Debauchery in Denham: Another Shark Bay Experience, Albiet One Entirely Different from the First

Before I begin in earnest, I just want to say of Scotty's comment on my previous blog regarding the Chuck Norris Van: Hells Nah! Oh no you di'n't! You di'n't just say that!

That being said, we can move on to stories that will hopefully prove entertaining for you at my expense. This blog begins on a dark a dusty road in a truck with Pommie Pete and another girl I did not know, but Pete did, presumably. Pete's a good guy. He works on the pearl farm, which I've not yet gone out to, but will shortly. We were driving out to the natural hot tub. Yes, I admit this sounds like a bit of an oxymoron, but Denham is full of them. I assure you it is not. True the tub is not itself a natural phenomenon, but the hot ferric water that fills it perpetually is.

On our way out, we were minding our own business when out in front of us hopped a little kangaroo, which quickly became a little wasaroo. It was a roo, but now it's road kill. There was not much Pete could do. Besides, it's advisable not to stop or swerve, as the dangers are much higher than hitting it. His truck is after all equipped with roo-bars. The same advice is ofter given for Moose in Canada - except that you are supposed to accelerate in order to escape almost certain death. The girl was horrified, but not as much as when we plowed into an enormous Red two minutes later.

To Pete's credit, he did hit the breaks, but it bounced from the side of the road to the middle in a single bound and not much could be done. The truck hit the Kangaroo, the truck shuddered, the Kangaroo stayed on its feet, albeit 5 full feet forward from where we'd hit it, but the truck's momentum stayed and we had created a very unique speedbump. The roo got up and bounded off - tough buggers them.

As a bit of a surprise, and unrelated to the roos, I also shaved my head. The town was raising money for cancer research, and I thought if I could raise a few bucks and get a hair cut at the same time, why not. I didn't raise much, but it wasn't a shameful amount for a person who didn't much know anyone at the time. I'm finally getting over the shock of seeing a bald shadow or this strange, big-eared reflection in the mirror. I actually kind of like it, to tell the truth. I may or may not keep it :) But I don't know how you do it Biggie - it's freezing without the mop top.

It was a nice way to connect to the town a little bit. After five weeks here, I'm starting to get to know the locals. They're starting to get to know me, and all just in time to leave. Just when I was starting to get to know what they drink. I even joined the gym if you'll believe that. How unlike me does that sound? I've always said excercise should be something you get as a byproduct of doing something you like doing, but there's not much excercise built into life in Denham, and as it turns out, I like not getting fat and feeling lethargic all the time. So in a manner of speaking, my philosophy hasn't changed all that much, just my approach. I am also enjoying my Physio Chi class; it's basically thai chi for Australians, in that "physio" makes it sound not-too-Asian for them.

I was back to Monkey Mia for a time to chillax on the beach. I'm not going to go into great detail, except to say that the coolest thing ever happened. While Í was wading in the ocean, a small group of dolphins swam right at me. I actually thought they were going to run into me. But at the last moment they turned away and passed no further than 6 inches from me as I floated there. I could have touched them - Tres Cool.

The party of the century was held early in the month at Ocean Park (a cool educational centre with loads of cool fish and sharks, turtles and sea snakes, and other exciting goodies are kept. The owner had just renovated the back of his house to include a private back door bar, which was dishing out cocktails such as the very pink "Tom Travolta," on the theory that both Tom Cruise and John Travolta are gay - hey I don't make the judgements, I'm just the messenger. The "Teenage Dritbag," and the "Rick James, Bitch" were also popular ones to dish out. For the fun of it they often came with soundtracks. I've still got Teenage Dirtbag rattling around in my head.

The night started out innocently enough, with my meeting up with the guys at work around 4:30 for a couple of beer, then a jager bomb - which I had bet on a whim when Disco thought he could shark me at pool. Then we headed out to the party. By 8:00 we were feeling it pretty damn well - frankly a little too well. In fact, at 2 minutes to 8:00 Disco swept his hands up like a maestro beginning a great symphony, wobbled and fell straight forward onto his head. We managed to pick him up, get him some ice and a bag for him to barf into. Alas, the bag had a hole in it, and it needed to be doubled up. I managed to escape barf free, mostly because I was just out of range and not holding the bag.

