Phuket: Because you can never take enough winter vacations

Usually I would like some extra time in Korea. I love the food; the city is developed and full of vibrant energy; and it is an enjoyable place to walk. All of these details are lacking in the day-to-day Ulaanbaatar lifestyle. Walking outside in the bitter cold is, after all, a bit like getting kicked in the face. Some areas of the city feel more hostile than engaging; the smart citizen practices constant vigilance toward pickpockets, swerving drivers and dangerously slick walking surfaces. Still, on this day, I had no desire to be wandering around Seoul slurping down noodle soup and munching on delectable dumplings. I just wanted to get to Phuket, drink beer, and lay on the beach.

Thankfully, the day passed rather quickly. We arrived at the airport five hours before our flight, having already had our fill of Seoul and just wanting to get on with our journey. A taxi driver even managed to talk us into his car as we waited at the bus stop for a pittance above the bus fare. I jumped on the opportunity, and I am usually solidly a "bus" guy when I have the choice in a place with a well-developed public transportation network. At this time, I just wanted to get on my way. Maybe the driver sensed my urgency; he careened down the highway at speeds usually reserved for stock cars and symmetrical damped ovals. There were a couple times I feared the brakes would not stop us on time; but, in the end, we arrived at the airport all together; our luggage still sitting in the flapping trunk where it did not quite fit.

The long layover only made landing in Phuket that much more exciting. We finally arrived! After picking up some baht, we hired a taxi and set off for Karon Beach, the resort town that would be our home for the next week. The streets were dark at 2 am; we passed young Thais zipping around on motorbikes. Most of the journey, however, was quiet and endless. There was not a whole lot of late night gallivanting in this part of town; just some quiet, sleepy streets, and, here and there, a 7-11 still open for business. Our driver stopped for some caffeine; he still had to drive back.

The next morning was muggy and glorious. I slept terribly, tossing and turning like someone who had already spent most of the night on a plane and had already given up on any quality slumber; perhaps because I was that very person. After grumbling my way out of bed, rubbing at my blood shot, aching eyes, and stubbing my toe on the bathroom door; I opened our apartment balcony and reveled in the heat. It was like an oven outside; I was excited because I actually hope to return from this trip a well done rotisserie version of my former self. Also, I could smell the ocean and hear the wind rustling through the palm trees below. I always get excited when I can smell the ocean.

Karon Beach is a Phuket resort town geared more toward families and older tourists, or anybody looking to avoid the hedonism and debauchery of the classic Thai vacation. There were no prostitutes and there was only a small tattoo parlor on the main strip. Fruit stands were on every corner selling bananas, mangos, and coconuts. European vacationers zipped by on rented scooters (mostly, they were Russian; we were surrounded by Russians). On our first day, I found a beverage vendor on the sidewalk and bought a Singha beer; feeling the tangy refreshment slide down my throat, I knew I had found it. I was in paradise.

The beach had that perfect, soft, white sand that makes a good postcard picture. Beach umbrellas and recliners extended from one end of the beach to the other. For 200 baht, you could rent a chair for the day, coming and going as you pleased. Of course, why leave the beach when there was plenty to eat and drink from the vendors who were set up on the edge of the sand under the shade of the palm trees? Beach hawkers strolled along the beach from end to end selling everything from bathing suits to Buddhist statues. In the distance, a person was parasailing behind a motorboat, floating above the perfect waters with the best beach view of anyone.

We sat in our beach chairs complete slathered with sun screen, reading books and sipping drinks. We had bought those little baby bananas from a vendor for later snacking. They tasted sharp and tangy, different than the bananas in stores in the U.S. Before long, we ventured into the water, which was warm and very salty. Would you figure, the ocean was salty? I had read that Phuket beaches have dangerous undertow; nobody at the beach swam too far from shore, but bobbing in the shallows as the waves rolled to the shore was perfect as far as I was concerned. All of a sudden, that never-ending Mongolian winter seems a long ways away.

Melbourne: Tennis Fever

The sun was baking the city of Melbourne; the wind hit our faces like a blast from a furnace when we stepped out of the airport. Though only an hour flight from Tasmania, Melbourne was a whole different world. The bay was lined with palm trees; brightly colored cockatoos flew about squawking into the breeze. There was a heaviness in the air. I must admit we were confused about how thick the air felt and how difficult it was to breathe. Then we remembered a time before we lived on the dusty plains of Mongolia, when we lived in the muggy swamp of Washington, DC; it was just the humidity getting to us.

