Archive for March, 2005
It’s Not About The Rice
I need your help again.
Part of the process of sealing the deal on last semester’s life in Hong Kong involves spreading the Asian study abroad gospel to my peers. As such, I’m working on a feature for the campus newspaper touting some of the benefits of the experience. I’ve posted a draft of my work below; I’d be eager to hear your reaction and suggestions for improvement. You all are beautiful people.
IT’S NOT ABOUT THE RICE
John Deniston, Class of 2007Hong Kong is farther from my home in Colorado Springs than Baghdad. In some ways, it feels even further.My hometown is 86% white. I took three years of French in high school. I prefer Family Guy to Bruce Lee. The closest I had ever been to Asia was parking my Honda at Panda Express.
Despite this lack of connection to the Far East, I recently found myself enjoying an outstanding semester abroad in the Pepperdine Hong Kong International Program. Given the newness of the program, I signed up largely for the conquest of the unknown. But, I’ve come back with a few reasons that lead me to believe you, too, would benefit from an Asian study abroad experience.
Global Engagement
One in five people on this Earth are Chinese. Collectively, the Red Dragon is awakening from a centuries long slumber on the world stage.All trends point to China becoming a dramatically more visible global player in our lifetimes. According to The Economist, during the past three years, China has contributed one-third of the world’s growth in real output. China’s surging energy requirements have propelled a doubling in the world price of coal in the past year.
Wikipedia statistics indicate that if you learn Mandarin (and manage to remember your English), you will be able to communicate with one-third of humanity. What employer wouldn’t want access to that market?
Unparalleled Culture
Hong Kong is a true global crossing. While living with a local and sharing a bathroom with two Mainland Chinese, I studied with fellow exchange students from points as wide as Australia, Sweden, Indiana, Japan, and the Philippines.Hong Kong’s unique status as a former British colony allows the visitor to choose a comfortable level of unfamiliar culture immersion. Depending on my choice of metro stops, I could choose to not see another non-black haired person for the entire day, or I could decide to join friends from the Anglosphere for a Hollywood movie and evening at the pub.
Where else is 5,000 years of non-Western culture daily lived by a population able to explain their heritage in English?
Bang For Your Buck
Though the BBC ranks Hong Kong among the five highest costs of living on the planet, don’t be fooled: Asia can be a bargain.Beyond the very literal “factory-direct pricing” values available on consumer goods, life in Hong Kong was an incredible value. Food by the tray-full cost less than two scoops of Malibu Yo. Phone calls home were two cents a minute. Airfares within Asia were very competitive; roundtrips to weekend destinations such as Taiwan and Singapore started at US$100. Speaking to friends in European international programs struck me with the finding that I spent as much in a month of Asia as some did in a week of Europe.
With the euro showing few signs of retreat from its 30% three-year climb against the dollar, where will you maximize your study abroad investment?
Choose Your Own Adventure
While study in Hong Kong holds long-term importance and is immediately within reach, it is very much an experience of profound possibility. All study abroad experiences include unforgettable memories, but the diversity of Asia available from the portal of Hong Kong combined with the fluid nature of the program create a true niche.In 114 days abroad, I completed 18 units of coursework in concert with a dizzying array of experience: a weekend elephant trek through the jungles of Thailand, dining with the CEO of Rolls Royce, a pre-dawn church service in the heart of Beijing, climbing the Harbor Bridge in Sydney, seeing globalization firsthand by touring a Chinese electronics factory, and touching the epicenter of the atomic blast in Nagasaki.
International programs promise to perpetuate a rich heritage of experience. In Hong Kong, that heritage is not yet written. You explore. You discover. You experience.
If you can live with a little rice now, you’ll leave the undergraduate years with a living understanding of one of the most important, dynamic, and unforgettable cultures on the planet. What do you have to lose?
The Purpose-Driven Planet
I succumbed to impulse buying in the Sam’s Club checkout line last night and picked up a copy of a Rick Warren biography entitled A Life With Purpose (reviews | pricing). Rick’s unique style has intrigued me: he’s an articulate writer, he’s an entrepreneur and innovator, he stays “above the fray,” and, for a Baby Boomer, he seems pretty cool.
