Friday, March 20, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
From Paradise to Hell and Back Again
We're now in the Perhentians, a pair of small islands off the eastern coast of the Malaysian peninsula in the South China Sea. We spent the previous two nights at the luxurious Naithonburi resort on Naithon Beach on Phuket, Thailand. It's the kind of place we seem to specialize in locating: up and coming properties that we won't be able to afford in two years. This beach, on the northwestern corner of Phuket, and only 10 minutes from the airport, was perfection: white sand, a perfect curved bay, turquoise water and exciting surf. Occasional waves were 8 feet over our heads and we had to duck under them. Lots of fish, too, though their appearances were brief and frightening. Twice when we were swimming, fish about two feet long jumped out of the water and skittered across the surface - it was scary because such antics are probably escape maneuvers from something bigger. One jumper's splashdown caused a foot-long needle fish to leap out and dash madly toward us using its tail as an outboard motor. I actually screamed because I could clearly see its beady eyes speeding at me and it came so close it could have speared my head. Cruelly cut down by a needle fish: so undignified. I can hear the stories now: "She died HOW? No, you're kidding me."
To recover, we had a Thai massage (all 4 of us) and ate some freshly cooked crepe-like pancakes with delectable bananas inside and sweetened condensed milk on top. I adore people who consider sweetened condensed milk a sauce. The fellow who fixed them for us had a food cart he towed around by motorbike and each was produced very methodically - dipping from a huge vat of impossibly yellow margarine (solid even in the tropics, I'm sure it's full of trans fats), spreading it over the piping hotplate, slapping the dough expertly into a paper-thin sheet, folding it, cooking until it was brown and crispy. After our snack, we swam in the enormous pool, then repaired to our enormous room for a shower and some TV (very very funny to see Brother Bear in thai), followed by a stroll past the traditional hammer dulcimer player, followed by watching the fish in the reflecting pools, etc. What a posh place (BTW, on the ship we discovered the origin of the word posh. It's an acronym for port out, starboard home. When traveling to/from England to India, you wanted your stateroom on port for the trip to India and starboard for the trip home, i.e. on the shady side).
Breakfast was included in the room rate and we ate ourselves silly (low cost traveling strategy: stuff yourself at breakfast if it's included). My mouth still waters when I think of the seedy granola, the yogurt we at the granola with, the crisply fried eggs with orange yolks, the pork congee with condiments like fish sauce, browned garlic, scallions, shards of fried ginger. And the fruit was exceptional: papaya, pineapple, melon carved into beautiful flower shapes. See what I mean about not affording it soon? It's a trend: we've stayed at places we can't afford anymore all over the world!! In any case, this hotel and the little town in which it is located ( a sleepy one street town with very little traffic and shady casuarina trees) are winners - if at all possible, go there. It's very convenient to get to from Bangkok - a short flight, then a 10-minute drive from the airport (the runway is situated such that planes never fly over Naithon). Here's another way you can tell it's good: it's very popular with Germans. Someone once told us that you can tell a place is good if Germans go there, since they're very demanding and picky. Not meaning to stereotype, but our experience supports the adage.
So on to the Perhentians, which are VERY difficult to get to. When we made reservations for this trip, we hemmed and hawed over whether they'd be worth it, since it would take a whole day to get there: a plane from Phuket to Kuala Lumpur (when traveling Asia on low cost carriers, you can't go to hell without going through Kuala Lumpur. KL passport control is staffed by unsmiling officers, one of whom wore a button that said, "Service with a Smile!" As Laura said, "'Service with a Bored, Disgusted Look' is more like it." ), then from KL to Kota Bahru on the Malaysian peninsula, then an hour van ride to the wharf, then a half-hour boat ride to Tuna Bay Resort. IMO, "resort" is an aspirational term for this place. Late in the day in the rain, we thought we had indeed gone to hell through Kuala Lumpur. The main open air restaurant/check-in counter/dive shop was dank, sandy, dark, the rooms were dank, sandy, dark. Happily, the AC worked and we were very tired from our 6 a.m. start, so we had dinner (including anesthetizing gin and tonics) and fell into bed. We woke to torrential rain - the fourth day of it (I knew it was bad news when our van drove through puddles that were attaining lake-like proportions.)
It's not supposed to rain like this until later in the year here. Luckily the weather gods remembered that an hour later. It cleared to reveal a cerulean sky, a gorgeous beach with granite boulders at one end, palm trees, etc. And awesome snorkeling right off the beach!! We saw fish and corals we've never seen before, including a two-foot long puffer fish. Within two hours, Jeff and I morphed from the worst parents in the world who pry their put-upon offspring from comfort to the best possible parents who introduce their children to a a deliriously wonderful tropical paradise.
Paradise does have its thorns, though. As I was wading out of the surf on our beach, I luckily still had my mask on, so I DID NOT step on the stone fish camouflaged in the shallow water. I noticed him because he looked like the large leaves that were washing around, but leaves don't have eyes, which he happened to twitch while I was studying him quizzically. We all looked at his deadly little self, then carefully walked around him. First time I've ever seen a stone fish, and we saw two more later that day, though they were in much deeper water and sitting on an enormous barrel sponge. They were counterbalanced, however, when I swam right next to a giant turtle later in the day.
To recover, we had a Thai massage (all 4 of us) and ate some freshly cooked crepe-like pancakes with delectable bananas inside and sweetened condensed milk on top. I adore people who consider sweetened condensed milk a sauce. The fellow who fixed them for us had a food cart he towed around by motorbike and each was produced very methodically - dipping from a huge vat of impossibly yellow margarine (solid even in the tropics, I'm sure it's full of trans fats), spreading it over the piping hotplate, slapping the dough expertly into a paper-thin sheet, folding it, cooking until it was brown and crispy. After our snack, we swam in the enormous pool, then repaired to our enormous room for a shower and some TV (very very funny to see Brother Bear in thai), followed by a stroll past the traditional hammer dulcimer player, followed by watching the fish in the reflecting pools, etc. What a posh place (BTW, on the ship we discovered the origin of the word posh. It's an acronym for port out, starboard home. When traveling to/from England to India, you wanted your stateroom on port for the trip to India and starboard for the trip home, i.e. on the shady side).
Breakfast was included in the room rate and we ate ourselves silly (low cost traveling strategy: stuff yourself at breakfast if it's included). My mouth still waters when I think of the seedy granola, the yogurt we at the granola with, the crisply fried eggs with orange yolks, the pork congee with condiments like fish sauce, browned garlic, scallions, shards of fried ginger. And the fruit was exceptional: papaya, pineapple, melon carved into beautiful flower shapes. See what I mean about not affording it soon? It's a trend: we've stayed at places we can't afford anymore all over the world!! In any case, this hotel and the little town in which it is located ( a sleepy one street town with very little traffic and shady casuarina trees) are winners - if at all possible, go there. It's very convenient to get to from Bangkok - a short flight, then a 10-minute drive from the airport (the runway is situated such that planes never fly over Naithon). Here's another way you can tell it's good: it's very popular with Germans. Someone once told us that you can tell a place is good if Germans go there, since they're very demanding and picky. Not meaning to stereotype, but our experience supports the adage.
