Face full of concrete
July 5, 2005Happy Birthday Charlie
Machans Beach, Qld, Australia
6:59am
It’s raining this morning. Gloomy. Small bugs are biting my knuckles. Ibis land right across from our house and look at us with nervous eyes. Their beaks long, odd, like a baby cocaine fingernail. A kookaburra has a home in our tree in the backyard. Laugh kookaburra laugh. Gay your life must be ha ha ha.
Yesterday began early for me as I awoke at three and could not get back to sleep before six. Thankfully Steph let me roll around in the double until nine, me faking sleep, trying to ignore the pee boner. A double is not enough for Steph and I. Not just the width, but for me the length. My feet rest on top of the wooden footboard. Not comfy. Sure I can fetal and my feet make it, but sometimes you just want to stretch out the legs, kick out the knots before settling back into the mattress mold you made.
Needless to say, I am not sleeping well in Cairns.
So I gave up and woke up. Trudged down the wooden stairs that do not creak, and slowly drank a tea. Hud had a great sleep, 12 hours without waking up, but was still off, sucky, cranky. He weaves in and out of my legs when he his like this. Wanting me to pick him up. Grunting at me to do so. I usually do.
He felt better after a couple of shorts on the telly. The kid shows are quite good here, particularly the toddler ones. No guns or blades. Lots of Canadian made shows. Salter Street, Nelvana, Alliance Atlantis. We are represented well in cartoons and drunken portly men with pavement scabs.
So I made lunch. Peanut butter and jam, carrots and celery and cucumber, an orange and a banana. Yesterday was an activity day, as opposed to today, which is a down, local beach day. It is all mapped out neatly in Steph’s daytimer. I think I have a marketing meeting at 10:30 on Wednesday. I will forward think outside of the box.
So we are all packed and wedged in the Nissan Pulsar. I am driving and Steph is navigating. Let the fireworks begin. We are off to Kuranda. A town about 20kms away, smack dab in the middle of a rainforest. 20kms I think. Should take about 15 minutes or so. Sure if the road is straight. But once again, I am now on the Indy circuit, hustling up and down a mountain, avoiding transport trucks on hairpin turns. The road was like a massive rattlesnake, baking in the sun. Steph was white knuckled the whole way. I was intensely focused on the road. Hud ate a freezie.
And then we arrived. Of course Kuranda is not this quaint little village nestled beneath the ancient flora and fauna of a rainforest. Of course it is a bustling tourist location teeming with mostly Asians. They all have florescent tour group stickers on their lapels, all very loud with their short bursts of language, all carrying thousands of dollars worth of digital camera equipment. It’s quite a sight.
Kuranda seems like it just a depot for tourists to spend money. Small shops selling cheesy t-shirts and expensive didgereedoos. We quickly make our way to the information centre and inquire about stuff to do, instead of just stuff to buy. We are told of a 3km path through the jungle and along the river. Perfect we said and almost run to the path entrance.
It was nice, yet unspectacular. There was a bat medical centre, but it was closed. Although we could see the bats over the fence. Man are they creepy animals. Big rats with rubbery wings. One stared at me. And if I close my eyes, it still is.
The walk traveled across a small tributary, weaving in and out of the jungle, and then right along side the Barron River.
We found a flat spot and ate our lunch. Hud is suddenly friendly and said hi to everyone that passed us as we ate.
Hud started to get very tired and cranky so we cut off about half a kilometer and made our way back to the car. Of course he was fine after the popsicle, ruining the family goal of spending no money all day.
Next stop, Barron Falls. Now this is what I am talking about. After about 500 metre walk, we could see the full explosive spectacle of the falls. The water was low, but the gorge was so deep and beautiful that it did not matter. You could see all the little splits and flights of the cascading water. The individual, impossible to reach pools, where you dream about diving in. It was awesome.
Further down the gorge, was a train station. Kuranda has a scenic railway through the rainforest. It also has a 6.5km cable car route that runs right down the mountain. Both of these things would have been excellent, especially the train for Hud. It was a conscience sacrifice.
