Podcast: Soaring Higher, Down Under

This episode is part of Travel Tales by Dinogo, a podcast that explores transformative travel experiences. Join Australian writer and actor Michelle Law as she takes us along on a road trip with her sister last summer, where they immerse themselves in Indigenous culture, navigate the rainforest, and share the joys and challenges of parenthood.

Topics covered

Kuranda Village [1:38]
Michelle and her sister, Tammy, wander through Kuranda Village, enjoying shopping, dining, and contemplating the significance of Kuranda in the Cairns region of Australia.

Daintree Rainforest [7:26]

Michelle and Tammy embark on a Skyrail adventure through the world’s oldest tropical rainforest. They also visit Barron Falls, where they meet Marni and Ranger Ben, who share insights about the rainforest’s history and the challenges faced by early white settlers unfamiliar with the land.

Chinese Community in Cairns [12:33]

The sisters contemplate their Hong Kong roots and discuss the Chinese Australians whose families have been part of Cairns since the Gold Rush of the mid-1870s.

Port Douglas Tour with Walkabout Cultural Adventures [15:47]

The duo joins a guided tour led by Aaron, a local eastern Kuku Yalanji man, who introduces them to his community's traditional medicinal practices, wild fruits, and secret hot springs.

Port Douglas Dinner and Market [24:18]

On their final evening in Cairns, Michelle and Tammy reflect on Australia’s complex history and its implications for parenting in the country. They also explore the Port Douglas Sunday Market, where local artisans showcase their crafts.

Additional Resources

• Discover more about writer and actor Michelle Law on her website.
• Explore the Daintree Rainforest.
• Join a tour with Walkabout Cultural Adventures.
• Plan your journey with the Dinogo guide to Australia.

Episode Transcript

MICHELLE: Look at those little kangaroo booties.
TAMMY: They’re so cute!
MICHELLE: More opals over there. Oh, and a marriage celebrant!
TAMMY: And there’s a chocolate shop!
MICHELLE: That’s adorable! It’s like a little bazaar with a lovely mural.
TAMMY: Mango wine? Ooh, wow! Ice cream!
MICHELLE: Ice cream, yes! Candy too! Do you want some ice cream?
TAMMY: Absolutely! I’d love some ice cream!

That’s my older sister Tammy and me, wandering through Kuranda Village in Gimuy Walubara country, known as Cairns. The village’s main street has a laid-back, bohemian atmosphere, with locals selling kaftans, homemade soaps, Akubra hats, and, of course, ice cream—lots of it. It’s the perfect weather for such a treat. Although it’s winter in Australia, the tropical climate of far north Queensland greets us with blue skies and a warm 75 degrees Fahrenheit.

We both instinctively reach for the rainbow flavor—which is essentially caramel swirled with vibrant food coloring. It evokes our childhood memories, the special treat we’d get after swimming lessons and doctor visits. As we enjoy our cones, we watch tourists perusing quirky coin purses made from dehydrated cane toads and kangaroo scrotums. Just a typical day in Australia. Nearby, a group of Aboriginal kids count coins in their hands for discounted spring rolls at a Japanese café, while their elders watch over them from a park across the street.

Kuranda feels like a condensed version of Cairns: firmly rooted in Aboriginal culture, with a rich history of Asian migration and a thriving tourism sector. Japanese immigrants are drawn to the sun and surf, finding Cairns an enticing coastal destination close to home. Other visitors flock to Cairns to discover Australia’s natural wonders, fulfilling their Finding Nemo fantasies by spotting clownfish, green sea turtles, and manta rays in the Great Barrier Reef.

Today, both Tammy and I are tourists. Although I was born and raised in Queensland, Australia’s northeastern state, this is my first journey this far north. It couldn’t have come at a better time—I’ve been restless since the lockdown, and Tammy has been craving a getaway. This marks our first meaningful time together since she welcomed her first child two years ago. His name is Coen, and he’s the family’s first grandchild, making him our absolute favorite. He’s a funny, thoughtful, and well-behaved little guy, though he wasn’t too happy about his mum and me going away.

