A Nostalgic Look Back at Cairns (part 2)

Now, where was I? Oh yeah, I don’t have a clue.

So I’ll fake it. What do I remember of our last full day in Cairns? I remember getting up early, getting picked up at the hotel by our tour guide, being joined by a worldly pack of fellow travelers, very few of whom I can still picture in my head. Let’s see…

There was the surfer guy, the short Russianish guy, the hot girl and her even hotter friend, the star-eyed newlyweds, there was probably an old Asian couple, and the hillbilly, the opera singer (I’m actually pretty sure I’m not making that one up), the jock, the dweeb. Plus the tour guide, who I think was a pretty cool guy, and his robot buddy G.Y.R.O., and that about covers it.

First stop was the Cathedral Fig Tree, so named because it’s big, old, and all archey, and because Jesus said so. It really is an impressive site, thick with winding branches, tall and dramatic. Our tour guide had so many facts about this tree which were so fascinating that I remember them even today. Facts like:

• It would take eleven Irishmen six weeks to climb to the peak.
• There’s enough space among all the growth that coats the tree to contain the entire marshmallow domestic product of Hungary — of a decade!
• At its core, there is a flaming pillar of a substance identified only as being not of this earth.
• The tree cannot be penetrated by heat, steel, laser beams, pressurized water, x-rays, or diamond. It can be damaged only by a common, dollar store emery board, which is why they are forbidden on the continent to all but professionals.
• It grants wishes, but only practical ones.

If you look closely, you can spot the rare Queenslandian Douchebag.

From there we went to yet another rain forest. (Seriously Australia, this is just excessive. You need to get rid of some of this crap, put in some more room for cattle to graze, or maybe a strip mall, or something.) It was nice, saw some trees, some dirt. Saw this wicked ant there:

Check out those pincers. Take the jock’s word for it — it stings when those things dig into the back of your neck. It stings and then it goes numb, and then you convulse, and then several hours later, once everyone believes you’re gonna be fine, your eyes turn green and you bite the nose off of the hot girl (but not the hotter girl, thank god).

Fighting off jungle Jaguars builds up a healthy appetite, so from there we went to a pleasant little lake for lunch. Sandwiches, in case you were wondering. It was a nice lake, no doubt about that, with some turtles, and some water. A few folks got in the water and looked like they were having a blast, though I wasn’t one of them. But don’t feel too sorry for Mr. Adam — while they were off swimming, the hotter girl talked to me for like 25 seconds. Score!

Then — and forgive me if I sound like I’m bragging — we all went to what is something of a celebrity spot in ol’ Australia. Take a look:

That’s right, it’s the waterfall used in some shampoo commercial eleven years ago. I’ll accept your envy in the form of cash or commemorative postage stamp. Our tour guide really made quite the deal out of this, going so far as to have people imitate the famed TV spot by getting in the water and flipping their wet hair back, and showing us photos of previous tour guests also doing so. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him I had no fucking clue what commercial he was talking about.

But that aside, it really was a very nice waterfall, apparently the most photographed waterfall in all of Australia, and good, cold fun to swim out to. Though it gets a bit panicky, because it’s very dark water, and there are all kinds of sticks and slimy rocks poking up at right about foot level, and also it’s surprisingly hard to breathe when you’re under a waterfall.

Next, our guide took us to a huge gas fissure. A big crack in the ground where, eons ago, gas built up and built up until the pressure was so great that it just couldn’t be held in any longer. There was a grand eruption, with deafening sound and poisonous smell, chunks of solid earth blasting out across the land, making what would have to have been a terrible mess. And leaving behind this wet, gaping hole into which only the most adventurous of fools would dare to climb (though it’s illegal to do so).

But sounds don’t just come out, they also go in, and then bounce around a bit. This water-filled pit makes a hell of a soundboard — shout as loud as you can down into there, or get a friend to sing some opera, because the echo is quite impressive. Hell, toss in a couple of big rocks, or a log of hard wood, or some beads, whatever you want, and wait for the spectacular, groaning splash, then watch as the hole you’ve created in the thick layer of goo down there quickly closes up. Fun for the whole family, even the pets.

We were so exhausted from checking out that glorious hole, we almost missed another beautiful sight on the way back to the van:

Isn’t it adorable? Apparently some kind of Australian rodent caught and skinned these little birds and left them here for a future meal. Awww…

Close-up of my sunburned arm taken in week 3 of the trip.

She Collects Sea Shells by the Sea Shore

Across all the beaches of Australia, my mother amassed quite a collection of seashells. She found several she wanted to snatch on the beaches of Fitzroy Island as well, but all the signs there forbade the removal of shells and coral, and Mum obeyed, obediant person that she is.

So here, Mum, is everything you had to leave behind that day. Print this out and stick it wherever you’ve got all those shells (ignore the skid mark — ooh, that downunder cuisine really works a number on the stomach):