Lake Manyara

Animals on Safari
[Kyle]Our first real day on safari we saw baboons, elephants, zebra, hippopotamus, wildebeest, warthog, impala, gazelle and a few different varieties of birds and reptiles. Then we had lunch.

It was incredible. No sooner had we left the lodge than we came upon a roadblock of baboons. The troop had about twenty individuals including three little babies clinging to their mothers. They were all completely unconcerned with us and only got out of the road when they were ready. We weren’t in much of a hurry anyway. We were all taking pictures.

We descended back to the valley floor and entered the park at Lake Manyara. As soon as we got there, before we were actually in the park, someone spotted an eagle carrying off a baby baboon. Once in the park, the other baboons we came across were noticeably upset, erratically making agitated shouting noises for no particular other reason.

Soon after, we came upon our first family of elephants. We watched the mother reach way up with her trunk and tear off a high branch, and then she put it on the ground so her little ones could eat it. They seemed to be new to solid food and the use of their trunks and kept fumbling and dropping things.

Further into the park, the forest opened up into a wide plain covered in about ¼ inch of green grass. There we found impala, looking so trim and tidy like they just stepped out of the barbers. There was also hundreds of zebra, gazelle and wildebeest, with a few warthog thrown in. We pulled up to a watering hole and found about two dozen hippopotamus wallowing or laying on the bank in the sun. I was just amazed that I could look through the binoculars and have hippopotamus, wildebeest and zebra all in the same view. The way back was filled mostly with us stopping to look at one animal or another being cute.

We went back to our lodge for lunch. All of us were jabbering away about all of animals we saw as well as the incredible scenery.

After lunch, we had a really long drive to the Serengeti. Being such a popular tourist destination in Africa, I had assumed it would be closer to civilization, or at least civilization would be closer to it. Not so. At the Ngorongoro Conservation area entrance, the paved road ends and becomes a one lane dirt track. First it winds its way back and forth along steep switchbacks to the rim of the Ngorongoro Crater. We kept alternating between first and second gear as our underpowered Toyota Land Cruiser was unable to maintain speed on most of the hill in second gear.


At the top, we pulled off the side of the road at a lookout point that allowed us a view of the whole crater below. Closer inspection revealed tiny moving specks that the binoculars revealed were elephants or water buffalo. Oh, we are looking forward to going down there, but for now, our route took us along the rim about halfway and then descended the other side into the Serengeti plain. The lush tropical forest high on the rim gave way to the sweeping savannah that is so typically African. Along the way, we saw our fist giraffes, ostriches and hyenas.

Because we had so far to go and we needed to be off the road by sundown, it was necessary for our driver to take the bumpy road as fast as the vehicle could take it. Several times we were brought short on a flight toward the ceiling by our lap belts. Our driver, Juma, with a big smile and lots of rolling Rs in his Tanzanian accent called it “Free African Massage”.

At the border between the Ngorongoro and Serengeti conservation areas, there is a big sign marking the spot. Except for that, there is nothing there but the road. I thought Western Australia was deserted, but it’s got nothing on this place. Serengeti is a Masai word meaning endless plain. The border between parks requires a four hour drive on a one lane road to reach from any direction. The surrounding countryside is perfectly flat and has nothing but grass grazed down to the nub from horizon to horizon.

An hour or so later, hills started to appear on the horizon. As we got closer to them, the grass gradually got longer and thicker. After a while trees started appearing and they also got taller and thicker. By the time we rolled up to our lodge, all covered in dust, we were in proper woodland again.

Our lodge was amazing. Our room was huge and had a balcony overlooking the plain. Or bathroom was the size of a small locker room.

We had a nice dinner with everybody else from our vehicle. As we were finishing up, the lights went down and music started playing. The entire restaurant staff came around the corner and treated us to about half an hour of traditional African music and dance. Standing about a foot taller than the rest of the staff was a Masai man. He looked pretty uncomfortable, like someone who was invited to sing along but didn’t know the words. Neither his lips nor his body were following the music. Masai dance didn’t really mesh well with the rest. The rest of the staff were doing a lot of crouching and arm waving. Masai dance tends, like their dress, to emphasize their height. Most of the time, he would just stand there like he wasn’t sure what to do. Every now and then, he would walk to the front, lean slightly to one side and then the other and then jump WAY into the air about three times. Each jump was higher than the one before it. The last had him a good three feet above everybody else to the roaring applause of the crowd. Afterward, he would do a little lean one way and then the other and fade back into the group.

