running silly science experiments on the Questacon, historical Australian footage on the National Library, and a groovy 80’s color palette on the Old Parliament House. I even walked up to the new Parliament to see this year’s Lego-themed animations, a reference to the scale Lego model on display inside. Alongside the projections were other attractions including a live rock band, a fungi-inspired light installation, and a tap-dancing group. I headed back to the CBD, crossing a bridge which under cover of darkness had become an arachnid gallery. Every single stretch of railing had a gnarly spider on display, and it was a long bridge. Maybe the politicians can learn a thing or two about spinning webs. I don’t like waking up early, but I can force myself awake for the right reason – like the launch of hot air balloons at dawn! I packed a light breakfast and walked through the still-dark park at 5:30am, full of chittering fruit bats and cute possums peering down from the trees. The launch site was the Patrick White lawns, a surprisingly small footprint for the ~40 balloons that took off each day. As I approached the lawns, the darkness was pierced by flashes of flame and whooshing roars as the pilots tested their equipment. A fleet of food trucks was ready to feed and caffeinate the groggy masses. Flat white in hand, I walked through the field to get a closer look at the baskets, stepping into the radius of warmth. The pilots were busy unloading their vans; a dog leapt out of a tall basket on command. Spectators trickled in, forming circles around the flat balloons. With intermittent flames in the background, it was very cultish. I walked up to the library’s terrace to get a better view of the scene. First, the balloons were cold-inflated, reluctantly pushing themselves off the ground. Then, with the baskets lying horizontally on the ground, the flames were shot sideways into the opening, providing the hot air needed to coax the balloons upright. In the gray 6:00am light, the flames were bright enough to illuminate the balloons from the inside, and they flickered like enormous lightbulbs. One-by-one the balloons took flight, revealing their designs. Most were classic checkered colors. A few had interesting shapes like an Air Force helmet and a cartoon head with pigtails. Others had advertisements for seemingly random things like Hendrick’s Gin, a veterinary drug called Zolvix, and Melbourne tourism. Some lifted straight up, others got a running start like planes on a runway. A few people absorbed in their photos were almost plowed over! Once the final balloon had launched, I joined the masses walking west, following the wake of the aerial parade. I could now see the lake was full of kayakers and boats, many now paddling west too. The balloons had traveled far and were already small in the distance. Seeing the skies filled with these iconic Aussie aircraft was charming, but the energy of the launch site was the best part. I've never experienced anything like it! After that, I visited the Parliament House, now looking rather plain without its Lego projections. In front was a mosaic with an indigenous design, meant to put the First Nations first. The building is embedded in the hill and seems to rise organically from the earth itself, as democracy should. Past a basic security check was a beautiful lobby with green marble columns. The tour itself was short and sweet, visiting the House chamber (color coded green) and explaining some of the design features, like a white-noise fountain to mask private conversations. The guide suggested visiting the rooftop, home to an enormous Australian flag the size of a double decker bus and some excellent views. Of course, I made sure to visit the Lego model, which was accurate and full of cute details, like an observer accidentally dropping a hot dog into the proceedings below. It was a long walk across town, but I made it to the Kingston area to check out a few sights. One was an active glassblowing center with public viewing, but I didn’t linger as I was already overheated from the walk. Another was the Old Bus Depot market, a spacious crafts market with lots of tempting local goods. I tasted a few spirits and syrups and bought a few postcards from a local artist with quirky Canberran designs, including a group of magpies in a meeting to select their next victim. The third attraction was a Nepalese restaurant that had been recommended to me, called Lakeside Gurkhas. I ordered a sampler platter that was loaded with goodies, including curries, chutneys, veggies, and fermented soybeans. The staff was very amiable and even brought out a little dessert. Feeling a