Will Around the World

The cruise began bright and early on Tuesday morning. The boat is called Southern Cross. It's a racing yacht, which means a cramped cabin.

There are 15 people on this trip: three British couples, five Dutch girls, one middle-aged German woman, the captain and a deckhand and me. From the start, those two big groups acted cliquish and didn't appear friendly to me. The fun group that I saw at Beaches last night seemed like a cruel tease. What did I get myself into?

Southern Cross, yacht on which I sailed the Whitsundays

There wasn't any wind at all on this bright, hot day, so the captain, named Adam, revved up the motor and set off for Whitsunday Island. The passengers sprawled out on the deck. When we got to the island we set anchor and went ashore. We hiked to a beach on other end. This beach, called Whitehaven Beach, was marvelous. It has the purest, finest sand I've ever seen. (Captain Adam told us that the lenses of the Hubble Space Telescope were made from this sand.) The water near the shore is just as awesome. It is pretty shallow for many yards—you can wade in it and watch huge schools of fish, and even small sharks and rays, swim past you. Low tide is the best time to walk on the beach. When the waters recede, they leave other-worldly designs in the impressionable sands.

Whitsunday Islands

On the beach, met a flight attendant for a Mexican airline. Named Lorena, she was nice, and she proved that solo travellers and and travellers outside of Northern Europe are friendliest. She wore a silver bracelet, which was inscribed with her name, and curiously, her birthdate and phone number. All Mexican flight crew wear these bracelets to aid identification in case of disaster. I thought it was a tad morbid, but I suppose the Mexican culture is more comfortable with death (think: The Day of the Dead). Downside of this memento mori: never again can she give a guy a fake number.

Whitehaven Beach, pre-sunburn

We returned to the yacht in time for dinner. I had a terrible sunburn. I had slapped on sunscreen but it was ineffective—the worst part was that the burn was in random streaks caused by the roll-on applicator. I must have looked like a freak, but on the bright side it made me popular (or at least an object of curiosity). The Dutch girls started to talk to me, led by Marleen, the eldest of the bunch. I learned that they started out in a huge group—85 in all!— in Sydney, spent a week there together, then branched off. The youngest of the five girls in this group was 18. She was an absolute stunner, a doe-eyed 6'2" redhead named Rhea. More than that, she was nice to talk to.

Like other travelers I had met, these Dutch girls were able to find temporary work when they needed more money to keep their trip going. They had worked for a couple of weeks at a hotel in a resort town and picked fruit in an orchard. Australia wants backpackers to fill these menial jobs because natives won't do them. It's a win-win situation. The Dutchies spoke of this labor not as a means to an end but as a unique experience in itself. I thought this endearing, even glamorous depiction of immigrant labor made an ironic contrast to the comparable situation in the States. Then again, the situations really aren't that similar: the backpackers leave in one year when their visas expire, whereas immigrants in the U.S. stay indefinitely; the percentage of backpackers in the Aussie workforce is far less than that of immigrants in the American labor pool; since they are young, in good health and don't have families, backpackers pose a light strain on social services; and backpackers are regarded well by Aussie society because they spend lots of money on tourism.

Whitehaven Beach

We anchored off Whitehaven Beach for the night. I spent a while looking for the constellation that inspired our sailing vessel's name, but it didn't come out from the clouds. I asked my boatmates a lot of questions about their cultures, but I didn't hear much interest about my own. The only question I received was from the youngest British couple: are American people really as fat as they see in the media?

I slept on the deck this night. After my experience I won't be doing it again. I had only a sheet to cover me and felt chilly the whole night. The rhythmic sloshing of the waves kept me up, and also made me get up to use the bathroom a couple of times. But the cabin, with its narrow bunks, wasn't much better. This type of sailing trip isn't for the luxury-minded. Showers are limited to 30 seconds, cold water only, and there isn't much room to change clothes. But for the experience and the price, I did not mind sacrificing a few comforts.

