Before venturing into The Outback I was under the impression that the middle of Australia was completely flat and dry. I have heard people refer to The Outback as uninhabitable, as if anyone who set foot in this vast dry climate was instantly closer to death. The only natural wonders that anyone seemed to talk about were Ayers Rock and Kings Canyon. So naturally, in my imagination The Red Center consisted of thousands of kilometers of flat, dry earth and shrubbery with Ayers Rock and Kings Canyon plopped right smack in the middle -- the token tourist attractions for all those willing to put up with the barren journey. This, of course is completely inaccurate and now I feel stupid for ever believing it. The Australian Outback is actually quite beautiful. It is full of bright red canyons, flowing gorges, and healthy green gum trees with smooth white trunks. It is home to kangaroos, flocks of beautiful tropical birds called budgireegars, and large intimidating bulls.
The Northern Territory has a half hour time difference from neighboring states. A half hour time difference; that says it all. With a 1,500k radius from any major city, Alice Springs is a safe distance away from the rest of the world. This city is a difficult place to explain. It is full of social problems and people trying to fix them. The segregation and poverty issues attract humanitarians from all walks of life. Yet, as the tourist pampthlets suggest: "Alice is the sort of place where people come for a week and stay for a lifetime." There is a large aborginal population, a large tourist population, and then there is the other population -- the people who are just drawn here. The desert is the perfect place for artists and dreamers, not necessarily people who want to escape, but rather people who want to take their time and not be rushed through life. Time means nothing in Alice Springs.
The dry aridness of the desert works as a protector against environmental destruction and industrialization, leaving the feeling that the views you see and the land you walk upon have not changed for thousands of years. Void of clutter, the natural fung shui of the desert forces you to focus on the minimalist landscape and embrace the open plains.
There is something beautiful about stripping away clutter. Most places are soaked in irrelevance, but in The Outback nothing is irrelevant. The desert's simplicity reflects the simplicity of the traveling lifestyle. When you are backpacking, your things take on a new level of importance. Essentials become more essential and bulky accessories seem as out of place as a highrise in Alice Springs. There are no trinkets, no rubbermaid boxes of storage, no pile of semi-important papers that might be needed sometime in the next decade. There is only a backpack and a journey.
Who are you when you can't hide behind the usual clutter? When you do not have a solid job or address? When you can no longer seek anonymity between city walls and busy streets? When you can no longer define yourself by conventional labels? Out of habit, I always want to say that I am a student, but a student of what? The universe?
Yesterday, I sat down in a book store in Alice Springs and read a childrens' book called Wombat goes Walkabout by Michael Morpurgo and Christian Birmingham. The book is about a wombat who is going through an existential crises. He is trying to find an answer to the everpresent question: who am I and what do I do? On walkabout Wombat meets Kookabura and Kookabura says something like "I can fly what can you do?" Wombat becomes somber and answers "well I just think and dig holes." The situation is repeated with possom who can swing upside down, Wallaby who hops, and Emu who scoots around in circles (I know, I know but it is a kids' book).
Eventually Wombat walks to the top of the hill and spots a fire. Then he digs a big hole and provides refuge for all of the other animals (I know, I know but it is a kids' book). The point is that Wombat finally embraces his true nature. In the upset of the fire, the usual vagueness around self discovery and self definition were stripped away. Somehow, in the naked openness of The Outback, the only definition you need is yourself.
It all started on April 23rd when Gabi, Chris, Ryan, and I took off on the Great Ocean Road in a brand new Mercades motor home. However, it really started a couple of weeks before that, when I recieved a text message from Gabi. I had been living in Melbourne for over two months, which was longer than I had planned, and I was beyond ready to get out. Over a hundred years ago the city of Melbourne was built on top of a swamp. Some hippie new age types attribute that to why it draws people in and makes it hard for them to leave. Maybe that is why I was feeling stagnant and tired. Maybe, or maybe I was lathargic after seven months in Australia. Either way, I needed to be pushed in a direction.