So on to the Perhentians, which are VERY difficult to get to. When we made reservations for this trip, we hemmed and hawed over whether they'd be worth it, since it would take a whole day to get there: a plane from Phuket to Kuala Lumpur (when traveling Asia on low cost carriers, you can't go to hell without going through Kuala Lumpur. KL passport control is staffed by unsmiling officers, one of whom wore a button that said, "Service with a Smile!" As Laura said, "'Service with a Bored, Disgusted Look' is more like it." ), then from KL to Kota Bahru on the Malaysian peninsula, then an hour van ride to the wharf, then a half-hour boat ride to Tuna Bay Resort. IMO, "resort" is an aspirational term for this place. Late in the day in the rain, we thought we had indeed gone to hell through Kuala Lumpur. The main open air restaurant/check-in counter/dive shop was dank, sandy, dark, the rooms were dank, sandy, dark. Happily, the AC worked and we were very tired from our 6 a.m. start, so we had dinner (including anesthetizing gin and tonics) and fell into bed. We woke to torrential rain - the fourth day of it (I knew it was bad news when our van drove through puddles that were attaining lake-like proportions.)
It's not supposed to rain like this until later in the year here. Luckily the weather gods remembered that an hour later. It cleared to reveal a cerulean sky, a gorgeous beach with granite boulders at one end, palm trees, etc. And awesome snorkeling right off the beach!! We saw fish and corals we've never seen before, including a two-foot long puffer fish. Within two hours, Jeff and I morphed from the worst parents in the world who pry their put-upon offspring from comfort to the best possible parents who introduce their children to a a deliriously wonderful tropical paradise.
Paradise does have its thorns, though. As I was wading out of the surf on our beach, I luckily still had my mask on, so I DID NOT step on the stone fish camouflaged in the shallow water. I noticed him because he looked like the large leaves that were washing around, but leaves don't have eyes, which he happened to twitch while I was studying him quizzically. We all looked at his deadly little self, then carefully walked around him. First time I've ever seen a stone fish, and we saw two more later that day, though they were in much deeper water and sitting on an enormous barrel sponge. They were counterbalanced, however, when I swam right next to a giant turtle later in the day.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Using Sticker as Currency, Family Escapes Vietnam
It’s our last day at sea, and we all slept in after our dusty, long, high-pressure day in Ho Chi Minh City (the locals still call it Sai Gon – you see the space more often than not). Sai Gon was only 20 miles from our desolate industrial port at Phu My (pronounced Fu Me), but the trip took 2.5 hours along a choked road filled with milling oxen, chickens, motorbikes (some carrying cargo as large as refrigerators (!!) on the back), trucks, busses, grandmothers, toddlers, etc. Commercial signage was amusing to westerners: Hung Dung, Thank Dung. Rice paddies, orderly rubber plantations, small industrial operations and markets lined the road, as did cafes under thatched roofs where the only “seating” was hammocks. It seems that after sitting on motorbikes for hours (there are almost as many motorbikes as people in Vietnam), drivers don’t care to sit during a rest break. In every town, at least one enormous, ornate home with gleaming tiled walls and a high iron fence loomed over the landscape.
We had a “guide” whose only job was to make sure that the entire busload returned to the ship safely (we paid only for the ride to and from the city), but he talked to us en route about Vietnam history, culture and lifestyle. He was quite open about the widespread corruption – every one of those beautiful homes, in fact almost anything of any true value – belongs to government officials and their families. Our 50-year-old guide had tried to escape from Vietnam when he was 24, but the police caught him and sent him to camp to be “reeducated” for 3 years (he only knew his sentence length when they released him). He says they worked at least 10 hours a day 7 days a week at hard manual labor on a diet of mostly rice. Though he is slim today, he says he weighed half that when he was freed. Vietnamese military service is compulsory for 2 years (it was unclear if that was so for women as well; we only saw male soldiers) and the leaders believe hunger develops fighting spirit. “When you are hungry, you are angry, but when you are starving, you will kill somebody to get food,” he said. “Before battles, officers starved their soldiers for a month beforehand, then told them, ‘the enemy has food and if you kill them, you can eat it.”
Sai Gon was…interesting. Though we hid our stickers identifying us as part of a tour (ugh), hawkers still descended upon us en masse – children demanding that we buy or just donate, people asking us “why not?” when we said no thank you. We escaped for about 45 minutes by eating at Pho 24, a chain offering the ubiquitous Vietnamese beef noodle soup.
In just the few blocks it took to walk from Pho 24 to the market, at least 50 persistent people followed us – though one scored when we purchased an absurdly expensive but delectable bag of freshly baked cookies. Our “guide” had told us that Vietnam receives a low number of tourists and has widespread poverty, so I can understand the motivation. Still, we felt under siege. We bargained for a few souvenirs at the market, though as always, our space is very limited due to our carry-on-only-no-checked-bags policy. After exiting the market, we struck a deal with 4 rickshaw drivers (one-person rickshaws) to take us to the Vietnam War museum – 400,000. Lovely ride past memorials, nice parks, though much of Saigon is rundown (should you visit, be very careful crossing the streets – no crossing signals and continuous traffic both large and small.) But oh darn!!! The museum was closed for lunch! Our drivers’ reactions were pretty easy to read: they knew it was closed before we hopped aboard. For the same price, they instead wanted to show us a few sights, then drop us back at the bus station. Okay, sounds good, though we made very sure of the terms before agreeing to the extended tour. The extended tour combined delight with terror – delight over the many sights, terror over how close we came to speeding busses, zippy motorbikes, meandering motorized food carts, etc. It was the Sai Gon version of our petrifying Beijing bike adventure. “Oh, NO. THAT BUS IS GOING TO RUN ME OVER! Thank God it missed by inches, but WHAT’S THAT COMING TOWARD US NOW??” Laura’s driver did, in fact, have a little fender bender, tapping the motorbike of a woman ahead of him who gave him what for after she inspected the slight ding. Geez lady, it blends in with all the other dents and scratches already decorating your ride! Cool your jets!
Everybody reading this knows the end to this story: when the ride concluded, they immediately demanded 4 times the agreed upon price, saying that the cost had been for one person only (though we had taken care to ask if that was for all of us)!!!! We countered with 2 times the price, due to the round trip, but absolutely no more. Immediate shouting, refusal to take the money, outrageous lying on everyone’s parts (“I have a dozen children to feed!!” “This is all the money we have!!” and so on), my tucking the dong into the cushions of one of the rickshaws (just realized that sounds a little risqué, but we’re talking currency), one driver plucking them out again and throwing them at our feet, the four of us walking away, etc. Jeff finally paid a few hundred thousand more and they gave up. Jeff felt terrible, but I reminded him that we hadn’t even bargained the price down for the rides, so they were making a relative fortune to begin with. Suffice to say, we were glad to resurrect our stickers, climb aboard our bus and leave. Our day in Sai Gon ranks among the top in all of our travels for bald profiteering, scheming to defraud, plotting to loot, attempting to pickpocket, sheer annoyance, etc. No offense to those Vietnam fans out there, but I’m not hurrying back.
