Springtime for Hitler and...Melbourne

Well, spring has begun to settle itself into the landscape here. As the sun makes more and more appearances, I can tell time by the elongation of shadows across my balcony, and it's starting to feel like my stay here is coming full-circle. The flowers had long since died when I arrived in Melbourne in the height of February's fever, but when I step outside my apartment there's a feeling--a breeze, the faint scent of dry earth and lemon myrtle and eucalyptus--that takes me right back to where I was the moment I landed. It's the same but different. I'm the same but different.

All over the city nature is beginning to realize the color of itself. Before I came here I never enjoyed the smell of wisteria because the giant vines that crawl up the side of our house (and into the guest room--as in...through the window) always overpowered every other scent in the yard. Now, though, because I'm so far from home, I don't mind it so much. In fact, I might love it.

I've been going on a series of long photography walks through the residential neighborhoods near my apartment and campus. Parkville, which is located just across Royal Parade from the University of Melbourne, is full of gorgeous architecture and curling iron railings and gardens literally spilling through and over their fences. The streets were quiet and the characters ceaselessly amusing. The highlight of my experience was most assuredly a young boy (probably around age eight or nine) dressed in all white, riding down the footpath on his razor scooter screaming the lyrics to "Hey There Delilah" at the top of his prepubescent lungs.

I think in another life I had lemon trees, because every time I see them I'm overcome by an inexplicable nostalgia for a time that I don't remember. I wish I lived in a citrus-conducive climate. While I love venturing to the garden for a handful of snap peas or cherry tomatoes or plump blueberries, I think plucking a lemon or an orange dangling above my head would be so much more satisfying. However, I could do without the palm trees that always seem to accompany the citruses. I never knew it before I came here, but I don't really like them. I feel like they're a cliche of themselves, and especially in a city like this that is so modern and metropolitan and frindy (frigid and windy), I find them to be severely out of place.

You can't tell from this photo, but just beyond the sand and sidewalk is a grassy park bisected by a tree-lined pathway. It's called University Square and it's right across the street from the main campus entrance. I spent the afternoon studying there the other day, and it felt so strange being back on the grass in the sun in a place I hadn't been since my friends were here in the fall. I'm almost gone and I still miss them. I don't think I'll ever stop. There's something about meeting in a foreign country that makes you family in a way nothing else can.

Again, this is University Square without the grass. I don't think the wisteria is blooming anymore--neither are the cherry trees for that matter--but I love knowing the kind of beauty that can exist in a place even when that beauty has crawled into hibernation.

These little spiky poms remind me of the berries that grew at my elementary school in the strips of bark and dirt between the playground and the buildings. They would grow yellow on the bush, then turn a sort of fiery orange-red as soon as they fell. Next to "Indian beads"--tiny colorful plastic cylinders that bulged at each end and for which my friend and I would hunt religiously during recess--the pom berries were the next best find, albeit more plentiful.

Apollo Bay (aka If You've Ever Lost a Sheep, I Guarantee You it Wound Up Here)

For the first week of my spring break, an Australian friend and I spent five days in a small town called Apollo Bay on the Great Ocean Road, sandwiched between koala-populated Lorne and the Otway National Park. Getting there was probably my favorite part (don't tell Mish!), as it was my first time on the V-line (intercity/interstate) train, followed by an absolutely gorgeous 2.5-hour bus ride along the curving cliffs of the Great Ocean Road. It was the same road down which my orientation was held for semester one, and it was wonderful--albeit a smidge heartbreaking--to see all the places I'd been with my friends at the beginning of my time here, back when they weren't my friends quite yet. We passed the beach where I'd learned to surf, passed the Surf Museum and pizza restaurant where we'd gone on our first outing, passed the entrance to Camp Eumeralla--the boyscout camp where we ate and slept and grew into family.

Apollo Bay is a quaint little hamlet nestled along the coastline at the base of miles and miles of green waves of "paddocks" sprinkled with sheep and the occasional white horse that looked like it was straight out of a load of bleached laundry. The town is spread along the length of one main road. Side roads run perpendicular to it but don't really lead anywhere. Everything is on the main shot: the cafes and restaurants, news stands and ice creameries, real estate agencies and souvenir shops. Mish and I spent the majority of our time in town (our cabin was about a 20-minute walk from the excitement so once we neared the shops we were generally there for a while) sitting at a table on the sidewalk outside The Bay Leaf Cafe sipping our coffees (and by coffee, I mean Mish had coffee. I, of course, did not) and watching burly surfers strut along the beach with their boards wedged under their arms as storm clouds shot in from the west. These clouds were the product of the same storm in South Australia that unsettled enormous plumes of dust in the outback that blanketed Sydney and parts of Queensland in dry, powdery red.