Maryanne went up closer to take a few photos and was pulled in. She danced out of the room with them as they went with a big smile on her face.

Wow!

[Kyle]Our room in Mountain Village Lodge was actually a free-standing circular ‘hut’, complete with thatched roof. Our veranda looked out over flower covered hills to Lake Diluti below. This place was way nicer than anywhere work puts me up. Maryanne made the comment that if it was going to be no worse than this from here on, she would be okay.

In the morning after a breakfast that was mostly really tasty fruit, we went for a walk around Lake Diluti. Since the lake is part of Arusha National Park, we were required to be in the company of a ranger/guide for the trip. We actually got one from the hotel and a park ranger. Both were very nice and filled us with way more information about the flora and fauna than we could possibly digest.

Just before we entered the park, he went inside and came out wearing a quilted jacket, which seemed odd because it was steaming hot outside and I was sweating heavily wearing much less. Maryanne asked him about it and was given a hasty answer about him needing to wear it so that he would stand out as a ranger. It wasn’t until much later when I was walking close behind him that I noticed that the jacket was covering a military rifle. Later on, he was candid with us when we asked about it and said that having an armed escort to protect visitors and the park from poachers was the main reason for requiring guides in parks.

Afterwards, we joined our safari guide and five others and piled into the Land Cruiser for the drive to Lake Manyara Lodge. This took us through the bustling center of Arusha, with its crowds of people all hanging around in the shade or at stalls made of whatever was at hand at the time they were built. Traffic became complete anarchy, although a civilized one where nobody seemed too bothered if we pulled in front of them or stopped in the middle of the road to look at something. Also, Maryanne notes, there were relatively few cars anyway, at least relative to the population. Most people were getting to where they were going with a long walk.

We drove out of town toward the mountains and came upon Masai country. Young boys who were mostly taller than I am followed small herds of cattle. All of the Masai boys, whether they were tending cattle or not, carried the longest stick they could find. These were usually about twice their height. All were wrapped in the most colourful blankets. I couldn’t imagine how they kept their garments so brilliantly bright and clean after spending all day tending animals in the dirt and sitting on the ground. The women were also impressive. They wore the most brightly colored gowns, scarves, and beaded jewellery. Most were carrying impossibly heavy loads of water, firewood or sacks of grain balanced on their heads. They all looked positively regal.

Unfortunately, I was not able to get a photo of any of this. People in Tanzania are very skittish about being photographed. We have been told by several different people that on rare occasions it may be possible to take someone’s photo for a fee if arranged in advance, but that most will become enraged. Our guide said that if we were seen by a crowd, the vehicle may even be attacked with stones. This is too bad. Part of the great beauty and intrigue of Africa is its throngs of people and the lives that they lead. Most of the people we have met so far have been very warm and friendly. The few people we have asked have agreed and smiled brilliant smiles with us, but who wants to offend a whole crowd?

Further on, we came upon the Great Rift Valley and climbed the switchbacks to our lodge. One thing I found hilarious was that the dirt entry road, which is so rough no one would dare drive more than ten kilometres per hour it, had speed bumps about every hundred meters that were so high we almost high centered on each one. The staff seemed a bit overeager to get us checked in and off to our rooms, but otherwise, the place was wonderful. Our hut is perched right on the edge of the escarpment and has views all the way across the Great Rift Valley far below and to the mountains beyond.




Views from the lodge
We topped off the day with a delicious dinner which included Ugali, a traditional Tanzanian dish that comes in many forms. The basic recipe centers around a very fine, savory polenta-type paste with other ingredients thrown in for taste, primarily cooked spinach-like vegetable and saucy meats. We also got to try a green banana soup. Since the bananas are green, they are more stodgy than sweet. They are fried and mashed with garlic and a few other spices. The result tastes like a hearty potato-leek soup.

And, of course, there was the massive, gooey chocolate cake at the end. That was some good cake.

