Hole In The Donut Cultural Travel &#187; Australia travel

Sydney Is Not On The Ocean

Addicted To Sunsets

Wordless Wednesday 2

Barbara Weibel — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 05:35:48 +0000

Residents of Byron Bay, Australia see gorgeous sunsets like this almost every night:

Beautiful sunset on the beach at Byron Bay, Australia

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Photo Tour Of Sydney Harbour

Uncle Brian Takes The Prize

Photo Tour Of Sydney Harbour

Three Words For Australia

Barbara Weibel — Sat, 23 Jun 2007 06:14:28 +0000

Goodbye Australia…..

The three words that best describe Australia to me are:

DIVERSE: In so many ways – the country is an enticing mix of many different ethnicities; many different geologic landforms; a mix between wonderfully modern, cultured cities and remote rural locales, etc.
VAST: Australia is not the biggest country in the world. But it is huge in a way that I have not seen elsewhere, with incomprehensible vast open spaces in the center of the continent that are virtually unpopulated.
EXPENSIVE: I may have been influenced by all the time I spent in Sydney, which is the 21st most expensive city in the world, but overall I found Australia to be quite expensive.

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Barbara Weibel — Fri, 22 Jun 2007 13:19:05 +0000

Because there is SO much in Sydney that I haven’t had time to see, deciding what to do on my last day in this beautiful city was tough. Ultimately, the decision was made for me when my friend, Jane, with whom I’ve been staying, said that coming to Sydney and not seeing Bondi Beach was like going to Paris and not seeing the Eiffel Tower.

Bondi Beach is famous with surfers the world over for its waves and famous with tourists and residents for its cliff walk that leads from the wide crescent that is Bondi Beach, up and over the rocky headland to Tamarama and Bronte Beaches. We had not done the cliff walk before this because the weather in Sydney has been unusually rainy, but today the weather cooperated, providing us with a crisp, sunny day with not a cloud in sight. Afterward, since it was such a nice day we had lunch on the outdoor terrace of a North Bondi restaurant, enjoying a spectacular view of the bay (I can’t believe I dined outdoors in 55 degree weather) and then toured some of Jane’s favorite beaches that are tucked into hidden corners all over Sydney. So, here are a few photos of the things I saw today – if only I had another three weeks here!

Bondi Bay, with double overhead surf and an offshore wind:

Looking down the beach to South Bondi and the beginning of the cliff walk:

The cliff walk, leading south to Tamarama Beach:

The Icebergs Pool at Bondi, one of many oceanfront salt-water pools around Sydney that are perched on the cliffs at just the right height to catch incoming waves and provide calm waters for swimming:

My friend, Jane, on the cliff walk between Bondi and Tamarama Beaches:

Coming around the corner on he cliff walk for the first view of distant Bronte Beach and closer Tamarama Beach:

Pretty little Tamarama Beach, tucked into a rocky cove and battered by waves:

A hidden jewel – Camp Cove Beach at Watson’s Bay, with downtown Sydney in the background:

The other end of the beach at Camp Cove in Watson’s Bay:

Nielsen Park Beach at Vaucluse, another tiny, hidden strip of sand with the skyline of downtown Sydney in the background:

And finally, giant fig trees create a natural arch at Nielsen Park at Vaucluse:

Early tomorrow morning (just a few hours from now) I fly to Singapore, so I’ve uploaded the entire Australian photo library, which contains all the Australia photos that I’ve placed on the blog plus many that did not appear on the blog. If you would like to view them, click on the button at the right labeled “Photos” and follow the directions to access the library. Enjoy, and I’ll be back once I get to Singapore.

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Wordless Wednesday 2

The Lesser-Visited Olgas

Barbara Weibel — Tue, 19 Jun 2007 06:11:54 +0000

The Olgas (Kata Tjuta)

Despite being equally as impressive and just as beautiful as Ayers Rock (some say more beautiful), The Olgas are the less-visited geological formation at Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park in central Australia. Located just 27 miles from Ayers Rock, the Olgas are a series of rounded domes that poke their heads above the sand dunes covering the valley floor – thus their Anangu name of Kata Tjuta, meaning “many heads.” Determined not to miss this step-child attraction, I boarded a shuttle bus early this morning, bound for the hour and a half Olga Gorge Walk.

I stepped off the bus into the coldest temperatures yet and was immediately chilled to the bone. With my head lowered against buffeting winds, I made my way down the canyon passageway, Kata’s Tjuta’s giant red “heads” held high and and unfazed by the weather. This was a landscape reminiscent of Ayers Rock in some ways – the red rock, the desert floor, the scrub landscape, and the water catchments carved out of rock – but in other ways Kata Tjuta is a world apart. Ayers Rock is composed of iron-rich feldspar sands that were compressed by geologic forces over time into Arkose sandstone. Kata Tjuta is comprised of conglomerate, a mix of granite and basalt pebbles, cobbles and boulders that have been cemented together by mud and sand over the eons. From a distance the two formations look similar. Up close there is no comparison, yet the source of these two geologic formations is identical.

The Olgas (Kata Tjuta)

About 550 million years ago the Petermann Mountain ranges were uplifted to the west of the current day site of the Kata Tjuta. These bare mountains eroded easily. Huge amounts of sediment washed away when it rained and formed alluvial fans adjacent to the ranges. One fan was mainly composed of sand; the other fan contained mainly water-smoothed rocks. Both fans became at least 2 miles thick. By about 500 million years ago a shallow sea had covered the region. The alluvial fans were gradually covered by sand and mud and the remains of sea creatures. The overlying sediment deposits compressed and cemented the sand into Arkose sandstone and the coarse gravels into conglomerate. When the seas receded (300-400 million years ago), the rocks were folded and fractured, raising the region above sea level and thrusting the two monoliths high above the bedrock. Erosion has since worked its magic, sculpting the rocks into smooth rounded features, while the valley continued to fill with river sands and swamp deposits. During the past 500,000 years the climate became drier and a blanket of wind blown sand covered the valley floor, thus today we see only the tips of the two rock formations, with more than two thirds of their bulk buried beneath the desert sands.