little stuffed but carrying on, I crossed the lake, passed the carillon, and walked up the ANZAC Parade towards the War Memorial. The parade was a rich maroon color and was lined with smaller memorials for each conflict Australian soldiers were involved in. It was peaceful in this slow part of the day; a sulphur-crested cockatoo was drinking water from the Vietnam memorial fountain and flew off as I approached. I cooled down with an iced coffee at the museum café. The War Museum was too large to absorb in the short time before closing. Some of the material was familiar – for example, the Gallipoli campaign had been featured at the Te Papa museum in New Zealand, since it was a joint ANZAC operation. In my brief stint, I learned that Australia had a front row seat to the Pacific theater of WWII, with Darwin and the northern coast suffering Japanese bombings. The reason I arrived later in the day was to see the Last Post ceremony, a late afternoon event that honors an individual soldier by recounting their story. On that day, it was Lance Corporal William James Thomas Kelly, who had been deployed to Britain during WWI, fought on the Western Front on multiple tours and persisted through multiple injuries, only to die in the post-war influenza epidemic. People who I assume were living relatives of the soldier placed wreaths by his photo, while melancholy bagpipe music reverberated throughout the stone courtyard. The ceremony was attended by many fellow tourists, but they were all respectful, soaking in the solemnity. It was really quite moving. In the evening, I headed to Commonwealth Park with a picnic dinner for a free outdoor concert. Though smaller than the Sydney Myer Bowl in Melbourne, this Canberran equivalent was worthy in its own right, with well-organized sections for blanketers vs. camping chairs and a vanguard of food trucks. It also bordered a fruit bat colony, which gradually launched at dusk, just like the balloons in the morning. The musical performer was a unique, never-seen-before collaboration between the Canberra Symphony Orchestra and the Hoodoo Gurus, a well-regarded Australian rock band. I chatted with my picnic neighbors, an older Canberran couple, who explained the Hoodoo Gurus had been popular on the US college circuit in the 80s. The songs, all Hoodoo Gurus hits, had been arranged specifically for this concert by a young local composer. The lead singer of the Hoodoo Gurus, Dave Faulkner, had a great stage presence, as did the symphony conductor, Vanessa Scammel. I felt that the rock instruments drowned out the traditional ones, but it wasn’t a big deal as the rock songs were all excellent. On the way back into the CBD, I stopped by a light installation at Civic Square, featuring ancient animals like a saber-tooth tiger. The creatures were made of geometric wire frames and backlit fabric, giving them a wonderful aesthetic. Another morning, another early start for the balloons! This time I headed to opposite side of the lake to get a different perspective. The sunrise was gorgeous, creating silhouettes of the balloons and kayakers. The balloons took a slightly different path, narrowly clearing the bridge and deliberately flying low across the surface of the lake. A few balloons even let the kayakers grab on, and pulled them across the lake! I was conveniently located at the National Museum, with one small problem… it was still 7:30 in the morning. I killed some time by walking around the Australia National University (ANU) campus, looking for a bathroom but it was completely deserted. Thankfully the museum opened at 9:00 even though it was Canberra Day, a public holiday. The National Museum had an excellent flagship exhibit on Australia’s natural history. The entryway highlighted the bunya trees of Queensland, which have enormous pinecones. During the pinecone season, indigenous groups traveled long distances for an annual gathering to collect this important food source. I actually found a bunya pinecone near the balloon launch site later in my visit. Good thing it didn't land on a balloon, or it could have punctured one... The museum also highlighted Australia’s natural disasters, including cyclones and bushfires, and had an excellent animated map explaining the continent-level weather patterns. Now I know why Melbourne can have four seasons in one day! There were also some regional spotlights, on traditional controlled burning practices, migrating moths, and the “Snowy” hydroelectric scheme. Another wing of the NMA was about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history and culture. The signs didn’t beat around the bush when it came to atrocities committed