Townsville and Magnetic Island

September 19, 2017 

           We sit in the ferry terminal waiting for our bus, lamenting that the hard rainfall destroyed our plans to take one more walk through Townsville prior to our departure.  I absentmindedly check the calendar as we wait.  I left Toronto nearly two weeks ago.  I arrived in Townsville from Melbourne only two days ago, and now in the inevitable pattern of traveling through somewhere and everywhere, it's time to leave again.  

 
 
       I count my blessings that I got in a run this morning, and that the last two days in Townsville / Magnetic Island were pretty cool, despite our trip here ending with a torrential downpour.  On Sunday, when I arrived from Melbourne decked out in jeans and a fleece, my uber driver teased me, "You came from somewhere cold", just moments after I overheard another passenger on the flight remark, "Oh, we haven't seen sun in forever" and tell someone they had just come from Melbourne. My uber driver ended up being an outrageously interesting guy (Although aren't they all?), who had lived and gained citizenship in Canada, New Zealand, Australia and the United States, in that order.  I left that uber ride feeling incredibly low on passports.

Castle Hill (which not only shows a good view of the area, but also prompted some Ed Sheehan music)

These trees!  If anyone can tell me what the
story is here, I'd appreciate it greatly!

                                     
          But, it was eighty something degrees in Townsville, which was an extraordinarily beautiful thing, so I checked into my hostel, found the local fish 'n chips place with a $5 lunch deal, and then walked all over town (along the beach with views of Magnetic Island, up Castle Hill which was a little bit exhausting, to the lagoon in town which exists as an alternative to the beach during stinger season, and finished off with the grocery store).  Back at the hostel, I watched Spiderman 3 with a few people, and chatted for a while.  That's where I met my friend who I'm waiting for the Greyhound with now.

Australian White Ibis: For some reason, I
think this guy is the coolest thing ever.

         Now, I look at the travelers around me again, still killing time before the bus arrives. I don’t dare count the days to see how much time I have left before my plane touches down in North America once again.  I have a limited timetable, whereas the hundreds to thousands of travelers who cross my path meander and wind their ways through the country and the world, uncaring as money oozes out of their pockets, stopping for months at a time to do farm work or waitress to extend their visas and pad their falling bank accounts. 

            In some ways, perhaps, I long to be one of them.  To approach life unplanned and unburdened by a time limit, knowing that there will always be time even when there is no money.  Yet, in other ways, I am glad to travel unburdened by reality, even if each day falling away hour by hour means I’m coming that much closer to returning to the 40-hour work weeks and three weeks of Paid Time Off that monopolize American culture. 

            I reach for another chili rice cracker that my new Dutch friend offers me, and stare out at the rain for a moment before making another attempt at connecting to the WiFi.  The travelers around me tell me that a taste of travel makes them hungry to see everything in the world.  There’s too much, they say.  We can never go everywhere. 

            I feel that way too.  I respect that feeling of being overwhelmed by all the choices, of wanting the exploring to culminate in an ultimate goal of having seeing all the places on one’s bucket list.  And if you never felt the need to venture out once more?  How much simpler would it be if the world could be grasped in one’s hand, and the continents were located close together, plane tickets cost next to nothing, and the world was or became very small?  Yet, how disappointing would that be?  If everyone you knew had seen everything you had seen?  If you had no more aspirations or dreams to explore anywhere else?  Isn’t it more exciting to feel like you’re running out of time to see the world instead of feeling like you’re running out of world to see in the time you have? 

            I wonder, how long does it take to tire of travel?  Do you reach a point where the novelty wears off?  Where each beach becomes just another beach and each animal is just another animal?  I recall when we were here three years ago and went to the Twelve Apostles on the Great Ocean Road, and my professor’s eight-year-old son said “What is the big deal?  It’s just rocks and water.”  If you ever have seen a picture of the Twelve Apostles, you’ll probably agree that it’s far more than rocks and water.  But maybe when you’re eight, pretty views are far less exciting.  Because when you’re eight years old, maybe it is just rocks and water.  And when you’re twenty three, rocks and water means so much more than that. It means natural beauty and adventure and freedom.  It means millions of years of geology and ecology and history converged at this very moment for you to see this part of the world the way it looks today.

           Yet, I think of yesterday, hiking the Forts Walk on Magnetic Island.  On top of the hill, we sat on some boulders for a while and just looked down.  At the mainland, at the ocean, at the bays and beaches that lay below. 

                     

My travelling companions were in awe of the beauty, and I won’t deny that it was pretty.  But I recall asking myself, was it more beautiful than Catalina Island or Martha’s Vineyard or Basilan in the Philippines?  For a split second, I understood why people in the hostel said Magnetic Island was “just okay”, and “maybe not worth it”.  How many pretty views do you have to see before the excitement wears off?  If you travelled on and on forever when would you reach a point where one view doesn’t measure up to another, and it’s all the same? 

But, in reality, that's not a fair statement, because there's way more to the world - and in turn, to the island, than just one view or one outlook.  On our way back down, we stopped at a tree where we had spotted koalas earlier.  Even after watching them earlier, I instantly fell in love with them (and the island) all over again. I wanted to scoop one out of the tree and into my arms and cuddle it like a teddy bear (but they have sharp claws and I have common sense).  Earlier in the day, we were surprised and thrilled to see one koala bear (admittedly a marsupial, not a bear) moving around and eating (since they’re nocturnal and can sleep as long as eighteen hours straight), and even more excited to discover it’s baby crawling around on its belly.  

Later on, we contentedly watched as they slept and moved back and forth with the wind and the tree branches.  From there, we walked down to see the Rock Wallabies near Alma Bay, and finished off with a walk onto the beach at Alma Bay, watching the waves crash to shore.  And as quickly as I had almost become un-entranced with the island, I was captivated by the place.  Add to that, the two friends I had made along the way and spent the day with, and it was a great day.

It made me realize how multi-faceted the whole concept of "Travel" or "Seeing the world" really is.  The places we go; they are not dictated by one piece of the puzzle, but by many.  By more than the views or the landmarks or the unexpected wildlife that worm their way into our hearts, or the hikes, or the food we eat, or the people we meet along the way, but by a combination of all those factors.  Or you know, maybe just by a possum who thinks he’s part of the specials menu. 

 

There is a reason that even the most drab of big cities tends to draw in a crowd or why tourists flock to the middle of nowhere for a single landmark; whether it's music or culture, art or nature, warm weather or tasty food, there's always a reason to appreciate a place.  As I’m sure you could find a pearl on the most seaweed covered beach.  There’s often more than meets the eye – sometimes, you have to look into a eucalyptus tree, or in between the rocks, or open your mouth and speak to the person sitting beside you.  And when you realize that, you can have an adventure anywhere.