While we were wallowing in self-pity and rainwater in Waikerie, we managed to sneak over to the famous Barossa Valley for a day of vineyard hopping and free wine tasting…and not much else! The Barossa Valley is most well known for its reds – it’s the reason why anyone associates Shiraz with Australia. Apparently the hot, dry days and cool nights in this region of South Australia produce some excellent grapes. Needless to say, Mar and I were looking forward to sampling a few glasses from arguably the best wine-producing region of Australia. Unlike our whirlwind tour of randomness in the Margaret River region, we actually had a shortlist of wineries to go by, that way we’d make the most of our time in the valley and avoid any lemons. Our first stop was at Turkey Flat, a long-standing winery that boasted some of the oldest Shiraz vines in the country. I knew we had stopped at a quality winery because joining us at the tasting bar was a highfalutin tour group lead by a guy with an amazing moustache. It was a combination of Friedrich Nietzsche and Otto von Bismarck with a dash of Rollie Fingers. You know it’s a good one when you feel like less of a man just by standing in its presence. But I digress. While Turkey Flat’s rosé was pretty tasty, we were especially impressed with their Shiraz. You could tell this one was their baby, and it hurt to know that we would not be taking a bottle home with us, due to the $50 price tag. Our next stop was Rockford Winery, a classic Barossa establishment that apparently is one of the few wineries left in Australia that produces its wines using traditional, old-timey methods. The winery and cellar door utilize several stone buildings dating back to the original European settlement of the area back in the mid 1800s. These relics of frontier Australia encircled a paved courtyard that really set the mood once you stepped inside the space. The style of carefully laid stone and thick, hewed timber of the structures was a reminder of the German roots of South Australia’s settler history. While tasting the many quality wines at Rockford’s cellar door (awesome sparkling Shiraz!), we were pleasantly surprised to meet two Americans tasting next to us. This was a shock because finding an American in Australia is slightly more common than finding a spotted quoll or an albino wallaby in the wild. We’ve seen more echidnas than we’ve seen Americans. Daryl and Sara Mae were co-owners of an organic winery based in Humboldt County, California called Vinatura. Anticipating our chuckles at the choice of location, Daryl explained that the conditions in Humboldt, which provide for good weed growing, are coincidentally perfect for growing wine grapes as well. I couldn’t help but imagine how much fun their local farmers markets must be. We ended up bumping into these Americans again down the road at Charles Melton Wines, where they invited us to join them in demolishing a hefty cheese platter. While we traded travel stories we were treated to some excellent red wine. Charles Melton is exclusively a red wine producer, and they do not mess around. While everything we tried was delicious, the standouts for us were their “Nine Popes” Grenache, “Father in Law” Shiraz and “Voices of Angels” Shiraz. Hanging out with these winemakers made tasting far more engaging, as they brought about some excellent conversations with the Aussie winemakers about the trade as well as the craft. One question of note that Daryl raised was why Australia did not seem to have much exposure in the American wine scene. With such excellent wine being produced in this country, it was tragic to think that Yellow Tail was pretty much the only Aussie wine widely available in the States. In so many words, the server at Rockford explained that Australian winemakers just aren’t that interested, or it’s simply not affordable to distribute their wine so far away when they have a decent enough local market. Some small scale wineries in Australia do distribute to the States, but usually the small shipments are snatched up by those in the know - international wine clubs and boutique dealers, as well as aficionados. Before we headed back to Waikerie, we stopped in the small town of Tanunda to catch their Christmas parade. The whole scene made me nostalgic of being a little kid in my hometown in Massachusetts, where we would have parades during the summertime. The local Lutheran church had a bake sale and a BBQ sausage stand selling the classic Aussie combo of sausage on white bread with a squirt of tomato sauce (read ketchup). While the local businesses drove their floats down the main street, old Aussies in Santa hats, stubbies and cold beer in coozies looked on as their little grandkids ran around like tiny crazy people, waving around ribbons and glowsticks while shrieking with delight. Mar and I couldn’t help but crack up when Santa showed up in the back of a bright green El Camino-style vehicle. So freakin Australian. Fast forward a week and a half, just as Mar and I were becoming seasoned orange pickers, it was time to head east to Melbourne for Mar’s mom’s arrival. Instead of taking the shortest route straight across, we decided to stop back in Adelaide for one last evening in the city. My parents had bestowed us with some precious Christmas money, so we made sure to hit up an excellent restaurant, per their suggestion. We had some very gourmet fare at a small, swanky place called Decant, including some local scallops, lamb and beef! Yum. We also had to hit up Elephant Walk one last time, the Vienna coffee called to us from afar like a creamy, caffeinated siren song. It may have been a mistake on our part, because I ended up drinking all of mine and half of Marielle’s. At bedtime I was so uber-caffeinated I probably counted about 3 million sheep before I finally crashed. Washing off the carnage post-drive in Melbourne The next day was spent driving the long haul to Melbourne, almost 800 km in one go. The drive would have been a pleasant one had we not been traveling during the Great Locust Migration of 2010. Every few minutes a thick cloud of locusts would fly in the path of our car, resulting in mass bug-splosions. I’m not usually squeamish around this kind of thing, but when your windshield is literally plastered with insect gore and there are horrifically maimed and dismembered locusts dragging their broken body parts along the wiper blades like a tiny reenactment of Saving Private Ryan…well it’s super gross. Not to mention the fact that it’s a bit unnerving to look a flying locust in the eye before it slams into your windshield and pops 6 inches in front of your face at 110 k/hr, over and over again. For eight hours. Not a fun drive.
0 Comments
We have looked forward to writing this post if only to use the words “Bamboozled” and “Hoodwinked” in a sentence, as there’s really no other way to describe what transpired. In Adelaide, desperate for work, we called Australia’s toll-free Harvest Hotline to see if anything was available in the farming industry. We had dialed the hotline for work in previous locations around Australia to no avail, but on this particular day we were in luck, or so we thought. Northeast of Adelaide, farmers were looking for both orange pickers and potato harvesters immediately. Score. With our extensive experience in veggie harvesting in the Northern Territory, we determined that any harvest job where we didn’t have to bend over all day would be beneficial. Oranges thus seemed the most logical choice as they grow in trees and from what we had heard from other backpackers, it’s always better to get farm work where you’re reaching up instead of straining your back. We called the number the hotline had given us and were elated when we found that the farm wanted us to start immediately the following morning. As two people on the verge of broke, this news was fantastic. We drove for just over two hours to the little town of Waikerie (rhymes with bakery), South Australia’s citrus capital in the Murray Riverlands. Perched above the mighty Murray River, this town was little more than a few cafes, a gas station, and a grocery store in the middle of thousands of acres of orange trees. It was grey and rainy when we arrived, and had we known better we would’ve cut and run to the potato farm as soon as we took note of the weather. After arriving at the address given to us over the phone, we were informed that we couldn’t pick on that first day as oranges can’t be picked when they’re wet (the rind becomes too soft and bruises easily). Our new supervisor, Matthew, told us he would keep us all updated on the field conditions and let us know when it was dry enough to start. After speaking to a few locals in town who told us, “It never rains in Waikerie,” we checked in to the cheapest caravan park in town for the week, hopeful that the sun would come out shortly. This was also after putting down a $200 deposit on our picking bags – basically canvas marsupial pouches to collect the oranges. As we’re writing this, we’re cringing a bit and trying to will time backwards to stop our past selves from staying. You’ll see why… The sun did not come out. The rain did not go away. At least for the first three days that is. Every morning we woke up, hoping to get a message telling us we could work, and every morning it was still too wet and we were closer and closer to broke, stuck at a crappy caravan park riddled with mosquitoes and hours away from any form of amusement. On the fourth day, when god created ticks, lowly invertebrates, and Glenn Beck’s amoebic ancestor, the sun finally came out and tricked us into sticking out the most dehumanizing week and a half of our lives. We might be getting a bit dramatic, but let us continue. On our first day of picking we were initiated into the industry with 40 C (105+ F) degree heat. We strapped our pouches to our chests and dove, head first, into snail infested, thorn-riddled orange trees. Our goal, as described by Matthew, was to clear all the trees in our row of all fruit. To give you a better idea of the size of this endeavor, a row is about two-three