Change In Plans

ZOLA SHREDDING ON KANGAROO ISLAND

Greetings from Kangaroo Island.  Unfortunately, today was our last full day here.  Tomorrow we will fly up to a sheep station called Angora China, somewhere in the Outback.  We did our best to see and do as much as we could on our last day.

In the end, we did see and do a lot today, and we even had a bit of a parenting breakthrough with our older child.

After breakfast, we drove about 60 kilometers down to the extreme southwest corner of Kangaroo Island, to the huge Flinders Chase National Park.  The park takes up about 20% of the island’s land mass, and was largely burned down three years ago in a bush fire. 

In the park, we went to look at a big rock landbridge called Admirals Arch.  It is a haven for New Zealand fur seals, which we saw everywhere as we walked down a long, twisting boardwalk to the sea.  The kids really liked watching the seals swim and play on the rocks.  We saw one seal climbing a 5-meter cliff, like a roly-poly rock climber, using his flippers (of course) to haul himself upward.  Very impressive.

From Admirals Arch we went to the nearby “Remarkable Rocks,” which is a heavily eroded granite formation on the top of a hillock overlooking the ocean.  The rocks are remarkable: they have been carved out and shaped in strange curved patterns over the course of the last 200 million years.  Zola and I had fun climbing the insides of  one of the rocks, and I was glad that neither of us ended up in the emergency room.

We made a quick stop at a conservation area called “Koala Walk,” which is a dirt track with big eucalyptus trees planted densely on both sides.  Aside from a big, old male that we saw sleeping in a tree in the car park, we only saw one other koala on Koala Walk.  I pointed out to India that they had been careful not to call it “Koalas Walk,” so we should not have been disappointed.

Nick had packed us a great picnic lunch, which we ate on the beach at Hanson’s Bay.  This is one of the famous south-coast beaches, and it was absolutely beautiful.  The white sand bottom makes the water look pale blue.  A reef keeps the waves out of the bay, so Lu and I swam and played in the warm water for a long time.  Like pretty much everything else on Kangaroo Island, the beach was deserted except for us.

On our way to Vivonne Bay, we stopped at Rustic Blue, an art gallery where we had been told they keep a baby kangaroo.  The gallery’s owner adopted the kangaroo, Misty, as a 2-month-old joey, after its mother had been killed by a car.  The adoptive Mom carried the joey around in a baby sling for 8 months, feeding her from a bottle.  For a while she had two adopted joeys, but she found that the sling was too crowded.  In a fit of parental sentimentality, and out of admiration for the gallery owner, we bought Tallulah a starfish necklace that she coveted.

Near Vivonne Bay I rented a surfboard, which we strapped to the roof of our rental car.  I was a little nervous, surfing on an otherwise deserted beach, with all of the shark and rip-tide warnings of our rental-car lady echoing in my ears.  It ended up being absolutely safe, and fun.  The waves were not huge (even though we were on the open ocean side of the island - next stop Antarctica!), but big enough to ride and have fun.  Zola went bodyboarding, and eventually surfed as well.  Lu played happily on the beach,  but India was tormented by vicious, biting sandflies, so she ran around swatting insects and taking pictures.

After we drove back to our house, all the way on the north coast of the island, we went off into the one of the nearby pastures for sunset drinks.  It was spectacular to watch the sun set over the golden hills, with the pink clouds reflected off the water.  As we walked through the pastures, we saw five or six big kangaroos, who watched us warily for a while, then hopped away.

SUNSET ON KI

The breakthrough with Zola came early in the day.  He had been very difficult and emotional from the time we woke up: refusing to eat, being disrespectful, sneaking onto the computer to play games, etc.  We have seen some of this before, but this morning was a new low. 

Once we got into the car, his behavior got more dramatic: refusing to wear a seat belt, and complaining a lot about pain in the ankle that he twisted yesterday.

When we had gone about 10 kilometers from the house, he announced that he was not going with us, and that he wanted to get out and walk home.  I stopped the car and unlocked his door, and he said, “Fine!” and got out onto the derted dirt road.  I drove off, watching him in the rearview mirror. 

