Darwin, Australia: Survival of a Down Underdog
By: Laura Boswell Source: AARP.org Date Posted: 2006-11-29 13:43:22.824008-05:00
By Laura Boswell
Charles Darwin never visited what would become his eponymous city on Australia’s far northern coast, the tropical "Top End" of the vast, dry Northern Territory. (John Lort Stokes, commander of the Beagle, named the port for his friend Darwin on a separate expedition in 1839.)
Darwin’s "survival of the fittest" theory, however, threw a shrimp on the bah-bie and made itself right at home in this relaxed city of 110,000. If Darwin knows anything, it’s survival. Throughout a history of isolation, cyclones and some especially persistent Japanese bombers, Darwin has regrouped and rebuilt again and again, a testimony to true Australian grit and tenacity.
Today Darwin is a small but thriving port city of wide streets, grassy plazas, open-air markets and sunsets that blaze over beautiful beaches. The closest Australian city to another country (East Timor), Darwin is known as "Australia’s front door" and the "gateway to Asia." Its resulting multiculturalism, easy pace and proximity to wetlands and the outback (Crocodile Dundee was filmed at nearby Kakadu National Park), make Darwin a unique and attractive destination, a far cry from the frontier outpost of cowboys, miners and pearlers it once was.
But evidence of its history—not to mention the diversity of flora and fauna at which Charles Darwin would have marveled--are everywhere, from World War II concrete bunkers half-buried on beaches and crackling with hermit crabs, to the crocodiles that lurk silent and surly in the harbor, to the broad, dark faces of the Aborigines, perhaps Darwin’s greatest survivors of all.
WWII Harbor Horror
I’ve come to Darwin between stops in Sydney and Cairns to visit my friend Ben, an Australian Army officer stationed at the large base just outside of town. It’s Easter Week, the fringe of the clear and pleasant Dry Season, and Ben was supposed to have leave. But he was called into work unexpectedly, so I’m exploring alone on my first day.
Unfortunately, because I was relying on him to be my guide, I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. I’ve read about Kakadu and Litchfield National Parks, where we’ll be hiking later in the week, but I haven’t boned up on Darwin itself. The guidebook I glanced over trumpeted "fish feeding" (whee!) and a "beer-can regatta" (sounds fun but it’s not until August) as two of Darwin’s high points. I’m a bit worried.
Luckily I find that Darwin City Centre makes for a surprising and easy "walkabout." My first stop is Mitchell Street, Darwin’s main drag of restaurants, hotels and nightclubs. I have breakfast at a sidewalk café, where my waiter answers every question with my favorite Australian phrase: "Cheers, no worries!" More coffee, please? Cheers, no worries! Where’s your ladies room? To your right there, cheers, no worries! What’s the meaning of life? Cheers, no worries! It’s an attitude I hope to internalize.
Being from Washington, I start my tour with the official stuff. Darwin is the capital of the Northern Territory, so here stand government buildings like the Parliament House and Supreme Court. Both are modern and stately, but with a tropical flair--palm trees instead of marble columns line the front entrances, and intricate Aboriginal mosaics adorn the floors. At the Parliament House, I poke my head into the empty gallery. Above the speaker’s podium is the kangaroo-emblazoned Territory coat of arms, and I chuckle, imagining the officials conducting Serious Government Business with marsupials over their heads.
Wandering northwest, I discover other landmarks, some quaint, like Brown’s Mart, a former mining exchange and now a theater; and some of immense importance, like the Overland Telegraph Memorial, a cairn marking the spot from which in 1871 far-flung, mysterious Australia first connected electronically with the outside world.
I walk along the green and dewy Esplanade to Bicentennial Park, with its shady paths, war memorials and bright vistas over Lameroo Beach. In the distance, Darwin Harbour is glowing still and azure, much calmer than Sydney’s, ever chugging with the foam of tourist ferries and sailboats.
But beneath the harbor’s calm surface lie sunken relics of tragedy. The display at historic vantage point Survivor's Lookout tells how on February 19, 1942, the Japanese bombed Darwin, by then a strategic military port, sinking 21 U.S. and Australian vessels and killing 243 people. The fleet was the same that had attacked Pearl Harbor, but this time with even more bombs. The Japanese would go on to attack Darwin 63 more times in 1942 and 1943. The events were the closest Australia ever came to war on its own soil.
The attacks devastated the city physically and its residents psychologically—never had Darwin, and therefore great and rugged Australia, been exposed as so resoundingly vulnerable. But with help from a growing military presence, and access to supplies and infrastructure via the accelerated construction of the Stuart Highway, Darwin would rebuild again. At least until 1974.
Cyclone Devastation
The next day, Ben is free and we drive (despite my exasperating inability to enter the correct side of the car) to the Museum and Art Gallery of the Northern Territory. It’s an impressive collection of Territory culture, maritime history, world-renowned indigenous art and unique flora and fauna like the box jellyfish, possibly the deadliest creature on earth, and a frequent visitor to Darwin Harbour.
To be honest, I’m most interested in seeing the museum’s most well-known resident, "Sweetheart," a 17-foot saltwater crocodile. Sweetheart had an intense dislike for outboard motors and regularly attacked fishing boats in the late 70s before his antics caused officials to attempt to remove him to a safer location. Unfortunately he was accidentally caught in a cable and drowned, and now lives on in stuffed splendor as a Territory icon.