city blocks in length and the trees are packed tightly next to each other, often with thick groups of branches tangled between one another. Trees on average are 10-15ft tall, so cumbersome metal ladders are required to reach oranges at the top of each tree. More often than not, many oranges are not reachable from the ground or by ladder, so we had to crawl under the thick foliage and up the center of the trunk, utilizing our climbing skills to reach the tricky ones, sometimes with a bag of oranges still strapped to us and often crunching slimy, innocent snail folk. Each time we filled our pouch with 10 lbs of oranges we emptied them into Jacuzzi-sized plastic bins. For each bin filled to the brim, we, as a pair, received $25. We were told that working as a pair, filling a bin should take us 45 minutes, but that we weren’t expected to do it that quickly in our first few days. Our first day, it took us two hours per bin as a pair, and by the afternoon when they told us to quit because it was too hot and they were concerned about workers getting heat stroke, we had filled 3 bins. We had each made $37.50 for six hours of labor. The experience was certainly one of the best workouts of our lives and we really do like to work outside. Being paid by the bin, however, seemed criminal, especially at that rate and without any hourly stipend or accommodation offered. Obviously this is probably the standard in the orange industry, so it was quite the eye opener for us on the reality of migrant orange picking work. For anyone who disapproves of immigrants taking on work such as this, I seriously recommend you live in their shoes for a bit. We kept at it for the next few days, improving our time and number of bins little by little, working a few 10-11 hour days. It did cool off slightly and we were fortunate to have quite a few days that were overcast and it made quite a difference. Then in this little town where it never rains, the rain came again, this time with a vengeance. We ate dinner in our car during the first wave - canned spaghetti, pretty bleak. The lightning was constant and very intense and the rain came down in sheets. At least it was cleaning some nasty bug death off our car. When there was a break in the weather we made a break for the showers, as we were still pretty disgusting from working in the field. Halfway through our showers a lightning bolt hit the caravan park bathroom blocks and knocked out the power in the little concrete buildings. Imagine being alone in the dark in a little concrete shower stall, covered in soap, with only the occasional flash of white light illuminating the room. Creepy as hell. Your imagination practically solidifies the maniac with the kitchen knife right just on the other side of the door. After finishing our showers as best we could in those conditions, we were then trapped by the lightning and river of water pouring down between us and our tent, which, by all accounts should have been flooded or destroyed since our poles were held together with duct tape. When we finally made a dash for it, we found our tent miraculously dry on the inside, despite a slow leak forming at the seams in the roof of the fly. Way to go little $30 pawnshop tent. Throughout the night we staved off the leak with a camp towel and didn’t get much sleep. It poured all night long – 10 cm or 4 inches of rain fell in this one sitting. When we drove into town the next day, parks and orchards were flooded, one athletic field had even turned into a large lake complete with ducks. No one in this town had seen rain like this in their lifetime. One farmer said that he wouldn’t have to worry about water for his orchard for the next four to five years. Needless to say, we weren’t picking oranges that day. The caravan park where we were staying was the other part of our dreary situation. There was a reason Sunlands Caravan Park was the cheaper of the two in town, located behind a gas station with about 15 spots for caravans and tents. As we gradually discovered, this place was one health code violation after another. In every caravan park we’ve been to, in addition to the pass-through backpackers and weekend retirees, there is always a contingent of devoted, long-term residents who appear to have no intention of leaving. Some of the set ups have been quite impressive – we’ve seen several camper trailers converted into solid homes, with wooden decks, stone patios, full-on gardens and sheet metal porches. The long-haulers at Sunlands were different. They didn’t have gardens or anything like that; they just simply weren’t going anywhere. Their caravans had flat tires and rusted chassis, and had not had a washing since 1973. For the first half of our stay, we noticed an occasional, odd smell that seemed to come from somewhere nearby. We were informed by our neighbor soon after that the smell came from a particularly debased individual three lots away who made a habit of pitching his pee bucket on the lawn every few days. He also mentioned that a few nights prior when he had gone to take a shower at the nearby toilet block, he found a “fat turd” deposited with clear intent on the shower drain. It was at this point that he pointed out that the manager of SUNLANDS CARAVAN PARK never actually cleaned the toilet block, but instead simply swept the floor. But hey, you can’t beat those low prices, right? At this point, our morale was at its lowest, and it wasn’t helped by the plague of locusts that had descended upon the area. Having locusts bounce off your head in the mornings while using the restroom isn’t a good way to start your day. And the plagues of mosquitoes every night didn’t make sunset any better. Thankfully when a week was up, we relocated to the nicer caravan park funded by an early, gracious Christmas gift from the Warshauers. THANK YOU MARK AND TULLIE!!!! We’re fairly certain we would have gone insane and possibly come down with a nasty case of mange otherwise. The rest of our time in Waikerie was fairly routine – waking up early to go to the next picking job, work our butts off and get chicken feed in return. By the end of our 2-week stint in the Murray Riverlands, we were super eager to get out of dodge and head east to Melbourne. Above all else it was certainly a character building experience, one we might just appreciate at some point later in life. Our first day in Adelaide just so happened to be my 24th birthday and I was excited to be celebrating it in a new place. Adelaide is quite different from Perth: a bit grungier, smaller, and tighter packed but easy to navigate and completely surrounded by beautiful parklands and green space. It is the capital of South Australia, which is apparently the only state in Australia established by non-convict, free immigrants (Aussies from SA love to point that out). They have every right to be proud of their state - founded on the promise of civil liberties and freedom from religious persecution, SA has come to be the most progressive of the Australian states. For instance, SA supermarkets won't bag your groceries unless you bring your own bags or buy heavy duty, reusable ones from them. Imagine how much plastic bag waste could be prevented by a policy like that in the US. Rundle Mall It was easy to see that Christmas mania had descended upon Adelaide - I think it was the 50 ft tall, fiberglass Santa that initially tipped us off. Having grown up on the east coast, it was super strange seeing Christmas decorations and hearing a nearby brass band playing "Good King Wenceslas" in 80+ degrees Fahrenheit Australia. We grabbed some tasty noodles for a nice lunch in the park, then set out to find a place to stay for the next few days. After setting up camp at a caravan park just outside of town, we ventured back into Adelaide for a rare night of metropolitan festivity and exploration. Our first stop was Adelaide’s famous Central Market: a huge indoor labyrinth of stalls selling local produce, bread, cheese, coffee, and gourmet specialty items. We only had one hour to explore before it closed and barely scratched the surface of this enormous event. The vibrant colors and delectable smells were enough to make you feel that you had reached a type of nirvana. The fruit stalls in particular reminded us of how far we were from home and how close we were to Asia, selling rambutan, lychee, jackfruit, and other fabulous Asian delights. We bought a few marinated Greek olives to munch as we wandered. All the while I kept thinking about how my late Grandma Julie, a true gourmet and a feisty proponent of all things delicious, would have loved this place. It was “Food of the gods!” as she would so often say. If there’s one thing to be said about Australian cities, it’s that there is never a shortage of places to eat. Urban Australians love to eat out, so even though there are 500 restaurants packed into one city, they never seem to be short on business. This competition greatly benefited our options for dinner, but did not help our indecisiveness. We wandered up and down the Asian restaurant district across from Central Market for what seemed like an hour until we settled on a Malaysian restaurant. After a delightful seafood lakhsa and a plate of wok-fried sweet chili squid, we wandered the hoppin’ streets of Adelaide for a nightcap. Tucked between the gaudy nightclubs filled with plastered backpackers we found an awesome little place on Hindley St called Apothecary 1878. This place was a pharmacy in the 19th century and is now a chic, multi-level wine and cocktail bar, complete with old-timey medicine bottles for decoration. As we browsed their incredibly extensive drink menu we noticed that they even offered six different kinds of absinthe at various levels of potency. Tres cool. It was a lovely place to spend the end of a great evening - enjoying a few final sips of cultural luxury before having to revert back to our ramen and canned spaghetti standard. Before departing Adelaide for some much needed employment, we did a bit more exploring in this very socially progressive Aussie city. Along North Terrace are several free museums