For a complete about face, I then proceeded to win a bottle of champagne for my swing dancing skills at the ship’s ballroom dancing class. Talk about cultural whiplash.
Later…not sure how much later, because I can’t even keep track of the day of the week anymore, not that I’m complaining: We are now lounging in a beautiful Thai resort tucked away on an undeveloped stretch of Phuket, having debarked in Laem Chagang near Bangkok. But I’ll have to write about that –and our final cruise stop in Cambodia -tomorrow on our much cheaper internet time. It’s been a long day and I’m pretty bushed after our lovely dinner on the beach eating delicious Thai food and watching the sun set over the water. Ahhh. What a nice change. When we walked across the road to our dinner location in bare feet, one smiling Thai cab driver reclining on the hood of his car asked if we needed a taxi, but when we politely declined, he wished us a good evening. And it was.
We had a “guide” whose only job was to make sure that the entire busload returned to the ship safely (we paid only for the ride to and from the city), but he talked to us en route about Vietnam history, culture and lifestyle. He was quite open about the widespread corruption – every one of those beautiful homes, in fact almost anything of any true value – belongs to government officials and their families. Our 50-year-old guide had tried to escape from Vietnam when he was 24, but the police caught him and sent him to camp to be “reeducated” for 3 years (he only knew his sentence length when they released him). He says they worked at least 10 hours a day 7 days a week at hard manual labor on a diet of mostly rice. Though he is slim today, he says he weighed half that when he was freed. Vietnamese military service is compulsory for 2 years (it was unclear if that was so for women as well; we only saw male soldiers) and the leaders believe hunger develops fighting spirit. “When you are hungry, you are angry, but when you are starving, you will kill somebody to get food,” he said. “Before battles, officers starved their soldiers for a month beforehand, then told them, ‘the enemy has food and if you kill them, you can eat it.”
Sai Gon was…interesting. Though we hid our stickers identifying us as part of a tour (ugh), hawkers still descended upon us en masse – children demanding that we buy or just donate, people asking us “why not?” when we said no thank you. We escaped for about 45 minutes by eating at Pho 24, a chain offering the ubiquitous Vietnamese beef noodle soup.
In just the few blocks it took to walk from Pho 24 to the market, at least 50 persistent people followed us – though one scored when we purchased an absurdly expensive but delectable bag of freshly baked cookies. Our “guide” had told us that Vietnam receives a low number of tourists and has widespread poverty, so I can understand the motivation. Still, we felt under siege. We bargained for a few souvenirs at the market, though as always, our space is very limited due to our carry-on-only-no-checked-bags policy. After exiting the market, we struck a deal with 4 rickshaw drivers (one-person rickshaws) to take us to the Vietnam War museum – 400,000. Lovely ride past memorials, nice parks, though much of Saigon is rundown (should you visit, be very careful crossing the streets – no crossing signals and continuous traffic both large and small.) But oh darn!!! The museum was closed for lunch! Our drivers’ reactions were pretty easy to read: they knew it was closed before we hopped aboard. For the same price, they instead wanted to show us a few sights, then drop us back at the bus station. Okay, sounds good, though we made very sure of the terms before agreeing to the extended tour. The extended tour combined delight with terror – delight over the many sights, terror over how close we came to speeding busses, zippy motorbikes, meandering motorized food carts, etc. It was the Sai Gon version of our petrifying Beijing bike adventure. “Oh, NO. THAT BUS IS GOING TO RUN ME OVER! Thank God it missed by inches, but WHAT’S THAT COMING TOWARD US NOW??” Laura’s driver did, in fact, have a little fender bender, tapping the motorbike of a woman ahead of him who gave him what for after she inspected the slight ding. Geez lady, it blends in with all the other dents and scratches already decorating your ride! Cool your jets!
Everybody reading this knows the end to this story: when the ride concluded, they immediately demanded 4 times the agreed upon price, saying that the cost had been for one person only (though we had taken care to ask if that was for all of us)!!!! We countered with 2 times the price, due to the round trip, but absolutely no more. Immediate shouting, refusal to take the money, outrageous lying on everyone’s parts (“I have a dozen children to feed!!” “This is all the money we have!!” and so on), my tucking the dong into the cushions of one of the rickshaws (just realized that sounds a little risqué, but we’re talking currency), one driver plucking them out again and throwing them at our feet, the four of us walking away, etc. Jeff finally paid a few hundred thousand more and they gave up. Jeff felt terrible, but I reminded him that we hadn’t even bargained the price down for the rides, so they were making a relative fortune to begin with. Suffice to say, we were glad to resurrect our stickers, climb aboard our bus and leave. Our day in Sai Gon ranks among the top in all of our travels for bald profiteering, scheming to defraud, plotting to loot, attempting to pickpocket, sheer annoyance, etc. No offense to those Vietnam fans out there, but I’m not hurrying back.
For a complete about face, I then proceeded to win a bottle of champagne for my swing dancing skills at the ship’s ballroom dancing class. Talk about cultural whiplash.
Later…not sure how much later, because I can’t even keep track of the day of the week anymore, not that I’m complaining: We are now lounging in a beautiful Thai resort tucked away on an undeveloped stretch of Phuket, having debarked in Laem Chagang near Bangkok. But I’ll have to write about that –and our final cruise stop in Cambodia -tomorrow on our much cheaper internet time. It’s been a long day and I’m pretty bushed after our lovely dinner on the beach eating delicious Thai food and watching the sun set over the water. Ahhh. What a nice change. When we walked across the road to our dinner location in bare feet, one smiling Thai cab driver reclining on the hood of his car asked if we needed a taxi, but when we politely declined, he wished us a good evening. And it was.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Already in Progress
Had a bit of a pause there, since we spent three days at sea. We passed through the Indian Ocean, the Java Sea and are now in the South China Sea. Though they blend seamlessly on maps, I can see why each is considered a distinct body of water. The Indian Ocean was choppy and deep blue. The South China Sea is smooth and a different shade of deep blue. The Java Sea was the most fun, since it was a beautiful smooth green/turquoise. We passed many islands (one with what looked like at least 10 miles of white sand), we saw dolphins and flying fish and many small fishing boats manned by one fisherman.
We crossed the equator two days ago, and though the ship’s staff joked that it was a wide yellow line that jolts the ship like a speed bump (not to be confused with the international dateline, a thinner blue line that barely ripples passengers’ drinks), we didn’t notice anything much. We passed Krakatoa in the wee hours and Jeff was the only one who saw it. In honor of the equator crossing, the crew did a stomach-turning ceremony that included King Neptune and Queen Neptune as judge and jury ordering copious condiments smeared all over “convicted” participants who “walked the plank” (jumped into the main pool.) to assure our safe passage. I’m sorry, I’m forgetting that they also threw enormous livers and bones and sausages and black beans into the drink as well. Being warm, the pool heated up its contents rapidly and smelled horrible within minutes. Another notable event: I sunburned my arms – including the inner creases of my elbows, which have never been sunburned ever – AGAIN. In only 30 minutes spent watching said ceremony. Oh Coppertone, how you have let me down.
