Today we went to the Melbourne Aquarium. Since it is Sunday, the place was packed with screaming little brats, but the fish were still pretty (even if my camera can’t take good dark shots).
Here’s a few of the best:
They have one of those walk-through underwater tunnels, too. There were some massive manta rays, sharks, and sting rays:
After the aquarium, we decided to stop by the market (where the dead people are buried) to look for dinner. They closed just as we got there, but we got some fish. Came home, made a five-star, four-course dinner. I made dessert (fruit pizza), and invited Chris, Tanya, and Mrs. Allen. Tanya filled us in on her trip to Tokyo while we ate and watched Dance.
Tomorrow, I’ll pack and we’ll go to the airport. But for now, we’re ignoring that.
Saturday we got up and drove to Bendigo, picking up Tara along the way. Shelley was hosting the first get-together for her ‘Australian fans of Supernatural’ group. There were 8 of us all together, all local to Bendigo. She made goodie bags for us to take home. We watched a couple episodes, watched the blooper reels, played some trivia games, and had lunch. She also showed us the website she’s going to start.
At 4, Caroline and I picked up her mom from the train station. We brought her back to Melbourne because Monday Chris is taking her to the Gold Coast, sightseeing. The highways were packed; the local racing group, the Crusty Demons, was having a show and since they just broke a motorcycle jump record a few days ago, the show was sold out. We dropped her off and stopped back at home for a few minutes before heading into the city for our ghost tour.
After a quick dinner at McDonald’s, we found the Haunted Bookshop and bought our tickets inside from a guy in a long black trench coat and black hat. The store was small and crowded with about 20 people. The place is decked out; there was incense burning, tarot cards on display, and a coffin was being used as a display case. All the books were shrink wrapped. The subjects ranged from angels to devils to aliens to shamanism. Then the store’s owner (the guy in black) said it was time to get started, so we headed back down the stairs to the street.
A mob of people were gathered around, waiting. There must have been about 100 people, seemingly out of nowhere. We started to think that this might not be the tour we had imagined it would be.
The two-hour tour was decent enough. We walked from building to building and our overly-theatrical guide would tell us the history of each place through a microphone. We followed him like a herd of cattle through dark narrow alleys, across four-lane intersections, through parking lots and gardens. Some of the early stops were uncomfortable as everyone tried to squeeze in close enough to hear. Some of the stops were disappointing: we were told we’d ‘go through a haunted building’ when in reality we were led into a dark, abandoned parking garage. We were told we would walk through a cemetery and in reality we walked through the empty market place, which had been built on top of an old cemetery. Our large group attracted a lot of attention as we were led past night clubs and bars and I’m sure some people just joined in part-way through. At one point, we were waiting to cross an intersection and a police car pulled up beside us and asked what were doing. The reactions were consistently entertaining.
Soon after that, we came to a stop in front of some old hotel. While we were half-hearing how it came to be haunted, this good-looking, young guy behind us started yelling and walked up to his buddy and hugged him. All of our group was distracted for a moment. Then the tour guide made some smart comment to regain attention and continued with his story. But the two guys continued being boisterous. They were dressed in jeans and tight t-shirts and stood at the back of a van, getting things out and talking about us—loudly—and laughing. Like, really laughing. Like, under-the-influence-of-something laughing. Eventually they closed the van and headed off down the street towards another hotel, and that was the last we saw of them. But, when we looked back at their van, written across the window was: www.aussie-spunks.com.au.
Strippers.
Heh heh.
That was probably the highlight of the tour. It was good, I don’t understand how it can be so highly rated. I think it might be a case of greed: at $20 a head, the bookstore owner made a pretty fine earning for two hour’s worth of walking and talking. His information was good, but I would’ve liked to heard more and been less crowded.
After a quick drive around Cobart cemetery to look for a glowing blue tombstone (and not finding it) we dropped Tara off at her house and went home, exhausted.
Here I sit, half-watching Dr Phil help 700-pound people get help as I blog and listen to the rain outside.
It’s been raining all day. Started yesterday, about a two hours after I hung my laundry out to dry. *sigh* Oh well—I’ve been blessed with excellent weather the entire time I’ve been here, so I won’t complain.
