Blessed is the land of Oz

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Just a few days to go now and it'll be time to leave Australia to begin the last few chapters of this most excellent adventure. Everybody asks me if this time it's for good, but how could I say goodbye for good to a place that's been so good to me, and where I can gallop a horse through the surf on an ocean beach near our house (like I did last weekend with my friend Fiona)?

If anyone can truly have a second spiritual home, this is it. It'll be sad to leave my friends and this heavenly way of life but South Africa will be a most excellent compensation. See you there....

Reef fantasea

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There's probably no definitive list of the so-called seven natural wonders of the world – one might include Niagara Falls while another credits Venezuela’s Angel Falls, for example - but if there were, surely Australia's Great Barrier Reef would appear every time.

Stretched over more than 2600 kilometres, the Reef is often referred to as the world’s largest living organism – it’s actually millions of tiny things that make up one huge thing spread out over 3000 reefs and 900 islands – and as such it is not only a phenomenal sight to see up close but the only living thing visible from outer space.

We're at the permanent pontoon on Hardy Reef, out in the open ocean about 50 minutes from the Whitsunday Islands. After we took this photo, we dropped over the side and into a completely new world where everywhere the colours of the rainbow are reflected in the tropical fish, coral and clams. A giant 1.4-metre Wrasse named Wally is a plus-sized one-fish welcoming committee, and the swirling bursts of angelfish, damselfish, blue fusiliers, parrot fish, yellow butterfly fish and clownfish (Nemo’s extended family, perhaps) are spectacular.

It's overwhelmingly beautiful, and all the more so because it's just not something you see every day.

I feel certain Annie and Molly will remember it forever.

We are, like, SO sick of this food

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Just after this pic was taken, Annie said with some authority: “Mom, I’ve got a screw loose in my butt. I think it's my pancreas.”

I think she's just had enough of these backwoods camp breakfasts.

Beautiful beach, deadly creatures

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“Out on the patio we’d sit, And the humidity we’d breathe, We’d watch the lightning crack over canefields, Laugh and think, this is Australia.” - Gangajang’s ’80s hit, This Is Australia

Most of northern Queensland, including Mission Beach, is off limits for swimming at this time of year because of the marine stingers – the most dangerous of which are the box jellyfish, which can be fatal, and the Irukandji jellyfish, which aren't necessarily deadly but which will make their victims wish in the worst possible way that they'd stayed out of the water. We don't need to be warned twice, and Annie is just as happy to go beachcombing - her new favourite thing.

Now we're on a Mission

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After the utter beating the Ford has taken – all those river crossings, all that mud, all those rocks – I’m not particularly surprised when something very large and probably quite important falls out from underneath us as we’re zipping south along Queensland’s coastal highway. On the upside, we bottom out just as the funky little town of Mission Beach comes into view up ahead, so I guess if you absolutely must limp in somewhere with your axel (or, like, whatever the hell that thing is) hanging at a 90-degree angle and making a very bad noise, Mission Beach is as good a place as any to do so.

Surprisingly, we come out of the whole ill-thought-out 19th river-crossing debacle unscathed, with the Hertz guy simply bringing a new car down to us from Cairns and leaving our campsite, no questions asked. Which is SO good 'cause I didn’t want to lie and say that, you know, woopsy-daisy sir, that axel sure did fall off our car but not because we drove it on the 4WD track or anything like that. Ironically, this new car is also a Ford Territory and, now that we don’t need it, the four-wheel drive version.

So all’s well that ends well, it seems. I sense a turning point here. We’re kicking back on this amazing beach, and it’s not raining and we’re sitting outside a dry tent, with cold beer and a warm wind and all these gorgeous stars in a southern sky and I wonder: Could this be the beginning of a proper tropical holiday?

Bombs away

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This croc-free swimming hole in Lion's Den, Queensland, was our best camp spot yet - no other bugger around (heavenly), plus all the sunshine you could want and not a drop of rain.

Just out of this picture frame we also had a buck-naked Doog doing bombs into the river ... but I can't show you that 'cause Grandma fell off her chair the last time I put a naked picture of my husband on this blog. Go figure!

Stuck in the middle with you

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Some say the narrow, bumpy, impossibly steep, potholed, muddy coastal track from Cooktown to Cape Tribulation is the worst road in Australia ‑ but for some dumb reason we’re sure they don’t really mean it, and even though all the signs say a four-wheel drive is recommended we figure we’ll be fine because, you know, “recommended” isn’t exactly “mandatory”and the Ford Territory rental at least looks a 4WD.

If only the fellas from Hertz could have seen us five minutes before this picture was taken. Customers of the month we most certainly are not.