nestled among the University of Adelaide’s campus. One, a natural history museum, had a beautiful, extensive exhibit on Aboriginal culture as well as a few others on local paleontology, flora and fauna, and historical Antarctic expeditions. Another museum, the Immigration Museum, had an interactive exhibit on the “White Australia Policy,” various immigration policies designed to keep Australia primarily white and British, which started at the turn of the century and continued until as recently as 1973. The exhibit was designed to put you in the shoes of a non-British immigrant trying to enter the country and whether or not you would make the cut. The requirements for them to enter were ludicrous. An immigrant from Italy, for instance, might be given a dictation exam in Norwegian, and would be summarily deported if they failed. There were also policies relating to Aboriginals that were designed with the deliberate intention of preventing them from reproducing. For many years, it was illegal for two full-blood aboriginals to marry in some parts of Australia. It was an enlightening exhibit, but disturbing that policies such as these were allowed to happen, let alone go on for as long as they did. If you ever find yourself in Adelaide, you should also check out a place called Elephant Walk. This awesome late-night establishment is incredibly tiny, but has cozy sofa nooks separated by bamboo screens and serves delicious coffees and deserts. It only opens after 8pm so it’s a great place to go late and have a Viennese coffee and some sticky date pudding. We would also highly recommend the Adelaide Botanic Gardens, a beautiful place for a walk where we found the Museum of Economic Botany. Yes, we know that is possibly the most boring name for a museum ever, but it was actually a really fascinating display of the myriad uses of plants and produce. Okay, still a bit geeky, but really interesting stuff! Dec 28 - Wow, we’re really far behind! Apologies to our loyal reader – we’re currently in Tasmania with Mar’s mom and her fiancé Charlie, and obviously having too much fun to keep up to date! We’ll get to all that soon enough. Hope you enjoy the post. -Ben After bidding farewell to Ita and Rivka, we headed to the East Perth train station to catch the famous Indian Pacific Railway over to Adelaide. We were particularly excited to experience this classic and classy mode of Australian transportation, which allows you to kick back with a drink and watch the landscapes flow by. We were equally excited after calculating that the cost of our two train tickets PLUS the motorail fee (putting the car on the train as cargo) amounted to the same price as gas would cost for us to drive the distance. As the Nullarbor Plain lies between Perth and Adelaide - a seemingly endless expanse of flat emptiness and dry nothing- we were more than happy not to drive. Writing the Roleystone post while traveling sideways through a thunderstorm in the outback Being the lowly economy travelers that we are, we travelled in “red service” where you sleep in your seats and share shower/bathrooms at each end of the train car. Not exactly as luxurious as private cabin travel but it was still very cool and more importantly, comfortable and stress free. There was certainly more space around you than in an airplane and the seats reclined to nearly flat, which made sleeping a bit easier. To make the trip a bit more enjoyable, the Indian Pacific also provided a lounge car service that offered unlimited tea and coffee as well as outlets for laptops. We opted in for this little extra for the purposes of caffeination and blogging during our two-night, three-day journey. Mar updates the blog in the lounge car - note crazy man seated at bottom right, ready to pounce Unfortunately, we hadn’t been in the lounge car thirty minutes when we attracted the attention of a strange looking man in a wide-brimmed outback hat. We’re not going to go into too much detail about the encounter because honestly, we could ramble on for hours, so we’ll just give you a general overview. As Mar put it, the conversation was like being held at intellectual gunpoint. This crazy American man (who shall remain nameless since I guarantee he Googles himself regularly) talked at us for a good 2 ½ to 3 hours about everything from secret entrepreneurial opportunities to far-flung conspiracy theories, to astronomy and physics, to his apparently “perfect” children and their doctorates, ad infinitum. During his entire lecture I think we were able to get in about 10 words. Every once in a while during his dizzying rhetoric he would provide surprisingly rational insights about life and society, but just when you thought he was onto something, he’d plunge back down into the rabbit hole to crazytown. This made the whole experience very unnerving - we could never tell whether he was really crazy or just screwing with us. At a few points in the conversation, he got so worked up and intense that I was more than slightly worried about getting stabbed. We both smiled and nodded as I thought to myself if he goes for the throat, elbow him in the face, kick him in the chest and get out of there. Mar nearly peed her pants waiting to use the bathroom because she didn’t want to leave me alone with him. An aspect of his personality that I found especially curious was the extent of his vanity. Not only did he repeatedly need to stress his overwhelming financial success (money was no object he kept saying, yet he was riding in steerage?) but also acted as if every word he spoke was a gift bestowed upon us. He was from Utah (bingo), and told us repeatedly that he had come from absolute poverty, one of 12-17 children (the family got bigger each retelling). Just so you can have a visual, this man looked as if he had just come back from a thrift store wedding, complete with tired-looking grey suit, ruffled shirt, silver cummerbund, and pearl necklace (which he claimed was Michelle Obama’s). He loved to name drop, frequently alluding to his ongoing friendship with Steve Wozniak (co-founder of Apple Computers). You get the idea. Anyway, the whole encounter thoroughly creeped us out and made the rest of our train trip slightly tense as we made every effort to avoid him from then on. Aside from that guy, the trip was altogether quite pleasant. The Nullarbor Plain is quite a thing to behold. Apparently the local Aboriginal word for the area is 'Oondiri' meaning 'the waterless,' and judging by the absolutely vast nothingness that we saw, it is a fitting description. While we occasionally passed through brief, hilly forests of eucalyptus, the majority of our view featured endless plains of sand and scrub brush. The Nullarbor has a kind of profound emptiness and mercilessness that demands your respect. Needless to say, Marielle and I were thankful to be spending our journey east in an air-conditioned train sipping tea and watching movies on her laptop. We realized while on the train that we could use my video capture settings on Mar's computer to give our blog a few extra awesome points, so below is a clip we took to allow you to experience the Nullarbor Plain yourself, and to ride the Indian Pacific for an exhilarating 17 seconds. Enjoy! Desperate times call for desperate hand turkeys The second day of our ride was Thanksgiving Day, or it would have been had we been in the states. Due to the limited menu options in the dining car our Turkey Day was pretty pathetic, consisting of a pre-packaged meat pie, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a bit of cheap wine we smuggled on board. One thing we were thankful for was the lack of bloated whale feeling after our sumptuous “feast.” We arrived in Adelaide the next morning excited to be in a new city, but sad to have left the southwest. By the way, showering on a moving train is super weird. Busselton Jetty After being told by countless people that the Southwestern region of Australia is one of the most beautiful places on earth, it was difficult not to make the trip. We wanted to devote at least a week to this piece of country renowned for its vineyards (all of which do FREE tastings!), breweries, national parks, and laid back vacation towns, but extenuating circumstances denied us. We were thankful that we were able to spend a weekend though, and tried to make the most of it. Our first stop was Busselton, a major town along the coast of Geographe Bay. Among its claims to fame are it’s super long jetty (over 1 km long) and underwater observatory. Unfortunately, the last 900 m or so of the jetty were under construction, meaning the observatory located at the very end of the jetty was also closed. Lame. Our interest in Busselton quickly waning, we momentarily dipped our toes in the gloriously cool water and marveled at the unwavering refusal of Aussies to follow the directions of beach warning signs. We moved on to Dunsborough, where we got our first sampling of local microbrew at Occy’s Brewery. We immediately liked their beer garden, especially since it featured a kid’s backyard swing set and jungle gym. We sampled a few of their beers, but were not very impressed. While some had good potential, they came across as just some guy’s OK homebrew. As a fellow homebrewer, I can confidently say that I (and Matt) have made better beer – and we gave it away for free! At most we demanded our drinkers entertain us somehow, but that’s about it. Camping in front of the Wise Winery vines. This looks like an emo acoustic album cover. For accommodation that night, Ita had taken it upon herself to find us a place to stay at a winery near Dunsborough. She apparently was good friends with Sandra Wise, owner of Wise Wines in Eagle Bay, and was confident that it would be no problem to camp on their property. We were put in touch with Sandra’s daughter-in-law, Antonya, who was the only one on the property at the time. To our humble appreciation, Antonya was incredibly hospitable, inviting us into her home and offering anything we needed, with only a vague understanding of why two strange Americans were camping in her backyard. Per her