So we are now on the train platform, and we hear the familiar whistle of the train approaching. Neato. It slowly comes to a halt and, like they were following us, about two hundred tourists, again mostly Asian, flooded off the train. I can only assume they were told they only had a brief stop before reboarding because half of them ran to the railing to take pictures, and half of them lit cigarettes and began huffing like convicts. We went from being with one other family in front of this 500 ft gorge and waterfall, to the middle of Kensington Market on Saturday Morning. And then, with a puff of cigarette smoke and a false click of a digital camera, they were gone, waving to us round eyes on the platform.
We stayed a little longer, Hud noticing a brown snake on the track. We have heard the brown snakes are the dangerous ones, so we watched it slither up the rocks from a comfortable distance.
We returned to the house around 3:30. Hud fell asleep on the way home so I laid him on the couch. Steph took advantage and went upstairs for her own nap. I also took advantage and went outside to read. I have read 5 books since we left, mostly tripe, including the overrated but enjoyable Di Vinci Code. I have read about a third of Guns, Germs and Steel, a study of the evolution of humans in different geographical areas since the beginning of time. And now I am reading To Kill a Mockingbird, as I was robbed of reading this by leaving high school too early. I am liking it very much.
Today is down day, with maybe a beach if it clears. We have decided to forgo Brisbane in favour of Fraser Island, which many people have told us is the one thing to see on this side of Australia.
Last night a made peanut chicken with rice, green beans and carrots. Pretty tasty.
Chicken and rice. The meal of my generation.
The best part about yesterday was we only spent $5.
Well the falls were pretty cool too.
Love to all,
J.
July 3, 2005
Machans Beach, Qld, Australia.
6:11pm
We have been away for 50 days.
I have seen more in the last 50 days than I have in the last 10 years. I have a face full of cement and a mind full of memories. I miss home but I am so glad to be away with my wife and son. I am happier, more fulfilled and have written more than I ever had in my life. Sure it’s a journal, and pretty light fare, but it’s writing and it feels good to write this diligently, this earnestly. And on top of it all, I am actually letting people I know read it. The older blog had the advantage of anonymity, so it was saucier, a little more expressive if you catch my drift. It was also the place where I first felt comfortable with others reading my writing. I am forever in debt to the many I met who are such great writers in their own right. I miss reading everyone. I miss your comments. Now it’s my parents, my sister, my in-laws, my step siblings, my ex coworkers, and occasionally my friends who comment. I feel as if I am speaking to you all directly. Sometimes I wish I were just writing to write. I guess that is what my novel should be for. Feh. I am scared to even open the novel. To stare at the white screen, cursor flashing, beads of blood forming at my forehead, not knowing what to write. This free flow writing is simple, train of thought, chug chug chugging along. I will open it soon.
Let the anxiety be the fuel. I certainly will never run out of that.
Today started better than yesterday, although my noggin is still quite tender to the touch. My face has scabbed nicely and I look like I was in a fight, so I reveled in the look and scowled a lot today.
Today Hud and I went to Cairns as Steph located a yoga class to attend. We went to the Lagoon, the huge pool where all the ladies like to chill in their bikinis.
Of course I looked so delish with my girl hips, flat ass and a face full of scabs. I think twice women had an actual moment of surprised disgust when our eyes met. I should have shown them the Tinger, that would have brought them around. Why?
Cause the chicks dig the tinger. I had to say it.
So two hours later, Steph returned. Yoglowing. She looked so pretty. Strands of hair falling down the sides of her face. For a moment I actually forgot about the semi nude women surrounding me.
She went for a quick dip in the pool and we were off to a small park up the street. I promised Hud we would go after we passed it on the way to the Lagoon. We would have gone before, but the moment Steph dropped me off, a rumble in the belly told me I needed to head to the bathroom quickly. Nothing like having a 3 year old in the stall with you announcing your business to the lucky bathroom attendees. Fatherhood has its priviliges.
After the park it was back home, stopping for burgers and fries on the way home. They put beets on your burgers here. The thought of it is way worse than the actual taste. But it is an odd thing to automatically put on a burger. In New Zealand do they just put a sliced up piece of butternut squash? Or perhaps a big glob of peanut butter. Wait a minute. That sounds pretty good.
