be heard x soa x melbourne: part II

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soa x be heard x melbourne

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Diving to New Heights in the Great Barrier Reef

 

If heaven exists – it looks like an Australian sunset. I have been witness to the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen on this trip, and taking off from Cairns airport at 6:45pm this evening was no exception. Not usually having the window, I got a front row seat to the painted colors glowing and melting into one another, masked only by the most delicate scattering of white fluffy clouds precariously placed on the ever changing canvas. When you see something this naturally mesmerizing it makes you think that there must still be beauty in the world, despite all of the hate, malice and broken dreams.

I will admit that my departure from Cairns was bittersweet, as it has by far been the best part of my journey so far. Arriving just a few days ago it seemed like a nice enough town and I knew that the reason for being here was to have my virgin run as a scuba diver in the famous Great Barrier Reef. It seemed almost perfunctory to have booked the extra ticket up here and I saw myself fulfilling a responsibility to my time in Australia and, most importantly, to myself. What I got instead was the opportunity to meet some great people, experience some authentic culture and pet a sea turtle – which I only later found out is illegal – so don’t tell.

I spent the majority of Saturday night in my bottom bunk, pant less. This sounds like I must have had a rousing good time, but the true reason is that Jackie was washing my pants as they had been worn to bed every night for a month with her load and instead of throwing on some haphazard evening ensemble and spending $7 on a jug of beer at the local Irish pub, I read in my bed and chatted with my roommates – who I fell a little bit in love with individually as well as a whole.

Logan is a 19 year old ginger from Boston, at that stage in life where you’re so desperate to grow up yet not at a place where you fully understand what that means (perhaps you never fully do) was located across the room from me. We talked about music and being away from home for the first time. I felt a big sisterly affection for him and marveled at his craftsmanship when fashioning a bong out of a Coke bottle and a pen. He was reading On The Road for the first time, which made me feel ancient in the most endearing way.

Chris is a 28 year old from Liverpool who's Liverpuddlian accent is so thick and energy so frantic it can be difficult to keep up. He quit his job in finance to travel for a bit, scuba dive and perhaps change his direction in life. He cooked some incredible meals, none of which I sampled but all of which I salivated over, while we were here and he casually mentioned maybe pursuing something in the culinary arts. I certainly hope if our paths cross again he will have done so. Last night he identified himself as a nice guy, and I have every reason to believe he truly is.

James, also from England is 26 and loveable in a Dick Van Dyke sort of way. For anyone who knows me, they understand what an immense compliment this is. He broke off his engagement and quit his job to do laundry at a hotel by night in Cairns and romance a local by day. I have heard her voice behind the curtain he hangs to create an adult fort on his bunk – but her identity is still a mystery. You could feel the warmth held within him almost ooze out of his pores.

The kindness and generosity these three boys shared with me over our brief time living together will not soon be forgotten. Now onto the good stuff…

We had booked a tour with Silver Swift for a Sunday adventure into the Great Barrier Reef. The boat took off at 8:30am and, being the punctuality freak I am, we were on the dock and ready to go by 7:45. With some ill given advice I had opted not to bring my land camera on the trip with me and instead just stuck to the underwater device I had rented from a local shop that comes replete with first aid kit inspired carrying case. We spent the first hour of the boat ride inside, watching an informational video and listening to fun facts about diving for the first timers and generally inexperienced. Being in a moving boat for that long was making me a little queasy, but I took deep breaths and attempted to focus on the task at hand – a task and it’s inherent dangers that were described so throughoughly and with such great detail that I thought it faily certain I would pop a lung or blow an ear drum or better yet – die on the ocean floor in Queensland. At least it would make a pretty grave.

Our first dive site had arrived in no time and we were given small groups and instructors – very much like a field trip for adults. A very expensive field trip for adults. Jackie and I had signed up for 2 dives and we were designated the first two sites with the third being our opportunity for snorkeling. Our group was comprised of the two of us and a married couple from Utah who had left 2 kids at home for a couple of weeks down under. The wife was visibly nervous and the husband visibaly attentive – it was actually sweet to watch. Our instructor options were between a seemingly smart ass man rocking a gold chain across his chest or an adorable blonde who looks as though she stepped directly out of a Roxy ad. Gold Chain it was – score!