We arose early yesterday to watch our entrance into Singapore Harbor, which is the busiest port in the world, and it didn’t disappoint. There were many ships at anchor in the winding waterway, and many others traveling in front of, behind, and adjacent to ours. Somebody has a stranglehold on the copious tug business in the harbor – all the tugs were named Noble Something: Noble Reliance, Noble Ace, etc. We berthed in the container portion of the port, which was a scene to behold: mammoth green cranes lurked everywhere. They rolled on tracks and stacked tractor-trailer sized containers like they were tinker toys onto huge container ships.
The weather was fine when we debarked, but by the time we got downtown and made our way to Little India, it was raining hard. Though Singapore is apparently a shopper’s paradise – an opinion bolstered by the glut of sterile shopping malls everywhere - we sightsee with our stomachs, so we followed our noses to the hawker stalls. Despite getting a little wet and being distracted by restaurant names like “Food Joint” and stores named “Superfund,” we finally arrived at the good eats. I counted one other white person in the entire place, which meant we’d found where the natives like to dine.
What a place for a birthday lunch (we were in Singapore for my birthday – thanks, Mom and Dad, for sending that birthday greeting. Via telepathy that is – did you get to Florida all right?? You can’t possibly be as pressed for internet time as we are). One could choose from roti with chicken curry sauce for dipping, any flavor of lassi one could think of, a zillion fresh fruit juices, biryanis of all types, fritter flavors that included cuttlefish, and many other dishes all served on banana leaves. Delectable, every bite, and conveniently certified safe by the dictatorial Singapore government. Even though the place was noisy and filled with vendors trying to convince you that their dish was the tastiest, it had some organization. We chose a numbered table, then walked around telling vendors what was desired. Give the table number, then sit and wait. Each one brings the dish when it’s finished and you pay on the spot. We sat right next to the roti fellow, who displayed extremely practiced sleight of hand in turning a round dough ball the size of an egg into a sheet about 18 inches wide that you could read a newspaper through - all in about 20 seconds. We have a picture of me flipping one on the griddle (it’s amazing how nice they are when you say it’s your birthday – my recommendation is make every day your birthday and see where that takes you). When we finally acquire some reasonable internet time, I’ll post the picture (along with others).
Since it was raining so hard, we saved Chinatown for our trip back through at the end of the month, and took a cab to the cable cars (the cabbie, when he found out where we were from, said, “Obama better get started picking up the pieces”). We rode the cable cars up Mt. Faber and across to Sentosa Island – this last is like Singapore’s theme park. On Sentosa, one can go to the zoo, the water park, the Jurong Bird Park, etc. Let us save you some money when you visit Singapore: skip the cable cars. Here’s what we saw: tree tops. A very very large parking lot (yes, there was a scintillating variety of vehicles, but I hear walkthroughs are free!!). A gargantuan construction site. Anybody care to hazard what they are building on Sentosa? Yes, that’s right: a shopping center. Doesn’t anybody do anything but shop in Singapore? Well, besides eating, that is. Eating in shopping centers, to be precise.
We’re at sea again en route to Vietnam, where we – gasp – signed up for a tour into Ho Chi Minh City. We dock in a very remote port and weren’t assured of local transport, so we bit and paid the exorbitant price for guaranteed transportation. I think it’s the first time ever we’ve tagged along on an organized tour. I refuse, however, to wear a sticker identifying me as a clueless rube, so they better not try to make me. In our defense, we paid for the transport only – once in the city, we sightsee on our own. Then we move on to Cambodia and Thailand, where we debark and are – whimper - on our own. I think they’ll drag Laura down the gangway kicking and screaming. What??? No buffet?? No pool?? What kind of hell have I entered???
I, on the other hand, am looking forward to being on some of those tropical isles we passed.
We crossed the equator two days ago, and though the ship’s staff joked that it was a wide yellow line that jolts the ship like a speed bump (not to be confused with the international dateline, a thinner blue line that barely ripples passengers’ drinks), we didn’t notice anything much. We passed Krakatoa in the wee hours and Jeff was the only one who saw it. In honor of the equator crossing, the crew did a stomach-turning ceremony that included King Neptune and Queen Neptune as judge and jury ordering copious condiments smeared all over “convicted” participants who “walked the plank” (jumped into the main pool.) to assure our safe passage. I’m sorry, I’m forgetting that they also threw enormous livers and bones and sausages and black beans into the drink as well. Being warm, the pool heated up its contents rapidly and smelled horrible within minutes. Another notable event: I sunburned my arms – including the inner creases of my elbows, which have never been sunburned ever – AGAIN. In only 30 minutes spent watching said ceremony. Oh Coppertone, how you have let me down.
We arose early yesterday to watch our entrance into Singapore Harbor, which is the busiest port in the world, and it didn’t disappoint. There were many ships at anchor in the winding waterway, and many others traveling in front of, behind, and adjacent to ours. Somebody has a stranglehold on the copious tug business in the harbor – all the tugs were named Noble Something: Noble Reliance, Noble Ace, etc. We berthed in the container portion of the port, which was a scene to behold: mammoth green cranes lurked everywhere. They rolled on tracks and stacked tractor-trailer sized containers like they were tinker toys onto huge container ships.
The weather was fine when we debarked, but by the time we got downtown and made our way to Little India, it was raining hard. Though Singapore is apparently a shopper’s paradise – an opinion bolstered by the glut of sterile shopping malls everywhere - we sightsee with our stomachs, so we followed our noses to the hawker stalls. Despite getting a little wet and being distracted by restaurant names like “Food Joint” and stores named “Superfund,” we finally arrived at the good eats. I counted one other white person in the entire place, which meant we’d found where the natives like to dine.
What a place for a birthday lunch (we were in Singapore for my birthday – thanks, Mom and Dad, for sending that birthday greeting. Via telepathy that is – did you get to Florida all right?? You can’t possibly be as pressed for internet time as we are). One could choose from roti with chicken curry sauce for dipping, any flavor of lassi one could think of, a zillion fresh fruit juices, biryanis of all types, fritter flavors that included cuttlefish, and many other dishes all served on banana leaves. Delectable, every bite, and conveniently certified safe by the dictatorial Singapore government. Even though the place was noisy and filled with vendors trying to convince you that their dish was the tastiest, it had some organization. We chose a numbered table, then walked around telling vendors what was desired. Give the table number, then sit and wait. Each one brings the dish when it’s finished and you pay on the spot. We sat right next to the roti fellow, who displayed extremely practiced sleight of hand in turning a round dough ball the size of an egg into a sheet about 18 inches wide that you could read a newspaper through - all in about 20 seconds. We have a picture of me flipping one on the griddle (it’s amazing how nice they are when you say it’s your birthday – my recommendation is make every day your birthday and see where that takes you). When we finally acquire some reasonable internet time, I’ll post the picture (along with others).
Since it was raining so hard, we saved Chinatown for our trip back through at the end of the month, and took a cab to the cable cars (the cabbie, when he found out where we were from, said, “Obama better get started picking up the pieces”). We rode the cable cars up Mt. Faber and across to Sentosa Island – this last is like Singapore’s theme park. On Sentosa, one can go to the zoo, the water park, the Jurong Bird Park, etc. Let us save you some money when you visit Singapore: skip the cable cars. Here’s what we saw: tree tops. A very very large parking lot (yes, there was a scintillating variety of vehicles, but I hear walkthroughs are free!!). A gargantuan construction site. Anybody care to hazard what they are building on Sentosa? Yes, that’s right: a shopping center. Doesn’t anybody do anything but shop in Singapore? Well, besides eating, that is. Eating in shopping centers, to be precise.