I should be writing, but can’t get in the mood. I’ve written 1300 words in the past two days, so I figure I can take a little break. The novel is coming along quite nicely, by the way. Saturday (or was it Friday?) Caroline sat me down on the floor of her living room and we mapped out everything I’ve done so far. I’ve been feeling like something was off, like the story was suddenly not what I wanted it to be about—too complicated, too much of my own interests. So we talked about it and I feel good about simplifying it, which is really going back to my original outline, before I got wrapped up in the details and mechanics of things. Stacks of paper covered the floor. I broke out the note cards, made notes, switched scenes around and figured out what still needs to be written. Caroline added up my approximate word count to date, which is nearly 70,000 words. A typical novel is 90-120 thousand. It feels right—now that I’ve brought back some of the older material, I’m over half-way there. It all desperately needs polishing, of course, but that’s for a later time. First I need to finish the story. I’m comfortable with that.
We broke for a late lunch and sat down with our laptops, each of us logged on to Amazon.com. We read each other titles of books to see if the other could guess what the book was about. It was a good exercise, showing us just how important a title is and how powerful a good one is. Neither of us was satisfied with our current working titles, and I personally love titles that are phrases (especially contradicting ones), so we hunted through quotes and poems and song lyrics. Caroline’s always been a fan of William Blake, and it was in one of his poems that she found the most perfect title for her story.
Saturday, to reward ourselves, we spent the day book shopping! We hit two second hand stores and a garbage dump site and ended the day with a huge stack of books each, and didn’t spend more than fifty bucks. The rest of the day we played with anobii.com and looked over our loot with pride.
Easter Sunday, Chris drove us to Echuca to visit his and Caroline’s father and uncle. Along the way we met their mother, who gave us back Paddy and her own dog, Chester, because in a couple weeks Chris will be taking her to the Gold Coast. With the dogs in tow, we got to their dad’s place and spent the afternoon catching up (mostly talking cars) and comparing Australia to the US. They were kind enough to buy us lunch (burgers) and when we left, each of us ‘kids’ got a bag of Easter goodies. I was really surprised at their generosity—I’d just finally come to terms with the fact that I would miss Mom’s basket this year.
Monday was still a public holiday so most stores were closed, but we did find one open bookshop and raided it. Caroline made out great!!
This week I’ve been holding down the fort at home with the dogs while Caroline is at work. Back to the gym, writing, reading, watching Dr Phil and Opera. Saturday we’re going to Bendigo, for a miniature Supernatural get-together with Shelley and a few other fans. That night, we’re doing a walking ghost-tour around Melbourne—during which Earth Hour will take place.
April 11th and 12th, Batavia, Illinois is hosting this big concert-thing (which I couldn’t care less about) but guess who will be there talking about ‘life’s challenges, triumphs, and faith’? You guessed it, my hero: The Dog, available for a meet-and-greet.
But more importantly, (*high-pitched girly giggle*): Leland.
For less than fifty dollars and a mere 8 hours driving time, I could meet my current obsession—I mean, crush. My heart beats faster just thinking about it. (*giggle*)
But seriously, I don’t think I can. Neither Melanie nor Dr Denny will let me take off for the weekend a week and a half after I get back. And granted it’s not much money, but I probably shouldn’t indulge. Exercise restraint and all that crap. (*whimper/sigh*) Plus, who would be insane enough to go with me?
Well, maybe I’ll try to write now. I keep waiting for this book to finish itself, but it just ain’t happening. The nerve.
Today we were checking out of the resort and sailing back to Melbourne. First thing, we went back to the lake (still had an hour and a half left on our 24 hour park pass) and took sunrise photos. Smoke filled the air, most likely a ‘fuel reduction’ where they burn out the undergrowth of the forest so that it doesn’t turn into an out of control wildfire in the summer. It blew over fairly quickly, but we still got a good mix of photos:
Then we headed back to the resort to stuff down another free breakfast and check out. We toured the photo gallery, taking note of professional technique, feeling inspired to read the trials and tribulations of the photographers in their printed notes about each picture. Seems it’s normal to take 200 shots of the same thing and only find one of them ‘breath taking’. Maybe we could do this, after all. We’d need better cameras, of course. And the initiative. But we might just have a chance.