Another Long Travel Day

[Kyle]Bruges was getting boring, what with the beer, the chocolates and the scenery and all, so we decided to leave.

We got up early and left our hotel at 4am and trekked through dark and empty streets to get the first train out of town to Brussels. We were on our way to connect with the Amsterdam airport train; that early first train was the only way to get there on time. We were scheduled twenty minutes to change trains but for some reason ended up running late. As the appointed arrival time in Brussels approached, and passed, the train kept doing this annoying thing of slowing down as if it were approaching a station, then it would speed up and suddenly, we’d be on an overpass and obviously nowhere near a station. We did this for fifteen increasingly nerve-wracking minutes before finally pulling into Bruxelles Midi for good. We sprinted down the stairs and were relieved to find the train to Amsterdam was only two platforms away. Just about the time we fell into our seats, the train pulled out of the station.

A few minutes later, we crossed the border into The Netherlands. There wasn’t much in the way of tulips and windmills along our route. We went through the industrial part of Rotterdam and then through a flat, hazy landscape that was essentially featureless except for occasional groups of shamefully ugly ‘70s style concrete buildings. Occasionally, they would try to mitigate the ugliness by painting the buildings in clashing checkerboard patterns or some such thing. This, of course, had the effect of making it worse.

The Schiphol airport was nice, though. As soon as we arrived, we got seat assignments from KLM, saving us the non-revenue pass riders’ traditional period of nail-biting our way through wondering if we’d make it on our flight to Kilimanjaro Airport in Tanzania.

The eight hour flight was monumentally uncomfortable. The seats on KLM are an inch or two closer together than Continental’s. The only way I could keep my legs out of my chest was to slouch far enough down that I submarined under the seat in front of me, which was occupied by a guy who put his seat all the way back three seconds after takeoff and left it there. If curses work, he’s getting cancer on that bald spot. The only saving grace was that booze is fee on international flights on KLM. I didn’t realize this until I saw Maryanne order a Bailey’s after it was too late, but I’ll remember it on the way back. It may make that awful seat marginally more comfortable.

We touched down well after dark and parked on the dimly lit ramp. Immediately, the small concrete terminal was overwhelmed with the crush of people lining up at the window for visas. It got a little competitive. It felt like trying to board the New York subway at rush hour. A group of irritating old French people managed to shove their way between Maryanne and me, not knowing we were together. They were visibly annoyed when Maryanne handed over both our passports and I was called ahead of them in the queue. Even tiny bits of justice feel good.

We met our driver, who was very nice, and boarded a giant Land Rover for the drive to our hotel. Driving in Tanzania at night is frightening. Electricity is scarce so the roads, even through towns, are very dark. At the most, every other building might have a dim fluorescent light shining. Drivers going the other way seem to have this curious habit of operating their high beams in a manner opposite from what I’ve learned. They drive with low beams until they spot somebody coming the other way, then the high beams come on until they pass. I was sitting in the other front seat and I have no idea how our driver saw the road during oncoming traffic. Then there are the vehicles with no lights. We passed several slow-moving trucks with no taillights at all and only one faint bulb to light the way. There was a moped going the other way with no lights of any kind. When someone would approach, he used his turn signal to be seen. Because of all this, I suppose, people rarely drove faster than 30mph, even on an empty straight-away.

The highlight of the drive was when our driver slowed down and pointed out Mt Kilimanjaro to our right. In the dim moonlight, we could just make out a bump in the clouds. Through them shot the peak of Kilimanjaro, floating 13,000 feet (3900M) above us as if in a dream.

We turned down a scary road of giant bumps and broken glass. At the other end, we landed with a thunk on the smooth parking lot of the impossibly nice Mountain Lodge.

Arusha Mountain Village Lodge

A fairy tale town

[Kyle]We’re back at it again. This time, we headed out to Brugge, Belgium.

It all started when filmmaker Martin McDonagh went to Brugge on holiday. He thought the place was so beautiful that he decided to write his first movie and set it in Brugge. Released in 2008, it was called, a little obviously, “In Bruges” (Bruges is the English and French spelling, Brugge is the original Flemish). Maryanne and I had bought a copy of the movie in Ireland (the two main characters are Irish) out of the bargain bin for viewing on rainy days. It’s a pretty good movie, but what really stuck out for us was how beautiful Brugge is. The seed was planted within our heads. When we realized we had a few extra days on this vacation, we both decided to go.