by Europeans. For example, the Coniston Massacre of 1928, where the murder of one adulterous white man escalated to the murder of 60 innocent indigenous people. But there were also messages of hope, like an explanation of the 1992 Mabo decision where Murray Islanders regained their ancestral land rights in a Supreme Court ruling. The most unique item in the NMA was the preserved remains of a thylacine, aka the Tasmanian tiger, from the 1920s. I already had a mild fascination with this extinct animal from my visit to Tasmania. It’s a bit of a "ghost" species, still haunting the public psyche, printed on every Tasmanian license plate, but not something you’ll find out in nature – or even a zoo. The last thylacine in captivity died in 1936. The one in the glass case looked sad, almost anguished, seemingly aware of its species' fate. Maybe it will be cloned someday. Alongside the display was some other historical content including a cute photo of a mother thylacine with three joeys and a desperate campaign flyer from efforts to locate any surviving populations in the wild. Poor thylacines. Gone, but not forgotten. Another pleasant stroll around the lake, a sandwich for lunch, and I was right back into museum mode. The National Portrait Gallery had the whole pantheon of Australian celebrities on display but didn’t resonate with me. My main takeaway was discovering that the classical guitarist John Williams is from Melbourne, as he had a portrait on display. The café at the NPG was nice though. When I checked my bag at reception of the Old Parliament House, I asked if there were any exhibits I should prioritize. The reply was ambiguous but prescient: just explore, this place is full of surprises. Indeed it was! The first room was all about beehives, which one senator had set up on the grounds as a pet project. The second room was full of working typewriters, delightfully tangible. I had never played with a typewriter apart from a theater prop. Signs encouraged visitors to write letters and drop them in a free mailbox. Here’s hoping that this offer included international postage, as I may have sent a letter or two to the USA! I had a blast fumbling my way through: setting margins, figuring out the carriage return, hammering that ink ribbon, and dealing with jams. The rest of the building also leaned into nostalgia. The explorable labyrinth of rooms and hallways was filled with 80’s office equipment and government flyers. The museum was formally called the Museum of Australian Democracy (MOAD) and had rooms full of info about Australia’s voting laws and prime ministers. It made me realize that Australia has always been ahead of the curve with election rules – they pioneered the secret ballot (the “Australian ballot”), were among the first countries with women’s suffrage, allowed voting by mail in 1919, implemented compulsory voting, and even has ranked-choice voting for Parliamentary candidates. Setting a good example for the rest of the world. After a brief rest at the hostel, I embarked on the hike up Mt. Ainslie to catch the sunset over Canberra. The views of the city were spectacular. While waiting, I admired some beautiful crimson rosella parrots and a kangaroo joey hopping up a staircase. I stayed to see the changing colors of sunset, then headed back downhill before it got completely dark. After a 14-mile day, I indulged in a slice of cheesecake as a reward. The third early morning was a bit of a dud. The balloon launch was called off for an unspecified weather reason, but I only found out when I was already in position at the lake. I stayed to watch the sunrise, wishing I had brought another layer as I munched on a piece of banana bread and sipped a canned Boss coffee. A large katydid was also watching the sunrise from the dock railing, until it was eaten by a magpie. I returned to the hostel, ready to check out and move on with the day. Upon leaving the hostel, I was picked up by Ian, a Canberra local and a friend of Gail’s who agreed to show me around. We hopped in his car and headed to the National Arboretum. From a viewpoint at the top of the arboretum, we could see the syringe-like spire of Telstra Tower, Lake Burley Griffin, burn scars from previous bushfires, and the arboretum’s orderly rows of young trees. It was incredibly nice of him to take a chance on a total stranger. With a relaxed attitude, deep local knowledge, and a twinkle in his eye, he played the role of tour guide incredibly well. I enjoyed picking his brain about all things Canberran and Australian. Next we popped over to the Botanical Gardens and had a coffee on a sunny patio, watching the sun-bathing water dragons on