While the book felt like it was written from a distance, was surprisingly repetitive, and was rather lean on content about Rick after the early years, it was a quick and easy read and included an interesting history of the “Church Growth Movement.”
I was pleasantly rewarded with sticking through the preceding 190 pages with the conclusion’s discussion of Rick’s idea for global ministry entitled the P.E.A.C.E. Plan. I thought it was interesting enough to reproduce in this space:
“P” FOR PLANT CHURCHES
The “P” stands for planting churches, because Rick says that God is in the church building business, and planting a church is the first step in combating evil. In particular, he says that we need churches where there are none now because the most important thing for the people in a church-less community to have is a place where they can be introduced to Jesus Christ. That’s creating something that will be there for a long time.[...]“The only way we’re going to help millions of people to hear the name of Jesus is to plant hundreds of churches around the world–under trees, in cars–you don’t have to have a building to have a church. If anybody knows that, we do. We grew to over ten thousand before we built our first building. We met in all sorts of places and told people, ‘If you can figure out where we are this week, you get to come.’”
“E” FOR EQUIP LEADERS
The “E” stands for equipping leaders to run those churches. Rick says that we need to be good leaders, and we need to train others to be good leaders. In Saddleback Church’s twenty-three years, the church has realized that to keep growing, you have to pass on what you have learned. Rick cites II Timothy 2:2 (Msg), “Pass on what you heard from me–the whole congregation saying Amen! to reliable leaders who are competent to teach others.” As a mark of what needs to be done, he says that great numbers of Christians and many ministers overseas don’t even have a Bible.[...]
Here, as he always does, Rick taps the best and most famous to help train church leaders to be like Jesus. He has hired Ken Blanchard, author of the best-selling The One Minute Manager, to come to Saddleback to help train people how to be effective leaders at home, in business, in school, and in church. It is a dramatic and impressive move, one that is typical of Rick Warren.
“A” FOR ASSIST THE POOR
Rick believes that God favors the poor, and that it is a test of our faith the way we treat them. He says that religion is not about saying prayers; it’s about how you treat those in need. He cites a World Vision study that found there are 600 million poor in the world that could get out of poverty if someone would just loan them a little bit of money. He preaches that God blesses those who help the poor.“C” FOR CURE THE SICK
Horribly, every day 27,000 children die from curable diseases! The greatest cause is unclean water, and the second is malaria, both of which are correctable. In addition, 14 million children become orphans every year due to AIDS.Rick says that we are God’s plan to cure these problems. The answer is not the government or “those people over there.” The answer is you and I.
One typical project has been sending church members out with information and medical kits they call “Clinic in a Box.” It’s a plastic box filled with about $5,000 worth of antibiotics and malaria medicine (which costs the church about $350).
“E” FOR EDUCATION
Finally, “E” is for education: learning to train the next generation to live better, so that we stop losing these children. Warren says that none of these problems are new. What is new is the way he wants to solve them. The way he chooses is revolutionary: not the great convocations, but small groups. He says that large, bureaucratic groups have traditionally done missionary work while boards and churches have been told to keep out. THe church’s role, Rick says, was, “you pay, you pray, and you stay out of the way.” He and Saddleback Church are changing that to, “all go, all pray, all pay.” Warren and Saddleback have already had some 4,500 people go out on some mission project somewhere, such as “Clinic in a Box.”
More about Rick’s proposal is posted on the Saddleback website. It sounds to me like an interesting strategy; I’ll be watching for it to unfold. Your thoughts?
The Web’s Got The Power
A random power failure hit campus minutes ago.
By power failure, I mean everything is pitch black… and by campus, I mean not just my apartment building or block, but the entire university. It’s oddly tranquil.
While there are a lot of dissatisfied customers streaming out of the library murmuring about unsaved papers and tests tomorrow, this moment seems to be a unique chance of hitting the snooze button on stress. There’s not much to do besides look at the stars and the moonlit ocean. Perhaps we should make this a monthly event.
