After we checked out of our hotel at The Entrace on Friday morning, we had no game plan. We did not technically need to be home until Sunday, but there were no rooms at the inn, so we thought we'd just wander around the area and then head home that night, since we were only a couple of hours away. We'd wanted to rent bikes or a little boat, but the weather was dreary, so outdoorsiness seemed like a mistake. Upon consultation of our hotel visitor's map, I found an ad for the wonderfully cheesy looking Australian Reptile Park. Now, I am no fan of reptiles, generally speaking. I find them suspicious characters, with all their snaky-lizardiness; but something about it intrigued me. It was probably the coupon for half-priced admission.
And so, about an hour later, we were at the welcome gates, ominously greeted ...
... and when we bought our tickets, the cheerful teen working the desk beamed and told us, "we're just getting ready to start the poisonous snakes show (!), and then it's Hugo the Tortoise's birthday and we're going to bring out a big birthday cake for everyone to share(!)."
I felt fairly certain that Hugo didn't actually eat birthday cake, which seemed a little inconsiderate towards the guest of honor, but I kept quiet. Partner-in-Crime asked, with some degree of good humored sarcasm, how long we could expect the revelry to go on.
"Oh, all day(!). We party hard here at the Reptile Park(!)," we were assured, enthusiastically.
And with the assurance that the road went on forever and the party never ends, we entered the Park.
We paid quick homage to the reptiles, whose ranks included guys like this ...
... and guys like this (Elvis the Crocodile, uh-uh-hum-yeah-yeaaaaah)
Oh yeah, and this one ...
We then took the "bush walk," which was really just a loop of about 50 steps, but it was the one quiet place in the park, not overrun with sugared up three-year olds. And here we learned the important story of Eric the ... Alligator? Crocodile? ... Dangerous Reptile with Large Teeth ... it was painted on panels shaped like an alligator ... crocodile (?). Crocogator.
Anyway, the story goes a little something like this:
Eric is birthed by a small Aboriginal child:
I skipped the photo of the panel where poor Eric is foresaken by his Aboriginal midwife/friend, who is now afeared of him (think of it as the "Little Jackie Paper Came No More" panel - but with more ferocious teeth and screaming children).
Let's skip to the gory part, after all we did pay good money for this story. Here, Eric bites the living heck out another Big Ol' Green Thing. Apparently, he lost (too soft-hearted from all that hanging out with little kids all the damn time):
Finally, Eric got rescued by the Australian Reptile Park where he now lives as a hardened criminal in a cage, and gets whipped by a guy in shorts, and fends off perpetual bouts with salmonella poisoning. He might not be alive anymore, though. It's unclear. I didn't stay for the credits.
I wonder what the chicken's life story is.
After making the requisite reptilian rounds (and a visit to Spider World, during which we were greeted my a two-foot dancing mechanical spider singing a rap song that sounded suspiciously like "Funky Cold Medina," but with the inspired lyrics, "Welcome to Spider World. It's My World!"), we decided to focus our concentration on the menagerie of Australian animals ... real animals. (Kidding, reptile lovers, I'm kidding! I love iguanas!).
In any case, you have to admit that while Elvis could eat you up before you can say "Love Me Tender," there is something rather romantic/frightening about the seemingly Fido-esque dingoes ...
Until they eat your baby!
I know you were thinking that.
Honestly though, I was rather struck by the dingoes, whose plight reminded me so much of the American wolves, who I learned a lot about when living in Montana about the time of the reintroduction of wolves into the National Parks. Like wolves, dingoes have been quite vilified and hunted to extreme levels by farmers. In return, a lot of smaller animal populations have exploded because they are the only natural predators. They've also been cross bred to within an inch of their purebred lives. In truth, they're awfully useful creatures. And very cute.
Speaking of painfully cute ...
And the cute-de-resistance ...
We were more than a little won over by these eetsy-weetsy-cutesy-wootsy wombat babies. They wandered around their pen together. I mean, they just wanted to be touching the whole time, side by side. They'd eat their branches together. Dig a little hole together. Scratch around in the hay together. Wombat butt to wombat butt, the whole time.
Need more?
Don't say I never did anything for you.
And this, my friends, may be more of a post than the Australian Reptile Park warranted; but I'm a sucker for family friendly 1950s style amusement, and this place has it in spades. The final postcard blog to come soon ... a more adult way to spend the rest of our vacation (with pictures!).
Until then ...
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