2,950 kilometres north-west of Perth, in the middle of the Indian Ocean, lies the Cocos (Keeling) Islands- an Australian territory closer to Indonesia than Australia, and more reminiscent of a tropical paradise from a storybook than any part of Australia I've ever seen before. The population is about 600 people over the two inhabited islands and about a billion land crabs, who storm out onto the road to challenge vehicles or walkers with huge pincers aloft. I spent 6 weeks here working the kite season- smack bang in the middle of winter trade winds and with a huge flat water lagoon, our motto of 'just because I work here doesn't mean I actually "work" here' certainly rang true. I kited every day bar maybe 3, and that's because I spent them diving with manta rays, sharks of any and all lengths and the Cocos angelfish (a brilliant blue and yellow angelfish endemic to the Cocos Islands) on the healthiest reef I've ever seen. We built bonfires that denied the laws of gravity, stand-up paddled our way to uninhabited islands just to camp for the night, were surrounded by hermit crabs chasing scraps of our dinner, and snorkeled with dolphins lured in by the wake of the jetski. I kicked my shoes off the first day I arrived and didn't see them again until I fished them out from under the verandah for my departure day, leaving oh so brown and buzzing to come back as soon as possible.
A typical day on Cocos starts early, with the occasional sunrise kite (or more often a sunrise coffee), a big breakfast and then a hair-raising crab-dodging adventure to the beach. As the trade winds blow 24/7, there's no waiting around for thermal breezes to build up- you pump your kite up, run your lines and get straight out on the water. Chances are you'll see some little reef sharks zipping around in the shallows- only as long as your forearm, 'shark wrangling' (aka trying to catch these little cuties with your bare hands) is a favourite activity and a good cardio workout. There are sea turtles feasting on seagrass absolutely everywhere, prehistorically large and so so slow. The water is crystal clear and the lagoon thigh-deep, which is ringed by 27 islands and huge swaths of reef. Fishing on Cocos seems a little like cheating- while I initially thought Ben catching two fish with one lure was pretty damn impressive, once I went diving and realised it is practically an aquarium down there I downgraded my impressed-ness substantially. If the boys can't catch dinner for our house of six in less than an hour, it's a 'bad day' and a grumpy mood is indulged in by all.
With two lettuces costing the same as a bottle of rum, it will come as no surprise that the locals enjoy a drink as much as anyone (if not considerably more so). Scroungers golf on Thursdays is a particular highlight on the drinking/sporting calendar- I would hazard a guess that it is the only golf course in the world in which one plays alongside and crosses an international runway. The style of play somewhat resembles an attempt to herd cats, with balls shooting off in every which direction and much more care given to the location of the esky than the green. The natural progression of the golf game is to meander into the pub at sunset- definitely sans shoes and probably shirt by this point, everyone settles down for quiz night and burgers, debating the name for baby echidnas (puggles) and who lives in house 20 (still unsure on that one) until well into the night.
I loved the downscaling that living 'on island' brings. With one shop, one restaurant, one cafe and of course the one pub, the chaos of ok-I'll-meet-you-for-coffee-here-and-then-tram-to-the-city-for-lunch-there-and-then-and-then seems and is an entire world away. If you want to go shopping, well, you really can't- unless you're in the market for the aforementioned $13 lettuces or some local artisan salt, retail therapy is totally non-existent. Crime has gone the same way as shopping- everyone leaves everything unlocked, keys in ignition and kite gear in a shack on the beach. The only legal naughtiness that occurred while I was there was some inappropriate graffiti on the nose of the RAAF plane, and it turns out that was the RAAF guys. A life on Cocos is a life spent outside- whether it is catching dinner or catching waves, spotting birds or taking sunset walks on the beach, Cocos locals have their priorities straight (and their base tans strong).