Thankfully, the next day the temperatures cooled off a bit. We left town early on a Yarra Valley wine tour with our guide, Sharon, who would share her inside knowledge of the region's best wines. The Yarra Valley has a long history as a wine producing region in Australia, dating back to a couple Irish brothers who moved west in the mid-1800s from New South Wales looking for a nice location for a homestead. They ended up in the Yarra Valley, with beautiful views of the surrounding hills. They planted their grapevines and the first vineyard in the valley was created.

Later, during the Great Depression, all the vines were ripped out to open up more land for growing crops, but the industry has made a comeback in the last twenty years. The Yarra Valley specializes in chardonnays and pinot noirs, two wines we do not usually drink; but for today, we would give them all a taste.

Joining us on our tour were Roger Pierce, a newly published British thriller author and his wife; they had been to Australia many times before, coming here often for vacations. I suppose they felt the need to escape that depressing English winter. Though, coming from Mongolia, I cannot understand why; I would love an English winter about now. (Last I checked the temperatures were dropping to -40 Fahrenheit back home). We were also joined by two middle aged sisters from Philadelphia and their friend Gina. They had just flown in the night before, and were very enthusiastic tennis fans. The last members of our tour group were some friends who met in Moscow on a tour. They were from New York, Texas, and Melbourne; just having a reunion to relive old times. They were the loudest people of the group. Cameron, the one who lives in Melbourne, was also the most colorful; he sported sleeve tattoos, a lip ring, and long blond dreadlocks, though the sides of his head were shaved giving him a dread-hawk. He looked very dignified swirling and sipping his wine all day. They had been up until 3:30 the previous night, watching tennis and drinking whiskey. Overall, we may have been the most rested of the group having only travelled from Tasmania the day before.

Wine tastings are tough; we went from winery to winery surrounded by beautiful scenery and sampled the best wine the Yarra Valley has to offer. We picked up a chardonnay and a pinot noir in the process, and were already a little tipsy by lunch time. I tried to do my best to taste the wine, taking a good smell with each glass and holding the wine in my mouth with each sip; trying to use all my taste buds, which was a challenge since some of the poor buggers get very little use with the cuisine in Ulaanbaatar. Tastes of fresh fruits and delicate spices are not to be found in the Mongolian capital.

At the end of the day, the group was talking boisterously and mostly unable to distinguish differences in taste, anyway; our taste buds having been completely overloaded by a day full of so many robust flavors they were going numb; or maybe that was the alcohol. We returned to Melbourne in a blissful fog, only to be dropped off suddenly on the curb; Sharon was not too keen on holding up the traffic. The group immediately set off in different directions with a quick goodbye, and we were back to exploring the city on our own.

While wine tasting was fun, we had really come to Melbourne for the tennis. The Australian Open was going on, and the city was in a tennis fever. It seemed around every corner, we would walk by someone talking about tennis; at breakfast in our hotel, every table was talking about the matches the night before and what might happen in today's excitement. Embracing this spirit, and the Hisence Arena tickets we purchased way back in November, we set off the next day for a day of tennis to put all other days of tennis to shame. Basically what this meant is that, since we had purchased tickets for this day, we would have to watch tennis all day; no breaks of more than the time needed for the court to switch over would be allowed.

Hisence Arena

We were in for a good lineup in Hisence Arena. First, Ana Ivanovic was on the court. She won in straight sets, never really being pushed. At the end of her match she blew kisses to the crowd. Jo-Wilfried Tsonga played next, and the crowd became very animated; apparently, he has many fans at the Australian Open. Most of his fans seemed to be middle aged women who screamed every time he changed his shirt (okay, there were some younger ladies, too, but they were not as entertaining to me). At the end of his match, which he also won in straight sets, he jumped in the air and twirled around for his victory dance, with French fans cheering, "Allez!". We also saw Petra Kvitova play, the current women's #2ranked player and Wimbledon champion. She dropped a set, though, and was lucky to move on past Carla Suarez Navarro, whose slicing backhand had Kvitova hitting the ball long all match.

