more notes Sara

Dated:
06/23/09
I’m going to describe the last few days backwards, because that is the way it is easiest for me to remember what all has gone on. Tragically, still no sight of kangaroos.

Today was a great day! Woke up around eight, lazed around the apartments. Dad bought some interesting raisin bread frosted breakfast rolls with a pink frosting so bright that it threatened the retinas. He also picked up some Asiago cheese bread and a few bananas. (We’ve been playing it very, very simple as far as meals go here. But it’s been fun.) So we lounged until about ten, then dressed for the beach and spent five hours there. First, I showed Nick and Dad the tide pools I found yesterday. Each of these small worlds – no bigger than a large mixing bowl – is filled with minute snails, pink plants, and starfish. The starfish are my favorite. They are no larger than a thumbnail, but they are sharp little hunters. They blend in with the moss and plants, then slide atop the innocent passing snails in a single motion. Sometimes they ride the snails around for awhile, then eat them. Other times, they just pull the snails up by their shells right then and there. Keep in mind, I do have some sympathy for the snails. I spent a good hour yesterday flipping over ones that had gotten stuck on their backs. One fellow was so happy to be picked up (and not by a seagull) that he sucked onto my finger. It took me another ten minutes to convince him that a nearby tide pool rock would make a much better lifelong companion than I would.

After tramping the beaches, exploring rocks, tide pools, scaring off seagulls (except for the babies – ridiculous things. They are fully grown seagulls now, but their feathers are still soft and they peep like spring chickens), we lunched at the same outdoor beach joint we ate at last Thursday. Dad ate another beet-pickle hamburger that was still as large as his head; I had some great fish that still tasted like seawater; and Nick had his first taste of couscous (I know. Don’t blame me. He’s been a vegetarian for three years and the poor kid has never yet tasted couscous.) Finally, after psyching up to some music on the beach, Nick and I dove into the sea. That was my goal for today: go under down under. The waves were so high that just a few feet away from us they were cresting over our heads. The salt was incredible. Mostly, people think of salt as a seasoning: something you taste. But for my first five seconds underwater, sat was not only a taste, but also a sound, a smell, a sight, and feeling, and a mindset. Salt became a lifestyle.

I’ve enjoyed watching the huge coal ships come in and out of the harbor. The surfers are also wonderful. I haven’t met one in person yet, but I have a lot of admiration for them. Just standing in the water for a half hour this afternoon, my legs became sore. I can’t imagine the kind of mental and physical endurance it must take to swim against the pounding waves, only to force yourself up on a board and ride the watery beasts.

We finished the day with milkshakes and a good walk back to our apartment. Then – long showers, music, and writing. I love vacations.

If you think we sound like a soft lot of lazy oafs (well, we are, but still) we ought to get some credit for climbing a mountain yesterday. Mount Keira, to be exact: the highest point in Wollongong. After another slow morning, we all took the bus to the university. After asking around, we were directed to a campus janitor who turned out to be a world-traveling mountain climber. The man had been to Machu Pichu, et cetera (yes, that’s right, he et ceteraed world mountains) and is currently training for another peak famous to Australia. (For all of you world mountain climbing experts, I apologize for not having the name. I’m still adapting to quickly muttered words spoken with Crocodile-Dundee-style accents.) Mom headed off to her office, and our new friend walked us to the mountain base. With a few more casual directions and some time warnings (which we stupidly disregarded: keep reading), he set us off on our adventure.

The base of the mountain wasn’t all that different from the types of hills one would find around Minnesota. Thick deciduous trees and a few awkwardly tropical pines, but the same general soft mud and greenery we were used to. I even saw a few deer. (At least, I assumed they were deer. Someone correct me if there are actually no deer on this continent. I might be wrong. They could have been wallabies.) As we climbed, though, the mud turned into an orange-yellow clay and our friendly ferns transformed into towering palms. Vines as thick as trunks broke through the rock walls, and heavy overhanging boughs bore down upon us. Ancient Eucalyptus trees appeared, so thick that the three of us together could not wrap our arms around them. These were the old paths – disappearing, elusive, and dating back to the pre-colonial aboriginals. Partway up, Nick discovered that his ankles were covered in leeches. That’s right; didn’t I mention that there were leeches? I suppose they are something equivalent to Minnesota wood ticks. Also very small, these black, slimy creatures like to bury in the mud and climb up the socks of passersby caught unaware. After an initial shock, Nick yanked them off himself. Dad helped him apply some stinging hand-sanitizer, to keep the bites from bleeding too much. Needless to say, Dad was quite jealous. He now says that was his favorite part of our trip thus far, and he didn’t even catch any himself. I told him to take off his shoes and walk barefoot for awhile. That ought to snag on a couple.

Well, the humidity was so high that it was almost difficult to breath, considering the thickness of the air. We had passed into an officially rainforested area. It was like a scene out of The Jungle Book, complete with tropical bird calls echoing through the air. The most surreal moments were when the trees parted and we could see the ocean. Miles and miles of water, dotted with coal ships. Below us were the widespread and ever shrinking houses. Modernity visible in the middle of the tropical forest.

There was supposed to be a restaurant at the top of the mountain, but it was closed. We should have taken this as our first sign of misfortune (or real adventure, depending on how you view it). But the view from the top was spectacular. All of Wollongong was laid out before us – toy houses, toy ships, toy cars, and twinkling streetlights. Yes, we had triumphed our mountain at sunset. The buttery light sank below the trees behind us and cast the city below into a swirling mist of pinks, oranges, and golds.

