On our way out of the Northern Territory, we decided we needed to visit the national parks before leaving the Top End for good. We had heard great things about both Litchfield and Kakadu, although locals seemed to prefer LItchfield due to entrance and camping fees at Kakadu. We began our explorations at Litchfield and spent a night camped out in the bush off a 4WD track in its jungle wilderness. The environment was beautiful, but it was challenging to deal with both the thick humidity and the swarms of bugs that were drawn to our lights and dinner table. We had camped just a short distance from Florence Falls, and in the morning after packing up, we hiked the trail to the falls. Part of the appeal for camping at this location was that Florence Falls was safe for swimming - one of several croc-free pools in the park but one of very few in all the Northern Territory. As we rounded the corner to the falls, we were blown away by how magical it seemed. Twin waterfalls poured into a clear, deep pool with ancient-looking rock formations and tropical vegetation surrounding. Without hesitation we jumped in, and the water was blessedly cool. After checking for submerged rocks, Devin took this opportunity to leap from some rocky ledges and entertain the rest of the swimmers. After a good long swim at Florence we visited Buley Rock Holes, another swimming spot where the river had carved deep pools into the rock. Once we had had our fill, we took a 4WD track to the Lost City, a spot in Litchfield where great sandstone spires loomed overhead like crumbling ancient ruins. We truly felt like we had wandered into the Jungle Book. It was awesome adventure territory - our type of playground. Kakadu National Park (This picture for Adele) After Litchfield it was time to venture into the famous Kakadu. Upon entering the park, however, we began to understand why it has gained its reputation with the locals. The entrance fees ended up being $25 per person for a 14-Day pass, which would have been OK had we either been staying for 14 days or had an option to buy a cheaper, one-day type pass which is all we really had time for. But no. Ouch. It left a bitter taste in our mouths as we drove into the park. In addition, we discovered that many of the camping areas in the park, which on many official park maps were designated as free, had signs that asked you to pay extra fees for each person in your party per night. Either $10 for campgrounds with toilets and showers or $5 for basic bush camping. We determined that our camping fees were in our $75 that we had blown for a one day, one night stint. Particularly because the toilet at our bush camp where we spent the night was out of order due to a large, hairy monster spider that had rented out the toilet bowl. That night did not improve much either. As the sun set and the annoying black flies slowly departed, the mosquitoes came out with a vengeance. It got so bad that in the muggy, riverside heat of the evening, we had to put on pants and long sleeves and eat our dinner underneath our mosquito head gear (thanks for leaving those Adele!). Sadness. The park was redeemed, however, by the incredible bush walks we were able to take on our two days there. We were able to view some incredible Aboriginal rock art, followed by an intense long hike through a rapidly changing landscape of sandstone cliffs and gumtree forests. We had the trail all to ourselves which was fabulous. The second day, Ben got some required fishing time in and Devin and I had a walk through the wetlands. All in all some awesome adventures at Kakadu!
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Cockatoos flying out of the rockmelon field Before we had even crossed the border into the NT, we had determined that the four of us would do a WWOOFing stint after our concert deadline, and had called several hosts in preparation. Two different hosts had previously told us we were welcome to join them, so we rang up the closer of the two, Wilderness Farms, a 350-hectare organic farm just north of Katherine. By Friday we found our way onto their impressive property and were greeted by a mob of WWOOFers also working there, and by Caroline, one of the two owners. The other workers came from all over: many from France and Germany, but also from Belgium, Italy, and Canada. Tom, from Germany, toiling in the squash patch After the first few grueling days learning the work routine, we began to feel a strong bond with the other WWOOFers. This was not only because of the long hours, but also because the other owner of Wilderness Farms, John, was a bit unpredictable and ornery. While occasionally spouting somewhat coherent and reasonable philosophies from his travels and experiences, more often than not he was erratically driving his tractor around the property and yelling at workers with a whiny, incoherent back-of-the-nasal-cavity noise, usually criticizing their inadequate progress. He had a tendency to leave out important vowels when he spoke, so that all you could make out was a garbled Aussie drawl. Whenever he finished describing what needed doing with a particular job and drove off, we would all reconvene in a WWOOFer huddle and attempt to