Cataract Gorge

Actually, I lied about that last bit. I didn’t go straight to bed, I just wanted to finish that entry. Artistic license.

Arriving at the Launceston airport provided my first real feeling of leaving the US. The scenery was totally different; different grass, flowers, steeper mountains, with eucalyptus and strange pine trees dominating the landscape. It looked African at times. However, the city itself had a European feel to it. Maybe it was the unpronounceable French cars. The architecture was a mishmash of styles that chemistry majors don’t learn about. Sorry, folks. That’s why I take pictures.

After arriving at the hostel and bidding the lovely couple adieu, I made myself a classic dinner of a PB&J sandwich and grapes, and spoke with some Melbournians who recommended a hike in nearby Cataract Gorge. I felt elated to actually be on the other side of the world—Tasmania was my oyster, with nobody to tell me when to do my dishes or go to bed. Naturally there was a bit of a letdown when I realized I couldn’t make my sister do my dishes for me, and that I had arrived on a Sunday night. Shucks.

The next morning I awoke with the sun and walked across town to pick up my rental car. Cornell Abroad had expressly told us not to rent cars, because two students have inadvertently killed Australians in driving accidents. Trouble is, the public transport in Tasmania is easily more expensive than driving. I had figured that if I restricted my driving to a 48 hour period I probably wouldn’t have enough time to kill anyone, but I was beginning to doubt my logic. Driving with the lovely couple through turning circles and complicated intersections had made me realize that not only was everything backwards—it was as if papa rule book had not only flipped baby rule book upside down, he had also jiggled it until it died of shaken baby syndrome. Hey, Australia’s a tough place.

You can imagine my relief when a sexy car store representative gave me the keys to an upgraded “compact” sized automatic. They were out of stick shift minis. Still, there were some quirks to get used to, such as the windshield wiper lever located where the turning signal lever should have been, and vice versa. After driving around for a half hour, I felt quasi comfortable, and my windows were immaculately clean, albeit unintentionally.

First stop was Cataract Gorge, where I went across the world’s largest single-span chairlift (not a big deal, it just meant the distance between two of the poles was really long. They could manage that due to the basin shape of the park). I was immediately confronted with a family of wallabees, just hanging out in the park and doing their marsupial thing. By the way, marsupials should win some award for having the most conspicuous scrotum. And it's furry on the bottom, too. See?

Oh, and here's what I think is wallabee poop. This might be a good time to mention that you can click on any picture to expand it.

Well, there were salamanders as well. I wondered if they might act differently when prodded with a stick, since they're Australian and all. Maybe some poison or cool fangs or something. Actually, they just stood really still or scurried off when I bothered them. LAME.

I went for a lovely hike under the hot Tasmanian sun, and learned what an ozone level of 10 means. It means you shouldn't hike under the hot Tasmanian sun. But at the end of the hike I was sad to leave the gorge, filled as it was with furry, scaly, and feathery animals. I decided to drive up the Tamar Valley, and maybe stop for sunscreen along the way.