recommendation, we drove over to Meelup Beach to soak in the last of the afternoon light. The beach was pristine, as well as surprisingly small. Located along the northeast-facing shore of Cape Naturaliste, this little cove was naturally protected from the powerful surges of the Indian Ocean, making the water as calm as a lake. North of the beach was a long stretch of piled rocks and tidal pools, which of course meant it was scrambling time. Ita had mentioned that there were beaches like Meelup all along the cape, so to start up the next day we made it top priority to really explore Cape Naturaliste. Leeuwin-Naturaliste National Park was spread all along the western coastline, and through it ran the Cape-to-Cape hiking trail – a multi-day backpacking trail that links Cape Naturaliste in the north to Cape Leeuwin at the southwestern most point of Australia. Cape Naturaliste held several other good walking tracks as well, with great views of the Indian Ocean and Geographe Bay where Blue Whales, Humpback Whales, and Southern Right Whales could be seen this time of year. Fun fact: the testes of a southern right whale weigh the same as a large car, and are the largest in the animal kingdom! Even this doesn't quite capture the plague of flies We waited for a good while to try and spot a whale, but the flies were in full force. As we will explain in our upcoming post of the top 10 worst (and best) things about Australia, flies are without a doubt at number one of the worst list. Australian black flies have been a horrible nuisance in our travels, but they were by far at their nastiest here at Cape Naturaliste. Mar counted at least 45-50 swarming around my back as we walked along the trail. Gross. You would think that there would have been at least one dead kangaroo somewhere that would have been more appealing. I’m not sure how I should feel about this in relation to my personal hygiene. It was quite amusing, however, to watch all the other visitors and backpackers do their interpretive anti-fly dances. Canal Rocks Further south along the coast were all sorts of incredible rock formations and surf beaches. With the Indian Ocean pummeling this section of coastline (much like Dirk Hartog’s western coast), it made for some very striking and surreal scenery. One such spot was “Canal Rocks,” where the ocean had exposed and shaped huge outcroppings of rock resembling deeply scoured clay. The wave action of the water had also created a natural, but impeccably straight, canal through a large portion of the rock, hence the name. We could have spent all day exploring the many ins and outs of the rocks – an excellent adventure spot. Grapes Galore. So now that we were plenty sweaty and dirty from ‘sploring, we decided it was high time to quench our thirst at some of the classy wineries nearby. Most of the vineyards and wineries of the Margaret River region are located along Caves Road, which for some reason has a speed limit of 90 kph. You would think a small, windy road like this would be 60-70 tops, especially since there were so many turn-offs, and even more especially because of the abundance of boozed-up wine tasters driving around. Our first stop was at Windance Vineyard, solely because it was the first turn-off we were able to take without having to slam on the brakes. Windance had a tiny, intimate tasting room and their wines were pretty good, but nothing special. Some Raging Bull at Bootleg From there we hopped over to one of the few local breweries, Bootleg Brewery, whose motto is “an oasis of beer in a desert of wine.” With a slogan like that, we thought we’d give it a go. Unfortunately for us we landed there on a weekend and, due to the brewery’s popularity, is the only time of the week they don’t do tasting paddles. Beer glass sizing is odd in Australia and, aside from the pint, isn’t standardized between states. You can order a “midi” or a “schooner” in one state, and ask for the same next door and get a weird look because they sell “pots” instead. Schooners happened to be the next size down from pints in this part of Australia, so we ordered a couple. Bootleg’s signature brew is their “Raging Bull,” a highly alcoholic but surprisingly non-astringent dark ale, with significant malt overtones. It was tasty, and certainly unique. Their Hefeweisen was also quite good as well as a seasonal ESB on tap. Enjoying some ESB Just before the wineries shut their cellar doors for the day, we snuck into Flying Fish Wines for a tasting. A very nice, classically Australian dude – blonde, surfer type – served us. Overall the wines here were quite good, and it was here we discovered a specialty in Aussie wines, the sparkling Shiraz. Having a bubbly red was unexpectedly refreshing and delicious. While tasting in Flying Fish we met a couple from Vancouver, natural disaster insurance assessors, who had been living in the area through their company, assessing damage from the recent hail storm in Perth. We immediately hit it off, talking about our travels in Oz and our mutual appreciation for the great white north. When it was time to kick us out of the tasting room, the Aussie wine dude graciously gave us the remaining half bottle of Semillon Sauvignon Blanc from the tasting as a parting gift. Unfortunately this is the only photo evidence we have of R&B, but sweet nipple van Batman! Outside the winery, the Canadians, Rob and Brandi, invited us to have a drink at Bootleg Brewery, and though we were reluctant to spend more money that day, we knew it was a rare social opportunity that couldn’t be missed. While sipping our beers and exchanging Oz stories, it became clear to the Canucks that we poor backpackers, like abandoned kittens found in an alley, needed a home for the night. We hadn’t actually determined where we’d be camping, and the sky looked dark and stormy, so we were immediately invited to stay at their B&B and share their room. Over and over again we’ve been pleasantly surprised by the kindness of strangers during our travels, and this was no exception. Rob and Brandi had only known us for about half an hour, and here they were offering up their vacation space for us to crash. Good stuff. Flat Whites and Muffins Absolutely thrilled to have a bed for the night, we joined our new Canadian friends for dinner in Dunsborough, where we had a deliciously fresh, spicy fish salad at a Japanese restaurant. I was really excited to taste truly spicy food in Australia – a hard thing to come by in a British colony. After a bit more socializing and a restful night’s sleep on their pullout couch, we parted ways and ventured into the town of Margaret River for a spot of breakfast. Juan Valdez is a sausage fest of one. That day we traveled south to explore a different section of the national park – an old growth forest with spectacularly tall karri trees, a landscape that we had not seen before in Australia. We were amazed at how different this lush forest was (think forest planet of Endor in Star Wars) in contrast to the northern section of this peninsula, which mainly featured beachside scrub brush and pseudo-subalpine vegetation. Tramping through this forested area was much more satisfying than other bushwalks we had taken, because here were trails blazed by feet rather than by landscapers with wood and asphalt. We really felt like we had found a secret haven of true wilderness with a wonderful lack of tourists. While it was truly dizzying to look up at these trees, what really blew me away was the sheer abundance of birds, many of which I had never heard before. Exuberant Hiking While we were exploring the national park surrounding the karri forest, we happened upon the Cape to Cape trail and decided to hike it for a bit. It didn’t seem like many people take this trail, unlike the many other multi-day treks in Australia like the Overland of Tasmania or the Bibbulmun of SW Australia. The atmosphere was calm and quiet and the surrounding plants and trees seemed to press in around you like a cocoon. It was incredibly tranquil and made for a very relaxing walk. On our drive out we almost ran over a huge black snake – which in Australia terms usually means harbinger of painful death. Much like the sea turtle in Shark Bay, it seemed to have an “oh shit” moment and quickly slithered into the bushes. We hoped that the encounter would qualify as a deadly snake sighting and fill our quota for the year. The compound - no idea why there's a fibreglass cow sitting on the lawn (it has braids, weird) We continued south to Cape Leeuwin, the southwestern most point of Australia where the Indian Ocean and the Southern Ocean collide. When we arrived we were appalled to find that a compound had been established right at this point and that they were actually charging an entry fee just to walk out to the tip. We did manage to subvert this atrocity a bit by walking around the sides of the compound down to the shoreline along the rocks. The weather was a bit stormy, which produced some beautifully intense scenery and a tumultuous sea. Looking out into the churning grey waters we spotted a large pod of dolphins bobbing through the waves. Tasting at Cowaramup Brewery - One of only 2 in Oz that know what hops are for The southern coast of Western Australia (and the towns along it such as Albany) are also supposed to be incredible, and like many other places we’ve mentioned, we regretfully didn’t have time to visit as we had to catch the train east. So we headed back northwards, but along the way stopped at one last brewery (Cowaramup - had great beer!) and one final vineyard for a last tasting and to pick up a thank you gift for Ita. Vasse Felix happened to be a winery Ita had mentioned enjoying, so we dropped by their cellar door. While there, the young guy who served us our tastings provided us with a novel way to visually describe the difference between Semillon and Sauvignon Blanc, and how they combine in a Sem Sauv Blanc: If you think of Semillon as a donut – rich, round, sweet and packed with flavor – and of Sauvignon Blanc as a long stick that goes through the donut – light with subtle, grassier flavors that