the other side of the lawn. We took a stroll through the garden paths, which featured native Australian plants. Unfortunately, the misty fern pathway was closed due to bunya pinecone season – falling pinecones are no joke! In the bookstore, Ian pointed out a book on bees authored by one of his neighbors. A temporary art exhibit paid homage to the diversity of Australia’s bee species. Ian suggested grabbing lunch at his neighborhood Vietnamese restaurant. He knew the owner well and was enthusiastic about supporting this local gem. Our bahn mi sandwiches were lovingly assembled, and the paper bags were twisted up with expert technique. We took our food to the nearby park and found a shady spot by the side of the lake. Ian had a set of telescoping expandable stools, an ingenious design, which elevated our lunch quite literally. Spending a few hours with Ian was delightful, and he was also kind enough to drive me to the outer suburbs and drop me off with my Servas hosts, Elizabeth and Gerin. I stayed with Elizabeth and Gerin for just two nights, but I got to know them quickly. Elizabeth’s background was in workplace counseling, and she always greeted me with a big smile and upbeat sense of humor. She was passionate about traveling, had excellent questions to spark a conversation, and had that aggressive Aussie sense of hospitality, declining my offers to pitch in around meals. Gerin was a structural engineer, with sun-hardened arms, a skinny yet strong build, and bright eyes. He spoke softly and slowly, contrasting with his fast-paced and vivacious lifestyle, which included juggling a portfolio of consulting projects, building the house, and playing field hockey. The two of them loved living in Canberra, citing an abundance of international events and academic lectures that were often smaller and more intimate. The house itself was extremely unique and a memorable part of the stay. Their original home burned down in the 2003 bushfires, a fire that wiped out most houses on their circular block. Being a structural engineer, Gerin had spared no detail on the design and materials for the rebuild. Inspired by interlocking gears, the façade was comprised of semicircular windows made with special Chinese glass to maximize natural light while insulating from heat. The interior was a series of half-stories; from each floor, you could see into the half-stories above and below. It was at that intermediate stage of construction, where the bathroom light was a temporary floor lamp, and parts of the walls were exposed, and full of surprises, like motorized pantry shelves that rose out of the kitchen counter. A cute and well-behaved Kelpie, their son’s dog, was a fellow guest and was often in the background, pattering across the concrete floors. It reminded me of a Lemony Snicket house, a larger-than-life physical space that reflects the owners’ auras. The first afternoon, I tagged along with Gerin on some shopping errands. We picked up adhesives in the industrial suburb of Fyshwick, and briefly crossed the border into New South Wales so he could check in with a consulting client. He drove a 2007 Prius, the same that I drive, except with the steering while on the other side. I was sad to learn that its catalytic converter was stolen while in Townsville. The replacement converter wasn’t an exact match, and the dashboard’s “red triangle of death” was illuminated for most of the ride, disabling the AC. Gerin shrugged it off and opened the windows. The errands morphed into a spontaneous driving tour. We visited the defense precinct, home to Australia’s one and only military academy. A variety of uniforms for the army, navy, and air force were on display as we drove around the campus. Gerin had been the engineer and/or designer for several buildings here. Two unique challenges he faced were designing hat racks to accommodate the different uniforms and making the hallways wide enough for passing salutes. We drove past the Australian-American Memorial, a pillar with an eagle on top, which reminded me of Saruman’s tower from Lord of the Rings. Earlier in the day, Ian explained its local nickname: Bugs Bunny. I was amazed when Gerin told me he had climbed to the top via an internal ladder for a recurring inspection! Later on, we drove through the embassy neighborhood, with lots of international architecture on display. The US embassy, a neat brick building, sat on an enormous and fenced plot of land. In the late afternoon, I hiked into the hills behind the house to enjoy the sunset. The elaborate swirls and banks of clouds were beautiful. The air was filled with the robotic warbles of the magpies, the squawking of the