Monday, November 06, 2006
On Being a Bean Counter
I left Brisbane on the third day for my next adventure, a three-day yacht cruise around the Whitsunday Islands. While I was at the airport waiting for my flight I heard news about a U2 concert tomorrow (Kanye West is the opening act) and watched television—Dr. Phil was on.
On the short flight I sat next to a petite girl who looked about 20. I could tell by her designer eyeglasses and dark clothes that she was European. She pulled a hardcover out of her bag—sure enough, it had a German title. I started a conversation with her, or tried to, anyway, since the reason she was in Australia was to attend an ESL school. I was able to learn this much about her: her name is Monika and she works in a dentist's office in a town near Zurich, Switzerland. She speaks only German, and she hasn't traveled out of Switzerland much. She is staying with a host couple in Airlie Beach (the town nearest the Whitsunday Islands). Despite our language barrier she smiled a lot and answered my questions as best she could. (And I was not deterred by her numerous "What?"s and blank looks.) If I were in her shoes—a girl who hasn't even visited the neighboring country of France, moving halfway around the world to a place where I don't speak the language—I'd be petrified, but she seemed unfazed. Monika told me her host family would meet her at the airport. After we landed I spent twenty minutes at the airport waiting for a shuttle into town. When I left I looked back and saw Monika standing alone, moving her head around quickly. I tried to think of some way to help but I could no nothing.
Airlie Beach is 20 degrees south of the equator. The instant I stepped off the plane I felt a sticky blanket of heat. You get really feel that you're in the tropics when you drive to town. Palm trees and sugarcane fields line the roads.
Monika
After checking in at my hostel, I went into town to confirm my sail trip. It took me a while to settle the sail trip. The girl at the sail agency who helped me (who had a patronizing, faux-friendly manner about her) made me wait as she answered phone calls. After I got that done I explored the town. It's a dump. There's a beach that was deserted when I walked by, save a few pensive girls walking alone, and a main street with travel agencies, restaurants and some bars.
I went back to the hostel and then to a nearby supermarket to buy victuals for the trip. There I met a Brit named Oli. Back home he designs video games. His last one, a cricket game, was such a hit that he could afford to take a year off to travel to Australia. He stuffed his shopping cart with packages of instant ramen—it was nice to see that his new-found fortune didn't change his tastes.
Airlie Beach
At night I went to Beaches, one of the two mega-backpacker bars. I met up with the three others staying in my room. Two of them had just got back from a cruise and were having a night out with the rest of the boat, courtesy of the sail company. The group was pretty young and featured gorgeous girls and strapping lads—it resembled an Abercrombie & Fitch ad (with less skin). They all were getting along famously. At that point I couldn't wait to start my cruise.
I spent most of the time talking to Claire, who was the other one in my room who hadn't yet been sailing. She had spent a fair bit of time traveling around rural far north Queensland. In fact, she had just recovered from a nasty illness she got while doing temporary work. She spent one day as a bean sorter—standing still and literally staring at beans whizzing by her on a conveyor belt, picking out the bad ones. Unfortunately the conveyor belt gave her motion sickness, and she was out of commission for two days. Even worse than the machines in this town were the men. No matter where she was—trying to unwind at the bar or shopping at the supermarket—she was constantly harassed by flirtatious guys. It didn't help that these country bumpkins had playful hands, body odor and missing teeth.