TAMMY: Mummy’s going on a trip with Ah Yee. How do you feel about that?
COEN: No. Mummy. Coco trip?
TAMMY: Is Coco coming on the trip too? No, it’s just going to be Mum and Ah Yee.
COEN: Coco go trip too? Daddy trip too?
TAMMY: Coco and Daddy are coming too?
COEN: Yeah.
TAMMY: Sorry, Coco, it’s just Mummy and Ah Yee.
COEN: Noooo.
TAMMY: How do you feel about that? Will you be sad?
COEN: Yeah.
TAMMY: Are you going to miss Mummy?
COEN: Yeah.
TAMMY: But you and Daddy will have lots of fun together.
COEN: [Giggles]

That was Coen just days before our trip; Tammy had been preparing him for her absence. So when the day of our adventure arrived, Coen said goodbye with a serious face before Tammy boarded the plane for a short flight to meet me in Cairns.

At the airport, we reunite at baggage claim before stepping outside, squinting against the bright sunlight and shedding the down jackets we’d worn on the flight. It feels liberating to let go of that weight, the burden of winter. I inhale deeply; sunshine has a distinct aroma. It’s fresh and grassy, reminiscent of clean laundry that has basked in the heat for hours.

As we zoom down the highway in our rental car, we slip into the quirky banter that only siblings can share.

TAMMY: How about some music?
MICHELLE: Absolutely!
TAMMY: Crank it up and let it play! You’re in for a treat.
MICHELLE: Whoa, that’s loud! Oh my goodness! That recording might blow our eardrums. Sorry, sorry!
TAMMY: Holy cannoli!
BOTH: WOO! Yay!
TAMMY: Sisters on the road!
MICHELLE: Sisters in Cairns! What a beautiful day.
TAMMY: I can’t believe my sister has never been here before.
MICHELLE: I know! I stepped off the plane and thought, this is so delightful.

In just 15 minutes, we arrive at the edge of the world’s oldest tropical rainforest. Tammy has been to the Daintree before, but this is my first encounter with this ecosystem that’s over 135 million years old and spans about 746 miles. It’s remarkable to see the stark contrast between the vibrant greenery and the road, like a needle skipping on a record; a sudden halt to the melody.

We continue towards the entrance of the Skyrail cableway, where we meet staff members Marni and Ranger Ben. We’re about to board a special open-air carriage that resembles the suspended scaffolding used by window cleaners on skyscrapers. It brings to mind something . . .

MICHELLE: Oh my God, I’m obsessed! It’s like when they drop the goat into the T-Rex enclosure in Jurassic Park.
MARNI: Same concept, but different. Yes, same but different.

I’m eager to spot a real-life dinosaur on this trip. By dinosaur, I mean a wild cassowary. These large, flightless birds are native to Australia and inhabit the Daintree. They’re believed to have evolved over 60 million years ago during the Cretaceous period, and they’re both terrifying and magnificent. Standing nearly seven feet tall, they loom over you with their striking cobalt blue faces, vibrant red necks, and large bony crests that resemble helmets. With their imposing presence and serious demeanor, cassowaries remind me of a stern school principal—deadly if provoked, just like one too.

Tammy and I strap in, take our seats, and soon all four of us are soaring into the sky at speed, hanging around 160 feet above the rainforest. It’s thrilling to be up this high and exposed, much like a ski lift or hot air balloon. Below us, hidden beneath thick canopies, we catch glimpses of turtles and crocodiles lounging on logs in waterways swollen from recent rains. We gasp at the steep cliffs some hikers tackle. All around us, unseen rifle birds call, their haunting cries echoing in the open air. Suddenly, I recall that Tammy has a slight fear of heights. Oops.

