Magnetic Island
Week 3:
Townsville
James Cook University, yet another monument to the ubiquitous James Cook. I can't seem to escape his presence, and neither can anyone else. Captaining several different vessels over the course of 29 years, he sailed to all 7 continents and discovered New Zealand, Hawaii and Australia, among others. In fact, the native Hawaiians were so grateful for their "discovery" they bludgeoned him to death.
It is at James Cooks University that I am currently "squatting" (though I'm not sure how many more years gives me squatters rights). I've got a cheery 3 x 6 ft screened in porch off of Carrie's dorm room to call my own. I was going to spruce the place up a bit, a little shag carpeting here and a lava lamp there can really do a lot for the feng shui, but I haven't had the chance to settle. Despite the lack of homemakings, its a great place to sleep, open air, and quiet.
Not long after we arrived, though thankfully enough time for a shower, I re-sorted my pack and Chris and I jumped a ferry (no, not a fairy*) heading for Magnetic Island. Every transport, be it bus, ferry, or plane, that I've taken spits you out into a visually assaulting terminal, and this was no different. Brightly colored flyers, pamphlets, posters, of every scuba trip on the East coast, discounts at hostels, bus schedules, tours, lost dogs, whatever, its there. Chris, more accustomed to the marketing madness, struck out straight for the hostel bus.
Enter Captain Daniel. With a face like a dehydrated grapefruit and shredded jean shorts stolen from Daisy Duke, the first intelligible mutterance was "Getonthefuckingbus". From there he went into a 5 minute mumbling tirade punctuated with moments of silence where I thought he was going to envelope his whole face with his lower lip. Remember the commercials with the puckered bitter beer face guy? He's got nothing on the Captain.
Base Backpacker is a hostel perhaps better suited to some of my socially outgoing friends. Its atmosphere more befitting that of a singles cruise, with nightly social events escalating in debauchery through the week, and this week, culminating in an all night Full Moon Raver Party (should I tell them its not actually scheduled on a full moon?). The term "backpacker" here takes on a different meaning than what I had envisioned. Instead of the traditional trekking gear, most of these faux-packers carry hairdryers, irons, several sets of club worthy clothes, skimpy swimsuits, and the intense desire to party hard. That's not to say you can't find a few true trekkers in the crowd, or at least ushered into one socially awkward corner. Though everyone was open and pleasant to talk to, the scene was not my cup of tea and I was glad we were only staying one night.
From Wednesday's reconnoitering high atop an abandoned WWII lookout post, we planned the next few day's destinations. While we hit the water for some fantastic snorkeling, the highlight of Arthur Bay was the amazing rock formations; they looked like sculptures from a modern art museum exhibit.
Carrie took the ferry out to join us on the island. Initially, the idea of spending the night on the uppermost platform of the lookout post seemed like a lofty idea. With views of the incredible bays, a gentle breeze to sooth the day's sunburn, and the promise of an unimpeded views of sunrise, we couldn't resist. Later that night, the temperature dropped, the wind failed to slow, and before long we all headed for shelter below. Seizing the opportunity of the abandoned upper platform, a possum reminded us this was his territory, and marked the perimeter with astonishing amount of pee.
I was content to cure my restless night's sleep with morning, midday and afternoon naps in shady seclusion at various spots around Florence Bay. Chris and Carrie claimed I was missing the best snorkeling on the island but I have no regrets, especially now, back at James Cook University, they're both asleep and I can use the computer for my nefarious blogging.
My First Koala. Yes, I found it. No, you can't have it. The Forts trail is a great place to find them.
I have no idea what this was doing on the trail.
Chris, standing tall.
Sunrise over Bowling Green Bay.
Guess which one can nearly eclipse his whole face with his lower lip.
*Sadly, in the land of croc-wrestling, kangaroo-eating cowboys, the insinuation of homophobia holds a similar taboo as in the States; Fairydown, a New Zealand company legendary for its outdoor gear, will be changing its name. Market research has shown rough and rugged Aussie men find the brand name Fairydown lacking in the testosterone department. Sir Edmund Hillary didn't seem concerned with the image of his masculinity when he summited Everest swathed in Fairydown gear. Yet despite Hillary's seal of approval for Fairydown, you will soon be able to find the great gear under its much more virile name, Zone.
Townsville
James Cook University, yet another monument to the ubiquitous James Cook. I can't seem to escape his presence, and neither can anyone else. Captaining several different vessels over the course of 29 years, he sailed to all 7 continents and discovered New Zealand, Hawaii and Australia, among others. In fact, the native Hawaiians were so grateful for their "discovery" they bludgeoned him to death.
