Off the Beaten Path- our first Walkabout

So, I'm sitting cross-legged in the dirt in a cave with eucalytus leaves shoved up my nose. As I look around at the other people with various green leaves and stems poking out of their nostrils, including my husband and kids, I'm wondering, what in the world have I gotten us into?

I had been searching for an adventure that would feel unique to Australia and a bit off the beaten path. I stumbled across this Walkabout in the Lonely Planet Guide. It is advertised as a day spent with an aboriginal guide, bushwalking in the Blue Mountains and learning about aboriginal culture, including visits to sacred sites with drawings thousands of years old. I booked it and now find myself questioning my judgement as the guide takes another deep breath in of Eucalyptus and pauses a good fifteen seconds to enjoy the euphoria of the leaves before speaking.

Evan, our guide, is of aboriginal descent. He is tall and lanky and he is as fair as Snow White. When he arrived to initiate us on our journey, I thought, we just got scammed. He looks nothing like the "authentic" guys in traditional clothing and painted faces playing the digiredoo on the boardwalk by the Opera House. Now here we are in the dirt with Evan, as he unravels a whole series of beliefs and assumptions we have about the Aboriginal people. He's deeply knowledgable, quite spiritual and very opinionated.

We eventually yank the leaves out and spend the day on the walkabout. It's fascinating on a number of levels. We're introduced to the flora and fauna and its medicinal values. We do spend time at a sacred site and learn about the cave paintings. Evan also takes us a wild tangent on the evils of cell phones, microwaves and the puppets in the Australian government. He is a good representation of worlds of thought colliding. He lives and breathes the knowledge and understanding of an ancient culture and yet exists in the modern world. I don't know if he's right or wrong, but I do love hearing the beliefs that are so contrarian to my everyday life.

At the same time, the kids have lost interest and are falling asleep on a rock. Evan pulls himself back on track and the afternoon moves quickly. The kids are especially fascinated by Aboriginal thoughts on approaching adulthood. Kai is also curious about the cave drawing of the man with a giant penis. It spawns hours of speculation later in the car.

Mia asks about the fairness behind aboriginal men taking multiple wives. She also probes as to why the women had to go live with the husband's family in another clan, rather than remaining close to her own family. Evan moves delicately through his answers, but I'm with Mia. It raises more questions than answers.

At one point, we are asked to participate in a traditional dance, while Evan beats sticks against a piece of wood. We all bounce around, but Kai is distracted. At the end of the day, when we go over the highlights as a family, Kai calls forward that moment. While we were all dancing, Kai was watching a leech wiggle it's way up Evan's shoe and sock. That explains Kai's vigilance and refusal to sit on the ground all day.

Five minutes before the end of the hike Evan stops us. He is saying his good-bye and requests permission to leave us so he can sprint the last five minutes of the hike. It's the oddest thing. Our guide literally said good bye before the end of the tour and sprinted away. Rob and I stare at each other, dumbfounded. Then, with the kids, we figure, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. We chase after him, sprinting the last few hundred yards of the walkabout and end on a victorious note.

 

 

 

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Beaches, Buses, Bondi and Butt-lag

I need to remember that on these long trips, Day Two is always the toughest. The excitement and adrenaline of the first day have worn off and jetlag is hovering at the edges, waiting for the first glimpse of fatigue to come roaring in.

For our second (and last) full day in Sydney, we decided to take the public bus out to Bondi Beach. Ever ambitious, there is a beautiful 2-3 mile cliff walk that stretches from Bondi to Coogee beach that we intended to conquer (or maybe just me. Rob tends to be far more practical about these things). As a side note, I do think it's a brilliant idea to take some form of public transportation while you are in a foreign city at least once. Even if it's not a great experience, it will make for a good story later. Our bus ride was relatively uneventful, but we got to pass through a lot of neighorhoods, parks and by beauiful churches that don't hit any Lonely Planet Guide.

We arrive at Bondi Beach and it's gorgeous. Lots of colorful characters and lots of tourists, like us. We plop down on the warm sand and survey all the people who are frolicking happily in the waves. As the water in San Diego never truly gets warm, we are skeptical of people in swimsuits who don't look like they are freezing. Finally, curiousity takes hold and we are all four in the water, splashing and body surfing. It is already one of my favorite moments of the trip.

Eventually, we get hungry. We make our way to lunch and I am still filled the fantasy of a family walk together. With much resistance, I coax the family into meandering to the first lookout. Shortly into the walk, things are devolve quickly as jetlag has turned my kids into these strange, unfamiliar forces of negativity. Simultaneously, Rob and I experience a sudden and unexpected loss of patience. The 500 yard walk to the cliff is like a landmine of petty arguments. It is a strange mixture of incredible landscape and scenic beauty agains a foreground of a family of buttheads. We capture the beauty and the moment and trek back to the bus-stop, where gratefully the bus arrives without a wait.

Back at the hotel, everyone diappears into a comfortable silence for the rest of the evening.

