Sick By The Sea

Being sick isn’t much fun under normal circumstances. But what do you do when you have virtually none of the comforts of home to speed up the recovery process? I learned how to survive being sick abroad in Bermagui. It was the evening of the first night in Bermagui when it hit us. After an afternoon of shopping and a fish and chips lunch, we made our way to our motel. All was well and the majority of the group met at a local bar for a drink or two. I taught a fellow travel writing student how to play cricket and we were even challenged by some locals to a game. As I was short on money and the bar didn’t take credit cards, I had one beer. It wasn’t long before something felt off. There is something that happens before food poisoning kicks in. Its the clam before the storm. Its an animalistic instinct, a sixth sense if you will, that something is wrong.

Kate and I walked back to the motel, and my premonition turned out to be right on. It wasn’t long before I was praying to the porcelain god. I knew that one beer couldn’t possibly made me sick (I’m a soon-to-be fourth year college student, one beer? Really?). Between each fit of retching, I tried to think back to what made me sick. My roommate was fine before she went to bed. I was under the assumption that everyone else was well. I did the only think I could think of. I called my mom. After a little coaching, I pushed through the night, albeit with little sleep. Felling every bit as ill in the morning, Sharon, our group leader, came by. It turns out that half of the group was ill.

Half the group was so sick that most people thought that they would be unable to join in snorkelling with seals, which was the day’s scheduled activity. Luckily we had Sharon. She snapped into action and rushed to the grocery store. Sharon returned with six different types of medicines and drinks in the hopes to help people to recover quickly.

While only three of the traveling group opted out of the seal experience, several more felt very ill on the bus ride, myself included. Sharon made us eat what she referred to as “electrolyte ice blocks” and gave us all ginger pills to settle our stomachs. She assured us that as soon as we hit the water, we would feel much better. Some of us couldn’t bring ourselves to look out the window at the beautiful views for fear of another bout of nausea being set off by the motion. The bus ride seemed especially bumpy on the way to the wetsuit shop. Of all of the unpleasant experiences on the trip, the one that tops the list is trying to wriggle into a dry wetsuit when you feel VERY ill.

The bumpy bus ride paled in comparison to the boat ride to Montague Island. Even though the nausea was unbearable, the view was spectacular. Even illness can’t sully the excitement brought on by seeing three whales breaching repeatedly. My stomach might not have been much better, but my spirits were lifted at the sight of the whales.

Montague Island provided lots of opportunities to sit and take in the view. Being less than 2km in length, almost everywhere we sat had a view of the water. After a brief lecture on the island history and vegetation, we were back on the boat.  A short time later, we were in the water heading for the seals. Sharon was so right. As I plunged into the cold water, my nausea dissipated almost immediately. After maybe 45 minutes of having seals swirl around us, charge us, and dive beneath us, our adventure sadly came to an end. The dog-like animals swam about us until the very moment we departed.

After rejoining the others on the boat and struggling out of our wetsuits, the boat began the trip back. Being sick wasn’t going to keep out group from having an adventure. I will say this to travellers; if you are traveling in a small town avoid drinking the water so you don’t get sick. And if you do get sick, it helps to have a Sharon. 

A Kidnapping In Eden

When thinking of a place called Eden, you aren’t likely affiliate it with kidnapping and vandalism. However, after one evening in Eden with Jim and Jane, that’s all you can associate it with the name. Upon arriving in Eden, the BU Travel Writing students were informed that we would have a generous amount of time to explore on our own and in groups. On day two of our Eden adventure, a place as beautiful as the name suggests, I was eager to meet locals and talk about the town. My friend and fellow writer, Kate, invited me to join her on an outing. We made our way down the street from our lodgings and found ourselves at an intersection. As neither of us were able to orient ourselves on the map we were given, we decided to make out way to the wharf.

The wharf seemed like a lively retirement party with many senior citizens in attendance. The group was fishing and chatting while jamming to The Millionaire. As Kate and I sat down, I took a second to really look over our fellow wharf-goers. They seemed to content in the slightly chilly Twofold Bay, paying little mind to their fishing poles in the water while they sang along to the music. I asked the small group if they’d mind me snapping a photo, to which the man nearest me mumbled “I’d give a f***” and chuckled. The lady among the group smiled wide, gave her permission and posed. She then came over and introduced us to her friends and husband, more pointing them out and waving than giving formal introductions. The woman, Jane, talked about everything and anything that came to her mind.

Jane was a retired midwife, mother of three children, and wife the comical Scotsman, Jim. She joked that her children lived all across the country and nagged her to move closer to family. She said that with one living far north, one far south, and one out west, she was already in the middle and as close to one child as she as to the next!  She and her husband,  lived just outside of Melbourne for most of their lives, but decided to move to Eden years ago to enjoy their retirement. Jane also explained that while she was a resident of Eden for years now, she was not yet considered a local, and was likely to never be considered so as she wasn’t born in Eden.

Our conversation continues as Jane joined us for a walk along the rocks on the other side of the wharf. She gave us a brief history of Eden as well as all of Australia. After what was likely an hour of chit chat, Jane left to drive her husband, Jim, home. Before she left, she made several recommendations of different vistas to check out as well as a beach walk that was apparently a must see. We waved as she left for the car park and readied ourselves for the walk to the next viewpoint.

Jim and Jane had other plans. We were walking along the car park as the couple drive up next to us and hollered “Get in!” They offered to drive us to the aforementioned viewpoint. When we got there, Jane and Jim followed out of the vehicle and proceeded to give us a history of Twofold Bay and the whales, a history we heard in part at the Killer Whale Museum earlier that day. As we prepared to part ways again, we snapped a photo of our new acquaintances. Turning to leave, Jane asked where we thought we were going, as she was going to drive us to another viewpoint. And so it went, every stop we made, we prepared to depart our traveling companions, and every time we did so they had another spot to take us.

