And a koala. And dolphins. And fairy penguins. On an Aussie wildlife tour, it's easy to do what comes naturally.
By Cindy Loose
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, June 8, 2003
As the ferry from Cape Jervis nears the dock in the darkness of a Saturday night, the captain booms a warning over the intercom: "Please be careful driving, as many fairy penguins are on the road tonight."
I have come to Kangaroo Island, off the southern coast of Australia, to see koalas, kangaroos, wallabies, platypuses, echidnas, kookaburra, bandicoot, wallaroos, seals, sea lions, lorikeets, crimson rosellas and dolphins. The Aussies use so many peculiar idioms -- like "fair dinkum" to mean authentic -- that I briefly wonder if "fairy penguin" might be an Australianism for drunk driver.
That thought is erased as my husband, daughter and I step onto land and hear the noise of what could be millions of penguins, or perhaps thousands of cats in heat. A trip to the beach near our hotel reveals in the moonlight swarms of tiny grayish-blue penguins, unique to this area of the world. Some are flapping their flippers while strutting about in a mating dance; others are just busily going about their evening. People say that humor is cultural, but I can't imagine anyone failing to be amused by tuxedoed birds that ridiculously waddle so purposefully, as if they have important appointments and are running a bit late.
The 13-inch-tall fairy penguins were just one of the surprises Australia held for us. We came in search of wildlife and found ourselves enamored with the cities and towns as well. My primary goal was to swim with dolphins in the open sea, but my favorite pursuit turned out to be stalking Aboriginal art galleries.
Australia is a country at once strikingly familiar and strangely exotic. Just inland from the Great Barrier Reef lay lush plains evocative of the African veld. Suddenly you turn a corner to find towering volcanic mountains thick with vegetation, and if, like me, you have never visited Fiji, Tahiti or Bali, you're reminded of scenes from "South Pacific."
The British colonists and convicts who quickly overwhelmed the native Aboriginal tribes two centuries ago were clearly intent on transplanting the old country to this strange new land. The attempt is sometimes jarring. Rose bushes, for example, thrive so well that they're really rose trees, like something out of the Queen of Hearts' garden in "Alice in Wonderland."
The presence of so many English-speaking white people also strikes a discordant note in this exotic tropical setting so far below the equator. Equally jarring are the non sequitur responses I sometimes get to my questions and comments -- proof that while we share a language, our dialects are not always mutually intelligible. "Is there a pool in the hotel?" I ask a hotel desk clerk. "Yes, it is lovely, isn't it?" she answers.
Fully 80 percent of the plants and animals in Australia exist nowhere else on Earth. For my short time here, I've planned to see as much of the otherness as any human not hyped on drugs could possibly hope to manage.
Continent Hop
Planning a trip to this island that is also a nation and a continent is an exercise in eliminating choices.I'm intent on seeing the wildlife and beaches of Kangaroo Island, a 2 1/2-hour trip by bus and ferry from Adelaide. Of course I can't miss my dream destination of a lifetime -- the Great Barrier Reef -- simply because it's on the opposite end of the continent.
Since we have to fly into Adelaide to catch a bus and then a ferry to Kangaroo Island, we might as well see South Australia's capital, even if we can't make it to the highly lauded wine country nearby. And my husband can't imagine going Down Under without seeing Sydney.
Once you're at the Great Barrier Reef -- every Aussie we talk to says -- you have to see the Daintree Rainforest, and once you've driven as far as the rain forest, you might as well spend a night inland at one of the small, charming towns -- the real Australia as it were. Try Yungaburra, one local tells me. Who could resist a name like that?
Meanwhile, the cheapest flight we can find from the States lands in Brisbane, a two-hour plane ride north of Sydney. Given our 23-hour connecting flight from Washington and a 14-hour time difference, we figure we might as well rest up there a day or so.
In other words, we did the forced march -- the "If it's Tuesday, it must be Perth" version of an Australian trip. Of course we knew that Australia is nearly as large as the continental United States, even though it has fewer than 20 million people, compared with more than 280 million in the States. We realized we couldn't possibly glimpse all the highlights in two weeks. That's why we crossed off three-fourths of the items on our must-see list. The key lesson I can now share: You can't even reasonably glimpse a quarter of the highlights in two weeks.