last for a long finish – the two balance each other beautifully. We liked the analogy. Heading back to Roleystone that night, we found a campsite in a conservation park north of Bunbury. It was a lovely, isolated spot away from the highway, and with the ample amounts of free wood the park provided we were able to enjoy the sunset with a great little fire. After dark, we were visited by two very curious possums who appeared to have been hand fed one too many times. Though they were adorable and provided for some great up close and personal photographs, we tried to make sure we seemed scary enough to shock them back to their natural instincts (without any personal possum injury of course). This campsite allowed for us to complete our weekend in the Southwest without having spent a cent on accommodation! Thank you to all that made that possible for us poor travelers! Genesis in the Hills Restaurant Received with warm smiles and kind eyes, our first moments at Genesis in the Hills, a vegetarian/vegan restaurant owned by sisters Ita and Rivka, were very reassuring. It’s a rare thing to feel at home the instant you set foot inside a new place. Before we could even finish proper introductions, we were already offered flat whites and slices of immaculate, homemade cake. Overwhelmed by instant kindness we sat there also overwhelmed and excited by the cultural paradise we had stumbled upon. In addition to serving culinary inspirations, the restaurant also serves as an art gallery and music space. We just so happened to begin our stay in the middle of a photography exhibition (some were Ita’s own work) and the day before a monthly live jazz performance. Our minds suddenly felt energized after a long stint of minimal intellectual opportunities out in the bush. A daily selection of delicious As we humbly ate our cake and drank our espressos in awe of our surroundings, we socialized a bit with Ita and Rivka. Originally from Israel, the two sisters moved to Australia ten years ago and have been running Genesis for the last four years. It’s truly remarkable what they’ve built in Roleystone in this short amount of time. As they frequently told us during our stay, their restaurant was a way of life, not just for them but also for their small town. Genesis in the Hills managed to fill a very vacant niche for vegetarians and vegans all across Southwestern Australia (as people came from far and wide every weekend), and subsequently became a beating heart for the local community. It serves as both a weekly gathering place for friends and families, as well as a base for some local business owners to sell their goods (avocados, flowers, honey, coffee, art and lit magazines) without a commission taken. Ita and Rivka’s business philosophy, largely influenced by their experiences living in a Kibbutz in Israel, has created a culture of sharing and support in this corner of Australia. Just a sample of our veggie fare at Genesis During our stay, we had the privilege of having morning coffee and cake and afternoon lunch followed by more coffee and cake on the days the restaurant was open (Thurs-Sun). As the head chef, Rivka whipped up some imaginative and perfectly balanced plates that could convince any meat lover that vegetarianism was not such a bad way to go. We had something different each time we sat down, and it was always inspirational. Every fruit, veggie and herb used in her food either came from their gardens or a nearby organic farm, and the menu varied depending on what was in season, as food should. It was easy to see how her upbringing in Israel influenced many of her dishes, but she also was very experimental. One such creation was a lovely hummus flavored with pureed beetroot, which besides turning the dip bright purple, left a subtle sweetness that countered the salt and garlic flavors of the hummus quite nicely. Our work routine at the property consisted mainly of weeding for 4-5 hours per day. Not exactly the most exciting of projects but it was certainly a meditative task and left us feeling stress free and relaxed. The large amount of weeds and plant trimmings that we collected each day were put into the chicken coop for the birds to utilize. Ita and Rivka owned about thirty chickens, five roosters, six geese, and several Muskovy ducks, and the shenanigans that took place in the coop were always entertaining. Each group of birds, and individual birds within the groups, had their own special personalities and we enjoyed a daily dose of the fowl soap opera that took place. The chickens also laid tons of eggs, which aside from being the absolute freshest eggs we’ve ever eaten were also without contest the most delicious. Enough eggs were laid to sustain the restaurant’s egg supply each weekend, and on weekdays Ben perfected his egg poaching skills at Ita’s house. One afternoon, Ita called us into the chicken coop and we found her with her mouth and fingers stained with berry juice. She promptly instructed us to pause in our work and indulge in the newly ripe mulberries that filled the bush. It was moments like these that always caught us off guard in the best of ways and added to the “at home” warmth that made this WWOOFing experience truly special for us. As always, the property had a resident canine for us to bond with. Rivka’s dog PK was a happy-go-lucky, golden-type pup with legs that were proportionally, hilariously short. If you’ve seen Pixar’s film “UP,” he looked quite similar to Doug. On weekends he would wander up to guests at their tables out on the deck and give that irresistible big-eyed puppy look to try and score some handouts. If that failed, he surrendered to fatigue and was frequently found passed out at someone’s feet. One day, Ben and I were in the herb garden in front of the restaurant receiving instructions from Ita when PK decided her rosemary plants would make a good lounging spot. Ita began yelling at him in Hebrew to get off the herbs, and as he seemed quite oblivious to what was going on I thought to myself, “Well of course he’s not going to move, dogs don’t speak Hebrew.” Obviously not all synapses were firing for me that day. In between work and eating and drinking deliciousness, we took a few walks around the picturesque hills and valleys of Roleystone. The area actually reminded us quite a bit of the Colorado foothills, another reason why we felt so at home. Occasionally we ventured into Perth, about 45 minutes away, with Ita and Rivka treating us to a few fantastic dinners in town. We also managed to make a few visits to our favorite burger joint, Jus Burgers [sic], recommended to us by a good friend (Thanks Tom!). If you ever find yourself in Leederville, a neighborhood just north of the Perth CBD, make your way to this fantastic little place. We tried their Roo Burger, their Fish Burger, and two varieties of lamb burgers and they were all divine. They also have some great vegetarian burger options and sell an amazing ginger beer crafted by a New Zealand company called Phoenix, which is bottle fermented and delicious. Other than weeding we had a few odd tasks assigned to us at Ita’s place, one of which was to help her keep the possums out of the attic space at the restaurant. This required waiting on the deck until nightfall, watching until all five members of this particular possum family had exited their dwelling, and to close up the hole behind them with chicken wire and a wood plank. Seems a bit harsh, yes, but as cute as Australian possums are (unlike its nasty cousin the American opossum), they were unfortunately destroying the restaurant roof space and peeing all over the sides of the building. In addition, Australian possums make the most terrifying, unearthly screeching noise, especially when its mating season. If you’ve seen the film Lord of the Rings, imagine the noise the giant spider makes when Samwise stabs it, and imagine hearing it right above your head in the ceiling panels. It’s the type of nails-on-chalkboard noise that makes your skin crawl, which is hilarious considering what these possums look like – you want to cuddle them and feed them things. We successfully boarded up the hole, but a few days later Ita discovered that there was at least one possum still residing in the attic space. Fearing that we had boarded up a possum and sentenced it to an untimely, excruciating death, we headed back to the restaurant to figure out what to do. Ita pointed us to a ceiling panel that allowed access to the attic, and Ben bravely volunteered to poke his head up there and survey the scene. Just as Ben prepared to look inside after removing the panel, a tiny, furry possum appeared overhead, looking plump and surprisingly calm for a prisoner. Upon further inspection, it was determined that the original possum family had found a way back in! As Ben looked around, one of the smaller babies came up to give the strange intruder a curious sniff. While slightly startled to have such an intimate encounter with a wild possum, Ben couldn’t help but laugh at the little guy. Up close it looked like the creature was wearing fat, furry footy pajamas. While the whole matter was pretty touching, it also meant that Ita had a lot more work to do to keep these possums out. We honestly wish we could’ve stayed here for months, we felt so comfortable in our routine at this beautiful place. We also wish we could’ve given Perth and Fremantle a bit more attention, but money, time, and car registration got in the way. Perhaps on our next journey to this part of the world we could make it our base, but at this point we needed to continue our journey eastward. We did, however, manage to sneak in a weekend in the Margaret River region of Southwest Australia. Stay tuned for those adventures in the next post… Nov 25 - So, we're currently writing the following post while riding the Indian Pacific Railway from Perth to Adelaide over the next few days. We'll hopefully be able to post about the train while on the train (ain't technology somethin'?), but in the mean time enjoy as we get up to speed! Happy Thanksgiving to our loyal reader :) Within minutes of driving