We snapped a few pictures and rushed to begin our climb down. With the sun having disappeared far more rapidly than expected, we could not trust ourselves on the elusive, vine-covered, leech-sucking, ankle-deep mud trails that we had taken up. So we stuck to the road. The first few miles were fun. We tried to figure out which of the stars above made up the Southern Cross – a mark specific only to the Southern Hemisphere (equivalent to our North Star). Soon enough though, as sports car after sports car zoomed past us (apparently racing down mountains at dusk in expensive cars is a popular local hobby), and the light grew dim enough for us to lose not only the ditches but ourselves in the liquid dark, our endurance began to wear. Dad lead and Nick and I followed, calling out warnings at the sounds of engines or the formidable glow of oncoming lights. At one point, Dad attempted to flag down a motorcyclist, but the man only flashed his lights and honked for us to get off the road. We couldn’t though. We couldn’t see. And the banks were dotted with four-foot deep drains that had no covers. One mis-step, and we’d be carrying one another down the highway.

But we kept on. The city lights below were both beautiful and discouraging. After seven miles of walking, we finally started to come along houses. I should say, because it is winter here, the sun sets around 5:30 p.m. By the time we found these houses, it was only 6:30. Thus, it was not unusual for Dad to stop an evening dog-walker and ask for directions. With great relief, we were informed that the top of Crown Street (a main street in town that we are familiar with) was only a twenty minute’s walk away. With that hope, we kept on. Meeting increasingly common intersections until, at last, we reached roundabouts, bus ramps, and streetlights. We had touched base.

From the top of Crown, it was only another twenty or so minutes home. On the way, we stopped to ask for directions once more from a gentle, scholarly looking man with extraordinarily thin lips at a bus stop. Only yards later, we were stopped by what appeared to be a toothless ex-clown, who cursed us for not having cigarettes (seriously, as we walked away, he did a “Booo!” That was EXACTLY like the “Booo!” from the old woman in the movie “The Princess Bride.” Go ahead, call me crazy, but some of you know what I’m talking about). We walked past one druggist’s that was labeled “The Cheapest Druggist in Wollongong!” and one right next to it was one labeled “The General Druggists: Cheaper than the Cheapest Druggist in Wollongong!”

It was an unusual night.

By the time we got home, we were all worn out, but we agreed that it was a fantastic adventure. We snacked on some soup and sandwiches and went to bed early. Huzzah! But we had conquered out mountain. The same mountain is directly visible off of our balcony. What a wonderful way to wake up this morning, and see what we had accomplished in climbing!

Sunday was unusually fun. We all woke up early and went to church at the local Wesley Uniting Church: Mission on the Mall. Here in Australia, several of the mainline Christian churches, including the Methodists, combined powers to form the Uniting church about a decade ago. The preacher at Wesley was a former Methodist himself. The entire experience was uncannily like that described by Eddie Izzard in his bit about the Anglican church. The pastor gave a comedically relaxed sermon, tossing in statements like “so we thought we’d give it a bit of a go,” and, “nipped on down.” He didn’t have any notes, so he just casually mixed together a thousand points and stories about his wife’s art books, his first sailboarding experience, Christmas vacation last year, a near car wreck they survived, and so on. At one point, he pulled out a book about literalist vs. metaphorical translations of the gospels and read a couple of pages directly to us. At another point, he asked us what some of our most traumatic events had been in life, saying, “Now I don’t want to throw you into flashbacks and make you leave to church, but anybody want to share? Harriet? Tom?” Then he wandered out into the congregation and handed the microphone to various church members.

Actually, it was one of the best sermons I have ever heard. I still don’t entirely know what the conclusion was, but, ultimately, God loves us, life is short (and not ours to claim), we are all part of something bigger, and not everything has to be understood literally – our external and internal impressions do not have to be the same thing. He was a wonderful person, too. And he asked Dad if he wanted to guest preach next week. Dad may well end up reading the gospel lesson, at some rate. I think he ought to “give it a bit of a go.” So, we’ll see. I secretly think it depends on whether or not his beard has grown in all the way yet. Right now, he’s still at a scruffy phase, and well suitable for vacation, that might give the wrong impression about unkempt American Methodist Pastors if he got up and spoke like this.

After the fantastic church experience, we did some casual souvenir shopping at the city center and ate lunch at a cute outdoor Mediterranean restaurant. We were served by the owner, who had a broken finger. (“Look at it! I ‘it it on the table in there a few weeks ago and it just bent up tha’ way! Isn’t it ugly, tho’?” Wonderfully friendly. Wollongong has a good number of very kindhearted, friendly people. I met some of them on the beach. Just for the record.) Afterward, we went to see a positively bizarre display at the Wollongong City Museum. We thought we would be looking at some cutesy local impressionist beach paintings or maybe a few aboriginal carvings, but we ended up viewing a few paintings and sculptures that were so unusual, they put half of the Minneapolis Walker to shame. I’d go into further detail, but I don’t believe I physically can. Instead, we’ll just say that you all have to come down here and see it for yourself, if curiosity so drives you.

Well, I daresay that is all I have for now. Tomorrow should also be good, though. We’re looking to hop a train to Sydney and check out the famous Bondi Beach. They have shark nets there! Adventures to come indeed. Until then, I am exhausted. Goodnight, ladies, gentlemen, both, neither, and others! I love you all. Sleep tight, and I’ll catch you when I can.

--- Sara Ann