A Day at the Beach

I had to go over to the beach area anyway to pick up my new ride. Pretty fabulous, isn't it? I took it for a test drive and was happily surprised to find it runs like new. I promised the former owner I'd make sure she got out often. I've never seen anyone so attached to a bicycle, but he took good care of it and recently gave it an overhaul, which makes it a great deal for me. This type of top of the line bike goes for something like $900 - $1100 new. (I no longer have to distinguish between AUD and USD because the markets say they are equivalent. The price of a case of Corona jumped this week. Let's hope it's temporary.) I find walking an unacceptable mode of transportation in these parts so biking is a pretty exciting prospect. And I've never owned a nice bike before so visions of daily rides and camping trips dance through my head.

Since the bike owner lived in the aptly named Ocean Grove, Simon and I brought our beach gear along for the ride. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was the hottest part of the day and the waves were up... but not too far up, which was nice for a beginner like me.

The waves were breaking farther out than I'm used to: I was standing in shoulder deep water watching waves rumble toward me at eye level. Can I stress that: eye level. Then I had to try and not drown in the deep water behind the wave while clawing my way up the next one - without touching the bottom.

They were mean too. One punched me in the stomach, another slapped me in the face, and I distinctly heard several of them laughing as they knocked me over again and again. Simon, who is a good head taller than me, was all like "come on!" as I struggled not to get swept away by the current constantly pulling me to the right.

I was lucky these were the small waves. Most of them. Some still broke with a mighty crash and an angry wall of foam that stormed toward me. When the surfers came out I knew I was in trouble. Before their arrival I was halfheartedly trying to ride in the waves and enjoying the futility of fighting the current. But with surfers just 10 yards to my left and right I started to realize that the waves were almost big enough to form curls.

And they were roaring.

And trying to eat me.

Just like the sharks swimming around my floundering feet. Stop floundering Jessica, that dark shadow could be a bull shark. Nope, just seaweed.

Oh shoot, I think both my legs are cramping.

Does the current seem to be getting stronger?

You get the idea.

Typical beach set up.

Once I got accustomed to the fact that if I was going to go, this was a good way to do it, I started catching waves. It wasn't easy. It's been a long time since I've tried this trick and my board is a cheap knock off that requires actual skill in finding the sweet spot in the wave. At one stage I tried Simon's fancy fiberglass-bottomed board and it required no effort at all. Just kick and go. Hardly fun at all (at least that's what I said out loud.)

The sense of accomplishment after finally catching a wave (after watching Simon catch wave after wave after wave...) was exhilarating. I quickly realized why surfing is addicting for so many. Riding out in front of the wave is awesome. Like watching the water race under the bow of a boat - only you are the boat! You speed along feeling the wave lose and gain momentum against the rise of the sands below and bend this natural beast to your will: lean left, veer right, dodge small child here, swerve for fun there. Sweet.

The best and most surprising moment was on a wave I missed. It broke on me instead of just behind and I was at the top of it's crest. As it broke I fell with it, which was a big surprise since I'd thought I'd just float over it and watch it crash in front of me. Suddenly whoosh I was falling with style down a tower of water. A small tower, but still, it was new for me. I wish I could have seen the look on my face - I imagine it to be sort of a cross between "this is going to end badly" and "cool!"

I was glad for all the small waves that day. It was a good way for me to get my feet wet. I'm trying to imagine "proper" sized waves crashing around my head, but I have no way to prepare myself for the one-story monsters I've heard about and the punch they are sure to pack. I'm in way over my head.

It's gonna be great.

Big small waves.

the Flooding and Roos

Overflowing stream caused road closures and flood sports fields in Geelong.

There was drought. Now there is rain. Plenty of it.

Too much of it.

I'm sure you've all at least heard about the flooding which is the current plague on this side of Australia. On the other side of Australia they are dealing with bush fire. If it's not one, it's the other.

There is a huge relief support for all the victims of the flooding and lots of stories of neighbors helping neighbors. Except that one story I was reading in the local newspaper entitled "Burglaries Begin".

I can only imagine how devastating it must be to hear reports that the waters are coming toward your town. There is nothing to do except get out of the way and know that when you come back you'll have to begin again.

Here in Geelong we weren't hit too bad. Too my knowledge there were some overflowed streams - like the one just down the road that took over the walking path and flooded out a section of the road. But the real damage is up towards the top of Victoria - the Murray's tributaries couldn't handle the days and days of rain and are letting everyone know their displeasure.

But it's Queensland that's making the international news. Things are bad. And they are predicting more bad weather up that way. It's going to be a wet summer.

To end on a lighter note:

The edge of the Serendip Sanctuary just down the road is a great place to photograph the local wildlife. All the kids in Blues and Brothers program knew I was "hunting" kangeroos to take pictures for my little cousins, as I had promised before I left. I did get my first sighting that week, but I didn't have my camera with me. I finally got some pictures when we got back:

See the joey in the pouch?

Just like white-tailed deer: They calmly stare at you with a "Yes, I see you, what do you want?" attitude.

Catching some shade.

St. Kilda & Lorne, or City vs. Country

"You can only visit paradise" is a constantly used phrase in the Turks and Caicos Islands. Eventually, no matter how exotic your location, you settle into a routine. Outlandish things become commonplace. Strange things become familiar. You pay taxes. Same old, same old.

In Geelong there are malls and shopping centers, restaurants and bars, parks and museums. I could be absolutely anywhere in the world. I like Geelong. It's the second largest city in Victoria and it has anything you might want (except good food, the locals tell me), but I didn't come to Australia to see more of the same.