Ana Ivanovic!

Tsonga!

Finally, Andy Murray arrived on court for the last match of the day. He is called the "Great White Hope" in the papers here, which I don't understand because I think most tennis players are white. Apparently in the British Empire, a person is only "white" if they are of British descent. Murray seemed able return anything from any place on the court. It was very exciting to watch even if he was not really challenged. The fans were into the match, too; a group of boys wore shirts spelling out "Andy" and sung ballads specially composed for the match, such as "Andy Murray is the man – E – I – E – I – O".

Andy Murray!

Andy Murray fan club

Like most sports, watching tennis live was more exciting than what you see on television. The sounds are louder, the action faster, and you are so much closer to the players. The great players looked even greater, and the difference between the greats and the others was more obvious.

Our last meal in Melbourne -- yes, that is seafood in that pasta!

There was more to Melbourne than the tennis, even if we had very little time to explore the rest of the city.  For our last dinner, we explored just outside of downtown where Melbourne has its own “Little Italy.”  Drinking shiraz and eating seafood pasta, leaving Melbourne the next day was difficult to fathom.  We finished our last evening watching Bernard Tomic, Australia’s best hope for the Open, on the big screen in Federation Square, all while eating an enormous, dripping ice cream cone; the perfect end to a fabulous vacation.  

Roger Federer stares out at us from the big screen on Federation Square

Tasmania: the Land before Time

Immediately upon disembarking from the plane, it was obvious we had landed in another place in Tasmania. The day before we had lain on the beach all day, soaking in the sun in Sydney; the first thing I wanted to do upon stepping out on the tarmac at the Hobart airport was dig through my bag for a windbreaker. It was summer here, but still cool and gusty, as befits a small island in the Southern Ocean. Before planning this trip, I had not even realized the Southern Ocean existed. Usually, the south is thought of as a warm destination in America; but at some point, as you continue heading farther and farther south, you realize south is also the direction of Antarctica. It might be summer in Tasmania, but it was not quite what I would call hot.

Our first adventure in Tasmania was renting our car. We were not in Sydney anymore; and we definitely would not be able to get everywhere we wanted using the nonexistent Tasmanian public transportation network. So, we rented a car with the steering wheel on the wrong side; then proceeded to drive on the wrong side of the road, holding our breath the whole way and wishing the other drivers on the road would just slow down for a bit. It was like learning to drive all over again, only instead being 16 and excited about being independent, we were 30 and wishing everything could just be normal the way we were used to. Oh, how the world looks different as you age.

Not being people to take things slowly on vacation with so many adventures lurking around every corner, we decided immediately upon arrival to go for a drive up Mt. Wellington, the tall mountain towering above Hobart in the distance. After all, it was supposed to be pretty close by; a short drive just outside the city.

After driving on many narrow, winding country roads through tunnels of trees that grew right up to the road edge, we turned onto the road to the top of Mt. Wellington. Here, the road became narrower and windier. As we ascended, we came to long stretches of the road that followed the edge of rather sheer cliffs. The vegetation became very alpine; small pine trees grew amongst the moss. Many of the trees looked like they came straight out of a Dr. Seuss book. They had long bare branches with bunches of leaves at their very tips.

Dr. Seuss Trees

Eventually, the road flattened out; we had arrived at the top, which in Australia they call the pinnacle rather than the summit. There was a blasting cold wind; I actually wished I had grabbed the winter hat I have been saving the whole trip for our return to Mongolia. The views of Hobart and the coastline were very nice, and we spent some time wandering about on top, delaying the panicky descent back to sea level. Apparently, Charles Darwin made the journey up Wellington in the mid-1800s. The climb took his party several days; and, according to newspaper accounts, he grumbled upon finishing about the buffoon of a guide they had brought with them from Hobart. I guess the trees were not as interesting to the great scientist as they were to me when I rocketed past in my car, praying we would make it around the next curve.

It was a good thing we did some driving practice our first day in Tasmania because on day two we drove a ways up the east coast to Freycinet National Park. Tasmania is famous for its wildlife, especially its marsupial population. The island is, consequently, also famous for its road kill. We saw a lot of dead kangaroos before we ever saw a live one. Around almost every bend you would see another bloated corpse with a long tail sticking out. Growing up in northern New York, I saw my fair share of road kill; but something about the uniqueness of kangaroos made the road kill here seem much sadder to me.