decipher what he actually said. As native English speakers, we often had the responsibility of translating as much as we could, but usually we were just as lost. Colin adds some UDL to his nightly meat fry In addition to the WOOFers, there were two farmhands who stayed on the property for months at a time. Paul, from Tasmania, was one of the nicest people we’d ever met. He was great having around when you had a question but didn’t feel like approaching John or Caroline, who always seemed enormously busy and pretty cranky about it. Paul was a big fan of what he called “vacuous pop music” -- you could always tell he was driving the truck when your farm work was accompanied by bass-thumping club music. When he wasn’t working at the farm, Paul spent much of his time in India (the bastard), or in Tassie to see family. He highly recommended we give Tasmania a good look, but to be wary of the many leeches that inhabit the island. Colin, on the other hand, was a real salt of the earth kind of guy. With his dilapidated straw hat, sun-charred leather skin, cut-off denim shorts and effortless fluency (and versatility) with expletive language, he was a shining example of a true backwater Aussie. Not to say that he was any bit uncultured. I (Ben) was frequently blown away by his almost encyclopedic knowledge of music, as well as by his many experiences traveling abroad. Colin was also really hilarious to talk to, especially after 4 or 5 vodka passionfruit drinks and a baker’s dozen of cigarettes. It was actually a rare occasion when Colin wasn’t accompanied by a can of UDL Vodka Passionfruit and a smoldering hand-rolled cigarette. Devin gets splattered by Honey's dog grime in the squash field The daily routine changed for us after a few days. We began just as WWOOFers but once we proved to the management that we were reliable, hard workers who were willing to stick around, we were offered extra paid work for the remainder of our stay. This meant that instead of working from 7:30 AM to 1:00 PM and ending our day, we would work from 7:30 AM to 6:00 PM and get paid from 11 to 6. The work itself was physically demanding as it was almost entirely picking and packing of fruits and vegetables, often in the hot NT sun. In the morning, the women would go pick zucchini and then meet up with the guys to pick button squash. Guys would also pick rock melon (cantaloupe), watermelon, and butternut squash. In the afternoons, all of us would often pick capsicum (bell pepper), eggplant, cucumbers, and pumpkins. Packing was sometimes a great relief, as it required being in the shed and out of the sun, often getting splashed with water while washing vegetables. Devin after a long, dirty day amongst the mango trees For several days, Devin and I spent our afternoons among the farm’s mango trees doing maintenance work on their irrigation lines. At first it seemed like the cushiest outdoor work on the farm – spending the hotter part of the day in the shade, enjoying the occasional refreshing splash from the sprinklers. It was also great to spend some quality bonding time with Tom and Jonathan, two backpackers from Germany and France. It really seemed like heaven for the first hour or so, right up until we discovered the bane of citrus farming – citrus ants. Also known as green ants for their bright green abdomen, these little miscreants would wait until you were busy cleaning out a sprinkler head before 5 or 6 would start crawling up your leg, biting you along the way. Tom had a particularly intimate encounter with the ants. He and Devin were working on a clogged sprinkler head beneath one of the mango trees when Tom noticed a stream of ants crawling out of his hair and down his neck and shoulders. As he began frantically brushing them off, Devin looked up to see that Tom had a grapefruit-sized ant nest resting on his shoulder, with dozens of very pissed-off ants pouring out. With girlish screams, Tom ran wildly out to a clearing, ripping his shirt off and swearing in both German and English, while Devin fell over laughing. The swimming hole/river Although the work was taxing, each afternoon after knock off (quitting time), we would take a glorious cooling dip in the river that ran behind the property, washing off the days dirt and veggie crust under the palm fronds. After a swim and/or a shower, there was a feeling of great satisfaction in another hard day finished and a slight energy in being clean with achy muscles. Dinners were always superb and everyone took turns in cooking the night’s meal. Caroline spent many years living in Israel and would often contribute homemade tabouli or hummus. At each meal, there were always plenty of reject fruit and veg for us to eat. We became accustomed to each of us having an entire rock melon, fresh off the vine, to ourselves for break and lunch. Although this was fantastic (I don’t think we’ve eaten such fresh, healthy food so consistently ever), it made us acutely aware of how much waste is involved in farming, even organic farming. The slightest scratch, bruise, or deformity causes produce to be unworthy of sale. Huge bins were filled daily with these rejects, with most of it left to rot and become compost or to be