Convinced that we were in a different location along the GOR where my friends and I had previously seen a koala resting in a tree right next to the road, I went on a three-hour walk to find the abovementioned koala. Yes, I expected to see the exact same one. Because we were not, as I had suspected, right outside Lorne, I never found my koala. Nothing but waterlogged sand and gigantic puddles and half-crushed snails and signs that read "Beach Access" with arrows pointing in both directions. It was a very nice walk, though, even without the wildlife spotting.

The majority of our stay was meant to be dedicated to writing, but as you can probably guess (and for most people who are reading this, you've already heard this so it's no surprise) I did zero writing. Actually, that's a lie. I copied part of a Skype conversation I'd had with a very intelligent and humorous friend and pasted the quotes into a new Word document with the intention of using them as the basis of a story. That didn't happen. Instead of writing, I went on walks. A lot of walks. I took my camera down the beach, down the road, to the marina, into the grocery store, into the hills. Mish christened me a "camera whore" until I pointed out that if I were a camera whore, I would be using multiple cameras.

Random fact 1: this clothesline is called a Hills Hoist and is entirely Australian. You can't really see it very well, but it has four poles sticking out horizontal to the ground and the line is strung like a spider's web between them. It's brilliant. Random fact 2: In addition to the Easter bunny, Aussies also have an Easter bilby. Check it out: http://www.itsnature.org/wp-content/uploads/2008/03/bilby.jpg. I want one. So badly. Christmas, perhaps...?

This is basically what the sky looked like for the duration of our stay. I think Zeus knocked over the blue food coloring. And the water was freezing. And not just the water--everything about this vacation was cold. Mish had failed to mention that the cabin did not come equipped with sheets or blankets, and when I showed up at the train station without a sleeping bag, she looked at hers, shrugged, and said, "We'll make it work." Supposedly you could rent blankets from Reception, but we kept forgetting to check. As a result, freezing Olivia was forced to sleep underneath the mattress pad. Laugh all you want, but you would have done the same thing. A mattress pad with Mish's fleece "dressing gown" (nightgown) spread out on top. Very classy.

Apart from our frequent walks, we spent an unhealthy amount of time eating chocolate and popcorn and watching episodes of House, CSI, and Law & Order: SVU on my computer in the cabin's kitchen/living room. On the rare occasions when the sun would make an appearance, we sprinted down the hill so fast that anyone witnessing our mad dash probably thought we feared the sun would burn out the next day.

Apollo Bay has a tiny little marina with a disproportionate amount of crab traps. Those fishermen could have supplied the entire U.S. naval fleet with cages (that is, of course, if the U.S. Navy took up crabbing as a side business). The wind was so strong that I had to steady my camera on any nearby post or cement wall or anything stable just so I could get a focused picture. The sand was whipping so fast and so sharply that I seriously thought it had scratched the lens.

On our final evening we trekked up the road to Mariner's Lookout (signs spelled it with both one and two Rs and Mish and I argued over which it should be) as the sun was falling. It was a steep and exhausting but relatively quick hike, and the view was stunning. The GOR follows along the edge of all those cliffs in the distance--it's one of the most incredibly beautiful roads I've ever ventured down. I won't say it is the most incredibly beautiful road because doing so would mean cheating on my beloved Orcas Island, but it's definitely up there. It's touched by something wild, this road and this town and this entire country. Touched by something raw and savage that stuns and awes and erases your vocabulary. It's this wildness that left me vaguely uncomfortable the whole time I was there. I missed the quietude of Orcas, the sheltered streets and softer tides. And unlike the ones at home, I think the sheep here are out for blood.

20 Things I Wish I'd Known Prior to Arrival in a Foreign Country

20. Words like "cute" and "precious" would be endlessly mocked by my Australian friends.
19. Whipped cream would exist in all places except the grocery store.
18. The library would evidently discourage studying on weekends, as it closes at 5 (which is generally before I even realize that I have work to do).
17. A large portion of my television shows online would be unavailable to audiences outside the U.S.

