Time Traveling

You know that strange, disoriented feeling you get with Daylight Savings Time?  It doesn’t matter if we are springing forward or falling back, my life goes a bit haywire.  Not only does Bailey beg to be fed an hour too soon, I forget to change the clocks-- seems they are everywhere-- and continue to get tricked.  Most annoying, I either wake up too early or have a terrible time falling asleep.

The off-kilter discombobulation that happens when we play with time can last for a week or even longer before my biorhythm tilts and I get back in synch.  Traveling is like being on Daylight Savings Time, because crossing multiple time zones is a kind of time travel.

When we left Salem to fly to Singapore it was like flying into the future.  Although the actual plane ride took more than sixteen hours, when we landed, we’d jumped ahead to the day after tomorrow.  Somehow, somewhere over the vast Pacific Ocean, a day disappeared and we sprang one day into the future.

And now, as we pack and get ready to fly home, I study the time problem.  We will leave Singapore at 8:15 in the morning and arrive in San Francisco one half hour later.  According to our ticket, the flight takes just 30 minutes.  But in reality, it takes more than fourteen hours.   We will cross time zones and fly back in time.

How does this happen?  It’s all about the International Date Line.

How the IDL works

         In the end, we started this trip on the last day of June and we will get home on the first day of August.  July in Salem just disappeared.  It's as if we have lost a month.
         Will life in Salem be the same?  Bailey's fur will be longer and he will probably need a summer haircut.
         Mostly, I am imagining that it won't seem very different there, but one thing will have changed dramatically.
        Me.
        As a time traveller, I've had the amazing experience of visiting three very different worlds: Singapore, a city/state of the future; Bali, an island that lives fifty years in the past; and the Northern Territory of the continent of Australia.
         I've had the great good fortune to meet all kinds of gentle, sophisticated, primitive, and wonderful people, all vastly different and unerringly similar too.
        I am forever changed.
        And it's been a great time.

Unsealed road tracks

When driving into the city of Darwin from Michael and Denise’s house in the bush-- which we have been doing all week--  we are on a “sealed” highway.  These kind of roads make driving in the region easy.  However, driving into Kadadu or Arnhem Land-- as we plan to do-- requires a four-wheel drive so we can navigate unsealed road tracks.  

Sidenote: It turns out renting a four-wheel drive means:  1) no roadside service; 2) no insurance coverage if you drive at night since native animals are often on roads at that time; and 3) no coverage anytime for travel on unpaved roads (AKA unsealed)-- the kind of roads and tracks you need the 4WD car for in the first place!

Anyway, much of the Top End is owned by Aboriginal people.  Kakadu National Park, the largest national park in the country, is considered aboriginal land but is jointly managed with the Australian parks.  Kakadu is known for many things including the highest concentrated areas of Aboriginal rock art in the world.  

Neighboring Arnhem Land is solely Aboriginal land, and it is illegal to enter without a permit.  If you want to see Arnhem Land, for example, you usually have to do it as part of an organized tour.  To enter on your own is very difficult.

Denise, however, is an adopted aboriginal woman.  Her “family” lives in Arnhem Land and is always glad when she can make it out for a visit.  Nicole and I applied for a travel permit-- accompanied by Denise-- and were granted it with no problem.

So, here’s what’s happening.  Nicole, Denise, and I have rented the right 4WD vehicle, we have permits for Arnham Land in hand, and we are off on a three-day adventure into the real “outback.”

#honoring the dream time

Michael stayed home to keep the pythons from under the bed, feed the dogs, and such.  We will drive unsealed road tracks as we scout birds, bow down at the rock face, and visit the “rellies.”

I before e, an Australian Quiz

Drinking beer on the pier, and a boat goes by.  I ask, "What's a boat called in Australia?"
       "A tinnie," Nicole answers.  Nicole has a long history with Australia and should know.

Still, her answer doesn't seem right to me.  "I thought a beer was a tinnie. . ."
       "It is.  Too many tinnies gives you a techi-colored yard."

That gives me pause.  I image rainbow-colored labels on tin beer cans smashed John Belushi-like on Australian foreheads then thrown out the door, to rust on trash piles along a dirt driveway.  "You mean too many cans on the lawn?"
      "No, Susan!  You drink too many tinnies and you vomit, a techi-color yawn!"

"Oh.  Yuck."

So "techi-color yawn" is Australian for vomit.  The many colorful expressions are fascinating but I am especially impressed with the countless words Australians use that end in ie.