Not that it stops me from exploring the urban neighborhoods. St. Kilda, in Melbourne, has a lot of character, but - according to my guide - offers tourists only small strips of beaches and one shopping street. Granted, that street is packed with famous pastry and ice cream shops one after the other. I picked one based on the superior looking treats in the window and spent the next 30 minutes indulging an awesomely sickening sugar coma. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Fancy looking coffee, chocolate tower, brandy snap, and vanilla slice from The Acland Cake Shop. Too many treats for just two people, don't you think? So good though.

But still, all this cute charm and trendy atmosphere is reproduced in Boston, New York City, Paris, Venice, Vienna, St. Tropez, even Hoboken. Take your pick.

Now the country... that's different. Unfamiliar. Awesome. Traveling along the Murray the other week we passed through literally one-horse towns where the "downtown" consisted of a meeting hall next to a church. Neighbors were separated by hectares and houses depend on water catchment. Now that sort of living has the ring of a proper Aussie adventure. Not that I'm looking to join in. Living in the TCI seems like a walk in the park compared to how those brave souls live - especially suffering through the current floods that are following on the tail of a 7-year drought. Eesh.

The towns along the coast offer more friendly living conditions and better beach access, but are still small. As in tiny. I'm sure Torquay has a brilliant night life, but I didn't see much else to recommend it to non-surfers. Lorne, however, is my new Jersey shore. It's nestled between gum tree and rock-strewn hills and a generous beach (when the tide is out). I was told it's known as the "yuppy" part of the coast and it has the beautiful people and roof-top bar to prove it.

And the beaches were great! The turquoise blue waters shimmered in the late afternoon sun. I paused for a second and took a deep breath - Ahhhhh, now this is the Australia I'm looking for.

Down by the waterfront, and atrociously overpriced, seafood restaurant you can take a walk to the end of the pier and watch the fishermen disappointingly pull up squid. Staring into the waters below you can follow the sting rays tracing circles under your feet. Snorkel gear just moved up my list of necessary purchases (again).

So there you have it: access to swimming, snorkling, and alcohol. Now doesn't that seem like a perfect vacation spot?

Blues and Brothers

Koorie and Department of Justice colors flown together.

Every year a group of kayaking and canoeing enthusiasts brave the 100°F (38°C) summer heat to navigate the 5-day 404km (251 miles) Murray River Marathon. For the ninth year in a row the Blues and Brothers program entered the competition, but this year they had an international participant.

The history between the Aboriginal Community and police officers is long and ugly. Judging by some of the attitudes I witnessed over the last week, it's safe to say that as collective groups there is little love lost between them. Fortunately, there are people on both sides willing and interested in improving the relationship. The Blues and Brothers Murray River Marathon program is one of the resulting efforts to engage Aboriginal youth and police officers together in a positive activity. We spent five days camping together, eating together, waking up at 5am together, and of course, rowing together.

Assisting with a change-over on the banks of the Cumeragunja mission.

This was not an easy week. The swollen river conditions forced the organizers to add longer-than-normal legs to the race. Our team was changing rowers at the check points, but longer distances meant many of the younger kids didn't get a chance to row and the same people rowed day after day through the sore muscles and blisters. It also meant waiting hours in the hot sun for the paddlers to complete their leg. Much of the time on the river felt like work instead of holiday. And the days we had to move locations were a real struggle - there was no relaxing until the tents were set up. And then after tea ("dinner") the next day's sandwiches and esky's (I got laughed at when I called them "coolers") had to be made up.

But still, there were smiles.

I was glad to see how the kids attacked all this hard work with a sense of humor and play. There was the famous day of butter sandwiches were we were all so tired we just slabbed butter on both sides of the bread and dealt with the consequences the next day (which was not very pleasant, but made tea very popular that night). There was the day everyone got dunked in the pool at the caravan park. I took my attacker down with me to the delight of the youth - he was high up in the police ranks. "Yanks don't go down easy," I said when I came up for air.

This group was rarely serious (see video for proof),



but there was an objective to fulfill. We passed through Yorta Yorta, Wemba Wemba, Waywurru, and Barababaraba country, talking all the way about culture and differences and similarities.

Cumeragunja mission just visible through the trees.

We visited the Cumeragunja mission in New South Wales, which is recognized as still part of the Victorian Community since so many different groups were forced to locate there. The people who live there have a history of great strength and we used its bank as a change-over stop instead of the designated spot on the Victorian side of the river. Our van drove through the mission to see what life is like there so the kids could understand how some of their cousins live. Looking at the old school house gave me chills. I know we were supposed to be focused on present day issues and life styles, but I can't help remembering the history. It's not even really history yet - everything is very much in living memory.

This scar tree was moved from the deep bush to the Yorta Yorta Cultural Heritage Center across the river from the mission. We took a group photo in front of it. The scar here marks the removal of a 10-man canoe without killing the tree. This isn't New England, I remembered, trees are precious commodity here.

On the last night we had an extra special treat. We went out for tea (that was also a treat) and Johnny Huckle noticed our uniform shirts. He asked if he could join us and do some songs to contribute to our trip. He was wonderful.



Not only did we learn the famous Wombat Wobble (just like the lucky folks above, posted by 77advet), but he also talked to the kids about his life's story and shared his passion with them. Kids that were quiet and unresponsive for most of the trip were taping their toes and singing along to "Koorie Love".

Johnny's generosity and energy was very well timed. Just as he was deciding to visit with us, we had the bad news that the last day of the race was canceled due to high temperatures (43°C/109°F) and extreme risk of fire. The kids were disappointed, but Johnny's mini-concert took away the sting.

All-in-all this was a great experience for everyone involved. We shared stories (did you know you used to be able to see straight to the bottom of the river and count catfish?), we discovered cousins we didn't know we had, we adopted each other as family, we listened, we learned, we played. It was a great week.