So how am I writing this with no power? That’s the most intriguing part: I decided to hop on my PowerBook to burn some battery power on unfinished writing assignments and thought, just for grins, to try the wireless Internet. And, as sure as you are reading this, it works.
How odd is this world of ours? I can’t turn on my lights to see across my room… yet I can still instant message friends across two oceans. Pretty darn spiffy, if you ask me.
KWVS Wednesday Wave Drivetime
The reunion continues.
Today I had the pleasure of crossing paths with another Class of ‘03 partner-in-crime, Jesse Howard, when he and fellow Abandonato band members Jordan Howard and Joel Burns came through Malibu during their Spring Break roadtrip.
In addition to catching up on life of the last semester, I had a great chance to take the guys over to the KWVS studios and host them as my guests on a Wednesday Wave Drivetime radio show. From the journey of starting a band, to the chaos of the University of Colorado, to the future of the music industry, a smorgasbord of topics were on the table. All in all, a great show.
You, too, can listen to the 45 minute program via MPEG-4 audio download. Depending on your browser configuration, you may need to manually save the file and open using QuickTime.
J^4: Joel, Jesse, John, Jordan
Until The Sun Comes Up Over Santa Monica Boulevard
Who says Spring Break only happens once a semester?
Despite my own “Spring” Break occurring in February, the past weekend allowed me to enjoy a bit of the rest of the world’s Spring Break when fellow Class of ‘03 powerbrokers Justin Coppedge and Regan Tillman (yes, the force behind Doogie & Ray’s Swingline Stapler) passed through LA for three days en route to their own respective family vacation plans. ‘Twas an awesome experience, indeed.
Activities included: partaking in the campus musical tradition “Songfest,” trolling UCLA/Westwood and enjoying the infamous dollar ice cream at Diddy Riese, seeing LA tourism up close and personal at the Kodak Theater, doing church California-style at the definitively unique Mosaic, exploring the new Walt Disney Concert Hall, experiencing the multiethinic-melting-pot/digestive-gauntlet of Grand Central Market, crossing paths with fellow Class of ‘03 alumnus Courtney Schrock at Downtown Disney and visiting her home and terrific friends at Biola, cooking a man-meal, and, of course, hitting the beach. Not bad for 60 hours.
Beyond the fun and games, the visit was an excellent opportunity to reconnect with some top-notch friends. Perhaps the weirdest part is to think it’s been two entire years since we walked out of high school. It’s good to see some things haven’t changed.
Thanks for visiting, fellas.
Yes, ladies: available for a limited time only.
And That’s The Way The Cookie Crumbles
Last night marked the national broadcast debut of my chance at Wheel of Fortune stardom, an episode previously discussed in this space. Quite a grand chuckle, indeed.
In case you missed the original airing, I’ve forever immortalized the experience via the web with an uncut video clip. (57 MB .mov file; requires QuickTime to view)
A special thanks to all who supported me in the effort; your kind words (and witty observations) are highly appreciated.
If You Don’t Like The Stereotype, Stop Making It The Truth
After doing the time for doing the crime, Martha Stewart was released from prison tonight. I had a rather grand chuckle when I read the quote that the Associated Press chose to represent Martha’s West Virginia fans, from a certain Mr. Keith Bennett…
Keith Bennett braved the 16-degree temperature to see Stewart leave.”I don’t care about any of her stuff at Kmart or her flowers, I just think she’s hot for her age,” said Bennett, 43, of nearby Ronceverte.
Good call, Keith. There’s nothing like ending up in national news for a penetrating insight like that. You’ve done well to change the image of your state… instead of rednecks, I’ll now think of folks from “Ronceverte” as perverts.
Read the story for yourself.
