Every Day is Sunday

A couple of weeks prior to my trip out to visit Erin and Jeff in the South Pacific, I received the proposed itinerary for our time in New Zealand in an email entitled “Fire and Ice.”  With my curiosity piqued, I opened the message and my eyes lit up as I read one of the first planned activities, the Tongariro Alpine Crossing; a trek across New Zealand’s most famous volcanic valley.

Having traveled on my own and with the Wertkinborns for almost two weeks, I had already been scuba diving off of islands in the Great Barrier Reef, been mesmerized by Sydney’s ever-changing landscape and cityscape, and had driven the breathtaking coastline of the Great Ocean Road with Erin and Jeff….but nothing could have prepared me for our trek across the Tongariro Alpine Crossing.

Alarms set for4:45am (an hour I seldom meet coming from this side) we boarded the bus out to the base of the mountain at 5:30 in the morning. We were soon to find out why every guidebook agreed that this is the country’s best day hike, and why National Geographic magazine rates it one of the best day hikes in the world.

The journey started as we entered a volcanic valley enclosed on three sides with the sun just peaking over the top of the summits of Mt Ruapehu, Mt Ngauruhoe, and Mt Tongariro.  We were still half-asleep when we set out, but luckily the trail started out gradually through a barren valley of windswept brush and light vegetation. 

However manageable this beginning portion of the trail may have been, my mind was already far ahead of my feet. Allowing the group to travel far enough ahead, the raw and untouched terrain of giant craters, red lava sediment, set against the backdrop of snow-capped tops of soaring granite mountains lent itself perfectly for my escape to a boyish wonderland where pre-historic beasts lay behind every crater. 

My walking stick had been transformed into a sword, and my backpack, a shield. I immediately understood why Peter Jackson had chosen this very sight for “Mt. Doom” in Mordor, the inhospitable and other-worldly land of his Middle-Earth in the Lord of the Rings films.

In addition to the dangers and challenges of hiking up the precarious mountainside, we had the added hazard of climbing up towards an active volcanic crater. The trio of active craters forms the southern edge of the Pacific Ring of Fire, a string of volcanoes that stretches as far north as Alaska. Although they’re currently dozing, Mount Ruapehu erupted as recently as 1995, blanketing the surrounding slopes with volcanic ash and acidic water and closing the popular ski area for two years. The unpredictability of when the next eruption might come only adds to the allure of the Tongariro Crossing.

As we peered 7,513 feet up at the summit of the Red Crater, its angled peak stained brick red by oxidized iron, its steep and snowy ridges riddled with sharp and crumbly volcanic rock, its perfectly cylindrical volcanic rim gurgling and burping with steam from the vapors below the surface, we came to the decision collectively that there was no other choice than to tackle this mountain. Short of one sign with an arrow pointing towards the “summit”, this path was not only unmarked, but also unrelenting in its effort to keep us from summiting the peak. With each frustrating and unbalanced step up the steep ridge, we slid back two or three.

But perseverance and perspiration won out in the end, as we finally reached the snowy summit of Mt. Ngauruhoe. When I finally turned around, I was overcome by a scene so majestic, so breath-taking, so unlike anything I have ever before experienced that putting it into words will be an exercise in futility, I’m sure. The view was primordial and other-wordly. Let me just say this; standing atop that mountain that had taken us half a day to conquer, with an unblemished view of the snow-capped Mt Ruapehu, the North Island’s highest peak straight ahead of me, the neon green mineral-rich Emerald Lakes within view, and a barren valley below me, I was left wondering what planet I was on.

Descending the mountain was to become an adventure itself. Left with two options; either back-tracking down the same way we came up, or “skiing” down the mountain’s red and gray scree covered backside, the rest of the group sensibly decided to take retrace their steps over the familiar, if not ideal terrain. But being a man who’s never met a loose backside I could turn away from, I couldn’t resist the urge to challenge myself a little further. Jeff must’ve seen the conviction in my eyes as he didn’t argue when I looked at him and said, “I just gotta do this.” Accompanied by Garret, one of two fellow Wisconsinites we had met on our high-adrenaline adventure, I started down. It didn’t take more than two minutes to realize I was probably going to die attempting this.