into the city centre, Perth had us enchanted. Bordered by the beautiful Swan River and filled with parks, art, food, and shops, it was all we could do not to fall madly in love. Damn you sexy Perth. Had we the time and the funds, we easily could have spent many months in this region of Australia (Perth, Fremantle, and the Margaret River Region). But alas, it was not meant to be. We did try to make the most of our short stint here, however, and so we present you with the following adventures in the Southwest: The first few days in Perth and Fremantle were the last for Devin’s west coast jaunt, and sadly also for our merry band of itinerant miscreants. Therefore our time was spent primarily in frenzy, reorganizing and looking for accommodation, post offices, and the means to mail two unwieldy didgeridoos across the world. Our first night in the caravan park near town was fairly low-key. There we befriended a pair of young Quebecers over dinner and some free, boxed wine that was thrust upon us by departing retirees. We noticed this particular phenomenon during our stay there – apparently, the more destitute you look as a weary backpacker, the more handouts you receive. As we sat in the camp kitchen that night, we had no less than four different people approach us with bags of food and supplies. Thank you Australia, we are not below free food. Wandering through Perth central during the day, we couldn’t help but pick up really positive vibes. Different sections of town had aspects of our other favorite cities and towns around the world – Melbourne, San Francisco, Montreal, Cambridge, Boston, and Munich to name a few - and it made for a very familiar ambiance. Public art was abundant with sculptures and paintings scattered throughout the city. After months of small towns and vast bush land, we had re-entered metropolis and the refreshing cultural perks that accompany an international city. The Asian population and influence were particularly apparent here, surprisingly more so than in Darwin where we had been expecting it. Perth was filled with Asian restaurants and shops, which reminded us of our serious sushi deficiency. What made Perth less overwhelming for us compared to other big cities was its abundance of parks and green space. The largest and most impressive was King’s Park, a sprawling expanse of botanic gardens perched on a hill high above the city. Unfortunately we didn’t have enough time to give this truly spectacular bit of real estate proper attention, but we did manage to get up there and take a peek. We also took this opportunity to take some celebratory photos marking our successful completion of over 18,000 kms through Australia with the car still intact (suck it Corey, this pictures for you, naysayer!). Woot. Neighboring Perth is the smaller, but equally enticing port town of Fremantle and on our second night, we ventured in for a beer at one of our favorite Australian breweries, Little Creatures. We had been to the Little Creatures brewpub in Melbourne, but the one in Fremantle is the company’s main brewery, the original. Built in an airplane hangar, the facility is huge and has a trendy, industrial but welcoming atmosphere. The place was packed but we soon realized that we were some of the youngest in there. Most of the customers were in their early 30’s - the type that just wanted a good, casual beer and excellent food, without the stereotypical bar scene. It was right up our alley. The beer, as expected, was fantastic and we had a sampling of their tap selection. Our favorite is their Bright Ale, but we would take any one of them any day. Ben was super excited that he could actually taste the hops in an Aussie beer. As Australian beers go, Little Creatures knows how to do it right, particularly when it comes to hops and a balanced flavor. We also got to try a white ale and a dark ale from another Western Australian brewery, White Rabbit, which were excellent. London Court, Perth The next day, Devin’s last full day with us out west, we spent far too much time reorganizing the car and then settled in at a hostel closer to the train station for Devin’s departure the next morning. We spent the afternoon getting a better feel for Perth, exploring the side streets and numerous walking malls. We discovered one particular hidden alleyway that had been designed to look like a street in 1600s London, and contained a variety of specialty shops for coffee, chocolate, and cigars. The guys immediately rushed in to this legitimate old-school style Tobacconist to soak in the ambiance of pipe tobacco, wood boxes, cigars, and humidifiers. Two Cuban cigars were purchased to celebrate the significant milestone in our trip that evening, as well as a few bottles of local wine. That night we were determined to have a sushi dinner to mark the end of a successful road trip as the three (and once four) musketeers. We took a lovely stroll into town from the hostel and soon discovered that Perth restaurants, much like Colorado Springs, seem to close down at 9 pm for some bizarre reason. This being a Saturday and the night before Halloween, we were particularly shocked. Anyhow, we managed to sneak into Taka, a very cheap Japanese restaurant, just before they stopped taking orders. They do it cafeteria style and have some awesome inexpensive sushi platter options. Much to our dismay, the chef only had enough sushi rice for one more roll, so we resigned to one large sushi roll to split and several other dishes including a delicious teriyaki fish. The Cubans were lit and we moseyed the streets in the cool night air, admiring the occasional costumed passerby. Eventually, we stumbled upon a massive Halloween block party sponsored by one of the corner bars. We would have jumped right in had the entry fee not been a whopping $50 each. We did get to check out some excellent costumes though, and Ben got to have a slightly creepy conversation with some old, inebriated Aussies about Texas and whether he owned a gun. Which brings up a recurring theme we’ve noticed in our travels – Aussies LOVE Texas, especially the more backwater Aussies. From their perspective it seems that the United States mainly contains California, New York City, and Texas, and that everyone owns at least a handful of guns. We’ll probably talk about this, as well as other Aussie observations, in a later post. Be sure to tune in! It's been a long jouney The next morning, we made sure Devin was packed up, had done his homework, and had remembered his Ninja Turtle Thermos lunchbox. Before we parted ways, we made sure to document that at the completion of a six-month, 18,000+-kilometer road trip our beards had grown long. ALL our beards. It was an emotional parting given all we had gone through, but we knew Devin would go on to amazing adventures back in Brisbane on the boat with Emily. Ah, they grow up so fast. Miss you Dev and Em! With Devin on his way east on the Indian Pacific Railroad, Ben and I decided to get a better feel for Fremantle, since we had only really seen Little Creatures and a few streets in the dark two nights before. Fremantle was established as the port town for Perth, and has become a hub for artists, baristas, and backpackers. It was easy to see in the many well-preserved, ornate, Victorian buildings that the people of Fremantle went to great lengths to preserve the history of the town. There was a consistent balance struck between the old and the new that made for excellent city walking and an overall feeling of comfort to be there. Who is this guy? Each street held new surprises for us: hidden indoor markets, fantastic brewpubs, quaint restaurants, dirt cheap Asian food, specialty stores, and sinfully gourmet chocolatiers. If you ever find yourself in Fremantle, go to San Churro’s Chocolatier (they also have one near Perth) and order the Azteca Hot Chocolate or really anything on the menu. Sweet nectar of life. At the Sail & Anchor brewpub we bought a sampler paddle of various beers from local breweries as it was officially “Novembeer,” a month of celebrating Aussie craft beers. We particularly liked Hop Hog, an American IPA, and 1984, an Imperial IPA. We’ve been particularly starved here for good IPAs – tragic, I know. Don’t worry; we plan on doing a post specifically on Australian beer. Add all this up with $2.50 sushi rolls and the night was complete. Yay Fremantle! Alas, Karma finds a way to balance out all things and the following day was indeed a "ball-suck day" as Ben so aptly described. While there was some additional positive sightseeing around Perth and Northbridge, a student oriented, culture-rich suburb, United Airlines made sure to ruin my day. While at the beautiful state library trying to sort out far future travel plans and near future to-do’s, I found out that I had been given incorrect information regarding the travel rules of my ticket home (which had been purchased with frequent flyer miles) and I wouldn’t be able to make any changes to my itinerary. This basically meant that I would have to leave a month earlier than we had planned or buy a new ticket altogether. Suck. In addition to this catastrophe, we were experiencing mental and emotional panic about where we should be staying (city or country), how we were going to sell our car, and how we were going to forestall our upcoming bankruptcy, among other things. Triple suck. Anyway, no need to go into detail about all of this. It’s boring, it’s not fun, and you don’t want to read it. To sum up: It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I think I’ll move to Austral… wait crap. (Childhood literature reference anyone?) Eventually, after much hemming and hawing, we determined that waiting in the city for someone to take interest in the car was not a good idea, and we wouldn’t be able to find work in town unless we could stay for the entire summer. We didn’t want to stray too far from the city in case someone did want to look at Alby, so we determined that WWOOFing just outside of town would be the smartest move. After calling at least thirty hosts with no luck, we were contacted by a woman named Ita