Tortured landscape at The Olgas (Kata Tjuta)

The Olga Gorge Walk followed a path carved out of the conglomerate and smoothed by countless footsteps. Between the towering red walls and the path, huge boulders littered the ground, as if spit out by the canyon in its fury at being invaded. Prickly blue-grey grass hummocks interlaced their communal roots, stabilizing and preventing erosion of the sand dunes. Even in this harsh landscape there was beauty – small purple flowers crouched close to the rocky ground and delicate orchid-like blooms hid behind the leaves of a flowering tree.

Flowering tree at The Olgas (Kata Tjuta)

The Olgas (Kata Tjuta)

Here and there depressions in the rock held pools of crystal clear rainwater that reflected the V-shape canyon walls in the distance. The walk ended at a viewing platform – the uninitiated are not allowed to go further into the canyon, as it is considered a sacred site by the Anangu.

There were only three of us on the walk into the gorge – Richard and Judith Evans from Bendigo, Australia had kept me company and we discovered we were kindred spirits when they, too, were able to see the green light emanating from the top of Kata Tjuta. Walking out of the gorge we passed a tour group of perhaps 20 people just heading into the canyon. I was grateful not to have been in the company of so many people because it certainly would have diluted the spiritual experience to be in the company of so many people.

Olga Gorge Walk at Kata Tjuta

Sun sets over The Olgas (Kata Tjuta)

Feral camels populate the Australian outback

During the bus ride back to the hotel, KataTjuta changed colors like a kaleidoscope, alternating between red and purple as our direction changed with respect to the rocks. Focused on the panorama it offered, we were startled when our driver slammed on the brakes – two feral camels, frothing at the mouth, were plodding across the desert sands in search of mates. There are apparently thousands of these wild camels roaming the interior of the country, leftovers from pioneers who used them as pack animals. In fact, there are so many of them that the tour company does not offer a sunset tour of Kata Tjuta because the road to it travels through remote country and driving after dark can be dangerous. I believe it – I don’t want to think about the damage that could be done if a car hit a camel!

The Olgas (Kata Tjuta), seen from Ayers Rock (Uluru)

I ended the day the same way I began my visit to Uluru-Kata Tjuta – I climbed the overlook at the top of a large sand dune in the center of the resort and watched the sunset cast the distant Kata Tjuta range into a deep purple hue as it reflected the day’s final rays.

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Uncle Brian Takes The Prize

Australia’s Red Centre

Barbara Weibel — Tue, 19 Jun 2007 02:33:54 +0000

In the very center of the Australian continent is a vast and featureless desert of red sand and scrub vegetation that stretches in all directions as far as the eye can see. Only two features relieve this otherwise monotonous landscape – the giant red sandstone monolith known as Ayers Rock and the lesser-known conglomerate hills commonly referred to as The Olgas. The indigenous Anangu Aborigines who are the stewards of this ancient land refer to these features by their traditional names – Uluru and Kata Tjuta, respectively.

Ayers Rock (Uluru) in the center of the Australian continent

Ayers Rock (Uluru) at sunset

To say that the UNESCO World Heritage Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park is remote would be an understatement. Located more than 500 miles from the nearest town, the only way to reach the park is to drive for days through a harsh, unforgiving land, or to fly in with Quantas, the sole operator serving the tiny airport. Once at Uluru, the only accommodations available are at one of five hotels in the American-owned Voyages resort complex. The Voyages operation is a monopoly in every sense of the word. Not only do they own all five hotels, they also own the grocery store, the tour company, the gift stores, the restaurants, the shuttle services, etc. The result is twofold. First, because they have no competition, their prices are exorbitant. I am in the least expensive hotel room they offer – $154 per night. The salad I had for lunch yesterday set me back $20. Company-owned shuttle buses carry tourists from the resort to the National Park at a cost of $40 for the five-mile ride. The facilities are in poor condition – with winter temperatures approaching zero at night, I repeatedly heard guests complain that the heat did not work in their room and the resort’s only answer was to deliver more blankets. The employees are surly at best and in most cases downright rude, acting as if guests are an imposition on their time. The signage is poor and it is difficult to find your way around the resort. There is limited information made available about how, when and where the shuttles operate, etc., etc.

Despite all of the above, the Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park is not to be missed. On the evening I arrived I climbed to an observation point and watched Ayers Rock change from red to purple in the rays of the setting sun. The following morning I rose before dawn and caught a shuttle to the sunrise viewing site. In near-zero temperatures I watched Ayers Rock emerge from the inky night, slowly turning from black to purple to deep red and finally to a flaming orange-red (left and below).

Ayers Rock (Uluru) at sunrise

Ayers Rock (Uluru) glows orange at the first rays of the sun peek over the horizon

For the next five hours I walked clockwise around the base of this astonishing hunk of sandstone, taking occasional side paths to visit waterholes tucked away in rock crevices and to view caves with ancient Aboriginal designs carved into their walls and ceilings.

Ancient cave art at Ayers Rick (Uluru)

At one point, as I stood in front of a fenced-off area that is a sacred women’s site, I looked up at the smooth top of the monolith. A brilliant emerald light glowed where the red rock met the cloudless azure sky. I put my hands together in front of my heart and instantly an intense, hot energy shot up through my body and into the center of my palms. As I held this burning ball of energy between my hands, my entire body heated up and I ceased to feel the cold. For the rest of the day I had only to look back at that green glow to stay warm. I have read that Ayers Rock sits on a ley line, one of the invisible magnetic lines that criss-cross the earth and are used by birds when they migrate. Whatever the explanation, there is something very powerful going on here – it is indeed one of the great spiritual destinations on this planet.

I ended the day at the sunset viewing point, entranced by the play of light that the sun cast on the Rock and the clouds that seemed to emanate from it. Turning around I discovered yet more beauty as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Ayers Rock (Uluru) at sunset

The desert surrounding Ayers Rock (Uluru) at sunset

So, rather than attempt to describe Ayers Rock with words that cannot possibly be adequate, I decided to dedicate the rest of this post to photos of Ayers Rock. Enjoy.