The slope was too steep, the terrain too slippery, and every once in a while I had to dodge a boulder that had been dislodged from above and was tumbling towards me. That was until I decided to stop fighting the mountain. Leaning back like I was waiting for a chair-lift to scoop me up, I bent my knees and angled forward until the force of gravity pulled me down the mountain. The thrill of slip-sliding through the lava rocks combined with the sensation of weightlessness made it feel like I was water-skiing on the moon.

Like any good trip up, the remainder of the day brought us down gently through the park’s diverse eco-systems. Traveling past waterfalls and yellow sulfur lakes, crossing arid valley and snow covered ridges, and culminating in a long trek through dense rain forest back to our pick-up site, we traversed more different types of terrain in one day than I’ve experienced in all my days leading up to this one.

Truth be told, I didn’t really know what to expect weeks earlier when I received that email. But after this day, one thing rang clear and true. Some people say be wary of those who promise you the moon and stars, lest you be disappointed when they come up short. Today’s take home lesson: When Erin and Jeff promise you Fire and Ice, you better believe they’re gonna deliver just that.

The Great Ocean Road is considered a rite of passage for Aussie travelers.  We rented a car, popped in some tunes, and hit the open road – slightly hungover but ready for adventure.

It only takes 4 hours to drive direct from Melbourne to Port Campbell but it took us a little over 9.  We made several stops along the way to marvel at the vistas unfolding around each twist and turn of the road. 

We hung out for a while at Bells Beach, perhaps the most famous of all surfer destinations in Australia.  Many of the surfing scenes in the surfing classic “Point Break” were filmed there. 

We didn’t have a surf board, but that didn’t stop Sam from riding the waves and freezing his boys off.

After a quick stop for some oysters, we made our way to the Cape Otway Lightstation. One of the oldest in Australia, the lighthouse sits on top of a towering cliff overseeing the mingling of the Bass Strait and the Southern Ocean.  The big, beautiful, manually-operated lighthouse was taken out of commission in 1994, and replaced by a 3ft solar-powered automatic lighthouse. We’re all for modernization, but it’s sad to think that the days of the majestic lighthouse are behind us. 

But the real show was Sam showing off his flexibility to a bunch of old ladies…

On our way to the lighthouse we saw all the beautiful green trees lining the road.  It wasn’t until our return trip out that we realized these trees were full Koala bears.

They were shy and stayed pretty high up in the trees.  Koala bears look cute and cuddly, which is why we were so surprised every time they let out a growling bark like a cantankerous old man waiting for his tapioca.  Their scary outbursts didn’t stop Erin from taking 300 pictures in about 20 minutes.

Every pilgrimage has a culminating point.  Our journey down the Great Ocean Road reached its zenith when we reached the Twelve Apostles.

Rising majestically from the Ocean, these limestone stacks are a truly beautiful sight against the crystal blue water of the Antarctic Ocean.  They were created by constant erosion of the limestone cliffs on the mainland that began 10-20 million years ago.  Rough ocean waves and crushing winds gradually eroded the soft limestone rock, forming caves in the cliffs.  These caves became arches, and then eventually the arches collapsed leaving these 150-foot high rock stacks isolated from the shore.  They were originally named the “Sow and Piglets” until some enterprising young Australian with a missionary zeal wisely renamed them.

Not long after we arrived an electrical storm broke out.  Sam got a fantastic shot of lightening over the apostles – earning him the admiration of the other tourists on the scenic lookout as well as 35 bonus points.  Erin had already earned 10 pts for spotting the first Koala bear, Jeff had five points for coming up with the game.  Sam’s incredible shot basically made him untouchable for the rest of the trip.

After a long day on the road we went out for dinner in Port Campbell and found a pizza place with an eclectic menu.  Sam was so shocked that this pizza joint in the middle of nowhere Australia had “Persian Pizza” on the menu (walnuts, feta, cheese, pears and tomato topped with cumin, coriander, sesame seeds and herbs) that he immediately texted his mom and insisted we order it.