Goldberger from Roleystone, a town in the hills southeast of Perth, who invited us to stay and work beginning the very next day. A night of free camping in a beautiful wooded picnic area near Jarrahdale and we were off! After arriving back on the mainland, we spent a night at another free campsite along the coast south of Denham, this time at Whalebone Bay. The evening was beautiful – the clouds were incredibly dynamic, and continued to please through the last hours of daylight as the wind whipped them into all kinds of colorful shapes. Unfortunately, we spent the better part of this time fixing a broken tent pole. Though it was a bit of a pain, both Mar and I couldn’t help but be a little impressed that the $25 pawn shop tent had lasted this long (4-5 months of near-daily use) without any malfunctions or catastrophes. While there was still light, I showed the Aussie fish gods that I wouldn’t go down without a fight and did my best to do some fly fishing off the beach. Stromatolites! The next morning, we finally had our chance to visit the stromatolites. They looked just as we expected – blandly colored blobs of slimy rock just below the water’s surface. Nevertheless, we paid homage to the industrious, stromatolite-building cyanobacteria that literally breathed life into this world, by sacrificing two kangaroos, a wombat and some German backpackers. Science be praised. We spent the bulk of the afternoon powerhousing down to Geraldton, which turned out to be a very pleasant and surprisingly populated town. We had grown accustomed to the simple necessities provided by sleepy beach towns and were therefore taken aback by the capitalist splendor that was Geraldton’s strip mall region. We took the opportunity to sneak into a glorious megastore aptly named Barbeques Galore, just to see what a name like that could possibly entail. I may have seen God when I saw the 3 in. thick ceramic-walled charcoal grill that could have easily cooked two thanksgiving turkeys simultaneously. Think about it – simultaneous turkeys! I was equally covetous of a gorgeous gas grill that featured a 4 ft x 2 ft grilling space, two-fifths of which was a flat grill plate (an Aussie standard, which allows you to pretty much BBQ anything under the sun). Drool. ANYWAY, there was no camping to be had in town, so we moved on Perth-ward. Just south of Geraldton, we suddenly realized we had stumbled into serious farm country. By this time in our trip, all of us were yearning for some foliage; after spending the better part of 5 months in desert scrubland, the sight of lush rolling hills, huge, swaying fields of grain and dramatically gnarled, windswept trees was pretty amazing. We were a little too excited to see herds and herds of fluffy sheep milling about, looking altogether pleased with their place in the world. And to top it off, the sun decided to set at that very moment, covering everything in copper and gold. You’d think we would have stopped at least once to take a picture, but we didn’t. So sorry! It was great, I promise.
The next day was spent zooming down to Perth, so that we would have a few days there with Devin before he left for Sydney. Without Em, Devin turns to little furry creatures for affection Off the west coast of Australia is a fairly large island that has several claims to fame. Dirk Hartog Island first holds the westernmost point of Australia, and second the history of the first recorded European landing on Australian soil by Dutch explorer Dirk Hartog in 1616. The island is privately owned, but the family is working to establish it as a national park. We happened to contact Kieran Wardle, the current owner, about wwoofing at just the right time – right as he was beginning construction on a solar powerhouse for the homestead. The only way to reach the island is to travel by boat or small plane, and Kieran just so happened to be picking up 2 tons of cement on the mainland by boat, just around the time we were scheduled to arrive in the area. Dirk Hartog is located in the Shark Bay World Heritage area, just off the coast of the small town of Denham. Not only is this area considered a sanctuary for hundreds of different marine animals, but it also plays host to a very nerdy attraction: stromatolites! We were of course super excited to catch a glimpse of these rather unimpressive looking underwater formations, which, for those who are unfamiliar, are the blob-like, rock-like life forms that billions of years ago produced enough oxygen to allow oxygen breathing creatures to evolve. As I adjust my nerd goggles I say, “hooray stromatolites!” On our way into Shark Bay we paused to see them but light was running low and conditions were too windy, so we decided to make it an exit visit. Eagle Bluff There are four awesome free camping areas on the way into Denham (where we were to meet Kieran) and we spent the night at the impressive Eagle Bluff closest to town. We arrived on top of the bluff just in time to catch the magnificent sunset and spent another relaxing night by the sea. Denham Denham was a cute port town in the way we expected Exmouth to be. It had one main street lined with cafes, tour shops, and fishing stores all facing the beautiful water of Shark Bay. We weren’t in town very long before Kieran arrived and introduced himself, giving us our first tasks of retrieving some BLT burgers and helping to load the boat with cement and food. Dirk Hartog is isolated enough that all food and other supplies must either be airlifted or retrieved by boat once per week. Once we were finished arranging the two tons of cement so that his small center console boat wouldn’t sink, we were on our way across the bay. By boat it takes roughly an hour to cross from the mainland to the island. The day we arrived happened to be calm and windless, apparently very rare this time of year, so the water below us was smooth like a mirror and incredibly clear. We were cruising along at top speed, halfway across the bay, when we noticed a large object near the surface directly in our path. As we got closer we realized it was an enormous sea turtle, the size of a bathtub at least! Kieran couldn’t see it from the driver’s seat and continued on a potential collision course. Right as we were about to hit, the turtle realized his impending doom and frantically paddled below the water in an “oh shit, oh shit” turtle fashion. He ducked below just in the knick of time. The rest of the journey across opened up a world of marine life none of us had witnessed in the wild before. As we cruised along, pods of humpback whales breached the water around us. We spotted dolphins, sharks, and giant schools of fish bubbling at the surface. Flying fish burst out of the water and flew for several meters in the air. By the time we reached the island, the three of us were geeking out so hard we figured we had stumbled upon the most magical place on earth. The homestead was beautiful – made of limestone blocks and thick timber, positioned right on the water’s edge. It had been built back in the 1800’s when the island had been used as a remote sheep station. We arrived just after the last of the paying guests departed, but we were not the only wwoofers taking up residence. Four Germans and one Dutch wwoofer were also there to help with whatever needed doing. To our great surprise, two of the German wwoofers were two young women we had wwoofed with before at Wilderness Farms in the Northern Territory! It was great to reunite with Steffi and Katrin, especially in one of the most remote and unique parts of Australia. Indentured servitude at its best. Work at Dirk Hartog centered on the solar powerhouse project, and we arrived just as they needed to mix and pour the concrete foundation. Before we could do that, however, rocks were needed to use in the mix, so for the first few days we would venture out to various remote locations and collect any rocks we could find that were smaller than an egg. Needless to say it was horrible, unsatisfying work. It would have been fine had everyone on the island (including the seven children) gone out for just one day to rake up and collect rocks, but usually there were only a few of us and all we had was one rake and several buckets. After three hours of bending over and sifting through sand and antique sheep poo, the trailer still appeared largely empty, and many times we returned to the homestead without much to show for our labor. The one cool aspect of the job was that the “rocks” we were collecting were, for the most part, prehistoric sea fossils. We found many whole fossilized shells and a few whole clams. Shame that they were being put into concrete. Some random old Greek man posed for this picture. When we finally got down to the cement mixing, it took the three of us a few shifts to really get in the groove. Turns out cement mixing is a lot like baking a cake, and once we finally got the recipe right we were able to punch out batch after batch incredibly quickly. If we weren’t fast enough, or if our mixture was not up to par, Anthony, the visiting cement master, would get very cranky. It soon became a game between Anthony and Kieran (who was helping us mix) to see who could do their job faster, and Kieran would motivate us to have Anthony backed up with extra wheelbarrows of ready concrete. When we were doing well, Kieran would come over and say, “We’ve got him now - he’s really annoyed, good job guys!” We each had our roles in the mixing process, whether it was shoveling rocks or pouring in cement powder, sand, or water. At the end of the day the blowback and sputtering from the mixer left us looking like we had been in some sort of muddy battle. When we weren’t working the family let us take full advantage of their facilities and fantastic location. We kayaked around the bay, went fishing, and took the Troop Carrier on excursions to other parts of the island. Kayaking, especially on a calm day (of which there were few), made for some spectacular creature watching. Out in the shallow waters you could often look underneath the boat and observe turtles, stingrays, sharks, and occasionally