#276: Magic Mountain
Two years ago, CJ and I visited a place he remembered from his childhood as being fantastic. I later discovered this beautiful childhood moment from his primary school books:
Awww!
We really weren’t sure if the Magic Mountain adventure playground was going to be good or terrible – and it was great. CJ even injured himself by falling off the toboggan at high speeds.
THIS time, we knew exactly what we were in for, and we moved with purposeful strides between the three greatest exhibits.
Magic Mountain costs about $35 per adult for as many rides on everything as you’d like. You will want to go more than once, so don’t buy individual tickets.
We went to the rollercoaster first.
That little green car is at just the position that I think, “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.” From there you can either look out across the trees (very pretty, but not reassuring) or straight down through absolutely nothing – no struts or supports or bits of track – to the ground (even less reassuring).
Immediately after that there’s a long drop all the way back to ground level. I scream easily it’s true – but I never heard anyone NOT scream at that point. Also, you get great air (so much so that smaller children need to be physically held in by their parents).
All of it is driven by a few rickety little engines like this one:
Here you can see the carefree joy on our faces:
After we were thoroughly woken up (several times), we moved on to our next port of call: the toboggan (aka “CJ’s Doom”).
The roller coaster is frightening, but the toboggan has something it lacks: personal choice. You hold the brake as you go down, and the faster you go the more you need to use your body to keep the sled from flipping right over.
As a result, the chance of actual injury is very high. The attendant noticed CJ and I getting faster and faster on each run down the mountain (sidebar: there are lovely views of Merimbula hills and the sea for anyone who actually looks up), and decided it was the right time to tell a story.
A couple brought their four-year old along. He was too young to ride by himself, so he rode with his Dad.
Big mistake.
The mum went first, and she went at a sane speed.
Then came the second, heavier toboggan. . . which was controlled, not by Dad, but by a four-year old child.
The four-year old, lacking both self-preservation instincts and fast reflexes, crashed into his mother’s sled at extreme speed. Blood gushed onto the track, and the mother (and her head injury) was taken away by ambulance.
Thus endeth the tale.
The same attendant also showed us a thick line of burn scar on his arm, which he’d given himself by falling off on a Summer day, when the track rippled the air with heat.
For those living in the Northern Hemisphere, it’s Summer right now.
One of the bonuses of the toboggan is that it hauls you back up to the beginning of the track again (rather than letting you walk up the hill, like on the water slide).
The ride back up is very serene (so much so that there’s a quasi-educational diorama towards the end) so after twenty or so goes I indulged in some light weeding on my way along.
The attendant at the bottom commented on my increasing speed, and I said, “Yep – you just get faster and faster until you injure yourself.”
He looked a little perturbed. (I was JOKING, darn it.)
I went down one more time and said goodbye to him, with a strong implication of “See? I’m stopping before I get hurt.”
But then stuff happened and CJ and I came back (the correct sequence of rides is roller coaster, toboggan, water slide, toboggan/lunch, roller coaster, water slide – because you can’t go on the roller coaster wet, but you can dry off on the toboggan).
It was less crowded, which meant we rode a new toboggan each time.
Sometimes they were smooth. Sometimes they were not. I used the first three corners to judge how much I needed to brake for the rest.
I was rattling down at enormous speed, hurling my body back and forth with painful jerks (lifting sideways for corners and lurching back to the centre of the track as the corners end), when I came off the third corner and as the sled jerked back down to the lowest point of the track I didn’t stay with it. The sled ran off ahead, jackknifing and slurring to a halt. I slid after it on my knee and elbow, and bashed my cheekbone against the metal rim.
I scrambled back on board within a second, knowing CJ was hurtling down the track after me.
From that point on, I used the brakes.
Thus ended the tale.
Once we were thoroughly bent and bruised from the toboggan, we moved on to arguably the best ride of all: the water slides.
One of them is good.
The other is brilliant.
It’s called the Black Hole. Here’s a view of it from a little way down the hillside:
The thing about the Black Hole is that it IS a black hole. You get on the slide and immediately plunge sharply beneath the earth. In total darkness and silence (except for your own screaming) you perform a full circle. Just when you’re utterly disoriented and think the darkness will last forever, the tube around you turns light blue, and then – zoom! – you come out into sunshine.