Bright red soil

Striated sandstone

"The Brain," a feature eroded in the surface of Ayers Rock (Uluru)

Walking around Ayers Rock (Uluru)

Inside a cave at Ayers Rock (Uluru)

Sun climbs over Ayers Rock (Uluru)

Wildflowers at Ayers Rock (Uluru)

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Addicted To Sunsets

His Holiness The 14th Dalai Lama

Barbara Weibel — Fri, 15 Jun 2007 14:39:02 +0000

The Dalai Lama speaks in Sydney, Australia

I have been trying to attend the annual teachings of the Dalai Lama in Dharamsala, India for the past three years, but each year something got in the way. So when I discovered that His Holiness was to make a public appearance in Sydney, I scheduled my travels around Australia accordingly. Despite cold, blustery weather and intermittent spitting rain, several thousand other people also thought it important to be present this morning at the open-air amphitheater in Sydney’s Domain Park.

It is not hard to understand why the Dalai Lama commands such devotion and respect. Within seconds of taking the stage, he had everyone laughing. He began his discourse with the idea that our minds are clear in the morning, then digressed about the raucous party that was going on in the hotel where he was staying the night before. With a twinkle in his eye and a grin he conceded that the people at the party probably didn’t have very clear minds that morning.

He espouses non-violence and compassion. He touched on the Buddhist belief that desire is the root of all suffering. When asked what he believes to be the meaning of life, he quickly said, “I don’t know,” and laughed – whether it’s his high-pitched giggle or his deep belly guffaw, the Dalai Lama’s laughter is infectious and the crowd easily laughs along with him. But then he offers an opinion after all – the purpose of life, he believes, is to be happy. He warns that happiness does not come from material things – it is OK to have material things that bring comfort but not to the extent that the material things control your life. In parting he stated emphatically that the very best thing we can do in this life is to give our children all the affection in the world.

I am fascinated by this man and his simple, profound message. I aspire to his ideals. He makes me want to do something with my life that matters. Something that makes a difference in this world. Something to help others. If we could all live this way; if we could all aspire to live up to the Dalai Lama’s ideals, the world would be a wonderful place. His Holiness’ doctors have “read his pulse” and told him he will probably live to be 103. I dearly hope so – this world is in desperate need of people like him.

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Uncle Brian Takes The Prize

Uncle Brian Takes The Prize

Barbara Weibel — Thu, 14 Jun 2007 11:25:48 +0000

Basically, I hate tours. I detest being loaded onto a bus with 49 other people and herded like cattle from one tourist spot to the next. I loathe hearing, ‘We’ll be leaving here for exactly 18 minutes,’ when I’d like to stay for two hours shooting photos or hiking the trail to the overlook point. But in Cairns there is no other choice – there was no way to get to the places I wanted to see unless I rented a pricey car. So with trepidation I booked two tours in Cairns – hoping for the best but expecting the worst. The first, Uncle Brian’s Atherton Tablelands and Waterfalls Tour, was highly recommended by Rob at Cairns City Backpackers. He said it was deliberately designed to be off the beaten track in the highlands west of the city, which he insisted are more beautiful than anything I would see if I did the more famous tours to Daintree Rainforest and Cape Tribulation. I considered the possibility that Rob was pushing this tour because he was getting a cut but then dismissed the idea. He seemed like a pretty sincere guy. So I took a leap of faith and booked it at a cost of $109.

Uncle Brian's tour bus - "Gus the Bus"

From the moment I boarded “Gus The Bus” at 8AM, I knew this tour was going to be different. Our guide, Bart, was a showman in every sense of the word. Standing about 5′ 10″ with curly long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, Bart wore his daily uniform of khaki shorts, a T-shirt and sandals (he claims to not own a pair of shoes other than golf shoes), kicking off his sandals at every opportunity to go barefoot. He memorized the names of every person on the bus (15 of us) and engaged each of us in a long conversation via his headset and microphone as we drove down the road. He wanted details: how long had we been traveling, where had we been, where were we going, and oh, by the way, is there a romance going on between the two of you in the back of the bus who are both from Germany but just met at a backpacker’s lodge? By the time we were 20 miles down the road we knew each others life histories.
Some of the younger ones were embarrassed to speak – Deidre from Ireland for one, explaining that she was shy. I followed Deidre and explained that I was not – shy that is. Just as I was about to undergo Bart’s scrutiny, the person in the seat next to me thrust a clipboard into my hands – it held a waiver form that required my signature. Name, check. Address, check. Country, check. Phone, check. Age…….. I looked down the column….19, 22, 25, 24, 22, 28……….hmmmmm. Do I really need to put 55 down in this column? I interrupted Bart’s questioning to tell the whole bus, in no uncertain terms, that I had an issue with his form and suggested they needed to add a column with the heading “Older Than Everyone Else On The Bus.” A laugh tittered around the bus and I settled into one of my favorite roles – making people laugh.

Bart was a master guide. In-between hand-picked songs that he’d pre-recorded to match the journey he discoursed on the ills of the world, told jokes, and educated us about the landscape passing by our windows. Hardly a minute went by that we were not in stitches. We wound up gentle hills into the tiny town of Babinda, Bart honking and waving at every person we passed and insisting we do the same, explaining that these folk look forward to their daily visit from Gus The Bus and would be upset if we didn’t wave. To a person, everyone waved back at us – albeit some with pretty strange expressions on their faces, making us laugh even harder. At the Babinda Boulders, Bart not only told us a bit about the geography of the place but also related the indigenous explanation of how the boulders got there – an Aboriginal Princess, angry when her young lover jilted her, pulled the boulders down from the mountainside. There is no swimming allowed below the boulders. Since they have been keeping records, 22 people have died in these treacherous currents – 21 of them young, single males. Coincidence? Bart thinks not.

At Babinda Boulders

There's supposed to be a woman's face in these boulders, but I couldn't make it out

Our next stop was Josephine Falls, where swimming was allowed. We donned suits and, shivering, gingerly crept into the creek’s icy waters below the falls, swimming across the pool to the moss-covered granite lip on the other side. There we inched up the slippery granite backward on our rear ends until we reached the top. Sliding across the granite ridge, we positioned ourselves in the middle of the waterfall, pushed off and slid down the smooth rock to the pool below. Exhilarating! I ruined a swimsuit (stained black by the moss and ripped by he granite) but it was worth it.