We disembark from the carriage and follow Marni and Ben along wooden pathways woven into the forest. At various points, I notice rustling in the foliage, hoping it’s a cassowary, but it always turns out to be another tourist or a brush turkey. So close! Marni and Ben promise to keep an eye out for any cassowaries.

As we stroll, we come across the crumbling remains of an old settlement. It feels odd to see concrete foundations and rusted bolts amidst such untamed wilderness. What was this place? Did anyone really live here?

RANGER BEN: It was primarily white settlers, I believe.
MICHELLE: Oh, really?
RANGER BEN: They constructed the old hydro station and the barn.
MICHELLE: What kind of houses did they have? Just cabins?
RANGER BEN: Well, there's an old photo here. It's not great, but they actually had a post office and a tennis court here at one time.
MARNI: They clearly needed more people to build it, but once it was done, fewer were required for upkeep.

Later, we snap photos on a platform overlooking Barron Falls, a staggering 400-foot waterfall. It feels oddly ironic to learn that European men and women once climbed down the falls in formal suits and ball gowns just to take pictures by the water. They must have sweltered in those outfits, and some surely must have fallen.

On our way back, Tammy and I ride in a closed carriage alone, zooming past a tree so tall its crown towers above the forest canopy like a giant broccoli head. This is the very tree that inspired the Home Tree in Avatar—a film that addresses themes of dispossession and colonization.

MICHELLE: I keep thinking about that fact regarding the ball gowns. It’s fascinating. You highlight it as something silly, but those early white settlers really didn’t understand the land. In Australian schools, you hardly learn about Aboriginal history. Essentially, you get taught that Captain Cook arrived and that there were Aboriginal people here. Then you go through life and realize, wow, I actually don’t know much about my own country.

Tammy and I are second-generation immigrants. Our parents relocated to Australia from Hong Kong in the 1970s, amid discussions about the region's handover from British to Chinese control. This makes us relatively recent arrivals compared to the fifth-generation Chinese Australians whose families have called Cairns home since the Gold Rush in the mid-1870s.

Today, the Chinese community in Cairns remains vibrant, making it fitting that we’re dining at Golden Boat Chinese Restaurant, a beloved establishment known for its classic Cantonese Australian cuisine. It’s a traditional spot: carpeted floors, vinyl chairs, pink wallpaper, and, naturally, a paper tablecloth over a cotton one. In fact, the decor is a bit nostalgic; it closely resembles our family restaurant from our childhood. After placing our order, we gaze out at the main road and notice something peculiar (unfortunately, not a cassowary).

MICHELLE: Oh my God! Was that a woman on roller skates?
TAMMY: No, it's a man.
MICHELLE: It’s a free-spirited guy skating down the main street of Cairns.
TAMMY: And he’s going backwards too.
MICHELLE: It’s like he’s in a roller rink. This is an actual main road, with cars and everything.
TAMMY: That’s pretty risky. This is Cairns, after all.
MICHELLE: This is Cairns. That’s wild.

While we’re observing the skater, we realize we’re under scrutiny as well. At the table next to us, a white man downing beers is finishing dinner with two friends. While they chat, he’s fixated on us and even throws us a second, loaded look as he heads off to settle the bill. Tammy and I are two of only four nonwhite patrons in the bustling restaurant. We count—always do. It’s unsettling to be in a place as diverse as Cairns, especially in a Chinese restaurant, yet still feel like outsiders. We were born and raised here and struggle to speak Cantonese properly—something we apologize for to the waiter repeatedly—but we still feel othered.

Translated
MICHELLE: Our Cantonese is pretty poor. We can understand some.
WAITER: But why? I thought you were from Hong Kong all along.
MICHELLE: Our parents are from Hong Kong.
WAITER: But you were born here?
MICHELLE: We were born on the Sunshine Coast.
WAITER: Ohh.
MICHELLE: I think people perceive Australia as a truly multicultural country—and it is, factually one of the most diverse nations in the world. But they often overlook the underlying hierarchies that exist.
TAMMY: Yeah, that’s often unspoken.