What else besides "tinnie"?  Today I saw a sign that said the gas station accepted Woolie vochures.  What's a woolie? You might wonder?  I did too.  It's Australian for Woolworths!

So, I've compiled a short list-- a matching quiz-- of i before e words, used often in Australia.  Why don't you try it?

Directions:  Test yourself.  Match the definition with the ie word.

Be careful.
You might use some answers more than once or not at all!
Correct answers are at the end of this blog.


 Word                          Definition
__________________________________
1.  Rellies                   A.  sandwiches
2.  Polies                    B.  doggies
3.  Salties                   C.  crackers
4.  Posties                  D.  crocodiles
5.  Freshies                E.  cheese sandwiches
6.  Sonnies                 F.  politicians
7.  Doggies                G.  relatives
8.  Toasties                H.  mail carriers
9.  Mossie                  I.  mosquitoes


It's good to learn the lingo when you travel.



So, how did you do?

1.  Rellie = relative
2.  Polie = politician
3.  Saltie= salt-water crocodile
4.  Postie=  mail carrier
5.  Freshie= fresh-water crocodile
6.  Sonnie= just a regular sandwich
7.  Doggie=  doggie
8.  Toastie= cheese or other toasted sandwich
9.  Mossie= mosquito

Stuart Highway, Dead Cars, and the Middle of Somewhere

Roads here go on forever.  They are straight, mostly flat, and empty.  In all of the driving we have done so far, we have never passed another car, at least not that I’ve noticed.  I’ve seen at least six dead cars-- cars planted in fields by edge of the road, burned out, stripped down, and rusted. What exactly do they mean?  Western contraptions growing out of this primordial landscape, a reminder maybe of the transient nature of the white man in a land that is timeless.  A warning of the inevitable.

Mercedes in a field.  Notice the tree growing up through its center?

Actually, the eerie skeletons of abandoned cars brings to mind familiar images-- scenes from the movie “Walkabout” have been playing on a constant loop in my brain.  That Australian film was all about the contrast between the natural world, the world of the aboriginal people, and “civilization.”  If you never saw it, you should.  One dramatic moment that replays over and over in that film involves a white Australian driving as far out into the bush as he can go.  He tells his children it is a picnic, but the plan all along is suicide.  He shoots himself after first setting fire to his car while his son and daughter witness the whole thing.

“Walkabout” was probably my first glimpse of Australia, watched in the early 1970’s I think, and it remained on my greatest-movies-of-all-time list for decades.  It had a profound impact on my teenaged self, resident of south Jersey, and citizen of planet earth developing an environmental consciousness.  

This is all tied together:  the burned-out carcasses of cars, the open scrubland, the exotic nature of birds, and a dry, dry season. Now nearly fifty years later, I am identifying myself:  the white girl turned loose, trying to make sense of this land down under.  It’s a lot to take in.

Death in Australia

Death in Australia

It’s true that there are thousands of ways to die in Australia.  I’d like to discuss just a few that we’ve encountered so far and, as a vigilant guest, the precautions I am taking to get back to Oregon in one piece:

1. Snakes.  Some of the world’s most venomous snakes live here.  Tourists are advised to always wear heavy shoes and stay on clearly marked paths.  I am doing just that.

Portia, one of the three dogs that live so happily with Michael and Denise crawled under their bed one night to sleep in her favorite place.  From the cozy haven under their bed, she let out a bloodcurdling scream.  

As Michael turned on the light, and Denise sat up, Portia came running out from under the bed.  A python was attached to her leg.  Not a child’s python, the name of the smallish ones that frequent the area, but a full-sized python, about four meters long.  Let me repeat, it was under the bed.

Portia survived since a python kills not by venomous bites but by strangulation.  But I keep thinking about the event and am studying this danger more fully.

2. Crocodiles.  Don’t stand on the banks of rivers, the tourists are warned. Crocodile danger is real.  Don’t risk your life.  And it’s true, crocs can be found in any Top End waterway, they move around, and they will attack.  They will see us before you see them.  They are the largest member of the food chain and have been unbeatable for millions of years.  Oh, yes, and never clean fish by the water’s edge.
3. Box jellyfish.  Box jellyfish are common in the ocean.  Don’t swim in the ocean from October to May, the guidebooks say.  That’s when the box jellyfish are most frequently found.  And did I mention the sting from a box jellyfish can be especially lethal to older people?
4. So many critters.  The first night in our bush hut, right before going to bed, I saw a very LARGE spider in the kitchen area.  He played dead while I shined the flashlight feature of my iPhone directly in his face, but I could see the large, bug-like eyes watching me.  An extra big gecko, too, was on the wall.