That push came at about nine in the morning in the form of a text message. Gabi was one of my co-workers at the Wilderness Society. She is from New Zealand and had been living in Melbourne for three months. Sick of incestuous workplace drama and tired of living in the city, Gabi sent me a rambley text asking if I wanted to get out of Melbourne and possibly go on an adventure. We could live cheaply and maybe find some work along the way. I sent back a nine word response: "Hell yeah! My only condition is we head west."
We were able to find a campervan relocation from Melbourne to Alice Springs leaving on the 23rd of April. That gave me a few more weeks to save up money and say goodbye to Keyon and Steve. There was only one catch: we only had one week to make the trip. It sounded do-able, but we needed a few more people. When we explained our plan to Ryan, he was instantly intrigued. Ryan also works for The Wilderness Society. He is a photographer with an affinity for dumpster diving, Australian colloqualisms, and anything that looks iconic and old. He likes photographic process as much as the product and despises digital shortcuts and anything that is not organic and real. Ryan is likely to have three cameras at any given time. He has the point and shoot digital, the old school 80's one, and the really old camera from the 1920s (to get their actual names you would have to speak with him). Ryan would have taken this trip for artistic reasons alone. Maybe he did.
The day before we were set to leave, I met up with my old homeslice, brotha from anotha motha, Chris, who I went on the Tassie roadtrip with. For the few months that I was working in Melbourne Chris was having the time of his life bumming around New Zealand. That night was meant to be a quick catch up session before we went out separate ways. However, when Chris mentioned that he had two more weeks in Australia before flying back to The States, I instantly invited him along on our journey. He responded with that look. That deep-breath-half-smile-eyes shining-skeptical-intrigued look. It was all too reminicient of the prelude to our Tassie roadtrip, and I knew before he answered that he would say, "yes."
The "campervan" that we were set to relocate turned out to be a brand new Mercades motor home fully stocked with a kitchen, bathroom, flatscreen TV (which we did not use but is still worth mentioning) and enough sleeping room for six people (though there were only four of us). We named the motor home Bessy because she was a big, comfortable girl. You couldn't take Bessy everywhere but she was the kind of girl who had everything you could ever need. Needless to say, Bessy was HUGE, about half the size of a Greyhound bus. When they handed over the keys. we just stared in disbelief, they are trusting us with THIS!?
Traveling makes me superstitious and I take my good luck signs where I can get them. My first sign came on the very first day. We stopped at a random turn off on the Great Ocean Road. I got out of Bessy just in time to see a magnificient double rainbow form right in front of my eyes. It was going to be one hell of a trip.
We spent two days on the Great Ocean Road, then headed North to the Flinders Ranges. There, we did an epic 14k hike to the top of St Mary's Peak. A 360 degree view of the South Australian ranges. After a few months in a claustrophobic city, the vastness of the outback was a dream. The Flinders Ranges are some of the oldest ranges in the world. Ancient aboriginal tales describe them as two large snakes. From St Mary's Peak you can see why. The ranges coil together and then open to form Wilpena Pound, an open circle surrounded by mountains.
We had to back track South to Port Augustus in order to drive North on the Stuart Highway.
"The Stuart is a hard cunt road." That's Ryan talking. The Stuart Highway runs 3,000k from Port Augusta to Darwin. That is 3,000k of dry, red desert with very little along the way. Every road stop is a necessity because if you run out of petrol you're screwed. The speed limit is high but don't let that fool you. Drivers have to watch out for kangaroos crossing and cows grazing inches from the side of the road. Our destination was Alice Springs, the halfway point on the Stuart and the only proper city for 1,500k in all directions.
"You don't drive the Stuart for fun." Truckers take off on the highway in massive roadtrains. Some of them carry three or four berths of petrol at a time. Those truckers are hard. Hours on the Stuart will change you. The wide open desolate plains begin to mimic the vastness of your mind and silence you like a solitary cowboy.