crimson rosellas, and the guttural chirps and “ooo-EEEEs” of the currawongs. Over a seafood pasta dinner, we continued chatting and I learned that Gerin had some Chinese ancestry. His grandfather came to Australia during the gold rush era and ran a general store. While it was unusual to grow up in a mixed-race family at that time, Gerin said that having many siblings and being a tough kid helped. He was born and raised in Canberra, leaving only to study civil engineering, which struck me as unique. Most people seemed to relocate to Canberra for work, bouncing back and forth with another area over the course of their careers. Also staying at the house, but not Servas guests, were an Australian/American couple named Min and Marie. They both worked in NGO relief organizations and met in Bangladesh. Min was friends with the hosts’ son and looking for work in Canberra. An electrical engineer by training, Min was a gregarious and generous fellow. He let me borrow his road bike, effortlessly replacing the tires before my eyes, and made delicious espresso drinks in the mornings. I briefly met his wife Marie, who was 9 months pregnant, and very nice too. They also had an infant son who was a bundle of energy, and sampled the grapes from my plate, calling them “cherries.” To get a taste of the ACT’s wilderness, I embarked on a point-to-point hike along the Murrumbidgee River. Gerin dropped me off at the Kambah Rock Pools, perfect for swimming on a different day. I hiked to Red Rocks Gorge, pausing at the viewing platform to admire the alternating patches of still water and turbulent water flowing between the cliffs. There were a few bikers, and a cheerful group of older men who looked like a bushwalking club, but it was otherwise uncrowded. I spotted a couple of kangaroos in the shade, nibbling on plants. Our timing for the pickup was impeccable – Gerin arrived at the Pine Island parking lot at the exact moment I did. Back at the house, I had lunch with Gerin and made plans for a bike ride around Lake Burley Griffin. At the same time, Min was preparing the car to take Marie to the hospital, as the baby was coming. But the preparations weren’t quick enough – Marie went into labor in their room downstairs! Elizabeth and Min assisted Marie, while Gerin called an ambulance, and I tried to keep the dog and toddler out of the way. The baby was delivered safely before the medical team arrived, but everyone in the house was a little shaken. The family later went to the hospital, and mom and baby were both healthy. A few hours later, Gerin pulled over to the side of the road in a non-descript gravel clearing, and pointed to the bike path on the other side. I hadn’t thought of testing the bike before we left. As he drove off, I realized it was a sink or swim moment. It didn't start well. The gear shifting mechanism was not obvious, and a few minutes into the ride, the chain became uncoupled. I reattached the chain, covering my fingers in black grease, not feeling very confident. But after a few minutes, I figured out the shifting controls and things improved from there. I started the loop in a secluded foresty segment with little traffic. As I rushed past fields of resting galahs, strutting pukekos, and wary kangaroos, I was reminded of the joy of biking. Perhaps my last bike ride, the Croatian island where I stepped on a shell, had left the wrong impression. A few miles later, I was in the familiar zone of the Parliament Triangle. Paths that had seemed so tedious for walking were now made tricky by those same pedestrians. When Ian dropped me off, I accidentally left my water bottle in his car. Since my bike route went near his place in Kingston, I arranged to meet him and pick it up. I was expecting a quick exchange, but he saw how disheveled I looked – sweaty, greasy, and dusty – and invited me for a drink. We had a bonus chat over a bonus pint (a local beer called Ale Mary) at a shady outdoor table of an English-sounding pub. Continuing the bike ride, I passed through the Jerrabombera Wetlands, catching glimpses of the action on the lake, including a game that appeared to be kayak basketball. Black swans floated past, cormorants dried their open wings on the shore, and I spotted a trio of black cockatoos. After completing the 16-mile loop, I was feeling good, so I decided to ride all the way back to the house, adding another 5 miles. Canberra is considered extremely bikeable, but it wasn’t until I headed to the outer suburbs that I realized why. The connecting path was beautiful, fairly direct, and there were bike tunnels to get under the main roads. Evidently, one of the advantages of having a planned, spread-out