Unfortunately, it wasn't until our return that a friend gave us an invaluable piece of advice: No matter where in the world you go, pretend during your visit that one day you'll return, even if the prospects of doing so are dim.
Alternatively, like me, you could do a dawn-to-dusk frenzy and not realize what a great time you had until you come home and develop the pictures.
On the last night of our trip, in a Sydney hotel, my 10-year-old expressed the thought I was having at that very moment: "We went to way too many places," she said. I agreed but asked her what she would have left out. We both thought long and hard and came up with the same answer: "Nothing."
Koala Cuddling in Brisbane
I presume airfare to Brisbane was cheap because the city is not high on most tourists' must-do lists. But it should be. Three-story turn-of-the-century buildings painted in blues, greens and yellows mix easily with more modern structures. Water taxis crisscross a broad river that runs through the city. Our hotel faces the Brisbane River on one side, and on the other, an immaculately groomed public park with palm trees and a giant statue of Queen Victoria. A block-long casino is housed in a graceful Renaissance-style building that was once the treasury office.Strolling around the capital, I notice a small scrap of paper on the sidewalk -- notable because it's the only tidbit of trash on streets devoid of so much as a discarded cigarette butt. It's a sign of civility we are to find in every Australian city and town.
Should you have only a day to spend in Brisbane, come on a Sunday, when morning brings hundreds of flea market stalls to a big swath of the city. It's my first introduction to the great shopping opportunities Australia offers, and although I bought more than I could afford or easily carry, I still think of particular crafts, artwork, jewelry and clothing I wish I'd added to my credit card.
After overspending, we head to the outskirts of the city, to the Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary. I know I'll be seeing loads of animals in the wild, but the prospect of holding a koala, however briefly, is like a stiff cup of coffee to my jet-lagged self.
Hold off on the angry letters: Only koalas that seem to like being held are used for the koala-cuddling photo opportunities, the brochures promise. No koala gets cuddled by visitors more than 30 minutes a day, and they get every third day off. Besides, my koala seems to genuinely like me, and hugs tight and close to my face. If any living being in this exchange is a tad nervous, it is me, even though the koala is no bigger than a bear cub. My only advice is to save the koala sanctuary until near the end of your trip, because once you've cuddled a koala, you can't get as excited as you should about spotting them in the wild, high in the top reaches of giant eucalyptus trees.
On the other hand, the visit to Lone Pine turned out to be my only chance to see a Tasmanian devil, which is much cuter than its name implies, and to view a brushtail possum, whose huge eyes make it look more like a Hobbit than the creepy American opossum.
Kowabunga Yungaburra
Yungaburra isn't mentioned in any of the guidebooks I consulted, but add it to your list. The drive on Gillies Highway alone makes the side trip worthwhile. The so-called "highway" is basically just a paved-over Aboriginal trail that starts near Cairns, then winds through steep mountains and past stunning views before reaching Yungaburra, 2,500 feet above sea level in North Queensland.The turn-of-the-century village and its surroundings make me think of what travel must have been like in 1940s America -- low-key, very little traffic, family-owned accommodations and restaurants, small shops, friendly people who probably gossip about you after you've gone, and sparsely touristed natural beauty all around.
When we arrive, our innkeepers are standing on the porch of their home, worried because we are later than expected. After giving us a key to our cottage, they tell us we might like to see the frogs that live in the toilet of the cottage next door, and give us a key to that cottage as well.
We head straight for the next-door cottage. But there are no frogs in the toilet. Later, we discover that they live not in the toilet bowl, where we'd been looking, but in the tank behind the seat. The owners suggest that guests leave the tank top askew and the bathroom window open so the frogs can come and go as they please.
Just before dawn, I awaken to see the nocturnal platypuses in a creek just down the road from our cottage. I watch these creatures that seem to be from the era of the dinosaurs and figure that in another billion years, they'll have evolved into a large-nosed race of people. We could, of course, have spent the morning enjoying our cottage, our hot tub, the village and our neighbor's toilet before heading to Port Douglas and the Great Barrier Reef. Instead, we drive about 15 minutes to take a quick swim in Lake Eacham, a crater lake formed by an extinct volcano. Still dripping, we find the nearby path that leads to a waterfall that we're told cascades into a swimming hole.