After I had gone about 100 meters, his expression changed from defiance to shock, and he started running after us, yelling “Stop! Stop!”.  He caught up to us (so much for hurt ankle), and got into the car.  I was expecting a complete temper tantrum drama.  Instead, he smiled at us and said, “Thanks for waiting,” and fastened his seatbelt.

For the next 4-5 hours, he was as sweet, and polite, and attentive as I have ever seen him.  Only once, much later, did he ask, “Were you really going to leave me?”  I assured him that we love him, but that we would have.   It was a long, but completely safe, walk back to the house, and we would have been happy to accommodate his wish to be alone.  He looked surprised but didn’t say anything.

We are all learning a lot on this trip.  Every day, I realize that I have a lot more to learn about being a parent.  Today was another great day in this great place.

Greetings from Kangaroo Island!  At the risk of sounding tedious (or at least repetitive), we had another amazing day here.

In the morning, we went to the Parndana Wildlife Park, where we were allowed to feed and pet the kangaroos (Tallulah heaven), and to pet koalas as they slept in their low trees.  We also saw a lot of birds in cages: garishly colored lorikeets and parrots of all varieties; beautiful creamy-colored cockatoos, with their up-again-down-again mohawks of pale yellow feathers; vilely prehistoric emus, with freaky holes in their skulls where their ears should be.  Anyone who doubts the “birds evolved from dinosaurs” theory should look at emus’ legs and heads. 

After seeing the wedge-tailed eagles and the glossy black cockatoos in the wild yesterday, we were all a little sad to see them in little cages.  This sadness was replaced by startled fear, and then hilarity, in the walk-through aviary.  Two Egyptian geese had built their nest right next to the path, and they were extremely upset with the Baird family for threatening their chicks.  In tandem, the male and female chased each of us as we walked by, squawking horribly, flapping their wings, and biting at the air.  They chased us 20 meters or so down the path, full of malicious intent.

Tallulah can be excused for running in terror, because she is not much bigger than an Egyptian goose herself.  Not wanting to look like a goose-fearing coward in front of my kids, however,  I turned and stomped loudly back toward the pair, hoping they would retreat.  As we headed for contact, the geese finally turned, ducking their heads, and quacking softly as they ran back toward the nest.  I could almost imagine them saying, “Sorry, sorry.  No trouble here.  Just out for a breath of fresh air.  No trouble here.”  

At some point, though, as I slowed down and as we approached the nest, the geese turned toward me and renewed their attack: squawking, flapping, biting.  After backpedaling a few steps, I stomped back at them, and, they retreated, heads down, with the apologetic soft quacking. 

The geese and I went back and forth several times.  I will probably not win any environmental-sensitivity awards, but we all laughed as we fled … I mean, as we walked calmly from the aviary.

Rachel served us lunch in her family’s old screened-in fishing shed on the beach.  Yet another stylish, understated, perfect space in their stylish, understated, perfect domain.  After lunch, we walked northward on the rocks for a while, looking at the tidal pools and picking up shells.  Tallulah said to India, “We are gathering treasures, Mommy.  Magical treasures.” 

Zola and I went snorkeling in the warm water, and then we all went for a southward walk to the end of the beach, about a kilometer from the house.  On the inland side of the beach, about 50 meters from the surf, there is a narrow brackish lake.  When the rains come, the lake overflows its beachward edge, and becomes “Middle River,” flowing into the ocean.  Right now it is full of warm, stagnant water, and teeming with fish.

As we walked, Tallulah befriended a neighbor’s dog, who she called “Neighbor Dog.”  They ran together in the sand, she threw sticks (which he occasionally chased), and she patted and kissed him.  It was sweet to see her with a dog, and so happy.  India and I are confident that this trip really is good for our kids, but occasionally we see what they are missing (e.g., a pet) by not having the stability and normalcy of a home.

Before another exquisite dinner, India  sent me on a brutal run.  She said something like, “There is a bit of a hill at the start, but it levels out and is easy from there.”  Maybe I misunderstood her, or maybe I am now completely out of her league in fitness (duh!), but it was character building, to say the least.  She and the kids drove by as I struggled, on their way to a really good sunset-viewing spot, and they cheered me on with great enthusiasm.