Part way up the Stuart sits Coober Pedy, a dusty old hell hole of a town. Originally built for the booming opal industry, it is now a myriad of rundown buildings and rusty cars left on the roadside. The city was the set of a hand full of end of the world movies and leftover movie relics are litered, as if forgotten around town. The racial tension in Coober Pedy is real. The largest demographics are white miners and aborginees. The word segregation is an understatement. The two communities don't even associate. It is like two worlds existing in one apocalyptic town.
We scrambled up a dusty hillside to see the Big Winch, a tourist attraction that is actually a statuic replica of the last Big Winch tourist attraction. From the large ugly statue, we had a panoramic view of Coober Pedy. The isolated poverty reminded me more of pictures I've seen of rundown villages in Somalia than anything I have seen in Australia. The worst thing about Coober Pedy was that feeling that no one chose to be there. Everyone seemed a bit trapped.
The desolate town was a photographer's wetdream. Ryan wore a huge grin as he juggled cameras while the rest of us gawked at the sad dusty vista. We sat down on a rocky hillside to watch the sunset. To our left was a bar where miners and their misses drank and played pool. On our right three aborigional people reclined on a porch to drink box wine infront of a broken down house. In that instance separate worlds aligned to watch the nightly show, a natural sedative of reds, pinks, and oranges that seeped calm beauty into the broken, dusty landscape.
Coober Pedy left us with an eerie feeling that took days to shake away. It was simultaneous discomfort and fascination. It was the feeling of: I wish I could better understand. I wish I could do something but I don't know what. I wish I could get the fuck out of here but I don't want to run away.
The further we got from Coober Pedy, the more our moods lightened and by the time we made it to Alice we were relaxed again. We dropped off Bessy at the relocation center. Getting rid of the motor home was a weight off our backs. Though Bessy was fun at first, the comfort was a hinderence and she seemed more and more isolating from the outside world. Dropping her off, we finally felt free for the first time.
Keyon gave me the contact info for a friend of his who lives in Alice Springs. Her name is Alex. She is originally from Germany. She came to Australia about a year ago as a backpacker and found herself working and settling into a real job in Alice. Alex is an amazing person and a life saver. She is outgoing, always has a smile on her face and welcomes anyone to stay for as long as they need. Alex is friends with every traveler who went drifting through The Outback and managed to get stuck in Alice Springs. We spent an awesome night at her house, drinking beer and mingling with her friends.
The next day we rented a car and continued our adventure. Our plan was Kings Canyon and Uluru, but we did not make it that far. There are three roads to King's Canyon. The one we chose had several gorges and trails along the way. We set up camp on a sandy beach looking out over a river. Ryan and Chris went to get fire wood and came back with a new friend, a middle-aged Aussie man named Jim who told us stories of the Outback. After some conversation, Jim invited us to Glen Helen Lodge to see some live music.
That is how we found ourselves a few beers deep, listening to Slim Pickens play the old country blues on a steel guitar. Slim must have senced something within us. Maybe it was our genuine curiosity and our open spirits. When the set ended, he walked over and sat down at our table. We told him that we wanted to visit somewhere special, somewhere that really captures the history and culture of the Outback. Slim directed us toward a signless turn off onto a dirt road that leads to Roma Gorge; a sacred place where aboriginal people have held dreamtime ceremonies for thousands of years.
The next day we followed the bumpy old dirt road all the way to the entrance of Roma Gorge. There was an old sign from when the place used to be touristy, if it was ever touristy, that explained the history of the sight. Within the gorge we found old stone carvings from over six thousand years ago. Maps were carved into large boulders depicting footpaths and water holes. A gum tree rested on top of a large red hill that formed the leftside of the gorge. We bushwalked all the way up to the tree for the sunset. In the Outback, the sunset is a magical showcase of deep yellows, oranges, reds, orchres and burgandys. After the sun sinks into the horizen, the bright moon guides your way. In the Outback the shades or nighttime are as clear as the shades of day. You can watch the moon travel its course above you and reside into the horizen. Stars shine brightly in layers of constellations. Aboriginal tales explain the Milky Way as women dancing in the night sky.