Marcos was our instructor for the day and despite his lackluster dental work, I could not help but be at least partially intoxicated by his charm. The last time I had encountered a scuba instructor – on a boat in Hawaii when I was 17 – I felt similarly smitten and I believe it may be a mix of the personality types attractied to such professions coupled with the personality types needed for the tourism industry. Silly foreigner I may be – but it was fun to flirt with a man for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

On the first dive we were instructed to all link arms, mine being with my covert ops travel mate decked out in full regalia, having opted for the hood attached to our warm water wetsuits, creating a mess of flippers and tanks clinking together. My assumption would be that this is to see if we can in fact swim and gauge our comfort in the water. Luckily we all seemed to pass that test because once we arrived at the second location we were unleashed – if only slightly – and navigation became considerably easier. It was at the second location that we met with a fish as large as a lab who evidently likes the tourists and essentially poses for photos with them. It was also the first location I was able to bring my camera out on and tried by best to manage a leaking mask, a mouth piece that was taking all of my strength to hold onto with my teeth, and a camera constantly getting caught up in my gear. Luckily Marcos, my instructor/boyfriend for the day had made me take off my hoops that I so desperately wanted to dive with because that may have been just too much going on.

We had been told at the start of the day that there was the potential for a third dive (and a third charge) and when it became apparent that there was in fact that opportunity I couldn’t have possibly said no. We signed up for a third dive and dug into the lunch buffet, drying off and warming up before our next adventure under the sea. And I say under the sea because you can almost hear Sebastian singing ''The Little Mermaid' soundtrack when looking at this whole other world that exists deep in the ocean. And lets face it, everything is better with a soundtrack. My father had told me this would be the most exotic place I had ever seen and although I may not agree with that statement, when you see schools of fish flitting about and coral stacked up like natural hotels for sea critters you do think you’re someplace unlike home. The third location was by far the coolest and Kubrick-like with deeper drop offs and more vibrant neon colors splattered about in the form of fish, coral and unidentifiable gooey creatures. We met with a friendly sea turtle, a big black sea dildo (or cucumber for those of you over the age of 14) and a pretty chilled out jellyfish – a nickname my pretend boyfriend had given to me for some unknown reason that very day. I would like to think it is because I am beautiful, graceful and can sting the hell out of you. But I may be romanticizing a bit there. It was during the third dive that I felt I finally got the rhytum of my breathing down and the pace at which to flip my flippers and just as I was feeling the ease of the groove – it was time to go up.

Back on the boat we were presented with certificates of completion for our first dive and the sun finally came out to warm us as we headed back to Cairns. This was also yet another opportunity for me to tell my sob story to yet another unsuspecting bloke as Marcos and I had a lively debate about how Australians are assholes and for what seemed like out of the blue to me, he asked if I had had my heart broken. I of course answered yes only to discover he was asking about some sort of Danny Zucco summer romance down here. I explained in succinct language that I was not 11, and therefore incapable of having my heart broken by some foolish fling – of which I had not even partaken in – and then he asked some questions about my ‘partner.’ Only later did I realize – did he think I was a lesbian? Lets hope not, or I may have lost my game entirely.

I love to run in humid climates and I wanted to take advantage of the evening so after deboarding and bidding adieu to my latest paramour (in my head) I went home, changed and went for a run on the promenade. I have no music on my iphone without internet so I have had to go silent these past weeks and just yesterday I realize why professional runners do so. You really find your own natural pace when not paying attention to those of Rihanna or Ke$ha – two girls I hate to look at but love to listen to. I was gone for the twilight hour and got to watch the silvery blue mountains disappear into the black night as the fog rolled in was quieting - even while running.

When I was a little girl my mother had told me a story about how when she was young, she would look out at a valley in the night sky and imagine a jewelry box, lined with black velvet and housing sparkling gold and jewels of every tone. I think about this from time to time when I see a line of red lights or twinkling solitaire in the darkness. Last night the sky was velvet and the jewels were alive.

A long day of limited oxygen, sun and a run resulting in so much sweat I may as well have gone swimming and I was exhausted. I ate crackers in my bed as Jacks dug into our roommate’s Burn-Flavored Doritos and hummus and it was off to a sound sleep.