It is at James Cooks University that I am currently "squatting" (though I'm not sure how many more years gives me squatters rights). I've got a cheery 3 x 6 ft screened in porch off of Carrie's dorm room to call my own. I was going to spruce the place up a bit, a little shag carpeting here and a lava lamp there can really do a lot for the feng shui, but I haven't had the chance to settle. Despite the lack of homemakings, its a great place to sleep, open air, and quiet.
Not long after we arrived, though thankfully enough time for a shower, I re-sorted my pack and Chris and I jumped a ferry (no, not a fairy*) heading for Magnetic Island. Every transport, be it bus, ferry, or plane, that I've taken spits you out into a visually assaulting terminal, and this was no different. Brightly colored flyers, pamphlets, posters, of every scuba trip on the East coast, discounts at hostels, bus schedules, tours, lost dogs, whatever, its there. Chris, more accustomed to the marketing madness, struck out straight for the hostel bus.
Enter Captain Daniel. With a face like a dehydrated grapefruit and shredded jean shorts stolen from Daisy Duke, the first intelligible mutterance was "Getonthefuckingbus". From there he went into a 5 minute mumbling tirade punctuated with moments of silence where I thought he was going to envelope his whole face with his lower lip. Remember the commercials with the puckered bitter beer face guy? He's got nothing on the Captain.
Base Backpacker is a hostel perhaps better suited to some of my socially outgoing friends. Its atmosphere more befitting that of a singles cruise, with nightly social events escalating in debauchery through the week, and this week, culminating in an all night Full Moon Raver Party (should I tell them its not actually scheduled on a full moon?). The term "backpacker" here takes on a different meaning than what I had envisioned. Instead of the traditional trekking gear, most of these faux-packers carry hairdryers, irons, several sets of club worthy clothes, skimpy swimsuits, and the intense desire to party hard. That's not to say you can't find a few true trekkers in the crowd, or at least ushered into one socially awkward corner. Though everyone was open and pleasant to talk to, the scene was not my cup of tea and I was glad we were only staying one night.
From Wednesday's reconnoitering high atop an abandoned WWII lookout post, we planned the next few day's destinations. While we hit the water for some fantastic snorkeling, the highlight of Arthur Bay was the amazing rock formations; they looked like sculptures from a modern art museum exhibit.Carrie took the ferry out to join us on the island. Initially, the idea of spending the night on the uppermost platform of the lookout post seemed like a lofty idea. With views of the incredible bays, a gentle breeze to sooth the day's sunburn, and the promise of an unimpeded views of sunrise, we couldn't resist. Later that night, the temperature dropped, the wind failed to slow, and before long we all headed for shelter below. Seizing the opportunity of the abandoned upper platform, a possum reminded us this was his territory, and marked the perimeter with astonishing amount of pee.
I was content to cure my restless night's sleep with morning, midday and afternoon naps in shady seclusion at various spots around Florence Bay. Chris and Carrie claimed I was missing the best snorkeling on the island but I have no regrets, especially now, back at James Cook University, they're both asleep and I can use the computer for my nefarious blogging.
My First Koala. Yes, I found it. No, you can't have it. The Forts trail is a great place to find them.
I have no idea what this was doing on the trail.
Chris, standing tall.
Sunrise over Bowling Green Bay.
Guess which one can nearly eclipse his whole face with his lower lip.*Sadly, in the land of croc-wrestling, kangaroo-eating cowboys, the insinuation of homophobia holds a similar taboo as in the States; Fairydown, a New Zealand company legendary for its outdoor gear, will be changing its name. Market research has shown rough and rugged Aussie men find the brand name Fairydown lacking in the testosterone department. Sir Edmund Hillary didn't seem concerned with the image of his masculinity when he summited Everest swathed in Fairydown gear. Yet despite Hillary's seal of approval for Fairydown, you will soon be able to find the great gear under its much more virile name, Zone.
posted by Vit-One at 10:37 PM
1 Comments:
Hi Nick
Glad to hear you survived the epic bus-ride and made it to Maggie. Don't forget to go to one of the nude beaches and look out for the guy wearing only an Akubra (aussie bush hat).
We miss you! Last night, Lee called out several times to Milo, foraging in the back yard, "Go git 'em" a la Nick style. Nick treated us to a fantastic impression of George Dubya which involved a lot of saying of "we'll git 'em"...
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