The Cult of Bindy

I went to the famous Australia zoo on my day off, home of the Crocodile Hunter. Although it was not as expansive as some of the zoos in America, it was far more interactive. It was both shocking and enjoyable to see trainers lolling about the grass with tigers, being able to wander around "Roo paradise" to feed kangaroos, and being able to pet a koala. In such situations, some people tend to get in a "limited resource frenzy" similar to the selfish panic found in a grocery store parking lot when there are too few spaces. I would spot a lone kangaroo in the bushes, but by the time I started to make my way over there, another family had literally run over to the kangaroo and started shoving feed toward its mouth. Those kangaroos seemed to be on a permanent Thanksgiving day bloat, barely having the energy to hop away when the kids grew too annoying.

Despite the novelty of being able to pet the animals, the most curious part of the day for me was the zoo's focus on Bindy, the late Crocodile Hunter's 12-year-old daughter. Bindy has taken center stage in her dad's legacy, as evidenced by her own DVD series, book series, posters and pictures everywhere, and parts of the zoo named after her (Bindy's pony rides). This particular day was her birthday, and therefore all kids could get in free. The birthday had a Hollywood theme (very ironic for me, of course); all the staff were dressed for the part, and there were various "Hollywood-like" events (such as showcasing a party stretch Hummer that everyone could peek into).

The climax of the day was a showing of her new film Free Willy 4 (Free Willy is still going strong over here...anyone in the States know they made it past 2?) followed by the grand finale of her blowing out her birthday candles in the stadium in front of hundreds of cheering kids. At this point, my friend and her daughters and I were wandering around the Birds of Prey, admiring the huge Wedge-tail eagle when the screaming began.

"Bindy's blowing out her candles...we've got to get down there!" The seven year old exclaimed excitedly, grabbing her mother's arm. "Please please please, can we go see Bindy?" The five year old pleaded.

Their mother rolled her eyes to me and let their 14-year-old sister escort them down to Bindy while we finished at the bird exhibit.

"I just can't get over this Bindy thing," I said. "How good can this be for a twelve year-old girl? And don't you Australians abide by the 'tall poppy syndrome?'"(When one person starts getting a little full of himself/herself, other Australians like to knock him/her back down to their level).

"Well," she said with a glint in her eye. "Although Steve Irwin was Australian, his wife is actually American, so we kind of expect this kind of thing."

This may be true, but I will add that the zoo was packed and there were no shortage of excited kids longing to see Bindy. I myself made it through the whole day without catching a glimpse. I guess I'm just going to have to catch her on Free Willy 4.

Close Encounters of the Scary Kind

Australian wildlife is a wild and wonderful mixture of vibrant colors, audacious sounds, and venomous threats. Although these realities always seem to be in tension here, this paradox manifested itself most blatantly today.

This morning I identified a Rainbow Lorakeet pecking around the tree next to my balcony. I soaked in its bright green, red, yellow and blue colors while listening to the multiple other varieties of birds I had not yet identified.

Forty-five minutes later, I was running the trail that follows the ridge behind the camp. Although the Aussies have both openly and implicitly mocked my poisonous snake and spider paranoia (which, I might add, I feel are completely justified), I was taking my usual precaution of scanning the trail several feet ahead to look for snakes.(I won't mention how many sticks I thought were snakes, thereby doing a quick bunny-like leap over them before recognizing my mistake). Despite my caution, there was a particularly steep portion of the trail that forced me to focus just on my feet in front of me. All of a sudden, I happened upon a very LARGE black snake on the left part of the trail, while I was running on the right. My adrenalin catapulted me forward in a gold-medal worthy triple jump and a loud "Oh my gosh!" flew out of my mouth. In response to my wild, jerking motions, the snake seemed equally startled and seemed to jump back away from the trail (do snakes jump? I now believe they do). I sprinted up the remainder of the trail, all the while gasping, "Oh my lands, oh my lands!" I stopped to catch my breath at the top and reflect on the size of the snake.

"It was the as thick as my upper arm and at least as long as my body!" I later exclaimed to J., our cook. She laughed at me.

"You Americans always exaggerate such things when you come over here!" She replied.

Well, whatever. After I looked up the description of the Red-bellied Black Snake, I felt justified in my claim:

"This snake is dangerously venomous but bites are rare because it is usually a placid and fairly docile snake, preferring to enact a lengthy bluff display with flattened neck and deep hisses rather than bite. It grows to a length of 2.5 metres, and is a very distinctive snake because of its simple and unvarying coloration."

After this description, the real question is, who had the scarier encounter, the snake or myself?

The "Ah-Ha" Moment

He was the timid, shy boy who had already cried four times out of an abject terror of learning to ride a mountain bike. Deep down, there seemed to be a voice that told him it would be impossible to learn how to ride a bike, although he had witnessed several other students succeed in the endeavor.

