Veni, Vedi, Verdi

The last act of my trip to Gondwanaland ended with a 2 day tour of Australia's first colony, Sydney. I was very curious about Sydney because throughout my trip around the eastern seaboard, other Aussie's have told me that Sydney is like New York City (doubtful, but I held my tongue). Sydney also holds another special place in my heart because it is city that my dad promised to take my mom on their belated honeymoon when they finally leave communist China and have the ability to travel freely. Hindsight tells them that they would have probably made it to Sydney sooner if they'd stayed in China and have more spending power but then I would be blogging this in Chinese and where will that leave you, my one devoted reader.

Their story is actually quite cute and slightly sad. My father was preparing to take the entrance exam for the first wave of graduate students that China was going to send to the U.S. as a result of Premier Deng Xiaping's commitment to openness following President Nixon's historic visit. Needless to say, millions of highly qualified students were all vying for a handful of spots and if you thought we Chinese-American kids are good in math, you haven't met our Chinese-Chinese counterparts.

My dad was significantly disadvantaged because unlike his peers, he did not attend high school or college due to the cultural revolution. Everything he knew, he learned on his own, in the few hours the kerosene lamp still burned after a full day of manual labor in the fields. My dad realized at the last minute that there was one subject tested that he didn't study for so my parents planned their wedding right before the exam because the state gives every newlywed 2 weeks for their wedding and honeymoon (who said those Commie's weren't romantics?). My parents got married in city hall and hightailed it out to the countryside so my dad can cram for the exam in hiding. The government would not have looked kindly upon using state given wedding time to study for the exam. Although clearly, they weren't too keen on newlyweds making babies during that time either.

While my dad was cranking out diffy-q's (actually I'm quite sure his level of math at that time was much higher than Calculus III), my mom watched TV and saw a documentary on the opening of the Sydney Opera House six years earlier (hey, those communist censors don't bleep themselves!). She was so smitten by the ethereal sails of the building and its presence against the backdrop of the city and the Harbor Bridge that my dad promised that if they make it to the U.S., he'd take her there for the honeymoon they've never had. 29 years later, they've yet to take that trip. I wanted them to meet me in Sydney but in the process of becoming an American citizen, the INS spelled my mom's name wrong on her passport so she can't travel until that is replaced. It's a little bit ironic that she left the shackles of Communist China to become prisoner of American stupidity and bureaucracy.

So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, adieu,
Connie

XXX Diving

After the Whitsunday Island "cruise" [Ali - There was definitely no shuffleboard on the Ledo Deck], we had to haul ass to Cairns for our liveaboard dive trip. Ali and I developed what I call "Land Sickness" where we'd get nauseas on land because we're so used to being tossed about at sea. This is also the part of the trip where Matt left us to do his own thing since he is not doing his open water diving certification. I'm sure he enjoyed the freedom of taking long hot showers without one of us banging down the door after 35 mins.

Our dive company was run by a bunch of 20 year-olds, which we didn't figure out until we heard some of their "teaching devices". Zak, our instructor who was actually 20, taught us his mnemonic device for remember all the things to check prior to a dive: "Bangkok Women Are Really Men". I wondered if they've had any Thai's on the boat and if they were offended. Then to remember which way to put on our weight belts we were taught "the man is always right", meaning the "male" end of the weight belt (I leave that to the interpretation of your vivid imagination) is in your right hand. Finally, for our night dive we were taught that "women don't like their nipples handled" to remind us not to point the eye of our flashlight at the fishies (subjective? no?). I think someone needs to let these over-hormoned kids off the boat more often.