The next morning I was, of course, up and at ‘em first for the free breakfast and free WiFi in Hostel Melrose Place, with a large pool and sitting area in the center of the room and a scene for sure. I was waiting for Amanda to be thrown into the pool at any moment. We had to decide between rainforest and beach for our last day and thinking perhaps New Zealand provided more of the former, we caught the 110 bus to Palm Cove or what I like to call Highway to Hades bus.  Cairns is hot – and humid – and when you’re on a bus with no air conditioning for an hour and poorly bathed people are flanking you on each side, and  the sun is beating down on you, the results can be deadly. Just about to take what I thought would be my last breath, the amiable driver dropped us off at the long stretch of beach lined with palm trees and rich hippie eateries.

Never having dried off since my shower I figured a dip in the tepid waves would do me good. I was having lovely moments of solitude with the ocean until a man came running out to Jackie, sitting erectly along the shore, to inform her that the bay there is infested with deadly jellyfish the size of your fingernail and that her stupid American accomplice should get the F out of the water. Australia had been so welcoming thus far, why would I have been surprised.

I got out.

We laid in the shade and read for a while longer before heading back into the city to catch our bus to the airport and, in turn a Tiger flight to Melbourne. The flight was full of crying babies and smelly Europeans so it is pretty awesome. Tonight will be another restful night in the Hostel Melbourne Airport where temperatures reach sub zero late at night and tomorrow – New Zealand.

Bye Bye 'Bourne, G'Day Great Barrier Reef

Being the free spirit I so convincingly pretend to be, I very rarely make plans while traveling. Much like life, this can make for good stories as well as missed opportunities. The lack of planning not only makes Jackie and myself such great travel mates, but it also left us in a position to book a flight up to Cairnes 36 hours prior to boarding, causing a rise in anxiety for her and an unwanted depletion in the bank for me.

The last night in Melbourne began with a failed attempt to make it to Philip Island and see the adorable baby penguins in what is known as the Penguin Parade at sunset and ended with us sleeping upright under fluorescent lights at the airport. We made a quick stop in between in search of a lamington, which is some sort of Australian-specific dessert and looks tolerable so for our Valentine's date we had planned on trying it out together. No such luck after the sun dips below the horizon, as we were repeatedly told to try a bakery - during the day. After returning our trusty vehicle to Red Spot days early we set up shop on the top floor of the airport where I had maybe my best sleep yet this trip and Jackie wrapped herself in her lime green sleep sack in such a ridiculous manner that at one point in the evening I was actually awoken by the flash of a fellow flyer snapping a photo of the asinine American seated in the massage chair, surrounding my bags, and wrapped up like a Christmas present.

We made our early flight into Cairnes and as soon as we de-boarded we could tell we had entered a different world. It had been hot in Australia, but this is a sticky heat that only exists in truly tropical climates, where your hair never quite dries and your face, no matter how much Covergirl pressed powder you apply, will never become matte. I was happy to be here, as it felt different - for perhaps the first time since we landed on this godforsaken continent. We quickly located a Northern Greenhouse in the Lonely Planet that offered free breakfast and having stayed in their sister location in Melbourne we felt like this was a good bet. It was. We immediately signed up for the free tour of the Botanic Gardens and after unloading our bags into mixed dorm room #27 we raced back out into the sun where, after the guide asked if I was Brazilian - just wanted to throw that out there - we walked leisurely through the gardens until there was not a leaf left unturned and befriended two Israeli girls for a lunch of $13 toast and juice. Soon there after yet another snackwas greedily consumed when we finally located a lamington - a white sponge cake with a chocolate and coconut covering - in other words - heaven. An incredibly nice lady provided us with the confection and 2 spoons with which to share our midday dessert - proving that perhaps there are at least a few nice Aussies.

Catching the public bus back to the hostel and heading straight to the Cairnes Art Museum proved discouraging as it smelled like dirty penny but after a quick rain shower we were back out to wander on the Esplanade and check out the endless souvenir shops where I was on a mad quest to find some requested authentic Aboriginal art. As I may have mentioned, not much about this journey had provided the opportunity for interaction with authentic culture, so as I sifted through piles of penguin magnets and wallaby wallets I was not feeling super in touch with the native people of this land.

