Home :: Journey with Gina
:: The Great Barrier
July 9, 2000
The Great Barrier
Sydney and Cairns, Australia
Many Americans wax sentimental about life during the '50s, the so-called "good ol' days." Our culture continues to idealize this decade in film, song and memorabilia. But this utopian embrace of mid-20th century America depends on who you were at the time. As an African-American who grew up at the height of the civil rights movement during the '60s, the United States of the 1950s is not a place I'd care to visit.
And so it was with much reservation I traveled to Australia.
To anyone paying attention, Australia struggles with inclusion and tolerance of its indigenous people of color - Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders - in ways that are reminiscent of America's race relations a half-century ago.
It was tempting for me to vacation in this country of expansive "bush," awe-inspiring marine life and cosmopolitan cities without concerning myself with the social realities of a nation that tried, literally, to breed out color from its population; a nation that, via government policy over a fifty-year period ending in 1961, systematically and forcibly removed "half-caste" children of mixed European and Aboriginal heritage from their aboriginal mothers and communities and placed them in camps to be "elevated to the standard of white." But, if for no other reason than my appearance, these were realities I could not ignore.
In Sydney, I chatted with a woman from Cairns while waiting for my Blue Mountains tour. I told her I'd soon head north for the Great Barrier Reef.
"Be careful in Cairns," she whispered.
"Why?" I asked.
"Aboriginals."
On the four-wheel drive to Blue Mountain National Park, John, our guide, asked if we were all "rugged up" for the cool climate we were heading into ninety minutes west of Sydney. I had just spent two weeks in the much colder New Zealand, so I was well-prepared.
Our bumpy ride led us along a narrow dirt road through the bush and then we "tracked" on foot a little way toward Pierces Pass. Before heading to the park section called Katoomba to view the Three Sisters rock formation, we stopped for lunch in the town of Blackheath.
Our modest group of eight sat at a long table with me directly across from John. Someone asked him how well Aborigines were integrated into the mainstream culture.
"They don't appreciate what they have," he said. "The government gives them everything, they burn down their houses and they drink all of the time."
The family from Ireland started in on the Pakistanis - "They're so loud" - then John insisted that the Koreans were louder, "Always sounding as if they are about to come to blows."
"The Asians are coming in now," he continued. "But they're much smarter than the Italians during the 1940s because they are investing in land." John also wanted me to know that Australia has new laws preventing him from calling me a "blackfella," emphasizing the word. I wondered if blackfella was Australian for the "n-word" but I was uncomfortable enough with the discussion that I decided not to pursue it.
But I did pursue dinner with Dean.
Dean and I met at Franz Josef Glacier in New Zealand. He approached me, wanting to know more about my glacier hiking experiences in Alaska. After sharing hiking stories and learning that Dean had a desire to visit the United States, I suggested he hike the national parks at the Four Corners - Utah, Wyoming, Colorado and Arizona. When he learned that his home country was next on my itinerary, he suggested we have dinner.
The evening I arrived in Australia, Dean and I met his friends in the trendy neighborhood of Newton and afterward Dean gave me a city lights tour of Sydney.
My last night in Sydney, I brought a bottle of cabernet to Dean's apartment to complete his stir-fry tofu and noodles dinner, especially prepared for a vegan. At my place setting, packaged in cellophane, was a tiny boomerang refrigerator magnet decorated with distinctive Aboriginal art.
Later, Dean pulled out a Manhattan street map. When I pointed to my old neighborhood, he wanted to know what it was like for me growing up in New York. Perhaps, he said, we could visit in New York one day, as he was anxious to see the Big Apple. Maybe, we'd even hike the Four Corners together.
I parted with Australia in Cairns, visiting the one place that drew me to this country to begin with: The Great Barrier Reef.
After a three-hour catamaran ride from Cairns, we anchored next to a pontoon floating over an outer section of coral called Moore Reef. The pontoon was the center of what could only be described as a day-long water carnival. For the price of $130 Australian - about ninety dollars U.S. - I rotated among a full range of activities: submersible and glass-bottom boat tours, an ocean critter touch tank, educational lectures and the prize activity - snorkeling on the reef.
The reef boasts 2,000 varieties of fish and 400 species of coral. Fish swarmed everywhere as I floated almost directly against the pontoon.
Even though our section of Moore Reef was roped off for safety, we were still provided a large swimming area monitored by lifeguards. As I surfaced to assess the distance from the pontoon to the back rope, I asked myself a question that has come up a few times during this trip: "How much adventure can you stand?" It seemed unlikely that I'd ever visit Australia again, so I flippered to the farthest buoy.
The coral presented like dense underwater forest washed in bright greens, flamingo pinks, fiery oranges and gemstone blues. Deep dark caves revealed a hint of life when I floated still and waited for residents to make a move. Tendril shapes darted back and forth, thick cylindrical noodles pulsated and branches crept upward.
And I swam farther - to the reef's edge and the big blue.
It took me by surprise: No coral, no fish, and no sense of depth or objects of relativity. Just blue. And like the many who tell of near-death experiences, this was a moment of joy, not fear, a desire to move through and not look back.
But the tug came on my cord; the one that signaled to that part of me that knew I needed to swim back. Now I fully appreciated the legend of the siren's song, serenading sailors to their deaths, the beauty of a thing, wooing beyond reason and even the desire to live.
I turned around and felt the pulling churn of the ocean. I fought my way to the protection of the reef, my alliance now reversed. Only moments before, the nothingness of the blue had compelled me into its depths but now I pledged allegiance to the real world.
On the way to Cairns International Airport, the hotel courtesy shuttle driver asked me where I was from. He said that he'd met another "American" before in London. "She was as black as the ace of spades," he chuckled. In fact, she was so black that he could not discern her features but once he did, she was a very attractive girl. But you had to really take the time to look."
I stared through the van window at Cairns' tropical landscape as we drove the rest of the way in silence.
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