Back home now, I am showered and waiting for Steph to finish making dinner. We are having couscous with brocolli and carrots. A little vegetables breather for the carb family.
Tomorrow we are off to Kuranda, in the rainforest, where you can swim at the base of some waterfalls. We have mapped out the rest of our time here, with down days and adventure days scheduled. We are somewhat better about the money, but hell that could change quicker than the pavement hitting my head.
Ow. My head.
Love to all,
J.
July 2, 2005
Machans Beach, Qld, Australia
8:35pm
Almost 36 hours since my last entry. An interesting 36 hours at that. I have big scabs on my forehead, my nose, both knees and my left elbow to prove it. I also have a bump near my left temple, right above my ear.
It throbs when I chew. More on that later.
Yesterday was another day of beach exploring, this time at Palm Cove, a small little seaside town about 20kms north of Machans. The beaches are so nice here. The sand so fine, so good between the toes. We found a spot, half under a tree, directly in front of little park so Hud could play, while we further slowed down to live the pace of elderly sloths. We have it pretty good. We do know that.
Hud on the other hand sometimes worries me. And so reminds me of me when I was a small boy. Not that I remember when I was three, but I do remember being afraid and a bit meek around other kids. I remember being bit of a crybaby. I see that in Hud. Another boy, probably right around 2, and a lot smaller than Hud, pushed him a little as they were both climbing up a ladder. Hud immediately got off and ran over to me, crying, explaining what happened. I told him to just tell the other boy to not push him and continue playing. I secretly wanted to tell Hud to drop the wee little fart like a bag of old hammers, but thought better of it. But Hud would not go back on the equipment until the other boy left. He sat on the bench huddled into my belly, looking out at the boy with one eye, sniffling. Not a big deal, but it irks me a little, and I wonder if I am doing something wrong as a father. I was like that as a kid and it’s not like I had a softie dad, so I can’t blame him. I just don’t want Hud to feel weak like I sometimes did and do.
Anyway, Hud played at that park for the whole afternoon without further incident, minus a metal shovel knocking him in the cheek and leaving a nice mark. This kid cannot go through one day without marking his beautiful face, be it by bug bites or random metal shovels.
I found the perfect place to post my diary entries and check our mail. The Palm Cove Post Office has the internet for $4.00 an hour which is lowest I have seen so far. The computers are good and the connection is speedy, so we will go back every three or four days to check in on all you goons back home and in the US.
So back home after another quality day at the beach. I made chicken fajitas with the worst tortilla shells in the history of Mexican food. They tasted like liquid paper. Luckily we had roti from the Indonesian curry Steph made the previous night, although they kind of break apart when you roll them. This is so freaking interesting. Remind me to read this part out loud at the book signing.
Ok, on to the bloody stuff. So before the fajitas, during the fajitas, and after the fajitas, I was drinking. My four Coopers, a glass of Shiraz and then finally the $6 bottle of Chardonnay in four big glasses. And nothing kicks a night off better than cheap white wine. You can almost taste the hangover with every subtle sip, or chug in my case.
Hmmmm…so now I am a little drunk, and there is one more bottle of wine on the counter. Or. There is a small local bar about half a mile down the road. A local bar with people in it. People in it that may or may not be smoking. The bar it is!
This bar, Sonya’s by the Sea, is small, with a standup bar at one end of the patio, and a number of tables scattered about the rest of the area. It is the only bar and restaurant in Machans Beach, and it was Friday night, so it was pretty busy. The first thing I noticed whilst standing, drinking a Victoria Bitter, looking for the smokers, was that these people were locals. They all knew each other, and with Machans Beach probably populated by less than 1000 people, it can’t be that hard. So I was where I wanted to be, immersed in locals.
When I go to a bar I have never been to before alone, I listen. Well first I order beer that other people are drinking and then I stand off to one side and listen. In the ten minutes before someone started talking to me, I found out it was a woman’s birthday, a short bald guy was a nonsmoker, but had a pack in his pocket. Another guy, the only guy around my age, had quit something, at this point I did not know, but I thought drinking, and another woman was too drunk to drive and everyone was convincing her to get a cab, which she did not want to do.