I meanwhile spend the better part of the night snogging with this English bird, as the Aussies would say, and Leon drove us to open mike where she sung beautifully even without the help
of background music. We were about to head home when two blokes - blind drunk offered us a ride. She insisted on going, being too tired to walk back, and I refused. It was a sure thing that I'd be going back to her room with her had I gotten into the car, and the devil on my shoulder was rueful with my insistence on listening to my sense. So there was no sweet lovin' for me (it's okay, I had some last week), but I wasn't getting in that car; I was drunk and horny - not stupid. The former can lead to the latter, but not this night.

Oh well, the snogging was good, and I'm around to tell the story, even if "my lunch got stolen", as my co-worker Disco put it. Besides they got a merciless ribbing the next day, which I secretly appreciated. I know that's so small and schadenfreude of me.

The next morning came early, when we were awoken before dawn to head out to the beach to do some snorkling around the reefs near the westernmost point of Australia. I managed to escape the hangover, if ever so narrowly, and thank God for that; the ride to the beach was harrowing and there were a couple of times I hit the roof and fell into the girl on the other side of me. The ride itself almost didn't happen.

John was late in arriving to pick us up, so I figured it was a good opportunity to go back and take a dump - it was either here or in the bush with things that won't hesitate to take a bite out of a big white butt. Finishing quickly, and nearly popping a tube, I discovered that no toilet paper was to be had, and unlike my past experiences such as in Estonia and elsewhere, I was caught empty-handed in the tissue department. But after travelling to Turkey and Morocco I'm no longer as squeamish as I may have been 10 months ago (has it really been 10 months?) so I hoped in the shower and wiped my ass with my hand.

Lo and behold, after this harrowing moment I stepped outside to find my entourage missing and my bag and towel where I had left it. I had been forgotten. I was in disbelief, I couldn't comprehend that they'd have left me behind like that. I stomped back into my flat and muttered things like "those stupid ___" fill in your favorite word (GDF'n'scheiters does not count as one word Mom), and other such things. Moments later they returned apologetic and perplexed by how they managed to forget me.

All was forgiven, and besides the seatbeltless, and some would argue shockless van made me forget all but my present worries of staying upright against what unwitting observers might categorize as an epileptic fit. At certain points I was propelled into various laps, some welcoming, others ... um not so much. Generally speaking one should buy lunch before putting his hand on or around another man's nob. Sorry Jace - really didn't intend the offense. We both know Claire's really to blame.

It proved to be a good day, and I fortunately avoided the avaricious fate of having to be stuck with a drunk driver. On the way there the boat driver was done, but he later sobered up, and on the way home the driver of the bus was drunk enough that he almost flipped the van, much to the alarm of the passengers. I was lucky enough to be going in the right direction with the sobers. The Aussies are truly shocking (Aussie for "ïdiotic") when it comes to "drink driving." They seem to be willing to hop into any car, without a care in the world, no matter who's driving or how much they've had to drink. Blows my mind really.

We had a delicious dinner of coral trout, which may be one of the most succulent fish I've ever readily devoured, as well as another tasty treat I am not at liberty to discuss. The day was interesting to say the least. It was Big Dan's birthday and he, Jon, and Johnny G-string, as he's called, were whooping it up. I have to say that Big Dan is a pretty funny guy and has an almost compulsive need to be naked in public, followed by his hilarious desire to tell every woman: "Look me in the eye. I'm up here, look me in the eye." What's even better is that he sounds just like Homestar Runner making it all the more funny for me.

As the afternoon and the drinking progressed, John and Dan got to be a little obnoxious
in harrassing the girls, to the point where I had to say something. It's not a position I really fancied, but someone had to say it. I wasn't all to concerned about the English girls who were taking it all in stride, but it was clear that the two Irish girls were none too pleased about it, even if they'd dealt with much worse back home, as they said.

I'm a little behind on my blog, so I should have another coming about shortly detailing my final two weeks on the West coast. Good people, and good times.

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