Josephine Falls

Scrambling up the slippery granite dome to slide down the rapids at Josephine Falls

Back on the bus it was time for more music and Bart pulled out tambourines, handing them to the two girls in the front of the bus. Embarrassed, they timidly beat them against their palms a few times and passed them on. No one could quite grasp how to play the tambourines – they were all going at it much too timidly. When it came my turn I thought, what the heck, and gave it my all. “Oh, somene’s got talent,” said Bart (he’s was a master at making people feel special) and I became tambourine lady for that portion of the trip. In some ways, getting older is wonderful. You don’t worry about what other people think of you – it gives you a certain freedom to do things that the younger generation won’t try.

Bart cranked up the heat in Gus so we could drip dry as we headed for lunch. Mist appeared out of nowhere as we climbed to the Atherton Tablelands and by the time we reached the private home where lunch was served we could see only a few hundred feet of the lush green valley before it disappeared into white nothingness. Earlier in the day Bart had inquired if there were any weirdos on the bus and I immediately raised my hand – I knew exactly what he meant – were there any vegetarians. Usually, vegetarians are relegated to two slices of white bread filled with lettuce, tomato, onions, cheese (when did cheese become a vegetable, thank you), and, if we’re lucky, some sprouts. I was pleasantly surprised that the family had prepared a special egg and roast vegetable casserole for us veggies and it was delicious. This tour was getting better and better.

After lunch we headed for Millaa Millaa Falls, reputed to be the most photographed waterfall in the country. That may be due to the fact that it is so easily accessible – you can drive right up to it on paved tarmac and take a photo without ever leaving your car. As we came down the road leading to the falls, Bart popped in another song, this time 2001 Space Odyssey. DA, DA, DA, TA-DA BOOM-BOOM BOOM-BOOM BOOM-BOOM BOOM-BOOM, DA! DA!! DAH!!!!! At the final crescendo, just as the cymbals crashed, Bart turned the corner, bringing Millaa Millaa Falls into view through the front windshield. I take it back. Even if it required a ten mile hike through rainforest, I believe this would still be the most photographed waterfall in the country. Millaa Millaa is so beautiful, so perfect, that it looks unreal.

Milla Milla Falls

As we stepped off the bus, Bart lined us up in three rows as if to take a group photo, but FACING the falls. He directed us to look at a spot on the waterfall about 15 feet from the top and pick a green leaf – any green leaf that showed through the curtain of water, focusing intently on that leaf and looking at nothing else. When he deemed we’d stared at our leaves long enough, he told us to shift our gaze to the cliff on the right side of the falls. A collective gasp arose from our group as we witnessed vegetation crawling up and down the cliff. Bart insists this is the Spirit of Millaa Millaa. The moment our group broke up I snapped a photo of the falls and looked into the digital display to make sure it was a good photo.

The Spirit of Milla Milla Falls?

Clearly visible to the right of the falls was a perfectly circular translucent orb that appeared to hang in mid-air. Running vertically through its center was a double rainbow. Some would say this was an artifact. Some would say a drop of rain on the lens (in fact, this was not the case, because I took another photo seconds later and the orb had vanished). Others would say it was the Spirit of Millaa Millaa. Coincidence? Bart would say no.

Some of our group crawled into cold, wet suits to swim across the pool at the foot of the waterfall and climb up behind its curtain of water. I put on another layer of clothes and collected everyone’s cameras to take photos of them standing up behind the waterfall. Swimming in icy cold water once that day was quite enough for me.

Late in the afternoon we stopped for hot chocolate at Eachem Lake in Crater Lake National Park. This wide, placid lake was created when volcanic magma met cold underground water, causing explosions strong enough to eject the land above it. The resultant crater eventually filled with rain and runoff water and is today a breeding ground for Saw Shell turtles and other endangered species.

Eachem Lake in Crater Lake National Park

Saw shell turtles at Eachem Lake in Crater Lake National Park

As dusk fell we went platypus spotting at a nearby river, watching dozens of the little critters pop up to the surface to feed, pausing long enough to grind the food up in their flat bills before diving back down to the depths. The ride back to Cairns was a rollicking, raucous sing-along that included Queen’s “We Are The Champions,” “Summer Love” from the movie Grease, and the Beatles’ classic “I Wanna Hold Your Hand.”

The following day my second tour took me north to the Daintree River and Cape Tribulation, famous as the place “where the rainforest meets the reef.” On the river we spotted crocodiles resting along the banks, snakes curled around tree branches, and a crested hawk in the treetops. We walked through rainforest in search of the endangered Cassowary bird and fed kangaroo. At Emmagen Creek we swam just beyond the range of the crocs that preferred the saltier water where the creek emptied into the ocean.

Crocodiles on the Daintree River

Perfectly camoflauged snake rests atop a tree branch on the Daintree River

Feeding the kangaroos near Cape Tribulation

At the end of the day we reached Cape Tribulation, a wide expanse of beach bordered by muddy mangrove flats. I had booked this tour because everyone insisted it was a must see, and although it was enjoyable, it could not hold a candle to Uncle Brian’s.

Cape Tribulation, "Where the rainforest meets the reef"

I’ve learned a few things. Tours are not what they used to be. If I choose tours that are limited to small groups and feature adventure itineraries, they are perfectly acceptable. Frankly, even if I had rented a car I doubt that I could have done it any less expensively, considering the price of the rental vehicle and the $5.00 per gallon price of “petrol” in Australia. But even if someone had a car at their disposal, Uncle Brian’s Atherton Tablelands and Waterfalls Tour is an absolute MUST DO when in Cairns!