Just before dinner we ran into these two German girls who we had seen throughout the day at all the famous stops along the Great Ocean Road.  They were so much fun we invited them to join us for dinner.  Ilka wanted to know why Americans always say “How are you?” and “See you later!” when they don’t really care how she is doing and will almost certainly not see her later.

After our regular pizza we ordered the specialty dessert: a chocolate pizza.  There were six pieces of chocolate pizza and only five of us, which meant that only one person would get a second slice.  The German girls suggested we play schnick, schnack, schnook for the last piece. 

We put together a double-elimination tournament of schnick, schnack, schnook (aka rock, paper, scissors).  The final round was captured in this dramatic footage:

The next day we did a little more sightseeing – descending the Gibson steps and checking out the London Bridge – but the weather wasn’t ideal.  It only rained when we were in our car traveling form one site to the next, but the wind kept up pretty much the entire time. 

We didn’t mind cutting our sightseeing day short because we needed to get to Port Fairy in time for the big race.

For a week, every Australian asked us if we were excited for the Melbourne Cup, also known as the “Race that Stops a Nation.”  The Melbourne Cup is like the Super Bowl, the Kentucky Derby and the 4th of July all wrapped up into one event.  The government got tired of everybody skipping work on the day of the race, so they made it a national holiday.  For three days leading up to the event every newspaper led with a race story, and every bar offered 2-for-1 race specials.

We made sure that we were in Port Fairy in time to catch the big race and, of course, put a few bets down.

Erin: We didn’t have much time to research the horses and so I asked some local guys for some advice.  They weren’t much help so I had to chose my horses based on their funny names.  I bet on “Crime Scene” and “Shocking” to “place” thinking that I would win as long as these horses came in either first, second or third.  It wasn’t until the race started that I found out that betting that a horse will “place” means that they have to come in second.  I was kicking myself until long-shot Crime Scene made a late push to finish second.  I won $100!!  Champagne for the house!!!

Jeff:  I managed to pick the winning horse, but my paltry $30 winnings were overshadowed by my screaming wife with a $100 in hand.   

Sam:  Whatever, at least you bitches both won something.

We’ve been so lucky to have friends or family join us in South America, Antarctica, Africa, and Asia. We didn’t expect that anybody was going to make the trip to join us for our sixth and final continent. So when Sam emailed and said was coming to meet us in Melbourne we couldn’t have been more excited.

Our best traveling experiences usually occur when we have a local connection. It doesn’t matter if it’s Cape Town, Addis Ababa, or Buenos Aires, we always felt like we got more out of the experience when we had a local showing us the best the city has to offer.

We didn’t have a local connection in Melbourne, but we had the next best thing: a man who has done his research! Sam arrived with guide books, highlighted internet printouts, several pages of handwritten notes, and a strong sense of adventure. We said we’d follow him anywhere.

Even though we’d been wandering the city for four days, we were surprised when Sam arrived and told us that Melbourne is internationally recognized as having some of the best cocktail lounges in the world. In addition to being a general contractor and builder, Sam is also a bartender at Marvin’s and The Gibson, the two hottest bars in Washington DC. He has spent the better part of this year learning the art of craft cocktails, and so he was the perfect guide to lead our tour of Melbourne’s best cocktail lounges.

Our first stop was “1806” named after the year that the word cocktail first appeared in print. Their extensive menu traces cocktails over the last 200 years – you can order a Bittered Sling (the chosen drink of businessmen in 1806) or a 1916 Martini (which can be vodka or gin but always has a lot of vermouth). But the signature drink is the Black Blazer – a mixture of black chocolate and rum which is then ignited and poured from one container to another until completely mixed and piping hot. The bar recently won an award for “best cocktail menu” at an international competition in New Orleans – but they didn’t think they would win and so nobody was there to collect the award!

Our bartender and Sam talked for almost two hours about the art of craft cocktailing, while we sat back and enjoyed the fruits of their conversation.