I cannot possibly describe how perfectly picturesque the city is. In the movie, they keep saying it’s a fairy tale town. It really is. The entire city is a UNESCO world heritage site. It is made up of cobbled streets crossing a system of canals over stone bridges. Giant spires thrust majestically toward the heavens. Every single building is built with such painstaking detail that most of the higher work cannot be fully appreciated from ground level. It becomes something private that only roofers and restoration workers really get to see. Every thirty seconds or so a well kept horse pulling a gleaming carriage filled with tourists goes clop, clop, clopping by. The city is almost a thousand years old. At some point, every square meter of it was somebody’s special place on Earth. Every bridge and statue is placed so that it is complimented by the view behind. Around every single corner, another gem of a view opens up. The whole city is like a Zen garden that has been refined and refined over centuries. Narrow streets and hidden alleyways are everywhere. Every step walked feels like it is walked within a painting by one of the old masters.


Main Market Square
We started our trip to Brugge by flying into the Brussels airport and taking the one hour train journey. Once off the train, we walked about twenty minutes into the center of town to our hotel, which was so in the middle of things that we only had a few blocks to go to get to anything within the medieval part of the city. The Belfoir at the center of the city was across the street. Our room wasn’t ready when we arrived so we killed the time having a look around the town center and orienting ourselves. We were both so wiped out from the overnight flight that when our room became available at 2pm, we immediately went for a nap.

We both must’ve been more tired than we thought, because we both slept until just before dawn. We went out and found a place that was open early where we had a breakfast of juice, coffee and croissants. We walked around for a bit more and found another place that smelled wonderful. The croissants hadn’t been too filling so we found ourselves having a second breakfast of (Belgian) waffles and coffee. Yummy. While drinking my coffee in the middle of breakfast, I noticed that we were the only ones in the restaurant that weren’t having a beer. Belgium has 780 varieties of beer, some apparently perfect with breakfast.

All stocked up on energy for the day, we climbed up to the top of the magnificent Belfoir that forms the centrepiece of the city. 388 steps up increasingly narrow spiral staircases took us up into the bell room. The tower has 47 bells and the city employs a carilloneur to play melodies. Also within the tower is a giant music box style wheel that also plays melodies automatically. We were lucky enough to get there just before 11 o’clock. Five minutes of music were followed by eleven chimes of the big bell with us standing only a few feet away. Even though I knew the first one was coming, I still jumped when the hammer struck. The coolest thing was after the last chime struck. The bell resonated for what seemed like forever, its rich tone getting softer and softer and smoother and smoother.

We climbed down and then proceeded to crisscross the town like we were tracing out a bowl of spaghetti. We saw squares and canals and steeples, statues, parks and art galore. At an appropriately late hour (for us), we stopped in and tasted a couple of the local brews while overlooking a particularly pretty bend in one of the canals. Later, we went for an early dinner at a restaurant off the main square. We sat at a table right out on the cobbled street. It seems most of the restaurants in Brugge have the majority of their tables outside.

We had intended to do a lot more walking but we were full and tired. We passed by a booth selling tickets for a canal tour and decided a sunset boat ride sounded pretty good. Brugge is also amazing by boat. Our guide wasn’t that interesting but to his credit, he did the whole thing in at least four languages, one leading right into the other.


Bruge at night
By then, it was dark. We took the long way home along some of the canals. Most of the bridges, canal walls and bigger buildings are lit up with lights of various colors. It makes the whole city seem like something out of a dream. We walked home along quiet streets admiring the whole beauty of it. We bought some chocolate from a store around the corner just before they closed and took it back to the room for dessert.

We got up the next morning and went a little further afield to some of the lesser known spots. The highlight was seeing the many windmills along the canals. Each one sat atop a steep hill and was slightly different from its neighbours. The autumn leaves fell off ancient trees and speckled the green grass with red and yellow leaves. This whole town is a postcard.