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Photo Tour Of Sydney Harbour

Funk Broken

Barbara Weibel — Thu, 14 Jun 2007 02:29:39 +0000

I’ve really been in a funk lately. I don’t know why. I thought it may have been due to the cold weather but it seemed to persist even after I arrived in warmer climates. In Sydney recently, I attended a meditation class, where the teacher discussed the benefit of “remaining present” every moment of our lives. After the class we talked a bit and I told him about my tendency to get bored with things when they are no longer challenging. He suggested that I could be totally present even when I was in a state of boredom, “Ask yourself, what is boredom. Take it out and examine it. Look at it from every angle. Even boredom can be interesting when we are totally present.” So I decided to just sit with my funk. In it. To let it consume me, if that’s what it wanted. To examine it from every angle.

I asked myself what I was really feeling. I found loneliness in there. I miss my family and friends. I am moving so rapidly from place to place that, while I am meeting some wonderful people and making friends, about the time I get to know someone I have to hit the road again.

I found fear in there. What if I can’t sell my house and I spend all my money on traveling and I end up just as broke as when I arrived on the Outer Banks some 11 years ago?

I found insecurity in there. What am I really doing out here? Shouldn’t I be working at a REAL job, rather than trying to make this writing thing happen?

I found deep seated issues of self-worth that I thought I had worked out long ago – why do I feel unworthy (see the previous emotion) of pursuing that which will bring me joy?

There were no concrete answers. It was more a process of identifying exactly what I was feeling, and being grateful that I COULD feel. It brought me back to the early days of my sobriety, when I didn’t have a clue what I was feeling at any given moment. Some days I had to pull out a litany of descriptions and ask myself, ‘Is this anger I am feeling? No. Is it grief? No. Sorrow? No.’ until I finally came across one that might possibly describe what I was feeling. Sometimes it was three days before I finally realized which emotion I’d been feeling. Then it was like a light bulb going off in my head, ‘Oh, THAT’s what despair feels like.’ I had stuffed my feelings for so long because I didn’t WANT to feel anything – it was too painful.

So, as I sat with my funk, I simply became grateful that I could feel at all. And eventually, the funk broke. I woke up one morning and it was gone. Once again I was smiling and happy. I guess, as the Tao Te Ching says, you cannot know happiness until you have experienced sorrow, you cannot appreciate sunlight until you have been cast into the darkness. In the future I think I will embrace these moods rather than try to fight them off, because I find that, more often than not, something good comes of them – like gratitude.

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Cairns IS On The Ocean

Barbara Weibel — Tue, 12 Jun 2007 22:26:29 +0000

Because I had mistakenly thought Sydney was an oceanfront city, I double-checked my facts before going to Cairns. Yep! Cairns is an oceanfront city in the northwest corner of the Australian continent, where the temperatures are balmy throughout the year. Since it’s located smack dab in the middle of the Great Barrier Reef, I should have no problem finding great beaches where I can soak up some rays and warm my tired ol’ bones – something I was really looking forward to.

Cairns City Backpackers

I’d also done some checking on backpacker accommodations and found that Cairns City Backpackers offered wireless Internet connection. Access to the Internet is important because it allows me to upload my photos and post to the blog, so it has been a major criteria in searching for accommodations during the entire trip. Much to my surprise, it has been difficult to find even moderate priced accommodations that offer wireless access. Finding hostels and backpacker accommodations with wireless is really unusual, so I made a reservation for a private room at Cairns City Backpackers for four nights, sight unseen.

A few words here about hostels and backpacker lodges around the world. They are absolutely the cheapest accommodations available. They come in all sizes and configurations, but basically they all have some combination of dormitories and private rooms. The dorms are further divided between big rooms that sleep 16 to 20 people – bunk beds lined up down the wall – and smaller dorms that sleep four to six. Dorm rooms are usually mixed gender, although some places do have female-only dorms. Travelers staying in the dorms have access to shared toilets, sinks and showers located down the hall from the dorm room. Almost every backpacker facility also has a few private rooms available. In some cases, these can be “ensuite rooms,” with their own toilet, sink, and shower, but more often the private rooms also share the toilets and showers down the hall – the benefit of a private room is that you don’t have to share sleeping quarters with 19 other snoring, drunken, noisy kids. The dorms, of course, are the cheapest option, ranging from $15 to $25 per night, per person. The private rooms generally go for $40-60 per room, per night. You can share the private room with another person or keep the room to yourself.

Backpacker facilities usually go the extra mile to be a home away from home. The kitchens are fully equipped with dishes, pots and pans, small appliances, etc. There are big commercial refrigerators and freezers where you can store your food – properly labeled so no one else eats it, of course. The lounges usually have comfy sofas and chairs where everyone can sit around and gab, avail themselves of the card games (UNO!) or board games (MONOPOLY!) provided, or read a book from the share library. Coin operated laundry facilities are provided and if you are doing an overnight tour or have a late flight there are almost always either storage rooms or pay lockers where you can lock up your luggage for a small fee.

Bathroom at Cairns City Backpackers

Kitchen at Cairns City Backpackers

Common room and computer rooms at Cairns City Backpackers

Laundry room at Cairns City Backpackers

Many of the kids come loaded down with huge backpacks – sometimes carrying three or four all tied together with wire mesh. I cheat. I’m older, so I can get away with it. I carry a large day pack on my back, but the rest of my stuff goes into a 22″ carry-on size rolling suitcase. Frankly, the only reason for using a traditional size backpack that allows you to carry all your gear is if you are trekking in the wilds. Most backpackers are not doing this – they are simply traveling from place to place and moving from one backpacker lodge to another, so the reality is that, at most, backpacks are carried from the bus to the door of the lodge or from the luggage carousel at the airport to the shuttle bus. Seriously though, I’ve been surprised to see that some of the young people have converted to rolling suitcases as well. They really are more practical.

Some carry everything on their backs in huge packs

Every backpacker hostel has its own unique energy. Some are friendly. Some are not. Some are spotless. Others are disgustingly dirty. Some are well maintained. Others are in desperate need of repair. In some places, the guests show respect for the facilities and the rules of the house (things like quiet time after 10 PM). In still others, mayhem reins, with all-night partying and loud music. The cheap prices draw a youthful clientele and much of the time I am the oldest person in the entire place. Sometimes I am welcomed by the kids, sometimes they just tolerate me, other times they are downright aloof and I can see the questions in their eyes – ‘What’s SHE doing here?’ But I smile, say hi, and persevere. They have computer problems – I fix their computers. They want to know about traveling in SE Asia – I share my experiences with them. In most cases it’s only a matter of hours before I am accepted.