I was a little wary of how much I'd like diving at first. It seemed like one of those activities you enjoy only after you've fully mastered the techniques. I have to say, I'm somewhat addicted. I'm already planning my next dive trip and filling out subscriptions to Scuba magazine. I think having my first dives in the GBR probably fueled my love for the sport but I'd imagine I'd even enjoy diving in Florida. We saw reef sharks about 2 meters in length, baracudas, parrot fish, nemo, clown fish, sting rays and huge tortoises (sadly they don't say "dude"). I also found some Chinese dim sum delicacies but we weren't supposed to take anything with us. Sea cucumber with a drizzle of sesame oil, black vinegar and cilantro? Yum!

Cairns is also where Matt and I left Ali to wander the rest of Australia on her own. I'm sure she'd do fine even if she's a little doubtful (having recently received an email from her, I can assure you, she's doing... wink, wink). So with two days left in the trip, it's off to Sydney for Matt and I. I wonder how I'd adjust back to city life after all this ruralness. I smell Bonnie again....

So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, adieu,

Connie

Captain Cook is My Homeboy

After Fraser Island and an overnight greyhound bus to Airlie Beach [Matt - We definitely brought up the average age on that bus by at least 10 years], we boarded the SV Whitehaven for a 2 night, 3 day tour of the Whitsunday Islands. During the 3 days of island hopping, I single-handedly fed the entire population of sandflies in Australia. Who doesn't like them some all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet?

The Whitehaven was a pretty old vessel and we later found out an "eco" ship (which basically translates to Old, Dirty Boat). I've also discovered that tour groups are getting smart now by labeling their tours as "eco" to appeal to the growing population of doe-eyed, "green", backpackers, determined to detoxify the Earth one Free Tibet sticker at a time. A truth in advertising translation of "eco" is: broke-ass accomodations where you have to hand pump your own toilet; take 2 minute cold showers, and "rinse" your own dishes in a communal wash bin. Let's just say our ship's carbon footprint was pretty small.

Besides being a little old and worn, the Whitehaven was charming in every other aspect. The people onboard were fun and again, mostly colleged-aged European backpackers. Everyone commented that in their long travels, we were the first American they've encountered. I love talking to Europeans and discovering that everyone loves to trash the French but the Germans hate the Dutch even more, and that they pretend not to understand the Swiss Germans and the Austrians. Meanwhile, my mom has repeatedly asked me to stop referring to my non-American friends by their nationality. "Connie-ya, why you like confuse me? Why not all white?"

While touring the Whitsunday Islands, we were once again edumacated on the heroic plight of Captain James Cook, Australia and New Zeland's boy wonder. First, we were told that the Whitsundays were so baptized because Captain Cook discovered it on what he thought was a Sunday during the Whit period of Easter. Our fearless navigator didn't realize he crossed the international dateline and it was actually Monday. Then, we docked for a night at Sid Harbor, made famous by Captain Cook's dog who died and was laid to rest at the harbor. We passed a group of rocks in New Zealand that lives in infamy as the rocks that almost caused the sinking of Captain Cook's ship. I'm really curious if there is a plaque somewhere that says "Captain Cook Farted Here".

The Whitsunday Islands came to a fun and dirty end. I did my first snorkel in the Great Barrier Reef and finally sunned on sand so pure that even under the hot, hot sun, stays cool because the silica reflected all of the sun's rays. I also found out that coral is really just solidified poop. So the GBR is essentially the largest piece of turd in the world, and unlike the Great Wall of China (which also has it's share of fecies), is actually visible from space.

Oh and I licked a tree ant because our guide said their skin is full of Vitamin-C and I wasn't about to get no scurvy. Tasted like a sour patch kid without the fruity, chewiness afterwards.

So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, adieu,
Connie

The Driftwood and the Mangrove Tree

I've noticed in the past few entries that I've been slightly negative to the thunder from down under. That really does not reflect the experience I've been having so far (let's be honest, I'm funnier when I'm bitchy). Australia is a country that is beautiful to extremes. It's like the rogue continent said to the rest of Pangea, "I'll see you a desert and raise you an outback, oh and you think you have coral my 'lil Caribbean homies? Well, tell it to my Great Barrier Reef". However, the two things that struck me as unexpectedly and disarmingly beautiful in Australia are a little more mundane: the driftwood and the Mangrove tree.