Caught Off Guard
Upon returning home from my Spring Break trip, I was greeted by a conversation that caused me to ponder…
I crossed paths with a friend whom, regretfully, I don’t know terribly well. We exchanged the usual niceties; he asked about my trip and I told him briefly of the marvels in the land down under. I asked how his break had been thus far and he responded with slight hesitation, “Uh, kinda crazy, actually.”
“Howso?” I probed with a slight chuckle. He proceeded to lay his cards straight out on the table: “Last night I did the dirty. For the first time. Ever.”
It was obvious in his tone that this wasn’t a locker room chat with somebody proudly carving another notch in his man ego. He continued, “It kinda sucks. I had waited for so long. And then it just happened.”
I think my words were limited simply to “Wow.” His few sentences of blunt honesty threw me into a bit of a bewilderment: why was he telling this to a casual acquaintance? how do you make such a raw choice after making so many right ones? what do you tell a guy seeking to make some kind of sense of this?
We went on to talk a bit more about the experience and the concept, but I was struck by how dumbfounded I was in the situation. I relayed some grace-related thoughts I had read in the latest issue of Christian Counterculture, but I don’t think I said anything of enough value to put the quandary into a worthwhile context. Since I seemed to come up short in the nugget of wisdom department, I did my best to put him in the role of teacher and encouraged him to tell me what he had learned in the preceding 24 hours. I don’t know if it helped.
Perhaps this is just a case of not being able to say anything to ameliorate the situation. Perhaps this is just a chance to feel this guy’s pain.
What do you think?
What I Love About A Roadhouse Server, 37,908 Steps & Fabio
Update: Of possible interest to the folks that have already read the following, the Jen introduced below has started her own blog in the time intervening since my original post. Check it out and stay updated with her voyage over at Jen’s Chronicles of Crush. Welcome to the blogosphere, Jen.
Note to readers: What follows is most certainly an uber-post. I sat down at the keyboard this morning with the intention of making amends for a few weeks of relative absence from the blogosphere–judging by the length, I may have met that goal. I’ve parceled out the post into sections; I didn’t write it all in one sitting so don’t feel required to read it all in one glance. It’ll still be here another day.
At the moment, I’m rocking back in the same desk chair that I’ve sat in all semester. Yet, while the setting is the same, I feel like I’m in a tranquil silence some thousand miles from a desk that has screamed nothing but syllabus deadlines. It almost seems that I haven’t been to class in weeks. This, my friends, is the miracle of Spring Break. Allow me to explain…
I began plotting this break shortly after the semester began, seeking to put to memorable use some funds and travel passes held over from last semester’s study abroad. Given my choice of destinations and compulsive fixation with stepping onto other continents, I originally decided to shoot for South Africa via Sydney.
Such was the plan until a few weeks ago when I snagged a few minutes of cell time to catch up with Jen Hillmann, a good friend from the trusty Class of ‘03 (to add another ironic dimension, she’s also a vegan and a server at Texas Roadhouse). Turns out that Jen’s semester plans had been redirected quite profoundly since our paths last crossed over Christmas break: she had turned down another semester of college at home in Colorado and had enlisted in a YWAM missions program that would send her to New Zealand for three months of training and then, quite literally, around the world for another three months of service.
So, to fast forward through a few weeks of fluid details and absent blog posts: as I already had my sights on Sydney for Spring Break and Jen was headed to New Zealand in nearly the same time window, she graciously humored my idea to make my own brief detour to the land of Kiwis and spend a few decidedly platonic days catching up with this old friend. My class and midterm schedule was such that I was able to bail out of Malibu a few days early with little consequence, thus allowing me to return with some Spring Break still left to put my life ducks in a row (hence explaining why this is written on a Weds).
- – • – -
The excitement began long before takeoff. Logistics dictated that Jen transit through LA en route to NZ; thankfully, that part of the plan worked well and she made it safely aboard her afternoon flight to Auckland. My half of the itinerary was slightly-more stress inducing: the morning prior to departure I had a midterm in my Christian Political Thought class. Preparation went as planned the night before; I felt very confident of about 80% of the material and decided that I would get up at 6 AM to do some more review and be primed for the 8 AM test.
