Act I, Scene III: It's a Jungle Out There

Here’s a sentence I never expected to be able to say as a result of this trip: I’ve been in a rainforest. Despite the manic ranting against the idea and shrewd attempt at upselling to a balloon flight by the old hag at the front desk, the Skyrail/Kuranda/Scenic Train experience was truly amazing. We’ve got the pictures to prove it (although, unfortunately nary a good one of me, so I still have no actual proof that I’ve actually been here save for a few t-shirts). Granted after the first 10 pictures of the rainforest the retelling gets a bit stale, but the in-person experience sure as hell didn’t.

The hour long trip up the ski gondola-like Skyrail, punctuated by chances to step off and walk a small manmade walk through bits of the rainforest terrain to lookout points, was nothing short of breathtaking. At the height of the peak on the first leg we got to see far out into the blue of the Pacific Ocean on a purely cloudless day. Islands poked out of a reverently calm sea like baby teeth from untouched gums, leading inward towards voluptuous hillsides blanketed by rainforest for quite literally as far as the eye can see save a town or village here and there.

In Kuranda, the small tourist village at the end of the Skyrail line (which apparently is actually home to a modest compliment of so-called villagers), I had wished money was not an object. We had the better part of four hours to kill in this quaint little tourist trap, and walking around and eating lunch only took up so much of it. We were left with an hour of wandering back over the same paths and waiting for the train. Had we been a little more shrewd in our trip-management, we might have been able to afford a visit to the Butterfly Sanctuary, where one can have the pleasure of being swarmed by 1500+ species of manic butterflies; or tour through Birdworld, where one can see many of Australia’s more exotic native birds – such as the cockatoo and varieties of parrot – and even have an opportunity to have a picture with one perched on your arm or shoulder; or wander about the Koala Village, the highlight of which is getting a picture whilst getting cuddled by a real live Koala. We bypassed all those in the uncertainty of how much our future stay at Airlie Beach would be, but if any opportunities such as that come about again, I don’t know how I can afford not to take them. Even if Andrej can’t afford it, he can busy himself surfing while I cuddle a Koala. If only for the purpose of making everyone else I know so jealous they’re as likely to slap me as hug me when I return to the States in December.

Despite the ‘wisdom’ of that crotchety old lady at the front desk, the Scenic Train ride that followed all that offered dozens of worthy photo opportunities and resulted in many that would feel right at home on my desktop. Perhaps the most interesting part of that leg of the journey, however, was the family that sat opposite us on the train. They were a husband, wife, and two boys of the lucky Vegas ages 7 and 11. The husband was a very charismatic, middle-aged man of Latino decent (I believe he narrowed it down to Peruvian during the course of the conversation, but I dare say I could be wrong) and the woman was a quiet-but-opinionated woman who looked something like Korean (but again, I say that with fingers and toes crossed lest the ACLU smite me should they get ahold of this).

At the Freshwater Station – the middle point between Kuranda and Cairns – the woman and the older boy got off the train for whatever reason. About 10 minutes passed, and the man made a passing, but confident, comment about how he was pretty sure they weren’t going to be on the train when it took off again. A magic 8 ball couldn’t have predicted it any better or more comically. Sure enough, the train starts moving, and the wife and child aren’t in their proper seats. He says “They’re probably just on another car,” but these words come out as he’s on his way to the opposite window to look out at the platform. Sure enough, he sees them frantically running toward the train, horrified by the fact that it’s not stopping and they could be stranded. The man walks back to the other side of the train, pulls the emergency stop, and walks through the cars toward the station behind us. The most amusing part about this is that, while the rest of us in the surrounding seats have blushed ourselves red with guilty curiosity and sympathetic embarrassment (and I’ve got my nose buried into my new Chuck Palahniuk book as far as I can get it without reading cross-eyed), this man does all this with the practiced demeanor of dialing his mother’s telephone number. As if this was the final step in introducing his family. This is them. This is how they are.

We returned to Cairns at around 5:30, walked to the Woolshed to get our free meal, then went back to the hostel. Andrej shaved while I balked at a cold water only shower. After that . . . we couldn’t think of much to do. It’s funny how boring a place becomes when you don’t have a room to come home to. We didn’t have time to go out partying, and we didn’t feel much like drinking (even though the night before we’d found a fantastic bar serving 125 beers from around the world and between the two of us I dare say we made the full trip). We sat around the hostel a bit, watched a boring show, and then wandered around Cairns for a bit with our luggage while we waited for the 12:30am Greyhound Bus out of the city. The amazing visit to Cairns was to be behind is in moments, and a likely equally stunning visit of Airlie Beach and the Whitsunday Islands was yet to come.

Aussie Doozy of the Day:
I have to say that Kuranda trip counts for this.