Hoop Snakes, Drop Bears, and Life in Western Oz

« Return to Australia

Now this was stupid. Metal poles were poking out a giant tree, spiraling up and up and up to the top, an immense 75 metres in the sky, and here I was, laddering higher with no ropes, no safety, and knees as wobbly as a Central African government. It was one of those beautifully dangerous things I love about Australia, where the world’s most poisonous snakes and spiders might be living in your pillow. Besides the “Danger” sign for complete morons, the tree practically invites anyone with too much testosterone to give it a go, and before you know it, you’re clutching onto a thin pole so tight the muscles in your arm have rigor mortis, while your toes are clenched so hard you could crack a bullet between them. Higher and higher, and just when I’m sure I’m about to absolutely piss myself from fear, I get to the first platform, that says “That was the easy bit”. A sturdy tanned Australian man, a real Iron John, comes ambling from above, covered in sweat. “C’mon mate, once you’re this far, you may as well go to the top,” he says, in that typical Australian drawl that makes any stranger seem like a good ol’ buddy. So I continued up, and up, and up, cursing those damn little sticky flies, scouting for apartments in my nostrils and ears. Finally I reached another platform, and then another, and then another, and at last, I was on top of the tree, staring out above the lush forest in all directions, the sea casting a blue glow in the distance. I wondered why my knees were still swaying, until I noticed it was the tree itself, dancing to a gentle ballad in the wind. Cautiously, I made my way down, wondering why they don’t sell T-Shirts at the bottom of this thing. It took an hour, longer than a cheesy rollercoaster, and far scarier. There wasn’t even an official around to call an ambulance when you drop out the sky, all the way to hell, do not stop and collect your broken bones. After all, a massive tree in a national park is just one more thing that can kill you in Australia.

“It’s the hoop snakes you have to watch for. They role themselves up in a hoop, and wheel themselves after you. And while you’re running, watch out for the drop bears, which fall from the tree and love eating human eyeballs.”
It took me a few anxious moments before I realized that hoop snakes and drop bears are mythical beasts created specifically to terrify foreigners, much to the enjoyment of Australians. This is a wild country, full of extremes, where the heat can be merciless, and roaches arm-wrestle truckers. Arriving in Perth, the capital of Western Australia and the most isolated city on the planet (closer to Singapore than to Sydney), I was greeted by a blast of severe dry heat and that nasal Aussie accent sets your hair on edge. My host for the week was Jess, a Perth native who I had first met in northern Thailand and who was part of my group that explored Laos. The plan was to hire a car for a week and head south along the coast, exploring the famous Margaret River wine region. It would cost the equivalent of three months of travel in India, and a tractor factory in the Congo. Given that Australians are famously into backpacking, it would make sense that the backpacking industry in Australia has evolved beyond youth hostels and cheap beer. Dozens of tourist agencies cater to backpackers, restaurants feature backpacker menus, there are car rental agencies specifically for backpackers, hostels are simply called “Backpackers”. I did not feel so much as a worldly explorer as a different type of package tourist, especially considering the prices for the above services. I made a mental note: If you’re going to travel in developed countries, don’t do it directly after traveling in developing ones. “Do you realize this crummy dorm bed cost SEVEN times the amount of a double room with an en-suite bathroom in Cambodia?” I asked Jess, who tried her best to kick my ass into a shape once more accustomed to civilization. The guy below me snored so loud I could feel my mattress rise with each exhale. There were no lockers, it cost $8 an hour to use the Internet at the damn library (of all places), but damnit, they have pies. Meat pies, veggie pies, curry pies, steak and kidney pies. And the roads are smoothly paved. And every restaurant has a different menu. And you can taste fruit at the market. And no one is tugging your shorts for money. And the bookshops are amazing. And boy, do you pay for it.

Still, at the end of Modern Gonzo, it was time to bruise my credit card and get on with it. No use whining when there are kangaroos to kill, wombats to whack and platypus to laugh at because hell, there isn’t a dumber looking animal on the planet. Jess showed me around the funky suburb of Fremantle, where I actually managed to make a didgeridoo sound like the earth and not a cat being dragged behind a Zamboni. Perth’s foreshore offered stunning views of the city, and we caught free (!) inner city buses, popping into the wonderfully lit King’s Park and the happening Northbridge district. I could see Perth’s appeal as a quiet city, set against the Swan River and close to the sea. Shops close on Sundays. People drive slowly. Perth, blessed in its glorious isolation from the rest of the world, is a pace apart. Walking through the central train station, I looked long and hard for a beggar, a ruffian, a threat of cultural danger. This was the central train station, and it looks like an open-air four-star hotel lobby. I ate at an Indian restaurant where you pay what you feel you owe, as all the profits go towards charities in India. Civilization.

Gonzo Gallery for Hoop Snakes, Drop Bears, and Life in Western Oz

view full gallery

Tweet