A sign on the road next to the path warns drivers to avoid kangaroo, cassowaries, emu and fat-tailed dunnart. This gives me pause. An emu in a zoo once tried to attack me over a sturdy fence. I'd read enough to know that cassowaries have a huge, sharp claw that can rip you to the bone, and although I have no idea what a fat-tailed dunnart is, it doesn't sound good. Nonetheless we soldier on -- until I walk into a giant spider web and flee for the car.
When we hit Mossman Gorge, just outside Port Douglas, we hire Kurranji, an Aboriginal guide with just one name, to walk us through the bush. There are 2,000 species of flora and fauna in this forest, he tells us, but 70 percent of the plants that grow here are toxic. He shows us a fruit that is edible, but if you eat too much, it will make you go blind, he says. He shows us a "fire plant" that stings and injects fiberglass-like shards into your skin. "It won't kill you, but you'll wish you were dead," he says.
"God showed us through dreams and visions what is good to eat and what is poisonous," says Kurranji. One method of His instruction, I'm guessing, was probably trial and error by death.
On and Off the Reef
It's the largest living organism on Earth -- the only underwater creation big enough to be seen from outer space. You'd have to be crazy to visit Australia and miss the Great Barrier Reef.If pressed for time, however, you could skip Cairns, one of the two gateways to the reef. In fairness, Cairns is bigger, cleaner, less densely developed and more sophisticated than the beach towns of most of the U.S. East Coast. Plus it has a number of excellent Aboriginal art galleries. But it has that tourist-beach-town feel. The smaller, less-touristed gateway of Port Douglas is my kind of town.
The first morning there I'm awakened by birds -- flocks of Hitchcockian proportion. But the air is filled not with threatening sea gulls but with hundreds of red, purple, blue and yellow parakeets and lorikeets, which are basically giant parakeets but more brilliantly plumed.
Port Douglas's downtown area, bracketed by sandy beach and bay, has a sunny air of understated wealth and natural beauty. Not that we have a lot of time to enjoy it. After daylight, we board a 400-passenger catamaran for the 11/2-hour sail to Agincourt Reef, part of the Great Barrier Reef. There we break loose from the masses and board a motorboat with just three other passengers and a marine biologist. We head farther out to sea, to the very edge of the continental shelf.
With snorkel gear, including a thin nylon suit that protects the skin from stinging jellyfish, we explore a different world beneath the sea. The numerous parrotfish we see, biologist Megan Bell tells us, increase their odds of living through a nap by excreting a mucus casing, like a sleeping bag, that disguises their fish smell. She points out giant clams I would have mistaken for rocks. We see fish harems led by one male, and Bell explains that if the male dies or abandons the school, one of the females will replace him by turning into a male -- a neat trick that would come in handy for humans.
The Great Barrier Reef is home to 1,500 species of fish and 400 types of coral. I'll say no more about it -- you simply have to add it to your list.
Clean Beaches and Loos
Make sure you turn on the radio while driving through Australia. The motion pictures the country produces -- movies like "The Dish," "Muriel's Wedding," "Gallipoli," "Babe" and "Strictly Ballroom" -- all suggest a kind of old-fashioned, sweet innocence that in some ways defines the Australian character. What you hear on the radio confirms that stereotype.Regular radio stations in Australia are likely to play American songs from the '50s. Oh, some of the music is updated. I heard, for example, a Led Zeppelin song performed by a swing band.
On the hour's drive from Port Douglas to Cairns we hear a radio hostess named Briney announce that her topic of the day is the cleanest public toilets in Queensland. And people actually call in. One caller reports a location as having toilets that are always "spotless white. It's like someone gets on her knees to get every nook and cranny."
"Oh, lovely," says Briney. "You can never overestimate the importance of a clean toilet, can you?"
Someone else calls to say they think the cleanest public toilets are in Richmond.
"Oh, tell us about them," she says.
We pull over for a swim at a beach just outside Cairns, but sit in the car a while to wait until the show is over. We do use some restraint, though, and don't visit any of the recommended toilets to see for ourselves which are cleanest. Maybe another trip.
We can, however, report that the beaches are very clean and, during the late fall and winter stinging jellyfish season, they are protected by giant nets. The beaches on the stretch near the Great Barrier Reef, though, are disappointing. Fine, but nothing special, and not like the gold and blue beaches of your Australian dreams. Those, we later hear, we just left behind near Brisbane, on the Gold Coast. I'd fly back down there in a second if I weren't scheduled to leave tomorrow for an all-day connecting flight to Adelaide.
