Hostels

I am currently poolside at a hostel in Darwin.  Usually I enjoy staying in hostels over hotels because they have a more sociable atmosphere, and they have all the amenities like laundry, internet, and information.  Although the crowd is generally younger than I am, all ages are welcome and you will find older folks there too.  I have stayed in many around the world and have generally found it a positive experience. I usually get my own room these days instead of staying in the dorm, so I can get some distance from revelers if need be.  I was one of those once.  Like when I was chased up the stairs by a large shoe-wielding woman in Italy after breaking the curfew (I escaped by hiding behind a door), or the time I was stranded on the street outside a hostel in downtown Galway in my underwear after going through a one-way locking door.  

Quality varies by location and circumstances.  Darwin seems to be more of a travelers hub than a destination in itself.  So there are a lot of people here that are on hold during their trip around Australia or to/from Indonesia or Thailand.  Generally these people hang around and work somewhere to save up enough money to get somewhere else.  This creates a situation of "long-termers".  They are people who stay at a hostel because it's a cheap place to live.  It really changes the character of a place because they all know each other and it's an us vs. them atmosphere.  Some of them aren't particularly motivated to do anything about their situation, so they sit around and grumble.  

A lizard is crawling on my shoe.  Hopefully it eats some mosquitoes.

So I guess I'm saying that the hostel situation in Darwin is poor.  When I arrived, I headed for a place recommended by Lonely Planet (forgetting the rule that the guidebook is not the end-all).  Reception was closed so I wandered about and asked some people smoking and drinking if they knew anyone who worked there.  It turns out that one of them was the receptionist, who was annoyed that I interrupted her, and said she'd be there when she was ready.  Shortly she came back to the office and quoted me the rate.  It was hot and I was tired and I paid for the room.  It had air-conditioning and that was enough.  As I sat down on the bed, the level of filth sunk in.  Years of ground-in dirt and the old and thin mattress matched the tired peeling paint of the cinderblock walls and moldy air-conditioner.  I walked downstairs into the common area and found a crowd of listless bodies surrounded by empty bottles and cans staring emptily into a television set tuned to an infomercial.  The common bathrooms were vile and homeless men were outside picking up cigarette butts to smoke.  All for $75/night.

After fuming about my poor decision, I walked down the road to find somewhere else to stay, hoping that I could get my money back from the first establishment.  I passed a place that seemed leafy and pleasant, and I figured I'd go in and have a look.  Anything was better than the other place.  The room seemed OK, so I returned to the first place, successfully got my money back after inventing a sob story, and left with my bag.  Walking across town to the other establishment, my feet began to bleed because the plastic thongs I bought chewed through the webbing of my toes.  I checked in, and sat down on the bed.  Relaxing, I decided to check out Tripadvisor out of curiousity to see if the second place had been reviewed.  

To my dismay, every review was about the serious bedbug problem at this place.  I immediately jumped off the bed and pulled my bag off the floor.  I managed to hang all my things off the curtain rods and stood there for a bit.  I was bitten by some bedbugs in Fiji and it is awful.  The burning itch is intolerable.  Then you have anxiety for a week whether they have traveled with you in your things and are infecting things wherever you go.  I walked back to the office and kindly asked the receptionist if she knew anything about this problem.  She assured me, "I can tell you that there have never been any bedbugs in your room."  I said that there was no way I could sleep with the thought of it, and that I had to leave.  She grudgingly gave my money back, and as I left with my bag, a shirtless man ran through the courtyard with one eye swollen shut, angrily screaming something.  It was a good time to go.

Skin and blood shedding from my feet, I made it to the third place, where I am currently staying.  It's actually well-run and clean, and I am relieved.  There are still some of the long-term folks but a smaller proportion.

Here is the current joint.

Tomorrow I fly back to New Zealand, and my mom will arrive at the end of the week. We are going to see the sights and then fly back together to the USA.  I will be happy to see my cat.  I wanted to import him to New Zealand but they have a one-month quarantine for pets.  You can go visit one hour a week or something.  Maybe I could have smuggled a file to him in a can of tuna. 