fed to cows. Tomaso and the ladies We stayed at Wilderness Farms for two weeks and although there were occasional frustrations with the work and the management, we met some truly fabulous people that we hope to see again. Days spent together in the fields on the proverbial chain gang and nights round the campfire with a brew all added up to some great friendships and a very satisfying experience. From Mount Isa we began the somewhat daunting task of driving the long, dry expanse of nothingness that is the Northern Territory up towards Darwin. Since the only people we had met that had made this journey so far were road train drivers, we had no idea what to expect, but our Camps 5 book did show a few roadside camping areas where we could stay overnight. Just before the border, one camping area had some dirt tracks that extended back into the bush and we took this opportunity to become a bit more isolated out in the wilderness. The sunset that night was beautiful; the bugs however, were out in force. The next day we found ourselves crossing over from Queensland into the Northern Territory! A friendly biker dude kindly took our picture to document this occasion. We camped that night at another rest stop along the Barkly Highway, which our book recommended as a good site. We were disappointed to discover, however, that this site consisted of rocky ground, nasty black flies, a rusty broken windmill, no bathrooms, and no potable drinking water. As there was really nowhere else to go, we made do. That night while cooking mini pizzas over a wood fire, we met Terry and Trish from Gladstone who had camped out right next to the only fire pit and picnic table in the whole area. Terry was the gruff, rough n’ tumble type - a retired truck driver originally from Victoria - and Trish, from Queensland, was a bit loud and screechy. The evening began with small talk and recommendations for the NT and WA, and progressed into a crazy night of stories and politics we never could’ve anticipated. To give some samples: Terry began his storytelling with tales from his youth on a farm, where he was continually experimenting with devices to aid in chicken killing and plucking. Terry was also missing a few toes on his left foot. One day, his niece asked him how he lost his toes. He explained that the cat had eaten them. Immediately, his niece walked across the room and proceeded to “kick the shit out of the cat, yelling, ‘Give Uncle Terry his toes back!’” Another time, Trish took him into Brisbane to a fancy casino. As the valet jumped into his car to park it, Terry grabbed the poor guy, dragging him out by his neck screaming, “Why the hell are you stealing my car?” After Trish explained what a valet was, Terry then ran after the bellhop for stealing his luggage. These stories and the manner in which he told them had us all in stitches. As he put it, you can tell a real Aussie by his ability to “spin a good yarn.” Trish, from the sidelines, kept yelling, “People shouldn’t know you Terry.” Devin and his double pot oven invention... and Trish's boobs, and drink. After what seemed like only a few drinks, we realized Trish was suddenly and inexplicably hammered - so inebriated that she needed to hold onto the canopy pole for balance. As an afterthought, Devin put a small branch of spinifex, a nasty, dry, spiky weed, into the fire, which immediately exploded and blew smoke and sparks right into Trish’s face. This should not have been much of an issue, had she been consciously able to let go of the pole and move out of the smoke’s path. We tried our best not to burst out laughing when she started blindly yelling at Devin, “A bloke should be shot for doing something like that!” and “Punch him Terry, Terry punch him!” As friendly as these two were toward us (so much so that they wanted to exchange facebook info to keep in touch), the earlier part of the evening unfortunately included some sensitive political conversations that revealed very blunt racism on the part of Trish and Terry towards Aboriginals. Sparked by the topic of former PM Kevin Rudd’s powerful (and long overdue) public apology to the Stolen Generations, they very strongly voiced their opposition to that action, saying, “Why do we have to apologize?” When the word ‘genocide’ was mentioned regarding Australia’s dark and violent past towards Aboriginals, a string of angry self-righteous comments about respecting their land and taxes and property rights ensued. Uncomfortable, we tried to change topics and the evening eventually progressed as outlined above. This is not the first time we’ve experienced these opinions with otherwise charming Aussies and we guess it won’t be the last. It’s shocking to us, not because racism is less in the states (which is tragic), but because here in Australia it is so openly and self-righteously defended and seems among some to be the standard base of opinion. We shall see if this changes as we make our way further into parts of the country with more concentrated indigenous populations and tribal properties.
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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
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