At the moment, I find myself at the observation deck of the Rialto Tower in
the center of Melbourne, 253 meters above the ground. Buildings, roads, and
railroads blend into each other to create a dirty, post-industrial blanket
of gray concrete and rusted iron, while the muddy brown water of the Yarra
River seems motionless and dead. A rainstorm is making its way across the
city from the south.

The rest of my trip along the northwest coast was great. Broome was a nice
little town to stop and rest in for a few days. In Broome, I went to see
Gladiator at Sun Pictures, the oldest cinema in Australia. Thought it would
be fitting, somehow. I got so wrapped up by the huge screen and excellent
sound system that I almost popped a turd when two Qantas jets screamed
overhead about halfway through the movie. The rest of the time, I explored
the town by bus, and even got a lift across town from Trevor and Kathy, an
Australian couple vacationing in Broome for a week (Aussies are so nice).

After catching a sunset at Cable Beach and sleeping under the stars at the
caravan park, we packed up our tents and left Broome to begin the second
half of our tour. We left our bus behind and got onto our "Oka", a
monstrous four-wheel-drive, a must for the bumpy dirt roads in the Kimberley.

We saw more gorges, swam in more waterholes, and inhaled more red dust. The
flies were horrible. At least twice, we camped next to saltwater
croc-infested rivers. But it was the mossies, spiders, and ants which were
much more dangerous than the crocs. Each morning, I'd wake up with bites
all over my arms and legs. I counted 40+ at one point.

We stopped at Eighty Mile Beach, where I soaked my feet in the Indian Ocean
for the last time. We also visited El Questro, a tropical resort in the
middle of nowhere with finely manicured lawns of green grass, thermal
springs, and a cliffside homestead available for $850 a night. Another one
of our stops was Kununurra, a beautiful and rather large town that, like
Surfer's Paradise, strangely doesn't show up on any maps of Australia.

The highlight of the trip was the Bungle Bungles, a range of layered domes
which have been formed by years of creative erosion. I took a helicopter
ride, my first, over the ranges and it was quite amazing to see. Not many
people get out to the Bungle Bungles, so most of it is still untouched by
commercial tourism and left in its natural state.

The food continued to be good, even though it was covered with red dirt most
of the time. Chris cooked everything from pasta to beef to chocolate
birthday cake (for Bruce's 74th) on the campfire. But he never seemed to
make enough. I got the feeling that, by the end of the trip, everyone
started to despise me because I ate so much.

We arrived in Darwin tired and dirty. A shower and a change of clothes felt
great, but I still had a problem. While not terribly thick, I noticed that
my goatee had gotten quite long and bushy. Two different people on the bus
had told me that my goatee looked like pubes, so I decided to do away with
the wannabe moustache and trim the chin a bit. I felt like a new man.

I had been in Darwin before, but this time it was with a new group of
friends, so it was a different experience. We went out to the pub together
the first night. To my horror, the place was filled with Americans. Four
US Navy boats had dumped 8,000 young, annoying, horny American men into
Darwin. The guy to girl ratio was easily 10:1. Rather than using my
distinct American accent as a potential ice-breaker with the locals as I
usually did, I was simply just another American. It was horrible.

But I just stuck with my tour friends, and by the end of the night, I was
talking to Franziska, a Swiss-German girl. She didn't speak much English,
so she just taught me some bad words in German while I taught her bad words
in English. After discovering that she knew French, we managed to have a
decent conversation.

I was only in Darwin for two nights before flying in Melbourne. Tired but
feeling social, I went down to the hostel pub downstairs. Two girls were
sitting next to each other on a nearby couch. I could tell they were artsy.
Bad skin, short hair, second-hand clothes. One of the girls approached me
and asked if she could draw a picture of me. While sketching, she told me
that she was in Melbourne to protest a conference of world economic leaders
called "S11", uncreatively named after the date on which it occurred
(September 11). While she drew me, I let her blabber on for a while about
moral economics and free will. I had nothing to say, so it wasn't hard for
me to sit still. The sketch turned out pretty good. It was the sort of
drawing I'd pay $15 for at a charity carnival.

I don't like this city. During the day, Melbourne turns into a mass of
people walking nowhere, with no outdoor cafes or scenic resting points. At
night, it turns into a ghost town. All of the night spots are apparently
tucked away in alleys and hard to find, too much work for a backpacker. I
did, however, find the Crown Casino last night - huge place, rivaling the
biggest Vegas casinos, with restaurants, night clubs, and sports bars. But
overall, many of Australia's tiny towns in the middle of nowhere were more
exciting.

One of the things I hate about Melbourne is its constant celebration of
multiculturalism and diversity. The city seems to take pride in the fact
that it's made up of so many different ethnicities. But multiculturalism
and diversity, it seems to me, have replaced the true, Anglocentric,
Australian identity that this city once really did have. All that
multiculuralism and diversity have done is strip Melbourne of its character.
Now, rather than having an identity of its own, it seems more like an
amalgamation of identities. It's just like any other big city. This is
starting to sound like a KKK propaganda, so I'll stop now.

The rainstorm has passed, and the sun is desperately trying to poke its way
through the clouds and before it sets.

Pictures coming soon.

No Regrets.

Jeff