I slept very well that night.
I awoke in the morning to the sound of my cell phone vibrating along the window sill. I tiredly fumbled the phone to my ear and heard the voice of one of my Christian Political Thought classmates. Figuring it must be an important last minute question regarding the test, I took the initiative to forgive him for waking me. He replied, “Well, is everything alright? We missed you in the test this morning.” About halfway through the breath necessary to chuckle at his cruel joke, I glanced at the clock: 9:57 AM.
Holy Moses.
I can probably count with an airline bag of peanuts how many times in my life I’ve been in utter shock. This was one of them. I later discovered that apparently in the course of packing my camera charger for the trip, I had loosened the plug on my alarm clock. Why the battery backup kept the time but not the alarm, I do not know. But I slept straight through that exam.
I booked it down to the professor’s office, repeatedly pinching myself to ensure that this wasn’t a bad dream from the cherry pie I had eaten before bed. The tale does have a happy ending: after explaining my predicament and promising to file suit against the alarm clock manufacturer, the professor and I enjoyed a good laugh about the whole mess and she allowed me to makeup the exam in the afternoon.
- – • – -
The day’s supersonic tempo of missing the exam, going to classes, and making up the exam was certainly balanced by the ride to the airport to catch my evening flight to Auckland. As Jordan over at Cheese and Crackers pointed out, after years of “rain, rain go away,” “some other day” finally arrived in Southern California. The monsoonal rains nearly made sure I didn’t leave this continent. Rain and mudslides closed all of the routes from Malibu to LA, including Pacific Coast Highway. The only way to the airport was to drive the precisely wrong direction, cut across the top of LA, and then turn south towards LAX. Figuratively, one had to drive the legs of the triangle instead of the hypotenuse.
And so it was: my driving companion Scott and I left at 4:15 PM for my 8:30 PM flight. Even with the roundabout route, we thought we’d have time to get dinner near the airport. Instead, the typically 45 minute drive to the airport took an incredible three and a half hours. I barely made it on the plane, but I did. Scott earned himself a very big gold star for sticking with me through the ordeal and giving up his afternoon for a tour of California as it washed away.
- – • – -
I touched down in New Zealand at 6 AM local time; Jen had arrived a few hours before and had acquainted herself with the empty Auckland airport. In an instance illustrating just how perfect she is for the international travel game, though, by the time I had fetched my bag and cleared customs, Jen had already arranged for a free ride into the city by befriending a gal from Oregon that was working at a Christian camp in New Zealand and was picking up a friend on my flight. Thinking back now, perhaps I should have been more hesitant about hopping in an early ’80s Toyota, with three ladies, in a very foreign country. But I have to hand it to Jen for pulling that one off–I am impressed.
Jen and I were to cross paths for three days in Auckland before she continued south to her YWAM post in Christchurch and I made my way to Sydney. The insanity of the days leading up to the trip and the jet lag from the flight led us both to opt for a rather quiet first day in Auckland. Jen doubled her existing two hours of sleep from the preceding night with a quick nap at the hostel while I, having had a bit more sleep from the overnight flight (and all that rest of sleeping through the exam!), set out on foot to learn a bit more about the country to which the Rectangular Republic was sending one of our most top notch young ladies.
Auckland is a nice combination of a city big enough to merit exploring but small enough to still be manageable. The rumors of anti-Americanism didn’t seem to be overtly true, but perhaps true feelings were hidden in hopes of my tourist dollars. I wandered through the University of Auckland on the first day of classes and saw a slight twist of poetic justice in that while I was here to escape classes, these folks were here to consume them. I discovered another odd juxtaposition at “Aristotle’s Bookshelf,” a neat little bookstore that I would probably rate as the most ideologically favorable collection of political books I’ve ever seen in one place at one time. The part that I found curious was that the joint was run by a proud homosexual; Stateside it seems that my beliefs don’t usually align with the “gay” agenda. Interesting people in an intriguing place.