Feeling hopeful, we got on the road and started back up north, to Devonport where the Spirit of Tasmania would depart from. But Tasmania is known for a few things: Devils, which we’d seen; Cheese, which we’d tasted and splurged on; scenery, which we’d taken hundreds of photos of; and Chocolate.
Anvers is a small chocolate factory slash restaurant that makes fine chocolate, truffles and fudge. It doesn’t look like a factory at all but more like an old colonial home. Gardens surround the buildings and inside, nice wood floors and heavy wooden tables and chairs make up the dining area. And the cakes.
The cakes.
We had just stuffed ourselves at the breakfast buffet, but here we were, two hours later, tasting chocolate and what the heck, let’s have lunch. And Cake. We ordered small sandwiches which turned out to be not small at all, and a mug of ‘the best hot chocolate’, which was, in fact, pretty damn chocolatey. Yum. After stuffing down a turkey and cranberry sandwich, we shared a piece of chocolate cherry cake that was made with real cherries and lots of moist chocolate cake and cream and chocolate shavings and… I’m going into another sugar high just remembering it. After eating, we waddled into the chocolate shop and stocked up on truffles and managed to fit in a couple more samples. Now, we could die happy.
Riding our sugar high into Devonport, we decided to spend the rest of the afternoon book shopping. The smoke from this morning was back in full force, and the entire town smelled like a wood fire. Which isn’t so bad; there are worse things in the world to smell like. We scoured the shelves of three book stores and found quite a few promising stories before heading over to sit in line to board the ship.
An hour later, we were driving into the Spirit’s gut. We found our cabin, picked through the gift shop for souvenirs, then shared a dinner before planting ourselves in front of the TV with a couple of new books. Tomorrow morning at 7, we would dock in Melbourne, Caroline would go back to work for the first of a two-day stint, and I would blog in the foyer of her office building.
We got up early this morning and went into the CradleMountainPark, planning on doing a full day of walking and photography. We did—but we never imagined we’d spend the whole day on ONE walk.
Walkers are supposed to sign in so that the park service can look at the log book and see if anyone has gone missing. So at about 9:30, we signed in for our 2 hour Dove Lake Circuit walk, teasing each other about how at the rate we go, we’d probably be on the trail for three hours, taking pictures of everything. The lake was gorgeous and the weather was nice—sunny and warm. The trail wound around the lake on a variety of surfaces, sometimes gravel and sometimes wood plank, sometimes metal grating. It stayed very close to the water and sometimes branched off to small beaches, where you could take photos of the mountains as you walked below them.
Not twenty steps onto the trail, we were already taking photos. We’d stop seemingly every ten feet—more than that if we spotted a neat plant or interesting shot. The trail wound through what felt like jungle, with large, moss-covered trees and ferns and palms growing off the tree trunks. Then we’d walk through large, hilly expanses of button grass and twisted eucalyptus. Kangaroo dung is everywhere (they have a thing with pooping on top of rocks), but mainly we saw birds and small lizards and the occasional fish in the lake. We knew we were going slow as people kept passing us, but the lake really is one of those things that should come with a warning: object is larger than it appears.
We were in a photographer’s heaven. Between the 1500 meter-high CradleMountain and the plethora of tiny plants, we ended up with about 300 pictures each. The sun appeared well past its highest point when we returned to the walker’s registration, and when I signed us out I had to do a double take at the time: nearly 5 o’clock. It had taken us six and a half hours to do a two hour walk. I’m sure that earns us a prize of some kind, even if it is for the slowest walkers ever.
On our way back to the resort, we passed the sign for Devils@Cradle, a breeding and research facility for the Tasmanian Devil. And guess what? We were just in time for the 5:30 feeding tour (Hence the slogan: ‘Feed the Devil Inside’). As a precursor to the actual feeding, we listened to a presentation on the Devils and learned lots of neat tidbits: that one of their original scientific names were Sarcophilus satanicus (‘Satan’s Flesh Eater’) and how Devils really aren’t aggressive, they just make very loud and mean noises—all in an effort to avoid conflict. Which makes sense, really. Dogs to it too. Devils are scavengers, carnivorous marsupials, loners… and earned their names from their red ears (which turn red to help cool them), big white teeth, and nocturnal fighting over prey. Then our tour guide brought in a 2 year old female named Charlotte, who clung to the woman’s shoulder as we each got to feel her fur. Devils have a bite strength third only to leopards and great white sharks, but supposedly an adult male wombat would be more likely to bite a human. Then, we headed outside to watch the feeding.