We’re at sea again en route to Vietnam, where we – gasp – signed up for a tour into Ho Chi Minh City. We dock in a very remote port and weren’t assured of local transport, so we bit and paid the exorbitant price for guaranteed transportation. I think it’s the first time ever we’ve tagged along on an organized tour. I refuse, however, to wear a sticker identifying me as a clueless rube, so they better not try to make me. In our defense, we paid for the transport only – once in the city, we sightsee on our own. Then we move on to Cambodia and Thailand, where we debark and are – whimper - on our own. I think they’ll drag Laura down the gangway kicking and screaming. What??? No buffet?? No pool?? What kind of hell have I entered???
I, on the other hand, am looking forward to being on some of those tropical isles we passed.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
"'At's Moy Cah, Mate, but No Worries!"
We’re just departing Exmouth – a tiny, desiccated town of 2,500 on Australia’s northwestern coast that just happens to be the gateway to Ningaloo Marine Park. Ningaloo, a little-known mecca of stellar marine life, comprises the largest fringeing reef in all of Australia and we had a wonderful day there. The area looks exactly as if the southwestern U.S. suddenly found itself seaside: similar red rocks, scrubby trees and low bushes, red earth, deserted countryside.
The ship anchored off Exmouth, since the town has no deepwater harbor, and we took small boats into shore. From there, even smaller busses ran us into town, such as it was. You could probably nap undisturbed in the middle of the road through the town’s central square. We made friends with the local IGA clerk – “Oh, what an adorable baby!!” - who looked up car rental places for us, and then we hiked over to Allen’s car hire. I swear that the friendly fellow who helped us gave us his personal wheels for the day. It was a beat up pickup truck sporting a big ding in the front windshield and a smashed overhead light. While we did the usual rental car walkabout, the guy concluded it by saying cheerfully, “We don’t really care what it looks like when you bring it back as long as you don’t hit something right sizeable like a kangaroo or an emu.”
We spent an hour traversing the peninsula, reminding Jeff to drive on the left, viewing two big, dumb emus standing by the road but nary a kangaroo. We paid our park entry and hopped into the water, which was bathtub warm, exceptionally clear and filled with fish, including two sharks that cruised slowly by. Adam declared it the best snorkeling he’s ever seen, and we even ferreted out several carbon copies of denizens in our tank. It was so funny to see that the wild cousins acted very much like our pets: for example, even if you seriously startle a lawnmower blenny, he will hide in a place where he can still see out, completely convinced that he is invisibly camouflaged as a rock. I am constantly amazed at how close you can get to marine fish – often, they seem just as curious about us as we are about them. Some of the fish were enormous: parrot fish about 3 feet long, though they are just as cowed by damsels as all the other creatures of the deep. Apparently, the damsels either don’t know they are only a few inches long or conveniently ignore that fact. We also swam through clouds of tiny little green fish. I think the corals – we saw a plate coral about 8 feet across, and these types often break before getting even half that big – and fish were so magnificent because so few people disturb them. The beach was huge and almost deserted.
Happily, we did not see blue-ringed octopi or box jellies, both of which can be fatal. We did, however, see a number of cone snails, which also can kill you. Should you ever need to know, cone snails frequent almost every sea and invariably the shell looks empty, but that’s part of their ruse. Shock the one who disturbs them with a quick jab, then dilly dally a few minutes as the prey rapidly expires next to them and becomes dinner. They just don’t seem to care that humans are way too big for even the heartiest cone snail appetite.
No, the only hazard we encountered was sunburn. We are all very red and have a few painful days ahead of us. I can’t remember the last time I was sunburned – even as a kid, my mom chased me around with sunscreen and I completely escaped the wretched affliction. But heed my words: do not buy Coppertone Sport SPF 50. You know how they say that satisfied customers tell 2 people and unsatisfied ones tell 50? Well, I am motivated enough to author the Coppertone version of the famous PPT presentation still enjoying internet fame: “The Marriott Courtyard is a Very Bad Hotel.” I’ll call mine “Coppertone Sport SPF 50 is a Very Bad Sunscreen.” Pertinent points to cover: was not waterproof; was not rubproof; we hated the color of the bottle; we paid too much; we were seduced by blatant marketing slogans; the directions were poor (“Apply liberally” What the @#^& does that really mean? A thimbleful? A paint roller?), it gives the unfortunate illusion of cool, creamy efficacy; it exuded a fresh scent that lulled us into complacency; the cap has a faulty hinge, etc. We thought the first blush of sunburn the other day was a fluke, but noooooo…
On to Singapore after three (somewhat uncomfortable) days at sea. We’re on a mission to eat the absolute best chicken rice and sample the many excellent – and because it’s Singapore, safe - street foods on offer.
The ship anchored off Exmouth, since the town has no deepwater harbor, and we took small boats into shore. From there, even smaller busses ran us into town, such as it was. You could probably nap undisturbed in the middle of the road through the town’s central square. We made friends with the local IGA clerk – “Oh, what an adorable baby!!” - who looked up car rental places for us, and then we hiked over to Allen’s car hire. I swear that the friendly fellow who helped us gave us his personal wheels for the day. It was a beat up pickup truck sporting a big ding in the front windshield and a smashed overhead light. While we did the usual rental car walkabout, the guy concluded it by saying cheerfully, “We don’t really care what it looks like when you bring it back as long as you don’t hit something right sizeable like a kangaroo or an emu.”
We spent an hour traversing the peninsula, reminding Jeff to drive on the left, viewing two big, dumb emus standing by the road but nary a kangaroo. We paid our park entry and hopped into the water, which was bathtub warm, exceptionally clear and filled with fish, including two sharks that cruised slowly by. Adam declared it the best snorkeling he’s ever seen, and we even ferreted out several carbon copies of denizens in our tank. It was so funny to see that the wild cousins acted very much like our pets: for example, even if you seriously startle a lawnmower blenny, he will hide in a place where he can still see out, completely convinced that he is invisibly camouflaged as a rock. I am constantly amazed at how close you can get to marine fish – often, they seem just as curious about us as we are about them. Some of the fish were enormous: parrot fish about 3 feet long, though they are just as cowed by damsels as all the other creatures of the deep. Apparently, the damsels either don’t know they are only a few inches long or conveniently ignore that fact. We also swam through clouds of tiny little green fish. I think the corals – we saw a plate coral about 8 feet across, and these types often break before getting even half that big – and fish were so magnificent because so few people disturb them. The beach was huge and almost deserted.
Happily, we did not see blue-ringed octopi or box jellies, both of which can be fatal. We did, however, see a number of cone snails, which also can kill you. Should you ever need to know, cone snails frequent almost every sea and invariably the shell looks empty, but that’s part of their ruse. Shock the one who disturbs them with a quick jab, then dilly dally a few minutes as the prey rapidly expires next to them and becomes dinner. They just don’t seem to care that humans are way too big for even the heartiest cone snail appetite.
