Yesterday, I got up and called Thrifty to rent a car.  The girl on the phone told me that all their cars were at the APEC in Sydney.  I was a bit unsettled.  What if I couldn’t find a car to rent? 

I called Budget next and my fears evaporated.  They had a Hyundai Getz for me.  A lemon yellow Hyundai Getz.  I opted for the extra insurance because I had never driven a right-hand drive and on top of that, Melbourne has this weird way of having cars on a street with a tram line turn right by waiting on the far left corner for the light to turn red.  Better watch that a few times before you try it. 

I drove out of the parking lot and switched on the wipers to indicate I wished to turn right.  Everything is wrong on these cars.  When I got in, I’d grope for the belt on the left.  I’d shift from fourth into third instead of fifth because that motion of pushing the stick away is so ingrained.  I leaned away from the door because I felt so close to the right side. 

Slowly, these habits vanished, as did my confusion with signage.  Driving through the CBD proved a great way to make sure I got used to the chirality of the car quickly, but even so, I took two wrong turns before finally getting on the Princes Highway toward Geelong (pronounce that Juh-LONG).  In Geelong I stopped at the information center to get some information on the Great Ocean Road.  I decided to drive the windy road on the way there and take the inland route home.  The lady at the info center explained that driving back on the coastal stretch would mean the view was behind me, but I’m still not sure what she means with that. 

I drove the US 1 down the California coast last year and can compare between the two, as far as that is possible.  I prefer the California scenery but the Australian road quality.  Despite having a Hyundai Getz, I rarely had to let another car pass and that only uphill, where mine just wasn’t the little engine that could.  Around squealing corners the Getz held its own quite admirably. 

I stopped for food in Wye River: a Hazelnut Choc Magnum and a three packets of nuts, along with four bottles of water.  This was to be my balanced diet for the day, and I continued on toward Apollo Bay, another quiet town nestled in a sandy bay.  Summer sees the population increase, but at this time of the year the beaches are empty and the gas station attendants bored.  From Apollo Bay the road cuts inland through the Otway range and lush meadows.  At one point a sign informed me that potato and related equipment wasn’t allowed any further, but because I didn’t understand that sign, I ignored it.  Every now and again, I would catch up to a careful driver that decided to drive 75 on a 100 km/h road and groaned every time he didn’t pull over at the slow vehicle turnout (“Consider Vehicles Following,” as the signs had it).  He must have just not considered the little Getz a vehicle. 

At about three thirty, I arrived at the Gibson Steps and climbed down the walkway to the beach, giving me a good idea of the height of the cliffs lining this part of the coast.  A sign on the way down warned visitors not to swim, and just watching the tow of the waves spoke volumes as to why not.  I stayed on the sand and took pictures of the ochre cliffs and the beach before walking back up to my parked vehicle and turning back onto the road with its signs that said “Drive on the left in Australia.”  Perhaps it was a year of cycling on the left in Japan, but that part caused me no trouble during the entire trip. 

I got to the Twelve Apostles at about four o’clock.  These are giant rocks standing tall above the beach, where the water has eroded the rock around them and pushed back the remaining shoreline.  When you realize how rarely the water even reaches the cliffs, you get an idea of how long it would have taken to shape these formations and you stand in awe of the beauty and fragility of creation and wonder why big, uninhabitable rocks in a dangerous surf would cause human viewers to experience beauty.  Come to think of it, how many things have you seen in nature that you’ve deemed ugly?  (Count out your spider and snake phobias.)  What is it that makes useless and even hostile elements of nature beautiful and useful man-made things ugly? 

Because an hour or two remained until sundown I decided to drive on to the Loch Ard Gorge for a quick look and return to the Twelve Apostles later again.  I walked to the Blowhole, where I expected to see the sea water shoot up in an angry spray, but on most sides the path led a route too far from the rock edge to see down into the circular pool.  From the landward edge I could see the waves tunneling in and lashing at the sides, but that was it.  I continued on the path to another view of yellow cliffs and blue water, and from there back to the parking lot.  I only briefly walked out to the Loch Ard Gorge because I was worried about missing sundown at the Twelve Apostles. 

Loch Ard Gorge is named after the Loch Ard, a British ship that sailed for Australia in 1878 with about fifty people on board.  They had sailed for three months and first seen Australia the day before, leading to celebrations.  Fog rose that night, and the ship went off course, until the lookout saw breakers.  The captain tried to sail back out to sea, but the winds drove him back; he tried to anchor the ship down, but the anchor wouldn’t hold.  The Loch Ard ran aground, broke, and sank, taking all but two with her. 