In the photo above, you can see the opening where you fly out into the light. You can also see colourful plastic tubes sticking out of the earth. They’re air holes.
Eeeexceellleeeennnt.
CJ and I ate icecreams and fairy floss, because it would be simply wrong not to. We know how these things work.
Also, I was gored by a triceratops.
Think they’re vegetarians? Think you’re safe?
Think again.
Coming soon: Ride a wave, Go walkies, and HORSERIDING (on Sunday, with video).
#275: Fancy-Pants Restaurant
It’s not a holiday if you don’t spend way too much on sweeeeettt delicious fooooooodd. During our second honeymoon, CJ and I ate at the Merimbula RSL club, the Seabreeze Cafe (really nice battered fish), the Wharf Restaurant and Aquarium (I had the duck, and it was insanely delicious), and Wheelers Oyster Farm and Restaurant. This is Wheelers. 
It’s a beautiful building with lots of wood, glass, and stone. 
CJ drank a strongbow cider, and I had a raspberry lemonade. Can you guess what I ordered from my cutlery? 
And here it is. . . our appetiser. 
That’s what a mixed half dozen of cooked oysters looks like. Now here’s the thing: My Mum LOVES oysters, but she always eats them uncooked. It had never occurred to me to eat cooked oysters until I looked at the menu at Wheelers.
Those three oysters were the greatest oysters – the greatest three mouthfuls – of my life. If ever there was a time for florid prose, it was here. I carefully didn’t drink anything between the two courses – I just sat, quietly feeling the three flavours mingle like old friends. Then it was time to move on. But where to go from there? CJ had fish and chips. I had. . . 
Mmm. . . eyeballs. Inside the mound of food and sauce were three crabs that I slowly but surely broke open and ate. It was epic. The aftermath: 
We considered eating dessert – which of course would have been excellent – but I’m a purist when it comes to junk food (I look at the average chocolate cake and say, “Not enough lard!”) Thus, we bought candy for dessert on our way home. But I still remember my old friends Singapore, Rocky, and Plumrick. Don’t worry boys – we’ll meet again.
S#95: Paddle
“I’ve thought of something,” CJ said, “and now I’ve thought of it I can’t stop thinking of it.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“The wide sand bars here – they make the water warm up. Sharks like warm water.”
And so it was that CJ and I dressed in our fragile swimmers and walked hand in hand down the dark street to the black sea. It was a Wednesday night – a school night, here in Merimbula – and it was perfectly quiet. Hushed, you might say. Ominous.
We reached the sea and walked carefully across the springy grass – barefoot. This was the same night we drank a bottle of Moscato (mostly me, to be honest) and my imagination was on high alert. Also, since it was 11pm at night, my contact lenses were starting to pack it in and my vision was blurry.
Out of the quiet, we heard the lap, lap, lapping of tiny waves. The tide was high, almost hitting the base of the concrete steps. To the right was a long pier, deserted except for a single rescue boat (empty). A single light pole stood beside it, surrounded by a glittering halo of bugs endlessly circling.
All around, the hills of Merimbula rose up, sprinkled with lights.
In front, there was nothing but darkness. We clutched hands and ventured out onto a thin stretch of wet and compacted sand. Farther away from the rescue boat, we saw men shining torches into the shallow water, thrusting nets out ahead of them.
Something was alive in the water.
We half-stumbled forward, not sure where to find the water – feeling our way with our feet. I hit the water first, and a sudden slope underfoot where the shore was rapidly eroding. We walked out, moving smoothly – silent ourselves in the quiet scuffle of the waves. Standing still, I felt the sand trickling away under my bare feet.
The water was a pool of darkness, and cold. We didn’t drop hands. The sky was shrouded in clouds, cutting off the light of the stars.
“What was that?” said CJ. He wasn’t joking.
I screamed hysterically and ran for the shore.
We walked home in a reflective silence. But the important thing was that we lived.
PS I just found out that Rowena Cory Daniells plans to write another “King Rolen’s Kin” book after she finished the Outcast Chronicles. Yay!!!
S#73: Get away from it all
We’re here!
CJ and I are on our second honeymoon* at The Palms Apartments, Merimbula. This is precisely where we came on our original honeymoon, except this time we’re on the first floor – which means THIS time we have water views and a proper balcony.