- – • – -
While it was terrific to simply spend some “face time” with Jen to catch up on life, the most exhilarating part of the trip would have to be the “canyoning” adventure we joined on day two. Canyoning is big tourist business in New Zealand: essentially, tour operators pick you up in the city, give you a wetsuit and a helmet, drive you out into the mountains, hike with you up to the summit of a large mountain stream, and show you how to expend maximum adrenaline by traveling down the mountain in the aforementioned stream. The stream travels down the mountain through dozens of “steps,” or waterfalls followed by pools. The three possible options at every level of elevation descent are either to jump from the cliff above into the pool below, to slide down polished rock chutes, or, in cases of extraordinary distance, to rappel down through the waterfall–or as they call it, “abseil.” It’s a rush either way.
While the pictures (from the tour operator’s waterproof camera that I’ll post in the gallery as soon as I get the CD in the mail) will certainly tell the story far more clearly than any tapestry of adjectives, I think my proudest achievement of the day is going through with the 30 ft. cliff jump. Jen, of course, had no fear and sailed through the “wickedest jump of the day” like it was as easy as dropping a trash bag of chicken soup off an overpass. I, admittedly, was quite a bit more concerned about the prospect: the height wasn’t so much the problem (just a bit taller than the high dive, right?) as was the size of the target. Perhaps it’s just the view from on top, but in this case the landing zone, surrounded by rocks, didn’t look like it left much room for operator error. At the time of decision, it appeared to me that I was contemplating a jump off my three story dorm into a garbage can of water.
After the tour guide assured me that no one had been irreparably messed up by the challenge, I shouted down to Jen for some last minute advice. Her response? “Go big or go home.” Words never wiser.
Somewhere in that moment I realized that precisely six months ago to the day had been the blink when our mutual friend Mark Peter Heinmets passed from this life to the next. Being across an ocean, on top of a mountain, jumping off cliffs made Mark’s mantra more real than ever before–not just in the serene beauty of the canyon or in the thrill of the expedition, but in the simple and complete pleasure of life. And so, forgetting all the chances when I’ve failed to sink a wad of paper into a not too distant trash can, I realized that I had absolutely nothing to lose and thus hurled myself over the ledge. Slamming into frigid water has never been sweeter.
- – • – -
Jen and I enjoyed our final shared day in Auckland with a leisurely start and a ferry out to Waiheke Island. The said for goal for the day was to relax, enjoy, and do something about the mutual albino lack of tanning that had been the product of the previous day’s wetsuits. Waiheke is a small island paradise available only 35 minutes from the bustle of Auckland. While it’s certainly set in postcard-worthy surroundings, the island itself has done a very nice job of being developed for tourists and residents, yet still feeling very open and very natural. A variety of trails (in New Zealand-speak: “tracks”) crisscross the island and make for some very picturesque hiking (again, New Zealand-speak: “tramping”).
Jen and I found ourselves on a really neat trail that led to one of the highest points on the island. On top was a grassy knoll with a quadpod–some sort of navigational marker–that probably wasn’t meant to be a tourist jungle gym, but did have a rather spectacular view of the ocean. In an odd moment of serenity, I think we both became separately immersed in the world our senses were experiencing. I realized later that we sat there in silence for probably nearly an hour. Quite a world to take in.
We ended the day on Waiheke with a brief stop at the island health food store for some late afternoon snacks and then a mini-picnic of sorts out on the beach. It was a terrific time and place to enjoy a few minutes more of conversation–exploring everything from the process of growing up, to the Global War on Terror, to how ridiculous my map navigation skills are. As the sun soon set, we gathered ourselves and hopped the ferry back to Auckland and enjoyed a final outstanding dinner atop the rotating Auckland SkyTower before parting our separate ways in the morning.
- – • – -
Now, here me clearly: Jen and I are nothing more, and thankfully nothing less, than friends. After harpooning that potential elephant in the room, though, I feel quite liberated to insert a thought on why I admire her. Yes, those that know her know it’s hard not to like her: she’s got a great sense of humor, loves all things outdoors, takes her faith seriously, and works ridiculously hard. But, I think what truly makes Jen unique is her essence of authenticity. She really believes, she really cares, she really is.