Zola and I had a great game of Monopoly in front of the fire, in the sheepskin-floored reading circle.  It was the first time he has ever finished a full game, and probably the first time for me in more than 20 years.  A fun end to a fun day, here on Kangaroo Island.

Tomorrow we are getting up early, to see the “must see” natural attractions: Remarkable Rocks, Admirals Arch, and Vivonne Bay.  An Australian scientist (which discipline, I wonder) declared Vivonne Bay to be the very best of Australia’s nearly 10,000 beaches.  Everything else here has been so wonderful that we are expecting greatness.

Greetings from Snellings Beach, on the north shore of Kangaroo Island, Australia!  Warnings of imminent death notwithstanding, we had an amazing first full day here.  At this point, KI (as it is called) would definitely be in the Top 5 “must go” places on our trip.

 Unfortunately, we still lack the ability (temporarily) to upload photos, so I will have to rely on my shaky descriptive abilities and several thousand words.  Just kidding about the several thousand words.

We like the house we are staying in more and more with each passing hour.  There is a strange turret on the front-left side, with a diameter of about 4 meters.  This creates a great round sleeping loft upstairs (with amazing ocean views), and a sheepskin-and-throw-pillow reading room downstairs.  It sounds cheesy, but the kids, in particular, love the tower.

We are about a 45-minute drive from any restaurant.  Nick and Rachel, the brother and sister who run LifeTime rentals (and grew up in this house), are also outstanding chefs.  They cook our meals in their own kitchen, a 3-minute drive from here, and serve them at the dining table here.  Each meal has been truly remarkable.  A typical dinner:  boneless quail in angel-hair pastry with mint couscous; kingfish lightly barbecued with roasted red peppers; baked chicken with mashed potatoes and broccoli; panzanella salad with hand-made croutons and balsamic; lemon muffins with fresh mango and creme fraiche. 

I would make a lousy food writer, but the meals have been amazing.  Nick and Rachel also are incredibly gracious, friendly, and unobtrusive.  They serve the food, and come back an hour later to take away the dishes.  Sort of like elves, but big, friendly, Australian ones.  They have taken a nice house and beautiful setting, and created an exceptional set of experiences for us.

Even aside from the great house, the spectacular views, the pale blue ocean, the wonderful food and service, and the nearly perfect weather, we have had a lot of fun exploring the island.

We had a guide, named Tim Harris, for our first full day.  The Latin name for a Tasmanian Devil is Sarcophilus Harris (Harris’s flesh eater), and Tim says he is a direct descendant of that Harris.  Zola was very impressed by this.  The Devils’ former name, incidentally, was Sarcophilus Satanicus.

The tour with Tim went from 9:30 am to almost 7 pm, which was pretty long, but worthwhile.  We started in a national park, tracking koalas and rare glossy black cockatoos on foot.  Tim told us that the cockatoos’ diet consists exclusively of seed cones from the she-oak tree, always held in their left talons and eaten while rotated counter-clockwise.  This obsessive-compulsive behavior may be part of the reason there are only 300 of these guys left.   Eventually we saw five of the birds (beautiful), and scores of wallabies and kangaroos, but no koalas.

Tim took us for a walk on Stokes Beach, which used to be pretty much inaccessible, blocked by cliffs on both ends.  Several years ago, some Island men went to the north cliff of a Sunday afternoon, bringing along took a bunch of beer and plastic explosives.  They blasted and drank, and drank and blasted, until they created a narrow passage onto the beach through the rocks.  Zola and I both thought this was pretty cool.

Tim grilled us some fish for lunch, and then took us down to the sea lion beach on the island’s south coast.  We found out, incidentally, that sea lions and seals are the same thing.  Australian sea lions are wildly endangered, but there is a big colony on KI.  We walked right down next to where hordes of them were sleeping, in about 25 family groups of 12-15 seals each. 

Apparently, sea lions go out and hunt fish for about 72 hours at a stretch, swimming ~200 kilometers, and making 400-500 dives.  Each dive is about 150 meters deep.  When they come back to the beach, they collapse, as if they have been unplugged, and sleep about 20 hours a day for the following three days.  Then the cycle starts again.