We spent our final day together at Redbank Gorge, a beautiful swimming hole between two glowing red rock walls. The next morning Chris and Ryan dropped me and Gabi off at Alex's house on their way to the airport. Ryan is going back to Melbourne. Chris is spending his final days in the city before heading back to The States. It was goodbye. Goodbyes are hard.
Today, Alex, Gabi, and I are going to a small music and art festival called Wide Open Space. Hopefully it will be amazing. Right now I am reclining on a big cozy couch at Alex's house. Her place is collaged with half finished art projects, empowering quotes and Buddhist sayings. My favorite one is on her bathroom wall: "Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional."
The more I struggle and resist,
Melbourne is growing on me bit by bit,
There is no way that this city is adapting to me,
So I must be adapting to it
When past visitors described Melbourne as Australia's cultural center I imagined museums and esteemed intellectuals not modern day beatniks and street art. So you can imagine my confusion when I got to this modern, graffiti-saturated city. Where the hell is all the culture? Oh yeah, it's right in front of your face.
Melbourne is a difficult city to write about, not because there is nothing worth saying but because the things that make this city special have nothing to do with its physical qualities and everything to do with the people they attract. The streets are wide and flat. Almost everyone owns a bicycle. There are a lot of people but I would never call it crowded. There are trams (buses running on rails) which are easy to sneak onto, however people pay anyway for some vague alturistic purpose. The streets hash like a grid, and of course I manage to get lost anyway.
Melbourne has an amazing music scene. I have never been to a city with such talented buskers everywhere. Performers set up full on speakers and microphones just to play on street corners. I have heard that talented buskers in Melbourne can make as much as a thousand dollars per week. Melbourne is one of those cities with enough hippie values and street culture that it prompts people to say "That is sooo Melbourne" (reminicient of "That is sooo Boulder," "That is sooo Berkeley," "That is sooo Portland," and "That is sooo San Francisco.")
This city has institutions. My favorite is Lentil As Anything. Lentil is a not-for-profit vegetarian restaurant where customers are asked to pay what they believe their food is worth and whatever they can afford to cover costs for those who can't. Some of the staff is made up of volunteers, but people who work there long enough are able to obtain paid positions. There are three Lentil As Anything restaurants in Melbourne. Each one has its own alternative atmosphere, and the food is amazing in all three: garden salads, rosted vegetables, orzo or bowtie pasta, basmati rice, pumpkin, eggplant, beetroot, carrot, kidney bean, and tofu curries, lentils (of course) usually in the form of daahl, okonomiyaki (Japanese pancakes). Dessert is rice pudding or sago and chai, coffee, or herbal teas are avaliable upon request.
To me Lentil represents a society of people who work with the simple motivation of furthering a community that benefits everyone. Quite literally though, it is a restaurant without prices, and, contrary to probable skepticism, it works! It works because it is quality. It works because people want to eat there, and it works because people want to pay, because they see the direct linkage between their payment and the longevity of the restaurant. The Lentil that is closest to my place is located in the courtyard of an old convent in Abbotsford. There is live music on weekends in the summertime and when they run out of table room, people eat in circles on the grass. It is sooo Melbourne.
Before moving to this city, I heard people describe Melbourne as having an unusual sense of calm. Despite my irritation on arrival and my resentment at being in another big city, my life here has come together easily and after two seamless months, the Melbourne calm has finally managed to calm me.
When I got here from Tasmania, Keyon had already arrived. Keyon just happens to have a cousin who rents out an empty place in Fitzroy, one of the coolest areas in Melbourne, because, for some complex reason that we were never clued in on, he needs to keep an Australian address. So, somehow we totally lucked out and we were able to move into his place rent free!!! Steve soon followed, so now I have been reunited with two of my favorite English people.