city. I now understood Min’s excitement when describing the biking paths. Back home, Gerin and Elizabeth treated me to pork fried rice and a rhubarb pie. I explained the concept of Pi Day, which isn’t widely known in Australia due to the reversed date convention. Later, Gerin found an article explaining that Pi Day was popularized by the SF Exploratorium, a detail I didn’t know. When I first arrived at their house, I had brought a few gifts including chocolate corroboree frogs from the Great Ocean Road. Elizabeth went a step further and gave me a stuffed animal corroboree frog, now sitting on my desk as a cheerful reminder of their hospitality. It was the last morning of my trip, but I still had a few hours to explore. Gerin dropped me at the Canberra Museum, which explained the backstory on the site selection and Burley Griffin plan. I also visited the National Library for an official tour. The guide was an older gentleman with a cane, who took us into the depths of the building. It was built in the 1970s and had a working set of vacuum tubes for transmitting messages. I got to insert one of the tubes, which was whisked away with surprising force. We found it again later in the tour. The other group members, two Australian women, were library enthusiasts and were having a great time. They were pleasantly surprised to see a younger tourist like me on a library tour, and said a few encouraging words. It was time to catch my flight, and Gerin took me to the airport in the trusty Prius. He hadn’t been there in a while and was excited to see the two water vortex sculptures in front. I thanked him for all of the driving around town, as it really helped me cover a lot of ground!
In the airport, I looked at a beautiful painted turtle shell on display and got a sushi roll. It was served as a single piece, like an open-ended burrito, and came with a fish-shaped eyedropper of soy sauce. It was a smooth journey back to Melbourne, and soon I was back on a crowded but familiar 96 tram. Having seen a few sides of Canberra, it has a lot to offer but isn't for everyone. Without the festivals, the tourism draws would have been mainly museums and galleries, which I personally enjoyed but could be seen as a bit repetitive, especially for Australians who already know about their own country. The hiking and biking were certainly enjoyable, with Mount Ainslie being the highlight, but die-hard nature lovers would probably gravitate elsewhere. The suburbs have a good lifestyle, so it seems like a decent place to live. City-lovers and foodies might get bored, but it’s still an international hub. It wasn’t very walkable and the public transportation wasn't very convenient, so it's more of a car and bike oriented city. I did like the way the monuments were arranged in dialogue with one another, which gave it a sense of transcendence and allegory. I found Canberrans to be friendly, welcoming, generous, knowledgeable, and humorous. Getting to know them was the highlight of my visit! And of course, the Balloon Spectacular and the Enlighten Festival were the cherry on top that brightened it all. Content warning (animal death) for 4th image in this post. Two excellent day trips outside of Melbourne were my introduction to the greater region of Victoria. The first was a trip to the Great Ocean Road, an iconic Australian drive known for its coastal scenery. The second was a train journey to the historic gold rush town of Castlemaine, now an arts hub. The Great Ocean Road trip was one of those beautiful opportunities that came up unexpectedly. A few days in advance, I got a text from JC – one of my acquaintances from the Tuesday barmeet. His mom was visiting from the Philippines, and he invited me to join their day trip, correctly guessing that I was interested in seeing the Great Ocean Road. It was super thoughtful. Every time I thanked him, he shrugged it off with a humble remark about it being more efficient to go together. JC had a full plan for the day, with regular stops that divided up the 6 hours of driving. On the itinerary was a good mix of famous viewpoints and lesser-known spots. We agreed on an early start, leaving Melbourne at 6 am under cover of darkness, while the possums were still out playing. We drove the circuit in reverse, heading west through the inland route in the morning, and returning east along the coast in the afternoon. The backcountry roads were uncrowded, though we did encounter a few trains barreling towards the rising sun. The first stop was a hilly viewpoint in an area called Red Rock, formed by volcanic activity. The parking lot was empty, except for a row of dead foxes lined up on a