Forget the Amazon, it’s time to talk about the Daintree Rainforest.
Quietly tucked away in the far northern corner of Queensland (Australia) lies the world’s oldest Rainforest and it was here that I attempted to make my home for a few months. With a massive diversity of unusual flora and fauna I was eager to step away from the bright city lights of Melbourne - plus it also sounds cool to say that I lived and worked in a rainforest. As the bus drove up from Cairns the surrounding landscape immediately became wilder and after a two hour winding single road the bus reached a large river which served as the gateway into the netherland of the dark forest abyss. The ferry quietly drifted over the murky water as it’s passengers cast their gaze out over a swamp in sheer chance of catching a glimpse of the forest’s resident saltwater crocodiles. It is here that the warning signs also began to peer out from the bushes. If anything these signs that urge you not to swim in the water, not to touch the stinging trees and to be wary of the famous Cassowary are enough of a reminder that you are not in Kansas anymore (and the nearest emergency services are 2 hours away across a crocodile infested swamp). Silently reaching the bank of the forest the car engines began to chime with the overpowering noise of the trees surrounding us. It was immediately darker. As the dense trees loomed over and shielded us from the Australian sun, I took a deep breath as the bus rolled onto the mud track that welcomed us into the rainforest. It was immediately cooler, darker, wilder than I had ever imagined and we pushed forward. The forest itself is beautiful and diverse and when you aren’t catching glimpses of the sunshine between enormous trees, a stretch of undisturbed golden beach looms in the distance. Before I knew it I had reached my new home in a place called Cape Tribulation. Named so appropriately by Captain Cook because this was ‘where all of his troubles started’ this is the only place in the entire world where two world heritage sites meet side by side - as the rainforest grows right down to the beaches of the Great Barrier Reef. It's difficult to explain the beauty of this place with words. Living in basic wooden huts with no phone reception my adventure began. With morning swims in fresh water holes alongside wild turtles, a six hour hike to the summit of Mount Sorrow (despite the leeches) and idly wandering the deserted beach and collecting wild fruits this place was the paradise that many people long for, even though the walks were restricted to no swimming due to the huge threat of crocodiles. The reason I was here of course was to complete my ‘farm work’ for my second year visa and when I wasn’t being an adventurer you could find me working on a reception at the only holiday resort in miles. The place was far from boring but it did take some adjusting to get used to the slower pace of life here and lack of contact with the outside world - and to keep my mind occupied I began to resort to a childlike state of play. Dressed in wild leaves and a turban I’d head to the beach for sunrise before walking around the surrounding swap, wary of crocodiles of course, on the hunt for fresh coconuts. I’d break into them on the beach and spend hours collecting fresh coconut water (as who needs to spend $5 on a carton when you can do it for free!) and build elaborate huts with the hours of time I had on my hands. The wildlife was of course amazing as I lived alongside Golden-Orb spiders the size of my head, beautiful moths, lizards, snakes, stick insects and everything in between. To add to this the trees themselves were awe inspiring, humongous and beautifully wild. In the evenings the group would sit around the fire on the empty beach and cast our gaze up to yet another amazing starry sky. What I learned here is that when a group is thrown together without social media and technology, much stronger bonds are formed through conversation, friendship, card games and stories. As a tourist the Daintree Rainforest is the perfect place to spend a few days off the beaten track. A location to switch off from everything and live on the power of a few generators with a small local community. It’s the place to feel adventurous, lost and wild all at the same time yet not a place to reside if you can’t handle a little mud and creepy crawlies. Yet as a long term resident the reality may have been a little different. Though the magic of the forest never failed to amaze me, an incredibly small and tight-knit community of locals (80 to be exact) ruled the tourist side of the forest, drank on the evenings and became generally unpleasant - perhaps due to their lack of contact with the outside world. There was squabbling over paying tourists and the alcoholism merely served to highlight the boredom of a village that had nothing else to do. It wasn’t long before tensions had become rife and I had to hitchhike out of the rainforests after a 3 week stint, or risk wasting three months without payment at all. Though I had to leave the forest on bad terms because of the locals and a con-artist of a rural employer, the allure of the setting still remains close to my heart and as I left with the knowledge of several new skills (such as breaking into coconuts) one memory will remain etched in my mind forever - and it’s one that I’ll disclose to you lucky readers alone. I celebrated my 23rd birthday in the forest. It was the most unusual birthday so far of course as I danced around the fire dressed in tropical gear amidst the backdrop of a supermoon, yet what was more beautiful was the gloomy morning that I awoke to. I was sad to not be celebrating my birthday with my closest friends or open cards from wellwishers and in my lonely (year older) state I took a walk along the beach in the early morning to wistfully reflect upon everything I had achieved so far. I was the only person on the long stretch of sand when I took a glimpse back over my shoulder at the jurassic mountains and rainforest behind me. It was at this moment - on my birthday - that a bright rainbow hung low above the forest for only me to see and I was immediately bound to the life and spirit of this space. That paradise that I had dreamed of, the one you picture when you book your flights to go travelling, the one that Leonardo DiCaprio experiences in The Beach is the one that I had right in front of me. I had made it. Note: Just don’t go here to do your farm work.