 

The bus

 

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Flip Flop Slaughter

Disaster struck near the Opera House yesterday. Kai and I were strolling along and he gave me the flat tire of all flat tires. I took another step and almost fell on my face. I looked down and the straps had been pulled out of my flip flop. There was no resuscitating it. My poor flip flop had been killed on impact.

I hobbled across the way to the nearest convenience store. Mind you, at this time, all of these beautiful, well-dressed people are walking by, making their way to the opera house for a very refined evening, as I'm hobbling past them, dragging my foot made useless by lack of footwear. Add to that, my family is trying very hard not to laugh at my gait and failing.

I must not be the first person to have this experience as there are plenty of choices in the store.

At least I won't look like a tourist, right?

 

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A Lens on Sydney

We are in the heart of Sydney. Or, at least the tourist version of Sydney. We can see the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge from our hotel room and in between the two is the wharf for cruise ships and other ferries.

It's warm and balmy and we take our white, pasty tourist legs and american tennis shoes and go join the Saturday morning throng of people. Our plane landed at 8am in the morning and we are anxious for "real food" as Mia calls it. No matter how nice the airplane is, the food is never good. We find a farmer's market close by and dive into gyozas, sushi, meatball sandwiches and roasted pumpkins and feta cheese. It is heavenly.

Now it's time for serious tourist action. The camera comes out. The very one I bought the day before the trip. It's our first camera that's not a point-and-click. Actually, it is, but you can also zoom and it looks like you know what you are doing. As with everything in our family, the camera is now a major point of negotiation. The kids take control and there's a camera rotation between Kai and Mia, with Rob and I getting a chance to take pictures one in eight turns. There is a very skewed sense of equality. The kids instinctively know how to use the camera and are soon explaining the settings to me. Which is so much better than reading the manual.

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International Fruit Smugglers

We barely escaped heavy fines and custom agents entering Australia. It was only Mia's quick wits and love of dogs that saved us.

Going through customs, a working beagle came through sniffing bags. He got very excited at my backpack and wouldn't leave it. I laughed with the customs agent, saying he must want the peanut butter sandwich. Before we left San Diego, my mom was in town and packed us sandwiches for the plane. We had barely touched the food and it was still in my bag. The customs agent brought my backpack over and examined the contents. Her smile faded as she pulled out a bag that contained not only sandwiches but a bag of carrots, grapes and, oh horror, bananas. Uh, oh.

"Ma'am, do you know there is a steep fine for bringing fruit into Australia illegally?"

Me, "Uh, my mom packed it." Nervous smile. God I sound like an idiot. I'm blaming my mother???

Mia, "Look it how cute the dogs are. Can I see them?"

The agent's face softens and takes Mia to check out the other fruit-sniffing Beagles. She comes back in a minute, chatting with Mia and says she won't fine me this time. We left before she could change her mind.

Thank you, Mia.

 

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Ghetto Parking at LAX

 

"But LAX is the other way off the freeway."

"I know, but this is the direction for the long-term parking."

A half a mile later, deep in the heart of Inglewood.

"Are you sure?"

Irritated. "Yes."

"So how much was this parking?"

After circling it twice, we realize that the TradeWinds Hostel for Backpackers is the home for our long term parking.

Clever online marketing and low pricing drew us in. As we passed more buildings with bars over the windows on the way to the hostel, I began to wonder if this wasn't the most dangerous part of our journey. And to think, I didn't realize our adventures could begin before leaving US soil.

As we pull in and speak with the lovely woman behind the counter, there are young international twenty year olds playing pool in the background patio with the heavy scent of marijuana wafting through the air. I suddenly feel like I'm twenty years old again, carefree with nothing but $5 and a backpack. The sense that anything can happen.

That feeling is still with when when I turn as my kids ask me where the bathroom is. While I fill out forms releasing the hostel of responsibility of damages to our car, Rob asks where the car will be parked in our absence.

"Oh, we have some off-site garages around town." She says with a gold-grill grin, before continuing her conversation with the fellow attendant in spanish.

Rob looks at me and asks "Do you think we'll ever see our car again?"

It's debatable but the decision is made.

We then pile into a 1970's party bus with the happiest driver in the world blasting his favorite hits from the 80's and singing along wildly. We are the only passengers and we all join in, dancing and humming as we make the multiple mile drive to the airport.

It's going to be a goooood trip.

 

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Preparation like a Boy Scout

T - 36 hours til departure. I am at the computer, seeking out best travel cameras to purchase 24 hours before leaving the country for Australia with the family. And yes, we've had plane tickets for six months. Why do I do this?

We like to live on the edge.

I guess I could have researched cameras for weeks and agonized over the features and trade-offs. Instead, I got lucky. I texted those two friends we all have- you know, the ones who are smart and do their research and likely would have purchased their camera well in advance of their trip.

The answer? Any version of the Canon Rebel series. The annals of Best Buy await.

 

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