As I climbed into bed that first night, I put the covers over my head-- although given the many ways to die in Australia, I suspected that sheet protection was likely to fail.  That night I dreamed there was a tiger in the room.  He wanted out and I couldn’t think of a way to help him without hurting myself in the process.  Finally, the dream me was able to use the end of a flashlight-- “torch” here in the land of kangaroos-- to smash a window and set him free.  

That’s when I woke up, barely breathing under the covers and decided that if I was going to die, Australia was as good a place as any to do it.  Now I sleep with the sheets lowered, my head bare, willing to take the risk.

Things to love about Australia

Things to love about Australia, a list in progress:

--The sky is an open canvas of blue.  It stretches above the landscape far and wide; over and until.  I’ve never seen sky like this in the Northern Territory.  This may also be due to the fact that there is nothing, I mean nothing, to interfere with the sky here.  

--The air is clean, crisp, and fresh.  When I stand outdoors, brace my back with my hands, and look up, up, up. . .  I can see all the way to Heaven.

--On our first night, the moon rose completely full, a giant orb just above the tree-line, white light washing everything.  As it moved across the sky, settling in the west, it remained bright and clear as a large bulb, uncovered and hanging from an invisible wire overhead.

--And of course, the stars!  Brightest I have ever seen.  Big lights against the night’s canvas.  BIG Big Dipper, the Southern Cross, and the man in the moon looks just like a seated rabbit from this angle.

--The birds are everywhere.  When Michael dives us out in the car, he drives the speed limit. 110 kilometers on the main road.  Suddenly, because there is no traffic, and he can, he will suddenly throw on the brakes and point left through the passenger’s window, maybe right out his drivers window, or sometimes straight ahead through the windshield.  There’s always a bird.

Michael and Denise are both birders, experts.  Denise has written definite books about birds in the Top End.  She and Michael can find them, point to them, identify them, recognize their vocalizations, and tell us anything we might want to know.  Nicole is no slouch either.  She did, afterall, spend many months on assignment from National Geographic driving every inch of Australia and camping out of her Land Rover one year.
So many kinds of birds!  Some I know well:  the osprey or the egret.  Some I’ve heard of but never seen until now:  kookaburra and giant, multi-colored parrots.  Others are brand new and marvelous: the thickknee or jabiru.  I love the birds.

Our Australian Home

As Jetstar was making its approach to the Darwin airport, I watched the sunrise from the plane window.  It was an incredible red line as far as I could see, separating ocean from sky.  And then suddenly I saw trees on the horizon and we were here.

We arrived slightly late and hung over from a night with no sleep, but Denise and Michael were waiting for us once we had cleared customs.  The drive to their house took about an hour, after a stop for gas.  We had no idea what to expect.

Turns out they live in the bush, literally. The people who built the place in the 1980’s tried planting cypress trees, but a bush fire came through and wiped out all but three of them out.  

Michael and Denise have since created a bird sanctuary on the land and are preserving the area as habitat for all wildlife, not just the birds.  They are both up early in the cool morning air, clearing and maintaining the land, preserving this parcel of earth from invasive and foreign grasses and protecting the native growth.

Not sure you can see them, but these trees at Michael and Denise's house are full of rainbow lorikeets.

It is dry season so things probably seem less bushy and more scrub-like than normal.  Trees grow tall here but are mostly leafless.  Native palms remind me that we are in the tropics still, and dry grasses create the underbrush. Most of the trees I’ve never heard of and even the familiar ones-- like eucalyptus--are a different variation than I’m known, for instance, in California.  

Bella, Poppy, and Portia are the resident dogs, and all were delighted to meet us when we first arrived.  They are equally joyous to greet us when we wake in the morning, upon our return each day from outings, and whenever Michael throws palm nuts into the water for them to retrieve.

Nicole and I are staying in the guesthouse.  The guesthouse is made from a cement pad, metal struts, particleboard, and corrugated iron walls and roof. The windows were probably state-of-art in the outback in the fifties.  They are multi-levered glass that crank open. Friends from Florida will be able to picture them.

The appliances are all strangely simple, mostly rusted, but usable.  The toilet is outside, in a storage area and one must fill a bucket to pour into the bowl for flushing.  It’s like camping but far more comfortable.

The first morning we were here, Nicole looked out the window and said, “Look Susan, there’s a wallabee,” but he had hopped away before I could see him.

It’s beautiful here.  We hear all kinds of birds, day and night.  We are in one of the last real wildernesses on the planet.