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On Cities, Nighttime and What to Do Next
There’s something wonderful about wandering around a foreign city at nighttime. As the sun sets and the place becomes illuminated by glowing lights from shop windows and taxis, you find yourself completely in awe of your relatively mundane surroundings. There is a magic in the air as you weave around weary people, all eager to rush home, and at your own pace soak in the ambiance of city life. As you can probably tell I’ve had a lot of time to stalk the cities I find myself alone in and find comfort in this moment of anonymity. In a way and without noticing, I have yearned to be the flaneur in whichever city I end up in. And of the Australian cities that I have experienced so far I too have made a conclusion about each and everyone one of these places. Melbourne, for example, doesn’t sleep at all. As people eat late into the night the streets become alive with languages and cultures - Melbourne expels the sense of excitement and potential of a cooler younger brother who is about to seize the world. Brisbane on the other hand, where I currently find myself, lingers on the evening. It is constantly waiting for the promise of tomorrow and even on a busy Saturday night I feel like the city breaths the message, ‘are we there yet?’ whilst anticipating something exciting without knowing what it is. It’s a pleasant city of course yet nothing spectacular. However at the same time, I was left with little choice but to remain here in attempt to recuperate my dwindling bank funds after my adventure out of the Daintree. Believe me it was no easy feat to secure a job here either and despite my extensive work experience, having to be pitched up against other disposable backpackers was essentially quite soul destroying. Though it has been a long and arduous month (of which I will continue to disclose more frequently this time) the journey itself which has led me to this city of blinding evening lights, has given me greater clarity regarding the questions arising about what I should do next. As afterall, I have only ever really planned up until Australia. My sights now shift to the question of what will happen after October when my first (and sadly only) year visa will expire. The answer to this question has come in the form of South America, a place where I have surprisingly developed more friends than I had expected. Another location in the southern hemisphere will guarantee that the end of the year will be spent in the sunshine perhaps of Rio or Buenos Aires. The sights, sounds, smells and rhythm of this culture entices me - yet don’t be disheartened England, I will return soon enough. In this sense I am lucky to have found myself in Brisbane and even luckier to have secured a well paid job to begin the second leg of saving, planning and building up excitement to becoming a traveller yet again. It was also very recently that I heard a quote that completely struck a chord within me and resonates with my past, present and future journey. The former President of Uruguay said, ‘when you buy something, you are not paying for it with money. You’re paying with the hours of your life you had to spend earning that money. The difference is, that life is one thing you can’t buy with money. It is pitiful to waste one’s life and freedom that way’. He’s a wise man. But this message has also become ingrained within me. I can think of nothing better than paying with the hours of my life to see the world, to buy those plane tickets, meet those cultures and try all the food imaginable. This quote is enough to give me the encouragement to save money for travelling, and travelling alone. To feel such wonderful life experiences and pay for them with my hard earned time, gives absolutely every meaning to every day I head into work - and so the saving starts today. The story you are about to read is true. It is not only the most unusual travel experience I’ve had so far but also the very justification of why I chose to travel in the first place. Whether you want to believe what I am about to tell you, well is your choice to make alone.