I drove back to the Twelve Apostles parking lot and sat in the car writing postcards until I thought the sun was low enough to warrant walking out to see the sunset.  I figured it might be a bit chilly, so I wanted to take my second jacket with me.  I got my camera out from the passenger side, but when I moved the seat forward to grab my jacket I noticed the rear left tire was flat. 

I’d had a flat tire before, with Jerry, in my parents’ car, so I knew how to go about changing one.  I grabbed the utensils out of the trunk and got cranking until the tire hung a few centimeters above the ground.  When I tried to undo the nuts, all I succeeded in doing was turn the tire.  I leaned into the car and yanked the emergency brake tighter.  That just meant I couldn’t move the wrench at all.  Where’s Jerry when you need him?  I resorted to kicking the wrench, stomping it with my whole weight in the direction I thought would open the nut, until finally it moved with a shriek, and repeated that with all others.  From there on it was easy – switching the tire, kicking the wrench again to tighten the nuts, lower the car, replace everything in the trunk.  I rubbed my dirty hands, stretched my back, and looked up.  The sun had set. 

But that didn’t keep me from walking out again, delayed just a little more by washing my hands at the welcome station.  The sun had indeed set, but the sea glowed with a luminous reflection of the sky above – the blue hour.  The Apostles stood as dark silhouettes in the mist, backlit by the afterglow of sunset.  Eastward, the warm yellow of the cliffs around Gibson Steps contrasted with the soft outlines of the sea and the hard lines of its breakers.  The daytime choppy growl of the flightseeing helicopters had ceased, and only the dull roar of the sea continued unabated.  Only at the welcome center’s septic pond the frogs joined the eventide. 

I returned to the car lot, almost empty, and left for Port Campbell.  On the map it looks big and important.  In the dark it’s a three-roundabout whirlpool of windshield wiper confusion – poor signage and my unfamiliarity with the town names in the vicinity made me fall back on left-hand-drive habits.  I drove north and then east to Colac, where I stopped for my only real meal of the day at a Red Rooster. 

For the last thirty minutes I’d been listening to the Dirty Thirty on some rock station, the only station my car radio could find on automatic search.  Between Colac and Geelong I got sick of it and switched to a classical station that aired an interview about Sally Beamish’s composition for accordion and orchestra that James Crabb and was performing with the Melbourne symphony orchestra, followed by a Vaughan Williams piece for Chromatic Harmonica and orchestra.  I flipped onward after that, and got SBS during its Dutch hour.  It’s surprising how much Dutch a Swiss German speaker will understand!  At 10pm the program switched to Spanish, and I drove to the hotel listening to a eulogy to Luciano Pavarotti in Spanish, “mas grande” and all. 

I would have loved to sleep in today, but I had to get the car back.  I slept as long as permissible under the circumstances and got the car back a few minutes late, but with the queues they had I doubt they cared.  Upon their request, I left them my e-mail because of the flat tire, but so far I’ve heard nothing, and I’m assuming no news is good news in this case.  I walked back to the hotel via an opal store. 

After a shower I headed to the Southern Cross station, where I met up with Tim and his brother Pete.  We scarfed a quick lunch and then headed over to the Telstra Dome for the elimination finals game pitting Hawthorn against Adelaide.  Pete decked me out with a Hawthorn scarf.  I’d never seen an Aussie Rules Football (Footy) game before, so Tim had some explaining to do all along, but the general principle is simple.  There are four posts on either side.  Kick the ball between the middle two, and you score a goal worth six points.  Kick it at a post or between outer posts, or carry it in, or bounce it in off your hands, and you score one point. 

The game was not only an ornithological delight, pitting the Hawks against the Crows amidst a few seagulls, but two and a half hours of real excitement.  Adelaide pulled away early, and at one point held a 31-point lead over the Hawks.  The Hawks fought back and finally pulled ahead 96-90 in the final quarter, but Adelaide levelled the score again.  Hawthorn had two set pieces that resulted in only one point each to put them ahead 98-96, and the crowd, mostly Hawthorn, didn’t know whether to savor the lead or fret about the missed chances.  At the end of the next Adelaide attack, they did the latter, as the Crows hit six points for a 102-98 lead.  With only a minute or two to play, Hawthorne again got into place for a set piece, but missed again, only moving to 99.  The brown and gold fans had all but given up, when Lance Franklin got a mark with a few seconds to play and sent Hawthorne fans into a frenzy of jubilation by scoring six for a final score of 105-102.  People spilled out of the stadium in the dazed stupor of fading excitement, and to my surprise, there seemed to be no hard feelings.  Even during the game it was obvious that some friends barracked for opposing teams; after the game, some random stranger asked Tim and me how we had done against the Kangaroos.  As it was news to me that I had any beef with any kangaroos, I let Tim take care of that one. 

That’s it for today.  I’ll try to post photos – sometime. 

Oh: stay away from Coopers beer.  Not good.