The following morning, we rise before dawn and embark on a one-hour drive north from Cairns to Port Douglas. Enjoying breakfast rolls, we drive cautiously, on the lookout for kangaroos that might unexpectedly cross our path. In Port Douglas, we meet Aaron, a local eastern Kuku Yalanji man associated with Walkabout Cultural Adventures.

On the tour bus, we bond with fellow travelers—a German woman and an American family. Though it’s a brisk morning by Cairns' standards, the sun warms the day as we speed past endless fields of sugarcane, currently being harvested by massive trucks. Nearby, white cattle egrets, with their slender figures, patiently wait to catch insects dislodged from the soil by the machinery. Aaron shares stories about his children, mentioning how one daughter cherishes their homeland just like he does—proud to be a bush girl who has no plans to leave, unlike many locals who eventually migrate to the larger city of Cairns.

I reflect on the profound sense of belonging that comes from being so deeply rooted in a place. This is Aaron’s homeland—he has witnessed its transformations since childhood. Yet, he continues to rely on the land for native food and medicinal plants.

AARON: Today, you're going to see and learn so much that you'll be amazed, thinking, "Wow, this is made from that, and this from this!" It’s thrilling. Growing up here, you naturally learn about all the trees and plants and their uses.

During our tour, Aaron frequently stops the van to gather what, to my inexperienced eye, appears to be just another branch or shrub. He finds lilly pillies, tart berries perfect for curing hangovers; silver wattle leaves, which he crushes with water to create a surprisingly foamy soap; sapling branches that soothe toothaches when chewed; and beachside berries used as eye drops. From the tangled vines, Aaron reappears with armfuls of wild passion fruit. For lunch, we enjoy these along with papayas sprinkled with wild lime juice, marveling at how generously the land provides.

One of the American tourists is recovering from a cold, prompting Aaron to stop by some trees that bear large, green, football-sized masses hanging from the branches.

AARON: Check those out, everyone! Those big nests? They’re made by green ants. Now, everyone needs to hop out. I’ll be the one to do this, but you guys should stay back because these little guys bite. I’m going to reach in, get them on my hand, crush them up, and let you smell it. We call it Bushman’s Vicks. It helps to what? Clear your nose and open your lungs, so you can breathe easily.

Aaron dives his hand into the nest, and soon hundreds of large, brown ants with pale green abdomens swarm up his arms. Some land on my legs and bite, their stings sharp but fleeting. Grimacing from the bites, Aaron begins to knead the live ants into a ball and offers his cupped hands to us. "Take a whiff," he invites. We inhale, and the aroma hits us like a powerful menthol nasal spray. When we taste an ant, their green abdomens burst in our mouths like lemon pulp—delicious!

Afterwards, we visit two bodies of water. Mossman Gorge, nestled in Daintree National Park, features several swimming holes. At one of the larger spots, we tentatively dip our toes in, only to find the water surprisingly cold—much chillier than expected given the bright sun. Neither Tammy nor I are brave enough to swim, so we take photos of the crystal-clear water, admiring the massive boulders where shivering swimmers bask in the sunlight. These boulders are nearly seven feet wide; you could easily fit two cassowaries on one of them.

The next location we explore is a hidden gem. To reach it, we must conquer a steep, uphill path that leaves us panting. Upon emerging from the dense foliage, the women and men in our group split up.

AARON: Alright, ladies, that area over there is yours. RJ and I can’t join you. We’ll be nearby, but whatever you do in there is entirely up to you and not our concern. That’s your entryway. If you choose to go in, it’s your decision. I can’t stop you. Just know that it’s a sacred healing place for women.

The women in our group step through the gate leading to the waterfall, carefully hopping across stones to reach the water. It’s an incredibly serene and untouched location. This area is designated for “women’s business,” where women once gave birth and found solace.

TAMMY: I can feel the healing energy. Look at that dragonfly dipping its tail in the water.
MICHELLE: It’s just flitting from one spot to another.
TAMMY: Taking a little dip.
MICHELLE: Living the good life.

