It's a beastly place; overrun with tourist traps and, of course, tourists—mainly Australians and Japanese, but a fair number of Britons, a sprinkling of Americans and others. There are booking agencies on most blocks, and every hotel clerk and restaurant cashier seems to double as a booking agent. When we asked about public transportation or for directions to places, we were often met with disinformation and an attempt to sell us a package tour.
Still, if you actually want to book a tour, it's all very convenient. And we did. We booked a two-day trip on a sailboat, to snorkel and dive on the Great Barrier Reef, leaving early the next morning and staying on the reef overnight.
We couldn't see paying for a hotel room while we were on the reef, though, so we had to renegotiate our already-paid-for hotel stay to include a one-night gap, which in turn had us lugging our aptly named luggage down the street at dawn, to another hotel's baggage room for overnight storage—no room for all that gear on a sailboat, mate.
By the way, it isn't driving on the Wrong Side of the Road that's the killer. It's trying to cross the street at dawn, stumbling with half a ton of luggage. Look left, step off the curb, jump out of your skin as the bus horn bellows in your right ear. Yikes!
Nevertheless, we untied from the dock a half hour later aboard the Vagabond. Most boats carry 100-300 passengers out to the reef. Ours carried 10, with a full set of sails and a crew of 3. It was wonderful. We snorkeled at four different spots, and had each one to ourselves.
We also bonded with our boatmates. There was a pair of twenty-year-old British girls we called Rusty and Roxy (because those were the logos emblazoned on their sweatshirts), two pair of twenty-and-thirty-something newlyweds, a forty-something couple (two lovely women) from Holland, plus Kate and I, who at 50 and 60 anchored the end of a considerable span of decades. It made for interesting conversations. And, if it was sometimes hard to agree on what music to listen to, those who really cared had iPods.
Oh, brave new world, that has such gadgets in it...
I wasn't sure how I would like sleeping on a sailboat in mild to moderate swells. The answer was, a lot. I like it a lot. It rocked me to sleep. After a second day of snorkeling and relaxing on the sea, I felt a million miles from home. We'd only been in Australi— week, and already we'd seen and done so much.
The Great Barrier Reef is a treasure and a delight, with a staggering array of corals, fish, and other sea life. It's not quite as vivid and technicolor as it's hyped-up to be, but it compares favorably with some of the best spots in Hawaii (though not as pristine as some of the reefs off Bali).
And it's bloody huge, mate. There are hundreds of fine places to dive and snorkel, so as a rule no two boats are found in the same spot at any time. We got back to Cairns tired and happy, dragging our bags up from the storage closet to our room, and sleep.
We had another night in Cairns, like it or not. And we didn't. So we took a day trip to Kuranda, a town in the nearby mountains that was recommended to us by fellow travellers. The booking agent told us that the "cheapest" way to Kuranda was $129 each, which included entrance to the aboriginal cultural center, passage to Kuranda on the sky rail, and back to Cairns by the famous scenic railroad. (We later learned that there is, in fact, a bus from Cairns to Kuranda twice a day for, get this, two dollars. Sigh.)
The cultural center was interesting; we picked up some basic aboriginal lore, learned how to make fire with a stick, a string, and a board, how to throw a spear, using a spear-thrower of ancient Australian design, and how to throw a boomerang so that it actually came back. Well, you know, more or less came back.
The sky rail took us over miles of rainforest, with stops where we changed cars and found nature trails through the forest at various altitudes. It was beautiful and, yes, worth the price.
Kuranda is a fascinating town, with a butterfly sanctuary, a bird sanctuary, a lot of aboriginal art, and a mellow population of ex-hippies, their children, and Australians of aboriginal descent, all living, if not in actual harmony, at least in a relaxed disonance. It was also one of the best and least expensive places to do tourist shopping that we found.
Unfortunately, the train back to Cairns left a bare hour after we arrived, due to our lingering at the cultural center and along the paths in the rainforest. We decided to rent a car in Cairns the next day and return to Kuranda, to see the birds and butterflies properly, do some serious art shopping, and stay the night (at the Kuranda Spa Resort, a quiet place, and beautifully designed). And so we did. Kuranda is worth a leisurely visit.
The following day we drove north to Port Douglas, a small, pretty town with very close access to the Great Barrier Reef, very near the End of the Road—to go further north into the tropical wilderness requires a 4WD—and just a 60 km drive up the coastal highway from Kuranda.
At this point I should say something about driving in Australia. It's an adventure. Australians drive on the Wrong Side of the Road. The steering wheel and controls are likewise on the wrong side of the car, the turn signal activates the windshield wiper and vice-versa. Very disconcerting. Roads are often narrow, center dividers are rare, and shoulders are frequently notional.
That said, Australian drivers are generally polite and considerate, making it far easier and safer to drive in Australia than, say, Italy. Or Turkey.
To say nothing of Indonesia...
But this trip was different from our previous adventures. On our trip to Indonesia, ten years ago now, I had done all the driving. Time and Parkinson's have made inroads into my reaction time and coordination, and Kate is now only comfortable doing the driving herself. Which left me to grip the door handle with white knuckles while murmuring encouraging phrases such as "Other side of the road, dear," and "Keep left, dear. No, no, your other left," and occasionally "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, could we keep all four wheels on the pavement for a while?"
To be fair, Kate drove the whole trip without an accident, always signaling with the windshield wiper before turning. And if my side of the car left the pavement from time to time, it was to ensure a wide space between us and oncoming traffic (all of which, I might add, was on the Wrong Side of the Road).
"I'd rather drive off the road than have a head-on collision," Kate explained. I could hardly argue with that. But I suspected, in the privacy of my inmost thoughts, that those were not always the only two alternatives...
Still, we made it to Port Douglas unscathed. It was high season all over the balmy north, full of Australians fleeing the August chill of Perth and Melbourne, so vacant hotel rooms were hard to come by. We ended up at a backpacker hotel; this is a common thing in Australia—mainly dorm-style rooms, a large common kitchen, and a handful of private "en suite" rooms (rooms with bath). We'd call it a youth hostel, I guess, but it isn't really the same thing. There were plenty of gray-haired couples, and a few families, in addition to the Young and the Restless. We were lucky enough to snag the last private room.
Port Douglas was a treat compared with Cairns. We booked the room for three nights, to give us a stable home base while we explored.
The next morning we went snorkeling on the reef again, this time out and back on a high-speed day boat, to a spot far out in the Coral Sea. It was a calm, sunny day, and the reef was at its technicolor best. The water was clear—visibility 50 feet or more. Sweet. Very sweet indeed.
The boat carried a hundred people, which made it a "small" boat, but many aboard were scuba divers who disappeared from view almost immediately when we reached our destination. Several others were non-swimmers who stayed on board while we snorkeled, and most of the snorkelers stayed timidly in the shadow of the boat. So Kate and I were unexpectedly free to roam the reef alone together, in splendid isolation.
We kept the boat in sight, mind you, but we didn't exactly hover by the anchor line. And yes, we saw a shark. I think it was about the size of my arm. Kate thinks it was Much Larger. Hmm. Maybe we saw two sharks... Anyway, enjoyed ourselves immensely and came to no harm.
Next: Mossman Gorge