Three beers in, and ten minutes after arriving, the birthday girl starting talking to me. About what I have no idea, I barely remember what she looks like now. You can see where this is heading. So she calls me over to her table that is surrounded by a bunch of men, including short bald nonsmoker with smokes, and quitter guy. We all start to chatting. I am Canadian, so I am a mild celebrity in this weekly or nightly gathering. I am new, and therefore have a new story to tell. I told them my name was Todd and I was an interior decorator and my partner and I came here to celebrate the first time we made hot man love. Naw. That’s not it. But what funny stories I would have to tell if I tried to pull that over on a bar full of Australians. Not that this story isn’t funny. It is funny isn’t it? I did find out what quitter guy quit. It was smoking. Although everyone thought he quit drinking and he was back at the bar, fallen off the wagon. But he was just avoiding the bar to avoid the temptation of smoking. It was funny watching people coming over to him and saying with a disappointed look in their eyes “hey,, I thought you quit?” And him getting more and more annoyed having to explain himself. Humans are funny.
Anyway, I start talking to another couple, early forties, she a bit of a hag with frayed hair, him, gaunt, laughed too much and wearing a multi coloured shirt that made him look a bit like a court jester. But they were nice enough and they had what I wanted. And then suddenly, after maybe 30 minutes, they are whisking me to a house party. I am pretty drunk at this point, so I go, sure I go, what the hell, I am in Australia, seeking adventure anyway I can get it. The house is further down the road, down a path. We enter through a hole in the fence in the backyard. I suddenly feel like I am 16 again, and I am crashing a rosedale party after hearing about it hanging out at Eglinton Station. But the couple was well known, and they actually did I great job of making sure my cup was full and introducing me to the gang. I am thankful for that.
They had a huge fire going in the backyard and there was a number of people sitting around in chairs and talking. The age ranged from 10 to 60. It was fun. And there was music. And good old drunken Jase can’t keep the chunk from funkin’. I got right in the middle of the dance floor and tripped the light fantastic. I kicked it old school style. Freaky and styly. What a piece of work I am.
So I guess around one in the morning, I do the bolt. It was easy cause no one really knew me so no one would miss me. Now this is all pieced together from evidence, because I do not remember this at all. Somewhere along the walk home, which is right beside the ocean and a massive break wall, I fall down. I remember this vaguely, probably because the pain of the fall sobered me up. I remember doing the drunken, feet trying to catch with your head, criss cross. And then I remember peeling myself off the concrete and standing up again, piece of nose still on the road. Lucky for me, my wonderful wife, hears the slapping of my flip flops as I walk right by the house. So she has to wake up Hud and come and retrieve me down the road. Now I want you to picture me, hammered, blood poring from my head and my legs, and Steph having to direct me back to the house. It was not a pretty sight and Steph was justly angry with me for putting her through all this. She thought I got beaten up. Sometimes you just have to take care of your partner when he or she gets drunk. It should be in the vows.
So this morning I wake up downstairs, naked from the waist down, and head pounding worse than a normal hangover. Steph is waiting for me, and explains to me the night’s drama. I get a good look at my mug and I look exactly like I feel. Like someone just hit me with a pillowcase full of popcans. I don’t think any of my wounds will scar, and somewhere I am disappointed. I deserve at least one good scar.
Today we drove to Port Douglas. Pretty much the last medium size town before the wild of North Queensland. Steph, bless her quiet soul, took care of Hud for most of the day, while I lay in the shade, suffering my consequences. At one point I did muster up enough strength to watch the two of them, playing in the surf, and it reminded me how great this time must be for Steph. She was so busy with her life back home, to watch her jump waves with her son was inspiring.
So we had a pizza in Port Douglas and drove home. Steph is just starting to forgive me.
Sure it my drunken night was stupid and a little dangerous. But I secretly loved it.
I just wish I could remember it.
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 6:00 PM
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