"Do you believe you can do this?" I asked him, after huffing and puffing alongside of his bike, trying to balance him.

"I am not thinking about that, I'm only concentrating on trying."

And trying he was, although each time he started out on the bike, he leaned so heavily to the right that it was all I could do to balance him.

"Pedal, pedal!" I shouted. "Sit up straight, stop leaning to the right!" He stumbled to a halt once again.

"I think you felt more balanced that time!" I encouraged him.
"Really?" he said hopefully. "Am I getting better?" I have never taught anyone to ride a bike, and I desperately tried to remember how the process worked. Surely, at some point one's muscles and brain and balance would all lock in.

But it was not to be that day. I could tell he was exhausted, both mentally and physically. "Let's call it a today and we can work again tomorrow," I suggested. "That last run was great, I just had my hand on your seat."

"So it was an improvement from this morning?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, you've improved a lot since this morning."

The next day was the students' rest day, and one of the teachers volunteered to run a bike session so that all those who were uncomfortable or still working on their skills could have some more time to practice before actually going mountain biking. I wandered over about an hour into it to check on the students. As I watched the teacher work with the same boy, I noticed that he did seem to be gaining more balance on the bike. He saw me and waved excitedly. "You're doing great!" I shouted.

"Okay," I heard the teacher say, "why don't you ride up towards Melody?" The teacher grabbed the seat and balanced him as the boy determinedly started on the pedals. All of a sudden, I could see that the teacher was no longer holding onto the bike.

"Am I riding on my own, am I riding on my own?" the boy shouted.

"Yes, yes, you are all on your own!" the teacher yelled back. "Ride straight to Melody!"

The boy's face lit up into a gigantic smile as he wobbled and weaved all on his own toward me.

"You did it! You are a bike rider!" I said to him when he reached me. His grin was so big that he couldn't even speak. But the impact of the moment became apparent later when he said of his experience, "Today is a very special day for me."

Goannas and 4x4ing

The trouble with Aussies is that they are so laid back they can put your life at risk.

I was behind the wheel of a stick shift 4 wheel drive, driving gallons of water up the hills to drop it off at the students' campsites. I haven't done much 4x4ing at all..in fact, if truth be told, I was nervous at winding my way up steep, rocky, and turbulent little paths to the summit. The Aussie next to me was as calm as still waters at dawn. "Why stress?" he asked me. "It doesn't help matters."

So I found myself stalled at one of the steepest parts because I didn't give the engine enough "revs". My foot pressed tightly against the brake, palms sweating, I listened as he gave me instructions to release my emergency brake after I released my foot break and quickly transfer my foot to the gas pedal. Kelli was giggling in the back seat as I asked, "Is it possible for this thing to roll over? Am I going to hit a tree if I start careening backwards?" Taking a deep breath, I quickly moved my foot from the brake to the gas as I released the clutch. As the truck started moving, I frantically tried to release the emergency brake.

"I can't get the brake down, I can't get the brake down!" I yelled as we started spinning out. Meanwhile, so faintly in the background that my brain didn't register it, my Aussie friend said quietly and calmly, "You are heading straight for that tree. You are heading straight for that tree.'

Somehow, I managed to avoid the tree (not because I saw it, but just happened to slightly turn)and I got the emergency brake down. As I stopped on the top of the steep hill for a breather, the three of us wheezed in laughter at the near mishap. "Can you please warn me of turns or danger in a louder voice?" I asked. Unfortunately, I don't think overreacting is in his nature...this type of episode happened about three more times along our journey.

On the bright side, we passed a five foot Goanna who climbed up in the tree to escape us. There does not seem to be any lack of adventures here in Queensland, Australia!

Morning Reflections in Australia

This morning I arose early, before the kookaburras began their noisy monkey calls in the surrounding trees. I thought it would be difficult to start my shift every morning at 5:45 a.m. by waking the kids up, but I'm finding that early mornings at Camp Tuckekoi are worth the effort. As I walked to my first cabin, I noticed a mist clinging to the pond, as if shielding it from the surrounding green hills. The morning birds had begun passing over the waters, boldly announcing the faint but unmistakable presence of the dawn. There is a distinct peace at this time before the noisy Cantonese chatter begins in the cabins as I bang on their door to wake them up.

The morning faces of the students are yet another kind of enjoyment. Being from Hong Kong, this is perhaps their first morning ever spent away from a city type environment. All of the girls expressed how cold they were from the previous night, but I also noticed that their beds were not properly made up. Being from affluent families, some of these students have never done any kind of household chore or duty. I am already looking forward to seeing their confidence as they progress to learning how to do their laundry, dishes, vacuum, etc. This will be a busy month!