This is a long-winded way of saying that most of what we saw on the beach was sea lions sleeping. 

 That said, the dominant males in each little family group woke up from time to time, to chase females, confront other males, or round up errant pups.  During the hour that we watched, we saw nine or ten sumo-like shoving matches, with loud barking and teeth gnashing.  These are huge animals (600-800 kilograms each), so watching them fight was pretty awesome.  Each skirmish ended quickly, with the non-dominant males wrigglescurrying off to fight another day.  The dominant male would then collapse again and sleep.

On the way back to the north coast, we stopped several times to look for koalas.  We were introduced to a brother and sister, aged 12 and 9, as we searched the eucalyptus trees on their farm for koalas.  Zola nearly died of embarrassment on the spot, a hazard which was not on the list communicated by Vickie the rental-car lady.  We did not see koalas in any of these spots, but we did see a few huge wedge-tailed eagles, flapping their meter-long wings menacingly as they hunted for wallabies to swoop down and kill.

Finally, just before we got back to our house, we found three koalas sleeping peacefully (as they do 20 hours per day) in trees next to the road.  Mission accomplished!

Rachel and her mother, Belinda, who owned a famous restaurant in Adelaide for many years, served us a spectacular dinner in an corrugated old sheep-shearing shed on their property.  The shed has been fixed up, and decorated so stylishly that India took careful notes and asked many questions.  Before dessert we went outside for a family game of candlelight croquet.  No lanterns got broken, and Zola and Tallulah each believe that they won, so we counted that as success.

As Rachel was taking us back to our house, she said, “You’ve got to see this,” and veered her 4×4 off the driveway and down into a big pasture.  Good, old-fashioned redneck fun.  Scores, maybe hundreds, of kangaroos hopped away from Rachel’s headlights as she drove slowly amongst them.  Zola and Tallulah thought this was the best thing yet.

Greetings from Kangaroo Island, South Australia.  This post is about renting a car this morning in Penneshaw, shortly after we got off the 40-minute ferry from Cape Jervis.

Budget is the only rental-car company with an office in Penneshaw.  They have a small two-desk store front on the main street of this tiny, dusty town. 

When we walked into the office, we expected a quick and straightforward commercial interaction, like the hundreds of other times we have rented cars.  What we got, however, was a kind-hearted, but unintentionally hilarious, 30-minute monologue on all the ways that we could get killed on Kangaroo Island.

The woman at Budget, Vickie, is in her mid-60s, with flaming orange hair, a purple velour blouse, and thick glasses.  Based on how kind she was to the kids (and on the 30-minute lesson she gave us), my guess is that she is a retired school teacher.  If she is, she was definitely also the faculty advisor to the Drama Club. 

As we walked in, Vickie handed Zola and Tallulah each a thick tourism brochure and a pen.  She encouraged them to “draw pictures and write notes in the blank spaces on all of the pages.”  She said, “Most of the history we know is from what people wrote in the margins of books.”  Huh?  She was probably not a history teacher.

After she got my credit card and license, she instructed India and me to sit at her desk, “to go through the verbal briefing.”  This should have been our first warning, but, obediently, India and I sat down.

Before showing us the rental contract, Vickie went through an elaborate description of what was and was not covered by the various rental insurances.  Basically,  it seems, nothing is covered on Kangaroo Island. 

Eventually, she slid the contract across the desk, and and pointed with her pen to a printed sticker at the top. 

 She said, “Let me draw your attention to these two provisions which are unique to Kangaroo Island rentals.  First, regardless of the cover you take, you have no insurance after dark.  From sunrise to sunset you are covered, but unless you have $30,000 to buy your rental car after you hit a kangaroo, don’t drive anywhere at night.  Second, you are not allowed to drive the vehicle onto any beaches or unmade roads.  This will invalidate your insurance and your rental agreement.”

At this point, I should have just signed the contract, grabbed the kids, and driven off.  But, I had to ask, “Excuse me, Vickie.  What is an ‘unmade road’?”

She grabbed another of the thick tourism brochures, and opened it to a fold-out map.    We got a full five minutes on the gradation of Kangaroo Island roads, from the paved to the gravel to the dirt to the ‘unmade.’  Unmade roads are tracks.  With a highlighter, she marked the good roads, the dead ends, and the high-animal-density areas. 