stone wall, which was a bit shocking. The corpses seemed fresh, but there was no one around. I'm guessing they were being redeemed for a bounty, as bounty programs exist in Victoria for foxes and wild dogs. We tried not to dwell on it, and ascended a staircase to a viewing platform. It was a chilly morning, with clouds partially obscuring the early sun. The smooth hills were a golden hue, and there was a permanent lake in the distance. The next stop was at an unassuming blue church, but this was no ordinary church. No, it was a Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster! Home of the Pastafarians, a parody religion with playfully irreverent beliefs. The owner emerged holding pirate hats, a reference to the Pastafarian belief that humans are descended from pirates. A pamphlet explained, “in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was ‘Arrrgh!’ - Piraticus 13:7.” At the same time, the owner strongly emphasized that wearing a colander on the head, sometimes associated with Pastafarianism, is not actually part of the belief system. It was a hilarious and unexpected part of the day’s adventure! Reaching the coast, we arrived at the Twelve Apostles, the famous sandstone stacks. While there aren’t twelve, and perhaps never were, the constant erosion of the cliffs means that the landscape is merely a snapshot in time. In 1990, two tourists were stranded on Australia’s newest island when an arch collapsed. Smaller stacks were reclaimed by the sea in 2005 and 2009. And there is potential for new Apostles to form in the future. On this particular day, it was cloudy, windy, and a bit rainy, so no postcard views, but the Apostles were still stunning. After this brief taste of the coast, we turned back inland and traversed dirt mountain roads towards Erskine Falls. JC had never been this way before but seemed to take the rough terrain in stride. In this remote stretch of forest, we encountered a few wallabies and wedge-tailed eagles. The waterfalls were pleasant, framed with mossy cliffs and old-growth ferns. JC and I hiked down to the base of the falls while Connie stayed at the upper viewing platform. Connie used her cane to retrieve a beautiful blue bird feather that I spotted in the brush but had been out of reach, which was a sweet gesture. We stopped to eat our lunch in a dedicated picnic area, livening up the meal by trading bits of the prepared food we each brought. The road descended from the mountains and into the town of Lorne, where we reunited with the main Great Ocean Road. The clouds had started to disperse, and it was a delightful time to be driving along the ocean. We stopped at the Memorial Arch, where a plaque explained that the original road had been constructed by WWI veterans as part of a public works initiative. The beach was gorgeous, with so many shades of blue spread across the shallows, depths, and skies. JC had a trick up his sleeve – the car was a convertible, and he lowered the roof for the next segment of the drive! Earlier in the day, I had been concerned we wouldn’t get enough time on the coast, but my concerns floated away in the breeze. Speaking of the breeze, at Split Point, the gusts were so powerful that my hat was whisked over the edge of the platform and into the plants below. Thankfully, there was a way to walk under the platform and retrieve it. The viewing platform was a great vantage to appreciate the sea stacks and lighthouse. It was my favorite stop of the day. Apparently, Split Point was the filming location for a supernatural kids TV show from the 90’s called Round the Twist, a bit like an Australian version of Goosebumps. An excellent addition to the itinerary was the Great Ocean Road Chocolaterie, with an impressive selection of chocolate products, ice cream, and café goods. I was tempted to buy a chocolate kangaroo for Easter. Instead, I devoured a generous scoop of Rocky Road, while Connie and JC had cake slices and a flavored milk drink that came with a little pitcher of syrup. Outside, there was playground for kids to run off their sugar high, and some funny dessert-inspired kangaroo statues. The final drive back into Melbourne was uneventful. I was amazed at JC’s driving endurance, and appreciated the chance to doze a bit. We arrived at his place in the Docklands around 6 pm, a full 12-hour day. Even though we covered a lot of ground, I still viewed this journey as a first taste of the Great Ocean Road – a “rekkie” (reconnaissance) as the Aussies would say. I hope to return for more. A few days later, I met Reggie at the Southern Cross Station for a day trip to Castlemaine. At the station, we met up with Reggie’s friend and