Dear John,
By the third day, you were asking me if I’d had any memorable experiences, saying that you couldn’t wait to see what I would write about the trip. Well, with that type of pressure, you’re lucky there’s anything to read at all, buddy. Revealing my soul to family and friends back home isn’t quite so intimidating…because I don’t have to look them in the face. But you, well I was stuck with you for at least another week after the trip. How honest would I choose to be about my thoughts and feelings throughout the trip? How willing was I to be that vulnerable with you, Tom, and Jono should any of you happen to read my blog? What if outside the opinions of my loving friends and family, my writing is actually utter rubbish? After all, I’ve never known you to be overly generous with praise. But then what am I saying? I’m the one and only Quirky but Fierce Crasian, an open book for all the world to read if they can be bothered to pick it up. By nature, I can be no other way.
Love and Hugs,
D.
P.S. While writing this entry, you’ve just told me that you read Day 2 and you’re expecting more out of this one. Did I ever mention how I used to give myself haircuts when I was little, but they always came out really uneven? Good thing you don’t obsess over your hair and that you’re not a heavy sleeper…oh wait.
On the third day we set out, unknowingly, to encounter our greatest disappointment of the entire trip. Yes, even greater than the sweaty-kids-on-bikes-infested caravan park. I should have predicted the let down as it is the typical result of anything surrounded by so much hype, or as Tom would say, the Bob Dylan effect. My aversion to hype is the reason I boycotted an entire season of Notre Dame football games while attending the university, plus the general suckage of the team that year…and the year after…and well you get the idea. (Sorry Notre Dame alum friends…I admire you for not being fair weather fans). It’s generally the reason I don’t see movies until several years after their release, nor read a book when it’s being shoved down my throat. If it’s good now, it will be just as good in a few months. Similarly if it sucks. Well, ladies and gentlemen, the Siding Spring Observatory proved to be the proof of the pudding.
An obese and terrifying Koala coin bank in the gift shop. They couldn't even get a cute Koala souvenir right. Sheesh.
*Snicker*
Cruising even further out into the middle of nowhere, we couldn’t help but be intrigued by the brilliant billboards drawing us ever nearer to the sun with 3-D models of the planets and fun facts. A truly brilliant marketing plan- put something colorful and anomalous amongst the norm, in this case vast nothingness, and you’re bound to attract some attention. Come to think of it, I just described my wardrobe, at least the one I had prior to my current 10 item collection. We had pulled over to have a closer look at Saturn, which may have just been code for Tom to take a roadside whiz and smoke another joint. While doing so, someone honked at his corn which either highly disconcerted or pleased Tom. By his reaction I can’t yet be sure. Shortly thereafter, a middle-aged Australian couple pulled in behind us, utterly mesmerized by the rings of Saturn. Jono and I were sitting in the car while a very high Tom and entirely sober John chatted with the couple all about the phenomena that was the planets on billboards. I’m almost positive that the billboards were the sole reason for the couple to be in the middle of nowhere, as they were thoroughly distraught at having missed one we had passed. “I can’t believe we missed Uranus!” Praise God that I had chosen to stay in the car because being the mature and graceful individual I am, I burst out into obnoxious giggly laughter. And they just kept going on about Uranus, how badly they wanted to see it and how they had to turn around to get a look at it, and Jono and I were plagued wtih convulsions of laughter cramping our rib muscles. Farts and Uranus- they never stop being funny.
At least the view from OUTSIDE of the observatory was nice.
The couple happily sped off to their destination, Uranus *giggle*, as we made tracks for the Sun, aka the Siding Spring Observatory. Well, what a Bob if I have ever seen one. It should be noted that Tom and Jono were smoking a joint at every pit stop, sometimes feigning needing to use the restroom to do so. Thus, they were utterly silsoned, John was utterly ticked, and I was beginning to lose my happy-go-lucky demeanor as Tom, when he gets high, is rather like having a child hyped up on sugar. Funny at first but several hours later the situation loses its charm. While Tom and Jono smoked yet another joint in the observatory parking lot, John and I did a little reconnaissance, finding a dismal little showroom that smelled of musk, moths, and mold, finally realizing that they wouldn’t allow the general public to use the massive telescope. But Tom, especially, was insistent. So John bought four tickets and ushered the boys in, where unbeknownst to us at the time, the boys paid for two more tickets. Sigh. It really and truly was not worth paying for once, let alone twice over. John’s still a little bitter about that.
Hmm, What do the boys' body postures say? Tom- "I'm so silsoned." John- "I'm so ticked."
Diana is ticked.
John is ticked.