My flight to Cairns arrived at 10:30 PM. I took the airport shuttle to Cairns City Backpackers, where the key to my room was awaiting me in the mailbox (backpacker hostels in general are not staffed around the clock, so late arrivals let themselves in and officially check in the next morning). In the envelope that held my key was a rough handwritten sketch of the place and a note explaining how to find my room. Try as I might, I could not find my room – 2 Boomerang. I ended up in a back patio, where 12 kids were sitting on picnic benches around a blaring TV. Twenty-four eyes looked up at me with suspicion. “Does anyone know where 2 Boomerang is,” I asked. Deafening silence. Finally someone pointed to the kitchen door behind me and said, “Through there.” I felt those 24 eyes boring into my backside as I retreated through the kitchen, past the showers and toilets, and into the lounge area, with it’s pay-to-use computers and scattered sofas. Ah yes, here’s my room. No room number – just a picture of two boomerangs painted on the door.

Reaar patio at Cairns City Backpackers

Pool table in the rear yard at Cairns City Backpackers

Small pool in the rear yard at Cairns City Backpackers

My room was basic but I was pleasantly surprised to find it contained a private sink and shower – the only thing I have to share is the toilets. It could do with a good cleaning – the flagstone floor had definitely not been swept for a while and, although the linens are clean, the bed pillows smelled so bad that I doubt they’ve been washed in the past six months. The communal kitchen sink was piled high with dirty dishes – everyone was ignoring the signs demanding that guests clean up after themselves. The bathroom door lock was broken and the buttons to flush the toilet were missing. But hey, what do you want for $48 ($39 US) per night? The guests were the strangest part of this place. No one smiled. Hardly anyone engaged in conversation. They sat around, sullen and moody, either staring at the TV, shooting pool in the dark (the light over the pool table does not work), or hanging from hammocks that surround the small in-ground pool.

Front desk at Cairns City Backpackers

Fortunately, the next morning I found that the staff, Rob and Dave, are awesome – they were helpful and attentive when I checked in and even assisted me in choosing which activities to book. Usually, I am not much of a tour person, but sometimes there is no way around it. I want to visit the Atherton Tablelands west of town, as well as Cape Tribulation to the north, where “the rain-forest meets the reef.” In both instances, there is no public transportation to these places, so unless I want to rent a car (I don’t) the only other option is a tour. After booking the tours I inquired how to get to the beach. “Oh, there’s no beach in Cairns,” Rob said. What? But Cairns is on the ocean, isn’t it? I soon discovered what the tour brochures don’t tell you and what the Chamber of Commerce tries to keep secret until you arrive – all the lovely beaches are 20 to 30 minutes north of town.

Needing exercise after yesterday’s long day of travel, I opted instead to walk the half mile to downtown and the waterfront. There’s not much to the town of Cairns – a few main streets with one shopping center, a cinema, and loads of restaurants. A few streets into the downtown area I came upon a center mall where “buskers” (musicians) performed for free, their guitar cases open on the sidewalk begging donations.

Downtown Cairns

Surfers walk through the main plaza on their way to the ocean

Another couple of blocks brought me to the “ocean,” where a boardwalk runs along a bay that is nothing more than a wide mud flat. However, Cairns has compensated nicely for this shortcoming by building an oceanfront lagoon complex with man made beaches, fountains, and sundecks.

Oceanfront mudflats in Cairns

City's huge oceanfront pool replaces a sandy beach

Cairns city pool on the oceanfront

Cairns municipal pool

So while it wasn’t the lovely sand beach I was anticipating, it was still enough to warm these ‘ol bones. Now if I can just figure out a way to break through the veil of silence at the hostel tonight….

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Three Month, Half-Way Mark

Barbara Weibel — Mon, 11 Jun 2007 00:42:18 +0000

I started traveling exactly three months ago today. Along the way I have been intrigued, elated, fascinated, amused, delighted, introspective, questioning, grateful, honored, irritated, challenged, scared, and a myriad of other adjectives too numerous to mention. For the past few days, however, I seem to have been paralyzed by apathy.

I am in Byron Bay at the moment. It is a resort town on the mid-East coast of Australia. It is a beautiful place with rugged, rocky coastlines and lovely beaches. In many respects it is a great deal like the Outer Banks of North Carolina, which was my home for 11 years before moving to Florida this past January. The town caters to tourists and prices are high. Surfers flock here to live their dream and soon fall into the destructive cycle of working less and less and partying more and more. Businesses have a difficult time getting enough help and even when they do, there is not enough affordable lodging available to house them.
Since arriving in Byron Bay, I have done very little. One day I took a trail to the easternmost point of Australia, but aside from walking the beach each day, I have done little else. This seems to have started when I arrived in Australia. The apathy was accompanied by pain – the pain in my neck and jaw returned, my hips went out, and my bones ached all over.

I have a theory about this. I thrived when I was in SE Asia. I love the warm weather – the hotter the better. Then I flew off to New Zealand, where it was winter and much colder. Initially it wasn’t too bad because I was on the North Island. But when I landed in Queenstown on the South Island it was much colder. In Queenstown I chose to stay at Deco Backpackers because they offered free wireless connection for the computer. I discovered too late (I’d already paid for the room) that they didn’t turn the heat on every day until 4 M and they turned it off again at 10 AM. I added a blanket and an extra duvet to the bed and slept in sweats and woolen socks that I bought at the secondhand store. During the day I wore four layers, including a wool-lined coat that I also purchased. I froze my butt off. When I arrived in Sydney, it was a bit warmer but still not warm enough for my taste. Don’t get me wrong – I have loved all these places and would come back without hesitation (albeit during their summer season). It’s just that I am discovering how very sensitive I am to the cold.

In Byron Bay it is even warmer (the temperatures have been high enough to wear a swimsuit on the beach one of the four days I have been here) and I am beginning to feel better. I am thawing out. Each day I feel my muscles unclench and relax just a little bit more. Today I am almost pain free – blissfully so.

