[A note about times: This blog gets confusing when I start switching time zones, so all times posted here are US Pacific Time, though I’m currently 18 time zones ahead of Seattle.]
Brisbane, Australia
I really should find out, before I make this big announcement that I’ll be blogging via satellite from the Pacific Ocean, that the technology will be in place… and that I will have time to get any writing done between my time spent preparing for my lectures and chasing kangaroos. It’s taken me a few days to get this South Pacific blog up and running, but I am pleased to report I am still alive.
I landed in Sydney, Australia, Monday morning after a delightful 14-hour flight in economy class. Upon arrival, I went straight to the airport first aid station to have my knees surgically removed from my chin, where they had become stuck in an upright and locked position thanks to the seat in front of me.
But really I shouldn’t complain. The flight to Sydney felt more humane than the non-stops I fly a couple of times each year between Seattle and Copenhagen. With 14 hours in the sky, I got a full night’s sleep despite the leg cramps. And as a night person, I found Australia’s time zone – five hours behind (but one day ahead of) Seattle to be perfect. I had a jetlag-free entry into Australia.
This was my first time in Australia – continent number five on my list of seven. I’ve always felt irritated by people who travel to places just so they can check them off their list, but in this case, there was little I could do. I checked into the ship I’m working on at 11 a.m. We sailed out of the city 12 hours later.
Sydney is a city a bit like those fruity drinks they serve at Chinese restaurants. The first few sips are tasty, but reminiscent of some sort of alcohol-free punch you were served at a kindergarten birthday party one time. It sneaks up on you slowly. At first the city feels disappointingly familiar, but then, all of a sudden, it intoxicates you. People rave about Sydney’s skyline, the Opera House and surrounding parks, but what makes Sydney so great is its energy – one of those intangible things no guidebook can describe.
Two days later, our ship pulled into Brisbane for a short stop. My friend Lisa and I, and a couple of other lecturers and performers from the ship, hopped in a cab to the Lone Pine Koala Park. They call it a koala park, but it also has kangaroos, emus, dingoes, wombats, and a plethora of other bizarre creatures.
Ryan, another guest lecturer from Seattle, claims wombats are so strong that if you hit one with your car, they will flip your vehicle over. I’m skeptical about this. Any animal that ferocious would not allow itself to be called a wombat.
The wombats we saw were not flipping cars. They were sleeping. The kangaroos, on the other hand, were frolicking. The park is kind of like a marsupial petting zoo. They have “Do not pet the animals” signs on the crocodile cages, and warnings to keep shiny objects away from the emus, who have a habit of swallowing wedding rings. But you could enter the kangaroo playground, feed them, pet them, and hop around behind them.
Then there were the koalas. Koalas are the stoners of the marsupial world. They are some of the only creatures on Earth that can live without water. Their diet consists exclusively of eucalyptus, which sounds benign enough, but the plant leaves the animals lethargic and sleepy all the time.
For an extra fee, you could hold a koala. A fee? I admit I was skeptical at first. People ask me if I want to hold their babies, as if it’s some sort of privilege to have a seven-month-old scream in my ear and regurgitate on me. But koalas are cuter than babies. They don’t cry, and this particular one did not seem to be emitting any bodily substances on its prior customers, so I decided to take my chances.
The koala was warm and cuddly, nestled in my arms, kind of like a cross between an infant and a cat. I decided I would be willing to raise a child if it would look and behave like a koala.
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