Beautiful Bruges
We followed up our walk with a pint in Brugge’s oldest Tavern, the Cafe Vlissinghe, opened in 1515. We then went to the excellent chocolate museum for an education and a bit of dessert. Again, crisscrossing the town, we meandered through one park after another until it got late. After another delicious meal accompanied by some local beer, we couldn’t resist saying goodbye to Brugge with a dessert of chocolate covered waffles from a nearby take-out stand. They do both of those pretty well here, too.

Australiana - A few observations on this strange and wonderful country

[Maryanne]A little while ago I wrote a little on the less known differences between the USA and the UK.

In response I got an equivalent list from an old UK work colleague, now living in Australia (Thanks Julie). Here is what Julie had to say on those oddities for a Brit experiencing Australia:

An obsession with beetroot. Now I like beetroot; it reminds me of going to my grandma's when I was a kid, but here it's everywhere. In sandwiches, burgers, salads whatever. McDonalds even has a McOz burger, which includes, you've guessed it, beetroot!

Vegemite - it's an Aussie icon and locals swear it tastes nothing like Marmite. I reckon in a blind tasting they wouldn't pick it.

Chips/chips. What we Poms call crisps, they call chips, and they come in humongous packets presumably meant for sharing although I've seen people scoff a whole packet. What we call chips, they call "hot chips". At least it's logical.

Beer. They take the piss out of the British for drinking warm beer, and I have to try and explain that it's not really warm, it's just not so cold that it hurts when you drink it, like it is here.

Corned beef. Order corned beef in a pub here and it's nothing like the Fray Bentos stuff we used to get. It's kind of normal beef, but very salty and with lumps of corn in it. I'm not sure whether that's better of not.

Luncheon meat type things. They try and disguise this by calling it obscure names that vary from state to state, like Devon, Fritz and even Belgium. It doesn't hide the fact that it's still horrible. In a similar category is pizza ham - for some reason they won't just put normal ham on pizza, it has to be some vile reconstituted stuff that looks like short bright pink worms.


Now Kyle and I have spent a little time in Oz, we had a few to add ourselves.

I was especially taken with some of the outback mailboxes. There is clearly no regimented post office approved/enforced mail box (as there is in the USA), and in the outback the folks make use of whatever they have to hand. Some get very creative indeed. We found amazing works of art, and then true junk all being used as private mail boxes at the end of the drive way. It was great fun to discover them as we drove around Western Australia - here is a selection.



And my all time favourite, the recycled washing machine(? I think).



And Kyles list, from [Kyle]

#1: ie

In this sense, I am referring to Australians’ propensity to use –ie or, sometimes, -ey, as a suffix. Australians love to end all of their colloquialisms in this way. Probably most famous is ‘barbie’, for barbecue. A ‘coldie’ is a beer, which can also be a ‘tinnie’ or a ‘stubbie’, depending on whether it’s from a can or a short bottle. The guy’s that drive the road trains are not called truckers, but ‘truckies’. We’ve seen a lot of signs at roadhouses offering ‘Free coffee to truckies’.

The one that I find most hilarious is ‘bikie’. This is used to describe big, mean looking, black leather clad guys on mostly Harleys. Groups of them are called ‘bikie gangs’. I actually saw a news report on the television where a very serious looking reporter standing in front of hefty, important looking government buildings in Canberra, went on and on about some new piece of legislation intended to disrupt the nefarious practices of the most powerful bikie gangs. She said it over and over again. Then they went to the studio, where the anchor said it and then did a toss to another field reporter, who was there to get a response from the leader of a well known bikie gang. That guy said they were just a social club, and the new legislation was yet another example of the government interfering in their primary role as a positive role model for toddlers.

I’m sorry but, to me, a bikie is what you graduate to when you turn five (known to those who are five as ‘this many’) and you’ve been really, really good, and you have shown your parents that you have mastered your trikie.

I could only imagine that if I were in some tavern and a guy who didn’t like my face came over, told me so, then bragged to me that he and his mob are the toughest bikie gang west of the Nullabor, I would not be able to suppress my urge to giggle uncontrollably for the three seconds between when he said it and all of the lights went out.

#2: The El Camino

For those of you who thought the El Camino was dead, it turns out that it is still alive and well Dununda.