The quest begins in Cairns in far north Queensland where three solo travellers were bound together by the desire to head south. Having already hitchhiked out of the Daintree Rainforest, I had developed a thirst for adventure and was eager to hit the road and see some of Australia whilst I made my way down to the promise of employment. Without a car and without a driver's license, this plan was set in motion when I met with a German traveller who had a four wheeled-drive. Accompanying us was a Geordie traveller, who nearing the end of her trip wanted to see some sights and decided to come along for the journey. And so we embarked. With the vague image of Brisbane lurking in the far distance of our minds, we reached the open Australian road without a plan and without a timeframe. The first few days were exhilarating as we pumped music, rolled the windows down and let the warm Queensland breeze rush through the vintage troopy. We were driving past landscapes totally unimaginable in Australia, with rolling jurassic looking mountains set against a backdrop of turquoise sky. After hours of driving we would pitch our tents along the coastline, meet unusual travellers and spend the late hours sat around a campfire telling travel stories and gazing up at the milky way. I even saw 6 shooting stars one dark night out there in the bush. To me, this is what freedom was meant to feel like as we continued completely uninhibited by time or even our phones, that seldom had reception. By day four we had made good head way along the coast and as the sun began to set had decided to pull in for the evening down a dirt track. The road, a single dusty path, had a sign for a village at the end of it and without much thought we made our way along the red dusty path - a true image of what the Australian outback looks like. It wasn’t long before the road became a mixture of rubble, flowing streams and the occasional kangaroo and we pushed on aware that this road was taking much longer than anticipated. Around twenty minutes into our drive the car headlights caught the glimpse of a road sign in the not too far distance. As it came into sight what was spray painted onto it were the words ‘Well, well’. And though as strange message to encounter in the bush we thought nothing more of the mysterious message. That was of course until a second spray painted sign followed which possessed a more sinister message. As the headlights caught the reflection of the second sign we were met with the message, ‘Hell’ spray painted in dark red, what I would hope, was spraypaint. ‘Are we not going to talk about that sign?’ Asked the Geordie, ‘no’ I replied as we pushed on fearlessly in the belief it was some local prank. We had now been driving along the track for almost two hours in complete silence as we neared the third spray painted message which, sprawled across the road, read ‘Beware of the Dogs’. Though the trio had shared some minor reluctance so far, it was clear that someone didn’t want any visitors. Nonetheless we stupidly didn’t care. Having now been driving off road for 3 hours off road we finally reached the coastline, much to our initial surprise. However instead of an abandoned house or Blair Witch Project-like forest, we had actually arrived at a quaint fishing town with pub and shops and boats alike. Though there was no phone signal, the town with its small populous of fishermen and elderly campers was a pleasant sigh of relief for some of the more anxious travellers amongst us. Setting up camp for the night the group then mustered the courage to venture to the pub for a celebratory pint, of course to remind ourselves that it’s all worked out perfectly and we could spend a day or two enjoying a secluded oasis-like town close to the sea. The only downfall, it seemed, were the warning signs about crocodiles in the sea, which we weren’t prepared to test out. It was during our drinks that I befriended two older fishermen that were here, like 99% of the town, to enjoy some fishing and avoid the backpacker hotspots. Before long they had invited us back to their rented villa where over 15 people were living together and enjoying the fishing season. A party ensued as did several unusual drinks such as Cava brewed by a Tongan fisherman and we slowly slunk into a drunken haze amidst the backdrop of a deadly silent sea. It was during the night of lighthearted debauchery and music that a discussion began about another type of adventure, one involving a boat and it wasn’t before long that we had been roped into sailing out with the fishermen to the reefs the next morning. With their hungover heads we pushed out to sea. And this of course is where our story becomes interesting. With the journey lasting around three hours, the convoy of fishing boats and their unlikely backpacker stowaways slowly drifted past small, dense islands - the type you can only picture in a tropical paradise. On the way, the group caught some sharks with their fishing rods and secured a tasty dinner for the night as everyone gulped down more fizzy beers and staggered around the decks basking in the midday sun. As it beat down on the weary crew we spotted