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Deep Down Under

Three hundred hours in Australia

By Jamie Martin

July 15^th, 2025

A very long day

A taxi to a plane to a plane to a taxi. Not bad compared to the four-month ordeal British prisoners endured en route to a penal colony. Thanks to a generous Delta One upgrade, the 20+ hours in flight went by quickly. And even in coach, passengers had no thought of scurvy, cholera or dysentery—common among Australia's first immigrants.

I hate jet lag and that zombie-like first day where narcolepsy hangs over the shoulders like a weighted blanket. When traveling abroad, my first priority is to synchronize my body clock to the local time. On the plane, I reset my circadian rhythms with the help of a cocktail and two Ambien (totally safe!).

Arriving in Sydney relatively fresh, we checked in, showered and explored the harbor just below our hotel, which was bustling with ferries and tourists as shops and restaurants came to life.

Sydney Morning

We jumped right into a sunny Sydney morning, where it was mid-Winter but felt like Spring in Australia's largest city. We ventured out towards the iconic Sydney Opera House and settled into a breezy waterfront table for some seafood and a Sauvignon Blanc. The people watching and morning drinking were so pleasant, we ordered a second bottle.

A steady diet of novel experiences keeps napping at bay...and there's nothing like alien architecture to keep you awake. Designed in 1957 by Danish architect Jørn Utzon, the Sydney Opera House pushed the bounds of engineering.

At 4pm (it felt like 4am) we kept our reservation at the hotel's sky lounge for a light meal and cocktails. I hatched a brilliant plan to keep us going until bedtime: we found a comedy show in Newtown, a vibrant, college-aged neighborhood filled with pubs and nightlife. Live comedy is an excellent way to jump start your understanding of a place, and this was no exception. Some of the comedians were impressed that we'd found this tiny venue mere hours after entering their country; others were baffled. We told them we were Canadian.

Australian Museum

Day Two: just a block from our hotel was a taxidermist’s dream. Over two million species had been collected from across the continent and placed on display at Sydney's natural history museum: a rainbow of bugs pinned in neat rows; a dusty tiger stalking prey that died a century ago; sneering mouths and snarling teeth lurking behind glass; thousands of birds frozen in flight, or perched on delicate branches.

From the exotic and extinct to the everyday. And we barely scratched the surface.

A treasure chest of crystals, gems and stones spilled out in jewel tones, a glimmering history of Australia's mineral wealth.

Dinner on Bondi

We zipped from Sydney Harbor to Bondi Beach to catch the late glow of sunset amid cerulean skies and gently rolling waves from a sweet little restaurant called Iceberg's. Even before the somm or the seafood, we were quite content here.

On day three, Susie left Sydney for a conference in Brisbane. I took the ferry to Manly Beach, where it felt like summer.

Holy Mountain

Three days under the spell of ancient energy.

I flew from Sydney to Alice Springs, where I rented a four-wheel drive and hit the road deep into the desert. Three hundred miles across a barren red waste loomed Uluru. A 550-million-year-old monolith sacred to the Anangu and other Aboriginal people for some 65,000 years, it was "discovered" by white men in 1873 who renamed it Ayer's Rock after some minister.

A UNESCO World Heritage site, Uluru was only recently banned from climbing, out of cultural respect as much as safety concerns. Much of it is restricted from photography, sketching or other reproduction due to the sacred nature of the rock face and its thousands of weathered holes and natural features, which Aboriginal people memorized and interpreted as part of their oral history and origin mythology.

I arrived as the sun was setting. Racing to reach the rock before the magic started, I flew by fields of tall grasses emblazoned in gold against a majestic blue sky. I pulled off the road, kicking up a cloud of red dust, and set up a tripod to record a time lapse. Just then, Uluru fired up from a rusted red to a glowing orange—an Edison bulb radiating heat and light—and then cooled to a purple brown. All this happened in just a few minutes.

The next morning, I returned with a bottle of water, a can of Pringles, and a mesh mosquito hoodie. I'd planned to pack a picnic lunch but the hotel wasn't allowed to sell takeaway, maybe out of a concern for trash. The hike around Uluru's base is 6.2 miles and takes about three hours—double if you're a shutterbug.

It was around 40°F when I started. There were only a dozen other hikers. As the sun climbed up the sky, the flies descended. They were so dense around my mesh-covered face that I frequently brushed them away just to see or shoot. The only sound was of my feet flip flopping over gravel.