16. I'd have to mortgage my parents' house to pay for a bottle of lotion that actually helped with dry skin (don't worry Mom and Dad...I didn't!)
15. "Nose Goes" would be horribly misconstrued by my favorite tutor to suggest that I was volunteering to lead a class discussion on my definition of radical fiction.

14. I would not have access to an oven.
13. I would not be able to bake cookies. See 14.
12. If I wanted a chai or hot chocolate on a gloomy Sunday afternoon, I would have to make it myself because there would be no cafes open to make it for me.
11. An almost-hot sunny afternoon would transform into a full-on apocalyptic thunderstorm in approximately four seconds.
10. Pancakes would naturally adopt the consistency of flabby skin.

9. Australians would swallow the article in an average sentence--as in, "I'm going to hospital" rather than "I'm going to the hospital"--and then deny such a nuance of their speech.
8. Buying a piece of ginger would cost me my first-born. Because I do not yet have a first born, I have taken out an IOU. I now owe my own flesh and blood to a squat Italian vendor with a lisp at the Queen Victoria Market.

7. Milk would be labeled in terms of its projected effects on your physique. (Non-fat = skinny; whole = full).
6. The phrase "Who do you root for?" would suddenly turn dirty.
5. My today would be everyone else's tomorrow.
4. In terms of cars, Elf was right: the yellow ones really don't stop.

3. My cat would not recognize me through my Skype webcam.
2. It would take me six months to locate the cage-free eggs in Woolworths.
1. There would, unfortunately, be NO kangaroos hopping up and down the sidewalks in the middle of the city.

The Good Barrier Reef

After an exhilaratingly stressful shuttle ride to the airport with a driver who found it entirely necessary to inform each new passenger that he had to return the bus to the "depot" as soon as he got back into the city, we were off on our great Reef adventure. The flight was smooth, though without the presence of our favorite flight attendant Magic (whose absence we should have noted as the biggest portent in the history of portents) it was somewhat lonely. Upon arriving in Mackay, we descended the metal stairs from the airplane onto the tarmac and were blasted with a 90-degree burst of wind. From mid-winter to mid-summer (but still winter...not to confuse you) in two hours. Pigs are a-flyin'.

I'll spare you the horrific details of exactly how it was that we made it from the Mackay airport to our quaint little hostel in Airlie Beach. We made it, that's all that matters. We settled into our little four-person cabin complete with its own bathroom, kitchen, and patio with a picnic table and a hammock, and went off in search of food. The path wound along the coastline, so as the sun set we got gorgeous views of the beach and Abel Point Marina from where our tour would depart the next morning for the Whitsunday Islands.

None of us were in the greatest of moods (due entirely to the fateful events that took place prior to our arrival in Airlie Beach), but we managed to find a cheap pizzeria with a Buy One Get One Free deal that appealed to us probably because we hadn't eaten anything at all that day (see above parentheses). After a quick meal we ambled on back to our hostel along the starry coast and, with the wish that we could redo the entire day, finally fell asleep.

We awoke early the next morning in time for a few Morning Coffee biscuits and a quick stroll to the marina where we were just in time to meet our departing boat tour. Calamity of the Day #1 (but luckily there weren't any more): our names weren't on the list of passengers. Fan-tastic. The crew was incredibly friendly and helpful, though, and we got the issue sorted out immediately. Once things were underway and the boat had left the harbor, the stresses of the previous day seemed to dissipate faster than the morning chill. We sat at the rear of the boat and took pictures of the passing islands, of the sailboats that, from a distance, looked like bath toys nodding in a child's wake.

Our first stop was Hook Island. The Whitsundays are all reef islands, but not really considered by Australians to be part of the reef. Hook, however, is surrounded by a sentry of coral that guards its shores from clumsy tourists in snorkel masks who don't know how to take their trash with them. We spent an hour or so snorkeling in the reef near where the boat was anchored, then climbed back on board and headed for Luncheon Bay where we ate a delicious buffet lunch that the crew had set up on the back of the boat...while it was moving. I was very impressed.