The 19th river crossing of the day was to prove our undoing. Mired in the rocks and mud - with the water starting to flow in through the right-hand-side doors and the girls looking ashen in the back seat (“Mom! Mom! Our teddies are getting wet!”) – it took me just a moment to size up the situation, whereupon I immediately realised that taking a fancy-shmancy 2WD rental car on this road was about as smart as driving 5000km from Ontario to Vancouver without a spare tire. Which would be something we might do. Err, did actually do, if truth be told.

The moral of this story, though, is that everyone needs a Doog. Mothers who throw their hands up in the air and start freaking out (that would be mothers like me) are most definitely a hindrance.

SuperDad managed to wade across the river, flagged down a 4WD guy, ran back to us with a sturdy rope, donned Molly’s mask and snorkel, dove under the car and attached it to something sturdy, and then came up for air to give the guy on the other side the thumbs-up.

Smug Spouse he may be at times, but where would I be without?

I hear ya, Captain Cook

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“I climbed one of the highest hills that overlooked the harbour, which afforded by no means a comfortable prospect.” - British explorer James Cook, on discovering Cooktown, in far north Queensland, in June 1770.

Surprise! It’s raining again! But I dig Captain Cook. He had the coolest way with words. I discovered this phrase on the sign beside Molly, on the very spot Cook himself had climbed to on that day in 1770. It's my new favourite saying. I’ll be sure to try it out when we get home:

Friends: “So, how was the camping?” “
Me: “Well, you know, it afforded by no means a comfortable prospect.”
Friends: “What about the weather?”
Me: “Again with the no comfortable prospect.”
Friends: “Oh get over yourself. My God, you bitch a lot. You could’ve been eaten by a croc.”
Me: “That may well have afforded me a more comfortable prospect, and a mercifully quick end to this soggy holiday.”

Of the many things said about Captain Cook, here's one that would also apply to my annoying husband: “He left nothing unattempted”. (Especially if it afforded me by no means a comfortable prospect.)

Northern reflections

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As the sun sets on our final day in the Territory, I reflect on what's been at times a "challenging" triip (read: BRUTAL!) but one that I'll look back on with fondness all the same. I may have failed Climate 101 - some might say this climate has failed me - but as Doog says, it’s more of a "man’s palace" up here and he's probably right. Queensland here we come....

Where the real Holiday begins

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Now I know why they call it the Holiday Inn. Yessiree, folks, because it’s an actual H-O-L-I-D-A-Y! Not a tropical steamy boot camp! And it’s not raining in our room! There’s banquet breakfasts! 24/7 air con! And, God bless ’em, there’s this pool too.

To Kakadu or not to Kakadu ... I say Kakadon't

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The Northern Territory’s Kakadu National Park is not only World Heritage-listed on two fronts - it’s considered both culturally and naturally significant – but it attracts tourists in droves. Not so much in the wet season, mind, but you wouldn’t be able to move out here in the dry season what with all the tour buses jockeying for position and the camera shutters going clickety-click.

With a landscape shaped by the Aborigines’ spiritual ancestors during the time of Creation, Kakadu is today jointly managed by its traditional Aboriginal owners and directors from Australia’s national parks. I give those folks full credit for keeping their wilderness pristine; I also give their marketing department full marks for overstating Kakadu’s case just a teensy-weensy bit.

It’s billed as a paradise for crocs and birdlife but on our two-hour cruise up the Yellow Water Billabong at the end of Jim Jim Creek – a wetlands area of channels, floodplains and backwater swamps – we spy exactly two sea eagles and a few assorted birds. Nor is there a croc to be seen because the water is so high - in fact, at one point we are actually boating around in the parking lot, with the water lapping at the top of the traffic signs. It's not easy keeping a six- and an eight-year-old interested at the best of times, but when there's not much of anything to look it, well, hell, yeah, Annie and Molly, those traffic signs sure are exciting, aren't they?!

Don’t get me wrong, though, I still blame no one but myself for coming up here at the wrong time of year. But at risk of being caught complaining about the rain yet again (ARGHHH!) the truth is I left Kakadu in a decidedly Kakadon’t state of mind.

That's a whole lotta handbags

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The unpleasant truth about luxury brands is that magnificent animals like these have to be killed so that fancy and fashionable ladies can carry their crocodile-skin bags 'round town.

Doog took this picture at the Darwin Crocodile Farm which, just like a beef operation, concentrates on breeding, babies, fattening up and killing. There are 36,000 saltwater crocociles housed here and if they don’t become breeders, they end up as meat or handbags.

So after they failed to catch even a glimpse of one in the wild, the girls were thrilled to see the animals in what was sort of their natural environment, albeit in a fenced-in billabong, and even “patted” a five-metre croc through the fence. Me? A farm's a farm, I suppose, but I stayed away.