An Unplanned Detour

After three days, I headed back to Alice Springs. An hour out, with a half tank of gas and a small bottle water, I took a detour: a right turn down a dirt road towards a massive table rock miles in the distance.

Solo and solemn against a blue and orange canvas stood Mt Conner. As I rumbled along, avoiding bumps and dips that could mean breaking down in a desolate place with no cell service, no roadside assistance, no water—nothing but rusted road and endless sky—I wondered how far away was this unmarked landmark...and how far could I go?

The risk seemed low, but the danger real: miss a rock, blow a tire. Did I have a spare? I slowed down and went carefully, like a lunar lander surveying unmapped craters.

And then I stopped: an animal carcass blocked the road. Sun-bleached bones and matted red fur. An ominous obstacle. I got out of my car and examined a leg, a rib, a jaw with yellowed teeth. This seemed like a good end point. I walked a few paces off the road into the bush, mindful of the snakes and scorpions and stinging things that could darken a sunny day. I flew the drone a bit, and then got back on the road.

Aliens in Alice Springs

I arrived in Alice Springs on a quiet Tuesday night. It looked like any small town, but my motel's elaborate security gates and posted warnings about locking doors and securing valuables suggested some unseen threat. Researching local restaurants from my room, I read about spikes in violent crime, youth curfews, and economic decline. Was this place more dangerous the desert?

I rolled the dice on a nearby brewery and was pleasantly surprised to find a lively, amiable crowd of twenty-somethings celebrating open mic night. I struck up a conversation with a couple of young men—a muralist and a musician—who were discussing plans to drive up into the mountains above the city to watch for UFOs. They were dead serious and invited me along. A younger me would've accepted, but thoughts of being mugged, stabbed, and left for dead crossed my mind. I politely declined and told them I had an early flight to Cairns, which was true.

Close Up in Cairns

Wooroonooran

A short flight transported me from the dry sands of the Red Waste to the wet biodiversity of Queensland's rainforests. I met Susie at the Cairns airport and we drove 70 miles south to Wooroonooran National Park, where Lars, an old college friend and amateur biologist/mixologist, was waiting for us with tents and cocktails.

We ate dinner at a wooden picnic table green with moss and I wondered how long before it would surrender to the jungle's leafy grasp. As darkness closed in around us, the forest came to life with the strange sounds of bugs and frogs...and who knows what.

Lars led us on a night hike, assuring us we were too high for crocs and too cold for snakes. After a few minutes on the trail, he told us to cut our flashlights. Our eyes adjusted and from the pitch black we made out glowing thimbles of green all around us: tiny bioluminescent mushrooms dotted the broad fallen branches on either side of the path.

A Very Snakey Day

The next morning, we woke to a symphony of birds. After a breakfast of coffee and fruit, we set out on another hike. The trail was flat and easy, and I wore flip flops. We crossed streams and reached one of the many waterfalls in the park.

As usual, I lagged behind the group taking photos of anything and everything, Suddenly, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. I froze and focused on the shiny black scales to my right about knee-level, and then realized it was a plastic toy someone had posed.

"Hey you guys! Come see this!" I leaned over and began to photograph it...and then it moved. A flickering tongue. A short slither. I froze again. It was within striking distance. I took a step back as Lars and Susie approached.

"Oh nice! Looks like a red-bellied black snake." Lars said, as Susie kept her distance.

"Are they venomous?" I asked.

"Yes, but they're not very aggressive. It's funny: I didn't think today was a very snaky day."

Queensland is also home to the Cassowary, an ostrich-sized bird with the talons and temperament of a velociraptor. While rare, they have been known to attack and sometimes kill humans by disemboweling them. We found one moments after entering a picnic area which had been outfitted with an iron fence. Lars had not, apparently, seen Jurassic Park.

Gone Fishin'

Cairns is a popular gateway for exploring the Great Barrier Reef, but weather conditions ruled out diving. We chartered a fishing boat instead and reeled in a few fish, a mud crab...and a 10' crocodile.

An hour into our excursion, a crocodile surfaced just off our bow. Our boat was steel-framed with high gunwales, so there was no real threat. We raced to snap photos, but he quickly disappeared into the murky green water. A few minutes later, he reappeared some distance up river. I launched the drone and was able to get some closeups before he submerged again. I continued scanning the banks with the drone, but couldn't find him.

Meanwhile, Lars struggled to free his snagged line from some sea grass or a log. Our skipper took over, leaning over the side of the boat as he jerked the rod. Suddenly that same croc lunged out of the water right next to us with the hook in his mouth. With the cold gaze of a prehistoric predator, he seemed to be sizing us up. The line snapped, the rod whipped, and the beast was gone.

Freakin' Bats

Back at Lars' home in Innisfail, fruit bats migrated nightly at dusk. In loose clusters, first a few, then dozens more until hundreds of bats the size of small dogs flapped just overhead. Lars was accustomed to their night flight, but we were enthralled.

While we didn't see any kangaroos in the wild, wallabies were plentiful in Cairns. Typically 2–3 feet tall and weighing 30–50 lbs, wallabies are herbivores. Like kangaroos, they have strong tails used for balance and jumping, and females have a pouch for carrying their young, called joeys. I don't know why they don't use other names. Seems like it would get confusing.

Going Coastal in Victoria

The Great Ocean Road

We deplaned in Melbourne and hopped in a car west down the coastal highway. Winding 151 miles along the rugged Southern Ocean coastline, the Great Ocean Road was constructed between 1919 and 1932 as a living war memorial dedicated to soldiers killed in World War I. Trying hard to keep us on our serpentine path, I occasionally whipped my head left to see the rolling sea. Beyond the endless waves, I imagined Tasmania and Antarctica.

Lovely Lorne

After two scenic hours, we reached Lorne, a quaint beach town and our home for the night. Around our hotel, sulphur-crested cockatoos were as common as pigeons. The next morning, I made a dawn patrol down to the beach for coffee and croissants. A group of local women known as The Mermaids were making their daily plunge in the bay's 55°F waters.

That afternoon, we hiked a scenic trail and spotted our first kookaburra. Aggressive omnivores, one of them snatched the sandwich out of my hand as I fumbled with my camera.

Bells Beach

Heading back to Melbourne, we stopped at Australia's surf mecca. Home of the world's longest-running professional surfing contest, the Rip Curl Pro, Bells' fame was stoked by Kathryn Bigelow's 1991 surf heist classic, Point Break.

"If you want the ultimate, you've got to be willing to pay the ultimate price. It's not tragic to die doing what you love."

— Bodhi

Melbourne

Funky Fitzroy

We returned the rental on a rainy Wednesday and cabbed to the Standard X hotel in Fitzroy. Established in 1839 as Melbourne’s first suburb, Fitzroy is gritty, bohemian, and dense with nightlife. We wandered down Brunswick St and popped into pubs with names like Blackcat, Bad Decisions, and The Shady Lady. A popular taqueria called Naked for Satan was closed, but Old Plates, a record store that served beer, was open and alive.

From gritty alleys and graffiti to Gothic Revival cathedrals, Fitzroy is photogenic at every turn. Victorian-era architecture and wrought iron filigree dominate the historic community.

Fitzroy is also a gallery of public art. The heart of Melbourne's street scene is adorned with images that are colorful, creative, political, and strange.

Now Blooming

Established in 1846, the Royal Botanic Gardens Victoria supports an abundance of flora with over 50,000 living species.

Foodie Fusion

Often compared to San Francisco—another foodie mecca shaped by immigrants—Melbourne's menu evolved over the past century by waves of newcomers, from Greeks and Italians settling after WWII, to Chinese, Vietnamese, and Thai migrants generations later. For decades, these communities enriched the city with their recipes and techniques. Later, chefs began fusing ingredients and styles into the contemporary cuisine Melbourne offers today. While Michelin has yet to discover Australia, we found exceptional quality everywhere we went, regardless of the price.

Coffee is another story. With cafès outnumbering churches, coffee may be Melbourne's unofficial religion, with daily rituals of flat whites and long blacks. Baristas train with the commitment of craftsman on Marzoccos and Simonellis and have won the World Barista Championship four times.

One Last Wild Night

We returned to Sydney for our flight home and spent our last night sleeping among dingos and wombats. Situated within Sydney's Taronga Zoo, the Wildlife Retreat at Taronga gives guests unique access after the visitors have left. Outside our window, koalas clung to swaying trees. Across the bay, Sydney blinked softly with a thousand lights.