Melbourne and the Little Penguins

Okay, so where was I? Oh yes. Time to go to Melbourne. I was immensely pleased, because we fled Sydney in overcast, rainy skies, and when we arrived in Melbourne, the sun shone brightly, every so often peeking through children's book clouds. In other words: Happy.

Along the Yarra River in an area of town called Southbank:

Also: Hungry. It was lunchtime, and we meandered hurriedly around the streets and laneways of Melbourne looking for lunch that wasn't a mullion dollars. Flinders Lane granted us a terrific little sandwich shop with a brick-size (but not consistency) frittata for me. Satiated, we grabbed some stuff to bring along for dinner (where we discovered the best ginger ever but I'll get to that later if I remember) made our way back to the hotel in time for the Philip Island penguin tour.

In case it's not already evident, I'm not a fan of group tours. Especially large ones. But you make some concessions, and it was the only way we were going to get to see the little penguins. (Which used to be called "fairy" penguins, due to their size, but certain groups got up in arms (flippers?) and the renamed the penguins. Which is silly, really. The penguins are not gay (as I'll get to in a sec), they are SMALL. As are fairies. But whatever. It is fun to say "little penguins," especially when you enunciate the t.)

So we were told we were going to be in a group of no more than 20.

Well, this Gray Line bus shows up, and we are one of the first people on it, and we think to ourselves. Hmm, a big-ass bus for 20something people? Okay, whatever.

Except that it fills up. With 50 60 -and 70-something people. Look, I don't mean to be ageist but you expect one thing and get another. And (as we will also see later) I have nothing against your age, but must you really fit the stereotype of east coast American retired cruise ship passenger? Ugh. Yeah. We're getting a refund for that part of the trip.

But all (okay, most) was forgotten after the 2+ hour ride (I know) to see the little penguins. You have to skip over the cheesy stuff like the terrible snack bar and the gift shop (okay, we bought a blanket but only because we were freezing! we neglected the fact that we would be watching penguins come in after a day ON THE WINDY FREEZING OCEAN BEACH IN THE DARK) and the area where you can get your photo taken on a green screen and then get penguins photoshopped onto it...but it's worth it. No photos are allowed. Initially it was no flash photography was allowed but some dumb-ass cruise ship passengers who don't know how to use their cameras probably ruined it for everyone.

Here's some of the landscape before dark.

Oh, heh. This was on the way out of Melbourne. We saw a PANTHA! (Or at least the sign for a PANTHA.)

Philip Island. This was a ways out. I kind of wish we had rented a car and driven there on our own. So much to see and it was just stunning. We also could have spent more time watching the penguins if we did our own thing. But whatev. Over it.

Sun beginning to set. I was starting to feel pretty close to the bottom of the world. It was beginning to feel a little exotic, despite the proliferation of polyester.

 I obviously have no photos of the penguins.

We were able to sit in a separate area (with less than 100 people instead of the 300+) and learn about the penguins from the ranger assigned to our group (whose name was RICK, by the way. We had Ranger Rick! Justin couldn't stop laughing).

Despite the bus and the relative lack of time spent with the actual penguins, I have to say this was one of the highlights of the trip. There is a REASON this place gets 3+million visitors a year.

It's because the penguins are amazing.

We had a pretty clear night, which means 1) cold and 2) the penguins come into the beach a little later, since they do so under the cover of dark (yay, I finally was able to use that phrase). The penguins spend all day in the ocean, and they come in at night with food to feed their babies and to get some sleep in their burrows further up the dunes.

When you consider their size, and the distance involved, it's like they run an ultramarathon. Every day.

So you spend a lot of time at first watching the beach and thinking you see something. Especially because it was low tide, every glimmer of moonlight on a rock makes you think it's a penguin. But it's not.

And then...

And then little flecks and shimmers start moving. And you realize it's not the shells. They are little creatures, coming up in groups of 10, 20, 50. They are TINY. Maybe a foot tall. And they wobble. And they're calling to each other. Babies in the burrows call to their moms. Penguins call to each other abut their day. We even saw two penguins have sex under the boardwalk.

Seriously.

And then they really start to emerge. Hundreds of tiny (excuse me, LITTLE) penguins all hippedy hopping over the beach and up the sand to the dunes. EN MASSE.

It paralyzes you with the cute. It makes you wondrous. It made both Justin and I cry with happiness. It was an enchanting spectacle.

So the next day, we drank.