Koala

Koala

"You will be boarding the ship a week from now because of port congestion so better take your time exploring the city and the sights. Here's A$50 to start you up", she offered nonchalantly.
Pardon me, but who are you again?, I intriguingly asked.
"Koala", she intrusively replied. And pointedly extending a delicately tapered  finger right between her almond eyes she added, "I'm the Koala girl".
That was in 2000.

And explore we did, from the cliff side imposingly perched Newcastle Hilton where we were inauspiciously billeted to the grunge pubs and inaudibly clangorous casinos with those ubiquitous complimentary welcome shots of whiskey. The Workers Union  buffet-style diner became a favorite hang-out place courtesy of the few compatriot servers who,with a kettleful of warm bland tea, keep the food going until the wee hours of ten. Dining "a la carte"from the hotels catering services delivered right through our suite by a bow-tied busboy became amazingly passe as we delved through the labyrintine sidestreet of food stalls and local shops offering a variety of Australian and international cuisine at half the price compared to anywhere deemed standard.

Newcastle, with its New South Wales sport team proudly embalzoned in every residents faces (and shirts) to the endless wave-breakers dream shoreline teeming with torpedo-gened sharks feasting on the hapless hundred genera of fishes and home to millions of tropical jellyfish come summertime.

Newcastle, where the stars stride starked clearer and sharp low in the horizon and the eternal blue cloudless daylight skies, like a giant soap bubble alarmingly enveloping everything in sight.
For nowhere else in the world is a place where English, as the predominant language, can never be understood and everybody is your "mate" but unfortunately does not live in your abode.

Kooraggang.Dyke.CNGI. Places where for the better part of the day tons upon  tons of fossilized coal passes through enormous conveyors straight into the gaping maw of countless ship's hold. Destined to warm and light the distant reaches of the world and for whatever purpose other than the inevitable environmental catastrophe, in silence we watched helplessly as man's demand ravages nature's course.

Newcastle, where the sun sets at 8:30 in the summertime warmth of December amidst the spray haze of the Pacific swells slamming thunderously against the rampart-like headlands that jutted out to the sea, like massive fingers reaching desperately for the sun to retain the light of day. Newcastle.

She always looked at you through her pleading eyes as if you're the most important person crowding along and checking out her scattered knickknack merchandise, Australian souvenir shirts, half empty perfumes in mangled boxes from constant sampling and electronic devices and gadgets long considered outdated, occasionally made in China. Fifteen years ago she was compellingly beautiful, flawlessly white, demurely sweet and Korean.
She's still the same though, except for the demure part, the venerable Koala girl of Newcastle.
But then again, only legend knows.