The proper balcony (also, a portrait of the author in her night attire):
It also has a good-sized spa bath in the spare bathroom (having two bathrooms on our honeymoon was a very nice way to ease into sharing a room and house). And complimentary bubble bath, naturally. (Side note: I brought a little plastic duck I was given eons ago, thinking it was full of bubble bath. It wasn’t: it was bubble mix and a blower stick. Every so often, when I least expect it, bubbles float down into my vision. CJ’s guerilla instincts have been drawn out by a duck. Who knew?)
Other than various awesomenesses and beachin’ it, we will spend a lot of time mooching about. This is a Brown Brothers Moscato that I particurly like (and thus “tidied up” from the leftovers at the birthday part last week).
Yeah, this is the life.
Our apartment also has a feature I look for in companions and houses alike: eccentricity. All the Palms apartments (other than the giant Penthouse) are built very, very long so that everyone gets water views. Which is why visitors end up with hallways like this:
The far end is the front door and the main bedroom is right next to it. I’m taking the photo beside the kitchen/living area, which is also (rationally enough) where the AC is located. CJ and I spent the whole week saying things like:
“Hey look! The hallway has a vanishing point.”
“I’m going to fetch my phone from the bedroom. If I’m not back in half an hour it means I got lost.”
“Do we have any snacks for me to eat on the way?”
“I’d fetch the camera from our room, but it’s only three hours until dinner time.”
and so on.
CJ also pointed out it was an ideal location for Australian Rules Indoor Quidditch**. All you need to play is a long (and indestructable) hall and one of those bouncy balls that lights up when you hit them against something. You also require complete darkness.
One person throws the ball hard against a wall. It bounces several times as it goes toward the other person, who attempts to catch it based on the sudden flashes of light.
*repeat*
We considered playing it, but the light fitting is glass and the walls are plaster (which could break or get stained). Oh well.
Let me know if any of you manage to play Australian Rules Indoor Quidditch. . . it would make me so happy.
*not actually true. I don’t mention trips away online until we’re safely back home. So nyah.
**for which we tip our mutual hat to Nick, who has played it many a time.
#280: Kitten
When I was about ten, my family lived on a linguistics town in Papua New Guinea, where people came from around the world to learn some of the hundreds of local languages (we were support staff, keeping the town running).
We looked after a neighbour’s cat while her owners were visiting their home in America. The cat had kittens – five tiny warm bundles, blind and adorable. It was one of the happiest times in my life.
Today, CJ and I visited a friend’s farm and found a pack of kittens. CJ talked to the humans while I dissolved into one big squee.
#118: Lend a cat
As many of you are aware, CJ and I are about to leave on a second honeymoon (two years after the first one, booyah!) so now is the perfect time for an awesomeness I’ve been saving up for a while. When CJ and I go away, we shove the younger, more easygoing Ana into a pillowcase* and drop her at my parents’ house. Then we enlist a friend to housesit the remaining cat (plus fish, plants, etc). It means that each of our cats gets a kind of holiday, and our housesitting friend/s don’t have to deal with the complex and potentialy bloody rules of cat politics (who is allowed to sleep on the bed, who gets fed first, and so on).
Plus, my parents get a ball of fluff for a week or two.
The ball of fluff:
The individual of our household who most deserves a holiday:
We’re counting the days now!
Coming soon: S#73: Get away from it all. S#77: Beach. #112: Horseriding! #110: Ride a wave. And more!
*it’s calming. She travels quite well that way.
#273: Walk in Water
We’re staying in a John Knight Park childhood for one more day. The wonder of running water never quite runs out. John Knight Park has a wonderful bubbling series of miniature waterfalls leading to the lake. Love!
Next time you’re near water, take off your shoes and get in it. That’s an order.
#271: Snake!
There’s a park in Belconnen called John Knight Park, a grassy and shady expanse on the shores of Lake Ginninderra. As I child I picnicked there with my family, paddled in the water (with or without permission), and played on the playgrounds. As a teenager I attended Lake Ginninderra College (which in Canberra means Year 11 and 12), and wandered out between classes to daydream that one day I’d wander there with the boy I liked.
I’ve been there for parties, barbeques, and dates. I’ve walked from one end to the other countless times, and often fallen asleep in the soft grass.