a golden beach in the distance that suggested a hint of shade and respite from the choppy sea. It didn’t take long to moor the boats on the island and begin our brief exploration of our new land. It was like Captain Cook’s expedition, though bearing iPhones rather than swords of course diminished the sense of adventure. The beach itself and the backdrop of dark green rainforest was completely untouched - a location not visible from the mainland - we were overcome with the sensation of absolute adventure. The island was ours and like children playing dress up, we quickly became survivors foraging for beach treasure and making giddy sounds as we snapped away the secret shore. But we weren’t alone. As if coming out of the trees himself a grey haired man approached us warmly - much to our combined terror and amazement. In his fifties with dishevelled hippy clothes and long hair, he smiled and greeted us to his Island. At first quite naturally we were suspicious of the fellow yet before long, with his warm Australian accent and wide grin, we were lured into a sense of security as he led us to his home. The hut that he had beckoned the group into smelt damp and had been put together with odd bits of driftwood to make quite a lavish wooden shelter, yet the best part came in the form of its decoration. Shoes, flags, photos, signs, t-shirts, keyrings and everything in between hung from the ceiling, a marker of previous travellers who had the adventure to also seek out this place and had chosen to live here. And naturally the island man also wasn’t alone. Before long other people arrived at the wooden hut from various directions with bowls of food. They warmly greeted us with accents from across the world before offering us food and drinks and beckoning us to take a seat and enjoy. We had discovered The Beach. The real, fucking thing. The place that every traveller has ever dreamt of stumbling upon as they watch Leonardo DiCaprio run wild through the Thai forest. Ok so we might not have been greeted by Leo but it quickly became apparent that this island was home to several small communities who live in tree houses and were self-sufficient off the surroundings. In little families, they hunted wild goats and spent endless days in the turquoise waters hunting fish before coming together in the communal hut to share their food. This place was unlike anything I could’ve dreamt of and with a coconut lined shore, no phone signal and no rules our pursuit of pleasure began. Our hosts had welcomed us into the fold immediately and consisted of mostly Australian travellers who had simply lost their way just like we did. Whilst they continued their daily routines of uninhibited freedom, with a turban wrapped around my head I broke into coconuts,ate oysters fresh from the rocks and ran wild through the trees on the vastly unexplored land - a true survivor. And as the night fell and the communities came together at the huge communal fire to eat and share the fruits of their labour, today being a goat, we settled into a night in the real wild. The newly formed family drank from coconut shells and spoke about former adventures as the dim embers of the fire warmed our skin and illuminated our excited smiles. It was a warm night and as the families retreated back to their homes we settled in against a backdrop of what might possibly be the the most abundantly starry sky, alone on our very own Pacific paradise. By dawn the island was once again alive with fishing families, golden beaches and peaceful perfection, however our time on the island sadly had to come to an end if we were to catch the high tide back to the mainland. Saying our goodbyes we embarked back to reality with a new perspective, a new invigoration and a great excitement as what existed in the great blue ocean - as of course there were hundreds more islands waiting to be explored. I had left the island with a greater perspective on the world, and of course the smug satisfaction that the ambitious dreams I had pictured when I booked my flights those fateful 8 months ago had come true. I was living in my dream. Yet our return wasn’t enough for a few of the crew. You could see in their eyes a sense of excitement that had ignited within them, and the despair that had dawned on the reality of their return. So guess what happened. As I hitched another lift back to the road past the warning signs and over creeks and forests I infact waved goodbye to our German driver and a few fishermen who went back to the island that same day. Permanently. You might ask what the name of this island is but that I’m not prepared to tell you. You don’t even have to believe me and you might easily think this is the type of hearsay story you always pick up on the traveller hitchhiking route. But somewhere, unknown to the countless backpackers that drive past the unassuming dirt track or are swayed by the scary signs, sits an island now inhabited by a German, some fishermen and an entire community who have built their world in paradise. |
Tamara DavisonNepal, China, Malaysia, Australia, Argentina. Archives
November 2017
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