Stop two was Whitehaven Beach on Whitsunday Island. It had, without a glimmer of a doubt, the finest, whitest, most beautiful sand and the bluest, most tantalizingly perfect water I have ever seen. We spent two hours here strolling along the water, burying our legs in the sand, taking pictures, and combing the beach for any trace of shells. We also did what we consider an outstanding job of avoiding Marie, the tour's photographer. Nothing against her as a person--we thought she was sweet and darling and I personally was intrigued by her chin piercing and camo capris (I almost wrote pedal-pushers because I couldn't think of the un-outdated term)--but the poses she was having people do were absolutely ridiculous. One man had to lean forward while Marie instructed his wife or girlfriend or sister or daughter or whoever she was to drape herself over the man's back. Awk-ward. Marie had approached Amber and Zoe (my friends) about taking our picture because she was fascinated by the fact that they're twins, but we were swift and nimble and managed to escape the snap of her shutter, a job for which we congratulated ourselves once we were safely back on the boat.

Our final stop of the day was on the other side of Whitsunday Island, where we went on a quick hike through a sea turtle nesting ground (unfortunately, no turtle sightings to speak of) up to a lookout point that afforded an incredible view of Whitehaven Beach where we had just been. It was all turquoise water and white sandbars stretching off into the distance, and it was the perfect end to a perfect solution to an awful, horrendous previous day.

Still riding the good mood from the day before, we woke up early once again and headed to the bus stop where a free shuttle sent by the tour company would be arriving at precisely 7:10. Which it did, with one little problem: it didn't stop. We waved frantically at the driver as he drove past, but he just stared at us and hit the gas. We were puzzled. About three minutes later another shuttle stopped so all was well, but it was still an alarming start to an otherwise flawless day. We boarded the ginormous Cruise Whitsundays catamaran, and after making a brief stop at both Daydream Island and Hayman Island to pick up more passengers, began our two-hour (sorry, Gilligan) journey to the reef. We docked at a pontoon (pictured here) that has been moored at this location for four years, and it was basically a wonderland on water. It had everything: a glass-bottomed boat and a semi-submersible (both staffed with a marine biologist), an underwater observatory, roped-off areas to snorkel, a sun deck with lounge chairs, a covered massage area, all snorkel and scuba equipment, and the only waterslide on the Great Barrier Reef!

While Zoe and Amber changed into wetsuits and went snorkeling, I hopped onto the semi-submersible. If there were any deadly animals in close proximity to the pontoon (which was anchored at Knuckle Reef), I wanted to see them first where they couldn't pose a threat to me. It's a good thing, too, because otherwise I would not have met a man and a woman--cousins--from Seattle, and definitely would not have learned that if you cut your finger underwater at or below 10 meters, your blood looks green. Now that is vital information if you ask me!

I still have yet to develop the pictures I took with my underwater camera, but this gives you a clue of what the reef looks like. Evidently coral (this is not coral) is closely related to jellyfish, so if you touch it it not only cuts you but it stings you. There's a type called fire coral that makes your hand sear about five minutes after contact. You're not supposed to touch anything underwater anyway, but I was not in the mood for pain so I was extra careful. We were docked at the pontoon for four hours which was plenty of time to explore everything and to take so many pictures that I swear people were concerned for my mental health. To be honest, I was too.

I had acquired, the previous day, what I have christened my Near-Miss Sunburn (meaning I nearly missed seeing it...until I caught a glance of my back before getting into the shower) so I had to be overly cautious about sun exposure. This turned out not to be a problem because there was a rack of wetsuits on the pontoon near the changing rooms. I could have used some professional guidance when it came to picking out my size, though. The ones that looked big enough around the abdomen were approximately one and a half times the length of my body. I selected one that looked like the right length, but as it turned out it was an XXS (I don't care which island of Denial Land you're currently vacationing on, but I am NOT an XXS) and I ended up completely paranoid that I would rip it while bending down to put on my flippers. No catastrophes though.

On the ride back to Airlie Beach the crew popped Finding Nemo into the DVD player, which I thought was quite appropriate. We pulled into Abel Point right as the sun was setting, and joined our fellow mob of sun-drowsy, delirious tour-goers as they clammered to the parking lot to await the shuttle back to our accommodations. Once back at the hostel, we made a quick trek into town for some food. We had discovered the day before that the grocery store closed at 5:30, so we were forced to order take-away from a Thai restaurant that had, in its little refrigerator by the door, a green drink called "reduced sugar Aloe" that made me not want to eat. I did though (don't worry!) and we finished the evening/night with some ice cream, some possum-watching, some showering, and a whole lot of sleep. Up the next morning for our drive back to Mackay, and once again back to the middle of winter. I was ready, though. I think the cold runs in my blood.