A few days into my stay here, I was walking down Brunswick Street in Fitzroy when I saw a French guy playing a guitar and singing about the environment. He was a fundraiser for The Wilderness Society. After ending my time at Public Outreach in Sydney, I was unsure whether I wanted to return to street fundraising. However, that quickly changed when I got to Melbourne because The Wilderness Society is different. Public Outreach is a marketing company that fundraises for charities. The Wilderness Society is all in-house; fundraisers work directly for the charity. Hence, there is no middle man, all donations go directly to the charity. The Wilderness Society orignially started in Tassie, so I had seen the charity represented all over Hobart and I knew that they had a big influence in the creation of many National Heritage Areas that I had visited...so...needless to say... I decided to apply.
I have learned a lot working for TWS. We have two meetings a week which basically function as workshops. We learn about campaigns and discuss everything from fund raising techniques to genuine ambition to create change. It is a job that fullfills the academic in me, at least for the time being.
TWS has also introduced me to some amazing people. One of whom is Gaby, an outgoing, motivated, environmental enthusiast from New Zealand. The two of us plan to take off at the end of this month on a super crazy awesome (not at all planned yet) adventure along the Great Ocean Road and then...onward. Until then, I am trying to live cheap and save big.
I have frequently been asked which city I prefer Sydney or Melbourne and I have finally decided on an official response: Sydney is a city that I would prefer to spend three months and Melbourne is a city that I would prefer to spend ten years. Sydney is that sexy-attractive, extrovert who knows everyone. He can surf, speak like seventy different languages, finish loads of projects and still manage to have time to lay on the beach on the weekends. Melbourne, however, is a bit more soft spoken. He is the kind of guy who seems chill, but not all that striking. He likes music, but everyone likes music. He likes art but everyone likes art. In time, however, the more you learn, the more you like. Slowly Melbourne earns your trust and you realize that you two could be lifelong friends.
After some amazing adventures in Tasmania, arriving in Melbourne was dismal to say the least. The countless trams and city streets reminded me of San Francisco, and I could not help but feel like I had travelled to the other side of the world only to arrive in a city that reminded me of home.
Tasmania was three weeks of living in the moment. My biggest life decisions were: do I want to go hiking or spend the day at the beach? Should we cook dinner now or later? Nights of camping felt limitless, and the future shined like the sun, a beautiful luminosity with a powerful magnitude that you would never have to confront outright ...or hopefully never.
When I arrived in Melbourne, five months of travel caught up to me like a sickness. The first two weeks in a new city were lucid and panicky, like holding my breath under water. This is the secret that travellers never mention: the exhaustion. Find a job. Find a place to stay. Figure out your way around the city. Stay positive. Smile. Employers love happy people. Act confident. Stay focused. Don't get stressed out. Don't get stressed out. Don't get stressed out.
The exhaustion is physical too. When you are staying in hostels, couch surfing at friends' houses, and camping for nights on end, you never really feel clean. I mean, you do feel relatively clean, but you never feel three star hotel room, fresh white towel, mini shampoo and conditioner clean. You certainly do not feel routine lifestyle, leave in defrizzer, favorite fluffy pink bathrobe clean. The cleanliness that you feel is akin to a badly mopped bar room floor, the dirt is merely pushed around to appear clean and no one seems to notice it, but you do.
Then there is that voice inside your head with that evil, threatening, ominous question. The what if question. What if I can't find work, and I can't support myself, and I have to fly home, and move in with my parents, and I can't find work back home either and then one day I wake up and I am forty-five-years-old and I still live with my parents and I have no money and no drivers license and no friends and nobody loves me and everybody hates me and I die an excruciatingly slow death which begins when I am healthy and takes decades to commence and nobody comes to my funeral and five minutes after I die I am neither loved nor hated; I am only forgotten. Okay. Breathe. Breathe. We are above water again. Everything is okay. Don't get stressed out. Nothing has happened yet. Just breathe.