Kyle laughed every time we came across the car he called the "El Camino"
Maryanne, having been raised British, cannot understand why I think this is so hilarious. We’ve talked and talked it over as I tried to dissect the joke but she doesn’t get it. It turns out that there is no direct British equivalent to the El Camino in America, so Brits may not understand fully.

As I remember it, The Chevy El Camino, with a car for a front and a pickup truck bed for a back, was an attempt to get the best out of both types of vehicle but turned out to be pretty poor at both. Maryanne insists that such a vehicle probably has legitimate practical uses but, as I keep trying to tell her, that’s missing the point. The El Camino, like its ‘80s successor the hideous AMC Pacer, died its death in America because, like gold lame bell-bottoms, it was a stand-out icon of the kitsch of an era those of us who were there would like to forget, thank you very much.

Today, in the U.S., the El Camino is a rare sight, indeed. The few left are either on their last legs or are being determinedly maintained by aficionados who have the remains of another three in their yard that they cannibalize for parts. There’s an aficionado for everything. To pay $500 for one is to get ripped off. We saw one in a used car lot here with a sticker on the window saying they wanted $26,990 for it!

These things are everywhere out here. In fact, I would venture to say that, second to the Land Rover, they are probably the most popular type we’ve seen. Another funny thing is that these things are not made by Chevy. Several manufacturers seem to be trying to cash in on the Aussie’s affinity for the type. The most popular one of these is actually made by Ford. I think it’s called a Falcon but I’ve also seen cars and vans called the Ford Falcon so I’m clearly not up on Australian car naming conventions yet. The front half of this one looks the same as the Mustang. They seem to be popular with what would otherwise be the Trans-Am crowd; Boy racers and guys who are trying just a little too hard to look tough.

#3: Coffee Milk

I assume this hasn’t caught on in the U.S. because some greedy corporate interest, who will remain nameless, is preventing it.


Coffee Milk is just that – coffee flavoured milk. It is produced by dairies, comes in a carton like other milk and only costs a few cents more than plain milk. The dairies also produce other less popular flavours like chocolate, mocha and spearmint, but coffee has been an Australian mainstay for years. The first time I came over nine years ago, half the fridge space in every gas station in Australia was devoted to the stuff. Three quarters of the people you see coming out of any convenience store will have one of them in one hand or the other. I know that a more sophisticated palate could probably detect the difference in quality between plain old coffee milk and a creation by one of the world’s premier Italian educated barristas, made with the finest quality, hand selected ingredients and then drizzled through the finest glacial ice, but for what it preserves of my retirement fund, I don’t care all that much.

#4: The American Section

Maryanne and I were in a store the other day. There was an aisle devoted to foreign foods that included an American section. I assumed this is where an American, missing a few gems from his culture, like Cheez-its or Tabasco or real marshmallows would go. We’ve been in American markets that had a British section and were able to find all sorts of dearly missed British stuff like Branston’s Pickle, Jaffa cakes and real tea. The American section in this store had absolutely nothing that I have ever seen before in my whole life, all made by companies I have never even heard of. Not only that, but there was nothing vaguely interesting about any of it. They had things like corn in a can, which in the non-American, plain-old-Aussie section was called canned corn. They also had things like Orio’s by Nabesco, whose only defining characteristic was that all of the exact same cookies available in other parts of the store had been packaged along a different axis – as if cereal came in boxes that were meant to be kept flat, like a sheet cake and not stored on end, like books.

Back in the Northern Hemisphere

[Kyle] Well, after 20 hours of flying over a period of 28 hours, we're resting up in a hotel in Newark, NJ. Our flight left Cairns at midnight right after our trip to the Great Barrier Reef. We were so busy with packing and such that neither of us managed any sleep before the flight. By the time we made it to Tokyo, we couldn't keep our eyes open. Even though the time change is only an hour, we both felt completely jet lagged. We wandered around for a bit to try to keep the blood flowing but to no avail. This might have also had something to do with some of the free sake and whiskey samples the duty-free stores were handing out. After a while, we made the mistake of sitting down somewhere semi-comfortable. The next thing I knew, I was waking up to the sound of my own snoring. I looked over and Maryanne was also out. We did that for a couple of hours until we got too achy to stand it anymore, then we headed for our gate.