No, the only hazard we encountered was sunburn. We are all very red and have a few painful days ahead of us. I can’t remember the last time I was sunburned – even as a kid, my mom chased me around with sunscreen and I completely escaped the wretched affliction. But heed my words: do not buy Coppertone Sport SPF 50. You know how they say that satisfied customers tell 2 people and unsatisfied ones tell 50? Well, I am motivated enough to author the Coppertone version of the famous PPT presentation still enjoying internet fame: “The Marriott Courtyard is a Very Bad Hotel.” I’ll call mine “Coppertone Sport SPF 50 is a Very Bad Sunscreen.” Pertinent points to cover: was not waterproof; was not rubproof; we hated the color of the bottle; we paid too much; we were seduced by blatant marketing slogans; the directions were poor (“Apply liberally” What the @#^& does that really mean? A thimbleful? A paint roller?), it gives the unfortunate illusion of cool, creamy efficacy; it exuded a fresh scent that lulled us into complacency; the cap has a faulty hinge, etc. We thought the first blush of sunburn the other day was a fluke, but noooooo…
On to Singapore after three (somewhat uncomfortable) days at sea. We’re on a mission to eat the absolute best chicken rice and sample the many excellent – and because it’s Singapore, safe - street foods on offer.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Heaving to and from Fremantle
I like traveling by sea. Weather systems march briskly by – if it’s raining over there, it’s undoubtedly sunny a little farther on and you can appreciate both states within minutes of one another (for Laura’s science unit, we’re learning change of state; we’re investigating the many many meanings of the phrase). Seafaring also lends unparalleled views of clouds. So much variety in color, form, size, contrast, rate of change, etc. – they go by as if they’re stuck on fast forward.
It was very rough after we left Adelaide for two days at sea. Crossing the Great Australian Bight has been as expected for southwestern Oz: stormy, damp, howling, bleak, etc. I now see it was dumb to bring only one long-sleeved shirt and I might have to throw it away when the weather warms for good. On our last trip across the North Pacific in winter, we experienced similar rough conditions and had to anchor our glasses to the table, take care not to fall out of bed and so on. Then, we had the dining room to ourselves since most passengers were busily worshipping the porcelain god, driving the porcelain bus, doing the Technicolor yawn, tossing cookies, whatever your preferred euphemism. Not so this sturdy bunch, many of whom are Australian. I suppose the seasickness gene has been bred out of their stock – those who were susceptible died long ago on the endless voyages from England. I might not be so happy with the high seas if I were traveling in a smaller boat. It’s an odd sensation as it is. One second you might lift right off your feet and the next you weigh several tons. It’s entertaining to watch people lurch by, bouncing off walls, staggering from side to side, waving their arms for balance, etc.
We visited Fremantle yesterday, late into port by 4 hours due to the bad weather the previous two days. Unfortunately, this meant we couldn’t go to Rottnest Island as planned. Rottnest is an 11 km-long island with gorgeous beaches, coral, fish, cycling, and to top off the experience, adorable little furry creatures that approach visitors for tidbits. In sum, just our kind of island. Oh well. We went to Cottlesloe Beach near Perth instead (we skipped Perth proper, since we had tired of big cities, dried up botanical gardens and traffic). The day was clear and sparkling and the water, though cold, was the same. We did some snorkeling right off shore and saw a surprising variety, even though the guard had warned us we might see hammerheads. Then the heavy equipment arrived: a three-week long art exhibit was being… hung? Planted? Uh, I guess, installed that day. Thirty sculptures were to be strung along the strand, and they ran the gamut: a group of larger than life emus made of recycled tires, a 20-foot-high pyramid glazed in glittering green and emitting a (probably unplanned) chemical odor under the hot sun, a clear orb anchored about 100 feet offshore that would glow after the sun went down, a group of candy lifesavers about the size of truck tires. Apparently, there had been a wildly popular sculpture installation pioneered at Bondi Beach that positioned sculpture as an accessible art that meshes with life instead of being separate from it. It had grabbed the public’s fancy and opened opportunities for sculptors across the country, so the idea was being adapted to other beaches.
I approached one guy wandering around inside a burned out shipping container, planning to ask why he thought that ugly hulk was art. Glad I held my tongue, since he was the artist. Would you like to see pictures? Go to www.garo.com.au. Anyway, he affably told me that the view from inside the container across the beach and water toward the many shipping vessels was meant to make us reflect on whether we really needed so many consumer items. He was also trying for a shipwrecked container ethos, hoping that one day shipping containers would be obsolete, and that beachcombers would “discover” his work like Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes discovered the Statue of Liberty (only they’d be happy, unlike Charlton). “Oh, you mean we used to have those on our planet?” From his tone of voice, burning out the container was the most fun he had creating the sculpture. I’m taking a vote: are there any men who aren’t secret pyros? I didn’t think so. He asked where we were from, were those my kids, etc., and like most others, asked if our kids had school holidays right now. Nope, we just took them along anyway. He said, “Now I feel pretty stupid. I didn’t bring my 7-year-old to see my first publicly exhibited sculpture because I didn’t think he could miss a day of school.” I told him Mark Twain’s quote: “I never let my schooling get in the way of my education.” No offense to those teachers out there…
Before I close on this short note, I have to apologize for not replying to emails. Our internet connection via satellite is very unreliable. One of the most challenging requests for our tenuous connection is replying to emails. Often I think a reply has been sent, only to be asked, “Are you sure you want to close this window? Your last action may not have been completed.” WHY NOT?? You’ve had PLENTY of time at 75 cents a minute!!
Travel: one large exercise in discovering what I can and can’t control. I can either be upset or sanguine that something didn’t go as planned and the outward results are identical; the only real cost is to myself. It reveals the dichotomy between what I expect/want and what is really necessary. It develops patience – though I’m beginning to think that I’ll never be patient, ever (on my deathbed, I’ll wonder WHY I’M NOT DEAD ALREADY!!) because one spends so much time getting someplace instead of being there. I can hope for one thing and get another: I stand on deck waiting to depart, feeling impatient that nothing is happening, then have my ears shattered by the ship’s horn right over my head. Oh, yeah, I guess waiting wasn’t so bad. I like being reminded of these things, but I can see why some people hate to travel.
We did eventually leave Fremantle and what an event it proved to be. Hundreds of cars lined the jetties waiting to see the ship leave, and people crowded every space along the wharf. They all screamed and hollered and flashed their lights and whistled. I guess not much happens in western Australia on a Tuesday night.
It was very rough after we left Adelaide for two days at sea. Crossing the Great Australian Bight has been as expected for southwestern Oz: stormy, damp, howling, bleak, etc. I now see it was dumb to bring only one long-sleeved shirt and I might have to throw it away when the weather warms for good. On our last trip across the North Pacific in winter, we experienced similar rough conditions and had to anchor our glasses to the table, take care not to fall out of bed and so on. Then, we had the dining room to ourselves since most passengers were busily worshipping the porcelain god, driving the porcelain bus, doing the Technicolor yawn, tossing cookies, whatever your preferred euphemism. Not so this sturdy bunch, many of whom are Australian. I suppose the seasickness gene has been bred out of their stock – those who were susceptible died long ago on the endless voyages from England. I might not be so happy with the high seas if I were traveling in a smaller boat. It’s an odd sensation as it is. One second you might lift right off your feet and the next you weigh several tons. It’s entertaining to watch people lurch by, bouncing off walls, staggering from side to side, waving their arms for balance, etc.