With too much pure sugar in my blood stream the past few days I made the call for a real, grown up dinner for the evening entertainment so we dined at Vue on the Esplanade, where Jackie had the fisherman's basket and I had the saltiest mashed potatoes I have ever laid tongue upon. For anyone who knows me, hypertension is not a concern of mine and I heavily salt many of my meals, so when I make note that something was so salty I felt myself bloat almost instantly - I mean it. A quick ice cream cone and yoga session by the Lagoon, which seems to be the only accessible, if man made, body of water available in the city, and we were back 'home' and off to bed.

I was up early the next morning for yet another New York meeting that was Friday night for NYC and Saturday morning for me and a tearful phone call with my big sister - because I no longer know how to have any other kind. After Jackie rose we chose to go to the Aboriginal Cultural Park for the day. I had been dying to get some sort of Aboriginal experience and it is very difficult to do so on the coast so I almost didn't mind the $40 entrance fee to the park. My mind may have shifted slightly as we witnessed a series of performances in a series of lackluster buildings and sets. It is not that I didn't appreciate the playing of the Didgeridoo or information about the creation myth the Tjapukai tribe is based on, but I could not help but be saddened by a culture that has been reduced to body painting themselves for Korean tour groups who's flashing cameras blind them if they do so much as scratch their head. Of course, the Aboriginal guide was pretty much the first man I have found to be attractive since arriving here - so my father was pretty much on the money when assuming where my interests would lie. The highlight for me, however - and possibly of the entire trip so far- was an older man who's nametag read Ernest and hairstyle read Gheri Curl who was literally a fountain of information about history and cultural ceremonies and didn't seem at all bothered to talk with me for nearly an hour after the tour had ended. He even went so far as to talk me through my spear throwing lesson - and although Jackie may have been a better boomaranger - I got her spear technique beat for sure!

Hailing the bus on the side of the highway to make our way back to the city it was almost a mirage when, pulled up in front of the Center for Contemporary Art in Cairns, there were was an installation of Starbust Babies candy - Jackie's latest obsession and a sugary treat available in any 7/11 or Woolworths worth its weight. Nothing says come on in like life-sized gummy candy so we took a quick spin before heading back to the hostel to bond with two of our English roommates and dining on peanut butter and crackers in the top bunk.

I took a quick break to go access some internet where I had a semi-surreal experience as I had my first Aussie romance. I walked over to the lounge when I saw a man immediately head over, sit close by and ask where I was from. We ended up chatting and at one point  he explained that he didn't like thin women and that he liked me because I was natural - the same way people described Mamma Cass if my memory serves me correctly. He is a butcher by trade - one I have most certainly never had before and not long after he asked if I would want to meet up for a chat or a drink later. When I agreed he pointed out that we had yet to introduce ourselves. I said my name is Briana - and he said I am Danny. Seriously? Out of all the names in the whole world you must possess the name of 2 men who have actually broken my heart - one much more recently than the other? Absurd. He said - your name is nice. I said - yours in common. Not really a compliment by any means. Good lord, I have said this before and I will say this again - my life would be a comedy of errors if it were at all funny.

Feeling ill prepared for my first dive tomorrow, we made our way back out into the streets of Cairnes to purchase towels for the adventure the following morning. Instead, we bought candy and sampled the local flavor of Nando's - some Australian chicken chain that I may have to add to my list of affordable faves here. A long chat and a longer walk home left me with a half packed bags, a rented underwater camera and a stomach of nerves for my first underwater experience in the morning - diving the Great Barrier Reef.




Wish me luck...

