So I bitch a lot about living in Darwin. At any one time, I’m complaining because it’s
- a backwater with no Myer or David Jones
- tooooooo far from the ‘rest’ of Australia
- far too hot and humid, or just plain hot
- devoid of winter*
You get the picture.
When we found out our option post-Kyiv was Darwin or bust, I was surprised at the number of people who expressed interest in visiting the Territory. Surprise because, it was one place that I was never really fussed on visiting. Oh sure, everyone wants to ‘do’ Kakadu. Go to Litchfield National Park. Visit Nitmiluk National Park (Katherine Gorge). For me, it was something I’d do… one day.
When I got here, I wasn’t interested in leaving town. When I finally settled in a little, I was too afraid to go anywhere for fear of getting bitten my mozzies bearing Ross River Fever or some such nasty, or getting eaten by a Saltwater Crocodile.
(Maybe the short version of this story is that I was suffering reverse culture shock combined with a severe case of extended-settling-in-itis).
However, March rolled around and my mother and aunt visited Darwin. And in four days I packed more Territorian action into my life than I had since I moved here.
And that inspired us, two weeks later, to visit the ancient and beautiful Kakadu National Park. A whirlwind trip that saw us take in about 700 kms in two days, visiting flooded wetlands and watching ancient beasts traverse the ancient ecosystem.
When I looked at my beautiful photographs (1 per cent perspiration, 99 per cent perfection of subject), I really appreciated my big ‘back yard’.