mentor David, who lives in Castlemaine and happened to be in Melbourne at the time. David was friendly and laid back. He also met many of the stereotypes of a disorganized but brilliant artist. He had lost his wallet earlier, and appeared with a ticket just in time to catch the train. Partway through the ride, he took a few droplets of CBD tincture from small bottle in his black leather jacket. As the rural scenery rolled by, the three of us chatted about David’s creative work, US politics, cannabis laws, and the names of the mountains. Occasionally, he would take out a notebook and jot down phrases he liked from the conversation. It was an easy 1.5-hour train ride. David headed home, while Reggie and I went for brunch at Saff’s Café. I had a nice Reuben and a flat white. Later, we checked out a cute bookstore and an op shop with lots of vintage goods. Castlemaine had that quintessential historic small-town charm, with antiquated but tasteful buildings from its glory days, independent shops, a cinema, and a quiet pulse of traffic. The real estate listings in the window were surprisingly expensive; apparently Castlemaine was a popular place for Melburnians to move during the COVID lockdown era. In the afternoon, we met up with Reggie’s friend Beverley, a delightful lady who greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Bev was recovering from a shoulder injury but had just started driving again. We hopped in her car and headed towards her place in the neighboring town of Chewton, population 763. Along the way, we stopped at the Monster Meeting site, where in 1851 the gold miners organized to protest the government’s plan to increase mining license fees. We spent a few hours chatting in Bev’s comfortable house. It was filled with international art, skylights, ceiling fans, and gentle music: an improvised jazz album by The Necks. Her hospitality was phenomenal, serving us delicious homemade gazpacho and the best chai tea I’ve ever had. I learned that Bev runs small group tours in India and had a wonderful story about the tiny shop where she purchased the tea. She was also kind enough to bring out some of her own artwork, surreal images including a house on wheels on the edge of the water, inspired by a dream. The kinds of images people might nowadays generate using AI, but created long before AI. We took turns suggesting various interpretations of each. Later, Bev took us for a spontaneous historical tour of the area. We stopped at Specimen Gully, where gold was first discovered in Victoria in 1851. Gold had been discovered in New South Wales earlier in the year, and in response, the Victorian government offered a reward for finding a gold field near Melbourne. Sure enough, it was found a few months later. Also at the historic site was a cottage made of high-quality slate, built in the 1870s. While we were inspecting the cottage, a second car arrived, a grandpa taking his grandkids for an outing. Bev gave them directions, learned all their names, asked one of the kids about her arm cast (she had fallen off a horse), and encouraged them to take a picture of the info sign on their way out. It was a wholesome interaction: small-town camaraderie. Continuing the drive through sparsely populated dirt roads, we stopped at an unmarked site Bev knew of, the Ochre Pits, where First Nations people sourced ochre for their painting. The colorful landscape was rugged and otherworldly, with exposed tree roots wrapping around the eroded rock faces. Within the crevices, I could see swirls of dark red among the oranges and yellows, a geologic prosciutto. As Bev put it, welcome to “Planet Australia.” Reggie and I bid farewell to Bev, bought sandwiches at a surprisingly large IGA grocery store, and rushed to catch the next train back to Melbourne. Always keen for wildlife, I spotted a few kangaroos resting in the shade of the otherwise sparse bushland. Soon we were back at Southern Cross. Since it was a Tuesday night, Reggie and I stopped by the usual barmeet, conveniently a few blocks from the station. My throat was dry and dusty from the day in Castlemaine, and even a refreshing pint of Tiger beer wasn’t enough remedy. I headed back to my apartment to properly hydrate and recover.
I’m so grateful to JC, Reggie, and Beverley for welcoming me into their adventures, and helping me experience rural Victoria. Though only a day’s journey from Melbourne, the Great Ocean Road and Castlemaine were a world away, and a welcome change of scenery. |
Grant MenonFreeform blog to share my travel experiences with my friends, family, and future self! Archives
May 2024
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