After the first few stops, Jim began to tell us about the toilets of Eden. Yes, you read that right, toilets. Apparently Eden has more public toilets than the average town, or something to that effect. They were so very proud of their toilets that every minute or so we would pass one and Jim or Jane would yell “Look! There’s another one!” We came to one or two points where the couple pointed out the absence of a toilet, as local vandals apparently make a habit of stealing the local toilets. The whole town apparently takes such pride in their public restrooms that they make a point of being collectively outraged when one “goes missing”.

Stop after stop, toilet after toilet, the sun crept below the horizon. It was pitch black outside, but we were still going strong. Jim must have felt exhausted as well because he made a point of telling Jane several times, “I think the girls might want to be getting back now. We can’t keep them forever.” Jane’s usual reply was something to the effect of “Okay, after this last stop.” Jim said again and again, “Lets take them back now. They must be tired. You can’t kidnap them.” Jane got to the point where she jokingly replied with an “I don’t care,” or “They’ll be fine” and that’s when Jim, Kate, and I realized that we were all at Jane’s mercy.

After several hours of following kangaroo herds and wallabies, and seeing every viewpoint and beach in Eden, Jane decided to drive us back to our apartments. We learned that she rented the building right next to ours. We all poured out of the car and Jim took no time to initiate goodbyes. We gave hugs all around, twice, and parted ways. Maybe it was the poor lighting, but Jane seemed to be tearing up as we left. We waved until the car was out of sight. I must say, that must have been the most pleasant kidnapping to ever take place.

A Romp With The ‘Roos

The best adventures often begin by stepping from the beaten path. My adventure down the coast began on a short stretch of Pebbly Beach. My legs, sore from the tightly packed bus journey from Sydney, needed a moment longer to stretch than my companions. In the brief moments I took to recuperate, other students made a beeline for the beach. The tentative promise of wildlife interaction was all too much for others to delay their descent to the water. Slowly making my way, I saw the group of students huddled and excitedly snapping photos. By the time I made it to the worn stairway and down onto the sand, they were in view: kangaroos.

The long-tailed creatures, were hesitant in approaching the squealing group, but the hope of food kept them from hopping too far away. To my astonishment, no sooner had my feet hit the sand than a kangaroo made his way right over to me. Having made sure to have secured a handful of ice cream cones, a favourite treat of the ‘roos, I assumed the kangaroo feeding position. The clever little guy sniffed out the cone in an instant and without a second thought grabbed my outstretched hand in his rough paws and began munching away. He was neither graceful nor patient in his snacking, but rather made a hurried mess of the cone, more of it landing in the grass than in his own mouth. With the second cone, I tried to manoeuvre the cone in a way that would slow the kangaroo’s assault, and hopefully also allow me to snap a picture. I found that the higher I held the treat, the kangaroo had to focus on balancing his legs to stand higher and as a result was slower to eat.

Cone after cone, I tested my new friendship by snapping pictures with my camera closer to the ‘roos face, by seeing how tall he would stand for a cone, and other little experiments. Taking a brief respite from snapping pictures, I extended my hand to pet my marsupial friend, whom I nicknamed Roger (Roger Roo). I went to give him a scratch beneath his ear. He was too skittish for that just yet and decidedly took a hop back. I approached again, this time extending my hand to his shoulder. I gave him a scratch and he seemed indifferent to it, still occupied by the cone. As the cone disappeared, I kept on petting Roger. He seemed not to mind, although this could be because he was sniffing me for another cone. His fur was softer than I had imagined and was embedded with pieces of dry grass and other foliage. He finished the last cone I had as others approached.

I was unaware that as I was playing with Roger that other kangaroos had made their way over to our general area, and the humans following closely. The swarm of people had the effect of scaring some of the roos to a short distance away, but also brought them right back as students began waving their ice cream cones. I was now one of maybe four people vying for Roger’s attention. As we had shared quite a bit of time together, although not nearly enough, I gave way to other kangaroo enthusiasts in search for a place to shake the crumbs from, well, everywhere.

As I shook the crumbs from my Jameson sweatshirt, I thought of getting some pictures of the beach. I lined up a shot, but before snapping it saw another kangaroo in my viewfinder. The little thing was alone and far enough down the beach that no one had made attempt to feed her. I made my way down the beach toward the animal. As I approached her, the kangaroo seemed leery of my footsteps, but made no effort to retreat. I sat down crossed-legged and retrieved some ice cream cones from my pocket and waited for her to approach. Surely enough, the little girl came over, slowly and apprehensively, but she came over nonetheless. I named the cautious little one Riley (Riley Roo).

Riley was quick to eat from my hand. She grabbed my fingers in her paws and gently curled her nails around them, making sure she had a secure hold. Several cones later, she took a break to sniff my face and hair as I scratched her belly. Upon finishing the last cone, I revealed that I had nothing left in my hand. Thats when it happened. Riley sniffed my hand and very clearly came to the conclusion that there was nothing left to munch on. I went to pull my hand away and she grabbed it. She didn’t sniff it again for more food, she just held my hand in hers. She continued to hold on as I scratched her ears. her shoulder, her belly. We sat like that for what felt like an hour and a minute all at once. All too soon, I heard the voices in the distance fade and I knew the group was departing. My heart broke as I had to pull grasping kangaroo paws from my fingers. I pet Riley on the shoulder for a last time and then departed for the bus.