But before I knew it as John Knight Park, I knew it as “The Snake Playground”. One of the playgrounds is a veritable castle of tin and plastic slides (the former is extra exciting on a hot day), ladders and poles and bridges – all leading up to the highest chamber, where numerous snakes weave in and out of the wall gratings, guarding (presumably) great and terrible treasures.
I distinctly remember screaming while one of those snakes slowly swallowed me whole (if memory serves, my brother was giggling. Typical). I also remember wrestling a two-headed fiend, screaming for my life.
But best of all, perhaps, is the distinctive bulge some other child left behind one fateful day.
I think it’s a rite of passage on the North side for children who’ve grown up to return to the snake platform and be quietly surprised that the snakes don’t writhe in an untamed mass – don’t even TRY to eat visitors – and are in fact made of metal and paint. AND, to add insult to injury, there’s less than half a dozen actual snakes – when memory states they were beyond counting. There’s a moment of grief as all the memories choose to either edit themselves into a different shape, quietly disappear, or defiantly stay themselves – bloodthirsty and triumphant.
Mine stayed. Naturally.
CJ’s stayed too. He grew up on a farm North of Canberra, so when his family visited the city they were drawn to John Knight Park just as mine was.
And it’s worth noting that my teenage daydreams turned out rather better than plausibility would suggest. Perhaps my childhood daydreams aren’t as silly as they seem.
So if you take a pleasant ramble through John Knight Park on a sunny day, don’t forget to cast your eyes upward – way up to the very heights of the highest playground. If the childhood giggles filtering down from above turn suddenly to screams of terror – run. And don’t look back.
#274: Three books in three days
On Friday I received a wonderful prize from http://ripping-ozzie-reads.com/: The entire “King Rolen’s Kin” trilogy by Rowena Cory Daniells.
They’re beautiful, aren’t they?
They’re also – as you may have guessed from my title – utterly gripping. I usually avoid epic family histories (although I’ve enjoyed Jack Whyte and Robin Hobb in the past) but Daniells knows how to instantly and permanently make her reader care about her characters. The stress was almost unbearable – particularly since “King Rolen’s Kin” is six people, three of whom carry the story (although Byren Kingson is definitely the main character, and deservedly so).
I read hundreds of books each year, and not many grip me so tightly. Within a few pages, I knew I’d struck reading gold.
Last year I felt this same delighted flush of discovery over Sandy Fussell, Scott Westerfeld, and Pamela Freeman (who neatly but coincidentally fall into the categories of children’s, young adult, and adult reading – this trilogy is probably M-rated, but suitable for most young adults). Among hundreds of books, those three stood out head and shoulders above everyone else. This year Daniells is the first to give me that sweet shock of discovery.
Unfortunately Daniells has one big fault the others don’t have: the endings don’t work in the same intense emotional way as the beginnings and middles. After finishing the three books, I should feel enormously satisfied and at peace. Every time my mind throws up a reminder of all the worry I felt over the characters, I should feel either completely happy or completely sad (depending on how it all worked out). But the enormous payoff/catharsis I was expecting didn’t quite happen.
I know what happened to everyone who matters; I know the fate of the kingdom. But I don’t feel it the way I should.
Since this is something critiquers have said to me in the past, I know exactly what the problem is: reactions. When someone dies in a book, the other characters need to grieve (or sometimes celebrate). There are a lot of devastating losses in the book – and one extraordinarily tragic choice – but the vast majority of deaths are barely touched on emotionally. There are lots of blossoming romantic relationships, too, and as a reader I need to feel sure how it “ended” – with a first kiss, a marriage, his/her marriage to a rival, or a death. And a heartfelt reaction of sorrow, if the relationship is lost – not just a few sentences in passing.
J.K. Rowlings spent too much time on Harry Potter’s feelings in the later books of the series (making readers wish he’d just shut up and move on). Daniells has gone in the opposite direction, where her characters barely blink to lose people that should stop them in their tracks (even if it was only for a few seconds in real time – the great advantage of a book is that a few seconds can fill several pages).
Daniells is a genius in three ways: Tension, characters, and sensory detail (the world felt completely real). I know her a little bit in the online sense, and I’m willing to bet her next trilogy is even better than this one.
I’m going to go and read it – but not until I have three days free in a row.
Felicity Banks 