We visited Fremantle yesterday, late into port by 4 hours due to the bad weather the previous two days. Unfortunately, this meant we couldn’t go to Rottnest Island as planned. Rottnest is an 11 km-long island with gorgeous beaches, coral, fish, cycling, and to top off the experience, adorable little furry creatures that approach visitors for tidbits. In sum, just our kind of island. Oh well. We went to Cottlesloe Beach near Perth instead (we skipped Perth proper, since we had tired of big cities, dried up botanical gardens and traffic). The day was clear and sparkling and the water, though cold, was the same. We did some snorkeling right off shore and saw a surprising variety, even though the guard had warned us we might see hammerheads. Then the heavy equipment arrived: a three-week long art exhibit was being… hung? Planted? Uh, I guess, installed that day. Thirty sculptures were to be strung along the strand, and they ran the gamut: a group of larger than life emus made of recycled tires, a 20-foot-high pyramid glazed in glittering green and emitting a (probably unplanned) chemical odor under the hot sun, a clear orb anchored about 100 feet offshore that would glow after the sun went down, a group of candy lifesavers about the size of truck tires. Apparently, there had been a wildly popular sculpture installation pioneered at Bondi Beach that positioned sculpture as an accessible art that meshes with life instead of being separate from it. It had grabbed the public’s fancy and opened opportunities for sculptors across the country, so the idea was being adapted to other beaches.
I approached one guy wandering around inside a burned out shipping container, planning to ask why he thought that ugly hulk was art. Glad I held my tongue, since he was the artist. Would you like to see pictures? Go to www.garo.com.au. Anyway, he affably told me that the view from inside the container across the beach and water toward the many shipping vessels was meant to make us reflect on whether we really needed so many consumer items. He was also trying for a shipwrecked container ethos, hoping that one day shipping containers would be obsolete, and that beachcombers would “discover” his work like Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes discovered the Statue of Liberty (only they’d be happy, unlike Charlton). “Oh, you mean we used to have those on our planet?” From his tone of voice, burning out the container was the most fun he had creating the sculpture. I’m taking a vote: are there any men who aren’t secret pyros? I didn’t think so. He asked where we were from, were those my kids, etc., and like most others, asked if our kids had school holidays right now. Nope, we just took them along anyway. He said, “Now I feel pretty stupid. I didn’t bring my 7-year-old to see my first publicly exhibited sculpture because I didn’t think he could miss a day of school.” I told him Mark Twain’s quote: “I never let my schooling get in the way of my education.” No offense to those teachers out there…
Before I close on this short note, I have to apologize for not replying to emails. Our internet connection via satellite is very unreliable. One of the most challenging requests for our tenuous connection is replying to emails. Often I think a reply has been sent, only to be asked, “Are you sure you want to close this window? Your last action may not have been completed.” WHY NOT?? You’ve had PLENTY of time at 75 cents a minute!!
Travel: one large exercise in discovering what I can and can’t control. I can either be upset or sanguine that something didn’t go as planned and the outward results are identical; the only real cost is to myself. It reveals the dichotomy between what I expect/want and what is really necessary. It develops patience – though I’m beginning to think that I’ll never be patient, ever (on my deathbed, I’ll wonder WHY I’M NOT DEAD ALREADY!!) because one spends so much time getting someplace instead of being there. I can hope for one thing and get another: I stand on deck waiting to depart, feeling impatient that nothing is happening, then have my ears shattered by the ship’s horn right over my head. Oh, yeah, I guess waiting wasn’t so bad. I like being reminded of these things, but I can see why some people hate to travel.
We did eventually leave Fremantle and what an event it proved to be. Hundreds of cars lined the jetties waiting to see the ship leave, and people crowded every space along the wharf. They all screamed and hollered and flashed their lights and whistled. I guess not much happens in western Australia on a Tuesday night.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Finally Caffeinated
Anybody else think like I’m dropping the ball on maintaining this blog? I perpetually feel a step behind. For example, we visited Adelaide two days ago and even though we had a smashing time, I still haven’t reported on it. To the great relief of all five people tracking these scintillating events, I traced the problem to a tragic lack of caffeine. A sister affliction to anemic salt in the food, the caffeine deficit has been insidious and pervasive. Gee, I feel like a nap again. This chair is sooo comfortable I can’t get up. Why can’t I open my eyes? I’ve been out of bed three hours now. My head hurts. I heard what you said and I’ve put it on the list to process later. Nine o’clock? Time for another 10 hours in the sack!! From Princess’ point of view, this is a smart tactic. Why risk hordes of caffeinated old people trying to frenetically cut rugs on heaving decks? After all, there is only one physician aboard. The salt thing is similarly strategic: everybody is calmer with lower blood pressure! Luckily, I brought caffeine tablets and things are looking up.
Adelaide is a gorgeous city. The cab driver called it a big country town and that seems apt. No traffic jams, no buildings over 30 stories, friendly denizens, an expansive central square with my favorite decoration: a fountain. We arrived on a sparkling day and caught the train into town – a 40-minute ride with 20 stops. We immediately headed for the central market, which resembled Reading Terminal on steroids: it’s about twice as big, more crowded, more variety. We purchased a picnic lunch from The Stinky Cheese Shop (they have less draconian import laws in Oz, so the French cheese is made with raw milk and is much tastier), bread, fruit and vegetables (they sell Amazonian carrots here – huge, psychedelically orange, smooth-skinned and delicious. They’re almost like Disney’s idea of carrots). The Greek-style yogurt with berries didn’t make it out the door, since we devoured it on the spot. We did manage to save some Australian olives for later, even though they’re delectable also.
Upon exiting the market, we worked our way down the cab queue meeting, greeting and attempting to convince a cabbie to take us to the Cleland Conservation Park up in the Adelaide hills. It took six tries (three “I don’t know where that is” falsehoods, one “I won’t negotiate, we must use the meter” and one “I’m only driving this cab for three days” – not a great confidence booster, that last). The sixth, a transplanted, entrepreneurial Indian whose parents own two Dunkin’ Donuts franchises in Chicago, agreed for a very fair price to drive us there, wait for three hours while we communed with kangaroos, and then deliver us back to our ship.
The hills outside Adelaide had beautiful views of the downtown and surrounding dry bushland, enhanced by the clear air and startlingly blue sky. The park allows visitors to wander among the animals when it’s safe. So, we purchased some pellets and hugged kangaroos for several hours. They come in all sizes: from that of a large housecat to 6-feet or so. I knew kangaroos are ubiquitous in Australia, and the nationals speak of them like pests that endanger car trips (in fact, Ozzies seem rather put out about sharing their land with animals- most citizens have negative views on the wildlife). But nobody mentions how SOFT they are. The ones we saw were friendly, gentle animals that ate decorously out of our hands and liked having their tummies scratched. Their fur is like short rabbit fur – warmed by the sun, it’s impossibly downy. I rubbed one six-foot fellow’s tummy and he rolled over on his back with all four feet waving in the air (two ridiculously short front legs and two huge powerful back legs – it’s a strange combo). Laura observed that their calves, for wont of a better word, are merely skinny bones powered thick rubber bands. They just don’t seem sturdy enough for all that bouncing.