Our next stop was Madame Brussels where the waiters were wearing short tennis shorts and the gin was flowing like water. When it started to get a little cold on the roofdeck the waiters arrived with a drink, a smile, and warm blankets.

We saved the best for last: the Croft Institute. A Melbourne institution, CI is tucked at the end of a winding Chinatown alley well off the beaten track. We wandered past street art-covered walls and the back entrances of some shady Chinese restaurants before we found the place.

We staked out three stools at the downstairs bar, which was designed to look like a science lab complete with test-tubes and bunsen burners. Sam bonded with the bartenders, traded exotic drink recipes, and scored us a round of free drinks.

It was a great night of catching up with Sam and exploring Melbourne’s cocktail scene. But it was not such a great morning. We had set the alarm for 7 am so we could get an early start on our day, but we couldn’t get Erin to open her eyes long enough to drink her coffee.

It was closer to 10 am when we finally got out of bed and started our epic drive down the Great Ocean Road.

A few years ago we spent two glorious weeks in Australia for our honeymoon.  We toured Sydney, the Whitsundays, Cape Tribulation and everything in between.  It was a perfect trip that couldn’t be replicated, so we decided not to try.  Instead of re-visiting Queensland, we set out to create new perfect memories in Victoria.

Sydney may have the opera house, a beautiful harbor, and great beaches, but Melbourne has the style, charm, grit, and flair that makes this vibrant city one of our favorites of the trip.

We spent our first afternoon wandering the arcades and back-alleys that weave a maze through the Melbourne.  These arcades don’t have video games – they are narrow lanes full of al fresco eateries, boutique shops, and bars.  All this activity is squeezed into the small alleys of Melbourne to create a charming and intimate atmosphere.

Melbourne is like New York City in that it is a magnet for Australian artists and art lovers.  We skipped the high-priced galleries and instead took in the street art.  Graffiti is an accepted form of self-expression in Melbourne, and it’s legal and encouraged to paint the walls of designated alleyways and side-streets.   

The best part about returning to a developed county is the music.  Although we acquired a certain fondness for the folk music we heard all over Africa, India and Southeast Asia, it was nice to hear guitar chords and English lyrics.

In search of live music we went to Brunswick Street, which is known for its cafes, music venues and alternative clothing shops.  We stopped into a bar to check-out a honky-tonk act that sounded good from the street. 

The music was pretty good, but what really blew our minds were the fashionistas in the audience.  Retro fashion that has gripped Melbourne.  The bar was full of heavily tattooed ladies in vintage clothing and sporting 1950s-era hairdos.

We were lucky enough to be in Melbourne for the last night of the city’s International Arts Festival.  We stopped by a unique visual arts exhibit before making our way to The Forum for some live music.  The opening band had the entire venue on their feet.

Clairy Baby Browne and the Bangin’ Rockettes produced an amazing sound with one lead singer, three doo-wop girls, and an eight-piece soul band.  It was awesome.  We stayed for the headliner – a Brazilian garage band from Sao Paolo – that unfortunately couldn’t match the energy of their opening act.

Of all the bands we saw in Melbourne, the most fun was the 80s tribute band we saw on Halloween. 

It turns out that the Australians don’t celebrate Halloween with the same gusto as Americans (maybe because its springtime and everybody is too happy to be spooked), but we did our research and found out that the party that night was at “The Spot.”

We didn’t have proper costumes, but luckily our $10 cover charge included a free face paint.  We asked the artist to paint something bloody and scary, but instead she painted something that almost broke the cheeze-o-meter.

Melbourne is not just full of vintage shops and gritty artists, it is also a charming and beautiful city.  We arrived just in time for spring, and the Melbourne gardens are spectacular in full bloom.

Love was definitely in the air because every time we turned around we saw a blushing bride.  In just two days we counted 14 bridal parties!

Tasmania is a place of wild beauty. The island is actually quite small – about the size of West Virginia – but packed into that small space are mountain peaks, dense rainforest, incredible coastline, alpine meadows, great lakes, and eucalyptus forests.