Months ago, in Sydney, I met an Irish guy with a tattoo that said: "The best thing about the future is that it comes only one day at a time." When I asked him who originally wrote it he gave me a condescending you-should-already-know-this look, before answering: "Abraham Lincoln." Now, don't get me wrong, I understand that I did not know Abe all that well, but that quote just did not sound like something he would have said. Also, there was the absurd fact that I learned about a quote by a great American president because it was tattooed on some Irish guy's bicep. Anyway, the words stuck with me and I liked them so much that I asked Google and yes, Abraham Lincoln did in fact say this:
"The best thing about the future is that it comes only one day at a time."
I like it. I know that it is a bit cliche. I like it anyway. It makes sense to me and it relaxes me.
I am a person with a lot of pet peeves. I admit it. Most people who know me well would probably admit it for me. Out of all of my pet peeves, I find that few things are more boring than listening to descriptions of other people's amazing vacations. Everyone has that friend who seems to only throw dinner parties in order to open up the 258 picture digital slide show, or worse, pull two massive photo albums off the shelf and recount in excruciating detail their family trip to Hawaii in 2005. I resolve to never be one of those people. That is why I am going to warn you right now, before you get too far into this entry and regret ever starting it: If you are a person who hates hearing about other people's amazing vacations that you yourself might never go on, DO NOT READ THE REST OF THIS ENTRY. Though it consists of several surprises and unplanned adventures, there are no conflicts and there are no problems. There is only one incredible road trip through what is arguably the most beautiful place in the world.
It all started around four o' clock on the 31st of January. It was my fourth day in Hobart since I had finished the Overland Trail and I was getting antsy. I knew that I could not leave Tasmania without exploring the East Coast. If I wanted to see it all, I had to figure out something fast. This was going through my mind as I took a seat next to Chris at the computers . Chris is originally from Iowa. He had spent some months in Tasmania passively looking for work, meanwhile, he was living in The Pickled Frog for way too long. I don't know if it was his warm, unpretentious demeanor or his American accent, but Chris was an instant old friend -- the kind of person that you feel like you know before you know. Here is how the conversation went:
Me: What cha doin' (seeing full well what he was up to)
Chris: I'm buying a ticket to Melbourne
Me: Don't do that! We should go on an adventure instead.
Chris: Looks at the computer screen, then back at me, then back at the screen again. He finally closes out the window. What kind of adventure were you thinking?
I suggested a road trip, conveniently omitting the fact that I don't drive, don't have a driver's licence, and have only a vague knowledge of the logistics that a Tasmania road trip would entail. I decided that those things were only minute details that would work themselves out in the planning process. We pulled out a big map of Tassie and weighed out which direction to start.
Rewind to a couple of days before this. I met a woman named Kim. Kim was also planning a road trip only her plan actually included a vehicle, passengers, and a hypothetical itinerary. Kim is from Wisconsin. She is a friendly person who will talk to anyone. Kim has a habit of telling run-on stories, you know the kind of stories that give birth to side note stories, so that anecdotes branch out like tree limbs and the final conclusion ends up miles from the original topic. And there is always a conclusion. It usually goes something like: "...and that's when I learned never to ask Aunt Sally for a watermelon." Or the classic: "...and though I blah blah blah, I will never regret my choice in college/first drinking experience/trip to Amsterdam." Anyway, Kim had plans to travel with a German girl named Michaela and one of the most easy-going people ever: a French guy named Mathieu. Chris and I decided to take the fourth and fifth seats in the car, and so started Chapter One of an amazing adventure.
Chapter One:
I do not have the time, nor the patience to describe this portion of the trip in detail but since I am a big fan of character driven plots I will describe to you Michaela. Michaela is a nineteen year old from Germany. She is a gymnast, a house painter, and she has recently been awarded Miss Craftswoman in Germany (yes there is such a thing). Most entertainingly, however, Michaela is one of those people who will never directly tell you what she wants. Example A: "Should we start boiling the water for dinner?" Translation: "I'm hungry."
Example B: "Chris, could you maybe not drive so much like rally car style?" Translation: "Chris, slow the fuck down!"