Flipper and Friends
It's dark and we're tired, grumpy and ready for bed when we arrive at our lodgings in Adelaide. We step inside the Buxton Apartments and immediately cheer up. Our quarter of a former mansion is huge, with two bedrooms and a giant living room filled with museum-quality Victorian antiques, including a velvet sofa and one of those elegant lounges that women of that era would slouch across to have their portraits painted.In the morning we discover that much of the city has that elegantly old-fashioned, terribly British feel. In fact, Adelaide is the idealized English city that no longer exists in Great Britain, if it ever did. You half expect to see babies being strolled in big white wicker prams when you visit any of the 29 parks that cover 45 percent of the city's land.
But I've got to rush to the pier for my dolphin swim.
In retrospect, being in the water, hearing the captain's call that dolphins were approaching us and glimpsing their smooth bodies racing past mine was awesome. At the time, though, I am somewhat disappointed. I grew up watching "Flipper" and wanting to be one of those lucky kids who practically could talk with a dolphin friend who basically served as a surrogate parent in the absence of other adult supervision. I want the dolphins to surface and call to me, offering a ride. That's how badly television can mess up your mind, even decades after watching a program.
Kangaroo Island, however, is everything I expected and hoped for. There are so many kangaroos that the herds -- let me put it euphemistically -- are culled. There's an ongoing debate about whether to "cull" the koala population. A local paper editorializes against it during my visit, saying that tourists would be outraged, because they view koalas as cute and cuddly -- an argument that made me wonder how Australians view koalas.
The island also is teeming with birds and animals, including all manner of nocturnal life that we could never stay awake long enough to see. Broad white beaches stretch beneath Big Sur-like cliffs on the sparsely developed island. We spend one afternoon on a bus tour and most of another day on a four-wheel-drive tour that includes a stop in the bush. Beneath a white canopy surrounded by dense trees, the driver cooks a lunch of grilled whiting with lamb milk cheese -- our best meal in Australia.
Kangaroos spread over open fields like herds of domestic cows or occasionally jump from bushes to hop across our path. Several farmers, we find, have tame kangaroos that barely tolerate petting.
The wallabies and wallaroos tend to be shy, and we have to peer through thick undergrowth to see them. Like deer, they seem to hope that being still will make them invisible, and once they realize the jig is up, they dash away. The plentiful koalas, apparently knowing you can't climb as well as they can, either ignore you or look down on you, unconcerned.
Another guest on our four-wheel-drive tour mentions that she has just come from a small luxury tent resort called Longitude 131 that overlooks Uluru (Ayers Rock). I, of course, immediately want to see it, even though it is 1,000 miles from here.
When I return to Australia, if I ever get the chance, I want to spend at least a week on Kangaroo Island. I'd definitely need a week for Port Douglas and the nearby Atherton Tablelands, which include Yungaburra, and a few more days in Adelaide. Judging from my brief walk around Sydney Harbour, which is arguably more beautiful than the famed harbor of Hong Kong, I'm going to need another week there, and then an indeterminate number of days to see the nine-tenths of the highlights I missed the first time around.
Cindy Loose will be online to discuss this story Monday at 2 p.m. during the Travel section's weekly chat on www.washingtonpost.com.
Details: Australia
For travel between major cities, fly -- unless you have months to tour the country. Qantas sells a Boomerang Pass for $172 each way per zone, plus about $12 in taxes, with a minimum of two flights. Cities between Cairns and Sydney are considered one zone, as is Cairns to Adelaide. If you fly to Australia on Qantas, you can get a small price break on internal flights; ask for the Oz fare. You must buy initial segments of either pass before youfor leave the States.
While puddle jumpers are available between Adelaide and Kangaroo Island, I recommend SeaLink (011-61-8-8202-8688, www.sealink.com.au), a comfortable coach bus-ferry combo that includes a scenic 1 1/2 -hour bus ride from Adelaide to Cape Jervis and a 45-minute ferry trip to the island. One-way fares start at $64; packages are also available.
We were very happy with the
Kangaroo Island's specialty is not lodging, but the most charming choice we found was
In Sydney, we opted for the
We thoroughly enjoyed our bush walk with a Kuku-Yalanji guide at the
To swim with dolphins near Adelaide:
Many tour operators take snorkelers and divers to the Great Barrier Reef.