Much like India, Tasmania explodes with color.  But that’s where the simliarities end.  Indian colors come from millions of people in beautiful saris and turbans tightly packed on the street.  Tasmanian colors come from a landscape completely devoid of people.

Driving across the island we couldn’t get over how green everything is.  It’s so green it looks fake. At any moment we expected little leprechauns to jump out of the trees.

Our first Tassie adventure was a 7-hour hike from our lodge to the summit of Cradle Mountain.  This impressive mountain rises 5,000 feet, towering like a giant stone cradle over azure Dove Lake.   

The most challenging part of our hike was the weather.  Technically it was springtime, but we experienced all four seasons: tropical heat in the valleys, cool rain in the forest, and snow at the top of the mountain. 

At one point we thought the trail had ended because there was no path. All we saw was snow and ice along the steep ridge of the mountain. We briefly considered heading back until we saw footprints in the snow. 

We were glad we stuck with it because the view at the top — and feeling of satisfaction from conquering the snowy ridge in inappropriate shoes — was worth it. 

We rented a cabin at the Cradle Mountain Lodge, which apparently doubles as a wildlife park.  We had our first encounter with a wombat – which is not a bat at all but a plump, groggy marsupial about the size of a cocker spaniel – just outside of our door.  Wombats are everywhere but are nocturnal and mostly invisible.  We didn’t see too many wombats, but we saw plenty of the little presents they left behind scattered all over the trail.  At times it was like we were playing hopscotch trying to avoid them.

We also stumbled on the elusive Tasmanian Devil in the wild.  We were very disappointed when he simply ran away instead of spinning around really fast and yelling Yablabaspfbnaerl! They are a lot smaller than we thought they would be, and they actually seemed kind of cute until they started shrieking.  When we heard that horrible noise we understood how they got their name. 

Unfortunately, it has become very rare to see a devil in the wild because of a spreading facial-tumor disease that is wiping out the population.  At one time, Tasmanian devils were everywhere, but in-breeding has made them susceptible to this strange disease and their numbers are dwindling toward extinction.

After a few days enjoying the scenery and fauna near Cradle Mountain, we drove east across the island toward Freycinet National Park.  The coastline in Freycinet is unmatched. There’s no development, few tourists and incredible colors. We hiked all around the national park – from the turquoise waters of wineglass bay, to the blinding white-sand of Hazards beach, to the orange, red and green rocks that border the park.

Along our journey we ran into a few wallabies that regularly hop around the beaches. They are so damn cute we wanted to jump in their pouch and hop around with them.  But we didn’t fit.

On our way back we stopped by an oyster shack.  The oysters were $2 apiece for pre-shucked and a bargain $.50 apiece for unshucked.  Despite Erin’s protests, we bought a dozen unshucked oysters and stopped at the market to pick up a shucker.

Jeff:  I had never shucked an oyster before, but I figured it couldn’t be that hard to figure out.  That is, until I picked up one of those strange creatures and stared in wonder at their seemingly impenetrable shell.

Erin:  Jeff was standing at the sink sighing heavily while I did my best to pretend like it was normal for someone to take 5 minutes to open one oyster.  Another five minutes passed and I started giving him my best I told you so look but he wouldn’t turn around.

Jeff:  Things looked grim, but finally the trial and error method worked.  It turns out that all oysters attach themselves to their shell in the same spot, and all you have to do is squeeze your knife into that spot and dislodge the muscle.  It’s actually very easy once you get the hang of it. 

Erin:  I heard a few victory yells coming from the kitchen, and I came out to find a plate of 12 deliciously shucked oysters and one very sweaty but smiling man.

After Freycinet we made our way north to the Bay of Fires.  The bay was given its name by Captain Tobias Furneaux in 1733 who saw the fires of the Aboriginal people on the beaches, but it might as well have been named for the bright-orange hued rocks that line the coast. 

The orange color comes from a type of lichen that glows like a hot fire when the sun hits the rocks. The blue/orange contrast makes the Bay of Fires one of the world’s top 100 beaches. We could barely tear ourselves away.