We took our little tour of the museum, too tired, ticked, and disappointed to feign much interest in the mediocre displays. I mean, one display had holes cut into the side of the box and you were meant to look through and see a certain planet’s orientation to the sun. I looked through and saw a glaring light bulb. Oooo Aaaah. I did rather enjoy the “see how much a carton of milk weighs on this planet” display, systematically picking up and comparing the mock cartons, and letting out an exuberant grunt as I attempted to lift the Sun’s
And to think, I don't even like milk.
carton, much to John’s dismay. Finally, I indulged my wild side and wrote our names in the guest book, but I gave Tom and Jono fake last names, “Eymsthoned,” and “Mehtu.” *Snicker* I’m quite the rebel, I know. We were allowed to take a path up to the observatory and walk inside…where there were yet more smelly displays. It would seem that good old Toledo, Ohio is the manufacturer for the mirror used in the telescope, situated in the middle of nowhere. It’s a small world. Over all, it’s sufficient to say that while the observatory was impressive in size, it didn’t do much for us.
We're all ticked.
As close to awesome as the observatory came...from behind a glass panel. Sigh.
Our true destination, and one that would prove worthy of its hype, was the Warumbungles. Even the name is fun. John and I were once again nominated as the responsible duo to go to the visitor center and thank goodness for there I found, THE PLATYPUS. Since I’ve been in Australia, I’ve been meaning to obtain a stuffed platypus, the plush kind not the taxidermy, to send back to my friend Nick in Columbus, Ohio. We worked together in the prison that is SA Insurance, and upon my departure, I threatened that if he became complacent with staying there, despite his smarts and potential, that I would send back a male platypus. You see, the male platypus has a poisonous barb on his hind feet making him the perfect Platypus assassin! Of course, Australia would frown upon me exporting an actual platypus, so I’ve been on the search for a plushie that would get the point across. Also, this particular one was a puppet and I was just really enjoying myself, again much to John’s dismay. Come to think of it, he probably felt like he had three children with him on the trip at times.
John’s turn for scolding quickly arrived though as we were in the actual park for no less than 5 minutes before John got in trouble with the park ranger by going the wrong way on a one-way road. He was a rang-er, having red hair like an orangutan , making him the Rang-er Ranger. We were stopped by him and John was chided for irresponsible driving whilst children are about. Then Tom, at a rather inopportune moment, spurt out one of his classic suggestions that we should take a particular road, which just happened to be restricted and behind barriers. The Rang-er Ranger’s response? “If you do that Mate, I’ll book you.” He was, without doubt, a bit of a jerk on a power trip. Fortunately, we had no further interaction with him, although every time a car came down the drive we looked in panic as we were using the group campsites which were entirely empty but technically required reservations. We fully expected the Rang-er Ranger to pull up and force us to move our entire set up, and then for Tom to say or do something to get us into more trouble. But to Tom’s credit, he was the one who dared us to ignore the requirement for reservations and thus secured us the quintessential Australian camp site.
Hello, Gorgeous.
Surrounded by high, snake-infested grass, mobs of kangaroos, and wild goats all in a clearing perfect for star gazing, I was in reverie. As I helped set up camp, I noticed Tom staring off in the direction of the goats, and thought, “Oh no,” as surely he was concocting one of his ideas. I was right. At some point along our travels, he discovered that I have some Cherokee heritage, and now, Tom asked for me to use my “Cherokee powers” to summon the goats to us. I’m fairly sure he was entirely serious as he spent the next 15 minutes using his own powers to try and summon them. I shook my head and told them to hurry on their way. Then I did a dance around the fire and stuck a feather in my hair. *eyes rolling*
Screw Diamonds. Meat and Fire. Those are a girl's best friend.
Tom next spent his energy desperately attempting to hack a giant fallen tree into firewood with a metal saw. After about 30 minutes of work and progress of only an inch, he gave up on that endeavor as well. I then, jokingly, suggested they could just throw the whole stump on the fire. I suddenly realized my mistake as Tom actually began to drag the stump to the fire pit. “Why would you say that,” John lamented. We did manage to convince Tom that it wasn’t a practical idea, but only just.
Kangaroos- Australia's version of deer, only way cooler.
After a dinner of sausage, bacon, and eggs we lay and watched the stars come out. Well, Tom laid and snored having exhausted his mental and physical prowess. It doesn’t sound especially exhilarating to sit around and watch kangaroos hopping or the stars shining, but I tell you, it was pure glory. Even the hurried tramps through the snake grass to the compost toilet were perfect as I thought, “If I am bitten and die, at least I will go happy and with a flourish.” As a side note, I had asked John earlier that evening what his advice was if I came in contact with a snake. His response, “Get the f**k out of there.” Helpful. The stars were even better at 3am when I woke up, as usual, and couldn’t get back to sleep. As John wheezily snored, Tom sawed through logs, and Jono farted up a storm, I somehow still heard the hops of kangroos passing by our campsite, brushing up against our tent, and making a little “cough” sound. Very much like having little old men on pogo sticks about. Warumbungles, you truly delivered.
Yo. What up? Just chillin' in some snake grass.
Two days left and still heat exhaustion, a river of worms, and brake failure to encounter. Stay Tuned!
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