Years ago, I watched a nature show on Devils and was quickly and easily convinced that they are one of the meanest animals on earth, along with the wolverine. All I could remember was that horrible, violent screaming and growling and the way they attacked each other unabashedly. Devils are not terribly big, but the minute our guide dangled a hunk of wallaby down in front of the pack of five Devils, the sounds of all hell breaking lose echoed around the mountain.
The more I watched, the more I noticed how dog-like their behavior was. When two Devils would approach each other, they would growl, making little or no eye contact, and although also growing, the other would change direction. When one got a piece of food, it would take off in search of privacy, the others running after it, all of them growling and huffing. If they all came together over the food, the screams grew even louder and they would stand off against each other—baring teeth and snapping and rearing up, but not actually fighting. They even swing their rear end around to protect their faces, as dogs do in play.
We learned that the Devils are suffering from an incurable disease, a form of viral cancer that is spreading through their population like wildfire. The Devils have such a concentrated gene pool that they cannot fight it, and once contracted, they develop tumors around their mouths that grow until they can no longer eat. The founder of Devils@Cradle is researching the disease and trying to protect western Tasmania’s Devil population, as the disease has not yet crossed the mountain range and rivers dividing the state. To strengthen the gene pool and possibly save the species, they need at least 1000 breeding Devils in captivity. Right now, there are 300.
After the tour, we went back to the lake for sunset photos, but got nothing spectacular.
Now officially out of daylight, we went back to the resort for dinner (Salmon Bruschetta) and to look through our pictures. Tomorrow, we would check out the ‘Wilderness Gallery’ across the street to see how the so-called professional photographers did it.
Today we got up and took what should have been a quick morning walk around the grounds of the Resort—except that five minutes in, we heard a rustling in the bush and had to stop and see what it was. As we stood there, absolutely silent, a padymelon emerged to nibble on moss right on the side of the walking trail. He seemed totally unperturbed by the beeping of our cameras or our whispers. We’d only been awake for half an hour, and already had some great pictures:
Then with hungry tummies, we headed inside to make the most of our complimentary breakfast, determined to ‘eat back’ the money the Grey Gum had stolen from us the night before. Which was actually harder than I thought it’d be. This was not a muffin and cereal bar that you’d find in a Best Western—this breakfast buffet had eggs and bacon and hash browns and sausage and French toast and lots and lots of fruit, and, baked beans and spaghetti—apparently an Aussie breakfast staple. Go figure.
After breakfast, we decided to check out the Devil’s Gullet, just because we were curious about the name. It was a long, slow mountain drive, followed by a fairly steep climb, but here’s the view from the top:
If TableCape was the edge of the world, Devils Gullet was the top. We stood on this metal platform that hung out over the edge of the cliff. Far down below were bits of broken rock, the pieces that had fallen over the thousands of years past. Water had carved its way through the mountains back then, but now had dwindled to a small river hidden by the trees. It was easy to imagine herds of dinosaurs roaming through the trees, pterodactyls gliding over the mountain tops. It’s the things like this that remind you how small and insignificant you really are.
After leaving the Gullet, we headed to King Solomon’s cave—only to miss the tour by five minutes. So we raced to Karapooka cave for their 3 o’clock tour, but were talked into waiting for the 4 o’clock tour as it was easier to navigate. We were not disappointed:
And as if the impressive stallagtites and underground rivers were impressive enough, at the very end of the tour our guide turned out the lights. Overhead, hundreds of tiny green lights dotted the ceiling—glow worms! We weren’t allowed to take pictures because it makes the worms stop glowing, but you’ll just have to take my word for it—it was awesome!
We were the last tour for the day and the guide was closing everything down, but was still kind enough to help us with directions back to the resort. We traveled through Paradise:
And then through a town called Sheffield that’s famous for its murals. We chased the sunset from there:
And ordered room service for dinner back at the resort. It seems this is the way to go: I got a huge chicken and avocado sandwich with fries and a salad for the price of my 1 ounce entrée the night before. Yay!
