The Long Overdue Walkabout: Day 4 – Croc Day

My last day in Kakadu was a much more subdued day. We took our time to get up and get packed. Talk about extreme teambuilding, after only 2 days out here, our group was a fully functioning unit when it came to surviving. Everyone established their roles and duties when it came to mealtime, cleaning up, collecting firewood, and loading the tank that got us out of the heat and into our air conditioned tank as quickly as possible.

First stop was the Bowali Center. This is the main visitor center that people normally see upon arriving, but we skipped that for waterfalls. From what I remember, Bowali focused less on the aboriginal experience and more on the physical landscape, flora, and fauna. In other words, I went straight for the gift shop. I contemplated getting a fly net for the remaining 8 hours of our trip, but I settled on overpriced keychains instead, having long been mentally and emotionally beaten by the flies.

Ubirr, was our next stop and it was the place that most slapped my dormant soul wide awake. Ubirr felt mystical. We were greeted by a tiny and terrifically cheeky wallaby that was scampering and posing amongst the rocks, almost like a Mad Hatter in retrospect. Dillon was in full-on tour guide mode, retelling Dreamtime stories and explaining the history of the rock paintings. The art here was colorful and detailed. Given the amount of food and resources available, the aborigines in this area had a lot more free time to cultivate drawing skills. Honestly, I’d be too tired from swatting away flies.

A short distance from the rock paintings was the most incredible view of Kakadu I had seen. Most of it was actually Arnhem Land, reserved land for the aboriginals (much like a US tribal reservation). Apparently, you can’t even get in without advance permission from the Arnhem Land owners and very few white folks get permission to access the most sacred parts of the reserve. But, it’s the only place where you can get the best and genuine hand-carved digeridoos, assuming you can befriend an aborigine and prove yourself a worthy honorary. I’m sure it involves walkabout and living off the land for a few months.

The panorama of untouched wetlands was really stunning. It was one of those places where you feel the horizon is limitless and you’re just a small speck in in nature. My imagination and fantasies of the African Savannah were realized a few continents over.

So we finish at Ubirr and set up for lunch out by the parking lot. This parking lot sat on the edge of East Alligator River, named for its crocodiles. The river, whose width seemed barely the length of a swimming pool, also separated Arnhem Land from Kakadu. To think such a small strip of water is what keeps outsiders away from the natives…until you realize this river is infested with crocodiles. I forgot who exactly in the group discovered the crocs, but lunch was barely prepared before we all rushed to the river’s edge. Because that’s obviously the smart thing to do…

There were at least 3 crocodiles within close view, sometimes floating and indistinguishable from a log, sometimes hanging on exposed rocks in the middle of the river. I think one might’ve been eating a fish, but maybe that’s just my imagination at this point. Whatever happened, they were definitely active, which meant they were probably hungry. After two arduous days, we all had finally gotten what we came here for, crocodiles. I think all of us could’ve stayed and watched them all day, but most of them disappeared into the depths, reminding us all that East Alligator river is not the ideal place for a swim.

This encounter made things really ironic when we finally went on our crocodile cruise and barely saw a crocodile. The drive to the Mary River was long, and the exhaustion of the previous two days and half I think was finally settling in for the group. I slept through most of the drive, but we were well outside of Kakadu when we arrived to a totally desolate river bank with the sun on full bake.

We were soon on a rickety open-air boat guided by a crotchety guy. What the cruise lacked in crocodiles, it made up for in UV rays, giant lillypads, and birds. Even the few crocs we sort of spotted couldn’t muster up any excitement by our presence. Not the jumping crocs we were all hoping for. Oh well, the invasion of lillypads were sort of cool, and I tried to take in the remote landscape for one last time, but at this point, I was ready to get back to civilization.

Another few hours drive in the tank to recover from the heat exhaustion, and I was dropped off just as the sun was setting in Darwin. I was greeted by Dave, but it was a quick hello at best, because my only immediate objective was to shower away three days of wilderness.

After I cleaned myself up, the next objective was a big meal. Only a few blocks from my hostel and across the street from the more popular hostels was a tiny fish and chips hole-in-the-wall that had some outdoor seating to people watch the nightlife. Really, how could I say no? Turns out, they fry all sorts of fish, including local barramundi and simply wrap them up in brown paper like they do with meats at the Whole Foods butcher and give you a plastic fork and some napkins. With nothing else to look forward to, I took my time devouring the greasy pieces of heaven and taking notes on Kakadu into my Moleskine (you know, for when I write up a blog post almost 11 months later).

A local, older gentleman who had been sitting over in another corner asked if he could join me. I forgot how he introduced himself to me, but it was awkward because I thought he was hitting me up for change or trying to rob me and I think he mistook me for someone he had met earlier. Besides the awkward introduction, he turned out to be a fascinating crazy old kook. He used to be a tour guide as well and was knowledgeable on the area. We talked about my itinerary and discussed the best route to tour Tasmania (opposite of the way Adriane and I had planned, more on that later…). He told me how I should’ve gone to the Bungle Bungles or further west to Kimberly region to really experience the Outback. And then things got a bit awkward again when I realized he might’ve been a bit racist. He couldn’t believe America actually voted for a black president and complained about the Asian immigrants that had invaded Darwin. Fair enough.

Done with my meal and not wanting to converse with another Australian kook, I moved back to the hostel. I unfortunately got moved out of Matt, David, and Pinky’s room to a room next door, where there was a young Brit who was crossing the continent on his motorcycle. Seriously, why can’t I be these people?

Matt, Pinky, and Dave were outside by the pool so I joined them to catch up on the past three days. Matt had gone to nearby Litchfield National Park, a closer and cheaper alternative to Kakadu. Dave and Pinky had been job hunting and decided on fruit picking in a nearby farm.

This whole talk happened outside under our patio table umbrella as a monsoon dumped water all around us. Stuck in a rainstorm with three strangers, all foreigners in a foreign land, watching enormous water drops pummel the pool in between conversation, is why I travel.

The entire Kakadu set: