Ziplining Maui

The name of this adventure starts with the first syllable of a feature on your pants. 

That was clue #3 of 3 that I gave Jordan in order to figure out what we were doing for his Maui birthday surprise. Ziplining!

It was both of our first times zipping down a mountain, and the canyons above Kaanapali were the perfect setting for a birthday-themed adventure. So we piled into the off-road van and the 14 of us – 12 zippers and 2 guides – made our way up the winding, bumping, red dirt road.

Preston and Pat were our guides. I appreciated their alliterating names and their complementary personalities. Preston – a zipline guide by day and reggae singer by night – “graced” us with his melodies and obviously recycled jokes. Pat – soft-spoken until he wasn’t and last year’s supposed Employee of the Year – offered a more subdued humor that you had to pay attention to notice: little mumblings under his breath and off the wall comments like “Have you guys seen We Bought a Zoo?...great movie.”

At the top awaited 8 lines averaging about 500 feet in length and varying in height off the ground. As you would expect, the lines got longer as we went along, so as we got more comfortable we had the time to look around and enjoy the impressive view.

Looking down on Lahaina. 

On an adventure scale of 1 to scary, I’d give ziplining a cool 5. Before I explain why, I should mention that I think Splash Mountain at Disneyland is scary. It’s true that I’ve bungeed jumped before, but that was an isolated incident brought on by post-Australia identity confusion. So really, you should consider me a bit of baby when it comes to thrills. That said, ziplining was not scary; I’d put it somewhere in between surfing (not scary) and mountain biking (kind of scary). It’s like white water rafting – a perfectly approachable outdoorsy adventure. 

Here’s a video of me on one of the middle lines (with a bit of narration from Preston).

We were also invited to take running starts and curl up into a ball once on the line in order to maximize speed and fun. Here’s a video of Jordan doing a running start.

At the end of the final line, the group surprised Jordan with a round of "Happy Birthday" that sufficiently embarrassed him. Mission accomplished. 

Me and the birthday boy.

I'm curious: Where have you ziplined?

Best of Maui 2012

Aloha from Maui!

Jordan and I just got back from 7 jam-packed days on The Valley Isle. Other than forgetting to bring socks (me) and spilling a Mai Tai on our iPhones (also me), the trip was flawless and filled with adventure. Here are the highlights.

Marine life Turtles and dolphins and geckos - oh my! I was overjoyed at our wildlife sightings last week, particularly the afternoon that a pod of about 40 dolphins swam, jumped and twirled by about ¼ of a mile off shore in clear sight from our room. Jordan said I sounded like the Double Rainbow guy as I squealed and snapped pictures; I'd say I was more excited. Because of their apparent size, I believe they were the spinner dolphins that are unique to tropical waters and characterized by their smaller body and impressive acrobatics. I wanna be a dolphin!

Dolphins splashing on by. Although they're hard to see in this picture, trust me that there were so many of them!

Jordan taking in the view. 

Hey turtle.

Potassium-rich diet

If you’re not one for warm-watered beaches or dolphin sightings, good news: Maui has banana bread...everywhere. Baked goods in general are the way to this gal’s heart, and banana bread is abundant on the windy, country roads of Maui. So while we toured the northern and southern lobes of the island -- and only in the interest of writing a thorough blog post for you -- I did my fair share of taste testing, so I can attest that Julia’s was indeed the best banana bread in the world.

Snack time.

I did it for you...and the potassium. 

Black Sand beach

My favorite stop on the obligatory road to Hana was the black sand beach around mile 31 on Hana Highway. Nestled inside Waianapanapa (why-anna-pah-nah-pa) State Park, the beach’s black sand is striking, and its waves are perfect for swimming and floating.

Underwater cameras are so cool.

Lunch in a crater

Haleakala volcano was the most unique adventure of the trip. 10,023 daring feet above the sea, the crater hike offers a scene that is otherworldly -- very Stars Wars-esq. We made our way down Sliding Sands trail, which Jordan aptly pointed out was named after Hawaii’s first settlers, Arthur Sands and Tom Sliding.

Veggie sandwich with a view.

Ziplining  

I surprised Jordan on his birthday with a zipline adventure. The 4-hour excursion was filled to the brim with classic adventure guide tomfoolery, not to mention amazing views and thrilling zips. Shout out to Skyline Eco Adventures for having a delicious veggie sandwich waiting for me at altitude. More to come on this soon! 

Mama’s Fish House

I also had the best meal I’ve ever had last week. Mama’s Fish House serves fish that was caught on Maui that day, and because it was Jordan’s birthday we treated ourselves to Mai Tais, crab cakes and a banana crisp too. We basically rolled out of the restaurant. Hands down, this was the most delicious dinner I’ve ever had, and the company wasn’t so bad either.

The view from Mama's Fish House - home of the best Mai Tai.

Aloha!

My Thoughts on Mountain Biking (or Sliding Down a Mountain in Padded Spandex Shorts)

Jordan exemplifying real mountain biking.

One of the things I initiated during my year-long blogging intermission was my mountain biking career. The use of the word "career" is funnier if you know that I've been mountain biking a number of times that I can count on one hand, and also if you could hear the "woahs" and screams I let out as I "mountain bike" down the trail. 

After a recent mountain bike excursion in San Luis Obsipo, I put together a collection of my thoughts and learnings about the sport, but first let's start with the basics.

The Basics

Okay, Anatomy of a Mountain Bike, Volume 1: Mountain bikes are built to go over rocks and logs and annoying small children. 

They prefer to do so at a quicker speed. 

Left brake slows down the front wheel = death trap. Right brake slows down the back wheel = your friend.

I have also heard mountain bikers use these words: pedals, handlebars, thirsty, Idaho, gears and breakfast. 

Now that you know everything there is to know about mountain biking, I give to you... 

Ramblings of Spandex-Clad Jedi in Training

Montaña de Oro State Park

Montaña de Oro is a one of a few confident peaks on the south tip of a small bay near San Luis Obispo (SLO), in a state park boasting a two lane road covered in arches of eucalyptus trees, stunning ocean views and an excellent beginner mountain biking trail. As you get started on the namesake trail, the incline is gradual and surrounded on both sides by stubby bushes. Toward the top you're challenged by sharper turns, rocky obstacles and rides along steep ledges. To get over and through all of these challenges, the trick is to...

1) Look Where You Want to Go

The best advice Jordan has given me about mountain biking thus far is that you want to look where you want to go, about 10 feet in front of you. When it works, you not only end up where you meant to (yay!), but you also feel like you're a Jedi using The Force to control the bike. At the path you look and continue safely you will; off the cliff you look and die you will. I will admit, however, that when you have a boulder garden* beneath you, this concept is harder in practice than in theory. But I have found that when I am able to completely ignore said boulder garden, I will likely go right over it!, which makes me wish that this look-where-you-want-to-go concept was applicable in other areas -- mainly traffic jams, work days/weeks, and airline seat assignments, among other things. 

*Something that real mountain bikers may refer to as "a single rock." 

2) Embrace Speed as Your Friend (the pushy, show-off kind)

Another thing to keep in mind is that the quicker you go, the more stable you will be. I haven't seen the equation that proves this math, but I have experienced firsthand the slow and inevitable fall a single rock can cause when you so much as touch your brakes before going over it. It's like the rocks on mountain bike trails have a personal vendetta against slow cyclists. So people like me who prefer snail mail speed -- I may get down the mountain in 3-5 business days -- are wise to suit up, sit down and hang on. It's like that scene in Forgetting Sarah Marshall where Chuck (Paul Rudd) is trying to explain to Peter (Jason Segel) how to pop up on a surfboard: The less you do the better. Ya gotta pop down, and never, ever, touch your brakes. 

3) Never Use Your Brakes (Ever)

This tip might confuse some of you, but seriously the brakes on a mountain bike are one of the most dangerous features. They are known to cause flipping, sliding, falling, bloating, headache, dizziness, vertigo, and sometimes death. My advice, just take them off. Waste of space. All you have to do is look where you want to go. 

On my way down Montaña de Oro last November.

What are your newest or favorite adventure sports? Any other ideas where the look-where-you-want-to-go rule should apply? 

Adventurooing

Sometimes life is too good. Sometimes amazing adventures come in three-day packages, and you wish you could drink the adrenalin-endorphin cocktail that your adventures provide more slowly.

We headed to Cairns for the long weekend. Cairns (pronounced cans) is a three-hour plane ride north of Sydney and an adventure sport haven. Obviously, in the Southern Hemisphere as we travel north the weather becomes more tropical, so higher temperatures and humid rainstorms awaited us in Cairns. However, the beach wasn’t an option. “Salties,” or saltwater crocodiles populate the shores of Northern Australia deterring Australians and tourists alike from the refreshing coastal waters. So the seemingly ironic community pool that sits nestled along the seaside actually sees a lot of action. We spent our first afternoon playing Phase 10 poolside.

On Saturday I woke early to head out on an ATVing adventure; the magazine I work for sent me to test the adventure sport for a feature article in their July issue. At the pick up spot, Todd introduced himself in a manner that only California boys can—lips barely parted, barely moving, and tone barely fluctuating. After discovering we grew up within 45 minutes of each other, we were pals for the day, which was a good decision on my part as Todd came to my rescue later in the afternoon. Upon arrival at the ranch we mounted our quad bikes and took off down the muddy, sheep- and cow-lined path. Zooming along in fifth gear through puddles the size of small swimming holes I couldn’t stop thinking of that country song my mom used to sing. Something about a boy named Tommy “splashing through the mud and the muck.” It took about five minutes for me to get acquainted with my bike (which my leader referred to as “a feisty one”) and then my adrenalin got the best of me. I was handling those curves like a NASCAR racer…until I wasn’t. A turn came too quickly and I headed straight for The Bush. More like I gunned it into The Bush as I mistook my gas throttle for the handbrake. Doubled over in laughter, I looked back at the group to find them 1) stunned and staring and 2) stifling laughter. Then they joined in on the giggles as my buddy Todd pulled me out. Thanks Todd.

The next day was one I’ll never forget. I like to post pictures of places and things I want to see in my life on the bulletin board behind my desk. A panoramic picture of the Great Barrier Reef that I found in a travel magazine is one of the many things that has been pinned there over the last few years. As of last Sunday, I can take that clipping down and retire it to the “Done” box.

After a VERY rocky boat ride out to the G.B.R. that left three of my four travel buddies with their faces stuck to paper bags, we arrived at our dive spot. Caitlin and I geared up and jumped into our introductory dive with our Canadian instructor Kim, and for a half hour that felt like two minutes I was on the set of Finding Nemo. There were Nemos everywhere and even a Gill! I didn’t, however, see any Dorys. The beauty of the coral and the calm existence of the bright, peaceful fish were complemented by the quiet of life below the surface. I enjoyed that I couldn’t taint the experience with the usual “this is unbelievable” chant. We became part of the ocean’s secret world. Certification is definitely in my future as I have never felt so peaceful as I did pretending to be a fish on the Great Barrier Reef. What a spot to start your diving career at, eh?

Our trip ended on an extreme white water rafting tour. We signed up for the extreme tour mainly to be bad asses, but a hidden benefit was the small size of our group. We had nineteen adventurers and five guides to be split up among four boats. When the burly guides noticed our group of five girls and heard our American accents they were vying to by our guides. Bez, who looked like a long-haired AC Slater, and Benny, with blue eyes and biceps to kill, won. We spent the day under the pouring rain, maneuvering gnarly rapids by raft. We swam through rapids when we were thrown from the raft, jumped off rocks, and blushed at the sexual innuendo-filled conversation from our Kiwi guides. Only as we pulled our raft ashore at the end of the day did Benny confess that the river is croc infested. Laughing and finally accepting Australia’s inherent danger, I just shook my head. We left with our limbs still attached, and oftentimes in Australia that itself is something to be proud of.

I’m back in Sydney, writing papers as classes come to an end, packing a suitcase to send home and dreading the end of this adventure. Two weeks in Thailand and a few days with friends in New Zealand keep the adventure alive, but still, I feel the best semester of my life coming to a close. Looking back I see that living abroad has changed me, or perhaps it’s just forced me to get to know myself better. Either way, I’ve realized the important role travel and living abroad will play in my life. Some might diagnose it as the Travel Bug, but that implies that it’s a temporary condition. I hope to employ travel as a philosophy and a lifestyle, not a hobby. So I’m not looking for a cure...just for some like-minded travel buddies.

Jee Jee Dub '09

When finals were done, Brooke, Jorie, Sarah Mitus and I boarded our flight to the Gold Coast. Our spring break itinerary was great mostly because we didn’t have many set plans. We would split the next week between the Gold Coast beaches and Fraser Island—a sand island filled with natural paradises like fresh water lakes, rainforest and refreshing creeks.

First things first. Sarah Mitus has not been formally introduced, but she deserves that introduction. So here’s a little Sarah Mitus synopsis: we call Sarah by her last name, “Mitus,” mostly because it’s an awesome last name that we feel deserves first name usage. And it fits, because Aussies shorten every word: afternoon = “arvo,” breakfast = “brekky,” “Brisbane = “brizzy.” So, after two months together, Mitus now answers to “Mito,” “Smito,” Shmito” and so on. Shmito is my personal favorite so from here on that’s how we’ll refer to her.

I met nineteen-year-old Shmito at the airport newsstand back in January. “Cosmo or Glamour?” Jorie asked her and her friend Caroline. “Cosmo for sure,” they replied. We were friends from there on.

Shmito is from western Massachusetts, but she is the farthest thing from a Mass-hole. The girl’s favorite response is, “I’m down for whatever,” which explains why 1) she is a great person to travel with and 2) why she’s become one of my dearest friends so quickly. She’s easygoing. She mostly smiles and laughs, but ask her about marketing and she’ll show you her wits. She talks admiringly about her family, especially her dad, and worries that she won’t find a guy as great as him. So, plain and simple, Shmito was a wonderful addition to the spring break adventure.

Our trip featured many beautiful locales and exciting adventures. Here are the highlights:

DRIVING: None of us had ever driven on the left side of the road, so this was a recipe for some fun. Additionally, Brooke and I haven’t owned cars in over two years, and I only drive during the summer. In our rented Hyundai we maneuvered the streets of Coolangatta onto the Pacific Highway. (Yay for another Pacific Highway!) It took all four of us to make a lane change, and that lane change was often only signaled by turning on our windshield wipers instead of our blinker. Wipers. Blinkers. Same difference.

By far the funniest part of our driving experience was the four-hour drive turned six-and-a-half-hour drive to Fraser Island. Brooke’s Australian ex-boyfriend (who’s house we stayed in on the Gold Coast) had provided us with directions to get around the Gold Coast. Those directions had satisfied all our needs—groceries, secluded beaches, nightlife—until Tuesday morning, when, like fools, we didn’t read the fine print. After three and half hours of following Morgan’s directions to a tee, we did indeed arrive at Cooloola Way, just where our directions intended for us to be. The catch is that Cooloola Way has a giant sign at its conception warning drivers that “Cooloola Way is 30 kilometers of sand and gravel track connecting to Rainbow Beach Road…4-wheel drive vehicles only.” We had failed to read that the directions were guiding us to where Morgan took his 4-wheel drive before putting it on a barge to Fraser Island. The Hyundai was closer to a go-cart than a jeep and with no town in sight we had no choice but to detour to Rainbow Beach, where we stopped at a backpacker’s lodge. The look on the woman’s face when I told her we were looking for Hervey Bay said it all. Eyes wide and eyebrows raised, she told us were two hours south of our destination.

This little bump in the road, if you will, did have an upside. First, my appreciation for my travel companions grew as we each chose to laugh at our own mistake, pitch in on gas and get back on the road. Someone suggested road games to pass the extra hours. There’s nothing more valuable on a road trip in a foreign country than easygoing travel partners. The other upside of this slip up was the night sky on the ferry ride to the island. (We had planned on taking the 4 p.m. ferry, and ended up on the 7 p.m. ferry thanks to our detour.) On the open ocean in the absence of city lights, the stars stretched to the horizon. I had never seen so many stars at once, and I got that feeling that you read about in books. You feel small, but not insignificant. It was the closest thing I’ve had to a religious experience. We continued our star gazing on the deck of our condo on Fraser Island. Two shooting stars, a beer and countless mosquito bites later, the irritation of the long car drive was long forgotten.

WILDLIFE: What you read is true. Australia is filled with weird and dangerous wildlife. I came knowing they have most of the world’s most poisonous snakes, lots of venomous spiders and, obviously, sharks too. But because I grew up swimming just on the other side of the Pacific, I wasn’t intimidated to swim here, even after hearing of the first two shark attacks in Sydney Harbour, in which both people were swimming at dusk, aka dinner time for sharks. Turquoise from afar but clear up close with rolling waves, I can’t refuse the ocean’s invitation. So on a perfect afternoon at Dreamtime Beach on the Gold Coast, I encouraged the group, “let’s swim out further.” As we did, we got a lot of looks from the surfers. At first I thought we had swam into their surf spot, but we were clearly outside their territory. Then we thought they probably just thought we were cute. Wrong again. The next night we told our friend Lara, who was born in Oz, moved to the U.S. and now goes to school on the Gold Coast, about our swimming adventure. Her jaw dropped.

“You swam there! I would never swim there! There are sharks. I never go past my knees at that beach.”

Dumb American girls. No wonder those boys were staring as I floated on my back like a seal over the waves. They knew who was shark bate.

The next day we ventured the 50 kilometers to Byron Bay, which is considered a town but in actuality just an intersection of three streets lined with cafes and shops on the southern end of the Gold Coast. We drove to the lighthouse on top of the hill to check the view and see Australia’s most easterly point. From the mountain we saw sharks feeding on a school of fish only about 100 feet off the coast, giving weight to Lara’s comment that there are indeed sharks and they aren’t that far out. A pod of dolphins swam by. A stingray probably 5 feet wide hovered in the waves. Sea turtles drifted by. This was the most natural wildlife exhibit I had ever seen, all within a 500-foot stretch of coast.

While the shark feeding was unexpected and fascinating, Wednesday morning’s surprise was the most memorable of the trip in terms of wildlife. We woke early to start our tour of Fraser Island. Sleep still in my eyes (and definitely in my hair), I walked slowly to the couch to put on my shoes, but I stopped in my tracks at the site of the hairy Huntman’s spider the size of my palm caught between our window screen and glass. (Taylor, you would have passed out.) The woman who answered our call to the front desk assured us that it was non-venomous and would just keep the other bugs out, so we let B.F.G, as we named him, stay where he was. But when we returned nine hours later, B.F.G. wasn’t lookin’ so hot, so Ashley came up to remove him.

“Woah, he IS big,” Ashley remarked. Yes, Ashley he is. Thank you for noticing. That at least made us a feel a little better about our level of toughness.

WARREN: Because of the awesome exchange rate we were able to plan a private tour of Fraser Island, which is great because otherwise you have to either rent a 4-wheel drive jeep on your own and then operate it through the sand roads of the island or join a 40 person tour bus—not our scene. So Warren, a fifty something off-roading expert and native Australian handled the wheel driving us to Fraser’s best lakes and creeks to cool our cores. But in the meantime, we got to know him and vice versa. Warren had two sons and had been happily married to his wife for over 25 years. He loved his job, meeting people from around the world, sharing his knowledge of the island with them. He read “Wildlife of Greater Brisbane” in the shade as we swam in Lake McKenzie. This was Warren’s best advice.

“People of my generation did it all wrong. We hurried into jobs, got married, bought a house and had kids. We planned to travel later in life. Problem is later in life you can’t walk like you used to. So, girls, travel now. Don’t get married until at least 28. Plenty of time for guys.”

Amen, Warren. Amen. After a perfect day, we bid Warren goodbye.

“Thank you for showing us such a great time! Have a nice evening Warren!” I called.
“Have a nice life. And remember! Don’t get married until 28.”

************************************************************

When the last Corona had been drunk and our suitcases offered nothing more than sand covered shorts and tanks, our seven-day spring break adventure came to a close. It flew by too quickly but was just enough to rejuvenate us for the next half of our semester here. And Brookie went back to New York revitalized as well, but not before a tear-filled goodbye from me. I’ll never forget the fun of the last two weeks. Jee Jee Dub ’09!!

Australia

The Hardcore Chicks

Out of the corner of my eye I spot my white and blue Saucony running shoes, still damp as they rest on the floor of my apartment. Those shoes have carried my stride many a time. Along East Cliff Drive and through Nisene Marks in the summer. To the Chestnut Hill Reservoir on brisk, fall afternoons in New England. Over the belt of the treadmill at the gym during Boston’s icy winters. Down Mountain Avenue in Berkeley Heights, New Jersey. Even through Central Park in the spring. And recently, around Sydney Uni. But its destiny as a pair of shoes may have only been fulfilled last Saturday abseiling in the Blue Mountains down mountainsides, water canyons and a waterfall.

We woke up at 5:00 a.m. to catch the train. As we chugged further from the city and deeper into the mountains, the fog thickened, wrapping the hills in a comforting manner but ruining our chances of watching the sun rise all the same.

The shop wasn’t open yet, so when Caroline spotted the yellow lab sitting outside the café, we were lured in, first for a pet of the dog’s silky, floppy ears, and then for a steaming mug of chai to offset the morning chill in the mountain air.

Around nine the group piled into the creaky twelve-person van. I slowly surfaced out of my sleepy state as we bounced along the dirt road. Anticipation fluttered in my gut as my group mates took turns telling their tales of skydiving, bungee jumping, zorbing, and the like. What was I getting myself into, I wondered looking out the window.

The first of our abseils (kind of like repelling) was puny even to my standards. Maybe twenty feet high, so Jorie and I lead the pack. Roped in, I backed my Saucony’s to the edge, released some rope and continued all ten steps down the natural wall.

With my newfound confidence and a wonder about why everyone considered this an adventure sport, we hiked our way to the second site of the day. This one was not only higher but different. Instead of treading your way down the mountain, we guided ourselves over the edge and then swung under the ledge, allowing our feet to dangle as we zipped the rest of the way down.

We ended the morning with a six-story abseil. The scary and invigorating part of this descent was that the mountain continued for what seemed like miles past the ledge on which we landed. So while our drop was only maybe sixty-feet long, the height was hundreds of feet above the trees, allowing for amazing views as we repelled down. Thinking of my dad and how much he’d enjoy this, I loosened the grip on my break hand, diving quicker toward the platform. The combination of exhilarating sport with pristine and serene setting made for a perfect Saturday escape from the city.

After a nice lunch break, we hiked down the canyon to start the water adventure. When the leader of the pack stopped abruptly, turned with big eyes and said a thick, brown snake just crossed his path, I felt my welcome to Australia was complete. Knowing that nine out of ten of the world’s most poisonous snakes are native to Oz, I looked to our tour guide for comfort that was not granted. We hurried along, turning every corner with anxiety.

I wish I could describe the beauty of the water canyon. We all just kept murmuring, “This isn’t real.” Ironic, because actually, this place was as it real it gets. Forget Raging Waters, this place had real waterslides and real waterfalls. So besides being the most naturally beautiful place to which I’ve ever been, Empress Canyon also hosted the best activity of the day—rock jumping and waterslide scaling. Because we were submerged in water almost the entire way, we left our cameras behind—a bittersweet arrangement considering that I cannot describe the canyon’s beauty, but it also saved us from documenting the hideous getups in which we traversed the rocky canyon. (Or so we thought.) As if the bright blue wetsuits weren’t bad enough, add yellow helmets, a rock climbing harness and large waterproof backpacks to the mix and you had me squealing with laughter looking at my friends. So when Clare, a solo traveler from England started snapping pictures of us with her waterproof camera promising to find us on Facebook for our viewing pleasure, I couldn’t help but think of the laughing fit my mom and I had a few years ago on the beach in Maui as we attempted to walk down the shore with our snorkeling fins still on our feet. That picture still provides us a good chuckle when we pull it out, so I could imagine the future laughs these pictures would too.

After a few rock jumps, natural water slides and a crayfish spotting, we arrived at the waterfall. Instructed to stay away from the edge until it was our turn to repel down, we couldn’t see the height of the drop. Leaving it to the imagination, excitement built.

I had hoped to tell you that I navigated down the waterfall like a pro—legs sturdy, rope running smoothly through my hands. In fact, once I lost my footing the first time on the slippery wall of the waterfall with water dowsing on me like, well, a waterfall, I never really got it back. I repelled down that wall like dead weight. At the bottom, I swam ashore, embarrassed at my poor form despite all the practice. But as I climbed up and watched the rest of my group take the waterfall head on, I was happily surprised to find that my group mates’ shoes were just as slippery as mine.

Then, Damon, our tour guide, talked us up to the rest of the group as we dressed to hike back up the mountain. Pride swelling at his comments about our good performances, the four of us gladly accepted the title “the hardcore chicks.” Then Damon surprised us.

“Hey Hardcore Chicks”
(Collective with giggles) “Yaa?”
“You know what hardcore chicks do?”
“What?”
“They carry ropes.”

And that’s how we got tricked into hiking home with an extra thirty pounds on our backs.

Physically exhausted we opted for Finding Nemo that Saturday night instead of Cargo Bar. I fell asleep before Nemo found his dad but still consider this day among the best of my time in Australia.