I am learning to be kind to myself. Not to push myself or demand so much of myself. With long term travel it is absolutely necessary to do this. If I feel tired or have low energy, I give myself permission to do nothing for a day, or two, or even three. I find I can learn just as much about a place by vegging in a cafe for a couple of hours and eavesdropping on nearby conversations as by hiking its trails and seeing its sights – perhaps more! I leave Byron Bay today, bound for Cairns (CANS) in the northeast corner of the country. Since Cairns is near the equator the temps will be much more to my liking and I’ll be back to my old self in no time.

Now, what do I do about the fact that I miss my family and friends so much?

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Yipping Sands

Barbara Weibel — Fri, 08 Jun 2007 15:14:48 +0000

On the Hawaiian island of Kauai there is a beach that is nicknamed “Barking Sands” because the sand makes a “woof-woof” sound with every step. The effect occurs when the extremely fine sand rolls underfoot and the grains slide by one another, causing friction, which produces the barking sound. The sand of Byron Bay, which is also extremely fine (it feels like baby powder), exhibits a similar phenomenon – with each step I took it yip-yip-yipped like a miniature poodle.

Byron Bay Beach sands make a "yipping" sound when walked on

Belongil Creek

In the daylight, Byron Bay’s main beach is not quite so pink as it is at sunset, but it is a gorgeous crescent of sand nonetheless. I hiked south to where Belongil Creek cuts a swath through the beach on its journey to the ocean. The creek is the color of amber, stained by the falling leaves and bark of the tea trees that line its bank. At its mouth a tireless battle ensued – the brown waters of the creek struggling against ocean waves that relentlessly deposit sand, blocking the creek’s path to the ocean.

Mounds of sand, looking like giant termite nests, line the banks of the creek – testament to the town’s repeated attempts to keep the mouth of the creek open to avert flooding.

Mounds of sand along Belongil Creek

Perfect surfing wave

Beautiful Belongil Beach in Byron Bay

Lone surfer on a perfect wave

I spent all afternoon along this estuary, which is a protected nesting ground for the Little Tern and a magnet for all kinds of birds. There was stark beauty here – brilliant sands bordering the tinted creek, landlocked lagoons surrounded by hermit crab holes, puffy clouds scudding across the sky, gnarled and weathered logs scattered around the beach, and row after row of glassy breakers rolling into shore. In five hours I encountered perhaps only eight other people energetic enough to make the hike this far down the beach. It was paradisaical.

On the way back up the beach, the setting sun cast a long shadow of me and my backpack on the unblemished sand, before once again dipping behind the distant mountains. Yesterday’s sunset spectacle was repeated in reverse, this time the sky turning gold, then a fiery orange, and finally fading to pastel blues and pinks. Tomorrow I will go north along the beach to the lighthouse that is perched on the headland. It is so good to be warm again and have the sun on my skin.

Elongated shadow in late afternoon sun

Sunset turns the sky orange

Last rays turn the sky blue and purple as lighthouse beacon sweeps the bay

Lone bird in the setting sun

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Addicted To Sunsets

Barbara Weibel — Fri, 08 Jun 2007 02:37:51 +0000

Byron Bay, located about 800 kilometers (480 miles) north of Sydney, is the easternmost point in Australia. During its formative years the town was discovered by hippies, who inevitably came for a week and stayed for years, leaving their indelible stamp on Byron Bay’s culture. The laid back, alternative lifestyle that persists to this day has made this small town of 30,000 residents the third most popular holiday spot in the country. Although the hippies have either grown up or moved away, today Byron Bay hosts events such as yoga retreats, pagan gatherings and music festivals that attract an eclectic mix of backpackers, surfers and musicians, as well as the affluent baby-boomer contingent.

Byron Bay Beach

I have come here for a number of reasons. First, it has beautiful beaches and anyone who knows me at all knows I am a beach bum at heart. Second, it is warmer because it is about eight hours north of Sydney – and I am definitely over being cold. Third, for the Yoga. Fourth, it is a surfer’s paradise. I chose to fly because it would be quicker (and cheaper) than renting a car, but the weather did not cooperate – rain poured down all morning and the Sydney Airport was closed three times (each time the control tower was hit by lightning), so I did not even arrive in town until after 4 PM. I checked into my hotel, dumped my luggage in my room, and hurried across the street to see the beach before the light failed.

The view from the top of the dune took my breath away. Directly in front of me a deep turquoise ocean lapped gently upon a wide golden-pink expanse of sand. The sun’s descent behind distant mountains diffracted the fading sunlight, throwing rays up into the evening sky like an array of searchlights in a perfect arc. As the sky turned from pink to gold to orange to purple, I walked up and down the beach shooting one spectacular photo after another. Sometimes, when I am shooting, I am unsure whether or not I am getting good quality photos. In this case I knew with certainty that these would be incredible shots and when I downloaded them into my computer I was not disappointed. My only problem was which ones to use on the blog. I simply couldn’t narrow down the choices – they are all so beautiful – so I decided to upload the entire series.

Sunset at Byron Bay Beach

Once again, I can’t help but believe that everything happens for a reason. If my flight had not been so seriously delayed I probably would have missed the sun’s generous spectacle this afternoon. My gratitude overflows.

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Sydney Is Not On The Ocean

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Sydney Is Not On The Ocean

Barbara Weibel — Wed, 06 Jun 2007 15:50:13 +0000

Usually, I’m pretty savvy about geography, but for some reason I thought that Sydney was on the ocean. Whenever I looked at a map of Australia, Sydney appeared to be on the coast – this is such a large country that small maps of it don’t show much detail. Then there are the more than 70 beaches and the famous surfing spots like Bondi Beach that I have always read about. To my surprise I discovered that the city center is located about a third of the way down a long inlet that forms the famous Sydney Harbour – it’s the suburbs that are actually on the Pacific Ocean. I couldn’t come to Sydney and not visit its famous beaches so today I climbed aboard a ferry for the 15-minute ride to the town of Manly.

