Nothing is Rotten in Denmark

I must begin by apologizing for my failure to relate this sooner. I am currently without my computer, so any kind of prolonged internet use involves begging, borrowing, or stealing.

Last weekend, I went to the south coast with half of my exchange group. We drove about four hours to get to the small town of Denmark. On the way, we got to pass through lots of small-town Australia. Having driven through many a small American town, I can confidently report that small-town America and small-town Australia are very similar. There are truck stops with old proprietors, restaurants, and quirky rules on handwritten signs.

In Denmark, we stayed at a small resort called The Cove. The Cove is a 60 acre spread that comes right up to Wilson Inlet. It is largely forested, as it is owned and operated to be just that. the accommodations are all hand-built with wood milled by the owners. It gives the entire place a kind of hippie log cabin feel. The owners make renovations and maintain the property almost entirely by themselves, which is the kind of life style I can admire and pretend I would be cut out for. However, I'm far too lazy to be that self-reliant. Hell, yesterday I drank milk from a bowl so I wouldn't have to clean any glasses.

Our time was spent exploring the region, which I get the feeling few people do.

We saw a museum with aboriginal and early 20th century farm artifacts. Our tour guide was the real highlight, though. He would simply point to something and say what it was, then point to the next item and say what it was. Between pointing out items, he would tell stories about the crazy questions some guests to the museum had asked and the complete lies he would tell them in response. The man should never have become a tour guide - he should have been a story teller.

We swam in Green's Pool. It's a scenic little spot with enough rocks around it to make the water very calm. In the summer, the pool is used for children's swimming lessons. Alas, it is winter here, so the water was not just calm, it was downright cold. I found out today that Thomas, my younger brother (I say "younger" instead of "little" because he could rock my world in a fight.) will be shipping out for the Navy in September. Swimming in the cold water gave me a taste of what he's about to begin, and I can say without reservation that I don't envy the swimming he'll be doing.

We went on a hike in the bush. The Aussies call the wilderness the "bush." I don't know why.

Perhaps the most touristy moment of the trip was our visit to the petting zoo. We were all given a bag of feed and unleashed onto crowds of animals that had little interest in being petted, but loved being fed. There were kangaroos, a koala, a camel, alpacas, goats (total jerks, by the way), a donkey that made noises fit for only the most horrible and twisted bowels of hell, and a couple emu. The roos were fairly happy to be fed and were fairly well-mannered. The emu shared their appetite, but not their sophistication. The ridiculous big birds would peck the feed out of our hands in such a way as to make it very clear that they had little interest in how we felt so long as we kept the food coming.

Another highlight (yes, the touristy parts have been highlights) was eating kangaroo. That's right, eating kangaroo. We went to the butcher, bought some kangaroo steaks, grilled them, and ate them. The meat is fairly tasty, but must be kept on the rare side to avoid it becoming too tough, which reminds me of trying to cook buffalo. I had the good fortune to be on the duty roster to cook dinner that evening, so I was in charge of the kangaroo grilling. It was a double blessing because not only did I get to say I cooked kangaroo, but everyone wanted to say they helped cook kangaroo, so I had all the willing help I could ever want.

Sadly, the weekend had to end, and we had to return to Murdoch and go to school the next day. School, I should mention, has been strange for me. I've easily overcome the accents of the teachers, as they speak fairly clearly. However, my classmates often leave me dumbfounded when they ask questions.

I've already had to give a presentation in my class on the Australian economy. In what has become a rarity for me, my heart rate rose and I began to sweat bullets. It wasn't that I was nervous about public speaking, per se, but my particular situation was so absurd that I couldn't help but be nervous. My assignment was to provide a brief overview of the Australian economy. So there I am in front of a room full of Aussie students and my Aussie professor. I've only been in the country for two weeks. By all accounts, my American accent is thick. And I have to tell these guys about their own economy? Anyone who could make it through that without at least a moment of pause is damaged goods.

Last night, we went to Newport, a bar in Freo. Half the time they played strange house music, and the other half of the time a local band covered pop-rock hits. It was fun to hear American songs sung badly with a funny accent. The place was crowded ($2 beers have that effect), but there was still enough room that one could dance or mingle. The age to drink here is 18, so sometimes kids would walk past me and I would wonder "How the hell did he get in here?"

The bar scene here seems to be lively, but Perth is rather sprawled out, so getting back home means taking a cab since the buses stop running at 9 p.m. Beer, I'm sad to report, is not as good as back home. The Coors Light types are of about equal quality (These include Carlton, VB, and Toohey's) to those back home. As those are cheapest, they're what we drink the most. However, finding good microbrews is tough. Even when you do find good beer, drinking it is cost prohibitive. There is hope, though, as there's a brew pub in Freo called Little Creatures. Their Pale Ale is top-shelf, their food is a perfect match, and one need not drop his life savings to buy a pint. I predict many an hour will be spent there.

This place makes me wish I were a poet. The place and the people can't be done justice in prose. To illustrate, the fireplace at the Cove was made with the casing of a decommissioned sea mine. Instead of floating in cold water waiting to end lives, it warms an entire building, both in temperature and spirit. Now, I'm no Ginsberg, but I'd love to give that one a whirl.