Our koalas don't take baths...

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

Contrary to popular belief, koalas are not everywhere in Australia. I only say this because I had the following classic conversation with my beloved sister a while go.

Chrissy: Do koala bears climb into your bathtub? That is so cool! Why don't you take pictures of cute koala bears?
Me: There are no koala bears in this area. So, no, koala bears do not climb into my bath tub.
Chrissy: Really? You should just let your windows open.
Me: But there are no koala bears in this area.
Chrissy: But don't you take baths?
Me: No, we take showers
Chrissy: So the koala bears take showers?

(Don’t worry. My sister is super smart and she was just, as the Aussies say, havin’ a go. Happy 27th birthday today, Chrissy!)

But last Friday, a merry group of us students headed down the eastern coast to a house on Magnetic Island for three wonderful days of hiking and swimming. And on one of those days, I finally saw and held my first koala at an animal sanctuary. Just so you know, koalas don't wash themselves; the smellier they are, the more attractive they are to the opposite sex.

(His name was Dexter; how awesome is that?!)

After a week of exams and writing papers, I was fully ready for a little rest and recreation, and Magnetic Island proved generous with both. Aside from holding Dexter at the koala sanctuary, we hiked an old track full of World War II forts. The views were amazing naturally, but I also felt some residual sadness for those brave old soldiers, who must have held these same tranquil blue waters with some amount of trepidation—nothing like us carefree sorts, goofing around on boulders and taking pictures like this:


No more sadness, readers! Because I have to say, the real highlight of my trip was on the second day, when we finally broke down and rented scooters.

I know! Kaitlin on a scooter! What are the chances?

Here’s a little proof for the non-believers:

(My schooter’s name was Geoffrey; how awesome is that?)

I feel like most of my blog entries deal with the verbally indescribable, and the experience of racing around a tiny, mountainous mountain on a scooter certainly falls under the same category. It was sublime. There’s just no other word.

The feeling of the sun on your back? The feeling of the racing down a curve at 55 kilometers per hour? Just sublime. You’ll just have to trust me on this.

As you can imagine, we were quite the sensation—six scooters rolling around at top speed. And we used those scooters as much as possible, motoring up and down that beautiful shoreline. We’d stop at particularly beautiful bays and jump into the salty waters, shrieking and laughing the whole way.

We eventually made our way back to the house, where we grilled up a meal for a king—Australian lamb burgers and sausages, eaten on a sandy picnic table.

That night, with the salt of the sea still on our skin and hair, we went for one last scooter ride. It was pitch dark, except for the light of our lone headlights. The island is pretty deserted since Australia’s moving into autumn, and tourists are scarce. Scooting in one arcing lineup, I felt like a part of some biker gang (albeit slightly less fierce because of our silly grins) as we motored recklessly past a moving landscape.

The next morning, as we left the island on a lumbering ferry back to the mainland, it was impossible to feel anything except gratitude—gratitude for a bounty of beautiful landscapes, gratitude for a raucous time spent among friends, gratitude for the wind against my face as we raced against the night.


Here’s to Dexter, Geoffrey, and the burning, bright brilliance of youth.

Next time: We're climbing the highest point of the Lambshead range! So ready yourself for pictures of a sweaty and beatific crew.

All my love,
Kaitlin

P.S. I've uploaded a bunch of pictures on my Facebook account—a smattering of my Australian experience—so definitely check those out!

Wade in the water...

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

The theme of this post will be water, since I spent most of the last few days in and around it.

Isn’t water something else? I’m a Pisces myself; my element is water. Maybe I’m not the strongest swimmer, but I love it anyways.

The weekend started with some of the most perfect swimming I’ve ever had—all at the Josephine Falls in Queensland, Australia. This nook would be easy to miss, with only a rather drab sign to announce it. You hike for a tiny bit, and then you hear it—ever stronger and stronger—the sublime noise of rushing water.

The sight was something else—a waterfall structured around boulders so huge and massive they must have been the playthings of the gods. And here’s the most glorious thing: a slanting rock with cool, clear water flowing over it. In other words, a natural water slide.