While on Fraser Island, we walked across one of the large sand dunes to a clear water lake (I asked Matt if he felt like Moses leading his people through the desert). Fraser Island is known for its pristine sand dunes that seem to form right in front of your eyes. Sand dunes however aren't inately beautiful. They're beautiful because they provide a perfect canvas for the refractory powers of the sun. What caught my eye are the large peices of driftwood that randomly speckle the dunes and beaches. They remind remind me of a Calder mobile. The driftwood individually, is sculpture-like but under the blazing Australian sun, take on a 3-D form with the shadow it casts over the perfectly smooth, flaxen sand. Every angle is unique.

Mangrove trees are not unique to Australia but I've never seen them grow as large, elegant and far from land as on Fraser Island and the Whitsundays. Mangroves are interesting little things. Their roots filter out the salt from the ocean which allows them to seemingly grow on water. As a result, their roots have to be so strong and farfetching, they also protect the coastline from erosion, storm surges and tsunamis. Growing on water, turning saltwater to freshwater, protectorate of its coastline, sounds a little divine to me.

Like Sand Through the Hourglass

We left Byron Bay and headed up the coast for our 2 day tour of Fraser Island. Naturally, glorious sunshine escorted us out as we followed the rainclouds up. At 70+ km long and 20-ish km wide, Fraser Island is the largest sand island in the world, or as 10 minutes of island history summed up in one sentence, a shitload of sand. Having gotten very little sleep the night before and finding no source of caffeine that morning, I was in full "Bonnie" (bitchy Connie) mode. I had done so well throughout this trip to keep Bonnie repressed. I even allowed some gas station attendent to chat with me for 5 minutes before demanding my receipt.

So after 5 days of no sun, our first activity of the day on Fraser Island is a tour of the rainforest. All Bonnie needed that morning was to hike 2 kms in a covered cesspool of bugs and all things that could kill you. I swear, everything is a damn rainforest to Australians. They really do have a pretty loose definition of what's just a regular old bunch of trees and what's a rainforest. The place we stayed at in Byron Bay had a few palm trees, some fern froids and a gaggle of obnoxiously loud birds and they described themselves "situated among a picturesque rainforest". What's more infuriating is that on Fraser Island, half of the "rainforest" were hupine trees planted by the timber industry after they stripped the land of it's natural inabitants. I'm no botanist, but I'm pretty sure you can't man-make a rainforest.

Then Warren, our over loquacious tour guide, told us there are over 9 deadly types of snakes, and a jillion varieties of spiders of which 2 are extremely lethal in the "fauxforest". Additionally the hupine trees that were planted by the lumberjacks have a life span of 8 to 10 years before they begin falling over. Guess when the last crop of hupines were planted? I'm fine with the constant fly buzzing noise, the gross stickiness you have to step in, even the random drops of "water" that falls on your head, but when are you ever told to "watch out for falling trees" on a rainforest hike? I blew through that fauxforest so fast you would have thought I worked out. [Ali - You didn't even stop to ask for a picture of yourself!].

The afternoon on Fraser Island was must more successful because (a) they fed me and (b) I found some mildy drinkable form of coffee. We also finally made it to the beach, which again, we had to race against the tides to get across [Ali - I needed a sports bra for that jaunt!]. It is only on the beach that you really fully appreciate just how much sand had accumulated over the years to form Fraser Island and more importantly, how resilient and resourceful flora life is to be able to support rainforests (as dubious as the moniker is) on a bed of sand.

So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, adieu,

Connie

Umbrella, Ella, Ella

Now that it's raining more than ever, know that we'll still have each other, you can stand under my umbrella, ella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh, eh...

It rained for 5 days straight including every day we were at Byron Bay. How is a girl to develop wrinkles and skin cancer under these conditions?