48 Hours in Sydney

I have recently met the end of yet another friend visit, and it was glorious. Two friends from school flew down to the ol' southern hemisphere for two weeks, and we packed more travel into those weekends than I could have ever imagined. Weekend one: Sydney. We left frigid Melbourne in the morning and were greeted, an hour and a half later, by our very first Opera House sighting. This was taken from the plane, and we were totally not expected that we'd actually fly over it, so it was a wonderful surprise. Plus the weather in Sydney was infinitely better than Melbourne's.

Our hostel--the Original Backpacker's in Kings Cross--was located in such close proximity to the Opera House and the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the botanical gardens that it only took us about 20 minutes to get there by foot (give or take five because we dawdled). Unbeknownst to us, the hostel was also in the heart of "the Cross"--Sydney's major drug and prostitution district (I think it needs to be said that this discovery was made the evening after my friends and I had commented that we "would love to live on this street. It's so cute!" To anyone planning a trip to this lovely city, I would advise leaving Circular Quay before 5:30 when they lock the gates to the botanical gardens and force you to navigate your way down poorly lit streets with discarded needles gathering a layer of leaves along the street gutters. Totally sketch. Anyhoo, this picture was taken from Mrs. Macquarie's Chair at the northernmost tip of the gardens, looking out onto Sydney Harbour.

There were dozens of these trees lining the footpath that wound around the top of the gardens along the harbor. If the weather had been more sinister, I think I would have imagined each bundle of fibers (spelled "fibres" here--"fee-brays" as I like to say) as the scalp of some innocent tourist that got to close to the temperamental tree. However, since the weather was not sinister, these tiny coiled branches looked more like arborial mops, or spaghetti spilling through someone's fingertips.

I love this sign. I don't understand why every sign in the universe can't invite us to talk to the birds...which you can bet your butt I did. I don't think they liked me very much, though, because the cockatoos kept their distance and I'm pretty sure that the "crazy birds"--what Zoe and I later came to learn when we were flipping through the pages of a bird identification guide in our hostel were white ibises--were camera-shy. Or maybe they shared the aboriginal belief that photographs steal a part of your soul. Either way, they were having none of the whole situation.

Who knew that the roof of the Opera House actually looked like this? I always thought it was a patternless white! Each of these tiles is about the size of my fist, and they have a sort of yellow tinge about them. I also had no idea that the building itself is not entirely connected. Practically each arc is its own structure--I think there are about four in total. I guess every image I've seen of this building has been a profile shot, so I've never, until now, gotten the sense of disconnectedness. But what an incredible piece of architecture.

We were starving at this point, having spent hours in transit and even more hours wandering around Circular Quay taking 30 pictures of the exact same thing. I think right after I took this we headed off toward the ferry wharf to find dinner. From our table we had a lovely view (once the ferry departed, of course) of Luna Park--the amusement park that's a replica of the original in Melbourne--and the Harbour Bridge. Even though we later found ourselves winding through dodgy back alleys and up abnormally steep staircases to get back to our hostel, it was quite the successful evening.

At the onset of our second day, we decided it would be a splendid idea to walk across the entire city to the aquarium and the Chinese Garden of Friendship (I'll pause here a moment so you can collect yourself. The Chinese Garden of Friendship is nothing to be scoffed at). As we neared the end of Victoria Street, we noticed a mass of people gathering on the overpass that crossed above William Street. The closer we came to the intersection, the more people we saw. Then we heard the helicopters. Of course, being us, we were completely clueless. "Maybe the Prime Minister is in town?" we thought. We turned down William, weaving in and out of patches of onlookers, past policemen guarding red plastic barricades, to the one cafe in the entire city that was open on a Sunday morning. We still had no idea what all the commotion was about...until the starting gun. The City to Surf. 75,000 people, 14 kilometers. According to the baristo (male barista--duh), it's the largest timed race in the world. We had managed to find ourselves in the middle of the busiest street in the universe at the instant that it became so. Good work, team. Needless to say, we were trapped for about 20 minutes while the first heat swept through. We kept walking once the sidewalks were clear, only to be ambushed by yet another group of runners. We had to turn down a side street and go the long way (as if there were a short way!) to the garden and the aquarium. Personally I think it's a skill that we were able to find flights and accommodation over Sydney's busiest weekend of the year.