The naked truth

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Travelling in the off season does have its perks, including the fact there’s never anyone around to complain about my family, who are prone to fits of nudieness wherever possible.

Shock! A picture without water in it

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Despite my general discomfort and regular dashes back to the air-conditioned comfort of the car – the girls and Doog have taken to calling me Princess Nancy - I am intrigued by this part of the world. Not since India have I been so physically uncomfortable for so long, but there is also something strangely inviting about it, and the Northern Territorians who call it home clearly do so with great pride.

One of the little oddities that makes it unique are these magnetic termite mounds in Litchfield National Park, built up over time by the co-operative efforts of millions of industrious little creatures.

It's all relative

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When I took this pic I was spitting nails that this washout (yet another) would keep Doog from doing the one thing he wanted to do in the Northern Territory: fish for barramundi, sans touristes, in the Daly River, a hidden gem known only to those in the know.

But then later, feeling sorry for myself yet again (!!) and getting some consolation by trolling the internet to plan a side trip to Lesotho on our next trip (to South Africa in June), I came across this little tidbit:

"If the women are selling Sotho food and beer, the guide will obtain a sample for those willing to taste barbecued mice."

So here's the thing: rain and heat and crap food and a soggy tent and boiled rice aside, there is no barbecued mouse in my gut and for that reason alone, I vow to stop my sad-sack complaining. Amen.

No clear track up ahead

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Doog is fond of saying to me "There's a clear track up ahead, Nancy" whenver he thinks I should know exactly what to do next. Here, though, in what I'm told is the last gasp of the Northern Territory wet season, our grand plans are foiled in all directions. Water all over the road up ahead meant we had to turn back, so we chucked a right instead, and found that that road was, er, also closed.

Soon we will find an open road and merrily we will go...

Waterworld

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Accustomed as I am to roads being closed because of snow, this Litchfield washout was a novelty for me, and a bit of fun for the girlies. (That's our no-can-do non-4WD rental in the background.)

How do you spell relief?

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The positively gorgeous Litchfield National Park, less than two hours south-west of Darwin, has long lived in the shadow of its more famous Northern Territory cousin, Kakadu. But that might be about to change, as Litchfield has just nabbed the No. 1 spot on Australian Traveller magazine’s “Top 100 Things to Do in Australia You’ve Never Heard of” list.

In some ways it would be a shame if too many people found out about it ... but on the other hand, it's probably right to spread the joy.

Catching the cool spray from Wangi Falls, we did the shortest photo op on record - not only because it was so HOT but because the water was so high that the threat of saltwater crocs moving into the fresh water was very real indeed. Yikes.

Shitass planners R us

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OK, now I get it. The Northern Territory’s tourist-baiting jingle - “You never never know if you never never go” - TOTALLY makes sense. Because now I know! I really really know what I never never knew! That a Top End camping holiday at the end of monsoon season is never never a goddamn fucking good idea! So the tent looks all nice & cozy now but just you WAIT!

I’m standing in an inch of water – inside the tent, mind – and wringing out my undies while the monsoon buckets down, the thunder making my eye twitch like a banshee and the lightning directly overhead (stop reading NOW, Grandma!) illuminating my girls’ mercifully sleeping faces. We are in the middle of nowhere. Literally, this is nowhere unless you are a fucking crocodile or a dingo or a goddamn kookaburra who dares laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

How do people LIVE in this climate?

Naturally, Doog thinks it’s all fantastically good fun but I will smother him with a pillow as soon as he nods off, and then how fun will it be? Huh? Huh?! How can he possibly say he loves this? My heretofore robust sense of humour has exited stage left, and I am left to seethe and wonder: How did I get myself into this mess? I suppose I could blame Doog but the truth is, yes indeed, in my excitement to see something new and different in Australia, I skimmed over the brochures and their warnings about the wet season.

Ooops.

Dare to skim, and you shall be punished. Skim, and you shall be bitten on the ass, big time. Skim, and you may as well hang a sign on yourself that reads: I am a shitass bad holiday-planner fuckup.

Fluff from the Fluffmeister

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I could fill an entire chapter with quotable quotes from my Molly, aka Fluffy Farquhar. She's just that kind of kid. Here are some of my favourites:

Molly (while settling down to sleep in the tent): "Mom, is your butt crack a really important part of your body?"

Molly: "Mom, when your boss is teaching you all that stuff, do you sit around in a circle on the carpet?"

Molly (on getting off the Manitoulin Island ferry in southern Ontario): "Mom, are we still in Canada or is this Saskatchewan now?"

Molly: "Mom, I can't wait to be a mom too."
Me: "Why's that, honey?"
Molly: "So I can sit around and drink Diet Coke and read the newsaper all day too."