Of course, we will be young and foolish, and that means we are a little drunk with our own invincible recklessness. Right away, we began racing right down the face of the slippery rock. One of the guys’ secret for winning so consistently? Pulling down his shorts a little to expose his derriere. Priceless.


In other news, I guess you won’t be surprised to know I fell straight on my back at the top of the slide. My legs flew straight out from under me, and I hit my head on the face of that smooth, dark rock. The “slide” was covered with a filmy mucus that’s common on a lot of river stones, and combined with my natural clumsiness, I now have a rather largish lump on my head. But as the Aussies love to say, “No worries, mate!” I wasn’t too hurt, and it certainly didn’t stop me from sliding down three more times.

Tired out from racing, we all sat back on the huge rocks and sunbathed—the perfect finish to any day.

That night, we stayed at a hostel in Cairns, a little tourist trap of a city. It reminds me of Miami, a city of which I’ve never been a fan. Too many tacky bistros, too many bleached blondes, too many souvenir shops hocking the same wares. Typical tourist fare. Maybe I’ve spent too much time in the rainforest amongst a different sort of people, but regardless, the city was a little much for me to handle.

We awoke bright and early the next morning and boarded a bus to the Tully River. It was here we’d spend another epic day—whitewater rafting down the Tully.

I’ve only been whitewater rafting once before, and it was on Class II rapids. The Tully Tiver, in contrast, is full of Class III and Class IV rapids. In other words, the rapids have high waves, dangerous rocks, and difficult passages. Nothing to scoff at.

I was scared stiff, but our guide, Renee, was extremely calm and sweet. I think she was used to high-strung passengers because she hardly noticed my nervous laughter and chatter.

But soon enough, my high-pitched giggles (so well known to friends and family) turned into shrieks of sheer excitement. Whitewater rafting is another thing that I find impossible to describe in words. But I know people who’ve also whitewater rafted will know what I mean. There’s nothing quite as life-affirming as when you look over your shoulder and realize that you just came through a dangerous and steep rapid over jagged and angry-looking rocks. You think to yourself, “Did I really do that? And how soon can I do it again?”

First row: Cass, Terry (poor guy, he was the only stranger and male on our raft), Elyse, our awesome guide Renee, and Nichole

Second row: Laura and me

The only part of the trip that I was truly frightened was when rafters were allowed to swim directly through a rapid. I had no idea what I was in for. I thought it might be some calm waters that a current would carry me through. But it wasn’t.

These rapids were the real thing: fast-moving and dangerous. With only a life-jacket, I was buffeted about in the breaking waves. I kept breathing at the wrong time, and each time I opened my mouth, I swallowed more and more water. And I would see a huge wave, taller than me, coming right at me.

Panic abounded.

I thought I was going to die. I’m not even just saying that, I was scared. I even started waving my hands, hoping to God that someone would see my frantic gesturing. Along the way, I picked up this little beaut of a bruise on my knee:

(I guess the other theme of this post could have been "Just how clumsy is Kaitlin?")

But all of a sudden, the waters suddenly slowed, and with a huge amount of relief, I saw my fellow rafters, contentedly bobbing in more placid waters. My heart was pounding, and then the exhilaration of having survived a particularly fearsome danger set in.

After that particular thrill, the daylong rafting trip was almost over, and I was ready for the long bus ride back. These days, I’m using any excuse to catch some extra sleep, and in no time at all, lulled by the drone of the engine and wheels, I was out.

We got back to Cairns just in time for a late dinner of some of the best pizza I’ve ever had—crispy and cheesy and all the other wonderful things that pizza can be.

The long and tiring day ended with me and a good friend (Laura from the above photo) looking out from the Cairns marina—my first view from the opposite side of the Pacific Ocean.

I squinted my eyes all I could. I thought of shouting out. For a second, it really seemed like if I tried hard enough, maybe I could make you hear me all the way from sunny, beautiful Australia. But instead of yelling, I stayed quiet. I closed my eyes. I thought hard. And I wished you all the precious gift of water—so perilous and humbling, so cleansing and sweet.

All my love,
Kaitlin

Next time: I’ll be going to the Chillagoe Outback on a three-day camping excursion, exploring caves and jumping off rocks. Wish me luck!