We also saw dingos, koalas (yes, asleep – lack of caffeine in Cleland is a problem, too), echidnas (three of them eating with audible smacking sounds what looked like dog food but surely must be Purina Echidna Chow), wombats (upright this time – they look like really big, squarer guinea pigs and eat much the same diet), a kookaburra (sitting in a gum tree!! And they really do sound like they’re laughing). We observed a Tasmanian devil and it looks rather like it’s been constructed from spare used parts: front legs are too long for the back legs, the fur is scruffy and dull, the eyes are too small and the ears are chewed. We visited the meerkats, who have figured out zoo living for fun and profit: hear the visitors outside the den, discuss with chirps whether it’s time to eat, exit, stand on hind legs and look as cute as possible while assessing the chances of being fed, then give up shortly and go back inside to sleep until the next possibly gullible group of humans happens by.
We fed the emus also, though two heatedly disagreed right in front of Adam. He was holding a handful of feed when one emu approached. Another ran up and they both eyed the food, then squared off balefully. The feathers on their necks erected, they made low drumming noises and in a flash, leapt up and smacked each other hard in the chests with their enormous feet. Adam stood frozen in shock and they ran off drumming furiously – like two kids, winning the argument took precedence over nutrition.
Finding the ship was a bit of a challenge at the end of the day, and the cabbie was getting nervous even though I assured him it was too big to miss. Plenty of time for him to tell us that in Oz one should never rely on the three Ws: work, weather and women. He also lamented the high taxes he pays to support families with children, who, according to him, receive extensive govt support. The ship loomed up in front of us eventually and he almost drove off the road. “Holy shit!!” he said. “THAT’S a BOAT?” Yeah, we said you couldn’t miss it.
Once on board, we watched the departure process, which was complicated by a very stiff wind and some late arriving passengers. I asked a nearby employee, “What happens if passengers return late?” He told me they rarely leave without someone and will wait up to a half-hour if somebody is missing. He did say, however, that they had left people behind in several cases. Next port, we won’t worry so much about being back on the dot – if we’d stayed just a bit longer at Cleland, we could have cuddled a koala. They look even softer than roos.
Adelaide is a gorgeous city. The cab driver called it a big country town and that seems apt. No traffic jams, no buildings over 30 stories, friendly denizens, an expansive central square with my favorite decoration: a fountain. We arrived on a sparkling day and caught the train into town – a 40-minute ride with 20 stops. We immediately headed for the central market, which resembled Reading Terminal on steroids: it’s about twice as big, more crowded, more variety. We purchased a picnic lunch from The Stinky Cheese Shop (they have less draconian import laws in Oz, so the French cheese is made with raw milk and is much tastier), bread, fruit and vegetables (they sell Amazonian carrots here – huge, psychedelically orange, smooth-skinned and delicious. They’re almost like Disney’s idea of carrots). The Greek-style yogurt with berries didn’t make it out the door, since we devoured it on the spot. We did manage to save some Australian olives for later, even though they’re delectable also.
Upon exiting the market, we worked our way down the cab queue meeting, greeting and attempting to convince a cabbie to take us to the Cleland Conservation Park up in the Adelaide hills. It took six tries (three “I don’t know where that is” falsehoods, one “I won’t negotiate, we must use the meter” and one “I’m only driving this cab for three days” – not a great confidence booster, that last). The sixth, a transplanted, entrepreneurial Indian whose parents own two Dunkin’ Donuts franchises in Chicago, agreed for a very fair price to drive us there, wait for three hours while we communed with kangaroos, and then deliver us back to our ship.
The hills outside Adelaide had beautiful views of the downtown and surrounding dry bushland, enhanced by the clear air and startlingly blue sky. The park allows visitors to wander among the animals when it’s safe. So, we purchased some pellets and hugged kangaroos for several hours. They come in all sizes: from that of a large housecat to 6-feet or so. I knew kangaroos are ubiquitous in Australia, and the nationals speak of them like pests that endanger car trips (in fact, Ozzies seem rather put out about sharing their land with animals- most citizens have negative views on the wildlife). But nobody mentions how SOFT they are. The ones we saw were friendly, gentle animals that ate decorously out of our hands and liked having their tummies scratched. Their fur is like short rabbit fur – warmed by the sun, it’s impossibly downy. I rubbed one six-foot fellow’s tummy and he rolled over on his back with all four feet waving in the air (two ridiculously short front legs and two huge powerful back legs – it’s a strange combo). Laura observed that their calves, for wont of a better word, are merely skinny bones powered thick rubber bands. They just don’t seem sturdy enough for all that bouncing.
We also saw dingos, koalas (yes, asleep – lack of caffeine in Cleland is a problem, too), echidnas (three of them eating with audible smacking sounds what looked like dog food but surely must be Purina Echidna Chow), wombats (upright this time – they look like really big, squarer guinea pigs and eat much the same diet), a kookaburra (sitting in a gum tree!! And they really do sound like they’re laughing). We observed a Tasmanian devil and it looks rather like it’s been constructed from spare used parts: front legs are too long for the back legs, the fur is scruffy and dull, the eyes are too small and the ears are chewed. We visited the meerkats, who have figured out zoo living for fun and profit: hear the visitors outside the den, discuss with chirps whether it’s time to eat, exit, stand on hind legs and look as cute as possible while assessing the chances of being fed, then give up shortly and go back inside to sleep until the next possibly gullible group of humans happens by.
We fed the emus also, though two heatedly disagreed right in front of Adam. He was holding a handful of feed when one emu approached. Another ran up and they both eyed the food, then squared off balefully. The feathers on their necks erected, they made low drumming noises and in a flash, leapt up and smacked each other hard in the chests with their enormous feet. Adam stood frozen in shock and they ran off drumming furiously – like two kids, winning the argument took precedence over nutrition.
Finding the ship was a bit of a challenge at the end of the day, and the cabbie was getting nervous even though I assured him it was too big to miss. Plenty of time for him to tell us that in Oz one should never rely on the three Ws: work, weather and women. He also lamented the high taxes he pays to support families with children, who, according to him, receive extensive govt support. The ship loomed up in front of us eventually and he almost drove off the road. “Holy shit!!” he said. “THAT’S a BOAT?” Yeah, we said you couldn’t miss it.
Once on board, we watched the departure process, which was complicated by a very stiff wind and some late arriving passengers. I asked a nearby employee, “What happens if passengers return late?” He told me they rarely leave without someone and will wait up to a half-hour if somebody is missing. He did say, however, that they had left people behind in several cases. Next port, we won’t worry so much about being back on the dot – if we’d stayed just a bit longer at Cleland, we could have cuddled a koala. They look even softer than roos.
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