Easily
earned, easier spent. With no particular goal entertaining my
imagination, hoarding my savings seemed counter productive to me
personally solving the world economic crisis. Not much was happening
in Cairns, except for some hobo picking a fight with me for being in
the wrong or right place at a time too early or too late for his
satisfaction.
Most
people left Bowen loaded with cash and headed to Airlie Beach. They
would then head further south a few days later broke, hungover and
crawling with bed bugs. We were the exception by going north aiming
to be broke and hungover as well, but at least seeing something
different. Too rich to look into self travel, my new travel mates in
Shane and Kei joined me in booking a 2 night trip to Cape
Tribulation.
Friday
night saw Shane and I go to great lengths to make drunken fools of
ourselves. A rushed pack after three hours sleep and we were more
than regretful enough to wish we hadn't gone to any length to get
drunk. Barely out of Cairns and our guide revealed his stereotypical
Australian side. He started off charming and funny. A few suspect
jokes about female genitalia later and his dirty old man credentials
came to the fore. (Stereotypically Australian or stereotypically me?)
He enumerated many uninteresting rain forest stories that bored Shane
and Kei to sleep within five minutes. Kei wasn't to wake again until
we arrived at Mossman Gorge. A quick sprint through the bush, more
inane facts and unfunny jokes then back on the bus with about three
photos to show for our trouble.
By
1pm we were dropped off at a hostel our booking agent believed would
best suit our tastes. It seems he read us as well as a deaf and blind
mute would. Staff welcomed us with an attitude of utter contempt and
the first patrons we encountered were a gathering of loud and drunk
Australians, admittedly the most common situation to find them in.
We
spent the day in the pool as it was as wet as the surrounding air but
slightly cooler. We had moved on from the constant sheen of moisture
that Bowen and Cairns encouraged out of the body, to find the weather
there was hotter still to produce permanent and profuse rivers of
sweat. Smelling funky and feeling dehydrated, we passed up partying
with the all day drunks and invested our energy in cooking. That
would have been a more productive endeavour if the kitchen was
stocked with more than a few hot plates and a vegetable peeler. No
plates, bowls, cutlery or anything that might be deemed necessary to
cooking or eating. The meal that resulted from the most awkward and
cuss-riddled preparation in history was far beyond expectations but
even further from satisfaction.
Our
only full day in Cape Tribulation started with a long walk to a
swimming hole. A real stroke of luck really as we were actually
trying to find a boardwalk through the mangroves. A couple of back
stinging flops into a fresh water creek and we headed off to find the
boardwalk one wrong turn closer to our destination. We eventually
found it signposted like a Vegas casino from the opposite side to the
one we initially approached from. A lazy and languid stroll was then
enjoyed while Shane and Kei scared off all wildlife by poking each
other with sticks and trying to prove which one of them was the most
gay.
After
another night avoiding revelers drunker than we cared to strive for,
we went for another walk the following morning. A lookout on Cape
Tribulation itself was promoted in the tourist literature as a place
well worth losing three litres of sweat to visit. A signpost
detailing the fifty metre walk up the slightest of inclines had alarm
bells ringing early. The viewing platform happened to sit a paltry
five or so metres from the beach being perched just above the canopy
growing at sea level. The uninspiring view of a rather average Cape
Tribulation beach framed by mangroves was easily surpassed by the
rain forest covered hill that loomed behind the platform and taunted
the observer with far better but inaccessible viewing spots. Circling
around the Cape we scrambled over some rocks seeking a better
justification for the days sun burn and dehydration. A Brahminy Kite
sat as silent sentinel over the best vantage point and escaped my
envious eyes. The beating of its large tawny wings slapped the air
like loud heartbeats as it left us to find a tree branch less exposed
to incredulous and sweaty pink flesh puppets like us. It was the most
peaceful spot of the whole weekend but after five minutes our bodies
over rode any conscious choice to seek out the pools cool,
chlorinated cure for the claustrophobic climate.
On
the way back to Cairns we did another forest walk / run through in
record time while listening to a different guide share the very same
rain forest facts but a different array of jokes that failed to
illicit any laughter. A crocodile spotting cruise on the Daintree
river became another discussion on trees when the crocs failed to
pose for the camera or appear at all. Being cold blooded they are
literally and figuratively 'on heat' in the summer and use the time
to get down to business away from any humans voyeuristic curiosity.
I
was determined to see the one creature that inspires equal measures
of wonderment and underwear endangering fear. So back in Cairns we
hired a car and made a 40 km trip to Hartley's crocodile sanctuary.
Feeding time was amazing as a few four and half metre monsters flew
out of their watery camouflage to snap fish from a keepers fingers
right in front of my nose. One keeper even strove for eternal moron
status by getting in the enclosure to reclaim a fish that 'Big Louie'
had overlooked in the confusion of catching fish on land instead of
under water.
My
first sighting of a cassowary was somewhat anti climactic. Constantly
circulating stories of disembowelments and savage slashings had me
visualising a towering bundle of aggression dwarfing prehistoric
proportions. Approaching the enclosure to see a docile overgrown
feather duster clucking around like a domestic chicken stopped me in
my tracks. Out of disappointment I made the following observation
after closer inspection of the bird. The middle toes are indeed
menacing claws capable of claiming a vital organ or two. Their
stature is topped by an emus, the head is a smurf caricature gone
horribly wrong and their jowls are the most elongated
old-mans-ball-sack looking monstrosity I've ever feared being witness
to. At least the menace of a man eating crocodile was barely
diminished by such a close proximity impossible in the wild. The
purpose of the visit was well fulfilled and justified the increasing
speed with which I fly towards poverty like a long lost friend.
Rockhampton is the next destination and Cairns proved to be a very
good place to burn some hard(ly) earned Bowen cash.