Kakadu/Darwin

For my last couple of days with the camper, I cruised over to Kakadu National Park, which is a remote World Heritage Site famous for Aboriginal rock art and culture.  I stayed the night at a caravan park run by an annoyed-to-be-disturbed proprietor (Is it me?  What did I do?).

I booked a tour for the next day into Arnham Land, which is a pretty unexplored and unvisited part of Australia.  It's set aside for the Aboriginals to live how they want and not be disturbed.  You have to have a permit to go there, which was arranged by the tour company.  A group of eight of us went in a 4WD bus across the border.  We were told that we would meet some residents and have the opportunity to purchase some art.

I was expecting some Stone Age situation, but we arrived in a village that seemed about like any other dusty Outback town. It had a school and relatively modern buildings and a construction crew erecting some new structure.  Our permit was to visit the art gallery and we were sternly instructed that we could not go across the street or anywhere else.

I've been trying to figure out the Aboriginal situation since I've arrived here.  Australia is a wealthy and progressive country and yet is populated by a good number of these people who are not merely unsuccessful, but decimated.  I mean, they have it rough.  You see them around town and they sleep in the roadside hedges or in the parks.  When they're awake, usually in the evening, they are wandering around drunk and fighting or crying or staring into emptiness. It's not like some of them are shopkeepers or run a restaurant but some don't do as well.  None of them make it, as far as I can see.  Zero. 

Anyway, we went to the art gallery and there was some very nice art that people were making.  This huge chain-smoking man with some tumors on his face was painting a basket.  He was wearing a Lakers shirt and painting slowly and deliberately in between tugs off his smoke (cigs are $18 a pack here, I couldn't help but think).  Some people felt encouraged to ask questions and nodded smilingly and understandingly when they got an mumbled response in an arcane dialect of Yolngu.  There were some white people there organizing the place and working the cash register.  On the tour there was a girl from Boston who is traveling around Australia for five weeks.  She really wanted to buy a spear, but didn't know if she could make it through airport security.  Shipping it was far too expensive, I guess.  I was hoping she'd buy it so I could chuckle about her wandering through Australia for another month carrying a spear, but she didn't bite.

Our guide took us out to look at some rock art, which was interesting enough, although it was a little hard to tell whether it was stenciled yesterday or in 2000 BC.  The guide told some stories about creation myths and serpents and how this represented that.  I didn't get the feeling that he really knew, or if anybody really knew.  I suppose the artist knew.  Maybe he/she was just doodling.

We came home that evening and I went out to catch the sunset at a rock mentioned by the guide.  When I got there, I saw some interpretive signs saying how it was a very special place and was the dwelling of a god.  I waited around for the sunset while getting attacked by biting flies on every exposed inch.  Finally I gave up.  The god can have his rock, fine by me.

Waiting at the border crossing for the tide to recede across the road:

I could insert a photo here of the painting guy or the one-legged lady with cataracts sitting in garbage under a tree, but I didn't feel very heartened to take photos of them.

Sunset from Ubirr (the first night, not the biting fly night)

On the way to Darwin the next day I pulled off the road at the Original Adelaide River Jumping Crocodile Cruise.  On this riverboat there was a guy who tied a pork chop to the end of a fishing line and hung it out for the crocs.  It didn't take long at all for some big crocs to swim over.  You definitely don't want to go swimming around here.

In Darwin was a good military museum.  They had some gun emplacements and all sorts of period artifacts.  The city was bombed several times by the Japanese and many Allied ships were sunk, including this US Navy destroyer.

It was hotter than blazes in Darwin, and the hostel proprietor dropped me off at the military museum which was several miles from downtown.  I walked all the way back in the midday heat and it was excruciating.  I was actually moaning and talking to myself, feeling cold chills from time to time.  A couple of times I found water fountains, which was good.

and, finally, the best Coca-Cola of all time.