It was mind-blowing how much this city reminded me of Seattle. Maybe not so much in this shot, but this entire area of Darling Harbour looked like a slice of my beloved homeland. According to a family friend, the mayor of Sydney visited Seattle some time ago and officially declared the two to be sister cities. Apparently there's a plaque somewhere.

The Sydney Aquarium was a sight to behold. Amber had a hard time dragging me and Zoe away from the pot-bellied seahorses (yes, we spent the majority of our time staring at an animal that we can see in any aquarium at home), but it's a good thing she did because otherwise we would have missed out on the magical plexiglass tube that wound through the water where you could watch sharks and rays come at you from all sides. Who needs the adrenaline of skydiving when you have the knowledge that only a small piece of plastic separates you from a deadly underwater creature?

The most useful location markings I have ever seen. Although clearly, since you can read what it says, we are not there. It should read: "You are five feet east of this point, leaning against the railing that won't let you actually stand here." This was long the Bondi-Coogee Trail the wound over the tops of sandstone cliffs along Sydney's coastline. It was absolutely breathtaking!

Looking out over Bronte Beach. We sat on that strip of sand in the distance and sipped our freshly squeezed juices from a shop up the street. Rather than write out "pineapple" whenever it was an ingredient, they shortened it to "pine." We were wary to order a drink that we though had some form of tree extract, but none of us are dead yet! It was the perfect way to say goodbye to a gigantic, beautiful city that I hope I'll have the chance to see again!

"I'M Marian Cotesworth Hay!"

I don't think I could adequately explain how wonderful it was to have my best friend visit me in a foreign country. It's been almost six months since I've seen anyone I love from home. It happens quite a bit here that I forget who I am without them--I start believing that I don't have a personality anymore, that I'm fake and shallow and no one really knows me. Having Sara here was more life validation than I could have ever asked for. This shot was from one our first excursions: we trammed to the Shrine of Remembrance, wandered around the observation deck, and then strolled through the Royal Botanical Gardens where Sara taught me how to use T9 on my cell phone (now I actually know how to text!).

The minute it looked like the sun would last for longer than ten minutes, we hopped on a train to Brighton Beach with my IES friends Julia and Sara (not confusing at all!). Though the sky was perfectly clear, the wind brought the temperature down to a frigid 500-below. Approximately. But we still popped off our shoes and strolled barefoot amongst the cracked shells and recently-deceased jellyfish. We didn't stick around for too long, but it was a great trip nonetheless.

Having experienced the splendor (I'd like it to be noted that the first time I typed that word I spelled it with a U. I've been in a former British colony too long!) of Australian Rules Football several months ago, I can now say with confidence that no trip to Australia is complete without attending a game. Sara and I had tickets for what I came to learn was one of the biggest games of the year: the Collingwood Magpies against the Carlton Blues. Now, I've had my issues with magpies in the past (you may recall the incident in which one of them flew into the side of my head) but I was willing to give the team a chance...and it's a good thing I did! They were amazing and pummeled poor Carlton into the ground. Plus they were definitely the more attractive of the two teams.

The stands look fairly empty in this shot, but believe me--they filled up quickly! The fan count at the end of the night was 85,000! Not too shabby if you ask me, especially for Sara's virgin footy experience!

Because IES students are prohibited from driving this semester due to insurance reasons, we had to scrap our plans to drive the Great Ocean Road. I was planning on showing Sara real live kangaroos and koalas in the wild, but we were forced to settle for seeing real live kangaroos and koalas in the Melbourne Zoo. Which was perfect because if we'd just seen them on the GOR we wouldn't have seen this koala baby! We seriously stood and watched him (or her) for a half hour. So so cute. I can't get over it.

This was a very slippery pig. Peccary, actually. Very slippery. This was toward the end of our zoo visit, which we thought would only take us about an hour and laughed when we read on the website that it takes most people around four. Guess how long we were there. Go ahead. Guess. That would be four. Four magical hours.

I never get tired of this animal. It blows my mind how they manage to balance themselves using their tails, and how high they jump when they run. Oh, to be a kangaroo. Yes please.