These were the events of the beginning of our road trip.
Day 1: Drove south to Cockle Creek. On the way we stopped in some "thermal springs" that were disappointingly cold.
Day 2 (my birthday): We hiked through forests, ferns, and open fields to the southern most point in Tasmania. Next we hopped in the car and drove to Lake St. Clair.
Day 3: We hiked to Platypus Bay. Then we set off for Cradle Mountain . We made multiple stops along the way to hike and see waterfalls and panoramic views.
Day 4: We hiked the Dove Lake Circuit. Then drove up to Devenport.
Chapter Two:
We dropped off Michaela in The Big D (our pet name for Devenport. Some others are: The Dev, D Town, and my personal favorite: Devies). Devenport is the northern port of Tasmania. I Wikipediaed it to see if there was anything interesting that I could add in, but I didn't find anything. Anyway, we spent exactly one night in Devies. We met up with Grant, our new travel partner, in the morning.
Grant is originally from Southern England. He has that accent that makes anything he says sound super intelligent. He chooses to waste this, however, by whinging in those negative hyperbolas that British people refer to as sarcasm or dry humor. Grant will make fun of anything from your choice of wording to your walking pace, but it is all in good fun. Just when you start to get annoyed, he will do something gentlemanly like carry your bags or open the door for you, and whatever you were bothered by will instantly be forgotten.
From D Town we headed east to Bay of Fires. There, we managed to get a free campsite with a stunning view of the ocean. The rocks on the east coast of Tasmania are partially covered with red lichen giving the beaches a unique, exotic feeling. On our first morning in Bay of Fires we woke up to see the sunrise. You probably know this already, but in case you don't: the sun in Tasmania is bright, hot, white. You would think that watching the sunrise would be a tranquil experience, however it actually becomes a battle between your mind that whats to look and your retinas that want to look away. Luckily, if you switch your focus to the ocean, you can spot dolphins swimming in the sun-licked waves.
Chapter 3:
We spent two nights and one full day on Bay of Fires before heading south to Wineglass Bay. Wineglass is the type of place that you see on postcards and never believe it could look that amazing in real life. The photographer had to have used a filter, Photoshop, something. But no, not this time. It really is that beautiful.
We packed a couple of big backpacking packs and set off for a steep hike in. The trail goes up and up and up numerous steps, but when you arrive at the viewpoint you forget what you were ever whining about. It really is that beautiful. Next you hike down and down and down until you finally reach the beach. The campground is on the far end of the beach, about a half hour walk across soft white sand.
I am one of those people that never gives out an A+. Everything gets the 9+/10, or 4.5 stars, just in case something better comes along to take top place. However, no matter what scale I am using, even if nothing comes to top it for the rest of my life, I am confident in giving Wineglass Bay the full 5 stars, 10+/10. When we were in Bay of Fires, Chris said that he could finally die happy regardless of what trajectory his life takes. In Wineglass, he declared that he had made that comment two days too early, because Wineglass topped what you could ever imagine the top was.
We stayed there for two nights and one full day. It rained all day for the full day. Locals say that it only rains twice in Tasmania: just for four months each time. Eating boiled potatoes in a cramped tent while under the pouring rain would have been miserable in most other settings, but in Wineglass it provided a Gothic skyscape for a phenomenal panorama. Every now and then we would open the tent door to get a good look at our surroundings, but we would have to quickly zip it up again, before the rain poured in.
The next morning we woke to see the sun shinning above friendly stratus clouds. We were all ready to hike out, but I just couldn't go yet. I tore off my backpack and ran into the ocean. The crescent bay was turquoise at its crust and transitioned to a bright cobalt as it deepened. Yet, looking down from where I was swimming, the water was crystal clear. It sparkled, or maybe that was only my imagination. We swam out to some rocks at the far end of the bay and looked back at the most amazing campsite I have ever seen. For two nights and three days we had beachfront property in the most beautiful setting of my life.