Later, I discover that the dragonfly was laying its eggs, which feels especially fitting for this place and for Tammy, who recently became a mother. She often claims to have a terrible memory, yet she recalls every detail of her labor vividly.

As we observe the dragonfly darting around, I reflect on the significant changes in Tammy’s life. She's always been adventurous, and her career as a documentary photographer has led her on solo journeys from Eritrea to Mongolia. Since becoming a mother, it's been remarkable to see how her focused approach to work has now extended to caring for Coen. I've never witnessed her fully disengage from motherhood like she can at this moment. This idea of losing one’s independence is intimidating for me, especially as someone who envisions having children in the near future.

As we travel, my eyelids grow heavy. It's been a full day, and I'm grateful that Aaron is behind the wheel. I can hear him and Tammy discussing Coen's name in the Kuku Yalanji language.

TAMMY: Aaron, do you know what language Coen means 'thunder' in?
AARON: The language for 'thunder'? That’s our local language here.

The conversation shifts to a German woman who, as a young backpacker, fell in love with Port Douglas and decided to make it her home. Now an elderly woman, she has dedicated her life to purchasing farmland and collaborating with the community to reintroduce native trees, working to restore the rain forest. Aaron admires her efforts, seeing it as a vital step toward helping Aboriginal people reclaim the land.

My mind wanders to the sugarcane and cattle farms we passed today, to the tourists who got lost at Mossman Gorge because they couldn’t read the land and were swept beneath the boulders by the strong current, and to the sacred women’s healing site that is accessible only through a privately owned wellness center.

At dinner, Tammy and I sit in quiet contemplation, reflecting on our day with Aaron. Meanwhile, the heart of Port Douglas is alive with energy. Pubs are packed, filled with the sounds of live music and sports fans cheering at the TVs. Restaurants are fully booked, their tables spilling out onto the sidewalks. For our final meal, we indulge in scallops, tuna sashimi, clam spaghetti, and insalata, sipping on Aperol Spritzes while we overhear a customer asking a waiter about his background. "I grew up in Italy but originally hail from Sri Lanka," he replies.

That night, as I stand in the shower, I ponder, how will I raise a child in this country? How is Tammy managing it?

The next day, Tammy and I explore the Port Douglas Sunday markets in search of souvenirs. This vibrant market, set alongside the water, features 150 stalls. One stall catches my eye with a glassblowing demonstration, where the artisan is creating—much to my delight—a cassowary. Since this will be my closest encounter with the real bird for now, I’m definitely bringing this home!

Meanwhile, Tammy discovers an adorable picture book by a local author for Coen. She carefully places it in her luggage next to some pieces of orange, white, and gray ochre that Aaron helped us find on the beach. Ochre, a natural pigment, is used in Aboriginal art and body painting. Tammy doesn’t buy anything for herself. I can’t help but think that once you become a parent, your children’s needs always take precedence over your own. I wonder if I’ll be able to do that well . . .

TAMMY: No matter how much you research or talk about it, there’s nothing that can truly prepare you. I think you’d be a fantastic mum. You’d enjoy many of the things I do, like the bond you form and all the laughter.
MICHELLE: I really hope my kid is funny because Coen is hilarious.
TAMMY: Oh, you’ll definitely have a funny kid.

Who knows what the future holds for me? For now, I’m just thankful to have Coen in our lives. It’s crucial that Tammy helps him connect with the country we’ve chosen to settle in; it gives me hope that future generations will have a better understanding of Australia’s history. I believe Coen will absolutely love the ochre—he’s quite the little artist.

TAMMY: How did you feel when you saw Mummy at the airport?
COEN: Toto go Cairns. Toto dig sand.
TAMMY: Oh, you want to dig in the sand? Are you happy that Mummy brought you some shells and ochre? Where did you put them? What did you do with the ochre?
COEN: Toto play ochre. Oh, Toto play with the ochre.

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