While discussing the gravel roads, Vickie reached dramatically across her desk for a jar full of brown pebbles.  She shook the jar several times, and explained that “most of the roads are made from this very unstable material.  Regardless of what the signs say, it is not safe to go more than 70 kilometers an hour.  You will roll the vehicle over.  It happens to tourists all of the time.” 

Sotto voce she imitated an American tourist’s accent, “But I’m allowed to drive 110.  The signs say so.”  In her own Glenda-the Good-Witch voice she said. “Don’t do it.  Regardless of the signs.” 

She also said, “You will see a lot of show offs driving their cars on the beaches.  Don’t be tempted.  You will get stuck, and invalidate your rental agreement.”

After the road quality and beach driving jeremiads were exhausted, and she had outlined several good routes in purple highlighter, Vickie said, “Actually, the roads are nowhere near as dangerous as the animals that hop out onto them.”  She told us about the huge number of animals that get hit, and how she had killed two kangaroos in the last two years.  Apparently kangaroos crack the windscreen and can hurt the driver, but wallabies “just roll underneath and do a lot of damage to the undercarriage.”

Vickie told us that she personally never drives faster than 70 kilometers an hour, even on the tar roads.  She illustrated all of this with many more purple highlights (the location of her farm, the location of the run-over kangaroos, more high-animal-density zones) on our map.

She summed up by saying we should not go over 70 kilometers an hour anywhere on the island, and wrote “70 kph MAX!!!” in purple highlighter on our map. 

Then she said, “As long as I have the map out, let me show you where the rip currents will drown you if you are not careful.”  She quickly x’ed out about 80% of the beaches on Kangaroo Island, remarking, “two tourists were just killed there,” and “that one is extremely dangerous,” as she made her way around the coast line.

Immediately after concluding on rip currents, she said, “I should show you where the great white sharks are as well.”  This eliminated the rest of the beaches, except for two tidal pools, slightly in-land from the actual ocean.  “These are the only truly safe places to swim.  No dangerous currents, and probably, probably no sharks.”

By this point, Zola the Nervous, had abandoned his marginalia to come over and listen to the warnings.  Vickie noticed his Crocs, and said, “Of course you must wear closed-toe shoes at all times on the island.  There are snakes everywhere, and all but one of them is highly venomous.  Those shoes won’t do at all.” 

She then addressed Zola and Tallulah directly, “You must hold Mommy and Daddy’s hand at all times, because otherwise snakes will bite you.  They defend, they don’t attack, but you must not walk anywhere by yourselves.  And you must wear closed-toe shoes.”  This is the kind of thing that normally freaks Zola out, but I think he realized that Vickie was perhaps overstating for dramatic effect.

Shame on us, but by this time India and I were trying hard not to catch each others’ eyes and start to laugh.  As a last touch, Vickie took the purple highlighter and wrote the ambulance-service phone number on our map, and marked the location of the hospital in Kingscote.  Then she said, “But you won’t need a hospital, because you are going to be very, very careful, and have a wonderful time.”

I said, “Between the bad roads, the  suicidal wildlife, the rip tides, the great white sharks, and the dangerous snakes, maybe we should have gone on vacation in Baghdad instead of Kangaroo Island.”

Vickie thought for a moment, and said, “Oh, I don’t think it is quite that bad.”

We eventually thanked Vickie, and got ready to leave.  She really did mean well.  We all got into the car, and I drove away.  Very, very slowly. 

Thus far, aside from unbelievable numbers of dead kangaroos and wallabies on the roads, no additional evidence of great danger on Kangaroo Island.  We will be careful.

PostScript - After writing all of this, I got nervous, and decided to check the facts.  In the last five years, there has been only one (non-fatal) shark attack on Kangaroo Island.  A surfer was bitten in 2006.  There have only been two “swept out to sea” drownings, in one incident in 2005.  As far as I can tell, there have never been any snake-bite deaths recorded on Kangaroo Island.  Last year there were only two deaths from snake bite in all of Australia.  Couldn’t find data on car accidents.  Needless to say, we will be careful, particularly with Zola and Tallulah.