Come out and play

Despite getting a wink of sleep I felt restless. For a change of pace I went ashore. It was a nice, cool morning—after taking a short run I chatted with some of the Dutch, who were lying on the sand. Among other things, we talked about Holland's multicultural society, specifically its growing number of Muslims. I was surprised to hear these girls unanimously disapprove of the Muslim headcover. If these people come to our country and take advantage of our social programs, they reasoned, these same people ought to respect our culture by fitting into it. Having lived my whole life in the world's melting pot, hearing this—from citizens of a supposedly progressive society—was jarring. (Then again, my country did not have to suffer through what Holland faced this year, backlash against Muslims triggered by the murder of filmmaker Theo van Gogh by Islamic extremists.)

On a lighter note, I learned that "going Dutch" is indeed the norm in the Netherlands. There's still a place, though, for old-fashioned romance in Holland. On the first date, girls expect the guy to pay.

Uniquely Australian wildlife

Later in the morning, the Southern Cross moved to a coral reef just off one of the islands. This was the ideal spot for my first-ever snorkel. It was amazing. Tropical fish of all shapes, sizes and colors. The coral was just as diverse and delightful. All of this was just a couple of meters from the surface. I even saw a turtle. As I am a poor swimmer, I tried a flotation device, but I ditched it after I discovered that the stinger suit I wore (to protect me from tiny poisonous jellyfish) was plenty buoyant.

Back on the boat, I spent dinner talking to Marleen. She told me that she came to Australia because this is the last year she can get a working holiday visa, which permits her to stay for one year. She quit her job back home and gave up her flat to come here. She showed me her memory book, a collection of photos and farewell messages from her closest friends. Backpacking for one year in Australia really is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Passengers of the Southern Cross. Marleen is next to me on the right; Rhea is in front wearing gray tank top.

At dinner, the Dutch girls talked about dancing the night away but I didn't believe them until Rhea put on a trance CD through the boat's PA system. Never mind a missing strobe light or shoes, for that matter: as if on cue, the girls all started to shake their behinds on the deck. (Adam noted, "Beaches [the bar where the "reunion" party takes place] tomorrow night will be interesting.") The music not only let loose the girls from their inhibitions, it also inspired the crewmen to become bold. Adam gave two of the dancing Dutchies a private (and gratis) dinghy ride around the island. Until now Clint the deckhand was on the sidelines, hardly saying a word to any of the passengers. He came out in a big way tonight, though. He danced with the girls and, noticing that the girls' plastic cups were empty, offered them wine left behind by the last group. Memorable sight: 5'5" Clint spitting game at 6'2" Rhea. As far as I could tell, all Clint's effort led to nothing tonight, but it may have sown the seeds for the last day of the voyage. As for me, tonight I was in the audience, not on stage. Trance just isn't my bag.

Adam and Clint, crew of Southern Cross

Next morning, we visited another beach and went snorkeling again. On this beach was another yacht. This group seemed infinitely cooler—there were younger people, comprised of pairs and singletons, relaxing and laughing. Sigh.

Raising the jib

At midday we made our way back to Airlie Beach. I was glad the trip was ending. This third and final day was, in my opinion, completely expendable. I was pretty impressed with the beaches and snorkeling in the first two days of the trip, but now there wasn't much else new to excite me. Along the way the wind picked up. We were finally able to set sail. This was a sign that nature agreed with me.

Pulling my weight

When we returned to shore I got my bag from the hostel and prepared for my next leg of the trip: an overnight bus ride leaving tonight for the Great Barrier Reef city Cairns. I still had a little time to see my companions for the last three days once more. I went to Beaches at 7:30. I was the third person from our group there, after the youngest British couple. The Dutchies trickled in around 8. I was looking forward to hanging out with them for a few beers, and curious to see if Clint would appear and finish what he started last night. But I had a bus to catch. I said goodbye to everyone and went to the bus stop. After three days at sea, it felt good to be driving at 50 MPH on smooth roads.

# posted by billklee @ 23:10