Bushwalking with Cockatoo Paul

July 3, 2012 cnt'd:
My adventures with driving did not elate me as much as my skydiving adventure and despite all my new fearlessness, it made me anxious. I had special difficulty remembering that in addition to driving on the wrong side of the road, all of the indicators and buttons and whatever would be on the opposite side of the steering wheel as well. I had an annoying habit of putting on the windshield wipers everytime I tried to indicate a turn (which is more often than most people would do anyway). This tendency drove my co-pilot, Jay, crazy. She took to smacking me every time I got it wrong, which was extremely effective and left me only with the challenge of navigating my way through roundabout after roundabout and remembering that my rearview mirror was over my left shoulder. (Only!)

Finally, we reached the Arts Factory hostel where we would spend our first night camping out in our van, where we would learn just how special our Jucy really was. We named her Ray-Jay, short for Reject Jucy, based on her many deficiencies. In addition to the replaced battery, we learned it took multiple tries to lock all the doors, the music sometimes played on one side of the van, the A/C didn't reach the back of the vehicle, one of the lights inside the vehicle was out, the propane tank for the barbecue in the back ran out, the sliding door sometimes refused to shut and the DVD player turned black when the music or noise was too loud. We learned this last one while trying to review our DVDs from the jump so that we could laugh about how everyone reacted. Brittney and I each seemed to have a bit of a romantic encounter with our European instructor, which seemed less special when we realized it had happened to both of us.

 

As we walked to the entrance of the hostel, we were accosted by a man with a white and yellow cockatoo perched on his shoulder and a spear in his hand. I am not joking. It was an actual spear. He was the type of guy you would pointedly avert your eyes from on a bus or in an elevator for fear of sparking a conversation, but the girls were drawn in by his beautiful bird who revelled in the attention. Cockatoo Paul, as he called himself, had a buzz cut, except for a small braided rat tail at the back of his head with a single feather from his bird affixed to the end. He was the definition of "bogan" and he insisted that we join him on a "bushwalk". We excused ourselves because we had to sign in to the hostel, but he had the receptionistdo a speed check-in before he escorted us to the starting point.

The group he had assembled reflected the culture of Byron Bay. We had the impression that the hostel was a hippy commune. More than one of the other bushwalkers was openly getting high. Shops in Byron Bay sold marijuana and other herbs. (I still don't know if this was legal). Dreadlocks were everywhere. We felt a little out of place. Cockatoo Paul taught us about Aboriginal traditional plant uses. We found plants that stored water, painted our hands with natural mineral sunblock, ate edible flowers, found a plant that stops hemorraghing, one that stops nipples from chapping (his words, not mine) which also serves as a excellent source of iron, and learned to throw his spear. He taught us which plants were best for building shelter and he made a basket for us out of a palm frond.

The most memorable lesson I learned on this adventure was how to find the best tree bark to use for toilet paper. Unsolicited, he shared with us that as a poor kid growing up, his family couldn't afford toilet paper and that he would often use newspaper. We found a tree with the proper bark -- which could also be used for starting fires, constructing mattresses -- and he showed us the technique for making the bark soft enough to use for toilet paper.... mainly repeated scrunching and unscrunching of the bark until the fibres were weakened. This one demonstration has saved me in many situations involving public toilets throughout my travels. Notably, I discussed my experience at the hockey arena in Lyon. I was recently saved at the Gentlemen of the Road tour in Simcoe, ON by using the scrunching technique on the toilet paper roll. Essentially, Cockatoo Paul reminded me that travelling is about being resourceful.

At the end of our bushwalk, he asked for donations for the Kangaroo Creek Survival Camp which trains young Aboriginal children in their own traditions, essentially to provide them with opportunities to work in tourism, but also to promote the longevity of those traditions. We finished off the night with a quick trip for some groceries (highlighted by someone offering to open my beer for me after, presumably, watching me struggle to open it on a tree and on a rock... not so resourceful after all), tailgating for dinner and coming to the conclusion that after a few days living out of a van sporting wild hair and  some bulky hiking books that I might as well embrace my inner bogan, too.