Greetings from the north shore of Kangaroo Island, Australia.  We arrived at our rented house late this afternoon, and the morale of everyone in the family (particularly me) went way up.  This place is truly off-the-hook amazing.  We aren’t able to load India’s photos yet, but here is the website, to give you an idea of how beautiful it is: http://www.life-time.com.au/cliff.html.  More on Kangaroo Island in a later post.

The trip from western Tasmania to Kangaroo Island was long, but relatively entertaining.  This post describes our adventures in the hamlet of Cape Jervis, where we stayed last night, before taking the ferry this morning.

We stayed at a quirky bed and breakfast about three kilometers from the ferry dock: a sheep farm with a jumble of four or five outbuildings converted into guest cottages.  Our outbuilding/cottage was actually a converted troop train railway car.  Strange, but not uncomfortable.  The B&B is advertised as having “Accommodation Ranging From 1 to 4.5 Stars.”  Not sure where the railway car was on that spectrum.

 The story of the B&B’s manageress could be the subject of a short novel, or of an overwrought Baz Luhrmann film. 

From what we could piece together, perhaps inaccurately:

• The manageress, an attractive woman in her late 50s named Bronwen, recently moved from Saudi Arabia back to the sheep farm where she grew up.  Bronwen is a great name for a strong female lead character.
• For the many years that Bronwen was working overseas, the farm (which includes the bed and breakfast) had been managed by her brother and her elderly father.  The brother passed away last year, and the father needed her help.
• In addition to sheep, the father has raised exotic birds (e.g., lorikeets, cockatoos) in aviaries all over the property.  One of the farm hands had been stealing the breeding pairs, and had essentially ruined the business.  The father let the remaining birds go free, but they nest picturesequely and noisily in the trees on the farm.
• Bronwen’s husband, British, originally moved to South Australia with her, but recently “decided to go back overseas for work.”  Bronwen no longer appears to wear a wedding ring.
• Now Bronwen and the elderly father try to maintain the farm and the B&B, while the freed birds sing in the tree tops, and the traffic going to/from the Kangaroo Island ferry passes the farm

The scenery around Cape Jervis is so beautiful -rolling hills of golden wheat, the blue ocean, the island looming in middle distance, all bathed in golden light- that Bronwen’s story deserves to be a movie rather than a book.  Sort of “Out of Africa” meets “Bridges of Madison County” meets “Sweet Home Alabama,” but all happening in South Australia.

As we found out, Cape Jervis has only one place to eat dinner: the utterly charmless local tavern/betting parlor.  The tavern is the sole tenant in a small 1970s strip mall, located off the narrow highway.  We walked in at about 7:55 last night, hurrying because we had been told that the kitchen closed at 8:00.  Literally all of the conversation in the bar stopped, and everyone stared.  Either they don’t get a lot of visitors, or no one brings kids to the pub, or both.  The young man playing billiards missed his shot and scowled at us.

It was probably a coincidence (or near closing time), but all of the elderly regulars soon started filing out, saying to the bartender, ” ‘Night, Murray” or “See you tomorrow, Murray” as they left.  Within minutes, the full bar was nearly empty.   The only noise was the huge TVs broadcasting greyhound racing behind us, and the electronic demo sounds of the slot machines in the tiny, dark casino.  We quickly ate our (truly awful) dinner, and left as well.  ‘Night, Murray.

We had only walked about 200 meters up the highway toward Bronwen’s B&B when an ancient LandCruiser made a u-turn and pulled up next to us.  The equally ancient driver, named John, offered to give us a lift.  We had been walking past his farm, and (as he told us), his dog let him know that strangers were around.  He went to investigate, and wanted to be sure we got home safely.  It was a very nice gesture, even if the B&B was only another 500 meters away.

Because they are such close neighbors, we were surprised to find that John and Bronwen did not know each other.  They met and shook hands for the first time when John dropped us off. 

In the movie version of life, their relationship (romantic or otherwise) would become a central part of the plot.  Unfortunately, in the life version of life, that seems unlikely.  Maybe we should check in on them in a year’s time.