Even on two hours of sleep, she shows a profound care for mere strangers. Even six thousand miles from home, she’s the same serving soul you might once have found clearing tables after a double-shift. Even in the midst of heartbreak, she embraces something larger than herself. She is a committed listener, a courageous mentor, a trustworthy fellow traveler.
So, Jen: Go. Do. Continue to be.
I will miss seeing you, Jen, but I know some of your hope, your audacity, your authenticity, and your faith will follow me wherever I go.
- – • – -
As Jen set course south to Christchurch, I ventured further west to Sydney. In all the details of New Zealand, I hadn’t yet given much consideration to how I would spend my time in Sydney. I had decided to save the hop to South Africa for another time and another place, largely because flights to and from Johannesburg are only every other day. Thus, even if I had the good fortune of getting to South Africa, there was a very real chance that I wouldn’t get back in time to keep my commitments Stateside. My Lonely Planet did not disappoint, though, and I found a fabulous beach town on the outskirts of Sydney called Cronulla.
Compared to the city life of LA, Auckland, and Sydney, Cronulla was a delightful niche of small town Australia, which, not surprisingly, seemed to reflect a lot of my ideal of small town America. Old men greeted me on the street, kids rode their bikes down the main drag, and the hostel proprietor even gave out his cell phone number in case of questions or concerns. Cronulla reminded me quite a bit of Ocean City, New Jersey–a beach town in America that my family has vacationed at since before trans-Pacific air service ever existed.
Reflecting on how enjoyable it was to get outside in New Zealand, I decided Cronulla’s 16 mile coastal trail would be the perfect way to spend the following day. I set out at 6 AM and was joined by only one other person on the 6:30 AM ferry to Bundeena, another coastal town across the bay. The Coast Track, as it’s called, set out from there and was an awesome combination of walking beaches, winding through cliffs, hiking ridges, and gazing at the big blue ocean beyond. Some 7 hours and 37,908 steps later (at least according to my pedometer), I made it to the other end of the peninsula. And only saw two other folks on the trail the entire day.
Wildlife in the middle of Australia was not something I had given great consideration to before setting out. I came across quite a few massive spiders who had spun webs across the trail and even stumbled across a porcupine suspiciously waving his tail at me. The most startling moment came when I saw a dark, hairy creature rustling in the tall grass a little ways ahead on the trail. Seeing that the top of its head looked like a small deer or perhaps even a large dog, I wasn’t too concerned and continued ahead. My kidneys about switched sides, though, when the darn creature bounded in front of me like Flubber incarnation of the animal kingdom. What kind of deer can jump straight up? After assuming the judo-chop position, I had a grand chuckle with myself when I realized that this is, in fact, Australia and that creature is, in fact, a kangaroo. The least they could do is put up some signs or something…
Do you believe those stories of folks “accidentally” wandering onto nudist beaches? I must say, I never really believed any of those. It seemed to me that “accidentally” ending up on a nudist beach was like “accidentally” ending up in a pool with all your clothes on: theoretically, it could happen, but practically, you’d just be an idiot to do it.
I, my friends, am just such an idiot. Though it wasn’t marked on the map, it turns out that my 16 mile hike concluded at a “clad-optional” beach, as the Aussies call it. Thankfully for my innocence, the trail wasn’t smack through the beach, but rather on the cliffs above. It took me a few minutes of pondering, though, to discern why everyone below was wearing skin-colored bathing suits. I took a picture when I realized the answer to my question. (Hold your hormonal horses… I mean a picture of the sign 
And that’s all I have to say about that.
- – • – -
Oh, and Fabio went through the security checkpoint behind me at the airport on my way out of Sydney. Nice guy. We even had time to strike a quick deal: I’ll wear my shirt half-unbuttoned if he’ll cut his hair. Just kidding. My shirt was already unbuttoned.
I’ll be posting some pictures in the Gallery as time allows…