After a few troubles navigating our way out of Hobart, we figured out our directions and arrived in Freycinet around midday. We were heading there to see a place of natural wonder named Wineglass Bay. This secluded beach with its surrounding peaks was the reason we came to Tasmania in the first place. After seeing a picture in our Australian guide book we decided we needed to see that place for ourselves. The path to Wineglass Bay went over a saddle between two peaks, with a couple stops at some scenic viewpoints for pictures. The overall hike took about two hours roundtrip, but was vigorous. We ate Brie sandwiches and nectarines for a picnic lunch on some rocks overlooking the bay. I was amazed to see some Aussies snorkeling in the cold waters; a sailing boat was docked at the other end of the beach. I would say their trip to Wineglass Bay was a bit more stylish than ours. I imagined myself sitting on a sailing yacht feeling the wind in my hair; then I mopped the sweat off my brow once again and took another drink of water, satisfied with myself for getting here on my own two feet.

Driving around Freycinet, we saw our first kangaroo; though it may have been a Wallaby. We realized when we spotted it off the park road in the underbrush that we had no clue about the difference between the two. It turns out kangaroos and wallabies are basically the same animals; wallabies just have different coloring, with black on their paws and their muzzle. We will never know if we saw a kangaroo or a wallaby as we did not know this at the time of our sighting. The animal stood very still as we eyed each other, until Alissa took its picture. Then our calm marsupial became suddenly jittery and jumped away, covering great distances with each bound. Long jumpers around the world can only watch with jealousy.

No visit to Tasmania would be complete without seeing some devils, so our next day we drove to Bonorong Animal Sanctuary where we heard this was possible. We arrived just in time for a tour. Our guide looked like a prototypical Aussie animal ranger. He would have been right at home on crocodile hunter with his grizzled mug and crooked smile.

As he walked around their pen with dead chick corpses in his hands, the devils followed excitedly. They knew feeding time had come. Tasmanian devils are scavengers in nature, but have very strong jaws; strong enough to gnaw through bones. Unfortunately, they have become plagued by a facial cancer that is quickly wiping out the species. Nobody really knows how much time the devils have left. Any devils captured now are kept in captivity in an attempt to bring back the species. We were warned not to lean over the pen to take pictures because the devils would think our cameras were food; they would not realize their mistake until our cameras were chewed to bits and discarded on the ground.

At Bonorong, we were also able to see some koalas. Our guide introduced us to Banjo, a sixteen year old koala who would probably be dead in nature; koalas’ lifespans normally end around fourteen years. Banjo was very relaxed throughout the demonstration, with a far off look in his eyes. Koalas are famous for the minuscule size of their brains. Though they look fat and their heads look large, they are actually mostly fur with a brain the size of a peanut. They live most of their lives calmly drowsing in the eucalyptus trees, awakening occasionally to munch on the toxic leaves.

Humans cannot eat eucalyptus because our bodies will not process the toxins in the plant. Koalas have a very finely tuned digestive system that purges all the toxins from the leaves. There is a downside to this digestive ability, however, as the koalas are incapable of eating anything else for their nutritional needs. As a result, they do not consume enough energy for their brains to grow any larger. They will continue to be dumb animals with no hope of evolving.

The kangaroo herd at Bonorong was probably made up of the most spoiled kangaroos in Australia. They laid around the grass, lazily sprawled on their sides as visitors walked up to them and held feed right under their snouts; like emperors from ancient Rome fanned by scantily clad ladies and fed grapes and wine, the kangaroos would turn their noses at their servants and look the other way. Many of the kangaroos were not even interested in food; they had so many opportunities to eat during the day. We did find some takers, though. We also discovered that, more than anything else, kangaroos love a good rub on their chest between their short, stubby arms. This is one area those little arms cannot reach. We knew we had found the right spot when the animal threw back its head, eyes rolling back in a look of majestic ecstasy.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. The next morning we flew back to the mainland; on to Melbourne for the Australian Open and all the tennis we could watch. I’m sure the kangaroos will have many other willing feeders in the days to come; they probably won’t even miss us.