The next morning, the ship docked at 6 am. Tasmania was still dark. As the sun started to rise, we found ourselves in the tiny, picturesque town of Penguin. We watched the sun rise over the water:
Every single person we saw smiled and said hello. The front yards were all beautifully landscaped. People walked along the beach with the dogs. It was quiet, almost no traffic. Caroline has decided to retire here: the perfect retreat for a writer. As a memento of what she’s working for, she picked up Penguin, a small stuffed toy with an incredible personality.
Next we drove through Burnie, another small town but bigger than Penguin, and walked around a pretty little duck pond:
We were driving an ocean road, heading straight towards TableCape, so we stopped at the scenic outlook to see what we could see. As we parked, nothing but blue ocean lay stretched out in front of us. Caroline said, “Boy, I’d hate to fall of the edge of the world here,” And that’s exactly how I would describe it. The edge of the world.
Nearby stood a lighthouse, so we checked that out next:
Then we found ourselves in the very quiet, tropical Fernglade Reserve, hunting Platypus.
Edging our way south, we kept moving. Tasmanian is truly an island unto its own—unique and diverse and mostly untouched. There are sky-high mountains, towering 1500 meters above sea level, surrounding vast bowls of unfenced, vibrant pasture. Rivers and lakes snake through the landscape, reflecting the peaks and sky. The roads twist and turn up and around the mountains, providing breath-taking views to landscapes I’ve never seen before. In Tasmania, if you’re not looking up at a mountain, you’re looking down at the valleys and forests. Around each corner is a new landscape, literally. One minute you’re driving through thick forests and ferns, the next you could be seeing nothing but plains of burnt-orange grass and bleached-white tree trunks. And just when you think you’ve seen it all, there’s something else.
Next we stopped at Fossil Bluff. At first glance, I thought the bluff earned its name from these awesome rocks:
But once I actually neared the bluff, I could see the real reason:
Fossil Bluff was a nice little discovery—I was surprised at how much I really liked it. I quickly got caught up in beachcombing, not for shells, but for rocks. The waves had polished them all so smoothly, I almost felt like stealing for taking a handful.
After the beach, we took the exit for GuideFalls. I’ve always wanted to see a real waterfall—a big one—so when we walked down the path and saw this pathetic little river cascading over a pathetic two-foot drop, I was disappointed to say the least. But the sound of more water caught my attention, and I was appropriately awe-struck when we continued down the path and saw this:
We left GuideFalls in good spirits and continued our on out way to our accommodation, Cradle Mountain Chateau. Caroline had booked us a room at this 4 and a half star resort, claiming the price was unbelievably low for such a prestigious place, so we were pretty interested to see what we’d find. But first, we stumbled across a cemetery:
And then finally, made it to the resort. The doors are decorated with tourism awards and signs promoting the spa. The foyer is wide and bright with polished wood floors. Our room was large, came with a stocked fridge and bright, clean bathroom, and smelled great. A notebook lists all the available tours and activities available, including twilight canoe trips and lake tours and moonlight animal tours. Very impressive. And best of all, the Chateau is geared toward older people and couples; no screaming kids as in Rydges.
For dinner we forewent the $45 dollar per person buffet and ate in The Grey Gum, planning to stick to entrees and desert for half the price. I ordered seared tuna and Caroline ordered some kind of beef—and there was a moment of hesitation from the waiter when we told him that was all. Should have been a clue.
In the meantime, we were served bread with oil and herbs. It was great, but Caroline jokingly said it was probably a handout because the waiter felt sorry for us, since the only thing we ordered was entrées. Haha.
Five minutes later, the waitress appeared and set our plates down. My ‘seared tuna on a bed of green lentils’ was four slivers of raw fish on half a cup of lentils with some parsley laid on top. Caroline’s beef was raw as well, cut into paper-thin fillets the size of a USB drive. We looked at each other.
My tuna wasn’t bad—actually, it was pretty good. Caroline couldn’t really even taste her ‘dinner’. But we both ate it, and the side of roasted potatoes she’d thankfully ordered, and the bread, and actually we were full. But we’d definitely learned our lesson.
Today Caroline had an office meeting in the Melbourne Zoo. Since traffic in the city can be thick, she’d be cutting it close to making it back to the house to pick me up before we had to be at the pier for boarding the Spirit of Tasmania—so instead of meeting her in the city via afternoon train, I decided to come along and make a day of it.