But the Cyclone Tracy exhibit is truly compelling.
On Christmas Eve, 1974, Cyclone Tracy blasted Darwin like no recorded storm ever had before. Winds gusted so fast the measuring meter broke. Metal was bent in two, the thinly constructed post-war houses collapsed, boats were lifted and dashed into parking lots. Most of Darwin’s 48,000 residents were left homeless. In all, 67 people lost their lives, countless were injured and more than 25,000 had to be evacuated.
The experience is best conveyed when we enter a darkened room that plays a chilling tape recording one over-brave or under-sane man made of the storm at its height. Alone in the black, Ben and I hear the winds screaming, sheet metal scraping on concrete and rain pounding the rafters like bullets. Shuffling out blinking, Ben appears stunned. I, too, am affected, especially by a series of eerily familiar satellite photos showing Darwin before and after the storm.
"A bit like your Katrina," says Ben, and we leave the museum having lost our jolly mood.
But dining in the tony Cullen Bay neighborhood that evening reminds us that Darwin rebuilt once again into a safe and lovely city. We enjoy authentic (read: way spicier than my DC neighborhood joint) Thai food, then hit the Mitchell Street bars where we dance and drink with the hundreds of young, tan backpackers using Darwin as their jumping-off point for expeditions to Kakadu or Ayers Rock.
The Local Larrakeyah
Back at my hotel, hungry and brain humming at 1 a.m.—I’m still on American time—I scurry down to the lobby to assess the vending machine and find two completely naked young Aborigine girls, wild-haired and ink-black, chasing each other as their parents chatter nearby in a nasal, hypersyllabic tongue.
The Top End is home to the Larrakeyah Aborigines ("Australian indigenous peoples"). Darwin’s population is a quarter Aboriginal, the highest of any Australian city. Around town I see them everywhere, often barefoot, dressed in brightly patterned tropical shirts, sitting together in dusty clusters on the ground.
Noted by anthropologists as one of the world’s oldest races, Aborigines are, in a way, remarkable survivors. After two centuries of woes resulting from European colonization, slow but significant strides were made in the latter half of the 20th century to restore the indigenous peoples to full membership in society. And on paper they essentially are--Aborigines can vote; (some) traditional lands have been ceded back; shop signs proclaim "Aboriginal-owned."
But problems still abound. Alcoholism, crime and domestic violence are rampant in the Aboriginal community. And though racism may not be as overt in the 21st century, there seems to be a hesitation about them in Darwin, from the hotel clerk who warns me against leaving at night lest "the locals" give me trouble, to the druggist who asks me if I spotted the little indigenous girl who apparently nicked a soda from the freezer and ran.
"They’re so quick," the woman laments. Me too.
Crocodiles Crossing
Some of Darwin’s best survivors you may never see (or would want to) outside a zoo, like the Indo-Pacific Marine aquarium I take in when Ben is called into work again.
The small but delightful exhibit features rare live coral formations similar to those in Darwin Harbour as well as creatures whose colors and survival techniques would have amazed Charles Darwin himself—orange clownfish, purple dottybacks, the gnarled and nasty stonefish, and my favorite, "Priscilla," a decorator crab. These crafty crustaceans adorn themselves with seaweed and coral polyps as camouflage. Today she has chosen a frothy red ensemble, resembling an underwater can-can dancer.
The saltwater crocodile is sort of the unofficial spokes-reptile of the Top End and has enjoyed eons of success there. Signs by rivers and billabongs (inland ponds) warn against swimming, and yellow highway signs alert motorists to croc zones. Around 200 "salties" are removed from Darwin Harbour each year, and countless more inhabit the surrounding rivers. Many an unlucky soul has waded in for a dip or to reel in a barramundi only for a croc to yank them beneath to their doom.
With more than 1,000 salties, Darwin’s Crocodylus Park is part zoo, part breeding farm and part museum (complete with mesmerizing photos of croc victims and the final, turtle-centric contents of the aforementioned Sweetheart’s stomach).
Unfortunately the salties aren’t cooperating today. The keeper, Stuart, is trying to goad them, but they’re accustomed to these regular feedings and are relaxing in the sun like long green lumps. Still, I do get some excitement when Ben finds a leech in his sock and performs a dance rather unbecoming a strapping Aussie soldier.
We have better luck my last day in Darwin with the Jumping Crocodile Cruise along the nearby Adelaide River. As the crew dangles chicken pieces over the sides of the boats, crocodiles glide in from the shore like toothy torpedoes, disappear, then explode from the water and claim their prize.
Meanwhile, the captain tells us about "Joe," a construction worker who, very tan, shirtless, and wearing cut-off jeans, once fell off a bridge into the Adelaide and floated 800 agonizing meters to safety, presumably by remaining completely still as an unappetizing dark log.
The German tourists with us look surprised. I'm not. Of course he survived--this is Darwin.
Related Links
Wikipedia: Darwin, Northern Territory, Australia
Our Darwin: Pictures and Information About Darwin, Northern Territory
Books
Find these books online at Borders.com
Lonely Planet Northern Territory and Central Australia
Mariners Are Warned! John Lort Stokes and H. M. S. Beagle in Australia 1837-1843
North of Capricorn: The Untold Story of Australia's North
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