Sometimes Being Along Feels Good

Our stay in Port Campbell was brief, but beautiful. We chatted with a Canadian girl we bunked with who was traveling solo and also spending nights in her car and living off of peanut butter and crackers - so we felt instant kinship. The morning in PC consisted of a run from one side of town to the other (3 miles at most), a walk along the mountains bordering the ocean and a stop for ridiculously overpriced coffee for which we had a coupon from our hostel the night before. Back on the Great Ocean Road we saw a whole lotta road before stopping in Lorne, which was great. Lorne is only about an hour outside of Melbourne and this beach side town provided us the opportunity to sit on the beach without proper protection - a decision I am still regretting - and to dine. Jackie chose to have the Parma that is evidently a native Australian dish not to be missed - but looked and smelled an awful lot like Chicken Parmigana to me! Despite the lack of individuality she claims to recommend it for those cheese lovers of you. We were back on the road and in Melbourne in no time. It felt like coming home - as this has provided our longest residence thus far. Having opted for the luxury of eating meals the past couple of days we knew we would be staying in Casa de Auto the next couple nights and found ourselves back at the nice little spot by the ocean we had booked just a couple nights earlier. Luckily, tonight was movie night at the hostel, thanks to Jackie's Mac book Air, and we got to watch the uplifting flick 'Beautiful Boy' front row center. 'BB' is basically the telling of what the parents of the Columbine or Colorado shooters deal with in the aftermath of their progeny's carnage. So, uplifting it was not- but interesting for sure - and worth bit part played by the one and only Meatloaf for sure!

Fast to sleep and early to rise we had located Bikram Yoga South Melbourne as our morning activity and location at which to bathe. Having just risen from 8 (or so) hours upright in the driver's seat with the steering wheel lodged between my thighs, we must have been less than cheery because the proprietor did not seem to think the rude Americans, or girls from the Bronx as she later referred to us,  were all that cool. That is until Jackie pulled her inner bitch out, which she does from time to time and which I always thoroughly enjoy unless it is directed at me - and essentially called the lady on it. Good vibes were had after that. Good vibes and buckets of sweat. After Byron Bay I thought I would never experience a more liquified practice - but I was wrong. We made it through and immediately headed to breakfast as Jackie is a post-workout-eater and I am an anytime-anyone-else-is-eating-eater. No wonder she is Cindy Crawford and I am Cindy Williams.

We made our home at a little cafe called Blah Blah in South Melbourne on Coventry where the WiFi was decent and the food was good. Fruit salad enough to feed a small country and toast for me along with some work on the computer and a long overdue letter writing session and we were both drained. The next move was down to Westbank where you can sit quietly by the river that separates the city and watch any number of people partaking in physical exertion you yourself should be partaking in in a pretty park lined environment. Watching the rowers for the couple of hours we spent there left my deltoids sore and we had to move on. Over to Southbank for an electronics charging session and some alone time for me to watch the sun set below cityscape and, with the exception of a boisterous group of children who had not been properly muzzled by their parents, be still.

Lucky for us, our very exclusive hostel was showing a movie yet again this evening and as we dried our morning yoga clothes on the rear-view mirrors we were entertained by the likes of the entire female population in Hollywood in 'The Women.' You hear the occasional rumbling about the movie biz providing no good opportunities for actresses and this movie would be evidence of that. Painful from soup to nuts, Eva Mendes in her underwear was the highlight for me and with the theater's integrity being significantly compromised by some noisy passerbys clearly ignoring our jurisdiction over the public space, we called it a night.

Becoming accustomed to the gentle sounds of the waves lapping onto shore and the warm sun bursting through the clouds and shining down upon my sleeping face as God's alarm, I will say that the meter maid tapping on our window to move it or lose it lacked a certain serenity. Over to yoga again, as we got a 10 day pass for only $19 we knew we had our workout and shower taken care of.

Today was Valentine's day and over my very first breakfast of Muesli I was delighted to receive an adorable card purchased in Sydney and presented to me in Melbourne by my travel companion, Jackie. Not a huge fan of V-day in general, especially not when still longing for a love lost it was a nice surprise from a girl's who enthusiasm would be contagious if I weren't so damn crotchety.

Jackie had just returned from a 6 month sojourn in December, where she crashed on my couch for a month before us heading down under and her travel mates from her journey arrived in Melbourne on the 14th so she was off to meet them and I was on my own.

I wandered down Fitzroy Street in what is supposed to be a hip part of town to find funky boutiques, book stores and painted walls at every corner. The graffiti in this neighborhood is breathtaking and when I see a friendly face, like KRS-ONE staring back at me rep'ing my hood I can't help but love it.  Solitude at its best, I took my camera along for company and landed here, where I sit, eating eggs that most certainly have some ingredient that I dare not inquire into and drinking spirulina juice in the attempts to balance out my 2 weeks of cracker and candy consumption.

Sometimes, being alone feels good.