dugongs! Devin and I were paddling into shore after the sunset and spotted a small reef shark just a few feet from our kayaks bursting out of the water to chase a fish! The proud fisherman and his Pink Snapper The fishing was spectacular everywhere around the island, especially off the coral reefs just near the shore. We went fishing one evening with Anthony’s friend Craig, a retired banker who now cuts women’s hair as a casual profession, after learning to do it while in Singapore. [I let him experiment with my hair, which he cut incredibly short. I was in a state of shock for quite some time.] While we were out by the reef, Ben’s fly line caught something monstrous! It pulled his line so hard that the reel spun out of control and bashed his knuckles. Before Ben could tighten the drag the fish pulled the line onto some sharp coral, causing it to snap. Ben unfortunately spent most of the remainder of the trip untangling and retying his line. Devin and I fished with bait and were pretty successful. I caught four fish that were all beautiful but too small to keep: a Spanish Flag, a Black Snapper, a Parrotfish, and a Pink Snapper. Devin caught three, two of which we kept and ate that very night! Pink Snapper is the specialty fish of Dirk Hartog, being beautiful, feisty, and delicious to eat. Devin’s largest fish, and the largest fish caught on the trip, was a 65 cm Pink Snapper. Woot! Dirk Hartog's Dramatic Western Coast We made two major excursions during our weeklong stay at Dirk Hartog. The first was an afternoon spent at the Blowholes. The homestead is located at the southeastern part of the island and the Blowholes are directly opposite on the western side. The island’s western coast is breathtaking and strikingly different from the calm, beach laden eastern coast. Waves from the Indian Ocean run unbroken for hundreds of nautical miles and finally crash into this westernmost point of Australia. Because of these intense conditions, the western coast of Dirk Hartog is rough and rugged, lined with dramatic limestone cliffs. There was one blowhole in particular that sounded like a jet engine, and spewed salt spray hundreds of feet in the air, high above the cliffs on which we stood. There was another point along the cliffs where the wind was so strong you could barely stand. Nevertheless, it was worth the risk of being blown off the precipice just to see the spectacular view. We could hardly believe where we were, it seemed so surreal. On our last full day on the island, we drove the troop carrier up and around the northernmost part of the island (a 3 hour drive on dirt track) and spent the night at Urchin Point, where a simple fishing shack had been built. The inside of the shack was covered in the graffiti of the numerous visitors to the island. Most were written on driftwood and other flotsam and jetsam, and then tied to the ceiling rafters. Quite a few mentioned impressive catches of the day off the shore nearby. There was even a map drawn on the wall of the shoreline where good fishing spots could be found. While there was still light, Ben ventured out to try to catch at least one fish on Dirk Hartog, one of the most renowned fishing locations in the world. Instead of giving him a fish, the sea decided to take some flies. Ben came back from fishing a bit grumpy, but Devin and I set him straight by giving him a cold beer and reminding him where he was in the world, albeit without fish. Homeward bound through the dunes After a chilly night’s sleep in some very rudimentary swags, we awoke to a spectacular scene: migrating humpback whales and pods of dolphins breaching the water practically at our doorstep. After a good breakfast of sausage and eggs we made a quick drive-by viewing of the nearby Mystery Beach before heading back to the homestead. We arrived just in time to pack our bags and catch the small charter plane back to Denham. The day before, as we prepared for our trip to Urchin Point, Devin just happened to ask Kieran’s wife Tory what the schedule was for trips back to the mainland in the coming week. We were shocked to find out that our only option was to leave the next day. We had expected to stay at least a few more days, so this felt a bit like a rather sudden eviction. It had to happen, however, in order for Devin to catch his train in Perth. The plane ride was beautiful, but we were sad to leave so soon. Turquoise Bay, Cape Range NP Successfully restocked and needing to get moving down the coast, we left Karratha for a bit more atmosphere. We had heard from numerous Australians and travelers that the small town of Exmouth was definitely worth a look, so we made it our next destination. The town itself is nice, but not exactly what we had expected. It had been described to us as an old port town, but was instead situated further inland and didn’t really exude any “oceanside town” vibes. However, Cape Range National Park, just a few kilometers away, did stretch along the coastline and was absolutely spectacular. In terms of land planning it felt like they had set up the town a bit haphazardly and saved the best parts of the peninsula for the national park. Ready for action. All along the coast the park had at least 9 different beachside camping areas as well as entry points for snorkeling the adjacent Ningaloo Reef, which is famous worldwide as a spot to swim with the great whale shark and manta ray. Obviously for these activities one needs to book a tour, but there was plenty of awesome marine reef life to see just by walking into the water and swimming out about 50 meters. Certain areas were designated as areas for “drift snorkeling” where the tide takes you along the reef from one sandbar to another. Turquoise Bay was one of these locations and it was where we spent our day at Cape Range. Unfortunately it was a bit windy and chilly, but that didn’t stop us from venturing out into the crystal blue waters. We also only had two sets of flippers and one snorkel mask between the three of us, so Ben purchased a $3 set of children’s snorkel facial wear for the day. He wowed the beach crowds with his fashionable eye turtles. Eugene H. Krabs, owner of the Krusty Krab. Meanwhile, cruising along the reef, Devin found himself in the company of several black-tipped reef sharks casually clumped together, but wisely left the area when they became a bit too curious. Since I was without snorkel equipment, I walked through the water still able to look down at the schools of bright, large silver fish following me and waiting for handouts. Another fabulous thing we observed was fish surfing – more than once we watched as a large reef fish would ride the top of the incoming wave across the water towards the beach. Righteous! A rare Australian amber ale, from Little Creatures That evening we enjoyed the fabulous sunset on the dunes near our campsite along with a few of our favorite Australian microbrews. The next morning, we decided to move on to the tiny coastal town of Coral Bay, another recommended spot, where we had been told we could do a bit of free beach camping (and more snorkeling). Coral Bay was incredibly tiny, the whole town mainly comprised by the two caravan parks and a few tour shops. The surrounding beaches were pristine, with most locals and visitors sticking to Bill’s Bay accessible right from the main street. We spent our first afternoon here, enjoying the warmer weather and water, spotting sting rays and even a cuttlefish which instantly became transparent, squirted ink, and shot away as soon as Devin’s underwater camera entered the water! Paradise Beach The next day we ventured around the southern point of the bay, far from the crowds, to the gorgeous Paradise Beach. We were shocked but thrilled that we had this fantastic strip of snorkeling real estate all to ourselves! We had rented snorkel gear for all of us at a really cheap rate, so without hesitation we flew into the crystal waters to visit the fishies. There were some incredible fish along this part of the Ningaloo, parrotfish, angelfish, pink snapper, and many that we had never seen before. This reef seemed to be brimming with giant clams, and we had a blast duck diving to pester them. While swimming along a shallow point, only inches from the rock bed below, I alerted Ben that his unmentionables were dangerously close to a giant clam mouth he happened to be floating above. With that disaster averted, we spotted a cluster of four or five cuttlefish hovering a few meters away and instantly changing color as they moved near different types of rock and coral. Ben spent much of the afternoon fly-fishing the reef, unfortunately without much success due to the winds, but still in an unbeatable, beautiful location. After soaking in far too much sun, we retreated to a northern point of the Coral Bay area known as Maud’s Landing. Fairly isolated, you needed to drive a ways down a dirt road to get there, and after speaking with a few backpackers that morning, determined it would be a good, safe place to guerilla camp. We nestled our tents among the dunes to stay out of sight and left our car at the parking area on the top of the hill. The beach next to where we camped was also a turtle rookery. It was just in the beginning of egg-laying season, so there were no turtles spotted, to our dismay. Just after sunset as we were sitting along the coast, I spotted a weird fin shape jutting out of the water in the surf. It disappeared, but minutes later we saw it again and realized it was a 3-4 foot reef shark! We followed it for a few meters as it coasted right along the edge of the water, so close that it seemed it was at risk of beaching itself. We awoke to watch the sunrise the next morning, had breakfast on the beach, and packed up before any day visitors arrived. We then continued our journey south, ready for our next wwoofing adventure we had scheduled on an island in Shark Bay. |
Marielle & BenWe're two people in the midst of severe quarter-life crises who decided to leave good jobs in a bad economy to travel to the other side of the world because, well, why not? Archives
April 2011
Categories
All
|