When a friend asked me how I was enjoying Cocos recently, all I had to tell them is that I've already committed to come back for the entire season next year- almost three whole months of hurling myself into the tropical outdoors, and the magic vibe that permeates these coral atolls. My last weekend featured a rare visit from a mainland band, and after our Sunday Funday of a jetski trip across the lagoon, some epic adventure wreck diving, a decent amount of napping and some general floating-in-water-so-clear-as-to-be-invisible, we dolled ourselves up (ie had a shower and didn't rock up in bikinis) and headed to one of the beachside parks for some good old Aussie rock. At one point Johnnie (a local descendent of the original Australian owners of the Islands) stood and proclaimed he was off to get his machete, and reappeared with the heart of a coconut palm- an amazing crunchy cross between celery and peanut, that we macheted chunks off in between crazed dancing and flinging of limbs around. My feet twisted through sand as we leapt about in the light of an almost-but-not-quite full moon, and when the sweat slicked the hair to my cheeks the skies joined in with a brief but lush tropical shower- taking the heat from the dancing and a full day in the sun out of our bare skin. The energy in the air was palpable (unless there was an electrical storm I somehow missed) and I found myself feeling oh so very thankful that I had flown the 4.5 hours out here from Perth and chanced 6 weeks in the most remote place I've ever been. Returning to Melbourne has brought a return to shoes, to traffic, to jeans and to crowds, but also to the very best of friends, family, and those beautiful St Kilda sunsets... and a 5 week countdown to Japan and powder sweeeeet powder. 行くぞ！
A typical day on Cocos starts early, with the occasional sunrise kite (or more often a sunrise coffee), a big breakfast and then a hair-raising crab-dodging adventure to the beach. As the trade winds blow 24/7, there's no waiting around for thermal breezes to build up- you pump your kite up, run your lines and get straight out on the water. Chances are you'll see some little reef sharks zipping around in the shallows- only as long as your forearm, 'shark wrangling' (aka trying to catch these little cuties with your bare hands) is a favourite activity and a good cardio workout. There are sea turtles feasting on seagrass absolutely everywhere, prehistorically large and so so slow. The water is crystal clear and the lagoon thigh-deep, which is ringed by 27 islands and huge swaths of reef. Fishing on Cocos seems a little like cheating- while I initially thought Ben catching two fish with one lure was pretty damn impressive, once I went diving and realised it is practically an aquarium down there I downgraded my impressed-ness substantially. If the boys can't catch dinner for our house of six in less than an hour, it's a 'bad day' and a grumpy mood is indulged in by all.
With two lettuces costing the same as a bottle of rum, it will come as no surprise that the locals enjoy a drink as much as anyone (if not considerably more so). Scroungers golf on Thursdays is a particular highlight on the drinking/sporting calendar- I would hazard a guess that it is the only golf course in the world in which one plays alongside and crosses an international runway. The style of play somewhat resembles an attempt to herd cats, with balls shooting off in every which direction and much more care given to the location of the esky than the green. The natural progression of the golf game is to meander into the pub at sunset- definitely sans shoes and probably shirt by this point, everyone settles down for quiz night and burgers, debating the name for baby echidnas (puggles) and who lives in house 20 (still unsure on that one) until well into the night.
I loved the downscaling that living 'on island' brings. With one shop, one restaurant, one cafe and of course the one pub, the chaos of ok-I'll-meet-you-for-coffee-here-and-then-tram-to-the-city-for-lunch-there-and-then-and-then seems and is an entire world away. If you want to go shopping, well, you really can't- unless you're in the market for the aforementioned $13 lettuces or some local artisan salt, retail therapy is totally non-existent. Crime has gone the same way as shopping- everyone leaves everything unlocked, keys in ignition and kite gear in a shack on the beach. The only legal naughtiness that occurred while I was there was some inappropriate graffiti on the nose of the RAAF plane, and it turns out that was the RAAF guys. A life on Cocos is a life spent outside- whether it is catching dinner or catching waves, spotting birds or taking sunset walks on the beach, Cocos locals have their priorities straight (and their base tans strong).
When a friend asked me how I was enjoying Cocos recently, all I had to tell them is that I've already committed to come back for the entire season next year- almost three whole months of hurling myself into the tropical outdoors, and the magic vibe that permeates these coral atolls. My last weekend featured a rare visit from a mainland band, and after our Sunday Funday of a jetski trip across the lagoon, some epic adventure wreck diving, a decent amount of napping and some general floating-in-water-so-clear-as-to-be-invisible, we dolled ourselves up (ie had a shower and didn't rock up in bikinis) and headed to one of the beachside parks for some good old Aussie rock. At one point Johnnie (a local descendent of the original Australian owners of the Islands) stood and proclaimed he was off to get his machete, and reappeared with the heart of a coconut palm- an amazing crunchy cross between celery and peanut, that we macheted chunks off in between crazed dancing and flinging of limbs around. My feet twisted through sand as we leapt about in the light of an almost-but-not-quite full moon, and when the sweat slicked the hair to my cheeks the skies joined in with a brief but lush tropical shower- taking the heat from the dancing and a full day in the sun out of our bare skin. The energy in the air was palpable (unless there was an electrical storm I somehow missed) and I found myself feeling oh so very thankful that I had flown the 4.5 hours out here from Perth and chanced 6 weeks in the most remote place I've ever been. Returning to Melbourne has brought a return to shoes, to traffic, to jeans and to crowds, but also to the very best of friends, family, and those beautiful St Kilda sunsets... and a 5 week countdown to Japan and powder sweeeeet powder. 行くぞ！