Once we got to our hotel in Newark, we promptly fell asleep for the night at 5pm. I woke back up around midnight and stayed awake until dawn. Maryanne managed to sleep all the way through until Noon. She was tired.

We spent most of the rest of the day organizing our next vacation, which starts when I get done with work on Tuesday. I'm still easing into it. We made a point of keeping the curtains open all day in order to let in a lot of natural light to help nudge our rhythms into place. I'm feeling pretty good now. I don't even think I can really complain about the 4:30 wake up tomorrow since my body doesn't know for sure what time it is anyway.

I am going to Minneapolis on Tuesday. I promise not to miss it.

A Big Reef

[Kyle]Near Australia, there is a big reef. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.

Yes, we took a boat out to the Great Barrier Reef. It was pretty cool. Firstly, it felt good to be out swimming around in water that is warm enough for it. The trip was a bit tour-group-ey. They would do things like scream “Are you ready to have fun?” to which we were supposed to scream in reply “Yeeeaaahhh!!!” I find such things rarely add to my actual enjoyment. The reef itself was plenty.

It was wonderful. The colour, health and variety of the coral were better than I have ever seen in Belize or the Caribbean. They also have giant clams, some of which were as long as my arm. We were actually allowed enough time to get our fill of each place we stopped. We didn’t feel rushed, although in Footprint, we would have been allowed to stray further from the boat. They fed us well and during the interim between dives, one of their crew gave a very good marine biology/dive talk. He was a young guy with lots of enthusiasm. If there had been an “awesome/wicked/cool” drinking game, tough, none of us would have made it off the boat.


Finally - the Great Barrier Reef
I discovered on the walk home that I still had quite a bit of Aussie dollars to get rid of. We had planned to go back for the $10 deal, but decided to go somewhere else to spend a little more. We found a place with really good pizza and placed our order. It turned out they were having a special, not $20, $15. Damn! Then the woman we ordered from gave us our receipt and told us to go to the bar for our free drink! Now this was a real pickle. I had managed to find a good deal, but I didn’t want one. I wanted to say “now you listen here, I want you to charge me full price for that pizza and I’ll pay for my own drink, thank you very much!”, but for some reason, I just couldn’t do it. I’ll just get it changed when we get back.

I fell (a lot)

[Kyle]Once in Cairns, we headed for the one non-negotiable item on my itinerary: Bungee jumping. Maryanne had known for years that once we got to Australia, I would want to go Bungee jumping. Everybody I know who has been bungee jumping (which everybody but America calls bungy jumping) loves it. A.J. Hackett, where it is done in Cairns, almost never sells one jump. People have to be dragged up the stairs with tears streaming down their faces for their first jump. After that, they’re all sprinting up for a second jump. I was the same way. I have tried for years to convince Maryanne that it is worth doing. She’s done lots of adventurous things. On the day, the other jumpers also tried to help but to no avail. When Maryanne doesn’t want to do something, she’s not doing it. Nevertheless, I had a great time and she swears she enjoyed watching me grin from ear to ear all day. By the end of the day, I did ten jumps off the 50m (163’) tower. The falling is always the same, but there are a few different ways to actually begin. Each is different enough that it is possible to get a ‘first time’ adrenaline rush all over again. I jumped forward, backward, had a guy hold me while he leaned me out and then let go. I hung from a bar by my hands and even ran off the roof.

As part of the “jump all you want” Package, I also got a “minjin” swing. This is a big swing where they put you in a hang glider harness, crank you up to 50m and let you go. That was actually a lot more fun than I thought it would be before doing it, particularly the part where you go swooping over the rooftop near the bottom.

At about jump #4 or so, a Japanese school group came by to watch. The jump people say they’re usually not allowed to jump, they just come to watch. After my first jump while they were there, they all kept coming up to me and congratulating me and bowing. One group wanted their picture taken next to me. All I did was fall!


Kyle having fun, dangling from a bit of elastic
Afterward, we found a place that does dinner and a beer or glass of wine for $10. It turned out to be a nice, big dinner as well. Good find.