Pulling into the ferry dock at Manly

"The Corso" - the main street in Manly

The boat docked on the inlet side of the narrow strip of land that forms the northern entry to the inlet. A five-minute walk down “The Corso” (the main drag) took me from the inlet side to the ocean side of town, where a promenade ran the entire length of the long crescent of golden-pink sand that is Manly Beach. It was immediately apparent that surfing is taken seriously here – in fact, surfing is considered a national sport in Australia.

The boardwalk along Manly Beach

Hotels that cater to surfers are just steps from the beach

Manly Surf Pavillion

Retail store on The Coso are filled with surfng gear

Set after set of incredible, glassy waves roll in to shore

Perfect wave

There were hotels that cater to surfers and oceanfront Surf Clubs where surfers can leave their backpacks when they are in the water. Everywhere, stores displayed surf clothing. And of course, there were the surfers and the waves – beautiful, glassy waves that roll in day after day without fail in this surfer’s paradise – my surfer friends will drool over these photos.

Manly's ocean pool

Along the path to the Cabbage Tree Bay Aquatic Reserve

View from the highest cliff in the Cabbage Tree Bay Aquatic Reserve

I walked to the end of Manly beach and climbed the steps of the Marine Parade, an elevated walkway leading around giant sandstone outcroppings, destined for Cabbage Tree Bay Aquatic Reserve. Along the way I passed a saltwater pool that is filled by the ocean at high tide, its calm waters perfect for swimming laps regardless of how rough the ocean may be. At the end of the Parade was a lovely little crescent beach and just beyond the beach a rocky hill jutted into the ocean, forming a perfect left-hand point break where several surfers and two ocean kayaks waited for the next set. I followed a trail up the hill, mounting steps carved of weathered sandstone. Looking south from the top of the hill I could see for miles along the sheer rocky cliffs of the headland – waves crashed incessantly against rocky detritus at the base of the cliff as two whales swam by in the distance, betrayed by their white spouts.

The setting sun turns Manly

Back down on the beach, divers disappeared under the calm waters of the bay, joggers and bikers were out in force along the beach promenade, and body boarders had arrived to claim their little slice of the beach. As the setting sun turned the water to gold, I snapped a few final photos of the waves, wishing that I could feel the thrill of catching that perfect wave just one more time. But my knees say no – I guess I’ll just have to live vicariously through my surfer friends.

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More Culture In Sydney

Barbara Weibel — Wed, 06 Jun 2007 00:42:39 +0000

Sydney is rife with museums and art galleries. There’s the Australian Heritage Fleet, the Australian National Maritime Museum, the Conservation Resource Centre, the Discovery Museum at The Rocks, the Justice and Police Museum, the Macleay Museum, the Museum of Australian Currency Notes, the Museum of Contemporary Art, the Museum of Sydney, the Powerhouse Museum, the Pylon Lookout, the Sydney Tramway Museum, the Sydney Observatory, and the Jewish Museum, to name a few. Normally I am not much of a museum aficionado but my friend, Jane, insisted that the Art Gallery of New South Wales was not to be missed.

Sydney Domain

For $2.90 I hopped on a bus from her house and asked the driver to call out the stop for the Art Museum. He deposited me at the foot of an imposing fortress that was undoubtedly a museum, however as I was climbing the stairs I realized that I was at the Australian Museum, which was featuring an exhibit called “100 Years of Australia Through the National Geographic Lens.” Oooh, tempting! But I decided to stick to my original plan. I pulled out my map and discovered that the way to the Art Museum would take me through Cathedral Square and into The Domain, a huge expanse of park that undulates gently between the Botanic Gardens and Woolloomooloo Bay (don’t ask me to pronounce that one because I can’t – I’m still trying to correctly say the name of the town of Cairns). I walked through the Aquatic Center, passed statuesque St. Mary’s Cathedral, and entered the Domain, following a dirt path through rolling lawns and soccer fields toward the Art Museum. It was a typical winter day, with crisp temperatures and lots of sunshine. The late afternoon sun saturated the colors as it began its descent behind the downtown skyscrapers. On my left was a view of the city, with Centrepoint Tower poking above the trees and acting as a directional beacon. On my right were the east side communities of Woolloomooloo, Potts Point, and Kings Cross.

Centrepoint Tower

Woolloomooloo, Potts Point, and Kings Cross from Sydney Domain

The Art Museum is an imposing colonnaded building. Just the outdoor sculpture that surrounds it is worth a look, but since admission is free the inside bears a visit as well. It contains a respectable collection of the Old Masters and 20th century artists, including a good collection of Picasso sketches, but what was most interesting was their collection of Aboriginal Art. One piece in particular caught my fancy. In the center of the entry hall stood a Hills Hoist – the old fashioned crank-up clothes line that looks like a big metal umbrella. Carved and painted wooden Australian Fruit Bats hung upside-down from every available inch of clothes line, looking eerily real as they swayed almost imperceptibly in the draft from a ceiling vent. The ground beneath the bats was covered in small round discs about the size of poker chips, painted to resemble bat excrement, which, as a museum monitor told me, is what fruit bats do best – they defecate. The The Hills Hoist is the quintessential symbol of the white Australian settler; even today many people still have one in their backyard. The symbolism of the sculpture was unmistakable and powerful. Unfortunately, photography of any of the native art is prohibited because the Aboriginals say the whites have taken too much from them already, however I offer a photo of the Hills Hoist on the roof of my friend’s apartment building and you’ll get the general idea.

Art Gallery of New South Wales

Sculpture outside the Art Museum of New South Wales

When I had thoroughly investigated the Art Museum I hopped in a taxi for a quick ride to Potts Point, where I was to meet Jane for dinner. Since I was an hour early I wandered around the neighborhood and discovered the El Alamein Fountain in a small plaza surrounded by office buildings, shops and restaurants.

El Alamein Fountain

We dined at The Opium Den, a delicious Thai restaurant (be warned if you go here that they accept only cash) and I told her about my day at the Art Museum. “The Art Gallery of New South Wales,” she corrected. “If you say museum they’ll think you mean the Australian Museum.” Ah, so that’s why the bus driver left me off where he did…..

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