On the way we picked up her boss, Michael. Together they navigated the streets and we arrived at the zoo at about 9:30. Once inside, we parted ways and I headed off, just me and my trusty camera. I walked through the monkey exhibits first. The first few exhibits were empty, and I presumed the animals were getting fed breakfast and their enclosures cleaned. But it was a nice day and there were no other people, so I just walked a little slower.
I couldn’t find any gorillas, but I did come across a tank of carp:
Then I visited the ‘tree-top monkey’ exhibit and had much better luck. They were all out and eating, and didn’t mind me being there at all:
I came across the ‘food preparation’ area and peeked inside, and found the gorillas:
Then I wandered to the elephant yard.
Somehow I looped back through the monkeys and saw the Orangutans. A mother and her baby were playing under a sheet while on the other side, a female sat with her face pressed up against the glass:
I headed into Africa next, and saw the giraffes eating:
I did a quick tour through the kangaroos, not impressed after my wonderful experience at Healesville. By this time, the zoo was starting to fill up and so I was trying to stay either ahead of or behind the herds of school kids. Got some boar pics:
And then crossed into Big Cat territory. They were all behind chain link fence which made for crappy photos—plus, it was starting to get hot and they were starting to nap in the shade. But the leopard was nice enough to wander past:
I got sidetracked by the brown bears when the keepers turned them lose to eat:
Then I finished looking at the Big Cats (although most were cougar-size and smaller) and then stumbled across the tortoise:
With the sun really heating things up and the droves of people crowding around, I took refuge in the reptile house:
As I continued my aimless wandering, I came across a massive flock of Rainbow Lorikeets bathing in the misters provided for the Red Tree Kangaroo:
I headed back to the elephants and watched the keepers bathe and elephant:
Just after that, Caroline joined me. As we were starting to walk away for lunch, the elephant keeper walked past and said it was time for elephant painting, if we were interested. So of course we followed:
I then found the lion exhibit. There were two males, and they had just gotten lunch:
While I was taking pictures of the lions, they announced that they were going to feed the African Wild Dogs (NOT HYENAS!), which were literally right behind me. So I watched that:
After watching the Dogs, I wandered past the meerkats:
And then past the Tigers again. On last night’s news, they’d said how the Melbourne zoo had locked down for a few hours because one of the tigers had gone missing, but they found it dead in the moat around its enclosure. Now, on the sign that shows pictures of each of the tigers, one of the cubs is crossed out with ‘RIP’ written under him. There are supposed to be two more cubs, but they were not there. Only one lonely mother:
Now towards the end of the day, I’d felt like I’d seen everything I wanted to—except the shy Golden Pheasant I’d missed earlier. So I doubled back to the birds and low and behold, the Pheasant was showing off all it’s glory:
Lastly I ended up in the butterfly house, surrounded by silently fluttering blues and oranges and reds and blacks. Caroline’s meeting ended and she met me inside. She’s been dying to show me St Kilda beach, so we headed there next, to kill time before we could get in line for the ship.
Then, finally, it was time to go to the boat!
I’ve never been on a cruise ship before, so the Spirit of Tasmania was a completely new experience. It can carry 1400 people and travels across the Bass straight each night, taking people and vehicles back and forth from Tassie to the mainland. Going into Tasmania, you can’t bring fruit or vegetables, and all over the loading dock there were posters warning you about sniffer dogs and the $100 fine. Didn’t see any dogs though.
It took a while to get all the cars loaded on the ship, and the fit was tight on the garage decks. There were semis and campers and motorcycles and lots of cars. A five-bank of steel cages sat in the corner; pets had to stay locked up. A lone corgi barked for its owners, while in the truck next to us, a yellow lab and a black looked perfectly content to sleep in their dog-boxes. Must be stable-minded hunters.
The boat was huge. It has a casino, two bars, two restaurants, a movie theater and a little kid’s play room. Wood floors, colored lighting, lots of comfy seats and TVs. Our room was on deck 8, so we made our way upstairs to put down our stuff before dinner. The cabin was small, but Caroline had paid extra for a porthole, so we got to look out over the ocean as the boat pulled away. Dinner was good, a reasonably priced buffet, and they we went to bed fairly early in preparation for a 5:15 wake-up call.
